“Yeah. Amy was taking this summer class. Getting ahead with her credits.”
Lizzie laughed. “And she ending up dropping out of school instead.”
“She didn’t drop out exactly. Her mom is sending her to private school.”
“Well, you were right to say something.”
Lizzie pulled out her phone and checked her messages, which was good, because it meant she didn’t see the look on my face. The look that said I was surprised and totally thrilled that she thought I’d been right.
“I wish other people thought so. All my friends hate me.”
“So make new friends,” Lizzie said.
I glanced over to see if she was joking, but she wasn’t. As if making friends was that simple. Maybe for her, it was.
Lizzie didn’t have any idea what it was like to be a regular person. In her world, she was the one calling the shots. She got to decide what was cool and what was worth worrying about and who she’d be friends with. I wondered what it felt like to have all that power. Did she even realize she had it? Probably not. Girls like her were oblivious.
“Everyone hates me,” I said. “The whole school is talking about what I did.”
“Look, it’s not that big of a deal, OK? So your friend fucked a teacher. So you told some people. Who cares?”
“Um. It seems like a lot of people care.”
“Listen, Little Creely,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly, “none of this matters.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, hating how insecure I sounded.
“You did what you thought you had to do. Stand by it.”
I wanted life to be as straightforward as she made it sound, as straightforward as it apparently was for her.
“You’ll get through this,” Lizzie said, standing up to go.
I wanted to ask her to stay, to tell me over and over again that everything was going to be OK. Instead, I said, “Thanks for the advice.”
“It’s nothing. Anytime.”
Then she left. But her words stuck with me.
Anytime.
Though I knew it was probably just something she said to be nice, I got a weird thought in my head. Maybe Lizzie really wanted to help me. Maybe she was someone I could talk to about my problems without her judging me.
I had this image of a Lizzie who wouldn’t tell me I was crazy if I suspected Mr. Kaminski had bombed that bridge. She wouldn’t even flinch if I said I didn’t actually think he was a terrorist, that it just popped into my head and almost made sense, so I said it out loud. That even as I was calling Amy’s mom, I knew I was doing something stupid, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I could tell her how disconnected I felt since starting high school. How suddenly life was all about dances and football games and who was hooking up with who, and I didn’t know how to be a part of that world and just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. I wanted friends who talked about characters from books like they were real people, friends who would make up elaborate games with me because anything we imagined was better than something that already existed. I wanted friends who loved me even if I didn’t wear the right clothes or know the lyrics to the right songs or have crushes on the right celebrities.
Maybe I could even tell Lizzie it seemed as if everyone else wanted a completely different life than the one I dreamed about and how lonely that made me feel. I wanted more than high school, then college, then some stupid job I didn’t care about. I wanted to be swept away on a magical adventure. But so far, I was still waiting for that to happen, and I was starting to suspect I’d be waiting forever. And maybe Lizzie would look me in the eyes and say, “Little Creely, I know exactly what you mean.”
Lizzie could teach me how to ignore all the people who thought I was broken and strange. She’d teach me how to fit in, how to be likable. How to be like her. She’d take me under her wing so it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, because if I had her approval, I’d have everyone’s. Even if no one else understood me, she would. We could dream together.
Even at the time, I knew it was stupid to imagine Lizzie as some kindred-spirit/mentor person. But I couldn’t stop my train of thought. That’s why, when I went to the locker room during lunch the next day, I was kind of hoping Lizzie would be waiting there for me.
She wasn’t, but Emily was.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said.
“You’re speaking to me again?”
“I never stopped speaking to you.”
Technically, this was true. She might have tried calling, but I’d turned off my cell phone and told my mom I was never talking to anyone from school ever again. I said it was because I didn’t want everyone telling me how much they hated me and threatening my life. But really, I was most afraid of turning my phone back on and finding out no one had tried to get ahold of me at all.
I sat down on the bench next to Emily.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.
“There’s not much to talk about. I really messed up.”
“No, Mr. Kaminski messed up.”
“Then why is everyone so mad at me?”
“Amy is mad at you,” Emily said. “Everyone else just likes to gossip.”
That didn’t change the fact that I could feel people staring at me when I walked down the hall and hear them whispering behind my back. It didn’t change the fact that I’d pretty much ruined my chances of having a normal high school experience. I would always be the girl who couldn’t keep a secret.
“What about the terrorist thing?” I asked Emily.
“Well. That part was stupid.”
“I just wanted something interesting to happen.”
“You got your wish,” Emily said, laughing a little.
“No. Not like this. I mean I wanted to uncover a terrorist plot and save the school seconds before we were all blown to pieces or something.”
“I know. That’s not how the world works though.”
“The world sucks.”
“Come on,” said Emily, standing up.
“I can’t go back to the cafeteria.”
“We’ll find somewhere else to eat.”
“Won’t you miss everyone?”
“Believe me, Hawthorn, I don’t fit in with them any more than you do.”
