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“Magwitch, you can’t let what other people say affect you so much.” I know this isn’t helpful, but my father says it all the time and it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“By looking at everyone like they’re a big joke. Come on, Mags. You know high school is absurd. In less than a year we’ll be out of here and we’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.”
“I need a cigarette,” Maggie groans.
The door opens and the two Jens come in.
Jen S and Jen P are cheerleaders and part of the Pod clique. Jen S has straight dark hair and looks like a beautiful little dumpling. Jen P used to be my best friend in third grade. She was kind of okay, until she got to high school and took up social climbing. She spent two years taking gymnastics so she could become a cheerleader, and even dated Tommy Brewster’s best friend, who has teeth the size of a horse. I waver between feeling sorry for her and admiring her desperate determination. Last year, her efforts paid off and she was finally admitted to the Pod pack, which means she now rarely talks to me.
For some reason, she does today, because when she sees me, she exclaims, “Hi!” as if we’re still really good friends.
“Hi!” I reply, with equally false enthusiasm.
Jen S nods at me as the two Jens begin taking lipsticks and eye shadows out of their bags. I once overheard Jen S telling another girl that if you want to get guys, you have to have “a trademark”—one thing you always wore to make you memorable. For Jen S, this, apparently, is a thick stripe of navy blue eyeliner on her upper lid. Go figure. She leans in to the mirror to make sure the eyeliner is still intact as Jen P turns to me.
“Guess who’s back at Castlebury High?” she asks.
“Who?”
“Sebastian Kydd.”
“Re-e-e-ally?” I look in the mirror and rub my eye, pretending I have something in it.
“I want to date him,” she says, with complete and utter confidence. “From what I’ve heard, he’d be a perfect boyfriend for me.”
“Why would you want to date someone you don’t know?”
“I just do, that’s all. I don’t need a reason.”
“Cutest boys in the history of Castlebury High,” Jen S says, as if leading a cheer.
“Jimmy Watkins.”
“Randy Sandler.”
“Bobby Martin.”
Jimmy Watkins, Randy Sandler, and Bobby Martin were on the football team when we were sophomores. They all graduated at least two years ago. Who cares? I want to shout.
“Sebastian Kydd,” Jen S exclaims.
“Hall of Famer for sure. Right, Carrie?”
“Who?” I ask, just to annoy her.
“Sebastian Kydd,” Jen P says in a huff as she and Jen S exit.
“Maggie?” I ask. She hates the two Jens and won’t come out until they’ve left the bathroom. “They’re gone.”
“Thank God.” The stall door opens and Maggie heads for the mirror. She runs a comb through her hair. “I can’t believe Jen P thinks she can get Sebastian Kydd. That girl has no sense of reality. Now, what were you going to tell me?”
“Nothing,” I say, suddenly sick of Sebastian. If I hear one more person mention his name, I’m going to shoot myself.
“What was that business with Sebastian Kydd?” The Mouse asks a little later. We’re in the library, attempting to study.
“What business?” I highlight an equation in yellow, thinking about how useless it is to highlight. It makes you think you’re learning, but all you’re really learning is how to use a highlighter.
