Watch Me Disappear

said it. I know it as soon as the words are out, but there is no taking them back.
    “I’m done,” he says, putting his hands up and backing away.
    I feel the tears welling up and I know I am about to turn into a complete crybaby. I practically run through the hall to the girls’ bathroom, and as soon as I’m inside, I let out a gasping sob. A girl by the sink gives me a pitying look and then leaves. I sit on the radiator and let it out. I hear the homeroom bell ring. I’m late. I do the only thing I can think to do. I go to the nurse and tell her I’m sick.
    Everyone loves the nurse. She keeps a jar of candy on her desk and even when she knows you aren’t really sick, she lets you hang out there a while. This is one of the things Maura taught me. I have never been the kind of kid who goes to the school nurse. In my mom’s book, if you are too sick to go to school, you are probably dying, and if you go to the nurse during the school day, you’d better be hallucinating from fever or at least puking.
    By the end of first period, I am calm and my eyes are only a little red, so I go back to class, but all I can think about all day is Paul—those eyes, those lips, the hurt expression on his face when he walked away. I hate knowing that I disappointed him and that I’ve fallen in his estimation, but if I’m honest, I have to admit that I also want both Paul and Missy to feel as hurt as they made me feel. Paul and I most certainly cannot be friends.  
     
     

Chapter 18
     
     
    “Listen,” Maura says, flicking a cigarette butt out the window as we pull into the school parking lot Wednesday morning. She used to only smoke when she was drinking, but she has decided to become a full-fledged smoker, to stay thin. “I’m going to be out sick today.”
    This statement doesn’t exactly surprise me—she is wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, which are not clothes she ever wears to school—but it also doesn’t make sense. I mean, there we are, in the parking lot.
    She pulls into a space and puts the car in park. Then she turns toward me. “Jason got expelled yesterday,” she says.
    This, also, does not surprise me as he has already been suspended twice this year for fighting.
    “He punched a teacher yesterday,” she says.
    “Huh.” What am I supposed to say? Wow, I can really see why you love him so much. You should go to him. Is that what she wants to hear? Or what if I tell the truth: Jesus Christ, Maura, the guy is a sleazebag and an asshole. You have to break up with him. Yeah, that would go over well.
    “It’s just that nobody really understands all he’s been through. They don’t get him, you know?”
    “I sure don’t,” I say.
    “I know you don’t like him, but if you’re my friend then you’ll at least be supportive of me,” she says.
    Another impossible statement to respond to. Is letting your friend ditch school to be with her delinquent, abusive boyfriend really being supportive?
    “Just cover for me,” she says. “If anyone asks, I’m sick.”
    I wonder how many people saw us pull into the lot.
    “And if my mom says anything or whatever, you know—” she trails off.
    “Yeah, fine, okay?” I say, grabbing my bag. “Are you picking me up after?”
    She nods and shakes another cigarette from the pack. Marlboro Menthol Light 100s. I wonder if she even knows what “light” means in regard to cigarettes, or if she knows what menthol does to your lungs. For once I am glad my mother is a walking public service announcement.
     
    *          *          *
     
    I don’t see much of Maura for the rest of that week. She doesn’t come back to school until Friday. Everyone keeps asking me if she’s okay, speculating on how sick she must be to miss so much school. On the one hand I hate all that lying, but on the other hand, I have become universally known as Maura’s best friend. No one is asking Jess or Katherine for information. They are all coming straight to me. And even though Maura has drifted away from her in-crowd circle, the school as a whole still reveres her as some kind of strange icon. Underclassmen are still afraid of her. Less popular upperclassmen still simultaneously hate her and wish for her approval. Basically, outside her immediate circle of friends, her status is as it has always been.
    I am hoping that my own newly elevated status will help me get a prom date. There are, of course, the people who lined up their dates back in January, had