Mean Girls. Louise RozettЧитать онлайн книгу.
that had been bound to follow her outburst. I felt sick and embarrassed. She so clearly hated and resented me. I didn’t want to go back to that room. I wanted to go home. But I had no choice.
“I’m sorry about that,” Max said. He didn’t look at me, simply followed Johnny and Dana’s lead by walking out of the boathouse. There was no reason for me to stay. After a five-minute search for my coat, I left, too.
I heard the screen door slam, and then footsteps. Johnny shouted after me when I was a few steps up. I turned, and he was coming up the stairs.
“Hey, you want me to walk you up?”
Not really. I was feeling sicker by the second, and really wanted to just dart from here to my room. I could hardly imagine saying very much at all. But I probably wasn’t in a position to say no to people.
“Sure.”
We walked in silence for a moment before he said, “So … did you have some fun at least, before the blowout?”
“Yeah, sure, it was fun.” Though it was hard to think of anything else besides what Dana had said.
“People have been pretty messed up about her.”
“Who, Dana?”
“Becca.”
Obviously. I’m an idiot. “Right, right. Of course.”
“Tensions run a little high when her name comes up.”
“I’m sure. Yeah.”
I didn’t want to talk, and suddenly I didn’t want to listen.
What was it about this girl Becca? Everything I’d heard about her made it seem like she was some kind of goddess who enchanted people just by being around them. I mean, I understand that it’s really awful to have a peer be missing and possibly dead … but it’s like she was friends with everyone. It was like she’d been perfect.
I didn’t want to go to my room, where Dana would inevitably be at some point. I was humiliated. I was sick. And to make matters worse, I felt cold pricks of rain start to fall into my hair.
A wave of sickness washed over me. We were only about fifty yards from the girls’ dorm door. I wanted to run to it, but I couldn’t.
“Well, I’m glad you came. We should, I don’t know, hang out or something.”
“Yeah sure. Um … thanks for walking me. I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” I gave a pitiful attempt at a smile and then flew through the door and up to my room.
When I got there, I took a deep breath. In almost that same instant, I was in the bathroom, getting close with the mouth of another toilet.
chapter 8 me
I WOKE UP BRIGHT AND EARLY AT TWO IN THE afternoon. Dana had made it her business to amble around as loudly as possible until she finally fell asleep. I had lain there for God knows how long with my eyes shut, pretending to sleep and trying not to move.
I was trembling and weak when I awoke, and I felt that putting my head in a vise might be a lot more preferable to the pounding it endured now. My churning stomach needed something in it or it was just going to shrivel into a raisin. But I really didn’t feel like eating was going to go well. Even so, I made it down to the dining hall.
Sandwiches, soup, salad, chicken, pancakes … my stomach had all the options in the world and was rejecting even the thought of any of them. I groaned and turned to leave.
And then there was Max, walking in.
I gave a small smile. God I hope I don’t puke.
“Hi.” He looked uncomfortable.
“Hey.”
“Did you just get here?”
I nodded. “Yes. Trying to decide what to eat.” I looked around again at all the things I couldn’t imagine putting down my throat and keeping there.
“Do you want to sit with me?”
A chill filled my chest. I felt so stupid for letting myself drink so much last night that I was screwing myself over today. “Sure.”
We walked through the line together. I looked around me. I didn’t want him to know how bad I was feeling. I really didn’t want to give him the opportunity to picture me with my face in a toilet.
Potato soup. Nope. Would look the same going down as it would five minutes later.
Sandwich. Entirely too many textures.
Yogurt. Only one texture, but it was a nasty one.
Salad. That nail-polish-remover taste in the lettuce would remind me way too much of the alcohol directly.
Bread of any and all kind seemed out of the question. People always say bread and water is the way to go, but the very thought of either one of those things was absolutely revolting.
Chicken tenders. Maybe I could do that. Maybe. I grabbed them and a ginger ale, and sat at the nearest table.
I exhaled slowly and purposefully, trying to soothe my quivering stomach. I shut my eyes fast when I saw Max’s cheeseburger. This was going to be tough.
“Did you have fun last night?” he asked. “Before Dana freaked out?”
“Yeah, up until then.”
“Just … ignore everything she said. You’re obviously not disgusting.”
Only in this bizarre context could that give me the thrill of flattery.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know why she attacked you like that.”
I shrugged. “I don’t, either.”
I considered the chicken tenders, and took another bite. Oh, big mistake. The second it hit my throat I had to cough and swallow hard.
“You okay?”
I nodded vigorously. Too vigorously. “Mmm. Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
“Hey, so …” He looked uncomfortable. “I hope you didn’t take anything Dana said to heart last night.”
“I … No. I’m not even thinking about it.” My stomach felt as though it was being pulled like taffy. “You know, I just remembered something I need to do. I’m sorry.”
I fled from the hall like it was on fire. I jumped down the last four stairs of the staircase, and banged into a stall. I puked before I could get the door shut.
I was there for another fifteen minutes, my knees picking up God knows what off the floor, and my elbows turning red from being planted on the hard, plastic seat.
I wasn’t sure if I was miserable about having to dart from the conversation right then, or if I was okay with that. It had sounded a lot like I was about to get rejected when I’d never even offered myself.
I didn’t know. And before I could even begin to figure it out, the fluttering was back in my throat.
I slept until that night. Then of course, I could do nothing but sit up, wide-awake in my room. Dana read in her bed again, saying nothing about the night before, and all of Becca’s pictures still stared down at me. I looked away from them and spent the next ten minutes trying to read the spine of Dana’s book. Finally I saw what it was. It was called Coping, and was written by some doctor I couldn’t see the name of. I felt a small tinge of pity.
A knock came on my door at ten-fifteen. I opened the door to find Madison and Julia looking very serious. I had a feeling I was going to start feeling sick again.
“What’s up?”
“Would you mind coming over to our room for a minute?” Julia asked, as Madison looked at the floor.
“Okay.”