I’ve known most of these kids since elementary school. Back then, I wasn’t the outcast I am now. There was a time when I used to be friends with most of them, but then middle school hit. Everyone began branching off into their small cliques. At the time, it was Emily, Kassi, me, and a few other girls.

  Around eighth grade, things started to change. I can’t say exactly what, but, slowly, I felt myself drifting from them. Not intentionally. It isn’t as if they ever did anything wrong; it kind of just happened. My friends that once felt like sisters to me eventually became the girls I could no longer relate to. It was as if some unexplainable force picked me up and dropped me down in the middle of nowhere, and ever since, I haven’t been able to find my way back.

  Then high school came and image was everything. Emily, the free-spirit who I used to have sleepovers with, became obsessed with her social standing. Fitting in and being popular was her biggest concern while I was simply lost.

  I’ve spent the better part of these past few years trying to figure out where my old self went. I haven’t seen her in a very long time, so long that I forgot how it even feels to be her—to be me.

  Rumors started to spread when I was gone last semester. Since after Christmas break, I’ve become privy to the gossip that was circulating about why I had vanished for the first half of junior year. Pretty much the consensus was that I got knocked up and went away to have the baby in secret.

  So, not only am I freak, but now a slut. Little do they know, I’ve never even kissed a boy, except for that one time when Alex, who now sits at the emo table, kissed me under the monkey bars in fifth grade. Apart from that, I doubt I’ve ever been on any guy’s radar. Not that I’m unfortunate in the looks department. At least I don’t think I am, but it doesn’t matter how pretty you are, it only matters how popular you are.

  I resign a heavy breath as I stroll in, hoping to go unnoticed, and head straight to the snack bar to grab a bag of chips and a soda before making my way over to the loser’s table. Out of nowhere, a package of M&Ms flies through the air and nearly sideswipes my face, but I duck in time to dodge the impact.

  “Watch out, Cricket,” Sebastian barks from the table to my right.

  He’s a jock, but mostly, he’s just an ass.

  “Thanks, dude,” his buddy across the way says, already ripping into the bag of candy.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re throwing things?” I mumbled beneath my breath, but it’s loud enough for him to hear.

  He slings his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders and throws me a cocky smirk. “Why don’t you stop being a freak?”

  A few kids laugh at his lame insult.

  “Gross,” Kassi, his girlfriend, says. “Why are you even talking to her?”

  My eyes flit from her over to Emily, who’s sitting next to them. She looks up at me but doesn’t speak. Not that I expect her to. She’s barely said two words to me since middle school.

  “Mooo-ve, Cricket,” Sebastian taunts loudly, mocking the sound of a cow.

  Shaking my head, I walk away and take a seat a few spots down from a lanky kid who’s sipping his milk and reading an old copy of The Chrysalids.

  A loud eruption catches my attention, and when I look over my shoulder, Sebastian is high-fiving Brent, his lacrosse teammate. Emily and Kassi smile at whatever has them amped up. I turn back and shove a chip into my mouth, dreading having to be around them tonight at the game I’m in charge of photographing. If it weren’t for being on the newspaper staff, there’s no way I would subject myself to high-school events. For the most part, I go unnoticed—a wallflower, if you will.

  Lanky boy looks up from his book, and we awkwardly catch eyes.

  “Are you new here?” he asks, leaving me to assume he’s the new one since I’ve lived here my whole life and everyone should, at the very least, know of me. Plus, I’ve never seen him before.

  “No.” I crunch down on another chip. “You?”

  He nods. “My family just moved here from Kansas.”

  “What’s in Kansas?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” he says with a hint of laughter.

  I smile, appreciating the small interaction.

  “Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”

  “Because everyone here sucks,” I respond with a hint of laughter.

  “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t waste my time?”

  Another loud uproar sounds from behind me. This time, it’s a bunch of guys cheering on Brent as he attempts to shove an entire slice of pizza into his mouth. The crust is bulging out from between his over-stretched lips when he pumps his fists in victory.

  Turning to the new kid, I shrug. “Case and point right there.”

  He closes his book and scoots down a couple of chairs to sit right in front of me before extending a hand. “I’m Noah.”

  His formality amuses me, but I shake it anyway. “I’m Harlow.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He shoves his book into his bag. “What do you do for fun around here since you detest everyone?”

  “You make it sound like I’m nothing but a hater.”

  He smiles. “Aren’t you?”

  I quirk a brow before responding to his question. “Sometimes I like to drive to Seattle. This town has a way of feeling small when you’ve lived here your whole life.”

  “What do you do in Seattle?”

  “Nothing really. It’s just nice to be surrounded by fresh faces. But there is this local book and record store called Spines that hosts small concerts and stuff. It’s pretty cool.”

  “Any bands I would know?”

  “Maybe some. But most are indie, which I prefer. Nothing worse than an artist who sells out commercially for a paycheck.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he says. “I hate when one of my favorite songs winds up on the radio. Ruins it for me.”

  “Oh my god! Me too. I mean, I get it, they want to be rich and famous, but once they hit the radio, all their music turns to crap.”

