Messy

by Cocks, Heather

  Luckily, Brooke kept talking. “And for someone who claims to like Brady so much, I’m confused by why you don’t believe that I could like him for real, too.”

  “Because, Brooke, you are the one who told me it was just for kicks. For PR. You told me it was nothing,” Max pointed out. “And you told me you wouldn’t hook up with him. But I guess that was all just a big lie to get me to go along with your insane little plan to snag him.”

  “I didn’t lie. I said that I wouldn’t lead him on, and I didn’t,” Brooke insisted. “I like him. He’s awesome. He looks at me like he expects good things to happen when I talk. And obviously I’m used to that at school, but sometimes I think they’re not really listening to what I’m saying—they just want to be around me when I say it, because I’m so charismatic.”

  “Right,” Max said, infusing her voice with as much disbelief as she could.

  “And since you’re trying to call me a liar, I’d love to know how Jake would feel about this whole Brady thing,” Brooke continued, curling her lip. “I think Brady and I saw you kissing someone that night, too.”

  So they did see. He saw.

  “Jake and I are not meant to be,” Max said. “I mean, we didn’t even leave together. He kissed me, and then he disappeared and spent half the night arguing with Jennifer.”

  “So you decided to torpedo my relationship, too?” Brooke said, knocking her purse off the ledge and inadvertently dumping its contents on the floor. A lip gloss rolled under one of the stall doors. “I can’t help it that Brady likes me.”

  “Does he, though?” Max said. “Are you sure about that?”

  Brooke touched her lips smugly. “Felt pretty definite to me.”

  “Really? Interesting. Because it seems to me all he can talk about is how cool your blog is, and how smart your writing is,” Max said as Brooke visibly squirmed. “And we all know which one of us is responsible for that.”

  “Don’t get pissed at me because people believed it,” Brooke said. She angrily got down on her hands and knees and dug the gloss out from behind the toilet, wincing as if she’d just been asked to exfoliate with a porcupine. “And don’t blame me for the fact that a great guy likes me. And definitely don’t blame me for the fact that you’re too much of a coward to stand up for what you want and live your own life instead of hiding in the shadows of somebody else’s.”

  Max felt her spine crumple a little. “I knew I never should’ve gotten mixed up with someone like you,” she whispered.

  Brooke grabbed her purse and started throwing everything back into it. “I didn’t realize this was such a miserable assignment,” she said. “I thought you were actually having fun. I thought we were becoming friends, Max, I really did.”

  “Yeah, because it was so much fun letting you order me around just so I could write something that you took all the credit for,” Max said. “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. But I let you do it.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I let you. I know better.”

  Brooke picked up a crumpled envelope from the floor and thrust it at Max. “Well, if it’s so horrible to be in the presence of such a grotesque human being, then why don’t you just take your paycheck and quit,” she said. “You can go back to being a bitter nobody, and we’ll just see how much I need you.”

  Max took the envelope and rubbed it between her fingers. Her bank account was finally within spitting distance of the money she needed for NYU. She might be able to figure out the rest another way. Babysitting, maybe. Maybe she could even pick up a couple of shifts at Fu’d. Not too long ago that had seemed like the worst-case scenario, but after today, it looked like a party. Fu’d may have smelled awful, but at least it didn’t hurt.

  “Okay,” Max said. “I quit.”

  She pocketed the check and quietly marched out of the bathroom. At the same moment, Carla Callahan burst out of the Playhaus.

  “Max?” Carla called out. “Is Brooke coming back?”

  “I don’t care,” Max said. “I’m done here.” She stopped and gave Carla a sly look. “But for the record, someday maybe you’ll make a wonderful Nancy.”

  Carla obviously remembered their earlier conversation, because a gleam of greedy understanding flashed in her eyes.

  Have fun with that one, Brooke, Max thought savagely, turning on her heel and heading for her car.

  OPENBRKE.COM

  APRIL 25

  My on-set tutors keep giving me tons of homework. On top of the homework I’m doing for my high school. Is that allowed? Aren’t they just supposed to check my work? Or do it for me? Don’t they know I’m getting up at the crack of dawn every day? What is the deal with that? I might call the union.

