It was a pleasant evening.
The white noise of the waves could now be heard above the hum of traffic — a reliable sign that she was up too late. Again.
And tomorrow would be a school day.
Still, she leaned out her open window and watched the night, taking in the panorama: downtown on her left, the bay before her, and the ocean to her right.
Beautiful.
Nothing like the full moon two Sundays back: that had been amazing. With so many lights out from Bakuda's rampage, and the moon so close to Earth… it had been unbelievable how many stars you could see. Emma had been sleeping over that weekend, and they'd laid out sleeping bags on a balcony and looked up at a deeper sky than any they'd ever seen before. The moon had risen just after sunset, and stayed up until the sky was already brightening with pre-dawn light. It hadn't been the movie and makeover weekend they'd planned — you couldn't really watch movies without power — but it had been something wonderful and surprising.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked over at it.
Another text message from Charlotte, nominally asking her what she thought about John, and whether he might like Charlotte, like like-like Charlotte. Actually, an attempt to forge a friendship between them — sharing secrets was good for that, if you knew what you were doing… not that who she liked was much of a secret, really. Charlotte was a little crude in the attempt, and trying to take advantage of the recent disruption. The social-climbing ambition wasn't offensive — somewhat flattering, in fact. But, clear as it was what Charlotte would gain, what would she offer? By now, she should have hinted at her skills, her friends, her charms… something.
Sometimes Madison wondered if other people just didn't think about how they were socializing at all.
She sighed.
Not replying wasn't really a choice: that was the kind of thing that would require an explanation tomorrow at school, if she wanted to keep her reputation as a nice girl.
Madison's thumbs absent-mindedly tapped out a message. "He does like a certain kind of girl, right?" There.
Something ambiguous, for Charlotte to turn over in her mind once it was sent, a mirror for her dreams and insecurities. Wouldn't do to give her the impression that Madison didn't have anything better to do on a Wednesday night than reply instantly — that kind of response would only be appropriate for best friends. Or if Madison was desperate, which she wasn't.
Even if school was different now.
Not lonely — that was just a matter of paying attention, and spending time with people who were in and not with people who were out, and she'd mastered that back in third grade. She was already moving back toward Cynthia and Jane, and it was like old times with them, really. A good example of why you should never cut ties completely. And there were always boys of varying degrees of status or sexiness to flirt with or be followed by. Nothing serious. But nothing needed to be serious for it to be fun, right?
Even the detentions after school weren't really bad: she just sat in a quiet room and did her homework. And that left her free to do other things when she got home in the evening! Mostly socializing, on the phone. Detention wasn't a big deal — honestly, it could have come a lot sooner, and it didn't really hurt her own popularity.
Sophia and Emma had gone for a more adult presentation in their clothing and manners, and that wasn't always an advantage. Cuteness played out differently than hotness: mainly, in the way you came off as more childlike. More crushes, less lust. And people always assumed you were actually like a child which had definite drawbacks, but did make it a lot easier to be underestimated. Put a cute girl in detention, and it only signaled that she'd 'made a mistake' and would need support and guidance going forward.
It also hinted that she might break the rules in other, more interesting, ways. Cute girls who stayed wholesome were popular. Cute girls who enjoyed kissing — or more — were popular. Cute girls who might possibly be persuaded… well. Not that she would, but the attention was fun. Her dad was still a little upset about some of the trouble, but she had always been his darling daughter.
He'd come around.
Mom had always been in her corner. She'd taught Madison how to deal with people, and the very first lesson she'd taught was 'Family first.'
Sure, Mom might be disappointed if Madison weren't able to bring Dad or the school administration around on her own, and needed assistance… but she would have helped in a heartbeat, if asked.
And then they'd have spent an afternoon out shopping, while she did her lecturing-without-lecturing trick, explicitly discussing fashion and implicitly discussing people, and how to manage them. The afternoon out would have been fun.
The unlecture… not so much. Mom still knew a lot more than she did about how to manipulate people's feelings, and thought one of the best ways to learn techniques was to experience them yourself. Even odds whether she'd have gone for guilt or humiliation, but it wouldn't have been enjoyable either way.
At all.
Emma had withdrawn from the school last week: transferring, she said, in one of the few times they'd talked since, maybe to the same school as Sophia and maybe not. There hadn't been much occasion, really — friends came and went in life, and the school you were at remained.
Emma had been a good friend while she lasted, really, and might be again some day.
The obsession with Taylor had been a little odd, but it made for a great bonding experience. One that only took up a bit of the day. A ritual, of sorts — a moment in the morning, a moment at lunch, an occasional class period when things were boring: it had brought a lot of their year together. More than the principal's efforts to gin up a rivalry with Immaculata now that they were both competing in the AAAA league had, anyway: they didn't have a sports program worthy of the name, swim team excepted.
That kind of shared rejection was just the way school always was: you could live on the outside, or find a way to be on the inside… but there was always someone on the bottom.
Sophia had been right about that much — it was easy to see, if you looked.
The pattern repeated everywhere.
