Phobic Read online

  At the mouth of the hallway stands Sierra Thompson and at least five of her friends. Right next to my locker.

  They gathered there on purpose. They must have. Sure, they planned ahead of time right where to stand while waiting for the bell to ring.

  I’ll just go around them. No biggie. Except my geometry book and finished assignment are both nestled snugly in that double-crossing locker, and unlike Sierra, whose only reason for coming to school is to display her cleavage, I care about my grades.

  I can do this.

  Walking toward them is like facing a firing squad, except I’m not blindfolded and I can see exactly when the shots will be taken. Sierra tosses her shoulder-length hair back and gives off a high-pitched laugh, and a few of the girls with her snicker, too. Sierra’s boyfriend, Jordan, pulls her to him as she giggles again.

  Maybe they won’t see me. If I hurry, maybe they won’t notice I’m here.

  Air is viscous, but I breathe it in and focus on the brown industrial carpet, drawing an invisible line for my feet to follow. A shoulder bumps into mine, but I keep looking down. Keep walking. The sooner I get my book, the sooner things will be fine. Fine. I just have to make it. Past.

  Sierra’s eyes brush across mine, and she nudges Jordan and the other girls. Someone in the huddle starts coughing as I approach, and then the coughing doubles, triples. Vulgar, hacking coughs, way too loud and too many for all six of them to suddenly be sick. They all find a cure the minute our hall monitor, Mrs. Johnson, passes.

  Just get your book. Open your locker, and get your book .

  My hand shakes, but I crank out my combination and yank the door, snatching my book as quickly as I can. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance at the notification on Quizper. Then I wish I hadn’t the minute I see what the question is.

  Is there even a leper colony that would take you in, Payback?

  Thanks to the stupidness-slash-sweetness of the app, anyone can ask anyone a question, whether you’re app friends or not, and stay completely anonymous, but I still look around to see which of them sent it. By this time, though, they’ve cleared the hall. Figures. Slamming my locker shut, I force my gaze straight ahead, a hitch in my throat.

  I hate their name for me. Everyone knows what the rest of it means. Payback’s a bitch. So by calling me Payback they’re basically calling me a B instead. That’s been my nickname since freshman year when they all decided that calling me Zittles or Pizzaface was too unoriginal or something.

  I try not to let them get to me, most days. They can act like jerks if they want. Maybe if they’d get off their self-raised platforms and realize nobody likes them as much as they like themselves, then they could stop trying to one-up everyone else.

  That must be why my house didn’t let me out right away this morning. I know better than to complain out loud, and I’d let something slip while I was getting my Pop-Tarts.

  Or maybe it held me in because it wanted me to hear Dad’s voice.

  Nah. Couldn’t be.

  It’s quieter once I make it to first period geometry, and I sink into my seat. The cold plastic strokes my back, and regret spills through me. Or guilt. I can’t tell the difference. Something clogs up my chest, anyway. Most of the time I just disregard what those guys say about me—and at least if I don’t answer no one else will see it. I think what bothers me more is my dad’s voice coming from the TV. I should have kept my mouth shut earlier. Either that or I should have just let my house trap me in.

  “Good morning,” Miss Tewell says in her businesslike way. Her mullet is slicked back and hangs like a horsetail down the back of her head. A few kids mutter, but most of us don’t answer.

  “Pull out your lines and line segments assignment,” she barks, and then goes to the whiteboard to pull out her trusty marker and begin going through the answers. I try to pay attention, but my thoughts keep drifting.

  After Mom got sent to prison, Dad decided he didn’t like the glares we got, or how everyone avoided us. But wouldn’t you know it, instead of just moving our stuff, Dad was so attached to the house that he had to move it instead. Seriously. Who moves an entire house?

  We did. Some guys jacked it up on cinderblocks, backed their gigantor trailer underneath it, and drove off. Talk about obsessed. I’m sure there were other nice places to live, but no, we had to be stuck with the strange, overprotective house.

