Free All Alone in the Universe by Lynne Rae Perkins

psychedelic rainbow colors. It must have put me into some sort of a hypnotic state because suddenly Linda Sabotnik was passing a note to my desk that said, “Do you like Paul N.?” I considered this for a second, then looked at her as if to say. Are you nuts? She pointed to my notebook. I saw that I had copied his whole paisley shirt. I wrote, “No, just his shirt,” on the note and passed it back. Linda passed another note that said, “Where were you last period?” I wrote back, “Nurse‧s office. Bad hay fever.” I looked back at my notebook page. Besides Paul Nepovicz‧s shirt, neck, and ears, there were the words
cell division
and
superstition,
but I had no idea what Mr. Zianetti had talked about. I wrote, “Can I copy your notes?” and passed it to Linda.

     
    I didn‧t have a plan. I was just putting one foot in front of the other. I moved like the wrong end of a magnet through the iron filings of the day, repelling contact. I could feel Maureen‧s questioning glances. I could sense Glenna‧s satisfaction. She was so sure I was out of the picture that she came over and, in a voice that almost sounded friendly, asked me if I was going to lunch. As if you cared, I thought.
    “I can‧t,” I lied. “I have a doctor‧s appointment.”
    “Are you sick?” she asked with fake sympathy.
    Only of you, popped spitefully into my mind. But aloud I said, “Just hay fever. Allergies.”
    “I didn‧t know you had allergies,” she said.
    “Neither did I,” I said. “But I‧m starting to think I might.”
    I wanted Maureen to come to her senses and say, “You, Debbie, are my best and truest friend. I‧m so sorry, Glenna, but you will have to go back to the pond scum where you belong.”
    She didn‧t. She didn‧t say anything like that.
    I started to understand that she wasn‧t going to. Ever. I was adrift. I wondered what I had done wrong. What was wrong with me. Why my friend had left. All by herself. I wanted to ask her why. I wanted to ask. How? But something I had thought was solid was just gone. It had dissolved, and I couldn‧t bring myself to ask anymore.
    I walked to school by myself. I was starting to get used to it when one day a voice called out to me from behind, “Hey. Debbie. Wait up.” I turned around. It was Marie Prbyczka. I waited for her to catch up.
    “Don‧t you hang out with Maureen no more?” she asked. “Did you‧ns have a fight or something?”
    “No, we‧re still friends,” I said. This wasn‧t exactly true, but I still didn‧t feel like saying so.
    “I thought you guys were like this.” She crossed her fingers, like for good luck or telling a fib. “Me and Don used to say to each other, ‘Oh, look, here comes the Bobbsey Twins.”
    Part of me was proud, but another part was embarrassed and sent blood rushing to my face and ears. This must be some evolutionary survival mechanism, but I can‧t imagine how it worked. I also can‧t imagine Marie reading
The Bobbsey Twins.
Probably she just knew the tide. I was surprised they had even paid any attention to us.
    “Where‧s Don?” I asked her. “Doesn‧t he usually give you a ride?”
    “That jagoff,” she said. “He has some new girlfriend. Some chick from Hesmont. I told him, ‘If you‧re calling her up, don‧t bother calling me up no more.” She didn‧t seem to be heartbroken. She didn‧t even seem to be concerned.
    “Do you miss him?” I asked.
    Marie laughed. “I miss getting a ride to school,” she said.
    Marie was all right to walk with. She talked a lot, so I didn‧t have to. She told me about Jerome and Anthony, the oldest of her little brothers, who were always stealing her cigarettes and then almost setting the house on fire. She told me stories about the weekend dances at the Hesarena. The stories always had cigarettes, beer, cars with a lot of people packed in, and fights. Sometimes the police. I wondered what it would be like to go there. Marie talked as if I would be doing that,