The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You

by Lily Anderson

  Subject: Urgent Student Information

  Due to a networking error on the part of the Messina Academy’s homework portal, the administration asks that all students turn in any and all assignments in hard copy. Deadlines for Tuesday’s assignments will be extended to Wednesday. The library and computer labs are available to those in need of printers. Please avoid use of your school email accounts until further notice.

  Regards,

  Dr. S. Mendoza, Ph.D., Ed.D.

  I popped out my headphones. “Frak.”

  [8:32 PM]

  Ben

  Two days and still no website.

  [9:47 PM]

  Ben

  Thanks for bringing me those Daredevil back issues today.

  Three days and no website. You’d think they’d change up the error code message.

  [7:22 AM]

  Ben

  Four days and no website. What are you guys even doing in Programming Languages?

  [7:23 AM]

  Me

  Worksheets. Why are you texting me when we’re standing across from each other?

  [7:23 AM]

  Ben

  Testing a hypothesis.

  [7:24 AM]

  Meg

  Who are you texting this early?

  [7:25 AM]

  Me

  Will you do my makeup before the dance tonight?

  [7:26 AM]

  Meg

  Of course. Like I trust you with your own face.

  [7:26 AM]

  Me

  Thanks?

  [7:26 AM]

  Harper

  You guys look crazy right now.

  [7:27 AM]

  Me

  I needed to point out to West that it’s rude to hold secret conversations in front of your friends.

  [7:28 AM]

  Cornell

  Did I miss a memo? When did we all take a vow of silence?

  [7:29 AM]

  Peter

  Are you guys having a secret nerd conversation that I won’t understand? I learn best through immersion.

  [7:31 AM]

  Meg

  Peter, will you pick us up at 6:45 tonight at Trixie’s? I don’t want to give my parents the chance to analyze you.

  [7:32 AM]

  Peter

  No problem.

  [7:33 AM]

  Harper

  This is a flagrant misuse of technology.

  [7:33 AM]

  Ben

  I’m going inside.

  20

  The sunlight was fading into shadows, leaving the sky stretched out like a bruised eggplant. The tulle of Meg’s skirt floated like one of the lavender clouds as she teetered in impressively tall sequined shoes, holding firmly to Peter’s arm. Walking behind them, I examined the elaborate up-do Meg had crafted in my bedroom with the assistance of a dozen unintelligible diagrams and Internet videos.

  I had narrowly avoided cauterizing my neck with a curling iron. My hair looked pretty much the same as it had when I’d taken it out of my ponytail. I pulled the mass of it over my shoulders for warmth and held my tiny purse a little harder as we followed the twinkling white lights in the sycamore trees toward the cafeteria.

  “Now that is a wedding dress,” Meg said under her breath as we approached the ticket table.

  The masses of white foofaraw that composed Mary-Anne’s skirt took up all of the space under the ticket table. A silver tiara shone from the top of her dark hair as she stretched her hand toward Peter for his ticket. Her upper lip arched into a perfectly calculated sneer, just low enough to keep the tip of her nose safe from being stained rosy pink.

  “Peter, your brother was looking for you guys,” she said. “He went to change.”

  “Change for the dance?” Meg asked. Even in her towering shoes, she had to tip her neck like a Pez dispenser to see Peter. “Isn’t he still banned from school events?”

  Mary-Anne ripped through their tickets and flourished them back to Peter. “Apparently not.”

  “He and my parents had another meeting with Mendoza earlier,” Peter said.

  Meg whacked him with the massive white corsage he’d attached to her wrist in the parking lot. “How could you not tell us? Does this mean he’s cleared?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything since they left the house.”

  “Well, if you go inside, you’ll see him soon enough,” Mary-Anne growled. “Let’s keep the line moving, shall we?”

  I handed her my ticket.

  “You look nice,” I said.

  Her scowl dimmed as she returned my ticket stub. “So do you. That eye shadow makes your eyes look less dreary. You should reapply your lip gloss, though.”

