I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
Heidi smirked. “It must be nice to lead such a charmed life.”
“Are you serious?” I said. I pulled back the right side of my hood. “You call this charmed?”
“So what? You think anyone cares about your cheek? Everyone still loves you.”
“Right.” I really turned on the sarcasm.
“Taylor won’t shut up about how much she misses you. It’s so annoying.”
“Is that why you told her I took those photos?”
“I didn’t tell her. She told me.”
“What?” I said sharply.
“She,” Heidi repeated, “told me. I left the dance at nine o’clock. I didn’t know anything until yesterday.”
“And what … exactly … did Taylor tell you?” I was struggling to stay calm.
“That she fell asleep on a wrestling mat in the weight room, and when she woke up, you were there.”
“That’s it? That’s all she said?”
“Come on, Lexi. It doesn’t take Nancy Drew to figure it out. Taylor was drunk, and you saw it as your opportunity to get back at her—”
“By what? Taking naked pictures of her and spreading them all over school? Do you think I’m a psychopath?”
Heidi shrugged.
“Oh my God!” I cried. “You are so unbelievable! First, you guard the door so Taylor can hook up with Ryan and now—”
“Wait a second,” Heidi said, cutting me off. “Taylor didn’t just hook up with Ryan. She was trying to get him in good with the team. It was an initiation thing. She was helping.”
“Helping.” I nodded. “Right. Since you know so much … Whose brilliant idea was it that Taylor ‘help’—hers or Ryan’s?”
Heidi lifted her chin slightly. “Neither.”
It took me a second to realize what she meant. “It was your idea?”
“You weren’t supposed to find out,” Heidi said defensively. “If you hadn’t barged into the room, it would have been fine.”
“Fine?” I repeated. “Fine?”
“I tried to warn you.”
“Yeah. You’re such a good friend.”
“Come on, Lexi,” Heidi said. “We were never friends. Not really. Taylor and I were friends … and then you came along.”
I knew it. I knew she resented me moving here.
“Ryan and I were friends, too. Way before you.”
“When?” I scoffed. “Nursery school? He didn’t even remember you that day at the frog pond.”
Heidi blinked. And suddenly, her face crinkled up like a raisin.
I wasn’t expecting this. I realized, watching a fat tear roll down her cheek, that in all the years I’d known her I’d never seen her cry.
“Oh my God. Are you—”
“No.”
“Yes, you are. You’re—”
“Go,” she said, waving her hand fiercely, shooing me away. “Just go. Run a hundred miles.”
I stared at her.
“Go!”
“Fine,” I shot back. “I will run a hundred miles. But not because you told me to. Because that’s what I came here to do!”
My first lap, I ran hard. I was so pissed I didn’t even care that my legs hurt. A debate raged inside my head: who was the most deserving of my hatred right now? Taylor, Ryan, or Heidi?
I noticed—as I rounded the bend for lap number two—that Heidi wasn’t standing anymore. She was sitting, slumped over, on the players’ bench. Like a miserable, pink hunchback.
I so didn’t care that she was miserable.
I kept running as if I were in shape. As if I were still captain of the field hockey team.
My thighs screamed in protest.
Shut up, thighs.
Lap number three. Heidi was still slumping. And I was still fuming.
Only now I was having trouble concentrating on my anger. I was distracted by my lungs (two blazing infernos) and my legs (two lead pipes).
I made myself sprint the final stretch to the bleachers, but after that, I had no choice.
I had to stop.
“You’re … still … here?” I huffed, marching in place behind the players’ bench.
When Heidi turned around, her eyes were as pink as her sweat suit. “What do you care?”
I shrugged, trying to catch my breath.
“You think I’m pathetic, just like everyone else does.”
“And you…” I huffed, “…accused me—”
But Heidi cut me off. “You have no idea what it’s like … being the third wheel all the time. The girl everyone just … tolerates. The girl no boy would ever want to go out with. Of course Ryan didn’t remember me. Why would he?”
“Heidi—”
“No. It’s true. You think I don’t know? You think I don’t hear when you guys make fat jokes at the lunch table, right in front of me? You think I don’t know who you’re talking about? I wouldn’t like me, either.”
I shook my head, “I have never … made a fat joke … at the lunch table.”
“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter if it’s Kendall or Piper or someone else. You and Taylor are there. You don’t try to stop them.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. Heidi was right. When had I ever stood up for her?
“It’s like, by not saying anything, you’re agreeing.”
I shrugged. “I never knew it bothered you.”
“Sure you didn’t,” she muttered.
“Heidi,” I said, finally having enough oxygen to speak. “I’m serious. I didn’t know. You always seemed … well … impervious.”
“Don’t you mean oblivious?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
There was silence for a moment as Heidi turned away, gazing out at the football field. Then she sighed. “I guess I’m good at faking it.”
“You and me both,” I said, plopping down on the bench beside her.
She shot me a suspicious look. “What have you ever had to fake?”
