Cameo

by Tanille Edwards

  I once watched a movie about secret societies starring these two insanely hot actors. It’s kind of like how girls buy an album just for the pictures. The content is meaningless at this age. Anyway, they killed this guy for sneaking into a meeting. I guess being blacked out of the yearbook ranked right up there with death to some. Imagine not appearing on record as having attended high school. Now add to that the fear of getting into an altercation at any time whenever you used the bathroom at school, at home, or at someone else’s house. The mere thought was vexing me. What was with the bathroom? Was it because I was alone in the bathroom, like when I was alone in my room? If I could figure out a connection, maybe I could stop this.

  I spotted a janitor’s closet.

  “Try opening the closet door. I’ll keep an eye on the suspect,” I texted.

  “It opened!” she texted.

  I was surprised yet relieved. We finally had some cover. Cindy and I hid behind the janitor’s closet door while watching the redhead continue down the hall. I mean, we couldn’t very well follow him up to the meeting door. But the cover did not come without consequences. It smelled like a wet, dirty mop laced with bleach in there. It was hard to concentrate. All I could think about was that nasty mop.

  “I think I got an idea,” Cindy texted.

  She dug her hand into her tiny little handbag, and a giant compact emerged. She flipped open the compact.

  “Get in the closet,” she whispered.

  Were we talking now? “I don’t want to get locked in here.”

  “Just trust me.” She cracked the door and slid the mirror portion of the compact out the crack. Then Cindy flipped the mirror in the opposite direction. I tried my best not to touch anything in that germ-infested place. Who knows what ringworm and wart germs were in there? Touch one thing in there, next thing you know some microbe will be growing on your skin. I shivered at the thought.

  “Oh, snap,” Cindy said as she let the door slam.

  “Why did you let the door slam?” No real spy slams doors.

  “Sorry.”

  I used my cell phone as a light. The fear of bumping into something dirty was haunting me.

  “It’s Jason.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “He’s coming down the hall,” she said.

  “Do they have basketball down here?” I asked.

  “No,” Cindy said.

  “Where did the freshman go?”

  “Wait, there’s more. Carolina is right behind him.”

  “Are they together?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And now that you slammed the door, a mirror hanging out of the janitor’s closet will look suspicious,” I complained.

  “Just give me a second.” Cindy cracked the door once more as quietly as she could. This time she peeked out to see if they had passed the closet. Then she slowly slipped the mirror out of the crack at the bottom of the door.

  “Good thinking. No one will look down there,” I said.

  “Okay, she’s too skinny to be Carolina. She’s like a stick. Oh! Guess what!”

  “Just tell me.”

  “They’re going into the weight room.”

  “The sweaty weight room?”

  “It’s Lucy!”

  This was worse than I thought. “I know Jason is not interested in her,” I said.

  “Like he would be interested in Carolina,” Cindy said.

  “No, but I think she’s part of the whole thing. And if they were together, that would mean he’s part of it too.”

  We were both silent. What was the next move?

  “There’s only one thing to do,” Cindy said.

  “The weight room,” we both said.

  Cindy cringed in disgust. I didn’t mind encountering foul B.O. to get to the bottom of this. It was the airborne bacteria that had me spooked. We cracked the door open.

  “Okay, no one is coming up the hallway,” Cindy said.

  She stuck her compact out of the door crack with the mirror facing the opposite direction so she could see what was going on down at the other end of the hall.

  “Clear,” she continued.

  I stepped out into the hallway first. It was practically impossible to walk quietly in heels when your feet hurt. And there were two pairs of throbbing feet walking to the weight room. Real inconspicuous—Cindy’s typical modus operandi. We got to the weight room door, and it was wide open. I didn’t hear anything but the AM sports radio playing. That would surely throw any reasonable teenager off the trail. But we weren’t reasonable. Rather than peeking in and pussyfooting around, I stormed right inside. I was surrounded by sweaty weight machines and dumbbells.

  Cindy tapped me on the shoulder. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “… the secret passageway?”

  “You know, Michelle is exactly who I want to be like,” a coy, female voice with a British accent said from the hallway.

  “Is that right?’ Craig said.

  “It figures! Craig is a member,” I said.

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “Hence your stint on the popularity scene,” she said.

  “Don’t remind me,” I said.

  “You know she commands everything.” The girl’s voice was getting closer.

  “They’re coming in here,” I said.

  “Duh, Sherlock,” Cindy said.

  It was between the closet and the coach’s office. How would we explain barging into the coach’s office?

  “Oh, my god, I am not going into some pitch-black room. What if we get locked in?” Cindy asked.

  “Now you’re above hiding in a closet. You did it like three minutes ago,” I said. I went inside the Dungeons & Dragons–looking utility closet.

  “Where the heck is the light switch?” Cindy asked.

  “You cannot stand there with the door open.”

  I took my cell phone out to use it as a light. There was like one of those overhead basement bulbs in the middle of the room with a pull chain.

  “Did this room invent the word ‘antiquated’ or what?” Cindy was growing impatient with the mission, I could see.

