Heather
I made my way to my locker. It took a couple of tries to get the combination right, but finally, the lock clicked. I shoved my books inside and grabbed the brown sack lunch Mom had packed for .
Bella was waiting for when I got back to the door of our last class. She was holding a similar brown bag, and I said a silent thank you to Mom for being aweso.
"It’s a good thing you brought yours, too," she said as we walked toward the cafeteria. "The food here is gross. No one eats it unless they’re desperate."
I didn’t know how to respond to that, but she didn’t notice.
She eyed my bag as if she could see through the paper. "What did you bring? Tofu? Sushi?"
Guess she had so ideas about what a proper Angelino should eat. "A turkey sandwich and so chips."
"Oh." Her mouth pressed into a firm line as she studied from head to toe.
I nearly walked away right then. Mom and Dad were kind of right this morning. I couldn’t change who I was, even though I needed to hide my visions. I was a walking contradiction—equal parts wanting to fly my freak flag with pride and bury it in a deep dark hole.
"What’s up with the gloves? Are you a germaphobe or what?"
And there it was. This was why I didn’t talk to people. I needed a lie. A good one. Just my luck I was possibly the worst liar ever. "I guess it’s hard to stay current with fashion here."
I held my breath, hoping she’d buy it. My cheeks weren’t heating, my usual "tell." That was sothing at least.
"Ugh." She stuck out her bottom lip. "We never get any of the new trends till they’re already over. I’ve got to get out of here."
I couldn’t believe she bought it. If everyone here started to wear gloves because of this, I was going to laugh. Hard.
Bella walked up to a round table that was almost full and sat down. Taking my cue, I slid into the chair next to her. Everyone stopped what they were doing, so in mid-chew, to gawk at .
One might think being a pariah at my old school would give the ability to deal with these kinds of situations, but they never got any easier. I wanted to slouch, but didn’t dare. Showing weakness only made things worse.
"This is Heather," Bella said. "She’s from LA."
I counted eight other people besides Bella sitting around the Formica. Two of the guys had on blue and white jerseys. Hiding my abilities from one person, hard. From nine? This could very easily be a disaster of epic proportions.
"Is that Tokidoki?" The girl to the right of asked as she pointed to my bag.
Her brown hair was done in so elaborate braid that would’ve taken hours to attempt even though my hair was long enough to try it. I was jealous for a split second and then realized she must’ve gotten up at the butt-crack of dawn to get ready, a feat I would never dare to try myself.
"Cool hair."
She grinned. "Thanks."
I tapped my ssenger bag. "Yep. I have kind of an obsession with Tokidoki."
"Jealous! My dad won’t get one. Says a teenager doesn’t need such an expensive backpack. But I found my Harajuku Lovers one on eBay for a sweet deal." She rummaged around in it and pulled out a copy of Us Weekly. "Have you ever t any stars?" She flipped through pages, stopping on a picture of my favorite Scotsman.
I flashed back to the party before we left LA. The look on his face when he stared at was sothing I wished I could erase from my mind. I could’ve probably impressed the group by saying that he’d been one of Dad’s clients, but that would’ve required a bunch of explaining and would probably co off as bragging. Not a good option.
I took a closer look at the photo. "That’s Larchmont Village, one of my favorite streets in LA." I shrugged. "You see them every once in a while. I an they’re normal people. Just like us." I quoted the magazine’s tag line, but got a bunch of empty stares as I glanced around the still silent table. I quickly re-thought my no-bragging approach. "My dad had a lot of stars as his clients, including him." I tapped the picture. "Plus, there were tons in my neighborhood—Bel Air."
"No way!" Fancy Braid Girl said.
"Isn’t that where the Fresh Prince lived?" the boy across the table asked. His dimples winked at as he spoke.
"Yep." He was cute, but nowhere near Brent’s level of hotness.
Perfect. I was obsessing over a boy I didn’t even really know. That made officially ridiculous.