  And why is it so cold on set all the time? I guess it’s because the lights are hot. But I’m freezing when they’re not on. This can’t be good for my immune system. Power Bar needs to make an echinacea flavor. Why don’t they? Maybe I’ll buy a cardigan. Cardigans are so hot right now. Mr. Rogers was the man.

  Yesterday I had makeup on my legs that made them look like I had hives. I tried to take a picture and upload it but it wasn’t working. I looked gross. Movie makeup is really crazy!

  Love,

  B.

  OPENBRKE.COM

  APRIL 27

  Nancy has to wear leggings today. It’s not my fault. I guess they think she sleuths better this way. Like anyone can be stealth with a panty line. But I don’t get to decide, even though it’s my panty line. Suddenly the word panty reads really weird to me. Panty. Panty. Panty. If you type it over and over it stops making sense. Panty. It looks like party, or pantry, but it’s not. Panty. I hate it. I mean, I don’t hate wearing them, I just hate typing panty. Why am I still doing it?

  Also, nobody ever talks about how hard it is to memorize all these lines. I have a two-page speech that I have to learn by tomorrow, but I also have all this math homework to do. I can’t remember words if all I’m thinking about is what X is. Can’t some mysteries stay mysteries? Nancy Drew can’t solve everything. It’s true.

  Love,

  B.

  OPENBRKE.COM

  APRIL 30

  What no one tells you: Leggings chafe. Also, I’m really into sauces right now. Try it.

  B.

  twenty-one

  “YO, FOZZIE BEAR,” Chaz Kelly shouted across the cafeteria.

  Max groaned inwardly. She wasn’t sure what was worse: years of being called Kermit, or Chaz deciding her new dye job merited a new matching Muppet nickname. Technically, it was her own fault for wearing a polka-dot bandanna over her brown locks because she hadn’t fallen asleep until 4 AM, then snored straight through her alarm and woke up with no time to wash her hair. Actually, it was even more her fault for not just dying it green again, but at first she’d been too preoccupied to think about her hair, and then she’d started to enjoy the change. After the first day of people staring at her, or in Mavis Moore’s case asking if she was a new student, everybody seemed to have forgotten she existed. In her current mood, this was just fine by her.

  “Dude, Foz, bring me a Coke,” Chaz yelled. “For old times’ sake. It’s the least you can do for stomping on my buddy’s heart like that.”

  A few heads turned. Max blew out air through her nose. It was hot, like she was blowing actual smoke instead of just imaginary plumes. She caught herself reaching for meatballs, then backtracked and grabbed a dish of mac and cheese (at CRAPS, this was made with whole-wheat macaroni, gorgonzola, and cruelty-free cream, whatever that meant). She headed in the direction of her usual table across the lawn—which of course meant passing straight through Chaz’s lug-headed orbit.

  “I liked you better when you were Kermit, bro,” Chaz huffed as she stalked past him. “Somehow your new hair makes you meaner.”

  Max paused. With a beatific smile, she said, “Well, your new hair makes you look way smarter.”

  Chaz frowned. “I didn’t change my hair.”

  “Ah. I spoke too soon.” Max casually up
ended her mac and cheese bowl onto Chaz’s stringy brown hair. “Much better.”

  As Chaz yelped and scraped pasta and béchamel off his head, Max stormed toward Molly and dropped her tray on the table with a bang.

  “I hate everyone,” she announced.

  Molly cracked open her Diet Coke can and made a sympathetic face. “I would, too, if my lunch was a tray full of nothing. Guess you picked up a few more tips from Brooke than I thought.”

  “I picked up nothing from Brooke except frown lines,” Max said. She sank her chin into her palm. “And apparently also a fear of frown lines.”

  “I thought quitting was supposed to make you feel better.”

  “It did,” Max insisted. “It’s like someone tried to drown me in the shallow end and then let me go right before I died. I feel great. I feel rejuvenated. I feel fan-freaking-tastic. Can’t you tell? I’m annoyed all the time and I want to stab myself in the face with a fork. Back to my old self.”

