All the serious posts come from Rio. She’s the only one with the guts to dig into Maplewood’s dark side. Not that a place like Maplewood has some seedy underbelly of shame and crime and sex scandals. I mean, she’s not blogging about what—or who—went down at Andrew Cowen’s last party. The most illegal thing going on around the halls is students buying weed from Alex and Zac.
“Newsflash,” says Lucy, slouching low enough to rest her head on my shoulder, “Mondays suck the hardest. I’m already tired.”
I prop my chin on her head.
“Too much overachieving is detrimental to a teen,” says Jayden.
Lucy flips him off.
“Oh my god, stop with all the advanced-placement terms,” I groan.
“Says the nerd in AP Lit.” Rio snorts.
“Hey,” I retort, waving a ketchup packet in her face, “We both know I’m taking this course to get into Emory. Any other AP class would’ve been a total failure of our educational system. There’s no way I should be in advanced anything.”
“I concur,” Sara says.
Sara Awad is exceptionally gifted with her sarcasm. I’m jealous of that talent. I’m also jealous of how she’s always so well put together. Perfect eyeliner frames wide, sparkling brown eyes. A long nose and sharp cheekbones contrast with crescent-moon dimples and rare sightings of acne. Today, her pale-rose hijab juxtaposes perfectly with her light-blue top, like the beginning of a sunset against a late-summer sky.
“Thanks, Sara,” I say.
“I’m always here to validate your basicness.”
Damn, she’s good.
I haven’t known Sara as long as Rio, Lucy, Jayden or Chloe. She came as a package-deal with the Liu twins. She’s not an asshole, just guarded. I guess we all are. We’re not consciously trying to be this table of Diversity Rocks in Maplewood’s ocean of suburban realness. Maybe a hint of solidarity brought us together? Maybe it’s because we mesh well.
I mean, it’s not as if a giant sign over us says, “Sit here if you’re anything other than Insert Stereotypical Teen!” There are plenty of other kids—from all kinds of backgrounds and races—that sit elsewhere. We fit together because we like each other, not because we fill the Check Other category.
Sara cocks her head at Lucy. “You look pretty good for a zombie.”
“Thanks.” Lucy winks, popping a tater tot in her mouth.
Sara drops her chin; her cheeks are slightly red. I think I’m the only one who notices. I’m also confident that I’m the only one who knows Sara’s secret.
She has a crush on Lucy.
That’s the other reason Sara sits with us at lunch, why she’s the first one to our table every day, always positioning herself right across from Lucy. She claims it’s because she brings her lunch from home since everything served in the cafeteria is harmful and processed and against her family’s beliefs. Some of that is true. Most of it is bullshit.
It’s Lucy, plain and simple. Almost every student at Maplewood with good eyes and hyperactive hormones has a crush on Lucy. But Sara’s crush is different. I can’t figure out how. I just know, just as I know Zac is possibly gay or bi or curious. That was a little easier to detect. Zac had this familiar look in his eyes any time he watched Dimi and me holding hands or kissing or teasing each other. It’s the same look I have whenever I watch a Zayn Malik video on YouTube. That longing, I-have-a-boner-for-this look.
“I miss Mr. Riley’s bio class,” says Alex. It’s easier to tell them apart, now that Zac has these adorable, rectangular-frame eyeglasses and Alex, for whatever reason, has dyed the tips of his spiky hair electric blue. “Best naps ever.”
“You slept through biology?” Chloe asks.
“Who didn’t?”
“Um, hello.” I raise a hand, waving it in front of Alex’s pinched face. “Mr. Riley is the coolest!”
“You’re required to say that.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Alex and Zac say together. Freaky twin assholes.
Sara reaches across the table and pats my hand. “As GSA president, you’re contractually-bound to speak positively about Mr. Riley.”
Frowning, I pull my hand back. Yes, Mr. Riley is the faculty advisor to GSA, but that has zero weight on my opinion. He’s one of those teachers you can’t help but like. He tells the worst jokes, dresses like a recent college graduate applying for his first real job and talks to students like people instead of this colony of ants marching toward their demise.
But, for whatever reason, these conversations always lead back to me being the loud-and-proud leader of the New Gay Millennium. It’s as if coming out at fourteen defined my destiny from then on. Hey, there’s Remy Cameron, the Chosen Gay One, as if I’m Harry Potter, except, instead of the cool scar and endless sexual tension with Draco, I was given a rainbow patch and all these expectations. I’m pretty sure other students came out before me. Maybe they weren’t as vocal, but they existed.
Glaring at my tater tots, I mumble, “He’s still cool.”
“So,” Rio starts, her voice has that tone she gets when she’s peeved but slightly protective. “Are we done talking about the living legend that is Mr. Riley? Because I, for one, want to talk about the Mad Tagger.”
I sag next to her. Rio is top-notch at subject changes.
“I’m working on this story—”
“Pending approval,” Zac points out.
Rio cuts her eyes just enough to shut Zac up. “I’m working on this story,” she repeats, firmer, “for The Leaf. Whoever the Tagger is, a lot of drama is gonna go down when he’s caught.”
A few nods and mumbles break out around the table. We’re all in our own thoughts about it.
To me, it’s not that serious. The Mad Tagger is simply someone having fun with art and graffiti across Maplewood’s campus. It started at the beginning of the school year: nothing big, spray paint on sidewalks, chalk on brick walls, loopy writing in silver Sharpie over old posters. It’s usually Alice in Wonderland-related content—hence the Mad Tagger name. It’s harmless but kind of wicked stuff.
No one knows who the Mad Tagger is. A student? A teacher? An angry alum? It’s this mystery that keeps building and building. I stopped chasing clues a month ago, but Rio’s obsessed.
“I love his art,” says Jayden. Amused crinkles form around his eyes. They’re as clear blue as an afternoon sky.
“It’s a complete waste of time.” Chloe sighs. “Whoever it is could be doing something positive for the school. Start a club. Join a sport. Something legal.”