My Own Worst Frenemy

by Kimberly Reid

  “Now you look here . . .” Smythe steps to Mildred, hand on hip and minus the accent. I see now she’s what Lana would call a BFH sister—Bourgie From the Hood. Everyone knows a BFH chick, maybe an aunt or a neighbor who tries to fool people into thinking they’re all high-society but could jack somebody up if necessary. Smythe remembers we’re all watching her, takes a step back, and suddenly sounds like Mary Poppins again. “If you must know, my husband smokes. Now, please get that thing out of here so we can conduct class.”

  I was hoping for a showdown, but I guess Mildred remembers Smythe is her boss and she leaves without another word. But if looks could kill, Smythe would be laid out.

  For the first two hours we listen to Smythe drone on about the history of the school, with a rundown of all the “luminaries” who have attended, including two U.S. senators, one governor, and the CEO of a major fast-food chain. There’s also a Miss Colorado in the group, but Smythe mentions this as an afterthought, like a lesson in what we should not aspire to. Her tone is more like, “We also have an alum who was a pole dancer.” I want to remind her that those pageant winners do good stuff like raise money for orphanages, but I’m only basing that on what I remember seeing on Entertainment Tonight, so I keep my mouth shut.

  I’m fighting off sleep and Marco is too—I catch him in a myoclonic jerk a couple of times—but Bethanie is really into it. I think Smythe could have read the school charter (again) and kept Bethanie’s attention. Clearly she isn’t here because her mother forced her to leave everything she knows to avoid Armageddon, also known as Aurora Ave. Then Smythe announces we have a special guest arriving any minute. I doubt it’s the former Miss Colorado, and I’m hoping it’s the fast-food CEO with show-and-tell because I could use a burger right about now. But no, in walks this girl wearing the same uniform I am, which means she’s just some student and won’t be passing out any burgers.

  “Students, I’d like to introduce you to Melissa Mitchell, our student body president.”

  “Everyone calls me Lissa.” She gives the whole room a wave like European princesses do in the movies.

  “Lissa took time away from her rigorous studies to spend an hour sharing with you the merits of a Langdon education from the perspective of one who has certainly made the most of her experience here.”

  From what I can see, Bethanie is instantly charmed. No doubt she’ll be interested in getting all she can from the Langdon experience. When I turn to see what Marco thinks of all this, to my horror, I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about an experience that has nothing to do with Langdon and everything to do with Lissa Mitchell. He stands up to shake her hand—what is with that anyway? Who under the age of thirty shakes hands when they’re introduced? Madame president nearly knocks me over to get to him.

  “I’m Marco.”

  “Nice to meet you Marco. Such a gentleman. That’s so refreshing.”

  To Bethanie and me, she barely manages a “Hey.” Her weave slaps me in the face when she turns away from us. It’s a nice weave, I have to admit. She must have the best stylist in town—no porch beauty shops for her—and the money to pay for real hair. Anyone else would think it was hers, and not just because she has the receipt to prove it. But that’s my thing, my superpower if you will. I notice everything. Lana says I’d make an excellent cop. Which would probably be true if not for my fear of guns, confrontation, or strenuous activity of any kind.

  “Oh, I just realized I didn’t have you sign off that you have read and understood the Langdon honor code. Please come up to my desk and sign, and then we can listen to all the lovely things Ms. Mitchell has to share with us.”

  Bethanie can’t wait to sign her life away to Langdon, Marco is busy flashing my smile to Lissa, and I’m at the back of the line working up the nerve to give her the evil eye that says, “He’s mine, and you’d be wise to back up.” Some women can do that. Lana could. MJ could. But they’re both scary, and scary won’t work for me. I could probably do crazy. Just as I get my crazy look going, Lissa looks down at the notes she’s about to bore us with. Smythe looks up at me then, and I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m crazy.

  “Is there anything wrong, Chantal?”

  “No, um . . . it’s just that I don’t have a pen.”

