Delaney Blake's Guide to Detention

Step #5: Become High School's Most Wanted

My phone vibrates itself off my side table before my alarm even goes off, clattering to the floor to rattle around some more. I grope for it, blindly clawing for the stupid thing like a zombie arm bursting out of a grave, moaning about the same, too. It takes a second, but I snag it, making myself squint at the too-bright screen.

About a zillion texts from Miranda.

DELANEY!!!

You did NOT go make out with jesse last night

I can't believe you!

You're better than this girl!

I blink, feeling the brief moments not preoccupied with yesterday slipping away. For a few seconds, sleep had erased the memories and the feelings, but it's too late. They're back. I don't answer Miranda. I don't even know what she's talking about. 

I drag myself out of bed, walking back and forth past my mirror like a ghost. Nothing. If it was just a nightmare, it still is, but my room is full of residue from last night. Milo may have sneaked back out the window to head home late, but there are still sticky Wendy's cups and granules of salt to remind me of our impromptu study session.

There is still the realization that something went terribly wrong in that science lab.

***

Milo drives his mom's old minivan to school, me riding shotgun just like I used to before Jesse volunteered to pick me up in his Sunfire. 

"You're got a little toothpaste..." Milo points to his own mouth. It must've taken him half the drive to get up the nerve to tell me. Most likely, he's been staring at me this whole time hoping I'd get the telepathic message while I was busy staring dramatically out the window like I was in a music video, angsting over Dad giving me the silent treatment this morning.

I hastily swipe my sleeve over my mouth.

"Give me a break," I say, "I couldn't see myself in the mirror."

Which really sucked, to be honest, because I wanted to do killer winged eyeliner and idgaf red lipstick to stick it to Jesse for daring to call me too intense.

Instead of being hot af, I apparently got toothpaste on my face and low-key anxiety over probably getting mascara on my eyelid.

"How are we going to fix that?" Milo asks. I blink, taking a moment to realize he means the mirror thing and not the mascara thing I've just been worrying about in my head.

The we is strikingly comforting, like Milo automatically lumped himself in and I don't have to figure it out all on my own. It slightly dampens the serious setback of me not knowing the first thing about how to fix it.

"Maybe it'll just... go away on its own," I shrug as Milo turns the corner to the school.

Both our mouths drop open.

Across the whole south wall of the school, gigantic orange spray paint letters read DELANEY BLAKE LIVES HERE.

What the everloving shit?

We don't say anything, not a word. Milo has to know I did not write that. I spent all my time in detention, then the hospital, then with him in my room. There was no gap in time between any of those joyous activities to vandalize the entire wall of the school. 

He parks the van and we make our way from the student parking lot to the front doors, walking like stiff boards.

People talk. They whisper in groups, stopping super obviously when I get too close. From among these gossipy throngs, Miranda springs out, falling into step beside me. Her curls bounce wildly around her shoulders.