PROLOGUE
They say rumors are mostly just a projection of the individual who started them.
It starts with a phone call. Just like the Kendra—Evan—affair rumor she started all those dull weeks ago. Before Brett hooked arms with her and gave her ass a squeeze to say "good morning" and crammed his tongue down her throat. She thinks she liked those days. She can never decide though. She's much too absorbed in the hustle and bustle of Dan Quayle Junior High.
But that's a different matter.
"Molly, you won't believe what I heard Evan—" the infamous L for Loser sign is flashed "—and Gollum—" an eye roll "—talking to that freak with the crutches, Archie—" who gets to talk to the hand, apparently "—about," an excited Cassie gloats.
"What?" Molly bites right away.
"Okay, so, you remember the thing about Kendra and Evan?" But how could someone forget?
"Do I have ears—yes, I remember!"
"Well, I heard those losers talking about it and, get this, they were complaining about how Lucy made it up to get Brett back!" Cassie screams into the phone.
"Oh. My. God!" Molly exclaims.
"I know!"
"That is just, like, ugh. How could she do that to her best friend? I always knew Lucy was kind of a bitch but that's just, no," she scoffs.
"Can you believe we're friends with her?"
"God, what if she stabs us in the back?"
"I know, right? We should warn Charlotte and get Brett and Kendra back together, since Lucy is a nasty skank bitch," Cassie nods, very officially. And really, if they all took a moment to look at themselves, they might realize how childish it all is—but it isn't because this is exactly how the real world works; dog—eat—dog.
After the phone call comes another phone call. The whole situation—from glossed over start to twisted and sculpted finish that's incomplete because the nastiest, juiciest details come as collateral damage—is explained to Charlotte who finds the whole thing kind of boring because, really, they're mad at Lucy for blaming the rumor on Charlotte even though Charlotte probably would've started the rumor eventually (no one really cares about the backstabbing bit just yet). All Lucy really did was speed up the process.
It's a series of squeals and ear drum piercing exclamations of chatty words and abbreviations jammed into a minute. Charlotte rolls her eyes but her fingers (more specifically, her nails) tap away at the worn down keyboard of her Blackberry to spread the news like she knows she's supposed to—everyone knows their place in this business.
Honestly, she thinks she'll just talk to Lucy like a sane person.
But sanity normally gets a frowny face emoji from junior high.
Oh, well. She shrugs and sends off a dozen (or maybe it's a score) more rapid fire texts, hitting up half her contact list.
This is what Lucy calls the Word of Tap part. The part rumors about Lucy never make it to. But Charlotte knows what they say, "never say never," and calls it the exception when she hops on her bike to head over to the quarry, she knows Lucy will be there.
The pale girl always heads there to brood. Blegh. Charlotte hates how broody her friend gets.
Hey, Lucy," the curly haired girl chirps.
"Charlotte?" She raises an eyebrow.
"They're talking about you," Charlotte informs her.
"God," Lucy rolls her eyes.
"They know you came up with the thing about Kendra and Evan," she murmurs.
"Whoop—dee—doo," the pale girl deadpans. Charlotte giggles.
"Why'd you really do it? We both know that Brett may be hot, but he's an ass."
"I don't know. I just … I've always given things up for Kendra's sake … It's like why I kicked Patrice—" Charlotte's eyes almost fall out of their sockets, Lucy almost never calls Patrice by her actual name "—out. I just wanted something but I can never remember what."
They sit quietly for a minute, their feet dangling above the water.
"You know," Charlotte starts, "they say that rumors are mostly just a projection of the person who started them."
"I have no idea what you mean," the pale girl sighs. Charlotte may be a squealing gossipmonger but sometimes …
"I'm saying, you like Evan." What. The. Hell?
"What?" It's so flat, menacing and low, that it's barely even a question.
"You started a rumor about Kendra and Evan even though we all know what an ass Brett is. Either you like Evan or you're a bitch who hates her best friend," she shrugs.
"… You think … Could I? …"
"I don't know," she hums, "but I've gotta go, my mom is making spaghetti tonight. You should hurry home too, Luce, your dad is back from his business trip, remember?"
She sits on it—not the big rock at the quarry, the idea—for a long, long time. Could she like Evan? He's smart and cute—is that the right word?—and tall and charming and nice and—crap. Does she?
"Lucy Goldman," she whispers. Just to see. "Lucy Sampson," she whispers. It feels strange on her tongue, foreign. "Lucy Goldman," she tries again. Something about it is … Right. But what? Does her name just work with a Jewish last name or is the boy whose last name it is? "Lucy Goldman. Lucy Goldman. Lucy Goldman." She changes her tone, her pitch, it still flows.
"Hey, beautiful." Her dad.
"Daddy, you're home," she smiles and hugs him, trying to pry her mind away from Evan and from the rumors that will kick her tomorrow.