  “Well, that’s the first thing you’ll learn at Langdon Prep. Always be prepared. A student without a writing instrument may as well not be in school. Am I right?”

  I think she’d rather I not be in this school, specifically. I just ignore her question.

  “Here, you may use mine to sign the sheet. I suggest during the lunch break you go to the bookstore and purchase one.”

  I sign her stupid honor code and start walking back to my desk.

  “Excuse me, Miss Evans,” Smythe says.

  “Yes?”

  “My pen? I’d like that back.”

  I didn’t even realize I was still holding it. I hand it over to her. “Sorry about that.”

  “Careful with other people’s belongings. That’s not just any pen. It’s a Montblanc.” Then she puts her cheery face back on and adds, “But you probably didn’t know that. No harm done. Now Lissa, are you ready?”

  “I think so. That’s lovely, Headmistress Smythe.”

  “Isn’t it? Would you like to use it?”

  “Oh no, I have one. Three years at Langdon, you know. Always prepared.”

  I don’t know what makes me more ill—knowing I have to listen to madame president for the next hour, or Smythe being right. I wouldn’t know a Montblanc from a Paper Mate. And up until five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have cared.

  In the cafeteria, all eyes are on us. Everyone is checking out the scholarship kids. At least the food is good. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a choice of chicken picatta or pork tenderloin on the menu at North High. I’m already thinking about what I’ll choose from the dessert bar when I notice Lissa sitting a few tables away, staring harder than anyone else in the cafeteria. She’s sitting with two girls who might be clones of her. From the neck down, every girl in the place looks pretty much the same thanks to the uniform—Burberry-looking plaid skirt, white button-down shirt, and a crested tan blazer. But the girls in Lissa’s entourage are wearing the same hairstyle right down to the headband and the size of their waves. Same earrings, same color lip gloss. One clone is white, the other is deep brown, and somehow they manage to look just like Lissa, who is somewhere in the middle. Weird. Kind of like the way people start to look like their dogs after a while.

  They all have a look that says, Who let them in? They probably think I’m like every other girl they imagine from the hood. A roughneck. A hoodrat. And whatever other words they know from watching MTV because I know none of them have actually been to the hood. So I stare back at them, using the crazy look that had Smythe more than a little concerned.

  “I hate being the new girl,” Bethanie says. “It seems like I’m always the new girl.”

  “You change schools a lot?”

  “Enough to know what this feels like. The scrutiny, people trying to figure out where you belong.”

  I ask the cafeteria lady for extra potatoes, and she obliges. That never happened at my old school, where the cafeteria ladies fussed at me like we were related and told me to move my greedy behind down the line.

  “Sounds a lot like an Animal Planet documentary on pack order,” I say.

  “That’s exactly what it’s like, which is why we have to stick together.”

  Marco has already picked a table for us, and I hope I don’t look too eager as I make my way over to him.

  “Lissa’s over there staring at us. I think she wants us to come join them.” Apparently Bethanie is reading them a whole different way.

  “I’m not getting that at all,” I say. “Besides, I thought we were supposed to stick together.”

  “We are, but it doesn’t hurt to get in good with the alpha dogs. Marco, don’t you want to go over there?”

  “I’m fine where I am. They’re just like all
the other people staring at us. They don’t want us here.”

  I think Marco is reading the situation wrong, too. I don’t know what the boys are thinking, but I’m pretty sure all the girls are staring at him out of lust. Which makes me dislike all of them because even if I’m the only one who knows it, Marco is my fantasy guy. Already claimed. Already more real than any of my previous lust objects by virtue of that handshake. Even though he seems to do that with just any ol’ body.

  I decide to buy dessert, which is off the menu plan, which means I have to pay for it myself. That’s when I realize my wallet is missing from my bag. There are only three dollars and a bus pass in it, but still.

  “Hey guys, I’ll be back in a second. Don’t let anyone take my tray—I’m still working on that.”

  “I know it’s like restaurant food, but I think you still have to empty your own tray,” Marco says. “But I’ll guard it with my life.”

