Free Chasing Boys by Karen Tayleur Page A

team.
    “I heard her father is some famous journalist,” says Desi.
    “Who?” I erase my math scribbles and start again.
    “Angelique’s dad. And her mom used to be a model. I’ve never heard of her, but she was big in Europe years ago. She lives in France.”
    “Who does?”
    “Angelique’s mother. If I was Angelique, I’d live in France. Imagine the clothes. Do you think she uses French products on her hair? Not that there’s anything wrong with your hair, El.”
    Ms. Clooney cruises by like a shark on food patrol. She pauses long enough to rest her fingertips on Desi’s textbook before moving on. Margot is sitting nearby, looking out of the window.
    “Problem?” asks Ms. Clooney as she stops at Margot’s desk.
    Margot shifts her gaze to her book. “No problem,” she says.
    I wait for Margot to look up at me and roll her eyes, but she doesn’t and I feel the earth shift a little beneath my feet.
    For eighteen months, Margot and I have been best friends. For eighteen months, since I moved to Blair, Margot and I have shared secrets and laughed at the losers and sighed at the crapness that is our lives. Before I came along it was just Margot and Desi. Then it was Margot and El and Desi. The magical power that is three.
    But lately something’s changed. It may not be real, but it’s there like a tiny stone in my shoe. I limp along as if I have no choice, but I could make it more comfortable in an instant. I just need to confront Margot, but what do I say? “Are we still friends? Have I done something wrong?” I can see her eyebrow lift now as if asking whether I’ve gone crazy.
    Maybe I have.

35.
    I t’s the geography field trip day and I’ve forgotten to bring my signed form, so I secretly sign another one and hand it to Mr. Ray. I have not been looking forward to this. I figure the constant waves breaking in my stomach are due to an early start and no breakfast.
    We get on the minibus and everyone is jostling to get the seats at the back. Desi and I choose a seat in the middle and Sarah sits in front of us and turns around. I feel rather than see Dylan pass us to go farther toward the back of the bus.
    “I’ve made up some forms for you and Dylan to use—you know, for the whole stats thing.”
    Desi nudges me but I keep a straight face and say, “Thanks, Sarah.”
    “I figure if it’s okay with you and Dylan I’ll just take some photos and maybe interview some people. Stats really aren’t my thing. Did I mention that already?” asks Sarah.
    “Yep.”
    “I’ve also brought my digital camera. You know, for my part of the project. But you can have it if I finish early.”
    “I don’t think we’ll need a camera . . . Thanks anyway, Sarah.”
    When we get there, everyone piles out. Dylan, Sarah, and I group together and Sarah reads the riot act about what we should be doing.
    “Here are the forms,” she says. “It’s probably better if you split up—we’ll finish earlier that way.”
    Our group is responsible for taking stats around the mini golf club and shopping plaza across the street. They flank a busy road that seems filled with trucks. I feel sorry for the little cars. Sarah leaves to record interviews with some sales assistants and shoppers and golfers. Dylan stands with the form in his hand and looks lost.
    “I’ll take the stats for the number of cars in and out of the parking spots,” I say. “You note the number of trucks and buses going past.”
    I try not to think about the last time he saw me.
    Dylan heads off to the corner, clicker in one hand and Sarah’s form in the other. Mr. Ray checks on us a couple of times and nods encouragingly.
    “Remember to note the vegetation surrounding the area,” he says. “Native or introduced?”
    Vegetation? I guess you could call the mini golf green vegetation. There are houses on either side of the plaza and golf course, but they are old row houses and don’t have a lot of front garden space. I notice a tree here and there,