Despite Maddie’s annoyance at her mother’s admonishment, she was apprehensive about returning to school. She’d had a sneaking suspicion she might be walking into a shitstorm, and now, as she made her way through the halls, that suspicion was being proven right. She could feel the heat of furtive glances matched with ice-cold behind-the-back whispers. It was clear her fellow students thought she was the one with the problem. Muted disbelief filled her. Every year, hundreds of suicides were attributed to bullying, yet somehow, she was the bad guy. Even the uncool kids steered away from her.
A foul mood built inside Maddie throughout the morning, leaving a permanent scowl on her face. Maddie’s irritation reached another level when she walked into her critical thought class and saw Aden. They stared at each other before Aden ended the silent contest with a turn of his head. Maddie threw her backpack on an empty desk and flopped down into the chair. A moment later, a stringy blonde sat next to her.
“Madison, right?”
Maddie looked over at the girl. She recognized her from another class.
“I’m Tiffani. We have AP History together.”
“I recognize you.” Then Maddie turned her head back to the front of the class.
“Oookay. Um, well I see you want to be left alone, but I wanted to say . . .,” Tiffani paused and glanced back at Aden, “I thought what you did was cool.”
“Nice to hear someone knows what’s right and wrong,” replied Maddie as she kept her eyes on the front board.
Just at that moment, a tall, lanky man walked into the classroom. He reminded Maddie of her dad’s favorite basketball player from the eighties, Kevin McHale. He placed a briefcase on the front desk and regarded the students. His eyes lingered on Maddie.
As the last student rushed into the class with the ringing bell, the man opened his case and pulled out a stack of index cards.
“For those of you who were absent yesterday, I’m Mr. Bilson. I will be your instructor for this class in critical thinking. It is my hope, my goal, to help you think better, assuming of course that any of you urchins have a mind left that has not been corrupted by the little machines you all carry.”
Mr. Bilson stepped from behind his desk and passed out the blank index cards. After each student had one, he walked to the blackboard—the only one in the school—and wrote in large letters “Word of the Day.” He turned to the class just in time to see Maddie roll her eyes. All she could think of was former Fox News show host Bill O’Reilly’s popular Word of the Day segment. He was one of her favorites.
“Is there a problem . . . Madison, correct?” asked Mr. Bilson.
“No problem at all, Mr. O’Reilly,” she said, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Oh God. I did not just say that out loud.
Weakhearted chuckles broke out in the class. Mr. Bilson regarded Maddie a moment, then continued writing on the board. “Today’s word is sagacity. Sa-gac-i-ty. Does anyone know the word?” He turned from the board to look at the class. Blank stares greeted him. “Of course you don’t. Far be it from you to stop playing with your little machines and read a book or two.”
Mr. Bilson strode to the middle of the room and surveyed it until his eyes stopped on Maddie. The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Sagacity,” began Mr. Bilson, “is having acute discernment—another good word as well. Good, sound judgment. You could use it in a sentence this way: Madison Jennings showed poor sagacity when skipping out of class and getting into fisticuffs.”
The class howled.
“Or,” said Mr. Bilson as he bore a laser stare into Aden, “Aden Maier demonstrated a lack of sagacity by hitting a girl.”
“What does being a girl have to do with anything?” asked Tiffani.
Maddie glanced at her, unable to suppress a smile and nod of thanks.
Mr. Bilson considered the question a moment, then shook his head in resignation. “Yes, yes I forgot—the iGeneration with your ‘personal power’ and independence. I’m sorry. I’m an old man with old-school notions. Boys don’t hit girls, and if the girls hit them, boys take it like men. Nevertheless, we are in newfangled, hmm, another word I like, newfangled. We are in newfangled times, and we are going to use the lack of judgment or the poor ‘sagacity’ you both showed to discuss and think critically about the modern subject of women in combat. The US military is opening frontline combat roles for women. This will be the subject area of your first written assignment. Using the critical skills I will impart onto you, we will discuss the sagacity surrounding this decision. To make it easier on your device-addled minds, you can team up for your papers.”