  God, he must think I’m some kind of glutton. At first I think he’s serious, but then he smiles and I just about lose the ability to stand. And talk.

  “No, it’s just that . . . wait, what was I about to do? Oh, right . . . I think I left my wallet in the classroom. At least I hope so. I left it somewhere. . . . I’ll be right back.”

  I get out of there as fast as I can before I make matters worse. What is my problem? I’ve won debate-team awards, can talk my way out of anything, but bring a cute boy into the picture and I turn into an idiot every time. When I get to the classroom, Smythe is just leaving.

  “You still have twenty minutes before the end-of-lunch bell. I’m about to go get something myself,” she says.

  “I think I left my wallet in here.”

  She leaves the room, but not before she warns me to be back from lunch promptly. Everything is right where we all left it, including my wallet on the floor under my desk. I guess it fell out of my bag. Again. I grab it and walk back to the cafeteria thinking of something clever to say to Marco so I can redeem myself. I’m looking through my wallet to make sure my three dollars are still in there and not looking where I’m going, and I run into a girl in the hall. I mumble my apologies, but don’t waste time returning to the cafeteria. I don’t want Marco to finish his lunch and leave before I get back.

  When I return, they’re both still at the table. I’d half expected Bethanie to defect, but when I look over at Lissa’s table, I don’t see her or her clones.

  “Where are your friends?”

  “They left right before you came back in,” Bethanie reports, sounding disappointed. “Maybe I can catch up with them. I’ll see you later.”

  Part of my notice-everything superpower is that I’m usually a good judge of people, but I can’t get a good read on Bethanie. I’m guessing she’s more like me than Lissa since she’s here on scholarship, and yet I think she’d commit a crime to become the third clone.

  “I have to run too. I need to see the coach so I can get on the tryout roster,” Marco says. “I’ll see you back in the immersion class, okay?”

  Was it something I said? I try to make myself feel better about being deserted with a nice banana split, which I start eating the minute I give the cashier my money. Chocolate ice cream’s medicinal properties can’t fix everything, however. Before I can get back to the table, Smythe is on my tail. She can’t even give me a break at lunch.

  “Miss Evans, do you have my Montblanc? I just returned to the classroom and it isn’t on the desk where I left it.”

  “I gave it back to you.”

  “No, I mean just now. While you were there looking for your wallet. Maybe you had a reason to borrow it again.”

  “I told you—I don’t have it,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and not reveal that I’m a little freaked out by what she’s suggesting.

  “Well, I don’t see how it could just disappear.” She gives me a look that says she knows I took it and walks off.

  What a way to start a new school, having the principal accuse me of being a thief. Thanks, Lana. This is sooo much better than North High.

  Chapter 4

  At the end of school, I’m sitting on the steps at Langdon’s main entrance waiting for a ride from Lana. The campus is mostly deserted. The last of the moms who don’t have to work pulled around the circular drive half an hour ago. The last teacher just gunned it out of the teacher’s lot, taking the turn so fast I was afraid the little orange car would flip over. That teacher must really be looking forward to getting home and making work assignments.

  When my phone rings and I see Lana’s number appear, I know I’ll probably be waiting a little while longer.

  “How did the first day go?” she asks.

  “It was hell.”

  “Is it possible you’re exaggerating? You always blow things out of proportion.”

  “I suppose it’s possible, but I don’t think so.”

  “Just give it some time. Look, my stakeout is running longer than I expected. This perp just won’t come out of the massage parlor. You can wait a couple of hours until I’m relieved or you can take the bus.”

  “Well, I can’t lug all these books on the bus so I guess I’ll have to wait. Can’t you just go in there and bust them already ?”

  “Two hours, Chanti,” she says, and hangs up.

  I’m trying to decide whether to wait for Lana or put all the books in my locker and not do my first homework assignments when Bethanie appears.

  “You’re still here?”

  “My mom’s late picking me up.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Aurora Avenue, off Center Street.”

