Free Whatever Doesn't Kill You by Elizabeth Wennick Page B

wardrobe needs an update. And when was the last time you had a haircut?”
    I run my hands over my braid, frizzy from that afternoon’s snowfall. “I don’t know, when I was ten, maybe?”
    Ashley laughs. “That’s like, what, six years?”
    â€œFive and a half, I guess. Maybe longer. Maybe I was nine.”
    â€œGreat. Then it’s decided. I’ll meet you here; we’ll hit up the clearance racks at Limeridge. That should give us a good start. And we’re getting your hair done.
    I know a place you can get it done for eight bucks, and they actually do a pretty good job.”
    â€œUm, I…” I mull it over. I’ve never skipped school before. I mean, I’ve missed days when I was sick, and I did leave early once last semester when Wex fell on the playground at his school and split his lip open and the principal couldn’t get hold of Simon or Emily. But to full-out take a day off without permission—that’s just not something that’s ever occurred to me. It’s not like I think Simon will freak out, or even notice, for that matter, it’s just…naughty. It’s something Emily would do, but not good old, reliable Jenna. And for something as shallow and superficial as shopping for clothes? I can’t help but wonder what Ashley’s angle is. Is she dressing me up so she won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me at school? Or is it something more sinister: is she planning to pick out clothes that are just out of style enough to earn me more mocking from her old gang?
    Still, maybe this is the kind of thing one does when one has friends who aren’t all charter members of the Loser Club. I toss the yearbook back in the banker’s box and put the lid back on.
    â€œSure,” I say finally. “Let’s do that.”

TUESDAY
    As I braid my hair in the morning, I feel a nervous twinge. Do I really want to do this? I can hear Katie’s voice in my head, telling me not to sell out, not to pretend to be someone else for the sake of having a new friend. But since I don’t have any old friends left, what’s the point of holding on to old habits? I do look scruffy. I’ve always chalked it up to my own personal style, but in truth I’ve never really put much thought into how I look, and I’ve never thought much of people who do. But who knows? Maybe if I look better, people will treat me better.
    Simon is helping Wex with the zipper on his coat when I get out to the living room, and I dive past him and out the door without saying a word. It’s not that I think he’ll be mad about my skipping school; it’s just that I don’t want to have a conversation about it right now. I’m feeling conflicted enough as it is.
    Ashley is waiting outside the building, dangling a set of car keys in her hand.
    â€œWe’re taking my dad’s car,” she says. “We just have to walk down and pick it up from his work. He’s working a twelve-hour shift. All we have to do is make sure we get it back before he gets off work at seven tonight.”
    â€œOh. We’ll have to be back before that—I have to pick up the kids from the bus.”
    â€œReally? You do that every day?”
    â€œRain or shine.”
    It’s neither rain nor shine today. The sky is cloudy and ominous, and I wonder whether we might get that snowstorm Griffin was talking about the other day. The weather feels strangely appropriate, like the sky is angry at us for doing something wrong.
    Ashley’s dad works at one of the steel plants, and as we walk she chatters about how important his job is, how hard he works, how much money he makes. We wander down to the bottom of Ottawa Street, under a huge green metal building suspended over the road. It’s like another world down here. Huge coil carriers, twenty-four-wheeled trucks loaded up with six massive coils of steel apiece, slog by us on the slushy