Free Underneath by Sarah Jamila Stevenson Page B

been friendly to me, but she and her Emoville friends have put up with me sitting with them at lunch and have pretty much left me alone, which is what I wanted in the first place. Even the girl who first gave me attitude, Becca, has been pretty nice. Cody got on my case at first for homing in on their lunch spot, but he got over it surprisingly quickly. For a day or two after that, he ignored me; now we seem to have a tentative truce.
    He even smiled at me a little when I passed him in the hall after first period today. His smile makes him look like a different person. Less like a conceited jerk. More like a normal human being. Which he is, I guess.
    I’m the one who’s not quite normal.
    I’m still drying my face on a scratchy brown paper towel when Mikaela comes out of the stall. She washes her hands and then stays in front of the mirror to fix one of her springy little braids. My face is more than dry, so I give up trying to hide and, heart pounding, try to sound as casual and normal as possible.
    â€œHey, Mikaela.” I carefully don’t look at her, but stare into the mirror and pretend to squint at a zit on my chin.
    â€œOh, hey, Sunny,” she says, glancing at me before going back to her braid. She doesn’t stare at my red, teary eyes. She doesn’t sound scornful. She doesn’t sound like anything. Just regular. I mentally sigh with relief. She finishes wrapping the end of the braid in a silver rubber band and starts to head for the door. She passes me on the way, and slows, peering closely at my face. She looks like she’s about to say something, but instead she just smiles and says, “See you at lunch.” Then, just as she’s gotten past me, her hand shoots out and tucks something into the pocket of my windbreaker. For a second I think I’ve imagined it.
    â€œUm, yeah … see you then,” I manage to croak out. When Mikaela’s gone, I reach into my pocket. Inside is a tissue packet.
    I almost feel like crying again. Cassie would have been all over me. She’d have been all “what’s wrong, Sunny Bunny?” and “oh, no, look how red your eyes are; we need to get some eye drops in there,” and “let’s get you fixed up.” The thought doesn’t seem comforting to me anymore. It seems smothering. It seems superficial, like she cared more about how I look than how I feel.
    Maybe she did.
    Mikaela didn’t even say anything—all she did was shove Kleenex in my pocket. But she cared enough to not press the issue, and left me alone to sort myself out, which is what I do. I have to.
    Next period is tutoring in the library. As usual, nobody seems to require my services. I do notice that one of the guys from Emoville is sitting at a table in the far corner by the window, a guy with nondescript light-brown hair who I think is named David. He’s scribbling in a notebook. It’s funny; it’s like I never noticed any of them before, but now I’m running into Mikaela and her friends all over the place.
    It makes me feel less alone.
    At one point he looks up and catches me watching. I give him a half-wave, and he kind of half-smiles back and goes back to writing in his notebook. I might as well be friendly since I’m sharing their table every day. I don’t want them to drive me out. I don’t have anywhere else to go.

    â€œOh, of course you want to read the Citrus Valley Voice ! Everyone wants to read the Citrus Valley Voice ! Your mom wants to read the Citrus Valley Voice !” Becca says in a high-pitched squeak, mimicking the overenthusiastic office aide who just forced copies of the school newspaper on us.
    â€œWe can always use it to start fires, I guess,” this guy named Andy says, with a slightly insane grin.
    â€œPyro,” I say, absently, playing with the lid of my water bottle. I always kind of liked the Citrus Valley Voice , but I’m not going to say so now.
    â€œJust