by Meg Haston
Molly’s head snapped toward us. She shuddered when her eyes fell on mine, like she’d just gotten a chill. “When did those happen?” she blurted, flicking her braided pink streak indignantly away from her face.
“Molly!” Nessa smacked Molly’s desk, then shrugged apologetically at me.
“They’re temporary,” I said tightly. At least one of my friends had the decency to give it to me straight. “Like the brac—my… mouth problem.”
Then I reached across Liv’s desk and snatched Molly’s phone from her grasp.
“You don’t want to do that.” Liv made a halfhearted grab for the cell, but I turned quickly, using my body as a barricade. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“Morning, Marquette.” My tiny image glowed in an open YouTube window. Liv’s oversized flannel flower was bobbing in the bottom corner. “And welcome to this week’s edition of—”
“Thhhhhhhimon Thhhhhheetttttthhhh,” an unidentified female voice lisped over my moving lips. My banana milkshake did a three-point turn in my stomach and sped toward the back of my throat. I swallowed.
“I’m—”
“Kaaaaytheeee Thhhhhhimon.”
“—here to—”
“Give you people adviiithhhhhhh.”
I gripped the phone harder, the rhinestone snowflake decals pricking my skin like tiny blades.
“Okay. Phones off. Let’s go ahead and get started,” Sean said.
But I didn’t budge. I wanted to. I wanted to throw Molly’s phone on the floor and stomp it into oblivion. Torch it. Throw it out the window. Whatever I had to do to MAKE THE LISPING STOP. But for some reason, my body refused to listen to my brain. My eyes stayed on the razor-sharp image of my public humiliation. Why had I picked today, of all days, to start seeing clearly?
“Kacey. Phone off, please, or it’s mine.” Sean hovered over my desk, extending his outstretched palm. Seconds later, I felt the phone slide out of my grip, and then it disappeared into the pocket of Sean’s khakis.
“Great,” Molly hissed. “Thanks, Kacey.”
Did I hear a lisp, or was my brain playing tricks on me? My glasses started to fog. Stop. Don’t let them do this to you.
Sean headed for the white SMART Board behind his desk and uncapped a red dry erase marker. “Today, we’re going to see what the court system looks like in action by reenacting a legal case study.”
A few rows ahead, Quinn yawned, as if I hadn’t just been ripped to shreds on the Web. How could a guy with hair that soft be so callous? The snakeskin belt around my hips felt like an actual python, squeezing the life out of me. Maybe Quinn didn’t like me after all. Maybe he never had.
Liv nudged my chair leg apologetically, but I pretended not to feel it. Traitor.
“Under your desks, you have a mock trial transcript with your role highlighted in yellow.” Sean rolled up the sleeves of his plaid button-down. “We’ll act out day one of the trial and break into small groups for discussion tomorrow.”
Everyone reached under their desks. My packet said Witness #1. On any other day, I would have believed I deserved a much better part, like the prosecutor, or the judge. Now, I wished I’d been assigned the role of Invisible Girl.
Sean pointed out everyone’s places. Molly, the judge, settled into Sean’s desk and Liv and Nessa huddled together in the jury box, while I crowded behind all the other bit parts at the back of the class.
“We’ll start with the prosecution’s opening statement,” Sean said.
“That’s me,” Paige piped up, throwing her shoulders back. She turned to face the jury box. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” She overacted her entire statement, wrapping up with, “The prosecution calls Kacey Simon to the stand.”
“That’th you,” whispered a guy’s voice somewhere to my left. I stomped to the front of the room and slammed into the chair next to Sean’s desk. My glasses tumbled down the bridge of my nose, and I shoved them back with my index finger.
“Raise your right hand?” Imran Bhatt the Bailiff said authoritatively.
I lifted my right hand. It was shaking.
“I, Kacey Simon, do solemnly swear…”
My vision blurred. No. I can’t use the letter s. I pursed my lips over my braces, but my mouth wouldn’t close all the way. The sharp metal dug into the backs of my lips.
“I, Kacey Simon, do solemnly swear…” Imran repeated loudly.