Evan gulps. It's been 2 periods and all he's heard is "can you believe that Lucy started that rumor and not Charlotte?" and "she's such a bitch" and "how are she and Kendra still best friends?"
He has to find someone—Patrice, Archie, Kendra, Brett, Charlotte, god forbid, Lucy—and try and figure something out. He's The Brain. He has to know these things.
"Patrice—"
"It's everywhere. I haven't seen Lucy all day even though we have homeroom and PE together," his almost girlfriend—but wouldn't—that—be—awkward?—I—mean—really—with—Archie—and—we—should—just—be—friends—until—we—figure—it—out says.
"Oh, God, she'll kill us!"
"Who'll kill you?" Speak of the she-devil and she shall appear. Evan and Patrice jump.
A jumble of incoherent syllables and gurgles of half words leave Evan's mouth, followed by, "not you." Are those very, very angry blue eyes glaring at him? Patrice's or Lucy's? He's dead either way.
"Evan," oh, both of them. Patrice is just annoyed at his slip up though, that's good. Judging by Lucy's low, menacing, and dangerously slow (with that perfect, fucking articulation) though, he's so, so, so screwed.
He's a smart boy—they call him The Brain, after all (and yes, they still do, which makes Lucy calling him by his actual name all the scarier)—so he knows what he should do. But he's also a scared boy. So he runs like hell.
They don't catch him.
Lunch. It happens at lunch.
She walks with perfect poise and posture, her hips moving seductively, holding her lunch tray. But she doesn't walk to the Cool Table. She's much too smart for that. It'll save her the humiliation of being rejected to skip it all together.
After all, she knows how rumors work. She usually starts them with Charlotte. She calls this stage Collateral Hilarity. She never expected to be on the other side of it.
Evan can't help but stare. He's never seen her stray from the Cool Table, let alone sit by herself.
"We did that to her," he murmurs.
"We should be happy, Evan, she finally knows how it feels," Archie says.
"Should we really?" Evan snaps, "she may be evil, but she's still human."
"Evan, we didn't mean to—"
"And that makes it okay, Patrice? We shouldn't even have been talking about it in the first place! That's stooping to their level," he rants.
"Maybe. It's not like we can change it, Ev, what's done is done," Archie shrugs.
"What's done makes me feel sick, Archie." No one eats lunch because the food in their stomachs is already turning and the gossip about Lucy is everywhere.
Patrice doesn't mean to hear those choked up, miserable, vulnerable sobs in the girls' room. She just means to go in and wash her hands before home ec.
But the sobs are there when Patrice is.
Tentative, she glances down under the stall door (like people do when they're checking to see if a stall's full). Pale legs. Very pale legs that, Patrice notes, are thin and seem fairly long. She can't really tell given the fact there's a stall door distorting her view. She can, however, tell that those boots are designer and that those legs are porcelain.
And there's only one girl in Dan Quayle Junior High with skin that pale.
Lucy. Dunn.
Patrice taps on the stall door, gently. The sobs stop. Lucy must be holding her breath—Patrice knows that's the only way the pale girl can stop crying that quickly.
"Lucy?" She whispers.
"Go away, Patty," the brunette says. Patrice cringes. Lucy knows how much she despises being called "Patty."
"Are you okay?" It's a stupid question, they both know the answer.
"What do you think?" She spits.
"Well, you're crying in the girls' bathroom, that says a lot," she laughs a little.
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Lucy laughs too. Maybe it's a little bitter, maybe it's a little remorseful. Hell if Patrice can tell. There's a silence for just a minute. "I'm sorry."
"Me, too," Patrice whispers.
"Would you be mad if I told you I don't even know why I did it?" Patrice knows that "it" isn't the Evan—Kendra—affair rumor. "It" is their friendship and, more specifically, why it ended.
"Not really. We were both stupid 11 year olds. We were hormonal and confused and I didn't want to try anything Brett wanted us to and you just wanted him to like you. I think I know why. I mean … He can be an ass but the way he used to smile at me … The way he started smiling at Kendra—it's no wonder," she mutters.
"So … I was jealous. I guess. But the thing is, I don't even like Brett," Lucy admits.
"I know. You just want someone (besides Eddie) to like you. To make you feel special and pretty—which, by the way, is stupid because you're gorgeous," Patrice says, rolling her eyes.
"So are you," Lucy mutters.
"… Do you like Evan?"
"…"
"It's just, I heard once that rumors are—"
"Mostly just a projection of the person who started them, I know. Charlotte told me."
"She has her moments," Patrice smiles a little.
"I know, but still. It's weird when she gets wise on us." The brunette rolls her eyes.
"Yeah. Remember when she quoted Dumbledore?" The smile grows.
"Oh, my God—how could I forget?" Lucy giggles.
"… Do you wanna be friends again?" The redhead whispers.
The stall door opens and for the first time in forever (at least, it felt like forever), they hug.
"I think I do like him."
"I think he likes you too."
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