me whips around. âI was at the game on Saturday. I saw everything. Look at your face. Ajax must feel awful! His own sister.â
âYeah, Iâm not really hisââ
âHeâs your stepbrother, right? Didnât you just move in with them?â
âUm. Yeah. We moved a few weeks ago. From Maine? My dadâs marrying hisââ
âAbleson, Chelsea.â The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kilgallon, is taking attendance. But nobodyâs listening.
âNo way, â says a girl a few desks down. She comes running over. âYou live with Ajax Gartos? Whatâs he like ? Does he like anyone?â
Suddenly, Iâm surrounded.
I heard he likes Wendy Rhenes.
Nuh-uh. He likes Jana Benson.
Does he wear boxers or briefs?
Mrs. Kilgallon raises her voice. âA-ble-son. Chel-sea.â
Oh, he is definitely a boxer man.
Erica Sussman said that Carli Meyers said that her brother Paul said that Ajax does a hundred push-ups every day at soccer practice.
Donât you love the name Ajax? I love the name Ajax.
âGirls!â Mrs. Kilgallon is mad now. She picks up a stapler and bangs it on her desk. âSit! Down! Or you! Will get! Detention!â
Everyone scatters. The room is dead calm.
âAbleson, Chelsea.â
âPresent,â says the girl to my right.
When Mrs. Kilgallon isnât looking, she leans over and whispers, âHey. Sit with us at lunch?â
I smile. Ableson, Chelsea, smiles back.
The girl to our left, Jaime, smiles, too.
And miraculously, I forget that my face looks like roadkill.
For the rest of the morning, I feel like a celebrity. People stop me in the hall. They ask me how Iâm doing, where I got my shoes, if I want a piece of gum.
At lunch, a table of headbands flags me down, and I go over. Each one is prettier than the next, and I know right away these are the It Girlsâthe ones everyone wants to sit with. And they saved a seat for me.
âAjax Gartos is your brother?â they ask.
I nod.
They move their chairs closer, and I start opening my lunch.
âYour brother is the hottest guy at Thorne,â Iâm told by a girl with blond, wavy hair. Her name is Andrea, but itâs pronounced On-DREY-a, and she is clearly their leader.
âWe need to know things,â Andrea says, opening my milk for me and sticking in a straw.
âLike who he likes,â says another girl.
âAnd if heâs going to the social next Friday,â another pipes in.
âIs he?â asks a girl with shiny lips. âGoing to the social?â
I have no idea. I donât even know what the social is. But I know what Iâm supposed to say. âI think so. Yeah.â
Little squeals of excitement all around.
Andrea nods. âGood. What else?â
Everyone is looking at me. Suddenly, Iâm the one with the answers.
I have to come up with something good.
âWell,â I say slowly, âhe has a poster of that Russian tennis player on his wall. You knowâthe really pretty one with the braids?â
Andrea smiles. âHe likes blonds.â
âUh-huh.â I pause to take a sip of milk. âAnd he likes spicy food. And hummus.â
All around me, heads nod. They want me to keep going, so I do. I tell them everything I know.
When the bell rings, Andrea stands up.
âFind out who he likes,â she tells me.
I say Iâll get right on it.
âYou do that.â She gives me a little pat on the shoulder, for encouragement. ââBye for now,â she says, and I say, â âBye, Andrea.â
As I walk away from the table, it occurs to me: The whole time I was sitting there, no one asked my name.
CHAPTER NINE
Itâs Thursday night, and we are having a âfamily meeting.â This is yet another example of Birdieâs new vocabularyâright up there with âquality timeâ and âsibling bonding.â I call it Al-Speak, and it makes me want
Learning to Kill: Stories