“I… K-Kaythee Thimon, do tholemnly thwear—” I half choked, half whispered.
The classroom went so quiet, I could hear the creak of the radiator under the window.
“To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me—”
A weird gurgling noise escaped my throat. I glanced pleadingly at Sean, but he just nodded.
“To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, tho—”
Someone snorted in the back of the room.
“Order!” Molly whacked the edge of Sean’s desk with her rolled-up script. “Let the witness… talk!”
I glanced over at her, grateful until I saw that her shoulders were shaking. Her lips were twitching, trying not to break into a smile. In the jury box, Liv and Nessa shielded their mouths with their scripts.
I stared, disbelieving, while Molly leaned back in her chair, drinking in my humiliation. Her blue eyes sparkled, the way they always had when I’d said something hilarious about one of the unfortunates at Marquette. And now, she was the one… I was the…
I couldn’t even finish the thought.
The trial in Sean’s class might just have gotten under way, but the trial in my head was already over. And the verdict was guilty. For everybody. Including my so-called friends, who hadn’t even faked being mad about the YouTube thing. How many times had I saved Molly from wearing some stupid horseback riding/parallel bars–flipping/figure-eight skating outfit to school? Or made one of Liv’s designs so popular she completely sold out? Or helped Nessa study for a test so she could keep her one-hundred average?
“Okay, let’s keep going,” Sean said as a few more giggles rose at the back of the class.
My frames were burrowing into my skin, getting heavier with each passing second. I tore them off. But not before I caught a glimpse of Paige, standing alone behind the prosecutor’s desk. She stared at me for a few seconds, then blinked like she might cry. Quickly, I lowered my eyes to the desk in front of me. MT + RJ was carved in the very center.
It might as well have read U R OVR.
THE WRITING’S ON THE STALL
Tuesday, 3:13 P.M.
The door to the girls’ bathroom had barely closed behind me when the tears started. Actually, they were more like choking sobs, magnified by the gray tiled floor and empty metal stalls. I stumbled into the second stall, locked the door, and curled onto the seat.
Somehow, I’d managed to get to last period without anyone seeing me cry. During lunch, I’d hidden away in the studio, picking out a Simon Says: Greatest Clips reel for Thursday’s broadcast so I wouldn’t have to show my face on air. But when last period came and I got a pink slip from the school psychologist’s office in front of the whole class, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I left. In the middle of class. Which would inevitably result in another pink slip. Fingers crossed, I’d get expelled.
The clang of the final bell cut through my gasps. I wiped my glasses on my cardigan sleeve and plucked the last remaining square of toilet paper from the roll. When I blew my nose, snot soaked through the tissue and slimed my fingers.
“Awethome,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my jeans.
“—just left like that, right in the middle of class.” The bathroom door creaked open, and noise from the hallway invaded my sanctuary. “It’s like she’s gone psycho or something.”
Molly. Sucking in my breath, I lifted my sneakers off the floor and planted them silently on the toilet seat. Through the crack in the stall, I watched a pink streak and a sliver of a black mesh V-neck pause at the middle sink.
/> “She just suffered a major social trauma,” Nessa’s voice countered evenly. “Actually, she suffered, like, six.”
Fresh tears stung the inside corners of my eyes.
“Psychologically speaking, it makes sense that she would wig out,” she continued. A pair of high-waisted knit pants, her unfortunate souvenir from last semester’s London trip, slipped past my peephole. What were those pants doing in daylight? Had I not explained that knits were even more unforgiving than I’d be if she ever wore those in public? Was she blatantly disregarding my fashion opinion? “Diagnostically speaking, I’d say she suffers from a raging case of P.U.F.D.”
“What’s that?” Molly giggled.
“Pretty Ugly Freak Disorder,” Nessa said gravely. “There’s no known cure. And it’s contagious.”
“Ew!” Molly gasped.
I swallowed a sob and squeezed my knees to my chest, wondering how small I’d have to make myself before I could disappear entirely. I couldn’t believe Nessa would talk about me like that. My hands shook with rage.
Liv’s ankle bracelet jangled as she hoisted herself onto the sink. “Don’t you kind of feel bad for her, though? It’s like The Universe is coming down on her.”