  The good thing is that it gave us a fresh start. Dad waited for the news to die down and moved us far enough away that no one even suspected my mother was…you know, a murderer.

  But the house still steps in at the most annoying times. Like today, after hearing my one measly complaint. And the whole TV thing—what was the point of teasing me? The house usually has my back.

  “And Piper, you’ll be paired with Cassie.”

  Huh? I blink back to reality. Colored lines and Miss Tewell’s handwriting cover what had been blank whiteboard just minutes ago, and she stands at the start of the row next to mine, passing out packets of paper.

  I hurry to take a packet when the stack reaches me and hand it on, and Cassie Richards swivels around to smile through her dark ribbon-y curls and black eyeliner. Cassie has always been nice to me, but I groan inside. I missed the assignment. Miss Tewell keeps prattling on about the Pythagorean Theorem. That sounds important. And I totally missed it.

  The bell rings, and Cassie strides over. “So these puzzles are due tomorrow,” she says, propping a ringed hand on my desk. “Mind if we do them at your house? I’m supposed to meet with Sierra after that and it’ll be perfect because you live by Jordan, right?”

  It takes a few seconds to follow because she speaks so fast. “What about the library? I mean, do you mind if we do it there?”

  Cassie’s eyes dart for a few seconds. “Yeah, but Sierra will be at Jordan’s,” she says, like it’s as apparent as the next big sale at Nordstrom. “I guess we can do it at the library, but who wants to stay at school if they don’t have to?”

  She’s got a point there.

  She pleads with her big black, lacquered eyes, her pouty lips even poutier than usual.

  Do the assignment at my house. My house. It should be fine. I’ll just have to make sure to mention it aloud so no freak-outs happen or anything. The house doesn’t like other people.

  “Sure,” I say absently. “My house.”

  If it was Sierra or Jordan—I shudder, remembering their mocking voices and loud, fake coughs. If only they knew what it was like to be less than perfect. Cassie though, she’s decent. Plus, if we work fast she’ll be in and out, not long at all.

  Nothing will happen if she doesn’t stay for too long.

  Todd’s already at their table when I get to the cafeteria. I should have known he would be sitting with them. One of his black DCs is propped on the blue chair and his long fingers cradle the chair back. He turns away from Jordan and directs his grin at me.

  “There she is! We can all eat now, boys.”

  My cheeks flame. Todd so doesn’t get how these guys are around me. A few of the guys give off some appreciative laughs, but Sierra huffs and says, “Excuse me?” as if she’s miffed Todd didn’t say that about her.

  Todd’s eyes connect with hers and he gives her a much warmer smile than one usually reserved for a friend. Like, say, for me.

  I swallow back the bitter tang of jealousy. I should have figured she’s the one he wants to sit by. He knows she’s dating Jordan, so he’s “just biding his time,” he told me once. The thought of Todd liking Sierra makes me want to barf.

  “Everything okay, Pipes?” he asks, plunking down into the seat and leaning so close I can smell his cedar-like smell of awesomeness. I move in so I’m practically hugging him, but it’s mainly because I don’t want anyone to overhear me. Mostly.

  “Just because you made the team, now you’re all buddy-buddy with them?” Several kids glance at me, and I grip the table’s edge, hoping my voice was quiet enough.

  “I want to sit with my friends.
All of them,” he adds, as if making clear he’s including me in that.

  Except then it makes it look like I like them too. And I really don’t. But I don’t say it. I don’t tell him about the coughing or the question one of them sent. Seeing him here with them, smiling, in his element, curls tumbling down his forehead, the cafeteria becomes one of those whirligig carnival rides. Only I’m not strapped in. I’m being ping-ponged while everything moves too quickly.

  “Dude, did you see the way Tanner looked when Coach told him to run laps?” one of the guys asks.

  “Sick,” Todd replies, moving away from me again.

  Chatter fills the space between them, along with the sound of clinking utensils. I stare at my untouched French dip sandwich, then glance around at the circular tables until I lock eyes with Sierra. She fluffs her shimmery brown hair. Her boyfriend Jordan laughs about something else and reaches out to give Todd the kind of five where guys act like they’re about to arm wrestle in midair.

