The Half Life of Molly Pierce Read Online Free Page A

back.
    “Can I have quiet time? I’m imposing quiet time,” I interject.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Luka asks.
    And Erie says, “Luka just dropped a book on my foot and you’re the one who needs special treatment?”
    “Your foot is fine,” Luka says.
    “Really. Guys. Really,” I say.
    They leave me alone. Erie shoots me a bewildered look and Luka shoots me a tired, patronizing look; and then they talk to each other and they let me be quiet and we walk together through the hallways, but it’s really the two of them and then me. Separate.
    I just . . . sometimes I can’t talk to people. And they’ve known me for a long time; they get it.
    It’s good to have friends like this because you don’t have to explain things to them right away. Eventually I’ll have to tell them about the accident and about dead Lyle Avery, but for now we’re just walking to class. And sometimes they say my name to involve me in the conversation and I nod like I’m listening but I’m not expected to respond. I’m not expected to do anything other than just walk beside them.
    - - -
    Before lunch Erie can’t wait anymore and she corners me outside the cafeteria.
    “You haven’t said a word to me all day,” she says.
    “That is an exaggeration,” I say.
    Erie sometimes thinks everything in the world is happening to her or against her or because of her. She considers herself to be a very involved participant in the lives of her friends.
    “What, are you like—are you okay ? You know? Are you?”
    She says okay in a way that really means— Are you having a bad day? Like, Are you feeling more depressed than usual? Like, Should I call someone and tell them?
    You make one comment about maybe wanting to die and this is how your friends will treat you forever and ever, like you are a loaded gun in the hands of someone incredibly jumpy.
    “I had a rough night. I’m fine. I’ll tell you later.”
    Erie shakes her head; and her long California blond hair gives off a light of its own, that’s how shiny it is. She makes her way to our usual spot in the cafeteria, a table in the back by the window. She sits down with her new weird poet boyfriend, Carbon, who sometimes goes through these phases where he only speaks in rhyme.
    I don’t know if that’s really his name.
    I get in line and pick out my usual grilled cheese sandwich, apple, coffee. My school starting serving coffee after a month-long struggle involving mostly Clancy and me passing petitions around during study halls. We threatened a sit-in and they eventually provided us with these packets of instant and hot water.
    In front of me in line is Bret Jennings. I try and make myself as unnoticeable as possible, because the last time I saw Bret, I spilled the majority of my orange juice on his sneakers.
    “Hey, Molly,” he says.
    So much for unnoticeable.
    “Oh, hey. How are you?”
    “Drier than the last time you saw me.”
    Oh, jokes. He has jokes.
    “Have I mentioned how completely sorry I am for the orange juice incident?”
    “A couple times,” he says, and smiles.
    “I, um, well . . . well, we both have apples. For lunch.”
    We both have apples?
    “Astute, Molly,” he says, but he’s still smiling.
    “It’s, um, your turn. To pay.”
    He turns away from me. We both have apples. I could die now, really. In this lunch line.
    “Well, see you,” he says after he’s given the lunch lady his money.
    I pay for my food and try and get to my table without making eye contact with anyone else. Luka has saved a seat for me between him and Erie, but Erie’s talking to Carbon anyway and, besides, I can’t tell them now , with all these extra people around. So I lean in to Erie and promise I’ll come over after my appointment. That’s what we call my meetings with Alex. It’s every Wednesday after school and we refer to it as my appointment so it could be any number of other, cooler things. An appointment to do illegal drugs with interesting people. An