by Alyson Noel
But after seeing Sloane, I now know that my earlier suspicions are completely unfounded. I mean, obviously when he’s standing by himself, or even worse, next to Andy who’s dressed as a cowboy, there was no doubt how it seemed like he (they) were making some sort of startling announcement. But now that I know Sloane’s out there, wandering the halls as a mermaid, well, I think we can all agree that his masculinity need no longer be called into question.
And just as I’m thinking all of this Sloane sashays right past me, and actually gazes right at me with no inkling or spark of recognition whatsoever. And I smile when I realize how today she’s the one who’s not cool enough, hip enough, or select enough, to know me.
I close my locker and turn to follow (well, not exactly follow, but like, I have no choice but to head in that same direction if I want to get to my next class on time), when I notice there’s something stuck to the back of her mermaid skirt, right smack-dab in the middle of her ass. And how not one of her new best friends seem to think it necessary to point out this little fact to her. Even though I’m pretty sure they’ve all seen it (especially since Sloane tends to walk just slightly ahead of them at all times).
So I pick up the pace, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that, yes, I am now officially stalking her. And just as I start to gain ground, I sort of lean in and squint at this little yellow Post-it note that’s stuck to her mermaid butt.
And then my eyes bug out, and my jaw drops in shock when I see that it says, “I Love Seamen!” Only there’s a big red slash through the a.
Then I just smile and waltz right past her, secure in the knowledge that the war’s already started.
THE GOSPEL OF ELEANOR RIGBY
November ??, 2006
7:45 P.M.
Current Mood—Happy like you can’t even believe
Current Music—That song where Bono counts to 14
Quote of the Day-”For a good cause, wrongdoing is virtuous.”
—Pubilius Syrus
God Save the Queen
Someone is sabotaging Princess Pink. Sticking nasty notes on her butt, defacing her locker, scribbling on bathroom walls, spreading rumors, and even revealing some of her newer secrets that, for obvious reasons, I haven’t exactly been privy to. And the culprits are so damn obvious I can hardly believe how clueless she remains. Though of course I would be more than willing to enlighten her and give her the heads-up she so desperately needs, if only she didn’t deserve it quite so much.
But then, that’s one of the advantages to being me. I mean, you can see everything when you’re invisible.
And now, The List:
14. After getting to first base with her first cousin, the very next week Princess Pink decided to run for second when they were interrupted by his mom (her aunt). When they simply explained how they were just “practicing” for some future time when it will “really matter,” auntie left the room, and they got back to it.
15. P. P. has had her Spring Break nose job booked for more than a year now, it’s one of her sweet sixteen birthday presents (her other present, no doubt, will be a brand-new Mercedes SLK or its equivalent). But even though P. P. is destined to show off the second gift to anyone who will look, she’s planning to lay pretty low on the first. Having spent the better part of the summer working on an elaborate story of how she’ll be tucked away in some luxurious condo, somewhere in the mountains of Colorado. But don’t you believe it when she shows up on the first day back wearing her sky-blue “Ski Aspen!” T-shirt. Her mom ordered it off the Internet more than six months ago.
16. I can solemnly swear that the last time I was in her room, Princess Pink was still sleeping with her much adored, slightly stinky, Nick Lachey pillowcase cover (and yelling at the maid every time she tried to wash it). While insisting that I call her “Mrs. Lachey” for the first two weeks following the big divorce announcement.
Au revoir,
Eleanor Rigby
Nineteen
My dad’s gonna be on TV. Or rather, he’s thinking about being on TV. Apparently, some cable channel is planning a reality show tentatively titled “Act II” about a group of former stars who’ve moved on to something a little bigger and better than repeated Betty Ford rehab stints or mug shot posing in the Smoking Gun Hall of Fame.
And even though I’m still undecided on how I really feel about all of this, I mean, part of me is going, “TV!” While the other part is going, “TV?” The thing is, my dad is actually considering it. In fact he’s more than considering it, he’s actually moving forward with the plan, having already gathered a team of lawyers, agents, stylists, and publicists who are poring over every last detail on that proposed contract. And the last time we spoke he happened to mention that if all went well, then he was just days away from signing.
And after listening to all of that, and forcing myself to try and get used to the idea before rushing to judgment, I finally just took a deep breath and voiced all of my concerns, at which point he did his best to assure me that:
1. He would do everything in his power not to embarrass me on national television.
2. It will be great exposure for the gallery, by really getting the name out there (not to mention his name) to a whole new group of people.
3. It will be great exposure for the artists that are shown in the gallery, as it will help to build their names and therefore their careers (as well as his).
4. ”I’m getting paid for this, Winter, and while I won’t disclose how much, let me just say that it’s definitely worth my while. Excuse me, make that worth our while.” (As though I’m getting a cut or something.)
But the worst part came when he actually sums it all up by adding:
5. “And who knows where all this will lead?”
And it’s that which got me all worried. It’s the “who knows” part that really made my skin crawl.
