Playlist for the Dead. Michelle Falkoff

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ High was huge—it had kids not just from Libertyville itself but from a bunch of neighboring farm towns, and there were tons of kids who neither of us had ever met, some of whom looked like us and ran clubs that included stuff we were into. Gaming, comics, all that. But I’d counted on Hayden being on the same page as me, and as soon as school started, I could tell I’d been wrong. I couldn’t get Hayden to come with me to anything, and I was too nervous to go alone.

      I figured out pretty quickly why Hayden was so inclined to hide out. Ryan and his friends were in my sister’s grade, so they were all juniors by the time we got to school. But Rachel was content to pretend she was an only child, ignoring me when we ran into each other in the halls. Not Ryan. We’d made it through the first few days of school without incident, happy in the knowledge that even though we didn’t have any classes together—I was in the Honors track, but Hayden was dyslexic and stuck in all the lower-level classes—we shared a lunch period most days. And on Fridays, we shared it with Ryan and his friends.

      “Oh, look, it’s Ryan’s fatass little brother,” we’d heard Trevor say as we sat down with our lunches.

      “How are you liking the new school, Gayden?” Jason said, plunking his tray down next to Hayden. That was their second-favorite nickname for him. The first was an oldie-but-goodie, one Ryan had come up with when they were little kids: Hate-him.

      “Leave me alone,” Hayden said, looking around for Ryan. Sad that he’d thought Ryan might be able to help. He realized his mistake as soon as he saw Ryan standing right behind Jason, laughing. “Not funny, Ryan.”

      “Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan said. “It’s kind of funny.”

      “Maybe he’s right,” Trevor said. “Maybe we need to step up our game.” He opened up his little box of chocolate milk and dumped it over Hayden’s head. The three of them started laughing.

      “That’s definitely funny,” Ryan said.

      I’ll never forget the look on Hayden’s face as he sat there, milk dripping down onto his favorite T-shirt. Metallica, like the one I wore now. I saw the knowledge wash over him that nothing was going to change, that things would perhaps be even worse than he’d thought. That Ryan wasn’t going to help him. And as the sound of people laughing grew louder, once the other kids saw what had happened, I realized he was probably right.

      I thought about that moment as I stepped into the cafeteria for the first time since Hayden died. I’d spent most of the morning nodding off in my classes, but there was this kind of protective bubble around me—I could tell none of the teachers wanted to say anything to me because of Hayden. The kids were friendlier, though—people said hi to me in the halls who’d never spoken to me before, and some even complimented my T-shirt. This strange attention from people who used to ignore me was confusing. It was almost as if they were treating me like a celebrity. Best-friend-of-dead-guy = famous. Like it was some kind of accomplishment.

      Before, everyone pretty much had left me alone. I didn’t fit into any of the groups—I wasn’t a grind like the brainiacs in my classes, who looked down on Hayden because they thought he was stupid; I was too uncoordinated for sports but big enough to be hard to knock over; I wasn’t artsy or creative or talented at anything; it turned out that the kids in the gaming club were way too dorky, and they weren’t into music like Hayden and I were. And the kids who were into the music we liked looked down on anyone who was into gaming. We couldn’t win.

      Anyone who was anyone at this school fit in somewhere, even if the lines were fluid—jock brainiacs were still cool, the kids who had the best drugs could hang out with anyone, that sort of thing. Parties were fair game for anyone as far as I knew, though Hayden and I hadn’t ventured into that scene very much. Until we did, and look where that had gotten us. No, after that day in the cafeteria I’d figured out it was safest to stick with Hayden, and apparently the whole school agreed with me. Some days I wondered whether, if it wasn’t for him, I would ever talk to a single person.

      Now I was a spectacle. I put in my earbuds so I wouldn’t have to hear people talking about me as I walked through the cafeteria with my tray, nodding occasionally to the random people who waved as if they knew me. I headed for the table in the back where I used to sit with Hayden, looking for Astrid as I went. I thought I remembered seeing flashes of her blond hair at lunch before, but it might have just been wishful thinking, because I made it to the table without seeing her. I sat down and forced myself to doctor up a hot dog as best as I could, drowning it in ketchup, mustard, and relish to hide the sight of its unnatural pinkness. Which meant that condiments squirted everywhere as soon as my teeth clamped into the roll. I could feel the bright green relish dribbling down my face and onto the Metallica T-shirt. At least I was alone. One of the perks of having no friends was that no one was there to see you squirt condiments all over yourself.

      Except I wasn’t really alone. “Do you have any idea what’s in those things?” Astrid said, from over my shoulder.

      I finished chewing and grabbed a napkin to wipe off the relish. Astrid plunked herself down in the seat across from me. Way to make an impression, Sam, I thought, but what did it matter? She had that hipster boyfriend anyway. “I try not to think about it,” I said.

      “That’s probably for the best. First day back?”

      I nodded, wanting to think of something witty to say, but I had nothing. “Do we have the same lunch period?”

      “Looks like it, Captain Obvious.” She grinned, but I still felt like an idiot. “Want to come sit with my friends?” She pointed at a table a few rows over and back from where I was sitting. There was a group of kids there I’d seen before, part of the artsy crowd. They spent a lot of time in the studio on the upper level and at a coffee shop in South Branch, the next town over, listening to slam poetry or whatever. It wasn’t my scene. I wasn’t even sure what slam poetry was.

      “No, it’s okay,” I said, trying to dab at the relish without making more of a mess.

      “Why not?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

      Could she not see that I’d just made a total mess of myself? I tried to think of something normal to say. “Um, new people, you know. Not sure I’m ready. I mean,” I panicked, “not you or anything. I just—” I could tell I wasn’t succeeding at trying to sound normal.

      “I get it,” she said, tugging at a red streak I hadn’t remembered being in her hair the other day. I wondered how she knew exactly where it was until I realized it was an extension. How awesome, to be able to change the color of your hair whenever you wanted. She was wearing bright red lipstick to match and it made her eyes look almost unnaturally green. “You should give them a chance sometime, though. They kind of adopted me when I needed some new friends.”

      She didn’t have to add “like you do”—it was implied. I wondered why she’d have needed new friends, but I wasn’t sure how to ask. I looked back over at the table and saw Eric sitting there. Great.

      “Don’t get all judgmental because they’re into different stuff than you are. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Hayden: I bet you have more in common with some of them than you think.”

      Instantly I felt a burst of jealousy, which was ridiculous. Like retroactively, as if Hayden had already found better, cooler friends and left me behind.

      Except that’s not how he’d left me behind. His way was worse.

      “How did you know him?” I asked. I guess the easiest way was just to say it.

      “Hayden?” СКАЧАТЬ