He leans in and looks around like everyone might be listening. “Becca, man,” he whispers. “It’s like she’s out to get you.”
My gaze drops back to my book. “I didn’t do anything. It just didn’t work out between us.”
“Come on, you can tell me. Did you dip your Polish sausage in someone else’s mustard?”
I chuckle. I have to admit, as douchey as Mike can sometimes be, he’s growing on me. “No,” I say. “But maybe I will.”
His fist rises. I bump it as discreetly as I can. “That’s what’s up!” he says.
“Shhh!” I glance over at Mr. Connick, whose eyes meet mine. I’m pretty sure he knows we’re not discussing an influential person from the Depression Era. I send him an apologetic smile and turn back to Mike. “Come on.” I slap my pen on my book. “We have to finish this.”
Mike leans in even closer. “She’s going to homecoming with Tom now.”
My head snaps back up, rattling my clip-on earrings. “I thought Tom was taking Gina.”
Crossing his arms, Mike leans back. “He was. Until Becca asked him.”
“Interesting,” I say. I’m surprised Tom would throw Gina to the curb like that. But then again, I guess not a lot of guys can say no to Becca. I would know. I was one of them.
“You’re still going though, right?” Mike asks.
“I think so.”
“Who you taking?”
“A friend.”
“Who? That fiery lesbian chick?”
“No,” I say. “Lauren wouldn’t go to homecoming if you put a gun to her head.”
“Then who?”
I look him in the eyes and grin. “You’ll see.”
After class, Mike walks with me to my locker where Alan’s already waiting. As soon as I see him, I smile. I threw my Drag Day outfit together at the last minute: an old flowing dress my mom dug out from a box in the attic and a pair of clip-on earrings she picked up for me at the mall. Alan, on the other hand, went all out in an anime-inspired blue wig and a matching navy schoolgirl uniform. On his tall, lanky body, it’s a priceless look.
Mike gives him a nod of acknowledgment. “Sexy,” he says. “Got a drag name, Nguyen?”
Alan flinches in surprise. “Uh, yeah. Sailor Swift-Lee.”
“HA! That’s good,” Mike answers. “Aight, see you ladies later!”
“Uh, bye?” Alan’s gaze follows him as he walks off to join Becca and Tom. I glance over, too. Even with painted-on facial hair and baggy basketball shorts, Becca looks stunning.
She looks in my direction. I look away.
“Everyone’s talking about her breaking up with you,” Alan says, probably detecting the miles of shade Becca just threw me from across the hallway. “Supposedly, she’s going to homecoming with Tom now.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I heard.”
Alan turns to me, readjusting his backpack. “You’re not just trying to be friends with us again because the cool kids are shunning you, are you?”
“What?” I ask, not quite sure if he’s joking or not. “Nobody’s shunning me. You just saw me with Mike.”
Alan’s eyes narrow. “What about your yearbook picture?”
I tilt my head just a bit. At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about; it takes me a moment to remember Eric’s little prank. Ever since I shoved him down to the floor—by accident—he’s left me alone. And that’s fine by me. No matter what Ashley Solomon might’ve thought, I still think he did it. “What about it?” I ask.
“Becca shared it last night.”
I absorb this information and nod. He doesn’t have to explain. The first time, when Becca brought it to my attention, the photo kind of died down, just like she promised it would. Now that she’s shared it herself, the whole school must’ve seen it.
“Tom made some pretty nasty comments on it,” Alan adds. “So yeah, I stand by my opinion that you’re being shunned.”
“Whatever,” I say, and mean it. I really don’t care about what Becca thinks and what Becca does. Alan’s my friend again. Lauren’s my friend again. Camilla agreed to go to homecoming with me. What more could I want? A little bit of passive-aggressive bullying is to be expected after you turn down the most influential girl in school.
“Why’d she break up with you, anyway?”
If I can’t confide in Alan, I can’t confide in anybody. Plus, now I kind of feel like more people should know the truth. I face the lockers and lower my voice. “I’m actually the one who broke up with her.”
