“That’s a nice dress. Where’d it come from?”
“Um, Lowell. Urban Look.” There’s one instant where I nearly tell her everything: about Zara and how worthless she makes me feel, and then Lowell and swimming and meeting Jors and earning money. But it’s like a gap’s opened up. Mum’s onshore, and I’m drifting away. In another second, the space between us will be too big to jump.
The school bus lurches up to the stop. I’m going to try Haley. A quick, I’m-not-needy message. I flick over to You-chat—Haley, u there?—then back to Mum.
She’s frowning. “About Lowell. Roisin, you can’t run off on trains by yourself.” Mum pauses. “Was it because you were desperate to go shopping? How did you have money for the dress, anyway?”
I suddenly realize that telling Mum about Jors, and that I let him do stuff to my phone, would be a super-bad idea. I mumble something about Jeeves helping me find a great bargain because he’s so smart, and Mum starts explaining how she’s just upgraded his problem-solving algorithm, and there are no more questions about me and money. Which is lucky, because my wallet’s still missing, and Mum will go spare when she finds out. My life is basically chaos.
Hey. Haley’s message pops up on top of the call with Mum. It’s Awesome Roisin.
I laugh. My stomach still feels like a nest of snakes, but I’m so relieved to see she’s online. I type fast as I climb onto the bus. Hey! I am so glad ur around xxx
Always here for you. Ur gonna be great today!
tysm. Just hearing that makes me feel like I can breathe. I plop down in the first empty seat.
“Roisin—are you still there?” Mum’s voice blares through the bus, because I forgot to put my earbuds in. Boys in the first few seats look up. They see it’s me and nudge one another. Two girls I don’t know lean together to whisper, eyes pinned on me. I fumble back to the video-call screen. “Gottagobye.” I stab at the red hang-up button, my heart slamming.
Too late. A ripple passes through the rows, every face looking up. The stares are suspicious, curious, hostile. My thumb automatically flicks open the main timeline of You-chat, though I don’t want to look.
My stomach tumbles to the floor. Dozens more messages about me.
I was so lost in the chat with Haley last night, I forgot to check. And I did what Haley suggested: turned off notifications so I wouldn’t be pinged for every horrible comment.
Hales, I type. Have you seen what they’re saying? Tears press into my throat, threatening to burst. I scroll and scroll, trying not to care:
Did you hear crazy Irish girl got banned from TokTalk? … I heard she tried to fight Zara in WholeFoods. Mara tried to stop her so Rosheen HIT her. And Zara’s reply: She’s trash. She definitely hurt Mara. Told u. She’s crazy.
I sink lower in the front seat, hugging my phone.
Aw, hun, Haley replies. Ignore them.
I swallow hard. I wish u didn’t live in Maine, I say. I’d give anything to have Haley by my side, to help me face down these lies.
I know, it sucks.
She has no idea. I scroll through more comments. A stone feels like it’s lodged in my throat. Zara’s the one who attacks me, every day. But now she’s turned it around and made me the bad guy. I keep my face forward as the bus rumbles on, but the whispers have started behind me: “Ro-SHEEN. Ro-SHEEN. Ro-SHEEN.” Like dry trees ready to catch fire.
* * *
Here’s how Haley handled her mean girls in Old Orchard Beach. That’s where her school is in Maine, three hours from here—which might as well be on the moon when you’re car-less like us. Haley says the worst was Coral, a skinny girl who sat at her table in Home Economics. She slagged off Haley the whole time. Never right to her face, but what Coral said was always meant for Haley, like, “Don’t you hate it when people DON’T WASH THEIR FACE?” Which is crazy unfair, because Haley uses that Fresh ’n’ Clean face wash four times a day, she told me. It’s just that her skin is oily—not her fault! And who doesn’t have skin things to worry about?
But Haley worried about it loads, until it got to a point where she felt sick in the morning, started skipping school, was shaking in the halls when she did go. Then it got worse. Coral started tripping Haley up, pinching her … until the day Coral brought in her baby brother’s dirty diaper and left it in Haley’s locker. When Haley found it, Coral was right there and whispered in her ear, “Ew, EVERYTHING about you is dirty, isn’t it?”
