loser,” I snap. “If you could just get over your whole MG thing, you’d realize he’s one of the funniest, coolest people in school.”
“See? Alex likes him,” Hayes says, her tone full of warning. “So obviously he’s okay.”
Madison rolls her eyes.
“Come on,” Hayes says. “You’re the only runaway we know. I want to hear all the details you couldn’t spill in front of your grandmother. And we’d love to have Dexter join us.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him.”
Dex, however, is not as thrilled.
“Are you serious? Those girls are the worst. I’d rather drive spikes into my eyes.”
“Come on, dude. For me? I just got screwed over by my boyfriend. I could use the support.”
“Thaddeus dumped you?”
“What?” I bite my lip, realizing that I shrieked. Dex gives me a weird look. “Are you high?” I whisper. “Who said I’m going out with Thaddeus?”
“Twitter? Facebook? It’s just… out there, you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Okay, so then it’s not true. Got it.”
I don’t even know how to process this right now. “Just come eat with us,” I say. “You can have all my deviled eggs.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll come. But I fully expect it to be horrible and awkward, and I’m only doing it for you.”
We walk across the lawn to the MGs’ bench. With my dreads and ratty Birks, I look a lot more normal alongside Dex, in his all-black punk gear, than I look with the MGs.
Madison’s nose wrinkles slightly as we approach. “Guess it’s bring-your-weirdo-to-lunch day.”
“Madison,” Hayes says, “don’t judge. Everyone has something to offer.”
Madison sighs and opens her lunch basket, which is full of fried chicken, Twinkies, and Ho Hos. “I suppose every team needs a mascot.”
“Oh yeah?” Dex says, reaching into her basket. Madison recoils in horror. “And what’s this team fighting for? Stronger mascara wands?”
“So, Alex,” Hayes says pointedly, biting into a huge, gooey roast-beef-and-Cheddar-cheese sandwich. “What happened?”
“I bolted,” I say. “Bought a plane ticket and took off. With my grandmother’s credit card.”
“Solid,” Dex says.
“But when I got there—I don’t know, everything had changed. They wrecked my mom’s garden to plant marijuana. Plus, it turns out my boyfriend wasn’t my boyfriend. He lied to me and was making out with some… some…”
“Skank?” Dex says.
“Whore?” Madison offers, a mere split second later.
They look at each other and share a cautious smile.
“She was a little slutty. Yeah.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Dex says. “It’s nothing against you. I’m sure he likes you a lot. But, you know, he’s a dude. We’re all vulnerable to sluts. They’re like our kryptonite.” He offers me a piece of Madison’s chicken, but I shake my head. One piece of that chicken would up my jeans size by two.
“That may be true,” I say, “but I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
Hayes and Madison exchange glances.
“You’ll feel a lot better after tonight,” Hayes says.
“I don’t know if I even want to go.”
“Come on,” Madison says. “You can do some slutting around of your own. See how the other half lives.”
“Are you going?” I ask Dex.
“He’s not invited,” Madison says. “Besides, I would imagine that he’s got a full schedule tonight, what with peeping in windows and posting his video suicide note on YouTube.”
“Whatever,” Dex says. “Sounds lame, anyway.”
Madison turns to whisper something to Hayes, and Dex hurls a Twinkie at the back of her head. I wince, but without even turning around, Madison throws up her perfectly manicured hand and catches it.
“Nice catch,” Dex says, clearly impressed.
Madison slowly turns and, to my surprise, treats Dex to a big, pretty smile. Then she unwraps the Twinkie and stuffs the whole thing into her mouth.
19
Now, I’d rather sip a battery-acid cocktail than go out to that friggin’ field again, but by the time Hayes rings the doorbell, I’m ready to get the hell out of this house. For the past two hours, my grandmother has been fussing over me as if I were some kind of virgin sacrifice.
“No, Alex,” she says when she sees my first outfit. “Red is acceptable for elementary-school teachers on Valentine’s Day and for prostitutes, maybe, but not for a young lady who hopes to get married one day.”
I don’t have the energy anymore. I go back and change into a green shirt and a denim skirt.
“And what is that getup?” she says. “An outfit is fine, a costume is acceptable, but you are not walking out my front door in a getup.”
“There’s nothing good about a getup,” Josie chimes in.
“What do you want me to put on?”
“Whatever makes you the most comfortable,” my grandmother