Читать книгу Dead Little Mean Girl - Eva Darrows - Страница 12

Chapter Four

“If you tell the school about the Riddell thing, I’ll end you.”

One minute I was shoving a bologna sandwich in my face at the kitchen table, a book open before me, the next Quinn loomed over me in her workout pants and tank top like a perfumed vulture.

“That’s nice. You’re in my light. Move?”

She batted my book away. The pages rustled and settled somewhere in the middle that was distinctly not my place. It irritated me. I was at a really good spot, when Katniss... It’s not important. You don’t mess with my The Hunger Games and she messed with my The Hunger Games and for that I wanted to snap her like a twig.

“You don’t have to be a dong about it.” I snatched the book and tucked it beneath the table where her grimy tentacles couldn’t touch it.

“You’re not listening to me, Emilia.”

This was a new thing, the Emilia bit. I have no idea where she got it from, but it was stupid.

“I am listening. Don’t tell anyone about the Riddell thing. Now can I go back to reading?”

“No, see. You don’t get me.” She leaned down, until her lips were an inch away from my ear, her breath lashing at my skin. I could feel her body heat against my back. “If you tell anyone, I will make you so miserable at school, you’ll wish you were dead.”

She was threatening me.

Awesome.

Faaaaantastic.

I rubbed the back of my neck, unwilling to admit aloud that her unleashing her winged monkeys scared me to death, but that was the truth of it. I liked my low profile. I liked hanging out with Nikki and Laney and Tommy, and being ignored by my classmates. It was safe. Being Quinn’s target dummy outside of the house as well as in? Was the anti-safe. “Whatever, okay? I’ll leave it alone.”

Satisfied with my cowardice, she wandered off to the bathroom. I heard the radio blare followed by the rush of water. I tossed the book onto the counter and headed out the door, my hand plunging into my jeans pocket in search of my cell phone. Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at the Bouncing Bear Coffee Shop on the corner and Tommy Naughters was pulling into the parking lot in a Jeep Cherokee so old it looked like it was held together with duct tape.

Tommy was an old friend, like since-grade-school old friend. Tall and knobby at the joints, he had dark brown hair and hazel eyes and an Adam’s apple that bulged from his neck like he’d swallowed a baseball. He was nerdy like me with his video game T-shirts and black trench coat. We’d dated awhile but it hadn’t gone anywhere. Part of that was his propensity for writing emo poetry. I liked him too much to laugh in his face at what was supposed to be a romantic gesture. But know this: I stilled his soul, granting him the respite given only to those in the tomb.

I still giggle thinking about it because I’m a jerk.

The other part was my mad crush on Shawn Willis, a guy so out of my league it wasn’t even funny. Every time Shawn walked into a room at school, my mouth went dry and I lost my train of thought. Like, midsentence I’d go silent. Tommy noticed The Shawn Effect. He didn’t appreciate it, and our gropey fumblings and makeouts weren’t so good he couldn’t walk away from them.

We stayed friends despite the split, and things were better than ever with him dating my other friend, Laney. She worked at that particular Bouncing Bear, though Tommy said she had the day off and wouldn’t be joining us on account of a family thing. Laney adored Tommy, emo poetry and all, because dead roses were more a goth chick’s scene and Laney was all about her pleather and fishnets.

Tommy clambered from the Jeep in his usual coat, jeans and combat boots, a Dungeons & Dragons book tucked beneath his arm. Seeing me waiting inside at the corner booth, he waved.

“I got a new adventure for us next week,” he said.

“Cool. I’m digging the cleric. Hopefully I won’t blow this one up.”

One of the common threads of our friendship was a mutual appreciation for tabletop role-playing games. This fact had never and would never make it to Quinn, who would have laughed herself to tears that I was one of those kids. My diatribe on how storytelling was an ancient art form celebrated in hundreds of cultures and Dungeons & Dragons was simply a modern extension of a time-honored tradition would be wasted on her.

“What happened with the Evil One now?” Tommy sat across from me. I slid him an iced coffee I’d ordered from the woman behind the counter. Tommy would pollute his with a mountain of sugar, but I liked mine black.

As black as my twisted soul, my sweet Ophelia.

Poor Tommy.

“She’s threatening me about what happened in art class,” I said. “That thing with Riddell I told you about? She says she’ll ruin me. I don’t know what that means, but I’m guessing she’ll tell people stuff about me. Or, well, make stuff up. I’m pretty boring.”

Tommy tossed a straw my way, his fingers tracing over the cover of his book. “Were you planning to tell anyone about what happened? Was that even a thing?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Had I considered it? Yes. Planned? No, not really. After Quinn screwed over Nikki, I’d rushed to make nice with the girl who would become my best friend. Once again I felt compelled to repair Quinn’s damage, but I didn’t want it to become a habit. Quinn was Quinn. She owned her asshattery. I could apologize or tattle, but didn’t that set a problematic precedent?

