“No thanks.” Kelly gives a steady mechanical wave like a parade princess. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetie!” She bounces her finger in her direction before looking to me. “You be good to her! This one’s a keeper.” Mom ditches back into the house, and I groan because I’m pretty sure she didn’t help my case.
“So like I get it.” Kelly squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “Ohmigod, I totally couldn’t see the forest for the Mouse-akowski trees. Like, you know? This is totally what I needed.” She hikes up on her tiptoes and pecks my cheek. “Color changing mood lipstick.” She dots a finger to her lips. “I’m always in the mood for you.” She gives a hard wink. “I’ll see you at school. No worries about Mouse-akowski! And don’t you tell me I can’t call that dumb bitch whatever I want. Freedom of speech and all that other bullshit.” She blows me a kiss before jumping into her Cabriolet and speeding off.
What the hell just happened?
I head into the house and spot Mom huddled on the couch, still clutching her coffee, already lost in her morning show. Usually she’s dressed to the nines, making my father a five-star breakfast, practically hand-feeding it to him. He never seems to appreciate all the nice things she does for him.
“Where’s Dad?” A genuine thread of worry rails through me. Maybe he’s not feeling well. My father hasn’t taken a sick day once in the fourteen years he’s worked for the aerospace industry. He loves his job at Mason Fitzer. Some might even say he’s married to it. I heard Mom once reference it as “the other woman,” and my stomach soured because I happened to know better, and what I know pretty much sucks for her.
“You know, it’s strange.” She picks up the remote and mutes the TV. “Last night, about nine-thirty, he said there was some emergency at work, and he needed to leave right away. They’re so secretive over there. He tells me nothing.”
Mason Fitzer has a contract with NASA, so there’s always been an air of mystery on what he actually does, but something about this late-night rendezvous with space parts doesn’t add up. Not once has this happened before, and it makes me think of that phone call I intercepted back in August.
Shit. I shake my head at the thought of my father doing some chick behind my mother’s back.
“I hope he comes home soon.” So I can deck him.
* * *
At school, life seems so much easier without Kelly up my ass every single second. I didn’t even realize how much more freedom I have to move around, literally, without her lassoed around my waist. It’s as if she needed to be physically on me to get the message across to the entire school that we were a couple. She wanted to send the memo loud and clear to anyone who had a pair of eyes that she was claiming me—that she owned me. I disliked that bullshit as much as I’m loving this freedom.
Melissa thumps by my side with her crutches as I walk her to the cafeteria. It never gets old with Melissa. She’s just cool. Something tells me that when she does get a boyfriend—if I were that boyfriend, she wouldn’t feel the need to buckle herself around me like a safety restraint to prove a point. A dull smile rides on my lips as I examine her up and down. Everything about her gets to me in a good way—it’s not just the fact she’s pretty. Melissa is stunning. I’m shocked as hell I didn’t notice her before. But there are a lot of pretty girls, so it’s not just that. And it’s not the way she simply gives off an effortless cool girl vibe. I happen to think half of the stoner girls are pretty damn cool, and not because they’re pumping themselves full of weed. They like the same music I do, and they’re down-to-earth, just like Melissa.
Melissa just so happens to be the entire package. As twisted as it sounds, I feel damn lucky I met her that day. Wait, scratch that. I would like to think we would have eventually met—regardless of my vehicular indiscretion, but knowing my schedule, my now ex-girlfriend, it wasn’t about to transpire anytime soon.
“Hey.” Stacey Riley steps in front of us, blocking our path to the lunch trays. It’s the same Stacey Riley who happened to shove her hoof in Melissa’s face, so I’m not really appreciating the roadblock. She turns to Melissa. “I like really want to apologize for what happened the other day. It kills me to know that I did that to anyone. But everyone knows that like you in particular have had a shit start to the school year.” She pauses a moment to glare at me. “So, like please, from the bottom of my heart, can you like forgive me?” She dips her knees. Her tiny heart-shaped face is screwed up with remorse, and for less than a second I believe her myself.