That’s horrendous, I type. What did you do? I’m in the girls’ loos, sending Haley my zillionth help-me message today, and it’s only third period. It’s a relief to have something else to focus on. Poor Haley. I can’t believe that Coral girl was such a witch. I hope you kicked her into next week.
There’s a pause. I grabbed her hair and smashed her into the lockers.
Whoa. Serious? I blink at my phone. I was joking. Do you give lessons? JK, I add quickly. I’m still getting the nerve to look Zara in the eye, never mind smash her.
Is that what you want to do? Haley answers.
I can’t find the words. Haley and Jeeves and everyone says I have to act fast to stop Zara. But no way can I lay a hand on her. It’d just make everyone believe the lies about me, that I’m the bully. Before I can think of what to say, the bell shrieks for fourth period and I jump a mile. Gtg, I type.
I push out of the stall to wash my hands and stop short. Lily is fixing her eyeliner. Her face lights when she sees me. “There you are!”
I look at my hands, saying nothing as I soap into gray lather. We’ve had three classes together already. Lily keeps trying to talk to me, but I’ve slipped away. I can’t face her fake friendliness, or whatever it is. And Zara is her personal bodyguard, vibing me to back off.
“Are you okay?” Lily’s forehead is creased into that I-really-care frown. Spare me. “Listen, there’s something I need to—”
Just then, the girls’ room door bursts open. Zara and Mara blow in like bad weather, a swirl of giggles and grapefruit body mist. We’ve all just had Gym together, where Zara gave me the evil eye so hard in the changing room, she practically burned a hole through my skull. Nothing better than stripping down to your underpants in front of someone who hates you.
“Lily, guess WHAT?” Mara starts jabbering about Nikesh, and the field trip next week, and how he wants to sit with Lily on the bus.
I try to get past Zara, who’s blocking the way out. My liquid legs barely carry me. She’s so tiny. I’m pathetic. But I remember what Haley said, about looking Zara in the eye. I lift my head.
“Move,” I say. It comes out as a whisper.
“Or what?” Zara says. But she chews her lip and stands aside. “It’s not an improvement, freak,” she murmurs as I go. “That dress.”
* * *
I am a bad person, I type to Haley. A violent person. Thank God Almighty, today has passed. Somehow. My wallet’s still missing, my homework isn’t done, and everyone in Eastborough thinks I tried to fight Zara and Mara. But I’m finally back in the only place I feel safe: my room, with Haley. Someone should carve her a monument. Every time I say how nothing Zara makes me feel, Haley lifts me up. Tells me I’m smarter, stronger. Kinder.
Why do you say that? U haven’t touched Zara! Ur too hard on yourself, Ro.
But all I can think about is Zara being wiped off the face of the earth.
Is that what you want?
No! I just want to stop feeling like this.
Well, you know how to make a start with that: like we said.
This is what we’ve spent most of the afternoon plotting: assertive things I can say to Zara so that I don’t spend tomorrow hiding from her, like today. Even looking her in the eye was a big deal. Haley says I just need to tell her to back off. But part of me wants to humiliate her like she’s done to me. Zara doesn’t have the best grades. It’d be so easy to cut her down, make her feel small. But that’s not me. Is it?
“Roisin?” calls a distant voice. “Roisin!”
I jump off the bed.
My heart thumps like a drum. There’s only one person who says my name right. I rush to my window. Lily is standing in our front garden, frowning up. Her face clears when she spots me, and she waves.
The window is jammed, but it finally opens with a scream of old wood. “What are you doing here?” It’s out of my mouth before I hear how hostile it sounds.
But Lily just smiles and holds up my wallet. “I didn’t know which was your doorbell, so …” She shrugs.
“I’m coming down.” I can’t believe Lily, of all people, found my wallet. I tell Haley not to go, that Lily’s here and I’ll brb, and I tear downstairs.
“Hey!” Lily stands at the front door, with that open smile everyone loves. Her hair hangs over one shoulder, a roll of black satin. The sunset angles in from the side, arranging itself to make Lily look like a painting. I’m extra-aware of my insane hair: The humidity has puffed the curls, like an Irish Einstein. “Thought you might need this. You’re not easy to get ahold of.”
Oh no. My cheeks burn. “Is that why you were trying to catch up with me today?” I squeeze out our screen door and it slaps closed behind me.