“Lots of things … confidence … courage … a few weeks ago I had to fake like I didn’t care when some guys in the lunch line were talking about how fucked-up my face was, and how they would only hook up with me if there was a bag over my head.”
“What?”
Crap. I should not have said that. The last thing Heidi needed was more ammunition.
“That’s ridiculous,” Heidi said. “Your face is not fucked up.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. It’s … okay, your cheek does look weird when you first see it. I’m not going to lie to you. That patch thing … it makes you do a double take.”
“It’s called a graft,” I blurted. “They took skin from … well, from another part of my body, and they grafted it onto my cheek.”
“Sounds painful.”
“It was…. It’s not anymore.”
“That’s good,” Heidi said. “Anyway, the rest of you is still you and it just doesn’t matter…. Even with that crazy haircut, you’re still…” She squinted at me. “Ninety-five percent gorgeous. That’s the fucked-up part.”
“Right,” I nodded. “I’m so gorgeous that Ryan is chatting up every girl in school except me.”
“Forget Ryan,” Heidi said dismissively. “He’s a tool.”
“I thought you liked him!”
“I did—until I saw how little convincing he needed from me to cheat on you. And then I realized, Ryan Dano is a tool.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “Do you have any idea how hypocritical that sounds?”
“Yes. But in my defense, I didn’t exactly plan on him being a tool when I fell in love with him in nursery school. The fact that he peed in the sandbox should have clued me in, but somehow that only sealed the deal.”
“You’re funny,” I said.
“Yeah,” Heidi said with a wry smile. “The fat girl’s always funny. She has to be, to make up for being fat.”
I t
ook a deep breath. “You’ve got to stop talking about yourself like that.”
“Why? It won’t change anything.”
“You want to change?” I demanded. “Do you?”
Heidi shrugged. “Of course, but—”
“No buts. Do you want to change?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop insulting yourself,” I said. “And stop being such a bitch.”
Heidi’s eyes widened.
“You heard me. It’s bad enough that you pushed Taylor and Ryan together. But accusing me of taking those photos? That’s just…” I shook my head, disgusted. “I would never do something like that. To anyone.”
“You really didn’t do it?” Heidi said.
I shot her a look.
“Fine,” she said. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
“So, if you didn’t … who did?”
I hesitated for a second. “I’ll tell you what I know, but we don’t have much time before school and I have to run another mile.”
“Why?”
“I just do,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell Heidi about boxing, or Tiny, or Theo. “Come on,” I said, forcing myself up from the bench.
Heidi shook her head. “I can’t run a mile.”
“Sure you can…. Remember seventh-grade gym? We all had to do it.”
“Not me. I faked my period.”
“Well,” I said, “now’s your chance to un-fake it. Come on.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you want to hear what happened to Taylor or not?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. You’re running with me…. Come on. We’ll go slow.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
And then, I swear to God, Heidi Engle and I ran a mile together.
“Why do girls do that?” Theo asked when I’d finished telling the story.
“Do what?” I threw a jab with my right hand. The blue bag swayed slightly, and Theo steadied it.
“Hate themselves. Hate each other.”
“Because,” I grunted, throwing a left cross. My shoulders were on fire, but I wasn’t stopping. “We’re gluttons”—grunt—“for punishment”—grunt—“and we’re”—grunt—“highly”—grunt—“competitive”—grunt.
“Nice,” Theo said. “Let me see some hook uppercuts.”
“Hook,” I grunted, throwing with my right. “Uppercut—” grunt. “Hook—” grunt. “Uppercut—” grunt.
“Good … Remember to twist and snap on the hook…. My sister used to do that.”
“What?” Grunt.
“Beat herself up all the time. Worry what other people thought about her.”
“Oh.” I stopped punching and looked at him. “I thought you meant the way she boxed.”
Theo shook his head. “She never boxed.”
“Isn’t it a family business? Weren’t you given, like, teeny little boxing gloves as babies?”
“No. My dad’s been an insurance adjuster all his life. He opened the gym after Becks died as … you know … something positive to focus on…. His therapist suggested it.”
“Is it working?”
“The gym or the therapy?”
“Both.”
Theo shrugged. “He has his days. Mostly he holds it together. My mom, though … she’s still a mess…. She was hospitalized last year, after it happened…. She couldn’t handle it.”
I nodded. “Ruthie told me…. I hope that’s okay.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not ashamed of it. I just wish it helped. Mostly she lies in bed all day, staring at the ceiling.”
“I’m familiar with that technique,” I said.
From the way Theo was looking at me, I could tell he was waiting for me to say more—to reveal something deep about myself. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t explain about Johnny Depp without sounding pathetic.
So instead, I blurted, “Are you worried about her?”
Theo hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Is that why you don’t want to go to college?” I asked, instantly regretting the question, knowing it was too personal.