So we left the locker room, and though I was happy to have Emily on my side, I couldn’t stop thinking of Lizzie. I pictured her going to the locker room, expecting to find me but being disappointed when I wasn’t there. I wondered what would happen when we ran into each other again.
I didn’t see Lizzie for nearly a week, which gave me plenty of time to build up our connection in my head. I was running down the hall, late for the bus, when I passed Lizzie at her locker with some of the other cheerleaders.
I didn’t want to approach while she was with her friends, but it didn’t seem like a better opportunity was going to present itself. Pushing aside my fear of the bus leaving without me, I walked up to Lizzie.
“Hi,” I said.
I could immediately tell it was a mistake, because Lizzie gave me a blank look, as if she’d never seen me before.
“Who are you?” asked one of the other cheerleaders.
“I, um…”
Who was I? The girl from the locker room? The girl who snitched on a creepy teacher? The awkward girl with no friends? I couldn’t think of a single way to describe myself without sounding like a complete loser.
“Oh, right, Little Creely,” Lizzie said after a moment. “This is Rush’s sister.”
I guess that was my answer. I was a footnote in the book of Rush.
One of the girls nudged Lizzie. “Are you using Creely’s sister to get close to him?”
Everyone giggled. Except me.
“Yeah, right,” Lizzie said, rolling her eyes. “Like I’d need an excuse.”<
br />
“He’s totally in love with you,” said the brunette cheerleader who was always two feet behind Lizzie, like she was being pulled by a leash. The other girls nodded.
“Who isn’t?” asked another girl, and they all laughed. Lizzie didn’t bother denying it.
In the locker room, alone with Lizzie, I’d felt too big for my skin. In the hallway with her friends, I felt tiny. So small that I was barely visible. A speck of dust. Little Creely.
Their conversation, centered entirely on Lizzie, continued around me. I stood there, shrinking more and more every moment.
None of the girls were paying attention to me, and I didn’t know what to do. I had just decided to walk away when Lizzie fixed her eyes on me and asked, “Did you want something?” as if finally remembering I was there.
Yes, I wanted something. I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to be my friend. I wanted her to make me cool.
“Um…”
Everyone stared at me, waiting. I knew my face must be red.
“Well?” Lizzie prompted.
It would have been easier if she had been mean to me. Then I could say she was a terrible person and shrug off the incident. It was her indifference that hurt the most. I didn’t mean anything to her. The locker room conversation had been nothing more than a way to pass the time. She hardly remembered it—or me. I was insignificant.
“It’s nothing,” I said and slunk away.
Behind my back, I heard one of the girls say, “She’s related to Rush?”
And everyone laughed. Even Lizzie.
By the time I got outside, the bus had left. I walked home, burning with shame the entire way. I knew I would never speak to Lizzie again. I vowed not to think about her. For the rest of the year, the rest of the time we were in high school together, I pretended Lizzie Lovett didn’t exist.
But I couldn’t completely block her out. Every once in a while, I’d pass her in the halls, laughing with her friends, carefree and enjoying every second of her charmed life. Then the bitterness would creep in, and I’d wonder why she got to have it so easy.
The thing is, Emily was right. I was jealous of Lizzie, but not of how pretty and popular and perfect she was. I envied Lizzie’s happiness. It seemed unfair that she should have so much of it when other people had so little.
• • •
I still cringed when I remembered how naive I’d been, thinking Lizzie and I had some special connection.
In between my last conversation with Lizzie and her disappearance, three years had passed. After the situation with Mr. Kaminski blew over, I went through high school mostly unscathed. Sure, I never really made new friends, but I had Emily, and that was enough. Lizzie graduated and moved away. She was part of another life, one that only vaguely resembled the one I was living now.
But still, her disappearance was enough to turn back the clock and make me an embarrassed, awkward freshman again. It didn’t matter that it had happened a long time ago. I would always hate Lizzie for the way she made me feel in the hall that day.
Like I was nothing at all.
I looked out the window at my dark neighborhood, willing myself to think of something else, anything else, but I couldn’t get Lizzie off my mind. I wondered where she was. If she was happy. How long it would be before she turned up.
Mostly, I just wanted Lizzie to be found so I could go back to not thinking of her.
There was another part of me though, a very small part, that wanted her to stay missing a while longer. Not that I hated her so much that I wanted her to be lost or in pain, but it was kinda nice to have a mystery in the Mills. Once it was solved, the explanation was sure to be totally boring, like when you read a whodunit and end up wishing you’d stopped before you got to the end. The truth was always a letdown.
Besides, when Lizzie eventually showed up, it was going to be a huge deal. The town would celebrate, and everyone would act like Lizzie’s homecoming was the biggest miracle that had ever happened. When it came down to it, I’d rather listen to speculation about Lizzie’s whereabouts than watch everyone worship her when she returned. I’d already experienced enough Lizzie worship to last a lifetime.
