B.C. Johnson: Deadgirl

“Crap,” Zack said. “What about lunch? Meet me at lunch?”

I swooned. I didn’t even know I was capable of swooning. In fact, my grasp of swooning mechanics might be described as loose . Still, I felt something that seemed to fit into that category pretty well . Wow. Just since yesterday I’d gone from cynical teenage girl-about-town to dumb-struck, marble-mouthed puppy dog. I hate hormones .

I nodded my affirmation, mostly because I didn’t come close to trusting my mouth. It might have spazzed and said “your eyes are like blue fire,” or “do you mind if I nibble your earlobe?” and then I would have to kill myself.

“Okay,” Zack said. “You still sit by the statue?”

I nodded again. It was too early in the day for making a fool of myself.

“All right, peace.”

Zack turned and bolted through the turnstile and out of the library. The Devil would show up for Sunday mass before Zack would be late to class. I realized by all technical definitions Zack was either a nerd or a goody-goody, but his casual confidence, not to mention boyish good looks, seemed to make him label-proof. I couldn’t call him a geek and make it stick anymore then I could call him a saucepan or a lima bean.

I went to Journalism with a spring in my step and my books clenched tight to my chest. I know I looked like an idiot, but no power I possessed could scrape the atomic grin from my lips. I think it was visible from space.

I didn’t have any article in Journalism to comment on—in fact, I’d already finished both of my articles for the school paper that month. As was usually the case, the fast writers finished up within days and sat around playing Text Twist or surfing the internet while the slower or lazier writers stared at their monitors in either terror or apathy.

I spent most of the period thinking about either Zack, the movies, or Zack at the movies. In other words, I was disgusting.

I went through second period World History with a slightly more active mindset. I enjoyed history because it was real life without all the boring parts. Edited for maximum excitement.

I left the class feeling even springier.

I met Morgan on the way to English. She swept up next to me on one side while Wanda angled in from the other. We joined together like any veteran flock of birds.

“So?” Morgan asked. Her eyes were wide in excitement.

“Well...” I said, enjoying the moment. “Let’s just say it was not a blanket invitation.”

“You think he digs you?” Wanda asked.

“Outlook is good,” I said.

My grin split even wider. I felt like the top of my head was going to hinge off of that smile and I’d be looking upside-down behind me.

I have weird thoughts .

Ms. Fleece was already scribbling on the whiteboard when the three of us swept into English as nearly one entity.

“What about Benny?” I asked. “Any info there?”

“Mostly confirmation,” Morgan said. “Zack seems to have gotten over The Weirdness last year.”

The Weirdness was our codename for the awkward, hot-and-cold, non-relationship Zack and I had last year. It was everything bad about a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship with none of the good. Mostly just idiosyncratic jealousy, territoriality, and longing glances. No one asked anyone out—we never really held hands or touched each other. We weren’t technically anything. Blah. The Weirdness haunted my dreams.

Still, if The Weirdness really had ended…

Daphne and Sara were in their usual seats, just beside ours. Sara—black, pretty, perfect-skinned—possessed the sort of annoying physique that went with being an avid softball player. Daphne was wearing a floral-print dress that complimented her olive skin and a pair of black combat boots that did not. She must have been mid-rant when we entered—a circle of students were turned to face her, but she shooed them off and looked up at me. A smile transformed her face into something heart-shaped and vaguely adorable.

“Did I hear Zack ?” Daphne said, and I groaned.

Sara sat up, “Can we talk about Zack again?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” Morgan said, and I made a real concerted effort not to strangle her. Judas.

Morgan filled them in on the details about the sudden and inexplicable intrusion of Zack back into my life. As soon as they heard about The Plan , they clamored for a resolution.

“Well,” Morgan said, “Benny caught on pretty quickly to my intentions. He said Zack loves when your hair is down and also when you wear boots.”

“Thanks, but I don’t take fashion advice from Benny,” I said. “He wears all black and skinny jeans.”

“Technically it’s fashion advice from Zack,” Wanda corrected.

I flashed her a betrayed look.

“Skinny jeans are in , you know—” Sarah began.

“No,” Daphne snapped. “They make your feet huge and your butt enormous.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said.

“Swell,” Ms. Fleece said.

When I looked up, I realized Ms. Fleece had been standing in front of Daphne’s desk for some time, listening in. I clamped my mouth closed and felt my face go bright red.

“Sorry, Ms. Fleece,” Morgan whispered.

Ms. Fleece stared down at Daphne, who flashed her thousand-watt smile.

“Cute,” Ms. Fleece said. “Get your book out, Ms. Karras. You do remember books, right? English?”

I laughed, but Ms. Fleece turned her glare on me and I pulled out Lord of the Flies like I was a gunslinger at high noon.

“Good, good,” Ms. Fleece said, “Page fifty-six. Ms. Karras and Ms. Day can trade reading out loud for the rest of the class.”

I groaned and slumped in my chair. This was going to be a long fifty-five minutes .

Fourth period Art went more smoothly than English, but it was just me and Wanda and I can’t imagine I was great company. My brain vibrated in my skull, half-formed thoughts and hopes zinging through it. The static made thinking impossible—thirty minutes into the class my sketch of a fruit bowl consisted of a half-circle and a straight line. My pencil ticked back and forth in my hand, in time with the clicking of the broken cog in my mind that turned all of my engines back toward Zack. I knew how repulsive I was being, but I couldn’t help it.

I hadn’t thought of Zack in so long, the breaking of my Zack-embargo was like driving a metal spike through a dam. All the built up water exploded through the tiny crack and drowned me in a river of stupid.

The lunch bell bleated too quickly. I looked up, stunned, sporting what had to be cow-face. Wanda transmitted quiet annoyance on all channels.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t apologize so much,” Wanda said, mimicking my own words to her. It wasn’t terribly funny.

“Cute,” I said. “Walk me to lunch and tell me something inflammatory. I mean really piss me off.”

“Why?”

“You know, like, an emotional slap in the face. To wake me.”

“Can’t I just…really slap you?”

I gave her a sideways glance, “We’ll see how bad it gets.”

“Okay,” Wanda said, and her tone made me wonder whether she was joking or not.

As we left the class, Wanda turned toward me, her face blank.

“The sweater I borrowed from you last week got stained with spaghetti sauce.”

I sucked in a tight, high breath. Wanda grabbed my arm and led me out of the door.

The lunch crowd was assembled in the quad in their usual spots.

We lunched on a low wall in the shade of blocky juniper bushes, next to the central statue of Johnny Rebel, our anachronistic, out of place, but much beloved mascot. The "we" never changed—Daphne, Sara, Morgan, Jamie, and Will. They were in their usual configuration. I thought again about the odd mechanical sameness of high school.