Nice and Mean

by Jessica Leader

  I crossed Seventy-Ninth and headed for the bus shelter, and oh, great: There was Elizabeth. With the collar of her pale blue trench turned up to her chin and her earbuds tucked in tight, she looked like her mind was far, far away. I had hoped I could avoid her by being late, but I guessed she was running late too.

  Well, no big woo. We’d have to make up sometime, and I could be the bigger person today.

  I scooched past a woman in ugly sneakers to stand next to Elizabeth. At first she didn’t look up. I waited. Then I started getting impatient and leaned into her. “Hey,” I said. “Anybody home?”

  Her eyes widened, like I was the last person she thought she’d see. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”

  Did she really think I’d fall for that? Oh, Elizabeth.

  “How are you?” I pulled out my own earbuds and pasted on a fake smile. I thought it would be good to let her know I was still a little mad.

  She didn’t answer because the bus pulled up just then, and she got busy winding up her earphones. The door opened, and I saw that it was the nice driver with the beard—a good sign. He smiled as he saw us.

  “Hi, ladies,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Elizabeth said politely, “and you?”

  Good, she wasn’t in a bad mood.

  I looked up from dunking my MetroCard, and whoa! The bus was packed. Usually we liked to stand in the back half but today we had to push and crush just to find standing places away from the door.

  The bus lurched away from the curb, and we grabbed handles. “Holy bejeezies!” I cried, expecting she would laugh. Elizabeth stared straight ahead as if I hadn’t said anything. Ugh! Was she going to do this to me the whole ride? Okay, so we’d had a fight, but come on. Whose best friend was she?

  “Hey, did you do the social studies?” I asked. Usually I hated when people talked about homework on the bus, but I knew it would put her in a good mood.

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “What did you put for why Caesar crossed the Rubicon? I don’t think it was even in the book.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

  “Oh.” The bus zoomed across Park Avenue—my favorite part of the ride, because it was like two blocks in one, and you felt like you were actually moving.

  “Can you believe Caleb’s low-rent party favors?” I asked. “I liked the CD, but the rest of the stuff was so junky.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flicked toward me. “I thought they were okay.”

  “Temporary tattoos? Hello, third-grade swag.”

  She shrugged.

  As my mother had said to Angelica this morning, “No more grouching.” Could I not say one thing that Elizabeth would talk about? I’d had enough.

  “Okay,” I said, “what’s wrong? Did you not get enough sleep or something? You know we had that talk about going to bed on time.”

  “Marina.” She bit her lip. “You were really mean to us on Saturday.”

  “What? Omigod, like you didn’t say anything mean?”

  “You called me a goody-goody,” Elizabeth said. “That’s not, like . . . I don’t know. Nice,” she whispered, looking at her feet.

  Oh. Right. I had said that.

  Okay, then.

  “Look, Bird,” I said, “I was freaked out. I was surprised. I didn’t mean everything I said. You know that, right? So, I’m sorry. Okay?”

  She looked down, then shrugged. “I just . . . you know.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, thank you for apologizing, but . . .” She fiddled with the belt of her trench coat. “That video thing. That was, like, a big deal.”

  First of all, it was not a “thing.” And second: “My video has nothing to do with you.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  I squinted. “Why?”

  “Because of Rachel.”

  I rolled my eyes. Yes, let’s not forget about Rachel, who was so devastated on Saturday night that she didn’t stop her little hand-jive dance at the DJ station until he gave in and handed her a prize.

  “I’m sure she’s thrilled to invite everyone to her pity party,” I said, “but there’s more than one side to this story. Did anyone even say, ‘Wow, you went on Addie’s computer and looked around in her files?’ That’s, like, breaking and entering. I think you can get sued for that.”

  “Well . . .” Elizabeth opened the top button on her trench coat. “I still saw it, and I don’t know . . . you and Rachel are friends.”

  The bus pulled over by the flower shop on Lex.

