have something to say. We’ve been friends since I moved here, but friendship should work both ways. Not just me having to give all the time. At some point, I’d appreciate it if anyone in my life got that.
Sylvia deflates when I walk past her. What she doesn’t understand is that it hurts me, too, but I need Sylvia to side with me for once. Not with Mom.
I collapse into my seat and Veronica assesses me. “No costume?”
“It’s not Halloween.”
“But that’s the magic, it could be. Someone else told you it wasn’t Halloween, and you chose to believe that.”
I stare blankly at her and she looks thoughtfully back.
“What are you supposed to be?” I eventually ask.
“A fairy.”
“Why the blood?”
“I’m a bad fairy.”
I guess that makes sense—at least it does in Veronica’s world. With Sylvia glaring at me, Veronica’s world seems a lot more appealing than mine, so maybe she’s the one living life right.
The bell rings, and Mrs. Garcia hands out papers. She places our thesis plan paper on my desk and points at the red A-plus. Her eyes smile with pride.
I do my best to not react, but as soon as she turns away, I slide the paper closer and my mouth lifts with her encouraging comments. Damn, that feels good—especially in a class like English. I did half the research and half of the writing for this paper.
Veronica peeks at the sheet we turned in on Friday. Since then, we’ve been nervous about whether or not Mrs. Garcia was going to tell us we were now going to be subjected to weekly drug testing. Evidently, Mrs. Garcia has a flare for the unique.
Mrs. Garcia is talking already, going over our lesson for the day, which means we’re supposed to be paying attention, but instead I hand the paper to Veronica. She flat-out beams, and I could sit and watch that pretty little grin all day. Even with the fake blood spots on her face, Veronica is beautiful with that halo of curls, but what I love the most about her is that she zigs when I think she’s going to zag, and I like being kept on my toes.
Earlier this morning, I ran my earbuds through my sweatshirt to hide that I’ve been listening to music while my teachers talk. I put in the left earpiece, and I’m greeted by a text. Having not turned off my text-to-voice app, the text is read to me.
Veronica: You know there’s a no-cell policy at school, right?
I smile and fight the urge to look at her. That may tip off our teacher that we aren’t listening. I place my hand over my mouth and whisper into the microphone. I’m doing research by binge watching Supernatural. Evidently, when we go ghost hunting, we should bring a shovel to dig up a grave. Also a good idea to carry salt and a blowtorch at all times.
Veronica: You’re killing me, Smalls.
Me: Is smart-ass a learned or a genetic trait for you?
From the corner of my eye, I catch her lips turn up. Both.
I whisper into the mic again: I read a USA Today article. Did you know 45 percent of people surveyed believe in ghosts? 18 percent say they’ve been in the presence of a ghost.
Veronica: I believe it. I think the statistic is higher, but people are scared to admit it.
Me: I don’t. I think that’s the 18 percent who cook up meth on a daily basis.
Veronica: Our house is haunted.
Sure it is. I meant to text your dad. I found Bigfoot taking a shower in our bathroom.
Her smile is close to blinding. You’re just flirting with me now.;-)
I wasn’t before, but I am now. You’re a cute girl. Flirting’s going to happen.
Her cheeks turn bright red. Cute?
Me: Would you prefer hot?
Veronica: Only if you mean it.
Me: I mean it.
Veronica blinks like she doesn’t believe the words on her screen, but I couldn’t be any more serious. She texts again: I’m serious about our house. When you’re courageous enough, meet me at midnight on the stairs.
Nice to know that if I fluster her, she’ll change the subject. Who’s flirting now?
She smiles again. Me. Definitely me.
“Mr. Sutherland,” Mrs. Garcia calls out in that tone that indicates she’s aware I’m not listening and that she’s about to call me to the stand to testify. “What is the answer?”
Homonym, says Veronica through the text-to-voice, and that computerized voice is welcome because I don’t have to look down at my cell to find the answer.
“Homonym,” I say