  Molly laughed, then gazed thoughtfully at Max. “And I’m sure your return to gloomy form has nothing to do with Jake tweeting something about abandonment issues and then—what was it?—‘a good woman made me a broken man.’ ”

  “No!” Max all but shouted. Then she flushed. Way to sound defensive, moron. “Maybe a little,” she said. “Chaz Kelly just basically called me a life-ruiner, and someone put a note in my locker calling me a ‘dog-faced mold bucket.’ ”

  Molly winced. “Yikes,” she said. “That has to suck.”

  Max tapped her finger against the table. Honestly, it surprised her that she didn’t feel worse. She was embarrassed, and a little uncomfortable—like she had accidentally seen someone naked—and, judging by Macaronigate, perhaps a little testy. But she wasn’t upset.

  “It’s my own fault,” she said, reaching over to snatch one of Molly’s french fries. “I deserve it. I totally ditched Jake on Saturday. I should not be allowed in polite society, because obviously I don’t know how to function in it.”

  “You two really should talk,” Molly said, watching Jake cross the cafeteria and shoot them a mournful look.

  Max stole another fry and laid her head down on the wooden tabletop. “He tried,” she muttered. “He called. But I’ve had… other stuff going on. And I’m using my patented avoidance-and-denial strategy, which has been very effective.”

  She grabbed one of the toothpicks in Molly’s club sandwich, one with a crinkly blue toupee, and started stabbing fries with it one by one. “What am I supposed to say, anyway?” she added through a mouthful of potato. “I can’t be all, ‘Hey, whoops, sorry I ran off and never came back, but when you kissed me in public I almost punched a hole in the floor just so I could crawl through it, and so it turns out I might not like you!’ ”

  “Would it make you feel better to hear that I saw Jake and Jen sniffing around each other again?” Molly asked. “They were whispering by the lockers.”

  “Any canoodling?”

  “I’d say maybe a half canoodle.”

  Max frowned. “In a way, that makes it worse,” she said. “It’s like I drove him back to that hosebeast. But can you imagine if he tried to make out with me at the lockers? I might’ve accidentally had to break his face. It would’ve been like those stories where a kid gets pinned under a tire and the mother finds the superstrength to lift the car.”

  “Well, I’m sure the rest of the school would have enjoyed that.” Molly plucked the toothpicks out of her sandwich. “But you can’t avoid him for the rest of your life.”

  “I don’t have to,” Max said. “I only have to avoid him until we graduate next spring. Don’t underestimate my skills.”

  “Very healthy. I’ve noticed you’re practicing your craft with Brooke, too.”

  Max pierced a fry with especial zeal. “I don’t want to talk about Brooke.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to have to overrule you on that one,” Molly said, picking a slice of tomato off her sandwich. “What went down between the two of you? Brooke won’t tell me why she’s writing the blog herself now.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘writing.’ ”

  Molly just raised a brow.

  “Sorry,” Max mumbled. “We just… weren’t working very well together.”

  Max could tell Molly was unsatisfied with this answer. But Max wasn’t ready to say anything else. She’d always championed taking the high road, because of how gratifying it was to know you’d won the moral war, and how delicious said satisfactory smugness could taste. (Almost as good as bacon. Delicious, forbidden bacon.) And yet there she’d sat at her computer that night, digitally stabbing Brooke in the back—over a boy, no less; it was so irritatingly Gossip Girl—and then getting huffy when Brooke called her on it. That weakness of character nibbled at her, to the point that Max hadn’t cashed her last check. She didn’t think she’d done much to earn it this time.

  “I’m sure Brooke will tell you everything,” she told Molly. “And her version will be way more entertaining. If she tells you I came at her with a machete, though, please know it’s not true. It was just a butter knife.”

  “Actually, Brooke isn’t saying much to anyone these days,” Molly said. “I don’t think she’s sleeping very well. She just told me you were having artistic differences. I figured it must have had something to do with that crazy piece you wrote the other day.” Molly set down her sandwich. “What was that, Max?”