  Something about seeing Todd so happy with them seems off. Like they’re trying to prove they can win him over from me or something. Not like I have any kind of hold over him whatsoever, but we have been friends since third grade. Jordan’s stupid mouth curls, and he takes a swig from the milk carton in his hand. Sit with Todd, sure. So his new chums can all act like I’m contaminated again.

  As if she hears my thoughts, Sierra’s friend, Tabitha, looks right at me and gives off a subtle, super fake cough.

  I roll my eyes.

  This isn’t the first time Todd’s picked his new friends over me. I just didn’t think he’d do it at lunchtime where everyone else can see. I should know better. To him, things are cut and dried; they’re either a certain way or they’re not. I’m his friend, and so are they now, and that’s that.

  Sierra and Tabitha lean in, mumbling something. And at the same time, my phone buzzes with another notification from Quizper, though this time the question isn’t directed at me.

  Don’t you think @piperpipes should sit somewhere else? Because her zit disease looks contagious. I think I’m already catching symptoms.

  The answer: Yeah, I don’t see how she stands being herself. What makes her think we can stand her?

  I lift my gaze, and the two girls meet it measure for measure, cocking their heads as if daring me to say something. Then Sierra blinks and gives two more very distinct, very fake coughs.

  Todd, I tell myself. I’m just here to sit with Todd.

  “You doing okay there?” Jordan asks, nudging her.

  “It’s nothing.” She beams at him. “My allergies just seem to be worse in this corner of the lunchroom, that’s all.”

  “Only when acne’s at our table,” Tabitha adds, and then Sierra snorts and the two girls burst into a chirp of giggles, not bothering to hide their glances in my direction. Jordan doesn’t seem to get the joke and instead takes a bite of his sandwich.

  Screw this. Todd may want to be around these guys, but I don’t have to be. I scrape my chair back and stand. “See you later,” I tell him before stomping off. I leave my tray, not even bothering to dump it. I wasn’t hungry anyway.

  Only one day left till my audition. I can hardly stand it. I’m not about to sit there and let them badger me. They torment me enough when there’s a huge gap of space between us. I should have figured they’d still do it with me right in front of them.

  Why did he have to make the team at all? Things were perfect before. Me and Todd. Todd and me. I still got made fun of like an awful circus act all through junior high and freshman year, but at least Todd was there so I wasn’t alone.

  “Piper!” Todd calls. “Hey. Piper, wait!”

  I weave through the tables, ignoring him, ignoring the lunchroom monitor and the other students in their own worlds. Stupidly, I peer over and find Jordan following my progress, and then Todd catches up to me just outside the bathrooms at the mouth of the cafeteria.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks. Curls cover the creases on his forehead, but I can tell he’s bothered just the same. “Come sit with me.”

  If I’m going to tell him about the coughing it has to be now. But there’s no point. It will only make me sound pouty.

  Behind us, Jordan stands and opens his arms to Todd as if saying, You coming or what?

  “I—I just…it’s my audition. I just don’t feel good.”

  “Piper.”

  “Go. Sit with your new friends, since they’re obviously who you want to be around. I’m gonna go practice.” Even though I already did this morning. Like I do every morning.

  “Piper,” Todd says again, in that same disbelieving tone.

  I stalk off, not looking behind this time because I don’t want to see what I already know. Todd, in total confusion, going back to his new pals. I head down the hallway, past the other bathrooms and offices, until I punch through the band room door at the other end of the school.

  I’m greeted by a lonely setup of chairs. Empty music stands sprout from the floor like huge black flowers. A smattering of You Can Do It and Why Settle for Good When Better is Possible? posters mock me. I weave around the drum set and the three timpani drums and other percussion equipment until I reach the practice room door.

