Made You Up: Chapters 7–11

Outside the school was pandemonium.

Her two friends stifled laughs.

Most of them probably had no clue I’d actually gone to Hillpark, but brandishing any kind of red around here was asking for trouble.

Miles and the triplets moved to flank me, helping clear a path through the party.

Riding home, the sunlight fading, an enormous red bird with long tail feathers sailed over me. I stopped to take a picture of it. On the camera screen, its feathers glowed like fire. Freaking phoenixes. I’d had an obsession with phoenixes when I was ten, and this one followed me home every night.

Sure, they were in love with each other, but history was like the be-all, end-all of intellectual stimulation to them.

Charlie stood in the living room with her violin, playing her musical prodigy stuff.

“I’m on speaking terms with the valedictorian and the salutatorian, if that makes you feel any better,” I said.

The moment I mentioned a lobster tank, my mother would have a conniption.

It probably wouldn’t help my case to tell her Tucker had applied to half a dozen Ivy League schools, and had already been accepted at twice as many less prestigious institutions.

There was the patter of small feet in the hallway, and then Charlie’s arms wrapped around me and her momentum nearly knocked me out of my chair.

She jabbered incessantly about the song she’d been playing, what she thought of our mother’s mushroom soup, how much she wanted to go to high school.

She jabbered incessantly about the song she’d been playing, what she thought of our mother’s mushroom soup, how much she wanted to go to high school.

The artifacts on my shelves rattled ominously.

The artifacts on my shelves rattled ominously.

Every week, Charlie had a word that she used whenever she could fit it in. This week it was discriminate. Last week it was usurp. The week before that was defenestrate, compliments of me.

Every week, Charlie had a word that she used whenever she could fit it in. This week it was discriminate. Last week it was usurp. The week before that was defenestrate, compliments of me.

That led to my involvement in the Hillpark Gym Graffiti Incident and my senior year condemnation at East Shoal.

The Red Witch? The one who gutted travelers, coated herself in their blood, and screamed like a banshee?

I slunk to Mr. Gunthrie’s room, hoping I wouldn’t meet Cliff or Celia or, God forbid, Miles on my way.

I slipped into my seat, keeping them in my peripheral vision while I did a perimeter check.

Miles sauntered into the room and dropped into the chair in front of me, his gaze fixed on the whiteboard.

Miles gave him a wry smile and left.

“Yeah. I told you he was crazy, right? I heard he does some weird stuff at home, too.” He said it with a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Like mowing his lawn, and trimming his peonies.”

“Peonies?” I balked. “God, he really is a freak.”

The rest of the day passed without a hitch.

Beneath the picture was the caption: “Scarlet Fletcher, captain of the East Shoal cheerleading squad, helps introduce ‘Scarlet’s Scoreboard,’ a commemoration of the charity and goodwill her father, Randall Fletcher, has shown toward the school.”

Beneath the picture was the caption: “Scarlet Fletcher, captain of the East Shoal cheerleading squad, helps introduce ‘Scarlet’s Scoreboard,’ a commemoration of the charity and goodwill her father, Randall Fletcher, has shown toward the school.”

The picture was framed in gold and set up on a tiny dais like it was sacred.

You only have twice as many positive answers as negative and noncommittal—how does this keep happening?