  “Friends don’t sneak onto friends’ computers and watch videos that aren’t finished,” I told her. “I was going to tone it down before I showed it to people. It’s like—when Ms. Avery says you have to get all your ideas out in the first draft. That’s what you guys saw. A first draft.” Oh, so cool that I could compare Video to English, which Elizabeth loooved. Hot.

  “I know, but still.” Elizabeth tugged on her collar. “She saw it. She was really upset, and you didn’t exactly apologize. And, I mean, if you would do something like that about her, and plan to show it to the whole school, what are you saying about the rest of us?”

  “But I would never say anything about you.” Why was that not obvious? “It’s just Rachel. Do you not see how she’s become a total attention hog and fashion 911 case?” Not to mention the way she’d tried to steal Crystal, Natasha, and Julian. And also—“She’s not just rude to me. You were the one telling Addie to say something after Rachel uninvited her to the Hamptons. This is just a way to settle the score. For me and for Addie.”

  “ ‘Settle the score’? ” Elizabeth grimaced. “I’m sorry, Marina, but that’s kind of scary.”

  “It’s just an expression,” I said.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Wow.” My mouth tasted like Sour Patch Kids. “I can’t believe you’re on her side.”

  Elizabeth inched back to avoid a seeing-eye dog. “I’m not exactly on her side,” she said, her eyes following the dog, “But—look, Marina . . . I was going to say, when I first saw you . . . I think I just need a break.”

  The dog’s tail thunked against my leg. “A break from what?”

  “From . . . you.”

  I stared at her. “What? I make a video about Rachel, and you can’t be friends with me? What is that? She is so evil! I swear, Bird, you have to listen—”

  “Marina, I’m sorry, I’ve thought a lot about it, and I need more time to think. I’m not saying I’m on anybody’s side, and I’m not saying I like her and not you or anything like that. I just need a break.”

  “Omigod.” I shook my head. “You watch way too many Friends reruns. Just—”

  The door opened with a burst and a hiss, and I realized, Crud, we’re already at school. As I pushed our way to the front door, people gave us nasty looks, but it was too crowded to fight our way to the back.

  Once we were on the pavement, Elizabeth said, “I don’t think you should show that video. Not just because of Rachel. I heard about something like this at another school, and the person got into major trouble.”

  My head swirled with comebacks about the video, about how she was in it herself, about how wrong she was. “Look, you don’t—wait. Just let me explain—”

  Elizabeth looked down at the sidewalk. “I’ll see you later, Marina.”

  The bus roared away, blasting my leg with hot exhaust. I watched Elizabeth walk down the block, dodging the squeegees and their wheelie backpacks, her straight blond hair angling toward the ground.

  “Thanks for the advice, counselor!” I called.

  That was it. I was transferring to Marlowe faster than Rachel could choose another victim outfit. Maybe they even accepted you in the middle of the year.

  SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #12.0

  INTERIOR. MR. PHILLIPS’S CLASSROOM—DAY

  Mr. Phillips sits at his desk, reading. Sachi trudges in and hands him a sealed letter. He opens it and reads.
>
  MR. PHILLIPS

  You lied to your parents to get into this class? You’re pretty desperate, aren’t you?

  Sachi’s face contorts in pain.

  MR. PHILLIPS

  And I’ve heard something else about you today too. What was it? Oh yeah: Your older sister is a nerd, and your parents are way overprotective. Letting you into this class was obviously a big mistake. Let me write myself a note so I don’t let you in next year.

  “Second Avenue! Everybody off for Seeecond Avenue!”

  It was the crosstown bus driver who thinks he’s a radio announcer. Sometimes it cheered me up, but today it didn’t. I mumbled “Excuse me” to the orange-haired woman next to me and slogged off the bus, my parents’ letter burning a hole in my book bag.

  My father had handed it to me as I’d left for school. One more humiliation to end the worst weekend of my life. I walked down the block, my head swirling with all the events that had followed Marina’s departure.

