Some Girls Are by Courtney Summers

Author:Courtney Summers [Summers, Courtney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, YA), Juvenile Fiction, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Young Adult Fiction, Social Issues, Emotions & Feelings, Schools, School & Education, High schools, Education, Bullying, Bullies, Emotional problems, Social Issues - Physical & Emotional Abuse, Physical & Emotional Abuse, Cliques (Sociology), Secondary, School stories (Children's
ISBN: 9780312573805
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 2010-07-15T07:00:00+00:00

128

"I didn't mean to make you angry," I say. "I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't...." He clears his throat again and looks at me. "And I believe you when you say you're sorry, but it's so much easier for me to think of you as a total bitch, you have no idea."

"You don't think I'm a total bitch?"

I wish I could take it back as soon as it's out of my mouth. It's embarrassing. I have to look away from him. But I can't even describe what that feels like--that there was a moment where Michael didn't hate me for what I did to him.

It makes me feel human.

"Maybe," he says quietly. "But I feel like that's what I have to keep doing...."

I can't hold that against him. I get how important the illusion is. If the difference between Michael thinking of me as a total bitch and not thinking of me as a total bitch is him trying his hardest not to cry at a restaurant, hurting over his dead mother--I'd think of me as a bitch, too.

"I didn't want her to know how mean I was," I say.

"What?"

"Your mom." I try to swallow and can't. "Because she was so nice and warm and funny and caring and she listened, and I just wanted her to like me, because everyone here hates me, and the people that didn't, like Anna, made me hate myself. So I...just wanted her to think I was good. And I didn't tell her about what I did to you or Liz because I really, really liked her and I didn't want her to hate me too."

He gets the saddest look on his face.

"Regina, she wouldn't have hated you," he says. "Even if she knew, I doubt she would've hated you. She wouldn't have been happy, but she would have helped you...."

His breath catches in his throat, like he just realized it: She wouldn't have hated me and she would've helped me. And I don't know if he hates knowing that or not. He's still holding my wrist, his fingers pulsing against my skin. I stay still because I know if I move it will stop. I don't want it to stop.

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