Pretty Girl Thirteen. Liz Coley

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СКАЧАТЬ strange to think you’ve been aging in my mind but not your own.” She gave a tight, sad laugh. “I even lit candles on all your missed birthdays.”

      “So, where are all my presents?” Angie met Mom’s startled glance with the hint of a teasing smile. “Where’s that red convertible I always wanted?”

      “That sounds more like my Angel,” Dad said. The worry lines on his forehead smoothed down a bit. He leaned back and loosened his tie.

      Angie’s newborn smile stretched into a grin. Peace restored.

      She didn’t entirely know why the idea of contacting her old friends filled her with terror, why she couldn’t even pick up a phone. It was just so hard to jump into the middle—much easier to start over. Blending in with three hundred ninth graders who didn’t know her, who had no expectations of her, sounded safer. If she caught up, she could move up.

      “So we’re agreed,” Angie said. “Ninth.”

      Mom nodded. Dad shrugged.

      “Anyway,” Angie added, “are you in such a hurry for me to graduate and get out of the house?”

      “Absolutely not.” Mom served the green beans, and not another word was mentioned about skipping ahead.

      Wednesday morning, she walked through the doors of La Cañada High School with a backpack full of school supplies. Angie still hadn’t called her old friends to tell them, to warn them. Only the school administration knew that the missing girl had been found and had re-enrolled. They were just as anxious as the Chapmans to avoid turning the school grounds into a media circus. Detective Brogan had performed a miracle, keeping the press off the scene so far.

      According to Mom, the teachers had been instructed not to make a fuss of any kind. Since none of them knew her personally—she hadn’t had any of them in seventh—her mysterious return wouldn’t affect them anyway. She was just a curiosity, no more. So she hoped.

      Somehow, she’d had this crazy notion that she could slip into school unnoticed and disappear in a sea of ninth graders. But Stacey Tompkin’s punky little sister, Maggie, who was apparently in ninth grade now, recognized Angie as she squeezed into the back of first-period English. Her round green eyes kept swiveling from the whiteboard up front to gawk at Angie, as if making sure. Stacey had been on the campout, and her tagalong sister knew all the “big girls” Stacey hung out with.

      Five minutes into school and she’d already been recognized.

      After class, Maggie dashed to the desk next to Angie’s before she could gather up her stuff. “You’re Angie Chapman, right?” she asked breathlessly. “You disappeared.”

      Angie kept her voice low. “Well, I’m back.”

      “Yeah. I can see that,” Maggie said. “But why are you in my class?”

      What was she going to say, anyway? She knew the question would come up over and over. “I didn’t go to school for three years,” she answered.

      “Lucky,” Maggie said. “I mean …” She stopped with an embarrassed, stricken look on her face.

      Angie took pity on her. “Not really. Now I have to catch up. A lot.”

      Maggie’s face lit up. “I know what. I’ll make you copies of all my notes so far.” She grabbed Angie’s arm. “And I can come over and, like, tutor you, but just for English and history. Maybe Jessica should do math, and Alan can do science.”

      She peered at the departing line of kids and yelled, “Hey, Jess, Alan, come here. Guess what?”

      Angie slipped her arm away. “That’s okay,” she began. “I don’t need …”

      But it was too late. The two who had to be Jessica and Alan headed in their direction. Another kid behind them yelled, “Oh my God. Is that Angie Chapman? The Gone Girl?”

      Oh Lord. Angie stood helplessly as the kids who hadn’t left already surrounded her. She felt an arm on her shoulder, a hand on her waist.

      “I’ll carry these,” a boy said, and snatched her backpack from her. “Where are you headed next? I mean what class?”

      The clump shepherded her through the hall six doors down to math. Angie disentangled herself from the two girls who’d linked her arms on either side, like Scarecrow and Tin Man dragging her off to meet the Wizard. “I think I can handle it from here, guys,” Angie said. “Um. Thanks.”

      Half the group dispersed and half stayed for math, waiting till Angie picked a desk before they surrounded her like bodyguards. Trying to plot her getaway, she didn’t hear a word the teacher said, but since she had two folded notes in her hand offering to study for next Friday’s test together, maybe that didn’t matter.

      The classroom door opened onto a mob scene. Kids were holding their phones, supposedly off-limits during school, reading the screens. They looked up as the math class spilled out. She heard her name cut through the hubbub, spoken high and low. Everyone must know by now. The buzz of the excited mob was deafening.

      She grabbed Maggie. “Get me to the bathroom,” she hissed in her ear.

      Maggie raised her voice. “Make way. Coming through.” She elbowed their way through to the girls’ room door.

      Oh God, Angie prayed. Please don’t let every day be like this.

      At the end of the day, all she wanted to do was get home and shower off all the handprints, throw her clothes in the wash, and listen to silence for a while. She was hurrying for the bus with an armload of books in front and her backpack bouncing against her spine when she heard Livvie’s unmistakable voice closing in on her from behind.

      “Hey, you. New girl. Slow down.”

      She walked faster, a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d only had to deal with ninth graders so far. What would her old friends think?

      “Hey, wait up,” a deeper voice called. Heavy footsteps followed her at a run. A hand stopped her at the shoulder. “Hey, you dropped—holy crap,” he said, catching sight of her face. “Oh my God, you look so much like someone I used to know. Whoa.”

      Angie grabbed the ninth-grade vocabulary workbook in Greg’s outstretched hand. She would have recognized him anywhere, anytime. His black-lashed eyes hadn’t changed, nor his thick wavy Italian hair. But he’d sure grown up from his thirteen-year-old self. In the most amazing …

      He’d already turned to yell back to Livvie. “Hey, Liv. Check it out. Who does she remind you of?” Back to Angie. “What’s your name, anyway?”

      Angie’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Livvie jerked to a halt, staring at her. All the color drained from her cheeks. She reached a hand forward and lifted Angie’s long hair back from her face. Angie stood frozen in place as Liv traced the pale scar line under her chin from the time they’d been practicing spin jumps into the pool. Liv whispered. “Oh my freaking … no way. Are you for real?”

      Angie bit her lip and nodded. She couldn’t breathe.

      Livvie squealed. “Oh my God, oh my God. Gregory, you idiot. It is Angie. Back from the dead, or what?” She wrapped her arms СКАЧАТЬ