Free The Implosion of Aggie Winchester by Lara Zielin Page B

didn’t notice Sylvia’s face right away.
    I turned to see her glaring at me. “What the hell are you wearing?” she asked.
    I blinked, then remembered. “It’s just a sweater,” I said. “My clothes were all dirty.” Which was the truth. I’d been so desperate for something to throw on that I’d delved into the stash of mom-approved clothes in my closet. I thought I’d picked the least offensive thing.
    Sylvia looked me up and down. “It’s turquoise .”
    “Like hell it is,” I said. “It’s just blue. Normal, everyday blue.” I was wearing the sweater with jeans and my black boots. A leather bracelet with studs was clamped around my right wrist. A heavy beaded black necklace was draped around my neck. My makeup was dark and heavy. Everything was the same except for the sweater.
    “That is not normal blue,” Sylvia argued.
    I slammed my locker shut. “So what do you want me to do? Go around in my bra all day? It’s just a stupid sweater.”
    “Your coat is at least black. Wear that.”
    “What? Why?”
    “Because you look ridiculous.”
    Anger flared inside me. “And you sound ridiculous. You always say you don’t care what people think.”
    “I don’t care what people think. I care what I think. And I think you look stupid.”
    “Well, it’s my wardrobe, and I think I look fine.”
    “Suit yourself,” Sylvia replied, sounding pissed.
    “Are we seriously going to fight about my sweater? Can’t we just talk about something else?”
    “Okay. Here’s some news. Beth is coming to lunch with us today.”
    I thought about how it wasn’t a question. “Whatever,” I said.
    Sylvia grunted. “All right, look. Forget I said anything about the sweater. And Beth is legit. So be cool about her eating with us. Okay?”
    “Fine,” I said, glad she was letting the sweater issue go. “If you say so.”
    “Later,” she said, and we headed to our separate classes.
     
    I slipped into study hall with time to spare before the bell rang. “A new record,” Fitz said as I took my seat. “Not just on time but early .”
    I smiled. “Yeah, well. I’m trying to tone down my dangerous side.”
    “So where’d you wind up fishing on Saturday?” he asked, leaning in. The warm blanket smell was back. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could speak, Allie Hoffman dropped herself into an open desk in front of us.
    “Can I ask you something without you beating me up?” she asked, playing with the ends of her long blond hair.
    I looked at her. “What?”
    “Sylvia Ness. Is she really pregnant?”
    Fitz leaned back in his chair. “Plead the Fifth,” he said.
    “I have history class with Sylvia,” Allie said, ignoring Fitz. “I thought she had a little bump. But then Erika Lloyd said this morning that her mom heard it at a PTA fund-raiser over the weekend. So, is she for real preggers? And do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”
    Fitz cleared his throat, interrupting her. “Excuse me, but my client can neither confirm nor deny these allegations. If you have further questions, I ask that you present them in writing.”
    Allie turned around. “What are you talking about, Fitz?”
    “You’re badgering my witness,” Fitz said.
    “Huh? I don’t have any badgers. Oh, and Becky says you should call her. She says she thinks she left her bikini over at your house from when you were in the hot tub together.”
    Fitz paled. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
    Allie whipped back around. “Tell Sylvia that my mom is a doula, and that if she wants to have a natural birth, my mom would totally help.”
    “A doula?”
    Allie nodded. “Yeah. It’s like a midwife.”
    I didn’t say anything. The final bell rang. “Nice sweater,” Allie said before standing and leaving. “That color totally works on you.”
    As Mr. Otts took attendance, I pulled out my chemistry book, rattled to my core. Not only did the entire junior class know about Sylvia, but it also appeared that Fitz had a girlfriend. The Becky