“Leave me alone!” squeaked Bethie. She was cringing, pulling her legs toward her chest, and all I could think of was a worm whose rock had just been kicked over, squirming away from the sun.
“I’ll leave you alone when you give Rachel her necklace back, you fucking thief.”
I held my breath. I’d never heard Marissa say the word fucking to someone’s face.
“It’s just a stupid paper clip!” Bethie said, in her high, babyish voice. “Maybe it got lost.”
“It did not just get lost, Jabba the Hutt. What’d you do, eat it?”
“Marissa,” I murmured. It was one thing to call Bethie Jabba the Hutt in private. Saying it out loud was taking things to a place where I didn’t think I wanted to go.
“Give it back,” Marissa said. She grabbed the shoulders of Bethie’s nightshirt and pulled her upright.
Bethie scowled at Marissa. “Let me go or I’ll tell Mrs. Nasser.”
“I’ll tell Mrs. Nasser,” Marissa repeated, in a savage falsetto. “What are you, in kindergarten, you fucking tattletale? Give it back!” She punctuated her words by giving Bethie a hard shake. Bethie jerked away and glared at me.
“Probably you just lost it,” she said. “No big deal. Your parents will just buy you a new one.”
“It was a present,” I said. “And it was handmade. My parents can’t buy me a new one.” My face was flaming, and I was close to going to her bed and shaking her myself. I knew that she’d taken it. I was positive. Seeing me this happy was more than miserable Bethie Botts could stand. “I didn’t lose it. It was right there,” I said, pointing to the dresser. “If you know where it is, please just tell me.”
She gave me that same smug look and opened her book again. I walked over to her bed and looked down at the top of her head, her greasy hair, the strip of white skin where she’d parted it.
“Did you throw it out? Did you flush it? Did you eat it?” I had never talked to anyone that way, but I was furious. That heart meant more to me than anything else I had, even the diamond earrings my parents had given me as a bat mitzvah gift, or the afghan that Nana had knitted that I’d taken to the hospital for every operation.
Bethie didn’t say a word. Marissa stalked over to the corner where Bethie had put her plastic bags and grabbed them both.
“Hey,” Bethie whined, “hey, don’t!”
Ignoring her, Marissa tore the bags open and dumped them out on Bethie’s bed. Two giant pairs of white cotton briefs. A pair of stretchy black leggings with a hole in the knee. Tiny sample-sized bottles, clearly swiped from a hotel, of shampoo and mouthwash. A sliver of something—soap, I guessed—wrapped in toilet paper. A raggedy gray stuffed elephant that was missing one eye. Marissa picked it up.
“Is this, like, your spirit animal?” Marissa asked.
“Put it down,” said Bethie, who was starting to look scared. “I didn’t take your stupid heart, so don’t you touch my stuff!”
“Like I want to be touching it,” said Marissa. “I’m going to need to disinfect my hands after going through your mess.” She gave the sad little pile a derisive poke.
“Tell me where my heart is.” I snatched the stuffed toy from Marissa. “Give it back or I’m flushing this.”
“Don’t!” Bethie said. “He’s special!”
I used my thumbnail to pop out the elephant’s remaining eye. It pinged against the floor, and lay there, a brown glass circle that seemed to gaze at me accusingly. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my chest heaving, and I was shaking all over, from fury and shame and from a strange kind of excitement, the thrill of going all the way over to the dark side, where my worst, most hurtful impulses reigned.
“Cut it out!” Bethie cried. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Give it back,” I said.
“I don’t know where your heart is!” Bethie shrieked at me.
The words neither do I zipped across my consciousness, and were gone in an instant.
“Give him back,” Bethie said, and held out her hand.
“Why do you care?” I asked. “Your parents’ll buy you a new one.”
“I don’t live with my parents,” said Bethie. “I’m in a foster home.”
“Boohoo, poor you,” said Marissa. Her eyes were shining; her color was high. Was she enjoying this like I was? She certainly seemed to be having some strange kind of fun. “Did your parents kick you out because you stole their stuff, too?”
Bethie bent her head so that her chin touched her chest. She was crying now, big, gaspy, unlovely sobs. I threw the elephant at her, as hard as I could. “Next time, steal some deodorant,” I said. “Steal some clothes that don’t look like they came from the clearance aisle at Goodwill.” I was going to go on, to tell her to steal some shampoo, steal some Clearasil, when a voice behind me said my name.