The Bone Princess

Chapter 2: Devil Town

Structure and pattern recognition got me through the days of my senior year: media club kids and hipsters dominated the center quad, which had the highest teacher visibility but also the strongest wifi. Art geeks hung outside the auditorium. Burnouts and skaters, and kids who thought they were badasses because grandparents were connected to the IRA, perched on car hoods in the parking lot. Jocks and jockettes ruled the grassy knolls. Brainiacs hid in all the nooks and crannies, and everyone else was invisible. I did my best to be invisible. On normal days, it was easy to navigate the labyrinth of teenage troupes because predictability trumped everything else at Marblehead High. Unfortunately, today was not a normal day. This glorious day was kicking off with a Homecoming Pep rally. Go Magicians.

I got to the gym early to not deal with the rejection of no one letting me sit with them. In this strategy, people would avoid me until the bleachers became so crowded they were forced to spill into all available space. I would sit reading, headphones plugged, in faux-oblivion.

"Hey, Sadie!" a cheery voice yelled. Her tone let me know that whatever came next would be like accepting a dare.

When I looked up from my book, Riley Silva was staring up at me through her round, wire-rimmed glasses that looked so vintage they might have actually been part of a steampunk costume. She was two rows down, surrounded by the school's finest tight-jeaned, snap-chatting, vlog-sters. I slowly closed my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice, hiding the front cover on my lap, wishing I could magically turn it into a Miranda July hardback, then turned down my music, not bothering to take out my headphones.

"I was hoping you could settle a debate Brax and I are having." Braxton Riviera was the man-bun in a neon pink Florida tourist tank top with his arm around her, now also looking back at me. She took a dramatic pause, allowing more heads to turn our way. I was ninety-nine percent sure one of them was broadcasting this little exchange from their phone. "Sadie, in your opinion, what are the best Bright Eyes lyrics ever written?"

I'd never heard of Bright Eyes, but no doubt they were some indie group from the nineties. The cheerleaders weren't the only group from whom independent thought eluded—it seemed like all Marblehead hipsters did was resurrect things from the nineties.

"I'll give you a sec to deliberate," she said, mockingly. I know it's tough . . . so many good ones to chose from."

With each second that passed, my pulse increased. There were only two correct answers to the question: the first involved me knowing Bright Eyes lyrics, which I didn't, and the second would be to rattle off lyrics from a band no one had heard of, the obscurity entirely trumping the relevance of the question in the first place, also making them wonder about their own places in the hipsterdom hierarchy. For a second I considered making some up, but it was futile. Google would out me in two point five seconds.

"I—I don't know that group." The words came out meek and frail. Not at all complacent like I'd planned.

They all started laughing.

"Who doesn't know Bright Eyes?"

"Conor Oberst is my future husband."

"Ew. How old is he?"

Riley grinned from ear to ear, and said to Brax, "Told you she was just a poser." She kissed him quickly on the lips and everyone cooed. "'Devil Town' is my favorite C. O. song," she said with supreme authority before looking around to all of her sheep for approval. "Cause all of my friends are vampires, right?"

Everyone around me snickered and whispered about what a poser I was. I had no idea if she was being ironic or still making fun of me about lyrics, but then the words flew out of my mouth: "You are pretty succubus-like."