“She deserves it!” The heel of Molly’s moto boot collided with the floor. “Have you forgotten how mean she’s been lately? Or, like, always?” Her voice grew louder.
Liar! I fought the urge to cover my ears, to block the sound of her voice from my brain. I’ve never been anything but honest!
“Nessa. Remember that time she told you it was a really good thing you spoke three languages, because it would help guys forget about the fact that you still don’t have boobs?”
“I have a boyish figure,” Nessa said tightly. “Kacey said it was chic.”
“And then she e-mailed you a coupon for a push-up bra,” Liv reminded her.
That. Was. A. FAVOR.
“And Liv,” Molly said. “Remember when you wanted to start a style blog?”
“Yeah.” Liv’s voice was soft. I shifted forward in my seat. “She said nobody else would ever be able to pull off my style so I should stick to designing accessories. It was a compliment.”
“No, she said,” Molly went on, “that your accessories speak louder than your typos.”
“Yeah! And didn’t she say telling people to raid their grandparents’ closets wasn’t good ‘style advice’?” Nessa interrupted.
“That’s because their grandpas aren’t as cool as mine,” Liv grumbled.
I chomped down on the inside of my cheek. Of all people, my so-called friends should’ve understood. I’d always told them the truth because I loved them! Would a real friend let Nessa roam the halls with the body of a sixth-grade boy? No. And would a true gal pal let Liv blog about how she chose to wear her grandpa’s clothes? Never!
“See what I mean?” Molly’s boots squeaked across the tiles as she paced. “She says all this really mean stuff, and then tells us she’s being honest for our own good. And we’re supposed to thank her for it?”
A cold sweat had practically shellacked the shrink’s pink slip to my palm. How could Molly be so ungrateful when we were supposed to be best friends? We’d even bought friendship bracelets last year without telling the other girls. Mine was on my bedside table. I wondered if Molly had ditched hers already.
“Not me,” Nessa said fiercely. “Not anymore.”
“I still say she’s trying to help,” Liv held out. “But…” She sighed. “What goes around, comes around.”
“Exactly,” Molly agreed. Finally, she stopped pacing. “And do you really want to be hanging around her now that it’s payback time?”
I’d never heard Molly talk like this, ever. Her voice was so strong… so confident. Was she really trying to take over? To replace me?
“Honestly, girls? I’m done. And unless you want to go down with her, you will be, too.”
“Done?” Liv echoed. The word hung heavy in the air. Suddenly, it felt like Molly had knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breathe. Done.
“Do you want to end up on YouTube?” Molly asked.
“No,” Liv said quietly. “But what if she—”
“Realistically, what’s she gonna do now?” Nessa said.
“Yeah. Nobody cares what she thinks anymore, anyway,” Molly observed. “Not after this morning.”
“True.” Liv hopped down from the sink. Her ankle bracelet sounded like shackles.
“Come on, girls. We’re gonna be late for rehearsal.” Molly shuffled toward the door and pulled it open.
Done. The Sharpie graffiti on the back of the stall door began to swim as a fresh batch of tears flooded my eyes.
Wait! I wanted to scream. You have it all wrong!
My lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. And then the door closed, and I was left utterly, completely alone.
THE DOCTOR IS IN
Tuesday, 3:42 P.M.
THE ONLY NORMAL PEOPLE ARE THE ONES YOU DON’T KNOW VERY WELL.
Underneath the bumper sticker on the school psychologist’s door was a scratched brass nameplate that read PHILIPPA MEYERS, PSY.D.
“Come in!” A low, soft voice sounded from inside, even though I hadn’t knocked. “Door’s open.”
Was the shrink psychic? I bit my lip and pushed the door open. If nothing else, maybe she could tell me if there was a chance Molly would ever speak to me again.
Inside, the office reminded me of an incense store in Edgewater that Liv dragged me to last year, when she wanted to cast a spell on her middle sister for wearing her favorite flats without asking. Woven tapestries hung on the light purple walls, and a trickling stone fountain sat on the low table between the couch and the shrink’s chair. Dusty stacks of books were piled around the perimeter of the room, and two framed prints that looked like giant ink spills hung over the couch.