Alan’s eyes grow to twice their size. “For real?”
“For real.”
“Why?”
I urge him to walk with me. Once the throng of people around us thins a bit, I tell him. “I like someone else.”
Alan stops in his tracks. “Who?”
I stare at him, fighting a smile. With Alan, we’ve been friends for so long, I’m positive he’ll be able to read it right off my face.
“I don’t get it.”
I lower my chin and raise my eyebrows.
Alan gasps. “No,” he says. Then adds in a whisper, “Camilla Hadi?”
I exaggerate a blink, our signal for yes since we were seven.
His mouth opens, and his eyes jump all around us. He looks lost and confused. “Nope. Not falling for that. No way.”
I give him a little push toward the stairs. “Come on.”
“Really?” He’s shuffling along like a schoolgirl zombie. “Camilla?”
“Really,” I say. “By the way, she can’t come to the Shack with us today. She said she’s got homework to finish. Where’s Lauren?”
“Working from home,” he mumbles as quickly as possible so he can get back to the topic at hand. “I just don’t get it,” he says once we get to my car. “You can have anybody.”
“I don’t want anybody.”
“But why? I mean, she’s cool and chill. But—”
“She’s cool and chill. Period.”
That shuts him up.
As usual, the Shack is packed with kids from school, and considering most of them have dressed up for Drag Day, it’s quite a scene to behold. Lots of messy makeup and badly placed wigs on the guys. Crooked shoulder pads under jerseys on the girls. It’s a teenage invasion of french fry-loving drag kings and queens.
Alan and I order our chili dog combos and find a table. The exact moment I sit down—which is so much harder to do in a dress—someone behind me screams, “UGLY FOREVER!”
I turn around. Familiar faces stare back. Some have stupid grins, but others are straight-out shocked in that I-can’t-believe-someone-just-said-that way. Failing to find the culprit, I smile at everyone, shrug, and face Alan again.
He’s peering past my shoulder. “I think it was that kid Julian.”
I slap my palm on the table to get his attention. Kids without the balls to insult me to my face are going to have to try harder if they want to leave a dent in my good mood today. “SO! How’ve you been, man?”
He looks at me and grins. “Play, school, play.”
I chuckle with nostalgic relief. It’s been a while since I heard Alan’s life motto: one play is a reference to video games, the other to the anatomical joystick guys carry around.
“Oh,” he adds, “Mom’s in Vietnam to see Grandma. Other than that, same old shit.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Me, too.”
He laughs, like full-on laughs, all the way from his stomach.
Warmth fills my chest. “Dude, are you ready to do the drop tower again at Six Flags on Saturday?”
Alan’s thumb springs up. “I’m definitely going to puke again. Puke or faint, one of the two. You should film it either way this time.”
I pretend to be offended. “You think you have to ask?”
A frown replaces his smile.
“What?” I ask.
All of Alan’s attention is suddenly taken up by the ketchup he’s spraying all over his chili dog. “Sorry I wasn’t very supportive when your ID ha
ppened.”
I shake my head. “Sorry I made such a big deal out of it. It’s not.”
He looks up and forms his mouth back into a grin. “Says the best-looking guy in school who’s hooking up with the best-looking girl.”
“Used to hook up,” I say. “Past tense.” I glance past him, toward the entrance to the restaurant. My smile falls. “Speaking of which.”
Becca struts through the door. Her eyes fix on me immediately. With a cold smile, she hangs herself on Tom’s arm in an obvious attempt to make me jealous. I keep staring at them, but it’s not because her plan is working. I’m more concerned with what Tom’s wearing.
Over his right hand, he has on a giant glove shaped like an exaggerated fist with a hole in the middle. It looks like a perfect fit for a can of beer, so I assume it’s a koozie.
“What’s up with the giant fist?” I say to Alan, monitoring Tom the whole time as the douche orders his food. Something about his big Afro wig strikes me as not only racist, but also, combined with the clothes he’s wearing, uncomfortably familiar. I just can’t quite put my finger on it. “Seems like an odd choice for a Drag Day accessory.”
