Art Geeks and Prom Queens

by Alyson Noel

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure it will blow over, and you guys will be friends again.”

  “Well, I’m not really sure that’s what I want,” I say.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did she say anything to you? About what happened?” I ask, trying to get a feel for what she knows, because I know she knows something.

  “Rio, I really don’t want to get in the middle of this, okay?”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Okay, fine,” she sighs. “Kristi’s feeling pretty hurt because you hooked up with Drew.”

  “I did not hook up with Drew, she hooked up with Tyler!”

  “I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m making it up, Jen. There were plenty of people who saw the same thing.”

  “Well, that’s not what I heard.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Rio, everyone’s saying you were totally trying to hook up with Drew, and that the only reason Kristi kissed Tyler is to get back at you.”

  “That’s not how it happened! That’s totally backward!” I’m so upset I’m shaking. “Kristi and Tyler hooked up, and then Drew totally attacked me!”

  “He attacked you?” She says, voice full of disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  “Drew?”

  “Yes, I’m not making this up! God, I even kicked him in the balls to get him to stop!”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “Well who are you going to believe?” I ask, barely controlling my anger.

  “Listen, Rio, you’re taking everything way too seriously. It was just a stupid game, and you’re getting all bent over nothing.”

  I just sit there, holding the phone, not sure what to say. Because I know I’m not imagining this, and I know I’m not crazy.

  “Listen, I gotta go. See you tomorrow?”

  “Okay.” And then feeling like a needy loser, I go, “Um, do you think you can give me a ride?”

  “Sure,” she says. “But I’ll be there early because cheerleading try-outs are starting and we’re having a meeting.”

  Then before I can say anything else, she hangs up.

  Thirty-seven

  The next morning I’ve been sitting in the kitchen for more than an hour, drinking coffee and waiting for Jen Jen to come pick me up, and I’m getting kind of anxious since she still isn’t here.

  And for someone who’s supposedly so busy they can’t drive me to school, my mom somehow finds the time to keep coming downstairs to say, “She’s not here yet?” And then she gives me a suspicious look, like it’s my fault.

  So when my dad comes into the kitchen I ask him what his schedule’s like, and he says, “Well, I need to stop by the office on my way to the airport.”

  “Do you think you can drop me off first?” I ask.

  Which causes my mother to look at me and go, “What happened to your ride?”

  And I go, “Oh, she just called, she overslept.”

  “She called? I didn’t hear the phone ring.” She takes a sip of the green tea Katrina swears will jump-start her metabolism, and peers at me.

  “It was a text message,” I lie, rolling my eyes. “So Dad, can you take me?”

  “Sure,” he says, kissing my mom good-bye. “Let’s go.”

  When we’ve pulled out of the driveway my dad looks at me and goes, “How’s it going?”

  And I really hate lying to him so I go, “Okay.”

  “Just okay?” he asks, glancing at me briefly while changing lanes.

  “Well, things are kind of messed-up right now.” I feel relieved to say it out loud.

  “Care to talk about it?”

  I start to, and I want to, but I can’t. I mean, if he had just been here from the start, when I really needed him, maybe I could have avoided all this, or at least handled things better. But now it’s too late, and it’s gone too far, and I don’t want him to know what a fuckup I am. So I just go, “It’ll work itself out.”

  He looks at me for a moment, then says, “If you change your mind I’m here for you.” Then he reaches over and pats me on the knee.

  But it’s total bullshit, because he’s always somewhere else. But I don’t say that. I just nod and turn up the radio.

  I’m walking across the quad on the way to my locker when I see Tyler hanging out with a bunch of his friends. I haven’t actually seen him since the party, and it’s weird to think how just last Friday I was going to sleep with him and now I’m not even sure I want to walk past him.

  And just as I’m about to avoid them by going the long way around, he shouts, “Hey, Rio!”

  I look over and see him smiling and waving, but no way am I going over there. But then he calls my name again, and now everyone’s smiling and waving and as I approach them I start to feel lighter, like this horrible burden has been lifted and now everything can go back to being normal again.

  So I go, “Hey, what’s up?” And then I notice Kristi standing right next to him.

  Then Tyler goes, “About the Moondance.”

  “Yeah?” I look at both of them.

  “I’m going with Kristi.” He puts his arm around her, and she stands on her toes to kiss him.

  I just stand there watching them, with my face frozen into this awful smile. Then someone laughs. And pretty soon they’re all laughing.

  Then Tyler goes, “Good luck.” And they all walk away.

  And after a while, I walk away, too.

  As I’m heading for my locker I can smell the dog shit before I see it.

  And that’s because it’s inside.

  On the outside in big capital letters it says:

  STUCK-UP BITCH!

  People are crowded all around, but I push my way through until I’m standing right in front of it, staring in disbelief. And then the bell rings, but no one seems to care, they just continue pointing and laughing. So I take off running, all the way across campus to the administration office.

