Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I bet her weird brother gave it to her for her birthday. She just turned seventeen.”
“You remember her birthday? Is it that important to you?” Jane asks Ana, and I’m surprised Ana remembers it, too, even though she was always good at those things.
“Oh, I just saw the date on the roster. Mad Elena strikes again this time as Morticia Addams, right?” Ana says as the two giggle. Well, I guess she did come up with this particular inflection of my name and told the stories to back it up.
Madelena. Let’s be real; the name lends itself to ridicule. I’ve heard Mad Elena so often in the last two years that I’m sometimes not sure if it’s real or in my head. It’s real now though, very real as I sit with my legs drawn up on the closed lid of the toilet in the gym’s locker rooms. It smells like dirty socks, chlorine, and shit in here. I hold my breath as I listen. I’m dead quiet. Invisible.
“I can’t believe she actually has a date,” Ana says, and I can just see her leaning toward the mirror to reapply lip gloss through the crack of the stall door. “And with Jason. Aren’t you mad?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a date—”
What?
Jane stops talking when a toilet flushes and a girl stumbles out of the farthest stall.
“Don’t mind me,” she tells them, slurring her words, clearly having had a drink or two too many.
Ana and her friend wait, though, probably giving the girl dirty looks as she washes her hands then uses the air blower to dry them. Why do people use those things? They just literally blow shit around. It’s disgusting.
Once she finally leaves, Ana’s friend—and I use that term loosely because these girls don’t have the capacity to be or even know what a friend is—leans closer to Ana and whispers loudly.
“It’s a bet.”
I hear the words, but they don’t register right away, not in my brain at least. Although, something in my belly feels it, and in my chest. My body’s response is in the idiotic way my eyes water.
“What?” Ana asks, and I am pretty sure I imagine the moment of hesitation, because she’s probably salivating for this, eager for it, because what she did wasn’t enough.
I don’t move as a tear slides slowly down my cheek. Instead, I listen.
“The guys were standing around talking about her one day, and I don’t know. I mean, I guess under the crud on her face, she’s not hideous or something, at least to them. But you know how men are.”
Not hideous. That makes the tears stop. Thank you, bitch.
“Jason too?” Jason is, or had been, Jane’s boyfriend. And I swear I hear a hint of glee in Ana’s voice as she asks about him. Bringing Jane down a notch?
“He was just going along with them, you know. It’s been really hard on him, us pretending to be broken up and all,” Jane says quickly.
Pretending?
“What?” Ana asks.
Jane gives a self-satisfied smile that makes me want to puke even for the little bit I see through the crack in the door. “And I mean, those outfits she wears are just begging for a certain kind of attention, if you know what I mean.”
No, I’m not begging for a certain kind of attention. I’m begging for you and your fucking idiotic boyfriends who have clearly taken too many hits to the head to leave me the fuck alone.
Although I guess I’m not, if I’m being honest with myself—and I did promise to be honest with myself going forward, didn’t I? I’m at prom with Jason Cole, after all. Why on earth did I say yes? Why did I think he was seriously interested in me? Me? No one in their right mind would be interested in me. Don’t I know that?
Jason is my lab partner. He was also, or according to Jane, still is, Jane’s quarterback boyfriend. Star of the football team. He’s not very bright but usually sweet to me. He’s one of the only ones who is. But maybe he’s only sweet so he passes because I’ve been helping him along. Well, more than helping. I’ve been letting him cheat off me.
“Anyway, you can’t say anything until the night is over,” Jane continues.
I’m imagining a Carrie moment, pigs’ blood included. Idiots.
“What’s he going to do?” Ana asks, actually managing to sound concerned.
“Just take some pictures. It’s all just fun, you know? Teach her a lesson. Teach her not to flirt with another woman’s property,” Jane finishes, the venom in her voice turning it ugly.
“What kind of pictures? That’s not really—”
“Why do you care?” Jane snaps. “I didn’t think you two were friends anymore.”
“I don’t! We’re not! She’s crazy.”
Fuck you, Ana. I dig my nails into my palms so hard I draw blood hating the fact that Ana still has the power to hurt me.