The morning they first noticed one another, they were changing clothes in the girls' locker room, the central portion of a dank warren of shower stalls and dressing areas one floor below the Clark Middle School gym. They tied blue laces on their Nikes and slouched morosely in identical P.E. uniforms—baggy, one-piece blue-gray jumpsuits that made them look like prison inmates. The locker room was alive with chatter about the spring dance, the newly created girls' basketball team, and the latest Netflix series featuring everyone's heartthrob, Noah somebody.
It was the time of year when purple crocuses began opening into the light. The shadows and angles of winter had softened, and there was a hint of tart Indian plum in the air. In the locker room, acrid sweat mingled with deodorant and jasmine body powder.
From opposite sides of the cramped room, they glanced across the swarm of girls and spotted one another, a sudden reflection—angular and awkward—without a mirror. Their pulses quickened in the same instant.
At least, that was how Tasha would remember it.
In one heartbeat she stood alone, dreading another boisterous gym class—dodging elbows while jogging, wincing at rope burns on her palms, gasping for breath after every fall from the balance beam into the floor mat. In the next heartbeat she caught herself stupidly grinning across the locker room at this new girl, not caring what else might happen that day.
They had in common brown eyes and brown bobs, cut along the jawline and seldom brushed. Physically they could not have been more alien to the waxed and spray-tanned girls who surrounded them, fourteen-year-olds determined to achieve a new level of sophistication before high school.
To protect herself from the scrutiny and derision of her classmates, Tasha practiced a superior nonchalance, the attitude of one who had given up on the world so long ago it barely mattered anymore. It took all of her nerve to make eye contact. To her astonishment the new girl gave a silent shrug and grinned back at her. Half an hour later, while watching a classmate show off on the trampoline, they exchanged an eye roll.
The next day they acknowledged one another in homeroom. Over her shoulder, Tasha scanned the back row until she found her new friend, who signaled with a nod so slight anyone not paying close attention would have missed it. Tasha replied in kind.
On their third encounter, they spoke. It was a Friday afternoon, near the end of sixth period. Tasha was creeping through a vacant corridor with her backpack slung over one shoulder, sneaking out for the afternoon. She turned a corner and discovered Tyler Blanchard leaning against a row of lockers. A year older than Tasha, he was barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, but not very handsome.
On the floor beside him, Tasha's new friend crouched on her knees. With one hand Tyler was gripping her by the hair, forcing her down. His teeth and gums were bared in a hateful smile.
Tasha glanced at the empty corridor behind her, hoping despite her delinquency to see a teacher, the janitor, a hall monitor, anybody. There was no one. The three of them were alone.
Tasha froze. Tyler turned his grimacing smile toward her.
