After their obligatory look-at-us-standing-outside-and-smoking-right-on-school-property cigarette and some brief conversations with some popular boys that they knew from their last school, Harper, Alexis, Melissa, and Jen went to the cafeteria. Only losers brought bagged lunches from home—it had been the same in middle school—so they lined up for spicy fries with gravy on the agreement that they would split two orders between the four of them.
Jen and Melissa reeked of chlorine, but their damp hair appeared to have product in it and their makeup was done, so it was obvious that the shower had lost out in the war for time management after pool.
“At least it’s only for one semester,” Alexis said sympathetically, but sent a surreptitious smile Harper’s way.
When she finished her last fry, Harper was still starving, but it had taken her six months to lose the weight that she’d put on at summer camp after sixth grade. Luckily, she’d gotten rid of it before the real stakes of popularity began, and if anyone remembered that she’d had a not-so-perfect body at one time, they sure as hell kept it to themselves. Still, she didn’t want that tummy or extra weight around her face and sides ever again.
“I have to pee,” she announced, and the other three clambered up quickly to go with her. It was nice being the leader.
The others spent their time putting on lip gloss, making mirror-faces, and adjusting their hair and shirts while she used the toilet. They were the only four in the washroom until she heard the door open and the squeak of shoes walking toward the stalls. Her friends stopped talking for a few seconds, but as soon as a stall door closed, they began again.
“Oh my God, can you believe what she’s wearing?” Alexis said with a snigger, as if the stalls weren’t sixty percent open air. Harper ducked her head down a little and looked over. An unexpected feeling of dread came over her when she saw those worn-in sneakers and a black canvas bag on the floor.
“Like, dress for the gutter much?” Melissa said, and they laughed. Harper flushed the toilet and zipped her jeans as quickly as she could. She didn’t want the girl to see her with them. For the first time, Harper was embarrassed of her friends. As she washed her hands quickly, Alexis leaned in close. “You should ask Drusilla if that hottie’s single.” She motioned her head toward the stall.
Harper was irritated. Not only had Alexis already decided that she was interested in Could-Be-Taylor, but she was being mean to someone they’d never even met. “Let’s just go.”
As usual, no one argued. They made their way outside to meet up with Bronte and her friends to have a cigarette before afternoon classes. After learning how to smoke, Harper had promptly shown Alexis, Melissa, and Jen. The four of them were now pros.
Bronte excitedly introduced Harper as her little sister to a few girls, but when it came to the guys, she gave them a warning. “She’s only a niner, which means hands off, no matter what this little minx tells you.”
Bronte made her sound boy crazy, but Harper supposed she had done some work toward that reputation. After she’d dropped Andrew on Bronte’s orders—to Harper’s relief—she had made out with three other guys over the summer. It was only kissing, and she didn’t consider it even second base because their hands always stayed over her clothing. She had been trying to make a name for herself with them, and the fact that she could dispose of them so easily after made the whole thing a game to her.
Bronte had told her what high school guys expected based on their age, and she didn’t want to enter this world looking like a prude. If she had some experience under her belt and if multiple people could vouch for it, then maybe she wouldn’t have to hit those milestones with high school boys until she was ready.
It felt okay when she was drinking, mostly because, at that point, it didn’t feel like anything. Whenever they started to put their hands on her though, she had to resist the urge to completely freak out. So far, she had blamed her squeamishness and sudden disappearances at parties on rum, her period, and bad shrimp. The truth was, deep down, when she was with them, she wanted to be anywhere else.
The way the others talked about making out with guys, it sounded like the greatest thing in the entire world. Their eyes held that excitement, that look of electricity she had never quite been able to muster when talking about guys, no matter how hard she tried.
When the bell rang, they put out their cigarettes and headed to class. Unfortunately for Harper, she didn’t notice the P before the room number for her first afternoon class. By the time she realized she was in the wrong room, thanks to an irrationally annoyed teacher, she was already late. Portable 118 was outside by the track. As she hurried to find the right one, rounding the corners and weaving through the rows of one-room buildings, she ran headfirst into a wall. A person-shaped wall. A girl-person-shaped wall.
Harper knocked the girl flat on her back, and then landed on top of her with an inelegant grunt. The girl cried out when her head hit the pavement, and again when Harper dug into her stomach as she tried to right herself. Somewhere between trying to get up and knocking the breath out of the poor girl, Harper looked into her eyes. They were angry and the fiercest shade of blue she had ever seen. Harper, captivated, stopped struggling and stared. The girl’s skin was pale, and when she winced, deep dimples creased her cheeks. Her hair, disheveled and sticking out around her head, was light blonde—natural by the look of it—with the tips dyed lilac. She was face-to-face with Sarah Jamieson.
“Uh, can you get off of me?”
Harper flushed. “Sorry.” She rolled away and stood. In an uncharacteristically chivalrous gesture, she rushed to offer Sarah her hand. By the time Harper made it to her feet, however, Sarah was already standing and wiping bits of gravel and rock off of her jeans and picking them out of the palms of her hands. “Are you hurt?” Harper asked.