  “Where is that?” Bethanie says, sounding like she expects it to be on Saturn.

  “On the East Side, in Denver Heights.”

  “That isn’t too bad. I was afraid you’d say somewhere in West Hell. I don’t do outback. Text your mom you have a ride.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not sure I mean it. I think I detected an insult. And who is she to talk? I can’t imagine she lives near Langdon, either. I’m not sure why she’s offering me the ride, but I know I don’t want to carry all these books on the bus. Maybe she’s trying to bond, part of that whole sticking-together thing she suggested we do.

  “Where are your books?” I ask.

  “I already put them in my car. I left something in my locker and had to come back. Which reminds me.” She takes a card out of her backpack and hands it to me, along with a pen that looks really familiar. “I bought a card at the bookstore. I thought we could sign it and give it to Headmistress Smythe. Sort of a thank-you for her warm welcome to Langdon. I’ll get Marco to sign tomorrow before school.”

  I don’t take them from her. For all I know, it could be some elaborate ruse to get my fingerprints on her stolen merchandise.

  “What? It’s too much, right? I thought it was the proper thing to do, but I don’t want to come off as a suck-up.”

  “That pen looks just like the one Smythe had today.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice.”

  How could she not notice when she was clinging to Lissa’s every word, which included a compliment about that pen. I don’t like associating with people I suspect are thieves, especially when someone else thinks I committed the theft, but I also don’t want to wait two hours for Lana, so I gather up all my books and head for the student parking lot. But Bethanie starts walking down the long driveway toward the main entrance.

  “Not the student lot?”

  “I prefer to park on the street.”

  And not just on the street. Down the hill, around the corner, and into a subdivision. I’m thinking maybe her car is imaginary.

  “Here we are,” Bethanie announces.

  I still don’t know where the car is because I’m looking around for a hooptie, which is what I’d be driving if I had a car, given I’m broke and needed a scholarship to get into Langdon. But Bethanie opens the trunk of a BMW, and not some ancient BMW that a relative had been kind enough to donate, but a current-year model
.

  Okaaay. If it were me, I’d feel compelled to explain why I was driving a brand-new, fifty-thousand-dollar car. Especially when I’m at Langdon on a scholarship for the economically disadvantaged. But all Bethanie says is, “You mind a quick stop first? I could use an iced chai.”

  Before she puts the key in the ignition, she checks herself out in the visor mirror.

  “A little lip gloss first. Never know who you might meet.”

  I can’t stand it anymore, and I don’t even care if I’m being rude. “So what’s with the car? Did you borrow this from your rich uncle or something?”

  She doesn’t answer, just smiles at me and puts on the largest pair of sunglasses I’ve ever seen, like she’s an Olsen twin trying to hide out from the paparazzi.

  The coffeehouse is on the same block as my bus stop so we’re there in just a couple of minutes, which makes me wonder why she’d get all glamorous for such a short trip—until we walk into the coffeehouse and there’s Lissa. So Bethanie knew exactly who she was going to run into. That’s why she offered me the ride. With me along, it could look like she just casually ran into her. Or it could all just be a coincidence.

  “Lissa, wow, that’s so funny running into you here,” Bethanie says the minute we walk in the door and see Lissa sitting alone at a window table. A coincidence not so much.

  Lissa looks up from her texting for a millisecond. “Hey.”

  Bethanie stands there waiting for an invitation that isn’t coming.

  “What about that chai?” I ask. She finally takes the hint, and looks crushed until Lissa comes up to the counter.

  “Did you guys drive here?” Lissa asks, flipping her hair behind her back. She can’t seem to keep her hands away from her head. I guess if I paid as much for my hair as she did, I’d be obsessed with it, too. “A friend dropped me off and my idiot brother was supposed to drive me home, but I think he’s forgotten about me.”

  “He drives the Escalade, right?” Bethanie asks.

  “We both do. My father thinks sharing the car will teach us the value of money and hard work. It’s lame.”