Playing Nice Read Free Page B

go 2 dance ? Not the most romantic thing, but at least I wasn't alone.
    Sarah nods and fluffs her hair.
    "Have you decided what you're going to wear?" I ask. The dance isn't for weeks, but I can't stop thinking about my dress.
    "Ugh, I'm so sick of all my clothes. I think we should go shopping." Sarah blows herself a kiss in the mirror. "So what's her name?" she asks as she screws the top back onto her lip gloss.
    "Whose name?"
    "The new girl."
    I powder under my eyes, making sure no bags are showing, and wonder why it's so hard for me to talk about Lil. Why can't I just tell Sarah she'll notice her when she sees a creature like the Grim Reaper approach?
    But there's something about Lil, her blunt questions, her smoking, and the way she talked to Ms. Everley, as if she didn't care what anyone thought about her, that I want to keep to myself.
    "Lily Hatfield," I say, zipping up my backpack.
    "Lily. Sounds pretty." Sarah frowns in the mirror. "Seriously, Marty, I don't know how you live with your boy name. It's like your parents have been trying to torture you since birth."
    "Right," I say. But I love my name. It was my grandma's and now that she's gone, every time someone says it, I picture her standing beside me in her plaid apron, flour on her hands. It's like she's still here on Earth.
    I take one last look in the mirror before heading out of the bathroom. Carefully, I force a smile. Maybe it's the cigarette smoke still lingering in my nose or the dirt I can't seem to brush out of my dress, but something in my reflection looks off. I'm just tired, I tell myself. It's the bags under my eyes that make me look different.

    ***

    I search for Lil all morning, but can't find her anywhere. Every time I hear someone whisper about the new girl, I get anxious, wanting to see her again. Then a pit of guilt drops in my stomach. How could I let her walk away without saying a word? It's my job to make people feel welcome, and all I did was enable her bad habit of smoking, which by every doctor's standards, is horrible and leads to cancer.
    By the time I get to English, I'm starting to worry. What if her day has been terrible and I've failed? What if Lil told Ms. Everley I shouldn't be president of WelCo anymore? What if she wrote on the bathroom wall, "Marty Hart has a rotten, never-been-used vagina that stinks"?
    I walk into the classroom, hoping Lil is already seated, but she's nowhere to be found. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I play out terrible scenarios of what's happened in my mind. My mom would say my imagination is one of my worst attributes. I make up crazy scenes, like Lil getting arrested for smoking and the principal suspending her and at the last second she screams my name and tells everyone I was responsible. It's irrational, but I like to think it helps me perform onstage. I don't have a problem getting into character. I let my mind become someone else's and pretend life is different than it is and POOF! I'm no longer me.
    "How did the rest of this morning go?" Ms. Everley asks as I take my seat.
    "Great," I say with a little too much enthusiasm. "I think she's adjusting well. I mean, she's quite interesting. Florida and her nose ring and her love for all things black." I'm babbling, trying to act like our conversation was fruitful, when all I really know is the intimate way Lil makes out with a cigarette and her plans to get laid.
    "I knew I could count on you." Ms. Everley smiles and turns toward the chalkboard. With every letter she writes, her butt shakes in her painted-on beige pants. It almost looks like she's wearing nothing from the waist down. I take a deep breath and pull out my homework. We're reading The Catcher in the Rye , and last night I had to write a personal letter to Holden Caulfield. I couldn't write what I really wanted to say, about how stupid I think he is for leaving prep school in the first place and how he should've kept his head down and not bothered Stradlater. I ended up pretending I