Groans sounded off around the room like exploding fireworks. Mr. Bilson clapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee. “Aaah, I love the sound of young minds learning.”
Maddie joined the class in a collective eye roll. A tap on the leg turned her attention to Tiffani.
“Something tells me you may have a leg up on this,” Tiffani said with a smile. “Let’s partner up.”
Maddie took a moment to shift her eyes across the room. The only other person she knew here was Aden, and that was not happening. Maddie shrugged before answering, “Sure, why not.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maddie peered into the sea of clique zones known as the lunchroom and hissed under her breath. She had not made it to the lunch break on day one but walking around the halls yesterday had given her clear evidence that the established tribes of likeminded teenagers had each come to the decision she did not belong. As she walked among the tables for a place to sit, each table rebuffed her with derisive looks. She craned her neck to look for an empty table when she spotted a flash of brown hair in the far corner of the cafeteria. She smiled and took a step in its direction.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Maddie turned and saw Tiffani smiling at her. “Why not?”
Tiffani sidled in close and wrapped one arm around Maddie’s. “I know you think Stevieboy should be grateful, but that would be a misunderstanding of boys.” She started walking and pulled Maddie in another direction. “You have to understand that for boys, even one as geeky as Steve, they would rather be put into a locker like a man than be saved by a girl.”
“That is totally stupid.”
“Yes. That’s why they’re called boys.”
The comment made Maddie smile. She sat down at the table Tiffani led them to and regarded the girl. She was happy to see very little makeup on her face. She looked normal. A sudden thought struck Maddie, and she frowned.
“Is something on my face?” asked Tiffani.
“What? Oh no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. That was rude. You just reminded me of some singer my mom loves. Some chick from the eighties.”
“Annie Lennox. My mom used to tell me the same thing. Almost renamed me Annie when I was ten, she says.”
“Mine wants to rename me Trouble. Perhaps Delinquent after yesterday. Hey, I’m sorry about my crankiness earlier.”
“Don’t sweat it. Being the new person sucks enough without getting tagged a violent spaz on your first day. Not that I think you’re a spaz or violent. Everyone here just expects everyone to stay in their assigned lanes.”
“Screw that.” Maddie paused as a question brewed in her mind.
“Spit it out. I don’t know you, but I can tell already I’d love playing poker with you. Your face shows everything.”
“Yeah, I do kinda suck at hiding my feelings. I was just wondering . . . what lane are you in?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t picked one, and one hasn’t been”—Tiffani raised her hands and made air quotes—“assigned to me by the teenage powers that be. At least not as far as I can tell. I just sort of . . . float along. You know, I don’t see the resemblance.”
“What?” said Maddie. Confusion wrinkled her face.
“Annie. The eighties singer. I don’t see the resemblance. Lennox’s hair was short and red. Mine is blond, long, and—” Tiffani reached up to pull her
fingers through her hair, but another set of fingers beat her to it.
“—and luxurious.”
Tiffani stiffened as the speaker whipped by her then flopped down next to Maddie. Maddie turned and saw a diminutive boy with his eyes glued to a smartphone. Next, three girls flopped down on the opposite side of the table.
“Don’t mind him, Tiffani. You know he thinks anyone with hair past their earlobes is a hottie.”
“Not true,” answered the male newcomer, his eyes still glued to his phone.
“Hi, I’m Lilly.”
The speaker extended a hand in greeting toward Maddie. The other held a giant lollipop.
Maddie glanced at Tiffani in bewilderment. Five minutes ago, she had the plague, and now her table was filled with people. Shrugging, she reached out across the table and shook Lilly’s hand.
“Hi . . . I’m . . . Maddie.”
“Oh, we know. Everyone knows,” said Lilly, smiling. Her teeth were the whitest Maddie had ever seen.
She belongs in a Crest commercial.
Lilly held out a willowy arm and pointed to the pretty black girl with braided hair sitting next to her. “This is Zara.” She then pointed to the brunette sitting on the other side of her. “And that is Alexandria.”