“No,” she answered bitterly, then almost reluctantly added, “are you?”
“No.” Harper shook her head. She didn’t like that Sarah seemed so pissed at her. She apologized again. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and some of her anger seemed to dissipate. “Just watch where you’re going with those things.” She nodded to Harper’s legs, and the shadow of a smirk flickered across her lips. She wore black lipstick to match her thick, dark eyeliner and mascara. Now, Harper understood why Alexis had referred to her as Drusilla, but it irked her that it was meant as an insult. So, she wore black makeup. Did that really make her a freak? Of course the answer was yes, but Harper told herself that it wasn’t.
“Oh, yeah.” Harper laughed lamely and rubbed her hand on the back of her head. It was something she did when she was nervous.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should see the nurse?”
“I don’t need a nurse.” Harper blushed. “I’ve got to get to class.” She turned abruptly and continued on to the portable. Finally, she found it, stepped inside, and reached behind her to close the door. It caught on something, and when Harper looked behind her to see what was wrong, Sarah was standing there. Great.
“You’re late,” the teacher called from the front. He pointed at two seats in the back of the class by the corner. Harper frowned. The only two open desks were right next to a group of geeks. She took the corner, forcing Sarah to sit next to the losers. Harper wasn’t sure sitting next to Sarah was any more bearable after the ass-hat she’d made of herself outside.
The teacher resumed the class, Introduction to Law, and dropped two heavy textbooks on their desks. Harper leaned down into her bag to pull out a pencil and notebook. A musky, sweet scent came from Sarah, like vanilla incense. After a few minutes, Harper grew bored of her introduction to law, and glanced at Sarah. She was doodling in the spine of her notebook. Without overthinking what she was doing, she wrote a note before she lost her nerve.
Sorry again. I’m Harper.
She slowly ripped the page from her notebook and handed it to the girl with a small nudge. They were at the back, and the teacher was facing the whit
eboard, so she didn’t bother with all the folding and furtiveness that usually accompanied note-passing in class. When the girl didn’t reach for the paper, Harper dropped it on her desk. The girl put her pencil in her mouth, looked at the note, then looked back at what the teacher was writing on the board.
She ignored Harper.
Harper sighed, annoyed, and the girl finally looked down at the note. Her gaze slowly met Harper’s, who nodded in encouragement and looked away again quickly. In a movement that was torturously slow, Sarah studied the note. After what seemed like ages, she wrote something but didn’t pass it to her. Instead, she nodded her head to the paper, as if signaling that Harper could take it back now. She wasn’t even going to meet her halfway. Curiosity beating out pride, Harper leaned over and grabbed the note.
I’m Sarah. Your friends are bitches.
Harper couldn’t believe what she read. A large part of her wanted to shout “Do you know who I am?” Another part was embarrassed by what her friends had said about Sarah in the bathroom. How had she known that she’d been in there with them?
How do you know who my friends are?
She dropped the note on Sarah’s desk again. The response came quicker this time, and she grabbed for it.
I saw you with them at lunch. We have English together.
Of course, Harper already knew they had English together, just like she already knew her name was Sarah Jamieson. How could Sarah have seen her with her friends when Harper hadn’t even been able to get a glimpse of her face?
How do you know Taylor?
Sarah’s response came quickly this time, and she actually handed it to her.
Who?
Okay, so maybe his name wasn’t Taylor.
The guy who sits next to me in English.
If you like my brother, you should learn his name. It’s Tyler.
Taylor—no, Tyler—was her brother? Something about that just seemed wrong. Harper didn’t like him the way Sarah thought she did. Not that she planned to tell Sarah that.
What school did you go to before? I haven’t seen either of you around.
Our Lady of Worship. My elbows hurt. You hit hard for a girl.
Harper smirked and her face flushed with heat.
I’m sorry about your elbows. The Amazons around here should really look where they’re going. It’s all fun and games until someone takes someone’s elbows out behind a portable.
Harper wanted to write more but couldn’t think of anything witty, and thought she’d better leave it at one lame joke before completely humiliating herself. Sarah scribbled a response, and Harper could feel her watching out of the corner of her eye as she read it.
It wasn’t all bad. I think you rearranged my spleen. It’s happier now. It’s been getting into it with my liver lately. You can fall on me anytime.
Harper let her hair fall over her face to hide the flush in her cheeks, but she was smiling at the same time. Sarah had a decent sense of humour. Even though Harper wasn’t used to being teased, she didn’t mind Sarah doing it. In fact, she wished it could continue, but class would be over soon. Harper wanted to get one more line in.
Cool. Well if you see me around, you can say hi.
Harper watched with anticipation as Sarah wrote back and dropped her response on her desk when the bell rang. Sarah left, a bit rushed, before she read the note.
Thanks, Your Highness.
If she had been blushing before, her face was on fire now. Who did Harper think she was? Sarah didn’t know her, and she expected her to be flattered because Harper said she could say hi. I’m such an ass.