  I wasn’t wearing lip gloss. I’d swatted Meg’s hand away when she’d come at me with the goopy wand.

  “Good talk,” I said and moved with Peter and Meg through the doors of the caf.

  The froshlings had been busy in the hours since the sixth-period bell rang. The cafeteria was transformed by bolts of white and gold fabric that hung from the ceiling and washed the room in a dim glow. The long utilitarian bench tables where we ate lunch had been replaced by small clusters of round tables covered in white lace and sprigs of evergreen branches. The butcher paper poem hung at the far end of the room, spilling onto the floor underneath a balloon arch. A line of people stood in front of it, waiting their turn to use their phones to take posed pictures.

  Everything kind of smelled like stale grease and Pine-Sol, but I had to give the student council kudos for aesthetic.

  The band was set up in the corner where our lunch table usually resided. They wore white blazers and thin ties that seemed at odds with their battered instruments and scruffy facial hair. As the guitarist played a static-laden riff, I felt myself start to grin. The student council had entrusted band selection to Ben West and Ben West had delivered a band that would re-create the dance setlist from Back to the Future.

  The dance floor was packed with people clapping and capering. I doubted whether anyone else was jazzed to be listening to “Johnny B. Goode.” Everyone seemed to be giddy not to be studying. Even the teachers positioned around the room were less disgruntled than usual. Mr. Cline appeared to be singing along while Dr. Kapoor and Ms. Jensen cringed in secondhand embarrassment.

  Meg, Peter, and I skirted around the tables. Peter kept pausing to thank passersby for coming. Meg said something to me that was entirely drowned out by the music and I had to lean in close for her to shout in my ear.

  “Do you see Harper and Cornell?”

  “They’re probably dancing.”

  “Then let’s go find them!”

  Peter gave me a “Well, what can you do?” shrug as Meg dragged him into the throng. I hung back. I suddenly felt extremely exposed in a strapless dress. I’d left my coat in the minivan. The band started playing a Michael Jackson song and I watched as Brad Hertz attempted to moonwalk, knocking into bystanders as he went.

  A hand grabbed my elbow and I stumbled over my heels, nearly slamming into the nearest table.

  “Careful,” Ben said in my ear. “If you break your leg, I’ll never live it down.”

  I turned, straightening my skirt with my shaking hands. He cleaned up surprisingly well. Not a wrinkle or scuff in sight. He had opted for a navy-blue suit and maroon tie with a crisp white oxford shirt. A pair of red high-tops peeked out from under his pant cuffs. They matched his tenth-Doctor hairstyle to a T.

  You’re friends, I reminded myself. Be friendly. Not friendly-friendly.

  “Cool band,” I said with an airiness that didn’t quite match the frog in my throat.

  “How long until everyone realizes they don’t know anything written in the last thirty years?” He grinned at me, leaning in close to keep the shouting to a minimum. “Where are Meg and Peter?”

  I pointed toward the dance floor, where Meg was spinning in circles around Peter, her skirt flapping around her legs in a purple blur. Peter had his fists up, rocking from side
to side in true white-guy-dancing form. Ben laughed loudly.

  “Have you seen Harper and Cornell?” I asked.

  “They’re around somewhere. I saw them drive in while I was helping the band unload.” He paused, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Do you want some punch?”

  I clasped a hand to my chest in mock indignation. “Punch? I believe I was promised a soda.”

  “I left my backpack in the chem lab.” He flapped his hands, as though magicking me to the spot. “Wait here?”

  I nodded and watched him run out of the room. Pressing my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot, I made my way to an unoccupied table. I opened my purse, pulling my book out of its depths. With one more cursory glance to see if I could spot Harper and Cornell, I turned my attention fully to The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, using my cell phone to light the pages. It wouldn’t hurt to read for a minute or two.

  The evergreen branch centerpiece knocked into the cover of my book as the table jostled. I looked up and saw Mike Shepherd trying to push his way between empty chairs. A too-snug sport coat partially covered his school polo. His hair had been parted severely to one side.

  “Hey, Mike,” I called.