“Only if you want to sound like we’re in the seventeenth century. In the modern world, I’m Allie.”
“You saved my brother’s butt yesterday. He’d never say it, but thanks for that,” continued Lilly.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” answered Maddie. “Tiffani was just correcting my errant understanding of teenage boys.”
Lilly pulled out her lollipop with a loud pop. “Boys are a mystery, but my brother’s just stupid.”
A loud snort blasted from the mouth of the smartphone-focused boy beside Maddie. “No we’re not. We’re simple. It’s you chicks that got the complicated coding.”
Lilly sighed and glanced over the rim of her glasses. “And that, Maddie, is our bothersome and personal-space-invading friend, Tommy. Tommy, stop being rude and give a proper hello.”
Tommy scrunched up his face but put his phone away. He smiled and held out his hand to Maddie. “Hey, new girl. I’m Tommy, but my friends call me Skype.”
“Because I’m always on my phone chatting with someone around the world,” the girls all said Tommy’s oft-repeated line in unison. Even Tiffani had joined in, though Maddie noticed her new friend had become less chatty since the newcomers had arrived.
Maddie brought Tiffani into the conversation. “How long have all you been friends?”
“The four of us grew up together,” said Lilly. “We’ve known Tiffani since eighth grade.”
Maddie thought she detected a sliver of a distinction but waved it away as her own suspicious thinking. Everyone at the table seemed pleasant.
Lilly continued without a beat. “Tiffani, have you given Maddie the rundown yet?”
Tiffani sighed loud and long. “Not yet. I was about to when some perv distracted me.” Her pointed stare directed at Tommy made it clear whom she meant.
“My hands in your hair didn’t bother you last year when I had to wash that lab gook out of it,” quipped Tommy.
Tiffani looked at Tommy for a beat then smiled. Dreamy contentment filled her face. “That did feel lovely.”
Zara hung her head. “Oh God, I’m gonna hurl.”
The girls all started laughing. Maddie looked from one to another. Like a blowing wind, the knot of tension Maddie felt all day drifted away. This must be what having friends you’ve known longer than six months feels like.
“As much as I would love to see that,” said Tiffani, “I just remembered I need to see Mr. Y Leiro about an assignment. You’ll have to clue Maddie in for me. I’ll see you all later.” Tiffani tapped Maddie on the shoulder and finger waved “bye.”
Maddie watched her retreat until she slipped through the doors of the cafeteria, then she turned her attention back to the table.
“Tiffani is cool,” said Lilly. “Keeps to herself a bit, but she’s nice.”
“Awesome sauce,” said Maddie. “Now then, just what is it that I need to be ‘clued’ in on?”
Lilly clapped her hands. “Yes, to business—the Galvin High guide to cliques, tribes, and gangs.”
“Here’s the four-one-one,” said Allie as she half-turned in her chair and pointed to various tables with her fork. “You have the jocks, geeks, show tune actor-singer wannabes, and alternative peeps, who cannot decide if they are Goth or just like piercings and tats.”
“And at the head table over there,” said Zara, “you have the class-A fashionista bitches, led by queen bee Dorete Johnson.” Maddie glanced over and recognized the student she thought of as “Cheerleader Girl.”
“Bitch is not the word for Dorete. Beyatch is more accurate,” added Tommy.
Another loud pop sounded off as Lilly plucked her lollipop from her mouth. “We have your basic and tired clichés of a high school hierarchy in the jail we call high school. Popular kids, jocks, and pretty bitches are at the top. Geeks and science nerds generally are at the bottom.”
“And then there’s me,” said Maddie.
“Yes, very perceptive of you, my new friend,” said Lilly. “You are at the bottom; below it actually, but worry not. You saved my brother, so at least for this week, you’re more than welcome to join us Forgotten Ones.”
“Come again?”