Because the truth is, I know he’s dreaming of a rock-androll comeback. I mean, how could he not? And while I totally want him to be happy, and live his dreams, and all that peaceful, well-wishing, good karma, blah blah blah stuff, the whole idea of my dad getting another shot at the music video filming, magazine cover posing, out-of-control rock star life kinda makes me cringe. I mean, hello, he’s like forty-one for God’s sake! And the thought of him tying a silk scarf to his microphone, leaping around stage in too-tight pants, and partying afterward with a harem of Playboy mansion groupies (who are probably closer to my age than his) just totally creeps me out.
I mean, why can’t I just have normal parents like everyone else? Why can’t they just blend in and try a little harder to assimilate into the real world. The one we’re all forced to live in. And not the one they invent as they go along.
Why do they insist on standing out so freaking much ?
And then, the other day at school, I was in the bathroom between classes, reaching for a paper towel, when I noticed that right there on the wall in front of me someone had written: “Sloane loves to” (do something so completely dirty I can’t possibly repeat it here).
So not only am I wondering which member of the princess posse carries a fine black Sharpie in her Gucci tote bag for the sole purpose of freely expressing herself whenever the inspiration strikes, but also if it’s true what they wrote about Sloane and her (alleged) new hobby.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I also heard via Hayden (who knows way more gossip than I ever would have guessed, and is not afraid to repeat it), that Rey and Shay are headed for a major blowout and/or breakup (that is, if they’re not there already). Apparently Shay got pretty upset when she saw the photos we took at school, and how I was all dressed up as Mia. Which, of course, I also realize, is something that a truly good friend would never, ever, even consider gloating about.
But there you have it.
“So, what’re you doing tonight?” Rey asks, peering at me from over the top of his Dietrich’s cup, like he already has something in mind.
We’re on our way to school, and I’m thin
king how weird it is that Evan never joins us in the mornings, you know, since he’s always around when we’re walking home. But it probably has a lot more to do with the fact that Evan’s dad drops him off on his way to work, than Rey secretly cherishing this early A.M. alone time with me.
I glance at Rey, who’s patiently waiting for a response, but I just shrug. I mean, now that Easton is out of the picture and back in New York, I’m done playing games, and trying to act as though I’m coveted.
“Listen, I’m auditioning this potential drummer for the band I’m trying to put together, and since my parents are away again, I’ve decided to do it at my house. So I was wondering if you’d maybe want to stop by and listen in? You know, check it out and tell me what you think?”
And while he’s wondering that, I’m wondering if Shay will be there. And it’s not like I’m not dying to just come out and ask, but somehow I just can’t allow myself to risk being that obvious about it. So I just shrug and go, “Sounds good.” And then, “Um, you wanna do something after, or do you have plans with Shay?” I know, totally lame, but still direct and to the point.
But he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and since he seems kind of upset when he does that, I turn away so he can’t see me smile.
Hayden is the exact opposite of Sloane. I mean, where Sloane’s all fluffy and trendy and cute and super-(fake) sweet (well, to everyone but me), Hayden is slick and edgy and kind of sarcastic, which is a lot like me. Only she’s way cooler than me. And by lunch when I realize that Rey has pretty much asked everyone to stop by his house to check out the potential new drummer (which leaves me feeling like an idiot for pretending like he was asking me on a date, when obviously it’s just some group endeavor to vote on a drummer), Hayden turns to me and asks if I want to maybe grab a bite beforehand.
And I just nod, trying to act cool, since I’ve never actually hung out with just her before. You know, one-on-one, without all the guys. And I was actually starting to wonder it it’s because she doesn’t like me.
So we agreed to meet at this cool, little, independent record store that specializes in punk. And even though I felt pretty secure that I actually knew a thing or two about punk (especially since my mom hates punk, I mean, seriously hates it. Like, so bad that just seconds after learning that, I immediately pledged my undying devotion to Sid Vicious, Johnny Rotten, and all the other members of the Sex Pistols), after browsing through titles I’ve never even heard of, by bands I didn’t even know existed, I’m suddenly starting to realize that owning one copy of Never Mind the Bullocks just to freak out my mom, does not a punk devotee make.
So after looking around the store, I head over to where Hayden is and then I just stand there and wait while she wraps up her conversation with the multi-pierced, yet completely hot employee guy. Then we both head out the door and over to this funky outdoor eatery where, once again, she knows just about everyone.
I save us a seat, while she goes inside to order, and as I’m waiting I start thinking about how nice it is to hang out with a girl again, and how I didn’t really realize, until now, just how much I missed that kind of female bonding stuff. I mean, as great as Rey is, there’s just certain things I can’t talk to him about because of the very fact that he’s a guy. Not to mention that he’s a guy who I also happen to kind of like.
When I look up, I see Hayden heading toward me with these two huge plates piled with tacos and beans, along with a basket of chips and salsa for us to share, and then she sets them on the table, sits across from me, and without any attempt at small talk or beating around the bush, she just looks me right in the eye and goes, “Okay, so what’s up with you and Rey?”