Sure enough, Theo frowned.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No,” he said. “It’s just … that’s what my dad keeps saying. ‘You can’t put your life on hold because of your mother. You have to think about your future.’ … Like it’s that easy. I can’t even leave for school in the morning without her crying. Imagine what would happen if I left home for good? She’s already lost one kid.”
I shook my head, not knowing what to say.
“Anyway,” Theo said, raising both hands to his chin and throwing a hard jab at the bag, “my dad went ahead and did it … without even asking…. He filled out the common application and sent it to fifteen schools.”
“Oh my God,” I said softly.
“He told me today. After they were already in the mail.”
“Is that even legal?”
Theo shrugged, throwing another jab. “Who the fuck knows?”
“How are you dealing?”
“Dealing?” Theo laughed, but not like he thought it was funny. “Like this,” he said, throwing an even harder jab, then a cross. “I know it sounds whacked, but sometimes I picture anorexia as, you know, an animate object, and I just pound the shit out of it for an hour.”
“It doesn’t sound whacked.”
“No?”
I shook my head.
“Right now,” Theo grunted, throwing a hook uppercut, “I’m picturing my dad.”
I steadied the bag for him. “When I was in the hospital, I used to picture Taylor, Ryan, and Jarrod lined up against the wall while I threw darts at their faces. Now, when I’m boxing, I picture football players.”
“Good thing,” Theo grunted, “to picture.”
“I can’t believe those guys are blatantly texting around Taylor’s photo and laughing about what happened. That’s just … sick.”
Theo bounced on his toes, nodding. “It is.”
“Assholes,” I muttered.
“Yup.”
Theo dropped his hands and—out of nowhere—asked whether I’d forgiven Taylor yet. I told him she still wasn’t back in school and, because she was grounded, I couldn’t just show up at her house.
“Your point being…”
“My point being I want it to be face-to-face.”
Theo nodded. “Gotcha.”
“What—you don’t think I’ll do it? You don’t think I’m capable of forgiving her?”
“No,” Theo said, “I know you’re capable of forgiving her. You’re capable of anything.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“Well…” he said, rubbing his chin slowly, like he was giving the matter thought. “You are Catwoman….”
“Yes, I am.”
“You do have some amazing powers….”
“Yes, I do,” I said, realizing as I said it that this conversation was taking a detour from the serious to the flirtatious.
And I didn’t exactly mind.
For the first time in weeks, my father was home for dinner. You could tell it was a big deal because my mother spritzed on the Shalimar, set the table in the dining room instead of the kitchen, and served up steak au poivre.
“Honey, this is fantastic,” my dad said.
My mother smiled, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate. “I’m glad you like it. It’s a new recipe.”
Because Ruthie wasn’t home for dinner—she was tied up in yet another band rehearsal—my father had no one to trade intellectual jousts with. As a result, the conversation ranged from such scintillating topics as grass-fed vs. corn-fed beef (grass-fed was better), the children’s choir at church (darling), and the weather (unseasonably warm).
Then, my father wiped his mouth on his napkin and turned to me. “Your mom told me about Taylor and the photographs that were posted on the Internet without her knowledge.”
“What?” I stared at my mothe
r.
Before she could open her mouth, my father was off and running. “Do her parents know…? Because if they don’t, somebody needs to inform them…. Voyeurism is a class D felony. Taylor may have a case.”
“Voyeurism?”
“Was she under the influence of alcohol?”
I nodded.
“Then she couldn’t give consent. If these boys knowingly, maliciously, removed her clothing and photographed her, they can be brought up on felony charges … assuming the photos are brought into evidence…. Do you know who they are?”
“The boys?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Not exactly … I mean, I know the guy who posted the pictures on MyPage, but that doesn’t mean he took them…. Everyone’s saying it was football players, but nobody knows who.”
“Well,” my father said dryly, “somebody knows. It’s just a matter of finding out … asking around.”
“Jeff.” My mother was shaking her head.
“What?”
“Alexa doesn’t need to be dragged into this—”
“I’m not dragging her into anything.”
“You’re not a private investigator.”
“I know that, Laine. I’m merely a concerned parent who happens to possess a certain amount of legal expertise. Expertise that might prove seminal in this particular case. All I would need to do to get the ball rolling is put in a call to Frank at the station and—”
“Jeff.”
“What?”
“You will do no such thing! Unless Taylor’s parents specifically ask you for legal counsel—”
“Hey,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table and springing to a stand. “Is that a car door I hear? I think Ruthie’s home!” Before my parents could launch back in, I made my escape.
I had not, in fact, heard a car door, but when I stepped out on the porch I did see a green Honda parked in the driveway. It wasn’t Ruthie’s car. It wasn’t a car I’d ever seen before. However, my sister was in the passenger seat and—as far as I could tell from my particular vantage point—she was making out like crazy with the driver.
Whaaat???
I pinched myself—not just once, but twice—to make sure I was really seeing this. It didn’t occur to me to look away and give them some privacy. I was too shocked. How could this have happened? How could I not have known that my sister was macking with some strange boy?
My Life in Black and White Page 19