“It’s what we call ourselves,” answered Lilly. “There are people in high school who people always remember: jocks, cheerleaders, the kid that will get a perfect SAT score. Then there are the ones that if they become famous or whatever, people will say, ‘I didn’t even know them in high school.’ That’s who we are. We’re not into one sport or just one thing. We just go to class, join a couple of clubs, but no one bothers us. Hence, the Forgotten Ones.”
Zara jumped in to finish the explanation. “People forget us because they never really knew us to begin with.”
The explanation swirled in Maddie’s head. To her, the name sounded like a cheap cast of people from a dystopian science fiction novel with zero chance at building self-esteem. As if reading her mind, Tommy jumped in.
“That’s utter rubbish. Don’t listen to them.”
The three girls frowned at Tommy and crossed their arms. Maddie sent him an inquiring eyebrow raise.
“Don’t fall for the false modesty. They may not be superpopular, but everyone loves these girls. Literally no one dislikes them. Me, on the other hand, me they tolerate. Though I guess now with you here, I might move up a few notches. Good thing I don’t care.”
“Well, thanks so much, Tommy. I feel better already,” said Maddie, heavy with sarcasm.
“You’re welcome. I do wonder though”—Tommy turned to his friends and shot them a mocking expression—“will the trio’s unique but wasted talents be enough to inoculate us against the collective now that Madison the Giant Killer is staying with us? Too bad you didn’t go after the worst of them.”
A palpable awkward silence settled over the table. Maddie frowned.
“And who would that be?”
Without moving his face from his phone, Tommy pointed behind Maddie. She turned and, without needing clarification, knew which table the small boy meant. Sitting down with arms draped around the shoulders of Dorete was a muscular boy wearing a football jacket. He was good-looking, she had to admit, with broad shoulders. He looked like he was straight out of central casting for every high school jock role ever created.
Dorete chose that moment to turn her head in their table’s direction. She caught Maddie staring at her. Maddie did not turn away—she refused to act like she had been caught doing something. Dorete stood and headed toward their table.
“Shit, Maddie,” Tommy groaned. “Why did you make her come over here?”
Maddie looked at Tommy. “What are you afraid of?”
“Oh, he’s not afraid, Maddie,” said Lilly. “Hey, Dorry. Love the top. I’d totally get one if I h
ad the equipment for it.”
Maddie did a mental double take. Lilly’s tone had changed from sweet and ironic to sycophant.
“Lilly, can you and the girls handle that project?”
“Should be no problem on our part. It’ll take a little practice, but I’m not sure about the band.”
Dorete waved the comment away. “Don’t worry about the band. I’ll handle them.”
“Then it should be no problem, as long as Tommy does his thing.”
Dorete raised an imperious eyebrow and looked over Maddie’s head at Tommy.
“Well, can you do your thing?”
“Sure, I should be able to do it.”
Dorete stepped past Maddie, who couldn’t figure out what everyone was talking about. Dorete placed her hand on Tommy’s chin and tilted his head up to consider her face. “Tommyboy, I don’t need should. I need can. Do not make me look like a fool. Can you do it?”
Tommy stared into Dorete’s eyes and shook his head. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll get it done. Promise.”
Dorete smiled, shot Maddie a sideward glance, and walked away. It was a token gesture toward Maddie’s existence. After Maddie was sure Dorete was far enough way to not hear her, she addressed the group.
“I thought you said she was a bitch.”
“She is,” said Tommy, but his dreamy tone said otherwise.
“Then why the hell are you doing her favors?”
“She’s hard to say no to,” answered Lilly.
Allie agreed. “Yup. Can’t say no.”
Bewildered, Maddie shifted her gaze back to Tommy. He just shrugged.
“She’s hot. That’s all the excuse I need. Okay then. Time for numbers exchange.”
Maddie reached into her backpack and pulled out a thick, black flip phone. She opened it, revealing the phone’s overlarge buttons.
“What is that?” asked Tommy.
“My phone.”
“No, dear,” said Allie. “That’s a cry for help.”
Tommy snatched the phone from Maddie. He looked it over like an archeologist fussing over a fossil. “This thing doesn’t even have Internet?”
The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Page 16