“Totally!” Melissa seems overeager to accept her apology. That’s because that’s what nice people do. Kelly would have knifed her on the spot. “I was probably standing too close to the fun zone. I get it. I was in cheer for like five minutes, but I still remember how it felt to try to figure out your boundaries. It’s like no biggie, I promise.”
“Bitchin’.” Her lips twitch. Stacey draws them in like a bowtie. Half of the guys call her Miss Mustache because she tends to look like she’s sporting one with the way that crayon she uses goes over her lip line. “Look—Kelly and Michelle aren’t really talking to me because I ‘dared’ to apologize.” She says dared in air quotes. “You mind if I sit with you guys?”
“Oh.” Melissa shakes her head in a panic. Her eyes grow wide as she looks to me. “I don’t sit with Joel.” Something about the way she says it makes my insides pinch with grief. “I’m actually way on the other side by the math lab, but Jen isn’t here today so—”
“She’s sitting with me.” I glance to Melissa as I say it.
“Cool, the three of us can sit together.” Stacey threads her arm through Melissa’s and nearly knocks her off balance. “I mean, just because those bitches are pissed at me doesn’t mean I’m going to let them run me off The Row.”
The Row is what those who actually sit on Barbie Doll Lane think it’s called. Frankie clued me in on all this bullshit years ago.
We get our food and head out to the awning where I’ve sat for the last four years, and it feels right to have Melissa joining me. Yeah, so what if a couple of girls turn their heads. Who cares? Kelly and Michelle are at the table with the umbrella, so Stacey, Melissa, and I head over to the longer table where Russell and Frankie sit.
Melissa bites down on a sheepish smile before starting in on her cheeseburger. I steal one of her fries, and she does the same with my onion rings. I give a little wink. It feels right like this. Melissa should invite her friends to sit with us because I never want her to leave. As bad as I wanted Kelly to leave me alone, I want Melissa to never leave my side. Go figure.
Stacey talks Melissa’s ear off all through lunch, and a swell of relief fills me. Melissa is making new friends, too. I don’t see any reason why things couldn’t work out between us. Not that I’ve ever given half a shit what people think. But having her here, having Stacey Riley take her under her wing makes it a whole lot easier.
This is going to work.
Melissa and me.
5
Girls Just Want to Have Fun
Melissa
“You’ve just walked into the mouth of the lion, I tell you.” Jennifer is not impressed to hear of my lunch date with Stacey. In the background, behind Jen’s sighs and grunts, 99 Luftballons plays softly. A few months back we made a phonetic-based lyric sheet so we could try to sing along with the original German version, that’s how much we love it. I’d ask her to turn it up—but I’m a bit lost in the moment.
“You’ve got her all wrong. Stacey is really super cool. Besides, you weren’t there, and Heather was off with Amy somewhere working on a yearbook project. What did you expect me to do, sit alone?”
“Um, yes? I don’t know. What would you have done if she didn’t make the creepy proposition?”
“I don’t know. I’d eat really fast and go to the library to visit my book friends. What does it matter? It didn’t happen.”
“What does it matter?” Jen squawks as if I’m downplaying some hor
rific event. “Did you ever tell Joel about that dead rat Kelly sent you?”
“No.” I groan because for once I regret saying anything to her about it. It’s bad enough Ben and Laurie bore witness to the travesty. “And I don’t know that Kelly sent it to me. It just sort of appeared. It could have been anyone at that school who worships Queen Kelly. I know firsthand she has an extensive list of lackeys.”
“So you’re not going to tell him?”
“What is he? My mother? I’m not running to him with this. Besides, what’s he going to do? Shake down every girl on campus? It’s ridiculous.” With that flowery handwriting, it’s hard to imagine it’s not a girl. And with that distinctive M that is both in my first name and Kelly’s last, I know for a fact it’s the she-devil who sent it, but I’m keeping my mouth shut. Plus, that whole Mouse-akowski connection isn’t lost on me at all. “Just forget about it. I am. It was a stupid threat—if you can even call it that.”
