I'm Not Your Manic Pixie Dream Girl

by Gretchen McNeil

  “He’s going to be here with Cassilyn,” Gabe reminded me.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  What was with the inquisition? “Spencer can date anyone he wants. I don’t care.”

  “If you say so,” he mumbled.

  We climbed the stairs from the parking lot in subdued silence. Gabe, though utterly dapper in a powder-blue blazer with a contrasting plaid lapel and pockets, looked on edge. I felt dumpy in comparison. My war against Toile over, I’d ditched my Trixie-ness and donned the same old black strapless A-line I wore for most special occasions. It was my favorite dress, or at least it had been. But as I’d gotten dressed that night, I couldn’t help but notice how drab it was. Boring. My thoughts kept returning to the petunia-print swing dress I’d bought during my shopping spree. Maybe Trixie had worn off on me in more ways than I’d realized.

  Gabe fidgeted incessantly as we waited in line, like a child hopped up on sugar, and he kept double-checking his coiffed pompadour in every reflective surface we passed. Mrs. McKee checked our IDs at the door, and then we headed through the main hallway, back around to the gym. I always loved walking through campus during school dances. Most of the halls were closed to prevent students from slinking off to get busy in the home ec room, and though that thought had never crossed my mind, I enjoyed the dim lighting, the absence of slamming lockers and squeaking sneakers, the all-around calmness in a place that, during regular business hours, was bustling with life.

  That relative calm was broken as we approached the gym. I could already hear the thumping of the bass from the DJ’s subwoofers. Groups of freshmen loitered in the gym lobby, clustered together for support and safety as they experienced their first high school dance. I envied them in a way. They hadn’t made any mistakes yet, and still had their whole high school careers in front of them, where they could make and remake themselves into whoever and whatever they wanted. Even if they never found a formula to help them transform, they’d meet new people and forge friendships that would help them navigate the treacherous waters of high school.

  I thought of Spencer and Gabe and me at our first dance freshman year. We’d sat together in the bleachers the whole time, laughing, joking, and despite our total social isolation from the rest of the school, we’d had a great time. We’d come so far since then: Gabe was popular, Spencer was dating Cassilyn, and I was ASB president. And yet, somehow, I still felt like the awkward freshman who’d hidden in the bleachers that night, and I kind of wished I was her again.

  “Hellooooooo!” a voiced cooed, interrupting my thoughts. I turned, and saw Kurt crossing the lobby toward us. At least, I thought it was Kurt. Instead of his usual baggy jeans, oversize T-shirt, and flannel tied around his waist, he was wearing cropped pants in a pastel madras check, paired with a scoop-neck three-quarter-sleeve shirt and leather boat shoes. His usually shaggy hair, which just that day had dangled in front of his eyes, had been styled off to the side, and his patchy two-day beard scruff had vanished, exposing baby-smooth cheeks.

  Had Kurt been using the Formula too?

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Gabe’s voice was flat.

  Kurt’s face fell. “I thought you’d like it. That I’d fit in more with your new friends.”

  “You look ridiculous,” Gabe said.

  “Oh, so it’s okay for you to make yourself over into someone cooler, but it’s not okay for me?”

  “This isn’t you at all.”

  “Which you’d know all about.” Kurt planted one hand on his hip and laid the other gracefully on his chest, mimicking Gabe’s favorite pose. “Zoopa!”

  “I did this for a reason, and you know it.”

  “Please,” Kurt said. “You tell yourself that, but you know as well as I do that you love being popular Gabe, always in the spotlight, who dresses like a twelve-year-old girl and acts like a bitchy queen.”

  “You’re a real asshole,” Gabe said. Then he stormed off into the gym.

  “Hey!” Kurt shouted, chasing him. “Don’t walk away from me.”

  I followed them inside, realizing what Kurt was trying to do. I had told him to roll with it, after all. Maybe if I just explained that to Gabe, he’d understand.

  The gym was black with the exception of the swirling DJ lights mounted over his table, which flashed red and green and blue across the dance floor as they rotated in time to the music. I scanned the perimeter, searching for Gabe and Kurt, but everyone looked the same in the near darkness—grayscale bodies in silhouette, occasionally illuminated by the swirling lights. The movement was disorienting and the thumping bass from the speakers was giving me a headache. One song bled into two, then three as I wove my way around the gym. I was sweaty and tired and ready to strangle the DJ when finally he took a rest to make an announcement welcoming everyone to the dance.