  He paused, craning his neck around to see me, like Bigfoot caught on film. “Oh, hi, Trixie. I was just, um, walking. Somewhere. I don’t know what to do here. I really don’t want to dance, in noun or verb form.”

  “Me either,” I said. I gestured at the empty chair he’d collided with. “Do you want to sit down?”

  I wasn’t sure how Ben would react to coming back to the table and seeing his ex–best friend, but I also didn’t want Mike to have to wander in circles for hours. Even at a school for nerds, the weirdest of the weirdoes needed to be able to stick together.

  Mike collapsed into the chair and pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his blazer. The NASA logo peeked out between his fingers as the screen lit up.

  “Two hours and seven minutes to go,” he said. The phone disappeared into his pocket again.

  “I know exactly how you feel. I’m also here under duress.” I smiled. “Harper and Meg guilted me into coming. And then they disappeared. I haven’t ruled out the chance that this is all an elaborate prank and everyone’s actually drinking Slurpees without me.”

  “I saw Harper and Cornell driving past my house. They were too dressed up for a trip to 7-Eleven,” he said, mirroring my smile. He reached out and righted the evergreen branch between us. “I don’t understand the point of things like this. It’s obvious that the student council will never make enough money to buy the cricket team’s whites.”

  “Ben’s projections say otherwise.”

  Mike seemed to digest this letter by letter. It could have been a mistake to mention Ben’s name. Maybe their feud was festering more than I assumed. I wasn’t sure how ending a friendship worked. Was there grieving along with all of the awkward nodding in the hallway?

  “I saw you guys talking,” he said suddenly. “You and, um, Ben. Are you guys friends now?”

  “Yes,” I said, carefully and tonelessly. “We’re friends now.”

  He flashed me a toothy smile. “Cool. He always felt bad about breaking your arm. Oh. Uh, don’t tell him I told you that.”

  “I-I won’t,” I stuttered.

  The band ended a song and there was a muffled tapping on the microphone.

  “If I could have your attention, please.”

  Mike and I turned to see Mr. Cline shooing the band away from the stage as he fussed with the microphone stand. The dancers transformed back into the pupils of a rigorous school for the gifted, standing at attention like they were about to be ordered to do recitations.

  “As you all are aware,” Cline boomed into the microphone, “this has been a period of upset in the storied history of this establishment. I would like to take this moment to formally apologize on behalf of the administration of the Messina Academy to four of our students who were wrongly accused of misdoings.” He paused, sneaking a glimpse at a piece of paper hidden in his palm. “Kenneth Pollack, Ishaan Singh, Alex Nguyen, and Jack Donnelly are exemplary young men, who, when faced with strife, did not waver in their studies.”

  I snorted as the rest of the room gave a lukewarm round of applause. The Mess wrongly accused four boys of cheating and all the administration had to say about it was that their grades didn’t take a hit. Mike also made a contemptuous sound.

  “In fact,” Cline said, “I have been told that without the tireless efforts of Jack Donnelly, we would not have been able to find the source of the issue. We owe him a great debt of thanks.”

  The crowd applauded again, this time with more enthusiasm. Someone on the dance floor called, “A hundred points to Slytherin!”

  “Yes, quite.” Cline squirmed. “The homework portal will be back online tomorrow morning and the ranking list will be updated and returned to the case at the sound of the last bell on Monday. Please enjoy the rest of your festivities. I know that I will. Play on, maestro!”

  “Trixie.”

  I popped my head up, startled to hear my name coming out of Jack Donnelly’s mouth. His black shirt was open at the collar and his hair was slick with sweat around his ears.

  “You need to come with me,” he said darkly.

  “Uh…” I looked at Mike, who was tacitly avoiding all eye contact. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not here to dance. Hence, the reading material.”

  I wiggled my book at Jack for emphasis and his face contorted into something like disgust. He bent low over the table, his large hands pressing into the lace tablecloth. I felt like a rat waiting to be dissected.

  “I found out who hacked into all of the probations’ files,” he said.

  “Um, congratulations,” I said. “Did Mendoza give you a medal?”