“The words Die Bitch are fighting words, Melissa. It was a clear threat. Are you even in that head of yours anymore? Have the Body Snatchers taken over?”
God. I roll my eyes at how bad this conversation is going. “No, I was eaten by the Blob. Just a second.” I tug the phone cord taut until the tension begs to snap, and the receiver gives a sharp crackle. “Sorry, I had to move. But guess what? I’m actually inside my bedroom right now. Next feat will be to shut the door.” Time to change the subject. “My birthday is coming up, and I’m going to beg my parents for my own phone line—meaning my own number. It makes me sick that like everyone has one—including you. I think it’s totally lame that I’m still living in the Dark Ages having to share my parents’ old phone—with the face dial, no less. Both you and I know my parents are anti-technology. We’re the last to get everything. And if they do say yes to my Pac Bell request, I’ll run out and buy myself one of those cute clear phones where the inner workings are all neon and glow in the dark. It’s been a dream of mine for ages. Every time I ask, they say no. It’s like my parents don’t believe in making me happy. But I figure I should get some mileage off this broken leg.”
“Like you’re doing with Joel?”
My heart stops cold. Jennifer isn’t letting this go. In fact, she’s determined to make it worse.
“What?” My gut burns as if she just landed a solid sucker punch. “I’m not getting any mileage off my broken leg with him, if that’s what you’re alluding to.” A part of me wishes I could just hang up now.
“Oh, like, come on.” She clicks her tongue. “You’re having him cart you all over the place. And those kisses? He’s like practically your love slave now—a cheating love slave.”
“What?” My body temperature spikes, partially from anger and partially from embarrassment. I regret ever telling her anything. She’s obviously a jealous person. Jennifer is pretty in her own right, but she’s never actually gone around with anyone before. She’s wasted all her boy-based opportunities because of some mad crush she’s had on Jessie Fox since like the third grade. She’s just jealous things are actually working out for me. “You’re joking, right? I never asked Joel to do anything for me. He was the one volunteering!” I’m shouting now, but I can’t help it. If I could, I’d reach through the phone and strangle some sense into her. “He broke it off with Kelly, so it’s not like he’s cheating on her. They were having problems. She had him on a leash, and she wouldn’t let him go. And this all sort of happened coincidentally.”
“You really think so?” She sighs into the phone. “God, like, I used to think you were so smart, and now I wonder if I ever really knew you at all. So like now what? You’re going to leave Heather and me so you can sit on Barbie Doll Lane like some high and mighty Glen Heights’ snob?”
“No. You can totally come. In fact, Joel mentioned—”
“Oh, Joel said it so it must be true. Are you even aware of the fact that this entire charade has been totally fishy right from the beginning? No offense, but you think Kelly is suddenly rolling over and playing dead for you? She wouldn’t play dead for Stephanie Bateman, and she’s Glen Heights’ Young Miss. It’s like total bullshit this is happening to my best friend, and you’re just gobbling it up by the spoonful.”
It’s true. I’m sure Stephanie Bateman still bears the claw marks of Kelly’s wrath over her face. Kelly did not play dead for Stephanie.
She growls into the phone so loud my ear loses the ability to hear for a moment. “Look, Joel is into Kelly—she’s his type. They’re both a bunch of preppy snobs whether or not they want to admit it. They fit.”
Hot tears burn my lids, and I try to blink them away. “So what are you saying? I’m not good enough for Joel? We don’t fit?”
“I didn’t say it—you did.”
“You’re a bitch. All I’ve ever been was nice to you! When Paul McNealy said you gave him a blowjob at Pat Stanovich’s party last spring, I totally defended you because I knew it was pure bullshit. Danielle and Brandy still don’t talk to me because of it.” Danielle is Paul’s twin sister, so, of course, she chose her brother’s side. He was pretty proud of this below the belt—in the most literal sense—lie that he manufactured, but I put a stop to the nasty rumor by calling him out on it. I rebuked his fantasy by informing people he was a desperate boy with a little dick that no one would dare to look at, let alone suck. “I stepped in shit for you because your friendship is worth everything to me!”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have!”
