A Pretty Little Parody [PLL]

11. The Struggle Is Real

“Is something bothering you?” Scott blurted out the next day at lunch, his bright green eyes staring into mine like he could X-ray my soul. “You’ve been quiet almost the entire day.”

“Yeah, and you’re never quiet unless something’s bothering you,” said Alec, who noticed these things. He leaned in closer to the table. “Spill.”

It was half past one on a Sunday afternoon and the entire clique was seated around Muffler’s, a local family-owned restaurant that was famous around town for both their delicious all-American food and their pretty glass building. Right now, the sunlight streamed in through the glass walls and roof and onto our table. It kind of reminded me of eating at the Klub.

I stared down at my Coke. We’d only been here for about twenty minutes and I was already on my fourth refill. Among my friends (and everyone really), I was known for being a huge Coke-whore, but this was a little excessive, even for me. I guess they were right. Something was bothering me.

After Evan had run off unexpectedly yesterday, I’d sat by myself at the creek for a long while, wondering what possibly could have gone wrong. I now saw Evan--and Henry--in a whole new light, because they possibly liked boys, but that didn’t mean I was judging them, did it? I looked over at Evan, who was seated at the end of the table. He’d scooted a little off to the side by himself and was busy poking at his mac and cheese. He hadn’t said a single word yet and had managed to avoid eye contact with me so far.

And, I had to admit, the Evan-being-possibly-gay thing wasn’t the only thing that was getting at me these days. I’d trudged on home by myself late last night and had went online to Skype Eli like I always did, but he wasn’t online. He also hadn’t responded--or read--any of my Facebook messages or texts. Usually it was Eli who insisted on keeping in touch all the time, but it had been almost three days and I hadn’t heard a peep from him. I was starting to get worried. One more day and I’d seriously consider picking up the phone and calling Radley Heights myself to inquire about my twin’s whereabouts.

Scott snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Sasha!” he said loudly.

I blinked. My friends--all except for Evan--stared back at me, their eyes full of concern.

“Are you okay?” Henry grunted (which, to be honest, was how he usually talked), taking a break from his second helping of extra-large fries to look up at me.

I forced myself to appear happy and carefree. “Yeah, guys,” I said with a laugh. “I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, cause you have huge dark circles under your eyes?” said Alec.

“And you haven’t been focused at all?” Scott continued.

“You’re eating even less than usual,” Henry observed.

Even Evan looked up briefly with a concerned look on his face.

Moby raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to talk about it? In private?”

Scott glared at him, hard. “Stop trying to be Sasha’s BFFEFOALTTZA, Moby,” he snapped. “All of us here have been friends with her longer than she’s even known you’ve existed. Just because you’re one of us now doesn’t mean she likes you better.”

“Yeah,” Alec joined in. “Just a few weeks ago, you were a complete loser at the bottom of the Rosebush social ladder. Stop trying to act all high and mighty, because I still remember you crying when Trisha Gateway dumped that bag of tampons and maxi pads over your head last year.”

Two bright red spots appeared on Moby’s cheeks. “Oh, yeah? Who beat you in the annual spelling bee two years in a row, Scott? And who got the Teacher’s Pet award in art, Alec? Don’t try to put me down to make your pathetic selves feel better, ‘cause it’s just plain not gonna work.”