She nods. “Messaged you, too. Guess you didn’t see it?”
I haven’t gone near my DMs apart from Haley. “Sorry,” I murmur. “Thanks a million.” Part of me worries that this is a setup, that Zara’s hiding in a bush, laughing. But one look at Lily shows she’s genuine. Maybe lost things just flow toward her, like she has her own gravity. “Did you find it on the road?” The wallet’s dirty but otherwise looks fine: the same green lump I thought I’d tucked safely into my swim bag yesterday.
“Nikesh did.” Lily stands with her arms around her middle. I should invite her in. But the thought of her seeing our home, its shabby furniture … I can’t.
“Well, tell him thanks. I dropped it running for the train.”
Lily nods. “I love trains.”
“Same. ‘I LIKE TRAINS,’ ” I say absentmindedly. It’s a meme from years ago. Lily laughs, and I smile. There it is: This is how it felt on You-chat, when we first met. Trading dumb jokes and stories about our annoying mums.
The moment passes. We go quiet, but Lily lingers on our porch. I can feel that she wants to connect, like Michael when he tries to cheer me up.
My phone buzzes, and we both look at it: Haley, asking where I am. I’m dying to get back to her, too. I can’t explain it. It’s not just that she’s funny and smart. It’s how she makes me feel about me—like I might be funny and smart, too. Lily’s the opposite. Next to someone so bright, you can’t help feeling dim.
Lily watches me shove my phone into my dress pocket, and wrinkles crease her forehead. She points to two ancient Adirondack chairs on the veranda. “Can we talk for a sec?”
“All right.” She sits. I perch on the edge of the other weird chair. I’ve imagined this for ages: Lily hanging at my house. But it’s like sitting on nails. Zara would lose it if she saw us right now.
“I’m sorry about Zara and Mara.” Lily looks at her clasped hands. “I have no idea what their problem is.”
I do.
“That was super mean, what they did with the Goodwill bag—and all the stuff online.” She stares at me. “I’m guessing you didn’t attack either of them, like people are saying?”
I shake my head. “I bumped into Mara by mistake, that’s all.” Lily looks miserable, and I feel the strangest pain—guilt, I think. I’ve dragged storm clouds into her storybook life. It’s not a story I belong in. I’m too weird, too unpopular. If she wanted to be friends, why did she keep standing me up when I first got here? Leaving me waiting around, telling me I got the wrong time when she’s the one who made the plans? “Forget about it.” I stand up.
Lily doesn’t. “They’re coming over tomorrow after school. You should, too. If you guys got to know each other …”
I swallow. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on, my dad got the pool cleaned. It’ll be fun.”
It will not. I picture Zara and Mara stretched by the pool, skimpy bikinis and faces full of makeup. My phone buzzes again in my pocket. Lily winces. I realize she thinks it’s more notifications from Zara’s horrible posts. She doesn’t know it’s Haley.
“It’s tough when you have no—” Lily breaks off. “When you don’t know anyone.”
My cheeks go hot; she was about to say, “When you have no friends.” I want to tell her about Sophie and Maisie back in Ireland, my friends from the swim club, all the people who liked me. And about Haley: someone who thinks I’m brilliant. Someone who has no time for mean girls. Unlike Lily, who surrounds herself with them.
Lily stands. “Promise me you’ll think about it.” A royal command. We don’t think much of those where I come from.
I say nothing. Silence weighs down the air between us. I open our screen door. “Thanks again for bringing my wallet.”
“Sure.” Lily turns and goes. “See you tomorrow.” She sounds so cheery, like I’m not the rudest person she’s ever met.
“Bye,” I mumble when Lily’s too far away to hear. Her long shadow goes ahead of her down our hill.
I start typing to Haley again as I climb our stairs.
Yay, hi! she says. I thought you forgot about me :-(
Not a chance. I smile. It’s a nice feeling, being wanted. I told you I dropped my wallet? Lily brought it back.
Queen Lily? Is this the girl who was like, “oh, come over to my house! No, wait, don’t”?
That’s the one. Her boyfriend found it on the road. She invited me to her pool party. Zara and Mara are going.
Ha! That’d be super fun, right?
I bet Zara doesn’t even know Lily invited me, I type. She’d have a jealous fit.
You said no, I hope?
