Rules for Being a Girl

Gray goes, but not before shooting Bex a look that could take the bark right off a tree. “See you at lunch, Marin,” he says.

Bex watches him go for a moment before turning back to me. “Well!” he says, faux-brightly, and there’s that sheepish smile again. “I guess we know where I stand with your friend Gray.”

I take a step backward; the backs of my legs bump awkwardly against a desk. “He’s just—”

“I’m kidding,” Bex says, holding both hands up. “It was a joke.” Then he makes a face.

“Okay,” he says, perching on the edge of his desk, “Marin. Can we just . . . reset?”

“Reset?” I repeat dumbly. That . . . is not what I was expecting him to say. “Like . . . between us?”

“Yeah,” Bex says. He picks a rubber band up off his desk, stretching it between his thumbs. “Listen, I’m sorry I came down so hard on you about that paper.”

Wait, what?

“It wasn’t about the paper,” I blurt, faintly horrified. Holy shit, is that what he thinks? “I mean, I didn’t go to Mr. DioGuardi just because—”

“No, no, no, of course not,” Bex says. He’s still fidgeting with the rubber band. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

Then what are you saying? I want to ask, but even as I have the thought it feels extremely unwise to argue. I think of the way everyone’s been staring at me since yesterday morning. I think of Mr. DioGuardi and maybe you were confused.

“Okay,” I say finally, edging toward the doorway. My heart is thudding. “Yeah. Um. A reset would be great.”

“Good,” Bex says, finally dropping the rubber band back into a jar on the desk and getting to his feet. “Glad to hear it.”

“Okay,” I say again. “Um. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, with a brisk, businesslike nod. “Have a good day.”

I pull my backpack up on my shoulder and book it out of Bex’s classroom. Gray’s leaning cross-ankled against a bank of lockers across the hall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, standing upright and reaching for my hand.

I shrug, weirdly reluctant to talk about it. “Fine?”

“Fine like he’s going to move to Saskatchewan and never talk to you again?”

“No, fine like . . .” I shake my head, fighting a flash of annoyance. I know he’s just trying to be supportive, but I need a second to myself to try to figure out what just happened. “Forget it.”

“No, hey, talk to me.” Gray puts a hand on my arm, but I shrug him off, harder than I mean to. He takes a step back, hands up.

“Sorry.” I feel like a shaken-up soda bottle, like if anyone even looks at me wrong I might explode in every direction. “I think I just need some air.”

“Marin—” Gray frowns. “You’re not coming to lunch?”

“Not hungry,” I say. “I’ll see you later, okay?” I don’t wait for him to answer as I head down the hallway.

I’m so focused on getting away from him—on getting away from everyone—that I’ve made it almost all the way to the far end of the building before I realize I have no idea where I’m actually headed. It feels like there’s nowhere to hide. Two months ago I would have hightailed it directly to the newspaper room, flung myself down on the couch—and complained at great length to Bex himself, probably. It’s grossly surprising to realize I miss him—or at least, I miss the person I thought he was. All at once I’m furious he’s taken that from me too.

Finally I make my way to the bio lab, where Ms. Klein is sitting at her desk grading papers and eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.

“Hey, Marin,” she says, surprise flickering briefly over her features. “You okay?”

“Yep!” I say. “I just, um—” I break off, trying to come up with some kind of plausible book-club-related excuse for being in here and coming up empty.

Ms. Klein doesn’t seem to need one: “Do you want to talk?” she asks quietly, putting down her pen. “About . . . what everyone is talking about?”

“Um,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. God, I can’t believe even Ms. Klein knows. “Not really. Can I just, like, hang out in here for a bit?”