You Look Different in Real Life

what happened, what I did to my friend, and how that story will get told.
    I’m so surprised that I blurt out, “Hi,” before I can remember all the reasons not to.
    Rory says, “Hi,” softly. Her eyes shift to the cigarette in my hand, which I didn’t have time to hide.
    We’re caught like this for many more seconds. I notice Rory’s just got her dark blond hair cut again, super short like it’s been since we were eleven, and the style flatters the bold features she’s grown into.
    My tobacco benefactor is done with her smoke and walks past us, smirking, to get back indoors.
    Then Rory speaks, addressing the cigarette. “Smoking causes one in five American deaths. It kills more people in the U.S. than AIDS, drugs, homicides, fires, and auto accidents combined.”
    “I don’t really smoke,” I sputter. “I was just . . .” She’s locked on to it like RoboGirl with a targeting system. It still unnerves me when she does this stuff, so I add, “Didyou talk to Lance and Leslie? Are you doing the film this time around?”
    Now she looks at me, actually at my eyes—no longer than a blink—then at the hedge next to me.
    “Yes. My parents feel strongly that I should continue.”
    “Mine too.” I throw the half-smoked cigarette on the ground now and rub it out with my foot the way I’ve seen Olivia do. Rory watches me. These long pauses feel way too familiar, even though it’s been years.
    “Well, maybe I’ll see you, then,” I offer, “when they start shooting.”
    Now Rory’s eyes meet mine once more. They dart away, as if trying to escape, then back. It’s strange to see her face straight on like that.
    She asks, “Are you going to do to me what you did last time?” Her voice isn’t accusing at all. It’s mostly flat, as always, with the slightest twist of curiosity, like she’s asking me what I’m having for dinner. Eyes away, and back again. I can tell this is work for her. I heard that a therapist at school has been helping her with social skills. “I would just like to know,” she adds, “so I can make a plan for how to deal with that.”
    I used to hate Rory’s directness. It irritated the hell out of me. But right now I can’t think of anything more refreshing.
    “No, I’m not. I mean—”
    She cuts me off. “I’m going to be assertive here and say, please don’t. It hurts too much.”
    Then she turns and continues on. If Rory thinks about these things, if she’s at all typical in certain kinds of ways, I’m sure she’s muttering bitch on her way down the street.

THREE
    B eing the daughter of a local pediatrician has its insider moments, for sure. My father often gives me sealed, unmarked envelopes to pass on to the school nurse—medical forms and get-out-of-gym notes, stuff like that. I could be privy to a lot of juicy gossip, if I were a different kind of person and could steam open an envelope.
    A few mornings after the Day Everyone Heard, I walk into the nurse’s office with two small letters. When Mrs. Underwood sees me, she looks relieved.
    “Oh good,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for these. Letme check to make sure they’re complete. Can you hang out for a minute?”
    “Sure,” I say, expecting this. Dad has a bad habit of leaving important things blank, and then I have to bring the whatever-it-is back to him.
    As soon as Mrs. Underwood is distracted with the envelopes, I scope out the office. There are two doors against the rear wall, each leading to a small room with a cot. The door to one is ajar and the light is on. Just inside I can see a pair of long legs in jeans stretched out on the bed, crossed at the ankles. Black leather Mary Janes with embroidered flowers and chunky heels. Shoes that look familiar because I’ll admit, I’ve admired them before.
    Then I remember something Felix said to me about Keira the other day.
    She went to the nurse with a headache again. That’s the third trip in a week.
    I wasn’t prepared to care about how often Keira Jones goes to the nurse or leaves early or looks depressed or hangs her head or breathes. But the fact that she’s acting like anything besides the confident, bright, and gorgeous light she’s known to be is pretty damn interesting.
    I take a couple of steps to my right and now I can really see. There’s Keira, sitting up, one hand holding an ice pack to her forehead and the other grasping a book. Herdark curly hair’s long and loose, her glasses are sliding down her nose a bit.
    I could