  “Someone put dog shit in my locker!” I say, catching my breath, and causing everyone in the office to look up.

  “Excuse me?” one of the secretaries says.

  “There is dog shit, inside my locker! Dog shit! And on the outside someone took a big black marker and wrote ‘Stuck-up Bitch!’ all over it!”

  “Watch your language!” she says, coming around her desk and shaking her head at me.

  “I’m just telling you what it says!”

  “Do you have any idea who would do this?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I know of three people.”

  Fifteen minutes later Kristi, Kayla, Jen Jen, and I are sitting in Principal Chaney’s office. They’re all grouped together on the couch, and I’m on the crummy wooden chair that’s reserved exclusively for juvenile delinquents. And I know this because that’s the same chair he made me use the last time I was in here.

  “So why is it you’re accusing these three?” Principal Chaney asks, as though I’m the one on trial.

  “Because they’re the only ones that know my combination,” I say, crossing my arms and standing my ground.

  “And is there anything else?”

  What am I supposed to say?

  Kristi slept with my boyfriend before I could? They won’t let me sit with them at lunch?

  I can’t tell him that. So I just go, “I just know they did it, okay?”

  But he’s looking at me in that way adults always do when they want you to think they have an open mind, when really they’re just sitting in judgment.

  “So did you do it?” he asks, drumming his fingers on a pile of papers.

  “No!” they say in perfect unison.

  “We would never do that,” Kristi adds. “And I’m really sorry to hear that Rio thinks we did.” She gives me a disappointed look and continues, “Besides, I think you know me well enough to know that I would never willingly touch a piece of doggy excrement.”

  I swear that’s what she called i
t.

  And then she adds in a quiet little voice, “I feel bad suggesting it, but maybe Rio did it. I mean, she’s probably feeling sad because her ex-boyfriend asked me to the Moondance, so now she’s, like, you know, desperate for attention.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I say, looking at Principal Chaney, but he just leans back and adjusts his striped tie, like he’s actually considering that.

  Then he looks at me and says, “Rio. It seems you’ve had some trouble adjusting to our curriculum.”

  “What?” I ask incredulously.

  “If you remember correctly, you were in this office on your very first day of school, and you received a week’s detention. I was hoping that would enable you to see the kind of commitment we require, but sadly I can see that it hasn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you need to take some time to reflect on the kind of conduct we expect here at Sea Crest High.” He retrieves a golf ball from his top drawer and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

  And I just sit there in that crappy chair, staring at the floor, because I can’t believe this is really happening to me.

  “Mr. Chaney, can we please be excused, so we can get back to class?” Kristi asks.

  He nods, and I watch Kristi, Kayla, and Jen Jen smile at him and glare at me as they walk out the door.

  “Are you going to call my mom?” I ask, getting up to leave.

  “Should I?” He gives me a stern look.

  “I’d really rather you didn’t.” I look down at the ground.

  “I won’t call her this time, because I’m going to give you the opportunity to handle this on your own. But if you wind up in here again, I’m afraid the consequences will be quite serious.”

  I’m almost out of there when he goes, “Oh, and Rio,”

  I stop.

  “You can drop by the custodian’s office for the supplies you’ll need to clean up your mess.”

  My mess?

  But I don’t say anything, I just walk out the door and head for the janitor.

  Thirty-eight

  I didn’t go to English, because it took me that whole time just to clear out the dog shit and disinfect my locker. And even though the janitor felt sorry for me and offered to help, I wouldn’t let him. I figured he had enough on his hands just having to clean up after us on a normal day.

  But before I started with the heavy-duty scouring, I searched my tote bag for my camera so I could take pictures of this mess, just in case I needed the evidence for later. But I couldn’t find it. And after dumping out the contents of my purse, backpack, tote bag, and locker, it was still nowhere to be found, and I was pretty sure Kristi stole it as part of her prank. But with no way to prove that, and no one to believe me, I pulled on some rubber gloves and started scrubbing.

  When I get to Art, I go straight into the darkroom so I can be alone. I stand near the door, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimness, then I walk over to the corner where I locate the folder of prints I was working on for my project.

  It’s filled with like a hundred pictures of my stupid, vain, horn dog ex-boyfriend in various lame poses. God, I can’t believe how cool I thought he was. Not to mention how cool I thought I was for being with him.

  I flip through the stack of useless prints and somewhere in the middle I come across one of Kristi. She’s standing by her customized car, talking on her pink rhinestone cell phone, while smiling and waving at the camera. I stand there looking at it for the longest time, wondering how I could have been so stupid to trust someone so awful.

  I know she defaced my locker and lifted my camera. I also know that she’s really not too delicate to handle “doggy excrement.” But apparently I’m the only one who knows all that.

  I grab a black Sharpie pen from my bag, and draw big pointy devil horns, a spiky goatee, and a long sharp tail on her. Then I add a big pitchfork with the Louis Vuitton logo all over it. I hold it up and admire it, wondering if I should submit it to the Santa Ana exhibit. They can rename it One Hundred and One Artists See the Devil.