  “Trixie,” he said, staring at me with fathomless blue eyes. “It’s Harper. They expelled her. She’s leaving now.”

  “What?” Mike shouted over the sound of the drums kicking back up. “Harper wouldn’t do that.”

  He was right. Harper didn’t even like playing Jenga because she couldn’t abide ruining someone’s work. There was no way that she had framed four people for cheating. Jack had to be messing with me, getting his jollies by making me freak out.

  Knowing that didn’t stop me from hiking up my skirt and running.

  Blood pounded in my ears, turning everything around me into static. I was distantly aware of Mike calling my name, the slap of Jack’s shoes behind me, of people leaping out of my way as I sprinted through the quad, of the sound of my heels scratching up the brick stairs. I ricocheted down the hall in the main building, skittering against the waxed floor.

  “Miss Watson,” Mrs. Landry shouted at me as I tumbled into the admin office.

  “Harper,” I panted, catching sight of Dr. Mendoza’s open office door. His desk was unoccupied, although the chairs were all pushed out. “Where is Harper?”

  Mrs. Landry frowned at me, sitting down heavily in her desk chair. She zipped her purse with a decisive swoop.

  “She has been removed from campus. Now, if you and Mr. Donnelly would please return to—”

  I didn’t stay to listen to the lecture. I shoved Jack out of the doorway and ran out of the building toward the parking lot. I could just make out Cornell standing between two men that, as I approached, I realized were Dr. Mendoza and Harper’s dad.

  Mr. Leonard took a backward step toward his car. He was wearing his shirt and tie from work, but his jacket was missing. He glared at Dr. Mendoza. “Stuart, really. The campus is crawling with my daughter’s peers.”

  Mendoza turned to me and Jack stiffly. “Miss Watson, I must ask you to return to the dance. Jack, you were just removed from probation. Please don’t make me reconsider that decision.”

  “Sorry, Trixie,” Jack grumbled, bowing out. He saluted Mendoza before retreating back through the front gate.

  Behind Mr. Leonard, I could see Harper tucked into the front seat of their b
lack town car. She was ghostly pale, her hair piled on top of her head in a wide bun held in place with a glittering band that looked like a collection of delicate snowflakes. She stared straight ahead, holding her father’s jacket over her chest. A glint of pink chiffon peeked out at her shoulder, a whisper of the night she’d thought she was going to have.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face. I could feel a trickle of cold sweat between my shoulder blades. “There’s no way that Harper could or would mastermind this kind of crap. She would never go out of her way to hurt people.” I looked at Cornell, who stared pointedly at his shoes. “Tell them, Cornell. You know that she would never—”

  “Not that it is any of your concern, Miss Watson,” Mendoza said, “but Mr. Aaron has already provided his deposition.”

  “His deposition?” I gaped around at three impassive faces. “This is a federal case now?”

  Cornell’s shoulders tensed. He raised his head for the first time. This was not the laughing face that sat across from me at lunch or the lovesick boy who held Harper’s hand when he thought no one was paying attention. He was severe with his mouth drawn into a haughty frown.

  “Before the network went down, someone got into my account,” he said steadily. His eyes slid to the side, but he seemed to think better of looking directly at Harper. He flattened his hands over his suit jacket, smoothing the buttons. “All of my grades were changed. Not a lot. Enough to make sure that I wasn’t first place in the ranking. Enough to make sure that Harper was.”

  I threw up my hands. “That’s it? Just because someone didn’t want you to be valedictorian doesn’t mean that Harper did anything wrong.”

  “Jack proved that the IP address matches, Trixie,” he said. “And you heard her on Monday. Talking about how the school has been too hard on us, how we were all being pushed too far—”

  “Enough,” Mr. Leonard said. “We’re leaving.”

  “Mr. Leonard,” I blurted. If he took Harper, then her expulsion would be real. If she could get out of the car, she could explain that she was innocent and all of this would go away. Harper could explain anything away. That was her superpower. “You don’t believe this. You know that this is wrong, don’t you?”