“No idea,” Alan says. But I get my answer as soon as Tom sits down. Everyone does. Because Becca jumps onto his lap and he jerks the koozie over her crotch in a way that leaves very little to the imagination.
The restaurant erupts in laughter.
My blood turns to ice. His T-shirt, the black pants, the wig. I know why it all looks familiar now. It’s Ashley from the video at Gina’s party. He’s impersonating Ashley. And now that I think about it, Becca is supposed to be Lance Dietrick.
I shoot up from my seat, my chair scratching the floor.
“What are you doing?” Alan asks.
“I’m going over there.”
“Dude,” he starts, his voice streaked with worry. But I’m already walking in Tom and Becca’s direction.
I know it’s just a tasteless prank, I know it’s just idiots being idiots, but Ashley is a human being. A human being I happen to like. And, in addition to that, she’s a human being the girl I really like cares about. Camilla reunited me with my best friends. There’s no way I’m letting these assholes disrespect one of hers.
“You think that’s funny?” I ask, glaring at Tom.
His eyes run up and down my body, reminding me I’m standing over him in a dress. I puff out my chest to look as threatening as possible.
“I do, yeah,” he says, revealing the gap between his teeth.
“So does the whole restaurant,” Becca adds.
I don’t break eye contact with Tom. “Take that thing off.”
“What’s it to you?”
Becca speaks again, cheerful, as if this was the cue she’s been waiting for. “Konrad’s just being chivalrous, protecting his new girlfriend.”
I rip my eyes away from Tom and plunge them into Becca’s. Now I know whose idea this was. “You’re mad at me. Why get Ashley involved?”
“So you do admit that you cheated on me with her?”
“If I say I did will you ask him to take that off?”
“I do what I want,” Tom says.
I snap at him. “Tom. Dude. Becca doesn’t care about you. You’re just a last-minute rebound.”
Tom shoves Becca off his lap and stands up, eye-to-eye with me. “I might be a rebound,” he says, “but at least I’m not an ungrateful fake like you. You might be good-looking, but you’ll never be good enough for her. For us. Once a loser, always a loser.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “So what’s your point?”
“So fuck off and leave us alone!”
“Not until you get rid of your racist, unimaginative getup.”
He laughs, burger breath hitting my face.
My fists clench at my sides. We’re not on school grounds. He knows it, and I know it. If we do get into a brawl, neither of us is going to get suspended—I’ll still be able to take Camilla to homecoming. I’m about to snatch the koozie away when a hand lands on my shoulder. Surprised, I turn. It’s Alan. “Come on,” he says in a firm tone.
Tom flashes his tooth gap and raises his hand in a little wave.
I exhale at Tom and turn to Becca, realizing I just gave Becca exactly what she wanted: a reaction. “You know what?” I say to her. “You do what you’ve got to do. I don’t care. At all.”
“Great,” she says, but she definitely flinches. “Neither do I.”
“I don’t get it,” I say to Alan once we get back in my car. “Becca’s so smart. Probably the most logical person I know. She doesn’t need me at all. I didn’t exist to her before. Why can’t I just not exist to her again?”
Alan’s shaking his head. “You really don’t get it.”
I tense and stop fiddling with the key. “What do you mean?”
“Dude,” he starts. “Looks have power. Even if you say they don’t matter, they do. And it’s because she’s a logical person that she’s doing this. By rejecting her, you disrupted everything she knows. She’s probably just trying to make sense of her place in the world.” He shrugs and faces the window. “Like the rest of us.”
CHAPTER 24
CAMILLA
I’M WITH KONRAD AND LAUREN in the hallway when I spot the first mask.
My gaze latches on to the photo on a stick, holes cut out for eyes, as it swings away attached to a freshman’s hand. Noticing me staring, the kid’s face turns red before he hides the mask from view and runs off. A cold chill strikes my spine. “What the hell is that?” I ask, even though I don’t have to. I saw very clearly what it was. Who it was.