  “Like you said—commercialized.”

  “It’s like people are scared of originality. They all claim to be original, but they’re really just like everyone else.”

  He laughs, quipping, “Clones.”

  “Exactly.”

  The bell rings and groans fill the cafeteria as everyone throws away their trash and heads to their next class.

  Noah stands and grabs his backpack. “It was nice meeting you,” he says before picking up his small milk carton and tossing it into the garbage. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “See ya.” I idle in my seat as I watch him file out of the cafeteria with the rest of the herd. I pop the last chip into my mouth right before someone bumps into the table, causing my soda to knock over.

  It spills onto my lap, and when I jump up, Sebastian is laughing.

  “Why are you such a jerk?”

  He doesn’t say anything as he and Kassi snicker at me.

  “Dude,” Brent announces loud enough for everyone to hear, “Cricket pissed herself!” He then takes Emily’s hand in his as they walk out.

  Embarrassment flames my cheeks, turning them hot while everyone stares and laughs as they pass me on their way out. I pick up the can, throw it into the trash, and make a beeline to the bathroom.

  Wadding up a handful of paper towels, I soak them under the faucet before blotting my pants. My whole crotch is soaking wet when Emily enters. She looks at my pants as she walks over to one of the other sinks.

  “I don’t think he did that on purpose,” she says as she pulls out her lip gloss.

  “I don’t know why you hang out with them.”

  I go to the hand drier as she looks at herself in the mirror, rubbing her lips together. “They aren’t that bad.”

  “Whatever.”

  After she leaves and the door closes behind her, I punch my palm against the round silver button that brings the drier to life with a loud hiss.

  There’s a light mist in the air tonight while I snap photo after photo of the players on the field. It’s nearing the end of the fourth quarter, and we’re up by one, not that I care. I keep behind my camera as I stand on the sideline. When the clock runs down, I capture the final moment when Sebastian makes a last-minute goal, securing the team’s win.

  Everyone cheers from the stands, the team celebrates like the obnoxious boys they are, and I pack my things. As I make my way through the stands, I run into Phoung, who’s on the newspaper staff with me. We chat about nothing in particular for a few minutes, and when the bleachers have practically emptied, we say a quick goodbye before I head out.

  As I’m walking, I fumble around in my bag for my keys. When I can’t find them, I grow frustrated and stop next to the concession stand so I can dig through my backpack. My hand is still blindly searching for my keys when I hear Kassi whining about something. Peeking my head around the corner of the concession building, I see her and Sebastian, and I eavesdrop.

  “Why can’t I ever come over?” she asks.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “I just don’t know why you won’t introduce me to your mom. Are you embarrassed of me or something?”

  “God, you’re annoying,” he gripes. “You act like we’re getting married or something. Who cares that you haven’t met my mom? It’s not a big deal.”

  “Well, if it isn’t a big deal, then let me come over.”

  “I’m not even going home.”

  “All we ever do is party with Brent. Why don’t you want to spend alone time with me?”

  “We were alone after school,” he says suggestively, running his hand along her cheek and back into her hair.

  She isn’t amused, and she shoves him. “Sometimes I think that sex is all you want from me,” she snaps before walking away.

  “Come on, Kassi. Don’t be like that.”

  She flips him the middle finger, and I shake my head at their stupid spat as I duck back behind the wall.

  “Finally,” I whisper when I find my keys.

  As I turn the corner to leave, I bump right into Sebastian, who looks at me in annoyance. “Watch where you’re going, Cricket.”

  Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I stopped in my step once again when I see Noah. In an attempt to go unnoticed, I quickly turn, giving him my back, and pick up my pace as I walk to my car.

  “Harlow,” he calls out from across the way, and when I look over my shoulder, he’s jogging toward me. “Hey,” he huffs, slightly winded.

  “Are you that out of shape,” I tease, to which he laughs.

  “Just slightly. I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

  “I’m on the newspaper, so . . .”

  “Cool.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask “Did you come alone?”

  He shrugs. “Trying to blend in and make friends.” I give him a nod and when the conversation comes to a stall, the interaction, or lack thereof, turns awkward. “So, hey,” he says, breaking the silence. “You want to go grab a burger or something?”

  “Umm,” I hesitate, not expecting him to want to hang out. Someone should warn him, that if he’s wanting to fit in and make friends, he should probably steer clear of me.

  “Are you trying to think of a reason to say no?”

  He hits the nail on the head, and it gets a chuckle out of me as I admit, “Kinda.”

  “Come on. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  Even though I’d much rather go home and call it a day, I would feel bad if I told him no with how excited he seems at the prospect of hanging out. And I’d be lying if I said that a part of me didn’t want to hang out as well. There isn’t much in my life to fill in the gaps of space and distract me from myself aside from school. So, I take a step out of my comfort zone, and say yes instead of making up an excuse to say no.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He smiles. “Great. So, what’s good around here?”

