Epic Fail

by Claire LaZebnik

“Webster Grant.” We shook. Chelsea Baldwin entered the classroom. Her face lit up when she saw Derek, but there were no empty chairs left near him. “That’s a great name,” I said to Webster Grant. “Sure, if you like being named after a dictionary and a president. But it could have been worse—at least I’m not Random House Obama.” I laughed and he nodded approvingly. “She has a sense of humor. So what’s your name?” “Elise Benton.” “I have no jokes for that one. Not yet anyway.” He studied me thoughtfully.

“Don’t get too friendly with him.” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “He’s a total loser,” she said. “No one likes him. And if you start hanging out with him, you’ll be buying yourself a one-way ticket to to Loserville City.” “Is that anywhere near Dorktown Village?” I clasped my hands with mock excitement. “I was hoping to see that just once before I die.” Her nostrils flared. “I’m just trying to help.” “And I’m just trying to appreciate it.”

“You like Wilde?” “Sure. He was tortured, brilliant, funny, gay . . . basically my dream guy.” “Even the gay part?” he said with the ghost of a smile—which for all I knew was what passed for hysterical mirth with this guy. “Especially the gay part,” I said. “I’m weird that way.” “How’s that working out for you?” “I’m beginning to think it’s not a good long-term romantic strategy.”

Layla tugged at his arm. “You have to take me for a ride one day. It would be so cool to show up at a rave in this!” “Layla!” my mother said. “What do you know about raves? She’s very advanced for her age,” she told Derek. “I worry about it sometimes, but, really, what can you do?” “Tie her to a tree,” I muttered and I could have sworn I heard a smothered laugh, but when I glanced at Derek, his face was blank.

I said to Derek, “I didn’t think Chase ever got angry, but just now he sounded like he was ready to kill her.” “I had to drag him away from her when he first found out—his hands were going for her throat.” “Yeah? Why’d you stop him?” “Not for her sake, trust me. I just didn’t want him to end up in jail.” “You could have let him choke her a little bit,” I said. “Just enough so she couldn’t, you know . . . swallow a Jamba Juice for a week, say.” “No smoothies for a whole week?” He shook his head. “Death would be kinder.”

It’s the story of my life—everyone knows who I am because of my parents, but I never know who they are.” His