Free Reconstructing Amelia by Kimberly McCreight

been looking for an invite into one of the clubs. The people in them were basically sheep, at least most of them, and Sylvia and I had our pact about not joining. Unless and until we changed our minds together, and then only if we were both invited. Because any club that didn’t want the both of us wasn’t a club either of us wanted to be part of. And my being curious and showing up didn’t change that.
    I never thought in a million years I’d get tapped anyway—if that was even what was going on. And definitely not by the Maggies. Which was another reason I didn’t feel so bad about going to check out the whole thing. I was still pretty sure it was all some messed-up joke. But I had to know. It wasn’t like I cared about being cool, but then again I’d never had the chance to be cool before. Also, it felt kind of good getting picked for something that wouldn’t have anything to do with how smart I was or how fast I could run. If the Maggies wanted me, it would just be for me being me.
    Besides, it wasn’t like Sylvia brought me along every time she got a new boyfriend either, and I didn’t blame her for that. But maybe I didn’t have to sit around and do nothing all by myself until she got dumped this time. Because Sylvia always got dumped, eventually. And I was always there, picking up the pieces.
    I squinted into the crazy-bright sun as I turned at the Picnic House, then pushed my hands deep into my pockets. They were shaking. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I was that nervous, or whatever.
    When I was a little closer, I could finally make out what looked like twenty or so girls—only girls as I’d thought—leaning or squatting in the shadows under a clump of trees. They were still too far away for me to make out any of their faces, but I saw one point in my direction. A few others turned to look. Someone raised a hand. It wasn’t so much a wave as, like, a signal.
    They were definitely waiting for me. The Magpies: beautiful, vicious birds known for pecking people’s eyes out.
    I tried not to speed up. I didn’t want to look like I was in any hurry to do what they wanted me to do. No, I was laid back and cool and not stressed about the whole thing. Because it was one thing to let the Maggies try to play me. It was another for me to run over there so they could do it.
    When I was about halfway there, I saw two other girls coming from the opposite direction. It was a relief—and kind of a letdown—to see that the whole mess wasn’t just for me. On the upside, if it was a joke, at least it wouldn’t be only me that the Magpies were playing it on.
    I was almost there, but the sun was still so bright that I couldn’t make out much of who it was under the trees, except that there were five people standing. One of them I recognized from her huge head of long reddish curls. In a school full of blend-in people, it was wild, stand-out hair, and it belonged to Dylan Crosby—beautiful, popular, junior. Dylan was the kind of girl you’d expect to be a Magpie, except she was so ultracool that she was like above the cool kids. An actress who’d had the lead in almost every Grace Hall play I could remember, Dylan didn’t seem to care what anyone thought, which, of course, made everyone want to be her best friend. It was exactly the way that Sylvia and I thought of ourselves. Except when we colored outside the lines, no one tried to follow.
    Dylan had never had a boyfriend at Grace Hall. And a girl like her was too pretty not to. Half the school thought she was frigid; the other half figured she must have some secret boyfriend somewhere—someone older, maybe even married. Or famous. For a while there was even a piece on gRaCeFULLY called Dylanwatch — everyone holding her breath to see whom she’d finally decide to give the green light to. But the column fizzled when no dirt on Dylan ever got dug up. There were even some rumors for a while that Dylan was still a virgin—which I took as like a personal