And even though just a few seconds ago I may have been looking forward to bonding with her, I definitely don’t want to bond over this. So I just stare at her. And then I go, “Huh?” like I have no idea what she could possibly be talking about. And then I shrug. And then I pick up one of my tacos and take a bite, chewing slowly and buying time, while my mind races ahead, wondering just how much she knows, and just why exactly it is that she’s asking.
But she just gives me this “I’m so not buying you” look, shakes her head, and goes, “Forget it.”
And just as I’m about to say, “No, really, please continue, ask me again, go ahead, elaborate if you must,” Evan, Elijah, and Clark appear, along with some guy named Mick who, from the bummed-out expression on Elijah’s face and the elated one on Hayden’s, is most likely her boyfriend. And as he sits down beside her, grabs one of her tacos, and starts talking about the strict, scary, military school his parents are threatening to send him to just because he’s getting a C in trig, I glance quickly at Elijah, who looks totally depressed, and think, Dude, I know just how you feel.
Apparently, Shay was supposed to sing backup. Or at least fill in ‘til Rey got around to auditioning others. But since she’s now apparently persona non grata around here (or at the very least, failed to show up), Rey looks from Hayden to me and goes, “Okay, so who’s it gonna be?”
So I take the opportunity to point at the guys and go, “Well, what about them?”
But Rey just laughs and says, “Mick’s already on guitar, and Clark, Evan, and Elijah suck. Besides, we need a girl voice.”
Then Hayden shakes her head and goes, “Don’t look at me.”
And since I’m the only other girl left in the room, everyone turns to look at me. Then Rey goes, “Well, your dad rocks, so maybe you inherited some of that.”
And then everyone looks at me again and goes, “Huh?”
But I just shrug and head for the setup. I mean, I really don’t like to talk about my dad and his fifteen minutes of fame.
So after surviving a toned-down, abbreviated, warbled version of “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” which other than being hugely ambitious for a fledgling band, also happens to be one of the few songs I know every single nuance of since my parents practically piped it into my crib when I was a baby (I mean, most girls are raised on Cinderella rescue fantasies, so that they can grow up believing that Prince Charming is just one perfect pair of Jimmy Choo’s away, while Autumn and I were taught cautionary tales of war, political oppression, and dire warnings about “the Man”), Rey comes over and hugs me and goes, “You’re in.”
And I just stand there, eyes closed, completely enveloped in his arms, enjoying the feel of being so close to him. And even though I really don’t want to be “in,” it’s not like I tell him that. I mean, if nothing else it will give me a really good excuse to hang with him even more than I already do.
THE GOSPEL OF ELEANOR RIGBY
Wednesday, November, heading straight into thx-giving, 2006
7:48 P.M.
Current Mood—Been better
Current Music—White Stripes
Quote of the Day- “80 percent of success is showing up.”
—Woody Allen
Get Behind Me Satan
So, maybe it’s evil, but I gotta admit just how enjoyable it’s been watching Princess Pink continue to hang out with the very people who are sabotaging her (Pastel Posse), while gazing suspiciously at everyone else. So far, she’s endured Post-its on her butt, slander on the bathroom walls (then again, it ain’t slander if it’s true and since that’s yet to be determined ...), the words “I Love Me” and “I’m a Slut” scrawled across her locker, and my very own personal favorite—a totally bogus MySpace page that displays an old, completely unflattering picture of her that was taken way before she became glamorous and popular, and that proclaims her love of hairy old men with super-long, crusty yellow toenails, confides how she can’t wait to buy K. Fed’s new CD, and reveals how she’s thinking about converting to Scientology so she can finally meet TomKat and possibly babysit for baby Suri.
And even though it’s all been admittedly fun to watch, the not- so-fun part is that I’m pretty sure she thinks the culprit is me. Because now that someone has stepped up the hate campaign, it’s pretty obvious that she’s stepped up hers agains
t me. And I guess what it all comes down to in the end, is motive. And even though I think it’s painfully clear how there’s one particular member of her posse who so did not appreciate getting demoted to second in line when P. P. became the most popular girl in school the instant she hooked up with Captain World, apparently that’s not so clear to P. P.
And because of that, she’s started waging this kind of low-key campaign against me. Recruiting all of her minions to start up the same old stuff I thought was long over. You know, like “accidentally” bumping into me in the hall, “accidentally” tripping me in class, and “accidentally” saying really mean, superderogatory things to me when I walk by.
And with that in mind, here it is, The List:
17. Princess Pink is a big fan of the three-second rule, and apparently does not draw the line at public toilets. We were at the mall, in the bathroom, and right before she flushed I heard a splash (not what you think), followed by, “Oh, well.” And when she came out she was carrying a tube of lip gloss, all dripping wet with toilet water, which she then proceeded to dry off with a paper towel, as opposed to: (a) throwing it away, or (b) scrubbing it clean with a whole lot of antibacterial soap and scalding hot water, and then throwing it away. And so, still damp with bowl juice, she proceeded to twist off the top and glop it onto her lips, completely ignoring the fact of how she’d just retrieved it from the toilet.