She reaches her locker and squats down to enter the combination. It's not really a squat, though, what she's doing. The proper term is grand plié, which I learned from her Instagram, which is composed entirely of ballet photos. (Mostly of herself on Pointe in various locations where you wouldn't normally find a ballerina. In a tree. On the beach. Against a backdrop of urban decay.) I don't "follow" follow her. As in, I haven't clicked on the follow button or anything. I'm more of a lurk-in-the-shadows kind of girl. Not in any creepy way-in more of an admiring-from-afar, "I wish I could be like this" sort of way. So, here she is plié-squatting right next to me, and all I have to do is say that one tiny word to fulfill my mission. I'm not even asking myself for a full-on "Hello" or anything insane like "How are you?" Just "Hi". Hallie glances up at me then. One of her beautiful curved eyebrows arches high on her forehead. She's waiting. Because I'm staring. I know I am, but I can't seem to stop, or move, or otherwise behave like a normal person. Her bores pull together in a V-shape and her tilts slightly to the side.
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RandomVicky Decker has perfected the art of hiding in plain sight, quietly navigation the halls of her high school undetected except by her best (and only) friend, Jenna. But then Jenna moves away, Vicky's isolation becomes unbearable. So she decides to i...