Sophia herself had been bound and determined to be on top, and mere weeks after she'd transferred in… she was. She'd gotten together with Emma almost before the school year started, and moved on Taylor just as quickly. And, just like that, the pattern was set: the two attractive, successful, girls forming one pole and the withdrawn loner the other. The rest of the year rearranged themselves like iron filings around a magnet to fit that relentlessly repeated pattern. Madison herself had rearranged her plans to use it rather than fight it.
A lot of life was simple like that, really.
If you paid attention to how people acted, you could almost always get in with them. Liking some of the same things was easy, and sometimes introduced you to new things you would like on their merits anyway. Hating most of the same things was easier: just focus on the flaws. Everyone had something.
You still had to pick your friends carefully, but it wasn't like friends — or enemies — just happened. You made them. A little attention, the occasional sacrifice… easy. Hard on the outcast, of course, but you can't define an in-group without one. And really, would you prefer to be in? Or out?
Madison knew which choice she'd make.
Which choice she'd made.
And, the locker thing aside, it had never gotten too-too bad. Taylor had some seriously thick skin: the locker itself had grown out of three months of wondering if there was anything, anything at all, which would draw a reaction from her. And the locker had. Had it ever! She was out of school for a week, in a psych ward... and then she went right back to stonewalling them.
Like it never happened.
The time Emma got her to cry in the restroom was really the only other time she'd seen a reaction on Taylor's face. She was just expressionless when confronted. Until recently, that had meant almost all the time. It was impressive, in its own way, the sheer bloody-minded endurance involved… particularly since it was totally unnecessary. There had been so many ways out, so many other cliques that she could have joined, or even formed. There were different flavors of geeks, and jocks other than Track, and the band group was both pretty tight and straightforward to join. Hadn't Taylor played the flute or something? Or if she didn't want to solve her issues by adjusting her friendships, there were ways to get the teachers involved, or alternatives to Winslow itself.
Back when it was just getting started, Emma had even hinted that this was all a test, to see if Taylor was a victim or a survivor — with just a little effort, Taylor could have been one of the popular ones. Or at least friends with someone else who was popular, and that was almost as good. Better, in some ways: most of the benefits, a fraction of the work. Emma and Taylor had certainly used to be friends, before.
Instead, Taylor had simply stayed the victim.
For months.
For over two years.
At first, Madison thought Taylor would take it for a month, or two, and then she'd bow out or call in help and someone else would be the designated target… but she just kept coming back for more. Maybe that was the only way she knew to get attention. Or maybe she was just really bad with people.
Maybe those were the same thing. That kind of made Madison feel sorry for her, distantly. How bad did you have to be at life, that you wanted to be the butt of every joke? Someone had to be, but it didn't always have to be the same person.
Anyway, she was gone too.
The kind of gone where they stopped calling her name at roll call.
There were all kinds of stories about that: she'd gone to an insane asylum, she'd committed suicide, she'd transferred — even one where Bakuda had killed the whole Hebert family.
Madison thought that last one was more than a little beyond the bounds of good taste: Bakuda had killed a lot of people, for real, and turning that into fodder for a new rumor was just... cheap. Some kid was claiming that he'd seen the crater where her house used to be, but — again — Bakuda had eliminated a lot of houses, and Taylor just attracted gross stories.
Especially after the locker thing.
Madison had heard Taylor featuring in stories that she was quite sure never actually happened, all disgusting, from the one where she slept in a dumpster to the one where she ate bugs.
Personally, Madison was pretty sure that Taylor had finally transferred out, looking for a new school where she wouldn't be at the bottom of the ladder. Easy, if she were willing to even try. Some new clothes, a little more attention to her hair, some makeup, some padding for her bra (because let's be serious here, she could really use that. Nothing wrong with being tall and rail-thin, nothing at all, but for maximum impact? You needed cleavage to go with it)... and she'd be an entirely different, and much more popular, girl.
She ran the changes through her mind's eye, imagining what she would change if she'd been giving Taylor a makeover, if Taylor had been a friend.
It would work.
Madison grinned.
And she should know!
Not that she needed to anymore, but last year? Last year she'd used padding herself — not too much, too much was worse than too little. Really, it was just truth in advertising: her mother was evidence enough that her breasts had always been going to come in eventually, so there was no harm in, ah, pre-announcing them. Audience response had been… enthusiastic. And it was always nice to feel wanted.
Hating Taylor had been the price of Emma and Sophia's friendship.
With them both gone now — Sophia wasn't even answering her phone anymore, which meant her mother had probably confiscated it — it might be possible. Making friends with her after spending so much time tormenting her would have been quite difficult, even if it would have gone a long way to quelling any future concerns with the school administration. Still, as mother always said, 'Sincerity is the most important thing for making friends. And once you can fake that, you are made.'
The fact that Taylor probably wasn't returning to Winslow shifted that daydream from 'difficult' to 'impossible.'
A path not taken.
So it was in a generous mood that Madison raised her phone and pressed send. Perhaps she would take Charlotte under her wing after all.
A vast orange light bloomed across the bay, and she dropped her phone to the floor.
More than thirty seconds later, when the boom could be heard, it was still there.