“Just assholes being assholes,” Lauren says, picking at her nails.
I glance up at Konrad. He’s looking at me. Like he’s not seeing anything but me. “Who cares?” he says, flashing me a smile.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I say and sprint off, trying to look like I’m in a hurry and not frustrated to the marrow in my bones. Who cares? Someone just ran by with Konrad’s old yearbook picture. On a stick! Why is he pretending like it’s nothing? What’s wrong with him?
It took a while, but thanks to Becca Lipowska, Konrad’s old photo and the accompanying hashtag finally took off. The photo I uploaded and the #uglyforever hashtag I came up with. On top of that, Becca and Tom have exiled Konrad from their group. Everything’s going the way I’d hoped. Even better. Konrad’s reputation is going down the drain.
So why am I not enjoying it more? What’s wrong with me?
I round the corner, breathing hard, when I spot another mask. And then another. I keep walking until I find their source.
Becca and Carrie hold batches of the things to their chests. With their free hands they wave down anyone who passes by, handing them out. And people take them. Like the high school sheep that they are, they all take them. Hungry for even the tiniest link to popularity.
I watch this scene unfold, until Becca sees me and approaches.
“Hi,” she says in a fake sweet voice. “How you holding up?”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, staring at the masks she’s cradling like a baby. I genuinely want to know. “Just because he broke up with you?”
For a second, Becca looks flustered. But she recovers quickly. “He broke up with me? Honey, I’m the one who dumped his ass.” When I don’t say anything, her weight shifts from one leg to the other. She blinks, slowly. “It’s Looks Don’t Matter Day,” she says. “What better way to celebrate it than by reminding people of Konrad’s transformation?”
I tilt my head. “Why didn’t you make masks of the old me, then?”
Fake shock takes over her face. I make my eyes into slits and glare at her.
She rolls hers and exaggerates a sigh. “Okay, fine. You got me. Looks might not matter, but humility does. Konrad thinks he’s better than all of us now.” She says this like it’s the most unthinkable thing in the world. And by us, I know she means me, Becca. “He should be a little more humble, don’t you think? Especially co
nsidering he used to look like this.” She points to the masks. “Here. Take one.”
She shoves one into my hand. I take it absentmindedly.
“You can tell him I’m responsible,” she says. “In fact, would you do me a favor and do that? I know you and Ashley Solomon hang out with him now.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I will.”
When she dashes off to flag down another person, I raise the photo faceup and stare at it. To make these things, she had to blow them up, print them out, and attach the wooden sticks. That’s a lot of work. I should be thanking her. She not only hates Konrad, but she’s unwittingly helping me ruin him.
This is good, I tell myself. This is what I wanted.
The warning bell rings, and I start walking. But I don’t go to class. I don’t go to the bathroom to revel in this turn of events and evilly laugh in a private stall. I swerve into the counselor’s office and shut the door behind me.
“Camilla,” Ms. Hughes says. Surprise makes her big eyes and tiny downcast mouth look more like a rabbit’s than usual. I plop into the chair and cross my arms.
“It’s today’s theme, isn’t it?” she says. “‘Looks Don’t Matter’? Honestly, I have no idea how the school even approved that.”
“It’s not that,” I say. “That’s just a bunch of kids with messy hair, stained clothes, and Hunchback of Notre Dame masks. It’s all too stupid to even think about. I’m over it.”
“Then what is it? Are the media people bothering you again?”
“No.” I look at her. “I haven’t been harassed in a while. Looks like they moved on to covering that already rich California lady who won that multistate lottery.”
“Oh yes. I read about that. And what about the #IStandWithCamilla hashtag?”
“That’s dying down, too,” I say. I don’t add that #uglyforever is taking its place.
“People’s concerns can be so fickle, can’t they? It seems like, in this society, as soon as something new comes along, everything that came before it is all but forgotten. Either way, I’m sorry you had to go through those things.”
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