And in this case, it would be at the expense of my own neck.

“I dunno, should I?” I swirled my drink around inside the plastic cup. The ice clicked and whooshed against the sides. “I feel like maybe I should because he’s not a bad guy, but there were thirty other kids there, too. They could say something and take less of a hit from the inevitable Quinn bomb. She’s two doors down from me, you know?”

Tommy nudged my foot with his own.

“There you go. It’s not on you to fix her shit. You worry about you. She worries about her. I’m sure it’ll work out for Riddell.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head.

In retrospect, this was not the best advice in the world, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

* * *

The cosmos decided I was a huge toolbag for keeping my mouth shut because at the mall with Nikki the next week, who did we stumble across but the former art teacher himself. I didn’t see him coming, but Nikki did. She and I had just walked out of the shoe store, Nikki the proud new shoe mommy to a pair of knee-high black boots with spiky heels, when she took off down the hall like a bullet. I turned in time to see her approach Mr. Riddell, who was two stores up, his eyes huge behind his glasses.

“Mr. Riddell! How are you?” Nikki asked. I trotted after her, my shopping bag whacking my calf.

Mr. Riddell glanced at me nervously, like I carried Quinn cooties with me that could ruin his life for a second time. He sucked in a breath, his meaty cheeks billowing. “Hello. Yes. I’m sorry to... How are you both doing? I enjoyed having you in my class.”

Nikki actually swooped in to hug him. He looked shocked, but then awkwardly patted her shoulder as she pulled away, his tight smile making him look like he had gas.

“I’m good, thanks. We miss you, Mr. Riddell. The new chick’s okay but she brought us back to basics. Like 101 techniques in a 201, you know? It’s dumb,” Nikki said.

He frowned and adjusted his glasses, the crinkles between his brows looking like a chicken’s foot. “I am sorry to hear that. Are you still taking lessons at the museum?”

Nikki nodded. “On weekends. We’re working with pastels.”

“Excellent. And how are you, Emma?” His head swiveled my way.

Why’d he have to look at me?

“I’m good,” I managed over the frog in my throat.

Don’t be nice. I don’t deserve it. Quinn doesn’t deserve it.

He nodded, smiling, as a middle-aged woman called his name from across the concourse. “That’s my wife. I should go.”

Seeing that woman holding her purse, waiting for her husband, compounded my guilt. Hard. Mr. Riddell had lost a job he’d had for years. He was married and probably had a mortgage. And bills. And a lifestyle. All of those things may have been compromised because Quinn Littleton couldn’t handle a single day without her stupid goddamned cell phone.

“I’m sorry you had to leave.” It escaped before I could think better of it. Nikki winced, but I’d opened that door and I’d reap the consequences for it. Red-faced, I peered at him, my fingers clasped together over my stomach.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“For Quinn.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, but I didn’t need to, either. Mr. Riddell’s face flushed, his concentration no longer focused on my face but on my shoes.

“I wasn’t fired, if that’s what you’re... There was an investigation after an anonymous tip about improper... I was exonerated.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I chose to step down. I couldn’t believe a student would be so hateful.” If I thought him looking down was uncomfortable, it was doubly so when he lifted his chin. The bevy of lines on his face made him look ancient, like he had tree bark instead of skin. “I suspected it was her. Did she tell you?”

“No. The class saw her do it.”

Mr. Riddell’s eyes narrowed. For a horrible moment, I thought he’d shout, but then he did something far worse. He asked me that question. You know, the one that makes your guts rot out.

“No one spoke on my behalf?”

“We wanted to,” I almost said. “We liked you way more than Quinn.” But the words became gobbledygook inside my mouth. The shame was so thick, it was like trying to talk through cotton balls. No, no one said anything because Quinn scared everyone. We were held hostage by a skinny blonde leviathan with a mean streak.

Our silence was damning. Mr. Riddell cleaned his glasses on the bottom hem of his shirt like that was infinitely more important than the two girls standing before him. I caught a momentary flash of white, furry belly before the glasses were replaced. “Well, what’s done is done. I’m fine, my reputation is intact. Perhaps next time you’ll do differently. Good to see you girls. Goodbye, now.”

Before Nikki or I could eke out proper apologies, he crossed the walkway to join his wife, the mall crowd closing in behind him.

I gaped at the spot he’d just occupied. “We let a good man burn,” I managed.

A drizzle of eyeliner-stained tears streaked down Nikki’s cheeks. She dashed them away like she could rid herself of the evidence. “Yeah. We did. Riddell was a good dude. He got me into that art program. God, I hate Quinn.”