The shrink sat in a tufted mustard-colored armchair. She didn’t look up right away. She was reading the Trib (plus one—she kept up with the news) and sitting barefoot in lotus pose (minus one—that reminded me of Liv). A trio of candles burned on the side table next to her, releasing light wisps of lavender into the room.
“Hello?” I shut the door behind me and readjusted my glasses. Lavender was supposed to be relaxing, right? So why did I feel like I could throw up at any second? “I, um, got a pink… paper? I’m Kaythee Thimon?” I wiped my nose on the back of my cardigan sleeve.
“Kacey! Of course.” The shrink hopped to her feet. Instead of a middle-aged woman dressed head-to-toe in Chico’s, she was young. And short, close to my height. If I’d seen her in the halls, I’d probably have thought she was in ninth. When she smiled, a tiny diamond nose stud glinted in the dim light of the paper lanterns hanging over our heads.
I perched on the edge of the brown leather couch. Was I supposed to lie down and start talking about my mother?
The shrink settled back into her chair without saying anything. She just waited, like I was the one who’d pink-slipped her.
“Am I in trouble, Doctor… M?” I blurted out.
“Phil,” she corrected me, propping her feet next to the brass Buddha on the table. “You can call me Phil.”
I waited for her to laugh. She didn’t.
“Dr. Phil?” I snorted. “No way.”
“Just Phil.” She wiggled her bare toes. “I’ve always hated my full name. Ever since I was a kid.” She reached for a steaming mug on the side table. “But you were saying?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I have to go. I’m late for rehear—um, the auditorium.” Even though the thought of seeing the girls and Quinn Wilder made me want to enroll in a Swiss boarding school, the play was all I had left now.
“Rough day?” Phil guessed.
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Just a hunch.” And then she winked. Ew. Was that supposed to make me like her?
She took another long sip from her mug and stared at me.
I stared back. Two could play th
is game, sister.
Finally, there was a knock at the door.
“Come on in, Sean,” called Dr. Phil.
Sean? My head whipped toward the door.
“Sorry I’m late.” Sean popped his head in. The wall hanging on the back of the door fluttered when he closed the door behind him.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked. As if the opinion of Witness #1 really mattered.
I begrudgingly scooted over. “Why aren’t you in the auditorium?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
He settled in next to me. “Actually, I cancelled rehearsal this afternoon.” He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but didn’t.
I glanced warily at Dr. Phil.
“Kacey,” she began, “we asked you here because Sean has some news he’d like to share, and he thought it might be helpful for the two of you to process that news here, in the safety of the office.” She propped her elbow on her knee and cupped her chin in her hand. “Sean?” she prompted. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I pinched a silver sequin on the throw pillow in my lap until it bent. My lips were getting drier by the second. I would have killed for some Burt’s right about then.
“Kacey.” Sean shifted to face me and clasped his hands together in his lap. His ugly brown corduroys blended in with the couch. “After yesterday’s rehearsal… and class this morning… I’ve been thinking we should chat.”
“Um, okay.”
“I’m just not sure that with your latest… changes… it’s in the best interest of the show for you to play Sarah Brown.” Sean fake-coughed into his fist.
I jerked my head toward Phil, then back to Sean. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be… serious. Any second now, he was going to take it back. Apologize for making such a horrific joke. Tell me I was being punked for the school’s new hidden camera show. I didn’t care, as long as the role of Sarah Brown was still mine.
The room was silent. The second hand on the clock over the door mocked me with every tick. Lo-ser. Lo-ser. Lo-ser.
“You’re firing me?” My voice was barely a whisper. “For having bratheth and glatheth?” It felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest, making it impossible for me to breathe. Didn’t he understand? The play was the only thing I had left! If he took that away, he took away Quinn, and those little shivers I got every time I saw him. He took away inside jokes with the girls, hours spent hanging in the wings together trying on costumes and gossiping. He took away any chance of making up with them. Of things ever going back to normal. My body went burning hot, then icy cold. I shuddered.