  With every grain of rice I swept, every counter stain I scrubbed, nightmares flooded my head. Would my parents accept my apology? Could I possibly, possibly stay in Video? I hadn’t exactly gotten the answers I wanted from my interviews, and after tonight the thought of being Marina’s partner worked me into a speechless rage. I liked Mr. Phillips, though, and I liked what we were learning. I knew it was crazy, but I didn’t want to give it up.

  Finally, when the dishwasher ground to a stop, the surfaces gleamed with Soft Scrub, and the floor shone spotless, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I ran a rag around the rim of the sink and dried my hands on a dishcloth. The time had come.

  My parents sat at either end of the dinner table, sipping tea. They did not suggest I pour myself a cup.

  “Sachi.” My father’s cheeks hung heavily from his face. “We are very disappointed in you. Your mother gave up her legal practice back home so we could move here! You know how late I work at the store so we can stay in Manhattan. Do you think we do all this so you can make videos and lie to us?”

  A lump rose in my throat. I hated thinking about everything they had given up for me. I missed our relatives all the time. To know that they felt it too made me wish I had never even heard of video class.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t do it to be disrespectful. I just—wanted to—” Blinking back the tears made it hard for me to speak.

  “Will you explain to us, first, please,” said my mother, “why it was necessary to do exactly what we asked you not to do?”

  My gaze fell to the table. I had never noticed the waves in our wood, like the topographical maps we had studied in science. I wished I could ride them and sail away.

  “Sachi?”

  I couldn’t answer my mother’s question. Despite what I had thought in the kitchen, now my reason seemed unimportant. “I was wrong,” I managed to croak out. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am glad you are sorry,” said my father. “I only hope it is not too late to make up what you have missed. On Monday you will go to the test preparation class and ask if you can be included.”

  I nodded. “All right.”

  “You will have to work very hard to catch up,” my father intoned. “No computer, no phone calls. You must catch up on studying for the test.”

  “Okay.” I loved my twenty minutes of phone time each night, but I deserved to be punished. “I do know test prep is important. I’ve been studying on my own.”

  “That is not as good as being in the class,” my father warned. “You need to do what the teachers tell you. They are the ones who can help you learn the tricks.”

  “I know.” I looked up at last, glad to assure him of something. “But I won’t be too far behind. I’m using Priyanka’s books.”

  This time my father’s face showed surprise. “What?”

  “I—” Oh no. I hadn’t meant to . . . oh no.

  My mother gasped. “Priyanka lent you her books?”

  I couldn’t lie again. “Yes.”

  My mother held her hand to her chest. “So she knew you were lying to us?”

  “I . . .” Oh no. No! “Yes.”

  My father smacked his palm on the table and turned away from us, pressing his hand against his moustache.

  “Both of you.” My mother seemed to be in a daze. “Both of you were lying.”

  I bent my head.

  “Priyanka!” My father’s voice roared through the house.

  “Yes?”

  “Come in here, please.”

  I pressed so hard into Nani’s ring, my index finger burned.

  Priyanka entered, wary.

  “Priyanka,” my father instructed, “sit down.”

  She obeyed.

  “Sachi tells us she has not been in the Test Prep class. That she has been doing this video class instead and you knew.”

  Priyanka bowed her head. “Yes.”

  “So.” My father’s wide fingers stroked the glossy wooden table. “You knew and you didn’t tell us. You deliberately deceived us.”

  “It was Sachi’s idea.” Priyanka’s chair creaked. “I was helping her. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “But you lied to us!” my mother cried. “You both lied!”

  “What was I supposed to do,” said Priyanka shrilly, “tell on her? When Sachi doesn’t get her way, she makes my life miserable.”

  “What?” I broke in. “I make your life miserable?”

  “Don’t try to make me look bad!” Priyanka shot back. “See if I help you with Test Prep ever again. I hope you don’t get into Stuyvesant, so I don’t have to see your face for the next three years.”