Chapter 4
The New Lizzie
On the morning after the morning Lizzie disappeared, there was a big article about her on the front page of the Griffin Mills Daily Journal. The paper was sitting on the kitchen table when I went downstairs, and I figured I’d hear people talking about it at school all day, which is why I almost ignored it. But my curiosity got the best of me.
My family wasn’t around, so I sat down and grabbed the paper without them making annoying comments about how they thought I wasn’t interested in Lizzie.
I didn’t read the article at first, because it was impossible to pay attention to anything other than Lizzie’s photo, which was obnoxiously big. In it, Lizzie was staring straight at the camera with a half smile on her face. The sun was behind her, making her hair into a halo. It was Lizzie all right, pretty Lizzie Lovett. But she wasn’t how I remembered her.
Where was the cheerleader who always looked like she was on her way to a photo shoot? This Lizzie wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her long hair was messy, as if she hadn’t bothered to comb it. She was wearing a loose-fitting men’s dress shirt, which was nothing like the clothes she wore in high school, meaning you couldn’t see her perfect body at all.
This new Lizzie was almost more annoying than the old one. You could imagine old Lizzie waking up three hours early every day to make sure her eyeliner was expertly smudged and the ends of her hair had just the right amount of curl. You could tell yourself that old Lizzie spent her free time exercising and tanning and moisturizing, and that was why she looked as perfect as she did. That if you were willing to dedicate the same attention to your appearance, you could look “effortlessly” gorgeous too.
The Lizzie who stared out from the front page of the paper actually hadn’t put in any effort, and she was about a thousand times prettier than she’d ever been before.
I directed my attention to the article and skimmed it, even though I was pretty sure it wouldn’t say anything new, which turned out to be correct. Elizabeth Lovett, twenty-one years old and formerly of Griffin Mills, Ohio, had gone camping in the woods off Wolf Creek Road. She’d been with her boyfriend, Lorenzo Calvetti, twenty-five, of Layton, which was two towns over. They hiked, set up camp, made s’mores, and all that jazz. According to Calvetti, everything seemed normal; his girlfriend seemed happy. They went to bed around ten. The next morning, Lizzie was gone.
I flipped to page three where the article continued. There was another photo, smaller and in black and white. It was also way more fascinating than the one on the front page, because it showed the new, disheveled Lizzie with her arm around Lorenzo Calvetti.
I brought the paper closer to my face. It was a pretty terrible picture, taken from far away and too grainy to show many details. But you could see the huge grins on Lizzie’s and Lorenzo’s faces. They looked like the sort of couple who never had a single bad thing happen to them, certainly not the sort of couple in which one member disappears in the woods.
“Is that article about Lizzie?”
I jumped.
Rush hovered in the kitchen doorway, still looking a little undead.
“Don’t sneak up on me.”
My brother shrugged and sat in the chair across from me. He nodded at the paper. “What do you think?”
“He’s not as handsome as I expected him to be.” I glanced down at the picture again. “Actually, he’s not really handsome at all.”
“Not about him. I don’t care about him,” Rush said, which was certainly a lie.
“I bet they’ll find her today,” I said.
“Or find her body,” Rush said darkly.
I rolled my eyes. “She’s not dead. And even if she was, what’s it to you?”
He didn’t answer, so I went back to the article. There wasn’t much more to read. A search party had gone through the woods near the camp. Today, they’d be expanding their area of focus. There was a list of Lizzie’s stats at the end, twenty-one years old, five feet six inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Last seen wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt, hiking boots, and a pendant in the shape of a wolf’s tooth. Then the obligatory plea to call the police with any information that might assist them, blah, blah, blah.
I tossed the paper on the table and wondered about the wolf pendant.
“You already read it?” I asked Rush.
“Online.”
“Then you saw the picture.”
“She looks different, huh?”
“What happened to her after high school?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I haven’t seen her since the graduation parties. I don’t think anyone’s seen her.”
“She moved to Layton, not Africa. Certainly, someone has hung out with her.”
“If they have, they didn’t tell me.”
Maybe that’s how it was after high school. Maybe you just left and became someone new. That gave me hope for the future.
I stood up. “Wanna get a breakfast burrito with me before mom tries to feed us soy sausage?”
Rush hesitated, and I had time to imagine that he’d say yes, and we’d leave the house to get drive-through and sit eating greasy burritos in the parking lot, talking and laughing like we used to when he was just Rushford Creely, my big brother, before all the distance in the social hierarchy came between us.
But that didn’t happen, because it was real life, not some feel-good movie. What actually happened was Rush said he wasn’t really hungry, maybe some other time. It wasn’t a big deal. A burrito tastes good even if you’re eating it alone.
• • •
The second day of the disappearance, I was prepared for the drama at school, so I wasn’t surprised when I heard Lizzie Lovett’s name roughly ten times before the first bell rang. Everyone seemed to have their own opinion of what had happened to her.
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 3