  In that instant, Max remembered that Brooke Berlin wasn’t just some expendable teen actress. She was also Molly’s sister. Great. Now I’ve alienated my best friend on top of everything else.

  “I don’t know what happened. I guess… I kind of lost it.” Max flinched. “You think I’m an asshole, don’t you?”

  Molly just raised an eyebrow. “I definitely don’t think you’re an asshole,” she said. “But beyond that I don’t really know what to think. Neither one of you will tell me what actually happened. I have a lot of theories, though, and all of them involve Brady Swift.”

  Max covered her eyes with her hands. She was saved from having to answer when Teddy slammed his own cafeteria tray on the table and sat down with a thump.

  “I hate everyone,” he announced.

  “Not you, too,” Molly groaned.

  “We lost the contest,” he said. “Bone just got the call from MTV.”

  Max uncovered her face. Teddy looked seriously bummed. “I’m sorry, Teddy.”

  “Me, too,” Molly said, reaching out to thread her fingers through his.

  Teddy shrugged. “I’m not really surprised. Everyone hated my song.”

  “Not me,” Molly said loyally. There was a pause.

  “Ow!” Max winced, grabbing at her ankle where Molly had kicked it. “I mean, I liked it, too.” Teddy gave her a glare that said, Sure, real convincing.

  “I did!” Max protested. “I was just”—at that moment, she spied Jake and Jennifer walking across the quad, deep in conversation—“distracted,” she finished lamely. “I am sorry, Ted. That bites.”

  “It’s okay. The Internet doesn’t lie. I was a flop,” Teddy said. “I can live with that, but I feel bad for Bone and the guys. I demanded to perform my song, and that’s why we ended up losing. Apparently, MTV is not interested in being in business with an emo angst bag.”

  “You are not an emo angst bag,” Molly said.

  “At most you are a very small sachet of torment,” Max contributed.

  “Clever. You should start a blog,” Teddy said pointedly.

  “Touché,” she admitted. “But come on—you’ve never demanded anything in your life. Except that Christmas that I tried to steal your Transformers and you ordered me to lock myself in the closet.”

  “And look how well that turned out. You should still be in there.”

  “I’m just saying, don’t beat yourself up.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Molly said, swigging her Diet Coke.

  “And you are both biased,” Teddy responded. “The song was totally wrong for the
venue. I don’t know what I was thinking. Basically, I torpedoed this for the rest of the band, all because I was totally hung up on thinking people were watching Brick Berlin’s Daughter’s Boyfriend instead of all of us as a group. I feel like such a loser.”

  Molly sighed. “No, you just got sucked into the Berlin family celebrity drama. Sometimes it’s exciting, but once people start mentioning your name in the same breath as Brick’s, or even Brooke’s, it’s easy to lose perspective. Even if you don’t think that kind of thing has any effect on you.” She squeezed his hand. “Trust me, I should know. The other day I spent ten minutes picking out my shoes because I didn’t want to get it wrong. You know, just in case.”

  “Been there,” Max agreed. “Besides, you were just trying to stand out. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to get some attention for your own work instead of always doing what somebody else wants you to do. I mean, God, she’s not the boss of your whole life.”

  Oops. Both Molly and Teddy shot her very knowing looks.

  “Sounds like this hits a little close to home,” Teddy said.

  “I’m just saying that you’re allowed to get sick of being a cog in someone else’s machine. That’s all,” Max replied airily.

  “Okay, but I didn’t even care about winning the contest in the first place,” Teddy said. “Why didn’t I just play along? No pun intended.”

  “But it’s not like you just sprung this song on them as a surprise,” Molly pointed out. “They signed off on you playing it for the contest, right?”

  “Yeah,” Teddy admitted. “Bone said he liked it.”

  “So there you go,” Max said. “You made the decision as a group and it didn’t pay off. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

  Unlike me. I totally earned my guilty feelings.

  “Have you talked to the rest of the band?” Molly asked.

  “No,” Teddy said, picking at his spaghetti.