The Goodbye Girls by Lisa Harrington

Author:Lisa Harrington
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nimbus
Published: 2018-06-07T18:33:15+00:00

* * *

The next week passes with no incidents. Everything seems normal with Trish and her friends—they’re all carrying on in their usual bitchy way. There’s no new developments with Claire and Bradley—they appear to be nauseatingly in love—so maybe whoever was behind that basket has accepted defeat. But for now all our business is suspended, which means I get a break. I swear the stress is starting to make my hair fall out. I keep pulling gobs of it out of my brush.

The only glitch is that Amy hasn’t returned to school yet. Willa said she heard someone say she had an infection, something to do with her jaw surgery. So I can’t be sure if she knows it was me who was in her yard that night or not.

“In the highly unlikely event that she can ID you,” Willa says, brushing some nail polish on her thumb, “it’s Amy. She’d probably apologize because her front steps were responsible for your fall. Also, I can’t see her having any interest in blowing our cover. She’s way too nice.”

We’re hanging out at the makeup counter at Shoppers Drug Mart, trying all the samples and making the cosmetician cranky. We walked down after school. Our P.O. box rental fee is due.

I don’t respond. Instead I spray some of Taylor Swift’s perfume on my wrist and sniff.

“So…how are things going with Garret?” Willa opens another colour of nail polish and paints her other thumb.

“There are no things going with Garret. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, Lizzie. Please help me sell wreaths,” she says in a supposed Garret-like voice. “Though I’m a six-foot-tall football player, I’m just not capable of doing it by myself.”

“That’s the worst imitation I’ve ever heard.” I spray a blast of Chanel N°5 into the air. “This is Mom’s perfume.” Then I walk through the mist. “This is how she puts it on.”

Willa nods, looking impressed. “Fancy.”

“Are you sure I can’t help you ladies?” the cranky cosmetician asks tightly.

“No, we’re good, thanks,” Willa says, cracking open another bottle of nail polish.

The cranky cosmetician sucks in her cheeks, resulting in some bright coral fish lips, and returns to the far end of the counter.

I check the time on my phone. “We should go, shouldn’t we? Isn’t your dad picking you up at five?” Willa finally agreed to spend a weekend with her dad, and she has mentioned numerous times that she’s looking forward to it like she looks forward to going to the dentist.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Soon.”

After Willa has every fingernail painted a different colour and the cranky cosmetician is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, we finally leave and start for home.

“You never did answer my question about Garret,” Willa says.

“Oh. Well. There’s nothing to say. We’re going out again. To sell wreaths,” I clarify.

“But you like him.”

I shrug. “What’s not to like? It would never be worth it, though. You know. Trish.”

As we cut across the parking lot, we pass by McDonald’s. Through the window I can see Trish standing at the head of a table, hands on her hips, holding court, lording over her subjects.

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