“I would do it again!” My throat burns as I scream the words out.
“And that’s how I feel about what’s happening to you! Don’t you see? I’m trying to protect you!”
I give an exasperated scream. “Nothing is happening to me! I care about Joel. He cares about me. We happen to like each other. There’s nothing at all to worry about!”
“You’re just too close to the sun to realize you’re about to get burned. Look, I gotta go. And until you come to your senses and realize something is very fucking wrong with this scenario, don’t call me. Don’t look for me at school. Oh, that’s right. You have no real reason to, thanks to your new friends.” The line goes dead, and I just stare at it.
What the heck just happened?
* * *
Friday night’s game is magical. Joel owns that field. Every single person, me included, is on their feet, thanks to his gravity-defying maneuvers. Jennifer has made a big show of giving me the brush off, with those high-rise shoulder pads of hers hiking up whenever I happen to look her way. It’s hard not to see that a freeze out is occurring. I hate it. I hate that we let a guy get between us, which is something we swore would never happen.
The odd thing is that both Jen and I happen to have worn the very same blazer tonight, the satiny black one that looks permanently wrinkled. As soon as we saw it in Contempo, we knew we each needed our own. It looks just like the one Simon Le Bon wears in all those Duran Duran videos, so, of course, Jen knew sharing wouldn’t be an option. I thought it had more of a Boy George vibe myself, but Jen’s the one who’s equally as obsessed with Boy George as she is Simon. Jennifer spent all last year making out with her Boy George folder when she thought no one was looking. She’s not deterred in the least by the crazy hair and makeup. In fact, I think it thrills her. I was the one who was kind enough to clue her in on the fact that build up of lip-gloss on the folder was giving her away.
Of course, my blazer doesn’t look near as cute as it could have if paired properly with my ankle zip jeans and light pink pumps. I find it ironic that Jennifer is wearing the exact outfit I just described. Normally, we would have long since laughed it off and shouted jinx! We have wardrobe jinxed more times than I can count, but I guess that’s what best friends do—they just get you because they’re more like you than you’ll ever know.
But tonight, Jennifer isn’t sitting with me. She’s seated with Amy and Peter on the other end of the stands. Jen made it pretty clear that I wasn’t welcome to join them. Heather is sitting with the punk rockers
a few rows back. Her hair is spiked up with eggs, and her makeup looks haunting, but in an inspiring way. Slam has his arm around her, and it makes me wonder if they’re on again.
I wish I could say that I’m confident enough to sit alone. That each time Joel glances my way I don’t privately cringe because I’m sure he’s realizing what a loser I really am. Joel had to head back to campus as soon as he dropped me off at home so I had to beg Laurie for a ride just to get here. Joel would have made the trek to get me, but I knew he was busy, and I promised him that getting here wouldn’t be a problem. I hate to burden him. But he did insist on giving me a ride home later tonight. God knows I don’t have any plans after the game. I guess my only alternative for the night is to go home and veg out. Maybe I’ll try to crimp my hair. Each time I give it a go, I look as if I’ve stuck my finger into an electrical socket. Secretly I’m hoping Joel will want to hang out. I’m craving some alone time with him.
The game ends, and bodies fill the field. The stands start to drain, and I sit around waiting for Joel to finish up. Jennifer passes by me without even a glance. Amy ducks over, her hand still connected to Peter’s.
“Boy, you pissed her off good. Forget about that guy. Your friendship is totally worth more. You know I’m right.” She gives a half-hug before taking off for the student parking lot. A part of me feels foolish. I could have easily gone over and asked to talk to Jen, to iron things out before they get too far out of control, but I don’t move a muscle. I’m still pissed at the fact she can’t accept my relationship with Joel—if that’s in fact what we have. If I were with anyone else, anyone other than the most popular football player on campus, she would have thought it was great, cute even. I think that’s what pisses me off the most. She thinks I’m too much of a loser to ever be Joel Miller’s new anything.