  The same abandonment I felt when I realized Mom was never coming home caves in now, reeling and frothing like undulating waves. I long for my clarinet—to get lost in the escape music provides. I remember the first time I played, really played. It had been like a salve for my soul, supplementing the company I craved when Dad and Joel were trying to deal with Mom in their own ways. Joel had been a moody teenager, and Dad had coped by turning surlier than ever and never leaving his study. Leaving me alone instead.

  The practice room is so small my fingertips would touch both sides if I stood with my arms outstretched. I don’t even bother turning on the light, but sink to the floor, hugging my knees, and stick to a technique I don’t need any more practice in. Hiding.

  A soft knock taps at the door, and the hinges squeak as he opens it. “You okay in here?”

  I can’t help the warmth building in my chest. I should have known I couldn’t hide from Todd in here. He knows me too well.

  “How can you be friends with such jerks?” The question slips out, and I manage to swallow back the one I really want an answer to: How he can not only be friends with them, but have a gigantic crush on Sierra while he’s at it? I know he doesn’t like to talk about it. But it’s still there, making me despise her all the more.

  Todd sinks down. A slice of light sneaks in, displaying the worried look on his face. I stare at my knees and the bits of notebook paper shreddies on the carpet because this room never gets vacuumed. If he expects me to speak, he’ll be disappointed.

  “I’ve been training and practicing with the guys since the summer. You know that. And now that we’ve been back in school, it’s not like I can ignore them and hang out with you all the time.”

  “Why not?” I ask, cursing the tightness in my throat. It’s a dumb question, really. I can see how this makes sense in his head. I just don’t want to admit it. “What makes them so important to you?”

  Todd rests his back against the wall just outside the door. It’s opened a crack so I only see his head and shoulder. “You didn’t see them this summer, Pipes. Jordan and the guys—they’re really cool. And I’m trying to convince them you’re cool, too. I shouldn’t have to choose between my new friends and my oldest one.”

  “So now you’re trying to make us be all pals-y?” Fat chance.

  “It would be better, wouldn’t it? If they left you alone and were nice to you?”

  I sniff, considering again telling him about the thoughtless coughing. And regardless of the notification I know is still on my phone, my insides feel a little softer. It’s so Todd, always trying to help me.

  “I just talked to Jordan,” Todd says, clearing his throat in a nervous way. “And I know you might hate it, but hear me out, okay?”

  I shift to kneel on my k
nees. Here we go.

  “You know how the guys always throw parties after the home games? Well, they want the party at your house this time.”

  “What? No way.” I stand, wobbling on my wedge heels. The blood rushes to my head, making the walls tilt. Granted, I had been considering the same thing earlier, to see if having strangers over will trigger Dad’s voice again. But a cluster of worst-case scenarios avalanche in. It will be a trick. And then the house will freak out, and they’ll see into my private life and—overall, not a good idea.

  Todd joins me, shaking his head, his jaw taut. “I wish there wasn’t this line between us. Popular and not-popular. Who cares?”

  He pulls the door open a tad more, and light floods in. A few students have gathered in their seats behind him in the main band room, assembling their instruments.

  “You’ll think about it?” he asks, thumbing the doorframe.

  There’s something he’s not telling me. I know for a fact Jordan doesn’t feel bad about the way he’s treated me, and neither does Sierra. I fold my arms.

  “What’s the catch? I don’t buy that ‘unity team’ crap. They hate me, and I hate them, and it’s been that way for years. Nothing is going to change that.” Especially not coming to MY house. Of all the places they could possibly have a party.

  Todd meets my gaze and knows I mean business because he’s not arguing with me. He sighs.

  “Face it, Pipes. Your house is weird. And people kind of think you’re weird because you never show them otherwise.”

  He’s right—my house is weird. But it’s hard to hear Todd admit what I’ve known for years. That they all think I’m a freak. Having their party there will confirm it that much more. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s the real reason Cassie insisted on doing our assignment there.

  “If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Todd goes on. “But who knows, it might be a good thing. You have to put yourself out there. Talk to them, instead of waiting for them to talk to you. This is your chance. Your house has the coolest setup. I’ve been saying it all along, but they’re finally coming around.”