Free Breathless by Jessica Warman

out of line, leading me toward the front with them. None of the people we cut ahead of say anything.
    Later that day, in study hall, I’m sitting a few rows away from Estella, looking over the pile of Latin homework that’s already been assigned. She and Stetson are in the back row, deep in hushed conversation. There’s no way I’d have the nerve to join them. As I’m staring at a page of conjugations, I feel something hit the back of my head. It’s a balled-up piece of paper. When I open it, it reads,
    Hey Sasquatch—
        I’m going to pluck your eyebrows for you tonight. C U in my room after dinner.
                                            XOXO
                                                                                —E
    I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed—I mean, she did just throw paper at my head—or happy. When I look back at her, she gives me a wave, fluttering each of her long, manicured fingers individually. And when I glance around at everyone else in study hall, nobody is laughing at me. If anything, the other girls seem curious to know what the note says.
    Estella, I think, knows how obnoxious she is. She’s more clever than people give her credit for. It seems like everyone assumes she’s a spoiled bimbo, when she’s neither. I can see it in the way she looks around sometimes, quietly, her face tight with concentration, just taking everything in. If people weren’t so quick to judge, just based on what she looked like, she might not be able to get away with so much. Then again—her stepdad is on the board of directors.
    A few weeks into the year, I’m sitting at lunch with Estella and Lindsey. I’ve started eating with them every day. “You have an accent, you know,” Estella informs me. So far she’s plucked my eyebrows, showed me how to roll the waistband of my skirt up so that it’s at least a few inches shorter than regulation (although none of the teachers say anything), and openly expressed her hopelessness that I’ll ever be able to properly apply eyeliner. I keep waiting for the day when I can relax around her. So far, it isn’t looking good.
    “Do I?”
    “Yes. Very Pittsburgh. My mother’s first husband is originally from Pittsburgh.” She shakes her head, oblivious to the hint of a West Virginia drawl in her thick, accusing tone. As her hair spills over her broad shoulders, her movement sends a swirl of perfume across the table. It smells so good—so clean and lovely—I can almost see it. “He trained himself to get rid of it. You should do the same thing.” She digs into her cake—Estella eats three huge pieces of cake for lunch every day, and her body is perfect—and chews silently, staring at me.
    “You’re so mean,” Lindsey says, staring at her own untouched piece of cake. The minute she takes a bite, Estella will narrow her eyes and kind of cock her head to one side, looking at me, expecting us to share a smirk.
    “I am not mean. I’m honest. You know, nobody is ever straightforward. But sometimes people need to hear the truth.”
    “Hey, look”—I put my hand on Lindsey’s arm—“there she is.” We’ve been trying to spot Mazzie every day at lunch, without any luck. Now the three of us stare as she takes small steps, balancing her tray in one hand, looking around the room for a place to sit. I catch her gaze and try to wave her over to us.
    “You know, she’s super smart,” Lindsey says. “She’s in my advanced abstract mathematics class.”
    “She’s in my advanced abstract mathematics class,” Estella mocks. Even though she’s pretty smart, there’s no question Estella isn’t good at math. She’s taking geometry for the second year in a row. “Big deal. Eat your cake already. You know you want to.” Underneath the table, she kicks Lindsey.
    “Ow!” Lindsey’s eyes well up with tears. “That