  I stood at the door with one eye peeking into the weight room, hoping to get a glance of Craig and Michelle’s adoring fan. No such luck! They were gone. How could people keep disappearing in the basement like that? After quietly closing the door, I had a chance to look at the room. It really was a supply closet. There was no secret door or anything. Like anybody popular with a shred of dignity would walk through this eyesore to get to their society cave. Even though I had discovered a few gems hiding in there.

  “Check out these brand-new elliptical machines. Just as we’re graduating, they decide to upgrade the gym with something electronic!” I said.

  “It’s about time!” Cindy said.

  “Shhh! Wait. It sounds like someone is walking,” I said.

  “Go see,” Cindy said.

  “No, what if they’re coming in here? Turn the light off.”

  It took me a few seconds to muster up the courage to see who was at the door. I just didn’t want to open it and have someone staring at me on the other side. I cracked the door. Phew. There was no one standing there. I stole a quick glance through a crack in the door without being noticed.

  “Jason,” I whispered. He was back into this whole mess.

  “Is he alone?” Cindy asked.

  “Yeah, he’s going into the coach’s office.” Was it actually possible that the coach was in on this?

  “Don’t freak out. He is so in the bag,” Cindy said.

  “Last time I used the words ‘in the bag,’ I got a B minus on my bio exam,” I said.

  The question was who wasn’t in on this? Now might have been a good time to disclose that I had no idea who the coach was or what team he coached for. The only words on the door read COACH. He didn’t even have to be a real coach. How deep of a secret was this society? The coach’s office could’ve been the real meeting place, and maybe there was no
coach at all.

  “I’m going over there,” I said.

  Cindy grabbed my arm firmly, like a parent harnessing a stubborn, spoiled child. “You do like him, don’t you?” she asked.

  I was silent.

  “You’re getting out of hand. I’m counting on six people for our limo. Unless you want to kick in for two seats, I wouldn’t go over there,” Cindy said.

  Every once in a while, she surprised me. This wasn’t about the prom limo. I knew that she knew that I really dug him. Too bad! I couldn’t let my feelings for a boy run my life.

  “We should go. I mean there is only so long I can stay in this eight-by-four closet,” I said.

  “I know, I get claustrophobic in my ten-by-ten walk-in closet at home,” Cindy said.

  I opened the door. It couldn’t have been any noisier. The loud, creaking sound alluded to the need of some WD40 on the hinges. If there was a cat to be let out of the bag, it was definitely on its way out. The door marked COACH was closed.

  “All clear,” I whispered to Cindy. I stepped into the middle of the gym. “Ouch. Could you not step on the back of my shoe?” I said.

  “Actually, those are my shoes anyway,” Cindy said.

  Right then, I noticed that there was something underneath the leg press. “Do you see that?” I mean, this could’ve been some mirrored illusion.

  “That white hat? Absolutely.” Cindy snatched that hat up with contempt. Her eyes scoured every inch of that hat, inside and out. She turned up one long blonde hair and one short brown hair.

  Suddenly, Jason opened the door. He was standing at the doorway with the door cracked, and his attention was focused on someone sitting behind the desk. I couldn’t really see them. Cindy and I made like two Corvettes and left in him our dust. FYI: That’s going to be the first car that I buy myself. A Corvette.

  Chapter 8

  We were almost at my house. Riding in Cindy’s car was fabulous! It was a beauty, a shiny black Thunderbird convertible with super-soft cream leather seats. She almost always had the top down. I loved it when the breeze blew through my hair. For a few moments, I felt optimistic, like life was for the taking.

  “Your mom was so glad your father decided to get his car fixed,” I said.

  “That was no coincidence. If you want things to happen, you have to make them happen. Much like how I merely reminded my mother that our life seemed to be shrinking right before our eyes. My dad downscaled the new kitchen remodel! Then he attempted to slash the backyard landscaping budget in half, eliminating the fire pit and grill. I mean, it was really up to her to save us from ridicule. I only insinuated that my uncle may have been right. We were becoming a discount family. On her side of the family, we’re the only ones who drive American cars.”

  Cindy’s Thunderbird coupe, which cost more than most of the teachers’ cars at our school, was apparently the equivalent of bumming around. She did have a knack for getting her way, though.

  “Nice work. Resurfacing insecurities in the heart of your mother can be an effective way to get things done,” I said.

  “Don’t judge me. You would turn on anyone in a heartbeat if they represented popularity or narcissism. In my book, that makes you as shallow—just with bigger words,” Cindy said.

  “That is so not true. I never turn on people.”

  “What about Alyssa and Cassie?”

  “What about them?”

  “The second you stopped getting the gossip text, all of a sudden you weren’t friends. You were boycotting the popular people when you made it seem like it was them who didn’t want to be friends with you. They really liked you.”

  “They’re Jane’s friends, not mine. The two of them combined couldn’t fill out one college application. They had to have ‘assistance’ for that. What do we have in common?”

  “So you’re smart! You’re an intellectual snob.”

  “I am not a snob.” I couldn’t believe she had just called me that! It hurt most because Cindy knew me best. I let out a heavy sigh. I had to just shake that off.

