Page 122 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

The garage felt cold as a polar bear’s rump, to borrow a quote from Gram. Emily didn’t bother to go back inside for her coat. Her body temperature was running hot at the moment. Of course that changed as soon as she’d reached the far side of the garage.

Emily shuddered as she opened the refrigerator. Thanks to Gram, she started humming “Yankee Doodle,” an annoying thing to have in your head on any day of the year. She remembered reading Louisa May Alcott’s Little Men for extra credit in the sixth grade. Emil and Franz had gone to the corn mill and brought home enough for the family to eat hasty pudding and Johnny cake for months. Emily had gotten a star from the teacher for making a connection to the song.

She wasn’t getting any stars from teachers now.

Emily had become completely ostracized at school. Even the janitors looked away when she walked past. It was as if her pregnancy was putting out a force field. The more the nasty rumors spread, the more people kept their distance. Teachers shook their heads in dismay. Someone had cut a giant hole in the T-shirt she wore for PE. The word WHORE had been carved into her desk in homeroom. Before Thanksgiving break, some idiot had peeled off the liner to a maxi-pad and taped it to her locker. They’d used a red magic marker to indicate blood. A black marker had been used to box it in, making it look like a postcard with the words scrawled below—

WISH YOU WERE HERE?

Emily suspected that Ricky was behind the maxi-pad if not the rest of the destruction. The most savage abuse seemed to be coming from the clique. Blake’s rumors about Emily’s drug and alcohol consumption had taken on their own life. She was not just a user but a dealer. Not just a stoner but a junkie. Ricky had layered in her own lies, telling anyone who would listen that she had seen Emily giving blowjobs to several boys behind the gym. Then of course several boys had volunteered that they were the ones on the receiving end. Nardo was predictably cruel, making snide comments every single time he passed within hearing distance—

Plebe one day.

Fucking cuntthe next.

And, on the days when Emily looked particularly down, Fat bitch.

Clay was completely ignoring her, which was far more hurtful than Nardo’s nasty asides. As far as Clay seemed concerned, Emily was a nonentity. Her presence in the cafeteria or on the street had as much impact on him as the payphone on the wall or the mailbox on the corner.

Then there were the others. Melody Brickel offered a smile every time she saw Emily, but the smiles were only a reminder of what had been lost.

Dean Wexler had demanded that Emily be transferred out of his class. Because the school year was so late in the term, she now spent that period in a makeshift study hall, alone in the library.

Then there was Cheese—or Jack, as Emily had to think of him now.

Jack went out of his way to avoid her at school. He barely talked to her outside of class, and during non-school hours, he was always tied up. He had told Emily it was because his father was making him work at the station. The excuse felt weak. Jack had said many times that he was not going to the state police academy this summer. He was going to leave town as soon as he graduated.

Emily thought that her unexplained pregnancy was the reason that there was a noticeable strain between them. She had never asked Jack if he was at The Party. She’d told herself this was because she wasn’t going to fall into Nardo’s trap, but part of her was secretly afraid of what Jack’s answer might be.

Had Jack been at Nardo’s?

Had he done something to Emily?

Emily caught herself staring blankly into the refrigerator. She had forgotten what she was here for.

Beer, Cool Whip, sodas, milk.

She should go talk to Jack. They had never kept secrets between them. Not about the important stuff. She had seen him slip into the shed last night. Emily had left him a pillow and fresh blanket because she knew the holidays were always bad at his house. His mother would open the alcohol shortly after breakfast. The Chief would join in by noon. By the time dinner time rolled around, they were either screaming at each other, involved in a physical altercation, or both passed out on the floor.

“Pudding,” Emily said, finally remembering why she was freezing her ass off in the garage.

She placed the bucket of Cool Whip on top of the pan and used her hip to shut the fridge door. She cut across the empty space where her father’s car was normally parked. She wondered if he was really at the club. They did shotgun starts on Thanksgiving morning so that the staff could have some semblance of a holiday. She knew he’d signed up for nine holes, but she also knew it didn’t take four hours to play the back nine.

“Did you get lost?” Esther was waiting for her at the door.

She hefted up the pudding. “I couldn’t get that stupid song out of my head.”

Esther took a breath, then belted out, “‘Fath’r and I went down to camp along with Captain Goodin’”

Emily joined in. “And there we saw the men and boys as thick as hasty puddin’.’”

Esther stomped her feet along with Emily as they marched back into the house, both singing at the top of their lungs—

“‘And there was Captain Washington and gentle folks about him … they say he’s grown so tarnal proud he will not ride without them!’”

Emily felt giddy as her mother pulled her into a side hug. Esther really was in a brilliant mood. They hadn’t sung together in ages.

“Oh, dear.” Esther wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”