Free Never Enough by Denise Jaden Page B

I’m going to the front office to see if there’s any budget at all for lumber.” He was already walking away, and by his tone, this didn’t seem up for discussion.
    Disappointment dug at me. Did he not want to do the photo-set anymore? I definitely couldn’t do it without hishelp. And, okay, what I had said to the jocks this morning was lame, I’ll admit it, but I was trying to stick up for him! How could he be mad at me about that?
    I couldn’t even look through my photos, so depressed that the unique set we’d been planning might not happen. I spent the class up in the storage area, too sad to try to visualize using any of the small knickknacks up there for set pieces and instead just leafed aimlessly through smelly costumes.
    I was sure I had somehow made things worse for Marcus. He could see it, and I just couldn’t. Maybe tomorrow the jocks would lock him right inside his locker. Or push him out of the locker room without his clothes—I’d heard about that happening to a guy last year.
    Marcus didn’t show at our lockers after school, and the whole way home I couldn’t stop thinking of what I could do to make this better. What I could do that wouldn’t involve my big mouth.
    My mind ricocheted to Claire. Maybe I shouldn’t have let my frustration toward her take over just because I’d found myself another friend. Maybe if I made an effort with Claire we could be friends again.
    But the more I thought about it, the more we just seemed like not only two branches on a tree that had grown apart but two entirely different species.
    *   *   *
     
    That evening, Mom and I sat across the table from each other, slurping stew. Dad hadn’t made it home for dinner again, even though he’d told us he probably would. Claire had dropped by my locker between classes to ask me to tell Mom that she and Jasmine were going for sushi. Even though I’d sooner eat my own flesh than raw fish, I’d scrounged for an invitation from Claire. But she had just looked past me like she hadn’t heard a thing I said.
    Mom barely acknowledged me at the dinner table, which made me feel even more insignificant. There was a new floor-to-ceiling shrub in the corner of our living room, and it seemed to be all she wanted to look at. It occurred to me how many new plants Mom had been collecting lately. Our house was starting to look like a greenhouse.
    “Why don’t we put up some art?” I asked. And then, because I wanted to broach the subject again, and maybe even sway Mom a little into liking Marcus, I added, “I could ask Marcus. I’m sure he could tell us where to get something nice. He’s really great with stuff like that.” Even saying his name, I wondered if he’d ever talk to me again, about art or anything else. But hanging out at the Arts Club, I’d been more inspired with photography, and I could only imagine how much having something expressive at home might help.
    “You need to get some nice girlfriends, Loann,” Mom saidmatter-of-factly. “Look at Claire, she has Jasmine and Julia and Katie . . .”
    Look at Claire , the first three words I’d learned as a toddler.
    “Whatever happened with you and Shayleen?”
    I obviously wasn’t going to tell Mom the whole story of the pink tank top. But I did have a few choice memories I could share if she pushed the issue. Like when Shayleen had told us all about her first time, right after the big seventh-grade sex talk. She had explained how we should all be jealous because she had already done it, and it was the most gentle and natural thing that could happen to a woman .
    “You want me to be friends with Shayleen again?” I asked.
    “Well, I don’t know, honey, but Marcus . . .” She shook her head.
    The more I thought about Shayleen, the better Marcus seemed. Even though Mom didn’t know about how he’d been ignoring me, she was making me more determined than ever to patch things up with him. I tilted my bowl and slurped the last of my stew. I had to