Read What Happens to Goodbye Online

Authors: Sarah Dessen

What Happens to Goodbye (8 page)

Dave nodded at her, then looked back at Riley. “Duty calls,” he said, and gave her a rueful smile before walking away. She watched him go, biting her lip, before turning around and starting down the stairs. A moment later, the door banged, and I saw her jogging up the walk that led to the adjacent building, her bag bouncing against her back.
I looked at my schedule again, took a breath, then walked over to the other hallway and scanned the doors until I found 215. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to interrupting just as the teacher got things under way, much less having to take a seat with all those eyes on me. But it was better than a lot of other options, especially the ones Dave had spared me from the other night. I was lucky to be here. So I reached for the knob, took a breath, and went inside.
Two periods later, I braved the cafeteria, taking a chance on a chicken burrito that didn’t look entirely inedible. I brought it outside, along with a wad of napkins and a bottled water, then settled myself on the wall that ran along the main building. Farther down, a group of guys with handhelds played games in tandem; on my other side, a very tall, broad-shouldered guy and a pretty blonde girl were sharing an iPod and a pair of earbuds, arguing—albeit good-naturedly—about what was playing as they listened.
I pulled out my phone, turned it on, then clicked open a new text message and typed in my dad’s number. MADE IT TO LUNCH, I wrote. YOU?
I hit SEND, then scanned the courtyard before me, taking in the array of typical groups and cliques. The stoners kicked around a Hacky Sack, the drama girls talked too loudly, and those who cared about the world sat at various tables lined up along the walk, collecting money and selling baked goods for various causes. I was unrolling the foil on my burrito, wondering where exactly Liz Sweet belonged among them, when I saw the blonde, busty girl I’d met at the party on Friday night. She was cutting across the grass, wearing tight jeans, high boots, and a cropped, red leather jacket that was clearly more for show than warmth. She looked irritated as she passed by, heading for a group of picnic tables on the edge of the parking lot. After taking a seat at one she crossed her legs, pulled out a cell phone, and looked up at the sky as she put it to her ear.
My phone beeped and I picked it up, scanning the screen.
JUST BARELY, my dad had replied. THE NATIVES ARE VERY RESTLESS.
My dad expected to encounter resistance when he first came into a restaurant, but apparently Luna Blu was an extreme case. There were several “lifers,” as he called them, people who had worked there for years for the original owners, an older couple who’d moved to Florida the year before. They’d thought they could manage things long-distance, but their balance sheet quickly proved otherwise, and they decided to sell to EAT INC in order to enjoy their golden years. According to what my dad had told me the day before at breakfast, Luna Blu had been running for the last year or so on little else but the goodwill of its longtime regulars, and even they weren’t showing up the way they used to. There was no point in trying to tell that to the natives—employees—however. Like so many before them, they didn’t care that my dad was only the messenger. They still wanted to shoot him.
I took a tentative bite of my burrito. By the time I’d opened my water, taken a sip, and braved another taste, I saw Riley was approaching the blonde at the table. I watched as she dd her backpack on the ground, then slid onto the bench beside her, leaning her head against the blonde’s shoulder. After a moment, her friend reached up, giving her a couple of pats on the back.
“Hi!”
I jumped, spilling some beans across my shirt, then looked up. A girl in a bright green sweater, khakis, and white sneakers, a matching green headband in her hair, was smiling down at me. “Hi,” I said, noticeably less enthusiastically.
“You’re new, right?” she asked.
“Um,” I said, glancing back at Riley and her friend. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Great!” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Deb. With the student hospitality committee? It’s my job to welcome you to Jackson and make sure you’re finding your way around okay.”
Hospitality committee? This was a first. “Wow,” I said. “Thanks.”
“No problem!” Deb reached down, brushing off the wall beside me with one hand, then sat down next to me, placing her purse—a large, quilted number, also green—beside her. “I was new last year,” she explained. “And this is such a big school, and so hard to navigate, I really felt there was a need for some kind of program to help people get comfortable here. So I started Jackson Ambassadors. Oh, wait, I forgot your welcome gift!”
“Oh,” I said, “you don’t have to—”
But already, she was unzipping her green bag and pulling out a small paper one, tied with a blue-and-yellow ribbon, from within it. There was a sticker on the front that said JACKSON TIGER SPIRIT! also blue and yellow. And shiny. She handed it to me, clearly proud, and I felt like I had no choice but to take it.
“In there,” she said, “you’ll find a pencil, a pen, and the schedules for all the winter sports. Oh, and a list of numbers you might need, like guidance and the main office and the library.”
“Wow,” I said again. Across the courtyard, Riley and her friend were now sharing a bag of pretzels, passing them back and forth.
“Plus,” Deb continued, “some
great
giveaways from local merchants. There’s a coupon for a free drink at Frazier Bakery, and if you buy any muffin at Jump Java, you can get another for half off!”
