Free Empty by K. M. Walton Page A

looking me up and down. “Are you wearing the same jeans? My God, your grandmother spent hundreds of dollars on clothes for you, and you wear a grubby Simpsons T-shirt?”
    I am in no mood to argue with her. I don’t have the energy. “Happy Monday morning to you, Mother.” I stare at her. She used to look good in the morning. Fresh and smiley. She can’tseem to muster up pretty—or happy, for that matter. She only looks dull or really dull.
    “You have a closet full of clothes I’ve never seen you wear! I don’t get you.”
    I mumble under my breath, “Yeah, I know.”
    “What? Stop talking with marbles in your mouth.”
    I sit at the table and push my sliced strawberries through my cottage cheese. I know my mother is watching, so I rearrange the fruit without eating.
    “I’m trying to help you, Adele,” my mother says. God, she looks wiped out. She must not have slept again last night.
    “Stop trying,” is all I can say.
    •  •  •
     
    The walk to school is an ugly, ugly walk. My thoughts are so heavy, I don’t know how my feet aren’t sunk into the sidewalk. A few times I stop and lean against a tree, just to calm down. What if everyone knows what Brandon did to me? That he thought it was some kind of a joke?
    I see Cara up ahead at our usual spot out front, but she’s standing with Emma and Melissa. I’m out of breath and sweaty when I reach them. “H-hey.” Cara and Emma share a series of quick looks and an outbreak of laughter. This behavior cements what I already suspect: Cara was out with them yesterday and chose to ignore my texts.
    “Dell, did you see us dancing at the party?” Cara asks with an over-the-top smile. I’ve seen that smile before. In fact, I know it well. It’s the same fake smile we practiced in eighth grade, imitating the popular girls—namely, Taryn—to make ourselves laugh. I break eye contact with her mouth and study the rest of her face for signs that she’s joking. I don’t know, I think she’s trying to impress Emma and Melissa.
    I nod in response to Cara’s question, so I don’t sound all breathy, and sit down on the wall. I’d like to ask Cara a million things, but questioning her about why she didn’t call me yesterday would make me look like a fool, like a pesky, needy dweeb. Where were you, Cara? Do you still like me, Cara? Are you still my best friend, Cara? Why did it take you so long to text me back, Cara?
    I play it cool, put my earbuds in, and pretend I’m listening to music. I watch Cara and the other two girls. They’re just so pretty, all three of them. Me? I look like I just ate three pretty girls for breakfast.
    Buses drop off hordes of kids, and everyone congregates on the front walkway and grass. I spy Chase and Jacob the table-lifter and watch them playfully shove their way to the hill. If they’re here that means Brandon can’t be too far behind. I slump down in my best retreating-turtle imitation and wish myself invisible. I know I’ll have to see him eventually, but thethought of interacting with him right now cracks my heart straight down the middle and just might kill me. Then everyone would have to step over my dead body on their way into school.
    Cara turns to Emma. “Oh my God, Em, my legs are killing me.”
    Em? She’s calling her Em?
    Emma and Melissa squeal back at the same time, “Me toooooooo!”
    Melissa stares at me for a second, then pulls Cara and Emma in toward her. “She can’t hear us, right?”
    I move my head to the imaginary music. Cara and Emma both turn to look over at me. Even if I actually were listening to blaring music, I would’ve been able to tell they were about to talk about me or say something they didn’t want me to hear. Heat surges to my face.
    “Like Taryn said before, Dell is too big to run anywhere. It would be so embarrassing if anyone saw us with her. You know?” Melissa snickers. “So let’s run that same trail next Sunday,” she says. “Maybe we can get Taryn to come