  “Stop it!” my father thundered. “We did not raise you to talk to each other like that.”

  “She started it,” said Priyanka. “She’s the one who—”

  “Girls, that’s enough,” my mother said. “It’s late, and I don’t want your sister to hear you arguing like this. Sachi—sleep in Pallavi’s room for the night.”

  “What?” They didn’t think Priyanka and I could sleep in the same room? “I don’t need to—”

  “That is enough !” My mother’s nostrils were fully flared. “Go right now, and go to sleep. Priyanka, when you are done with your homework, you must go to sleep immediately. No Internet, no telephone.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Priyanka left the table, ducking her head. I glared at her. Even at a time like this, she had to be the perfect daughter.

  “And Sachi,” my father informed me, “we will write your teacher a letter removing you from this video class. Your mother and I will discuss your punishment further, but you must know now that we don’t want you to do anything like this ever again.”

  I ran to the bathroom and burst into tears. Most parents would be proud of a child who did well in school, who had hobbies. Why weren’t mine?

  “I don’t even want to wear a strapless dress or neglect my homework,” I whispered to my tear-streaked reflection. “I just want to skip Test Prep for one semester and see my friends on weekends.” I buried my face in a towel.

  There was a knock on the door. “Sachi?” my mother asked.

  “What?” The towel muffled my voice.

  “Come here.”

  I opened the door. I didn’t care if she saw me crying.

  “Beti,” she said. Daughter. My mother opened her arms and I fell into them—I couldn’t help it. “You know how we feel about your education,” she said, stroking my hair. “I understand that you want to do fun things, but education is not something to compromise on.”

  “I know,” I said into her shoulder.

  “I see you concentrating on your schoolwork,” she said, “just as I did. Would you want to work that hard and make a good life for yourself, just so your daughter could throw it away?”

  I raised my head. “Taking Video is not throwing my life away.” Video was a real subject, even if there was no test. Without it I’d have no way to show anyone that I had a thought in my head. I’d go back to being Nicest Girl,
whose friends thought they could walk all over her.

  “I know you see it this way,” my mother said, “but in a few years, even a few months, you will see that your father and I are right.”

  I had thought she had come to make me feel better, but I’d heard her say all that a million and one times. I knew what my parents wanted for me, and everything my parents had given up for me and Priyanka and Pallavi. Still, it wasn’t like we had asked them to do it. Were the schools really so much better in Manhattan than they were in Queens? And what if I would have been happier playing kick the can in front of Nani’s house, instead of stranded in our neighborhood with only homework and unpaid babysitting to keep me company—where none of my classmates lived and the nearest playground was ten blocks away? Suddenly I felt too overwhelmed to argue.

  “I’m tired,” I said, my voice sounding thin as a crack. “May I go to bed?”

  “Of course.” My mother kissed me and left.

  I slunk into Pallavi’s room, where my little sister was sprawled out asleep above her blankets, and cried in the child-size chair in the corner.

  “Mr. Phillips?” He was facing me but looking at the computer screen, a bagel in his hand. I wasn’t sure if he saw me or not.

  He stuck his head around the computer. “Sachi. Good.” He put the bagel on its tinfoil wrapper. “Did Ms. Avery send you?”

  My parents had called Ms. Avery? I couldn’t believe it! And what was the note—some kind of test to see if I’d obey them? “Ms. Avery wasn’t in homeroom today,” I told Mr. Phillips. “I haven’t even seen her.”

  “Hmm . . . hold on a second.” He picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Yeah, hi again, it’s Brian. I’ve got Sachi up here now.” He took a bite of his bagel and chewed as he listened. “Oh. Okay. Sure. Yes, and call you back. Will do.” He hung up.

  What?

  “So,” he said, “can you tell me about what you did on the Victim/Victorious video?”

  I had not been expecting that at all. “Um . . . I helped Marina film it. We were partners . . .?”

  His eyes, as dark as my own, were steady on mine. “Did you edit it with her outside school?”