  Cindy and I drove the rest of the way to my house in silence. The tree-lined streets were quiet. She pulled up to my house. I was a little scared. I clutched the door handle tightly.

  “Are you coming?” I didn’t want to go in alone.

  My street just didn’t look the same. All I could see were places where someone could hide—an overgrown bush in someone’s yard, a tree with a thick trunk over in front of the neighbor’s house. I could’ve had an anxiety attack right then and there.

  “No, I’m not coming. I don’t feel appreciated.”

  Are you kidding me? “Trust me. I couldn’t have walked here from your house. I definitely appreciate the ride.”

  “I’ll wait out here. I have to make some calls.”

  “Fine.”

  I opened the door. It felt kind of weird. Like I should have taken a look around outside before I walked inside. There was no one around on the block. Cindy sat in her car, quietly edging toward carpal tunnel syndrome with her super-speed texting. The alarm went off. After racing against the nanosecond clock to plug in the code, I strolled upstairs to pick up some more of my own clothes and shoes. God, I needed to wear my own flats! The balls of my feet were burning! I didn’t take those shoes off all day for fear that I wouldn’t be able to get them back on my pulsating feet. One day in Cindy’s shoes and I’d told off my ex, snagged a new man, played secret agent, and been stalked. Too much excitement for this intellectual snob.

  The doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat. Was this trouble? I mean, Cindy would call me if something strange went down outside, right? If she noticed! I was ultra-paranoid at this point. Maybe it was just a friendly neighbor. I tried to clear my mind as I strolled down the steps. The doorbell rang again. I looked out the window. Cindy was standing at the door with Jason. Before I could open the door all the way, Cindy pushed the door open. She looked at her watch.

  “I’m expecting a phone call.” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me funny as if I was supposed to know what that meant. Maybe she was waiting for Peter to call.

  “He is not seeing Lucy,” she continued.

  “That was discreet.” I couldn’t believe she had asked him.

  “He says he doesn’t know her, and I believe him.”

  I turned Cindy around and pushed her in the direction of her car. “Do you want to come in?” I asked Jason. “Completely embarrassed” would’ve summed up how I felt. Before I could close the door behind him, Cindy had wedged her foot in it.

  “Cindy?” I said. She motioned her finger for me to come closer.

  “Before you two set it off, just know I have to leave in like fifteen minutes. We have to stop by the coffee house in the mall to meet Roger.”

  “We?”

  “One who needs a ride accompanies one who has a car.”

  “Are you coming in or …?” She moved her foot. “So what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. Would you like something to drink?”

  “I thought you were going to question me first.”

  I could’ve melted at the sound of his voice, but first things first. “I heard that you and Lucy were seen together in the basement after school when you said that …” I had to stop. I had caught myself playing the insecure jealous girlfriend role. I guess I should’ve been that girl when I was dating Craig. There I was, one relationship too late.

  Could I tell him that I thought someone was stalking me without sounding self-centered? I mean, why would someone be after me?

  “It’s just been strange lately,” I said.

  “Like the lipstick on the wall?”

  “Yeah. Lucy might have something to do with it,” I said.

  “And?” he said.

  “Do you know her?” I asked.

  “Are you asking me or accusing me? Because you sound like you’re accusing,” he said.

  “Ha! I keep trying, believe me,” I said. He looked more than
annoyed—“perturbed” would be a great adjective to describe the contempt in his eyes. I didn’t care. So the novelty of our love/hate thing was wearing off. Good. Now I could see the real him. Maybe he only thought he liked me. You know, those guys who like you until they find out you have something going on upstairs, otherwise known as brain function. Then, all of a sudden, they’re interested in some flunky cheerleader, more interested in her eye shadow color than taking an AP test for college credit. Who needed a future when purple was the new it color for the season?

  One might wonder why I couldn’t just let go and let him like me and care about me in the melodramatic way every normal teenage girl dreamed of. I didn’t know why I was like this, I just was. Letting go would be like driving a car with your hands off the steering wheel—you’re just asking for it.

  “I didn’t come here for this. I hate the way you play around. You won!” he said.

  “Why don’t you just answer the question?”

  “I don’t even know her. I was walking down the steps, and next thing I know she was standing right next to me. I went to the basement to meet with my training coach. This girl who gave you a report, uh, they tell you that? Did they say I talked to her? That would mean I know her.”

  “I saw you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it at first. I just want to figure this out. I do trust you.” I stopped for a moment. Was I telling a white lie? Or did I just say the T word? I wanted to trust him. “Want” and “do” should be synonyms. I guess there are a lot of things that should be. I looked at him, and I knew what I had to do.

  “At the party yesterday, someone accosted me in the bathroom and insisted that the first bathroom incident was part of this secret society prank. I don’t know who’s doing it or why this is happening. I got a note in homeroom today about this meeting in the basement. I assumed the person behind these pranks, including the lipstick thing, would be there. But we couldn’t find the meeting.”

  Jason was quiet for a moment. “If you got that note in homeroom, why didn’t you say anything?”