Free Chasing Boys by Karen Tayleur

the drying rack is covering it slightly.
    That’s when I realize that my washed underwear has been on display for the whole world to see.

32.
    O ur school uniform is red and black and white.
    It’s compulsory, but everyone manages to make their own statement. Margot’s going through a crimson phase, so she adds little accents, like her bird necklace, that she can quickly hide when it’s inspection time.
    The uniform colors are the only colors I wear, apart from my old pajamas. Everything else is black. I don’t count the pink top in my drawer because I haven’t worn it yet.
    When I go to school I wear my uniform.
    When I’m not at school I wear black.
    I wear black because it is easy.
    I wear black because it is cool.
    It is cool like the black silence of a deep well.
    Like the secret depths of a limestone cave.
    Or the stillness of a long dark night.
    And when I see someone else, someone wearing black, our eyes meet and we know. We know why black.

33.
    B y Monday I am well enough to go to school.
    How disappointing. I realize Margot didn’t call me on the weekend. She apologizes and I tell her not to worry about it. She and Desi are full of news from last Friday night’s movie. We are sitting in our usual spot on the carpeted floor of the biography section in the library. I have one ear on them and both eyes on the glassed-in meeting room where the newspaper group is in session. Even though everyone is sitting in a circle of chairs, it is easy to see who the leader is. I watch as Angelique prompts questions, makes notes, and directs the discussion. The room is mostly soundproof, so I am only guessing what is really going on. At one point she stares straight out at me, as if aware that I’m watching her. The stare reminds me of her appearance near my house last Saturday and then I’m positive that it was no dream.
    I suddenly make the connection that she had probably been visiting her brother.
    “. . . fixed it?” asks Desi, tugging at my sleeve.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your Wednesday radio gig. Is your mom going to complain?” asks Desi.
    “Why don’t you join them?” says Margot.
    She has seen me watching the newspaper group.
    “What?” I laugh as if I don’t know what she’s talking about.
    “The newspaper nuts. Maybe you should discover what you’re missing out on?” Her eyes are two slits of dark granite.
    “I don’t—,” I say.
    Desi cuts in. “Hey, that could be fun. Maybe we could all join. I’d love to know what they talk about in there.”
    “Who cares?” I say.
    Margot has already unfolded herself from the floor. I watch her straighten her skirt, smooth her hair, and walk to the meeting room. Desi follows quickly behind.
    I don’t know what to do. At the last minute I race quickly after Desi before the meeting room door shuts behind her.
    “Hello,” says Angelique with a smile.

34.
    D id you see her nails?” repeats Desi for perhaps the fourteenth time.
    “Yes,” I answer, flipping to the back of my math textbook for an answer.
    “I mean, they were professionally done. Professional. I should know, because my cousin Kiera works in a salon. Not that there’s anything wrong with your nails, El.”
    Desi hasn’t shut up since we invaded the newspaper group at lunchtime. She is fascinated with Angelique and acts like we’ve been in the presence of a movie star. She’s also careful to let me know that I am her friend and she’s on my side when it comes to the whole Eric saga.
    Strangely, Margot has barely said anything. All she said as we got to our lockers was, “Well, that was interesting.”
    As usual, I can’t decide whether she really meant it was interesting or if she was mocking it. I don’t know what to make of the meeting. There seemed to be a lot of talk about what people were going to do, but so far no one seemed to be doing anything. Nobody except Angelique and the guy called Coop, the one from detention, who was writing an article on the school basketball