Fancy Braid Girl grabbed the corner of my T-shirt.
"Who’s this? I’m Lindsay, by the way." She cocked her head, waiting for to answer.
It took a second to realize she was talking about my shirt. "Um...The Orb is one of my favorite groups."
"It’s really soft. Has to be printed on sothing better than Arican Apparel for sure. Lem check." She reached toward , but I leaned away. "Don’t freak. I’m just checking the label."
Her fingers brushed against the back of my neck.
"Oh, Lindsay. You’re so soft," Dimple Boy said. His voice was muffled as his lips moved along her neck.
Ew, gross!
The seatbelt dug into Lindsay’s back. She was giddy as his wet lips pressed against hers.
I banged my elbow on the table, jolting back to the lunchroom.
"Yup. Printed on Splendid," Lindsay said.
I looked around as I rubbed my elbow, but no one seed to notice anything weird. At least I hadn’t said anything to give away the vision.
"Her jeans are J Brand," Bella said. "I bet she has good stuff stashed in her closet. She’ll be a good addition."
I slowly inhaled and exhaled to let the aftershocks of the vision fade from my body, before trying to speak. They were going to be sorely disappointed if they thought they were going to raid my clothes.
I’d never be able to wear anything they borrowed again, and shopping really wasn’t my thing. "I don’t really pay much attention to brands, but I like to do screen printing. Splendid’s shirts are my favorite to work with."
Lindsay made a face at that, but then Dimple Boy asked a question. From then on it was a solid twenty-five minutes of being barraged with a million and one questions about LA.
By the ti the bell rang, my palms were sweating. I itched to take off my gloves and let my skin breathe, but that was so not an option.
Bella and I left the cafeteria together since it turned out we had almost the exact sa schedule. We’d better end up being actual friends, or else this school year would be really painful. Soone shouted my na. Dimple Boy was chasing after us.
"I wanted to let you know we’re having a party on Saturday night. You know, to celebrate the start of a new year. You should co." He winked at Bella. "She knows where I live."
Bella took a step forward and linked her arm in mine. We were both wearing short-sleeved T-shirts. Our skin touched.
Bella’s face was red. "I can’t believe you’d do this. You know Lindsay is coming over later, and look at this place!"
An older woman was laying half-on, half-off a couch. Beer cans littered the floor. A grease covered pizza box was on a coffee table in front of her. Cigarette butts covered the rest of the table. "I’ll clean up. Don’t you worry, baby." Her words were slurred.
The stench of alcohol filled the air, stinging my nostrils. Bella’s anger and frustration consud .
I stumbled, and my arm pulled free from hers.
Bella stared at . "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just a little clumsy. Sorry," I managed to say.
Bella might seem normal, but from what I just saw, her ho life was a hot ss. I was starting to feel bad for her.
"Carlos’ parties are always crazy."
Wait. Did I get invited to a party? Nice.
"Just so you know, Carlos and I are together. He’s probably only inviting you because you’re new. No offense."
...and not feeling bad for her anymore.
I barely contained my eye roll. I hated when people said "no offense" or "I don’t an to be rude." If soone is going to say sothing rude or offensive, they should just say it or not.
Trying to pawn it off as sothing not rude or offensive when it clearly was, was beyond insulting.
She might have thought she was doing herself a favor by warning off her manwhore of a boyfriend, but she really should’ve been more concerned about what her "friends" were doing behind her back. When I thought about it, the whole thing was kind of sad. And damn it. Now I was feeling bad for her again.
"Anyway. I’m sure we can find sothing to make you look presentable for the party."
Every ti I started to feel a little bit of sympathy for the girl, she hit with a backhanded comnt. I officially decided to cut off my feelings for her. She was clearly using to feel more "LA," whatever that ant, and I was using her to get to the party. With any luck, I’d make so actual friends there.
Pathetic as it was, my mind drifted back to Brent. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be there. The chances seed slight, but still, a girl could dream.
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