Yeah, I told her no. But even as I type it, a niggle scratches at me. I can’t figure out why Lily is making such an effort. Lily’s nice, tho. Unless she’s really, really good at faking it.
Yeah. She could be laughing at you, under a fake layer of nice. Forget Lily. U ready to handle Zara?
We go over everything again before saying good night. It’s early, but I can’t keep my eyes open. The dying sun turns my walls red as it lowers itself onto the roofs of Eastborough. I wonder which one Zara sleeps under. Or whether she sleeps; maybe she’s always awake, brainstorming how to skewer me.
My heart thumps hard suddenly, and I grab my phone again. Haley’s given me some power phrases to say to Zara. I’m sure I’m remembering them wrong. There’s a few, from the back-off type all the way to shredding-her smackdowns. But when I flick over to You-chat, the app’s frozen, and even rebooting my phone doesn’t fix it. I toss it to the end of my bed and stare at the curved ceiling. My stomach gives a long, nervy squawk.
Maybe, if I do what Haley says, Zara will respect me, like I’ve passed some sick test. But I might just make it all worse. The red drains from my room, taking my courage with it. I curl up tight in the sheets, but Zara’s face paints itself across my eyelids.
My brain keeps trying to imagine how Zara will react if I confront her. So I barely notice when sleep comes, with the dreams of Zara, now a foot taller than me, slamming me against my locker.
Everyone watches, filming it on their phones, saying nothing.
It’s last period of the worst day of my life. I’ve hardly looked at Zara, never mind been assertive. For the second day straight, stares and whispers of diarrhea and psycho have followed me everywhere. At lunch, instead of the usual loser circle of empty seats around me, there was a whole empty table. Lily tried—I think—to give me sympathy looks across the cafeteria, but it didn’t help. And it was runny beef stew for lunch. Zara laughed through it all, tossing me I-own-you looks or whispering as she went by: “Gross.”
I just want her to SHUT UP, I type. I’m hiding in the loos again. I should be in Art, but we’re still drawing our partners’ portraits. The world wants me to suffer. Clueless Mr. Morrison keeps making encouraging sounds about my sketch of Zara
when he passes. He doesn’t hear what she’s hissed at me all period: “Is there a smell in here? I can smell something.”
You know this is all because Zara is SUPER JEALOUS, right? Haley says. Cuz Lily’s invited you to her party etc. Zara sounds totally insecure.
Haley, who is the best person, has to keep telling her teacher she has a stomachache, so she can nip out of class to chat to me; she says she doesn’t mind.
I should let you go, I type. I’m going to get you in trouble. I don’t know what I’ll do if Haley’s teacher takes her phone. I clutch my forehead and haul in a breath. The stink of the toilet stall is foul, but it fits my mood.
It’s fine, Haley says. If you need to talk, I’m here whenever. You matter more than Chemistry.
Her words make the tears climb my throat again. How can one girl be so awesome and another be such a virus?
I hate her I hate her I hate her, I type. She deserves to get smashed, like you did Coral.
You could do that. She’d know you’re not messing around. Sometimes the only thing they understand is force.
I let myself picture it: my hand with a fistful of Zara’s hair. But I kick the image away. I’m not going to become what they’re already saying I am. That’s not me, Hales.
Says the girl who wanted to rip heads off. Anyway, you don’t have to hurt her. Just make her think you will.
Gtg, I type. xxx cya later? I can’t talk about this anymore. The tears are right there, and I won’t go back to Art with swollen eyes. I slip my phone back into my dress pocket, but it’s not till I’m at the sinks that I realize one of the other stalls is occupied.
Zara’s shoes.
My heart pounds so hard, it thuds in my throat. Her stall whooshes open and I flinch, I can’t help it. I keep my back to her, praying she’ll say nothing. My eyes dart to the mirrors.
“Hey!” Zara smiles. It’s so much worse than her usual puckered glare. “Mr. Morrison sent me to find you. You’ve been in here forever.” She shows me her fancy smartwatch, like I care. The honey in her voice is like a spider up my back. I flick off the tap and snatch at the paper towels. My hands tremble. I feel the warmth of my phone in my dress pocket. I tell myself it’s Haley, urging me to be strong. I don’t want to be strong, I want to get out of here, but Zara stands between me and the door.
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