  Except that I’m not really an artist.

  I’m not really sure who I am anymore.

  I hear someone come in, so I quickly shove the picture in my folder, and start acting all busy.

  “Oh, hey,” he says, coming over to stand next to me.

  “Hey, Jas.”

  “How are you?” He leans against the table and looks at me. And even though it’s dim, believe me, we can still see each other.

  “Good,” I say, still faking busy.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’ve been kind of worried about you. You know with everything that’s going on …” he trails off.

  “Well that’s very nice, but don’t waste your time. I’m totally fine.” I pick up my folder of useless photos, and prepare to bolt. Because while it’s nice that he cares, the truth is I can’t stand knowing that he pities me.

  “Listen, if you ever want to just hang out and talk.”

  “Okay,” I say. “See you around.”

  And right when I’m about to exit he goes, “Oh, I almost forgot, here.”

  He has my camera!

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask, totally confused. I mean, how did he get my camera if Kristi stole it?

  “You left it in here last Friday, and I didn’t want anyone to lift it, so I took it home.”

  I look at him for a moment, trying to determine if he’s telling the truth, but his eyes remain neutral. And when he hands it to me my fingers accidentally brush against his. So I quickly pull away, open the door, and hurry back to my table where I spend the rest of class ripping up pictures of Tyler.

  Thirty-nine

  This is a typical day in my life now:

  1. Wake up full of dread, but earlier than usual.

  2. Get dressed in something cool enough to fool my mom, but not so cool that people will think that I think I’m cool.

  3. Drink coffee and make small talk with my mom about the stupid Moondance that I’m no longer going to, while desperately washing I could find a way to tell her the truth.

  4. Pretend I’m meeting Tyler outside the gate for a ride to school. Then actually walk outside the gate and all the way to school. (See number I about waking up early.)

  5. Walk through the quad while people “accidentally” bump into me, “accidentally” trip me, “accidentally” throw stuff at me, and “accidentally” knock the books out of my arms.

  6. Listen to groups of girls calling me “Stuck-up bitch” when I walk by.

  7. Go to class and get bombarded with flying objects every time the teacher leaves the room.

  8. Go to Art and spend long periods of time in the darkroom, accomplishing nothing, while successfully avoiding Jas and Mason.

  9. Eat lunch in the library, alone. Since even the library geeks won’t talk to me.

  10. Listen to everyone hurl insults from their cars as I walk home.

  11. Go up to my room and log onto my computer only to be deluged with nasty e-mails and instant messages.

  But today was different. Because today, during break, I had to go to the bathroom. Usually I try to avoid going anywhere near there during that time since that’s when everyone else is in there, but I just couldn’t hold it any longer.

  I’m just getting ready to exit the stall when I hear some girls walk in, and one of them goes, “Oh, my god, you guys, remember how Rio was always bragging about her mom being this big-time supermodel?”

  What??? I freeze, dreading what I’ll hear next.

  “Well, Amber was over at Caitlyn’s, and Parker and Hunter were there and they were fooling around on the Internet, and they totally saw pictures of her mom on this porno site!”

  “No way!” they squeal.

  “Way. They said, it looked just like her! It was totally her!”

  “Like mother like daughter,” one of them says.

  “What a loser!”

&nb
sp; “Fucking skanky whore!”

  Listening to that makes me feel totally sick to my stomach. But hiding from it makes me feel worse. I throw the door open so it bangs loudly against the side and when they see that it’s me, they exchange these phony, horrified looks.

  I head straight for the sink they’re standing next to, and begin filling my palms with pink grainy soap from the dispenser, watching them through the mirror as they rifle through their purses, and elbow each other.

  I rinse my hands until the water runs clean, then I grab a paper towel and dry off. And the second I leave, I hear them burst out laughing.

  Forty

  Friday when I got home from school, the living room had changed—again. This time there was no Tuscan Villa, French Country, Moroccan Royalty, or even Indian Palace, because this time it was completely empty.

  “Where’s the living room?” I ask, dropping my bag on the floor and staring at the open space.

  “I couldn’t live with it,” my mom says, coming over and handing me a glass of iced tea. “Katrina says she read an article in Interiors about minimalism being the next big thing.”

  “So you’re leaving it empty?”

  “No. I’m just going to find a new decorator with more pared-down tastes.”

  “I thought you said Michael was a genius?”

  “I did. But Katrina says—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Katrina lived here,” I interrupt.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowns at me.

  “Well, it’s our house, but it seems like you’re decorating it for everyone but us. I mean, why is Katrina’s opinion more important than your own?”

  “It’s not that simple, Rio.” She shakes her head. “People judge you on your home, so making a good impression is imperative.”

  “Oh, I think I might know a thing or two about being judged,” I say, reaching for my bag, and heading up the stairs.