  “Dick’s Drive-In has the best burgers.” Plus, it’s a drive-in and not an eat-in restaurant, so I’m not locked into this lasting a long time. “I need to get gas in my car first, so I’ll meet you there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We go our different ways before I get into my car and head toward the closest gas station. While I wait for my tank to fill, I lean against my car and send a quick text to my mom.

  Me: Grabbing something to eat and then I’ll be home.

  When the pump clicks and I pull the nozzle out, I catch my mom walking out of the convenience store with a cup of coffee in her hand. But it isn’t her car she walks towards . . . it’s an SUV. I try to hide myself behind the large concrete pillar as I watch her from across the lot. The SUV backs up and when it turns my way, I see her laughing from the passenger side next to a man I’ve never seen before.

  I tuck myself back into my car as confusion sparks a multitude of questions. My thoughts immediately go to the worst-case scenario, but instinct has me creating excuses to make that scenario implausible. I mean, it isn’t as if I saw her doing anything bad. The guy could be an old friend of hers, somebody she knows from work, or he could be . . .

  My cell phone vibrates in my hand, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  Mom: Okay. I’m working late with a new vendor, but I should be home in an hour.

  There, that makes sense. He’s a new vendor. They’re working late and she wanted a cup of coffee. It’s a completely reasonable explanation, so why can’t I shake the unease in my gut?

  HARLOW

  “How much longer are you going to be?” Noah questions as I click and drag photos of the cheerleading team around on the computer screen.

  “I really want to get through this next page of layouts.”

  The deadline to have everything submitted for the newspaper is quickly approaching, so the staff has been staying after school more than usual to get it wrapped up.

  “If you’re that impatient, just download the album,” I tell him. Noah’s favorite band just released a new album and it’s all he can talk about. I agreed to go with him to the record store after school so he can buy it, but I need to finish up my work first.

  He scoffs. “Digital downloads have ruined the whole experience. Vinyl has been, and always will be, the best way to listen to music.”

  “Vinyl is for old people.”

  “Clearly, you’ve never listened to your favorite bands on vinyl, because you wouldn’t be saying that if you had.”

  “You’re wrong”—I click the save button and look over at him—“the best way to experience music is live, not listening to some scratchy record.”

  He shakes his head. “You disappoint me, you know?”

  I shoot him a plastic smile as I continue to work.

  “Low, were you in charge of the student council banquet?” Annie, the newspaper editor, asks from across the room.

  “No. I think that was Theo.”

  After dropping the team lacrosse photo into place, I go back to my camera file and start weeding through the pictures. I select a few and drag them around the page, trying to decide exactly how I want the layout.

  “Those guys are douches,” Noah mutters, and I agree with a nod.

  It’s been a couple of weeks since we met, and it’s turned out that he’s a pretty cool guy, even though he borders on the edge of weird, but that’s what makes him interesting. He’s nothing like most of the boys at school, which is refreshing.

  His phone chimes, and he reads the text. “That’s my mom. She wants to know if you’re staying for dinner tonight.”

  I met his parents last week when he invited me over to hang out. His mom is nothing like mine. When we walked through the front door, she was baking cookies for a fundraiser for his little sister’s school. When I was in elementary school, I was always the one who showed up with store-bought sweets. My mother wouldn’t even bother to take them out of the plastic containers to try to make them look like they were homemade.

  Maybe that’s the difference between a working mom and a stay-at-home mom.

  “What’s she making?”

  “Lasagna.”

  After another click on the keyboard, I tell him, “I’m in.”

  “Can we go now?”

  “Yes,” I sigh, stretching out the word.

  I save my files and email them to Annie before disconnecting my camera and packing it into its case. School got out around an hour ago, so the halls are empty as we make our way through the building. When we push through the double doors that lead to the parking lot, a few guys from the lacrosse team are lingering around. They must have just finished with practice.

  I keep my head down as one of them calls out, “Looking hot, Cricket,” right before something pelts my shoulder. I look down at the pacifier that lands on the ground next to my feet while they all laugh at me.

  I cringe. Sometimes I wish I were invisible.

  “You’re an asshole,” Noah shouts, which only makes them laugh louder.

  “Just ignore them,” I mutter.

  As we make our way to our cars, he asks, “Why do they call you Cricket, anyway?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I just did, so spill it.”

  “In eighth grade science, our teacher had these lizards and we had to take turns cleaning their cage and feeding them these nasty crickets.” We stop when we get to our cars, and I slip my bag from my shoulder to fish for my keys. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself so I never told my teacher that I was deathly afraid of insects.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was able to keep my cool while scooping them out with a cup from the tank they were kept in. But, before I could transfer them to the lizards, I tripped over a book that was on the ground and the crickets went flying. They literally got tangled in my hair, and I freaked.”

  Noah starts laughing.

  “Like, screaming and flailing around like a maniac. By lunchtime, the whole school had heard about it, and that’s when they started calling me Cricket.” I find my keys and click the fob to unlock the doors.

  “I would’ve paid good money to have seen that.”

  I slap his arm. “You’re so mean. Seriously, it was traumatizing.”

  “They’re just crickets,” he says with a shrug, as if they were harmless cotton balls.