Sitting there, I realized that one of two things could happen from here. Either I would hate Deb, or we’d be best friends and Liz Sweet would end up just like her. “That’s really nice,” I said as she beamed at me, clearly proud. “I appreciate it.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she said. “I’m just trying to make people feel a little more at home than I did.”
“You had a tough time?”
For a moment, and only a moment, her smile became slightly less perky. “I guess so,” she said. Then she brightened. “But things are great now, seriously. I really like it here.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve moved around a lot. So, hopefully it won’t be so bad.”
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be,” she said. “But if you have any problems, my card’s in there as well. Don’t hesitate to call or e-mail, okay? I mean that.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Deb.”
“Thank you!” She smiled at me, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, goodness, I’m so rude! I didn’t even get your name. Or did—”
“Mclean!”
I blinked, sure I hadn’t heard this right. But then it came again. Yes, someone was calling me. By my real name.
I turned my head. There, at the picnic table, was the blonde girl, now standing, her hands cupped over her mouth. Yelling. At me.
“Mclean!” she said, then waved. “Hey! We’re over here!”
“Oh,” Deb said, glancing at her, then back at me. “Well. Looks like you’ve already made some friends.”
I looked back at the table, where Riley was watching me as well, the bag of pretzels in one hand. “I guess so,” I said.
“Well,” Deb said, “maybe you don’t need the packet at all. But I just thought . . .”
“No,” I told her, suddenly feeling bad for some reason. “I’m glad to have it. Really.”
She smiled at me. “Good. It’s nice to meet you, Mclean.”
“You, too.”
She stood, then turned on one pert sneaker and started down the walkway, reaching up to adjust her headband as she went. I glanced at the blonde.
Come on
, she mouthed, waving at me again. So this was my moment, I thought, picking me again, although not exactly the way I’d expected. Still, I got to my feet, tossing my burrito in a nearby trash can, and headed across the courtyard to see what would happen next. I was almost there when I looked back in the direction Deb had gone, finding her a moment later by the bus parking lot. She was sitting under a tree, her green purse beside her, sipping a soda. Alone.
The blonde’s name was Heather. How she knew mine was not yet clear.
“I had to save you,” she explained as I approached their table. “That girl Deb is a spazzer freak. I considered it an act of charity to call you over here.”
I looked back at Deb, sitting under the tree. “She didn’t seem so bad.”
“Are you
kidding
? ” Heather said, incredulous. “She sat next to me in bio last year. Spent the entire semester trying to recruit me to her various groups, all of which she is the sole member of. It was like sharing a Bunsen burner with a cult member.”
“What’s in the bag?” Riley asked, nodding at the welcome packet, which I was still holding.
“A hospitality gift,” I said. “From the student ambassadors.”
“Ambassa
dor
,” Heather corrected me, adjusting her ample cleavage. “Hello? She’s the only one!”
I wasn’t sure what I was doing here, now that I’d been saved from Deb. Before I found out, though, there was one more issue to clear up.
“How did you know my name?” I asked Heather.
She’ireen checking her phone, and now looked up at me, squinting in the sunlight. “You told me at that party, before it got busted.”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”
She and Riley exchanged a look. Now I was acting like a cult member. Heather said, “Then I guess Dave must have mentioned it.”
“Dave? ”
“Dave Wade? Your neighbor? You did meet him on Saturday, didn’t you?” she asked. “He’s not exactly forgettable.”
“He’s not as weird as he seems,” Riley said to me.
“He’s weirder,” Heather added. When Riley shot her a look, she said, “What? The boy hangs out in the basement of an abandoned house. That’s not normal.”
“It’s a storm shelter. It’s not like he built it, or something.”
“Do you even
hear
what you’re saying?” Heather sighed loudly. “Look, you know I love Dave. But he is kind of a freak.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Riley said, picking out another pretzel.
“No.” Heather adjusted her bosom again. “I, for instance, am completely normal in every way.”
Riley snorted, eating another pretzel, and they were both quiet for a moment. Now, I thought. Now is when I introduce myself as Liz Sweet, clear this whole thing up. Then I’d just have to do it again in homeroom tomorrow and I’d be all set, just where I needed to be for all this to work the way I wanted it to. But for some reason, standing there, I couldn’t. Because despite my best efforts otherwise, Mclean already had a story here. She was the girl who’d discovered Dave on the back porch, then taken refuge in his hideout. The girl at the party, the girl Deb welcomed in her own spazzy freaker style. She was not the same Mclean I’d been for the first fourteen years of my life. But she was Mclean. And not even a new name could change that, now.
Heather looked at Riley. “So, speaking of Eggbert, what’s the story? Did his parents yank him out of here for good, or what? ”
Riley shook her head. “I saw him after homeroom. He said they were letting him stay, but he had tons of hoops to jump through. They’ve been meeting about it with Mrs. Moriarity all morning.”
“God, that sounds miserable,” Heather groaned. To me she added, “Mrs. Moriarity is the principal. She
hates
me.”

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