CHAPTER 2
Sarah hated school. She hated the students and she hated the classes. Academically, she did well enough, but she didn’t see why this school or this class should be any different than those in her past. Besides, this one was even worse, because Harper Isabelle was in it.
What was it about girls like Harper that made them popular? How did everyone just know, as if born with the understanding, who was cool and who wasn’t? Whatever it was, for the first time, Sarah felt it. She felt herself being pulled toward Harper. Did she have that effect on everybody? Was that the reason she had somehow already become the most popular girl in their grade? Was it the way Harper’s long hair fell in beautiful, lustrous twists, where Sarah’s was only a shoulder-length, volume-less straight cut?
Harper sat with her back straight and her clothing hugged her in all the right places, forming perfect creases across her stomach and back. If she had even an inch of fat on her, she wouldn’t be able to pull that off. Although Sarah wasn’t big, she wasn’t skinny like Harper. She usually bought her clothes in the boys section because they were baggier and fit loosely, draping over her slightly hunched shoulders, which her mother told her was an indication of her lack of confidence.
“And who can tell me why the townspeople of Maycomb were so quick to condemn Tom Robinson?” Ms Cox walked between the rows of desks. It was something she did often during class. When no one answered, she paused by the front and leaned on her own, larger desk. “Is there something symbolic in Jem and Scout’s treatment of Boo Radley, and the way the town treats Tom?”
Ms Cox scanned the room, and Sarah’s stomach dropped when she stopped at her. “Sarah, can you tell me the answer?”
“I-I-I…” she stuttered. Please, not now. She knew the answer, but why did Ms Cox have to call on her? She was so self-conscious that she didn’t talk in class unless she had to because of her stutter, which had been ubiquitous since it started in the second grade, when the school separated her and Tyler. They put them in different classes to aid their social development. Yeah, right. What a joke that had been. Taking Tyler away had left her exposed, and with her shyness, her speech got worse.
“Try again,” Ms Cox said. It was supposed to be encouraging, but it wasn’t. Why couldn’t she just move on to someone else?
“They’re m-mocking birds.”
“What does she m-m-mean?” the boy behind her mimicked her stutter, and Sarah bowed her head.
“Out of my class.”
Sarah looked up sharply at Ms Cox. She was pointing the student in the direction of the door. This was new. At her old school, even the teachers had managed to earn Sarah’s ire by repeatedly failing to stick up for her when she was being bullied. She had expected no different here. High school was kakistocracy at its worst, and mob mentality at its height. Being caged inside one building with hundreds of sociopaths, she thought the teachers would more than likely be just the same as the students. No one had ever thrown a student out of class for making fun of her before.
“That’s excellent, Sarah.” Ms Cox pushed off her desk, seeming more at ease now that the boy had left the room. That made two of them. “And what do you mean when you say that they are mockingbirds of the story?”
This was also new. Her teachers usually thought she was a slow learner because of her stutter, her inability to express herself, and as a kid, she’d even been put in the special class. It wasn’t until Ms Dawson actually paid attention to her work in the second grade and realized that Sarah was expressing herself, just not verbally, that the school board realized she was in the wrong class. Her parents, ashamed that their daughter had special needs, had prayed for her to get better, and in their opinion, that made all the difference.
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” her father quoted, thanking the Lord in this case for giveth-ing. Unfortunately, the good Lord’s graces seemed to stop there. She’d prayed for years for the bullying to stop. She’d prayed to God to straighten out her tongue and rid her of her stutter, but God wasn’t listening.
With the encouragement of Ms Dawson, Sarah excelled at art, and by the time they began written assignments, Sarah was making straight As. After some testing, they moved her to the gifted program. Most of her teachers didn’t take the time to learn that about her though. They just passed over her like she wasn’t even there, and for the most part, she had gotten used to it.
Sarah closed her mouth when she realized that it was hanging open. Sure, she had decided that maybe, just maybe, Harper wasn’t a completely phony moron like the rest of her friends, but had she suspected her of possessing actual intelligence? She didn’t think so.
“That’s extremely insightful, Harper. Just be sure to raise your hand next time.” Ms Cox smiled, and moved to the whiteboard to make a note.
Sarah had never before given much thought to the in-crowd, other than for basic survival, such as how to avoid them. They were like a pack of hyenas to be circumvented if she didn’t want her school bag tossed over the fence. She’d never wanted to know anything about any of them, but she couldn’t look away from Harper Isabelle.
Girls like Harper made fun of her in the washroom. That was Sarah’s normal. She’d been on the receiving end of it since popularity became a thing in second grade. There was something different, though, when Harper’s friends did it. It hurt. It had only been the first day of school, and already she’d become a target.
Harper hadn’t acted the way girls like Harper usually acted though, and Sarah had been dumbstruck when Harper passed her a note in class. At first, she wouldn’t even reach for it, not wanting to see whatever insult was written on it. Instead, Harper Isabelle had been nice to her.
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