  The instant the music fell silent, a voice rose from the back of the gym.

  “We’re here, bitches!” Esmeralda strutted onto the dance floor, hanging on Thad’s arm. “Now the party can start.” She’d clearly been waiting for the opportunity to make a grand entrance, and it felt almost as if she’d scripted it with the DJ, who started the music again the instant she reached the dance floor. All eyes were on them. Esmeralda’s purple body-con dress barely covered her butt, and when paired with sky-high platform pumps, she looked like she was at least 70 percent legs. Thad’s face glistened with a layer of perspiration even though they’d just arrived, and his eyes looked glassy. As they passed, I caught a whiff of stale beer.

  Milo followed, flanked by Dakota and Noel, each still claiming half of him. The stepsisters talked from opposite sides, not paying attention to what the other was saying.

  “And the salesgirl told me they didn’t have it in that col . . . ,” Dakota shouted over the music.

  Then Noel’s turn. “I always get the gluten freh . . .”

  “But I made her check anyway because she was such a . . .”

  “Because gluten makes me puff . . .”

  Milo stared straight ahead, smiling, and began to dance. His dark skin was tinged with pink, and like Thad’s, his eyes looked blissfully blank. Since he was dating Dakota and Noel at the same time, I kind of didn’t blame him for wanting to get drunk.

  Cassilyn and Spencer came last, and I could have sworn the entire dance floor parted to let them through. Even with the rising beat of the music, I could sense that everyone’s attention was focused on my friend and his date, as if the royal couple had just arrived. Cassilyn noticed it too. She leaned into Spencer, clutching his arm possessively, and flashed a gleaming smile at her devoted subjects. She wore a gold sequined dress and matching heels, and her hair was perfectly styled, billows of heavy curls shimmering in the DJ’s light display. She looked like a living, breathing disco ball.

  I would have expected Spencer to look stiff and uncomfortable with all the attention, but he seemed pretty relaxed. He wore a tuxedo jacket but paired it with black jeans and boots, giving him an I don’t need to try too hard attitude that instantly made him the coolest person in the room. And as I watched his regal entrance, I realized with a sinking feeling that, in so many ways, Spencer belonged with this group. He was no longer a dorky outcast, sitting in a small booth tucked away into the corner of the cafeteria with his only two friends. He was one of them now.

  He didn’t look at me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to, but I searched his face as they passed me, looking for signs that he too had been drinking. It was hard to imagine him knocking back a six-pack with Thad and Milo and the jocktocracy, the same guys who were planning to kick his ass after the dance.

  Ugh. That.

  Cassilyn tapped Spencer on the arm and stood on her tiptoes to say something directly into his ear. After a few seconds, he nodded, and Cassilyn flitted off to the lobby. She must have been going to the ladies’ room.

  Spencer wouldn’t listen to me. But maybe she would?

  FORTY

  I RUSHED INTO the lobby
in time to spot Cassilyn’s sparkling disco ball dress disappear into the girls’ restroom. If anyone could prevent him from going to that park after the dance, it was her.

  The restroom was empty, except for Cassilyn, who stood in front of the mirror, carefully unscrewing the lid of a travel-size hairspray bottle. She put it to her lips and threw her head back, swallowing the contents.

  “Oh my God!” I cried, grabbing her arm. “What are you doing?”

  She gulped then giggled. “It’s vodka.” She held the bottle toward me. “Want some?”

  I had to admit, it was a brilliant strategy for sneaking booze into a school dance. Brilliant and kind of sad. “No, thanks.”

  Cassilyn shrugged, then tilted her head back again and finished off the last drops.

  “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  She shrugged by way of an answer, then pulled a compact out of her purse and began touching up her makeup.

  “I overheard Milo and Thad talking after school the other day and—”

  She sighed dramatically. “And they hate Spencer and want to kick his ass?”

  I blinked. “Um. Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Not exactly a secret that they both want to tap me.” She smoothed some cover-up beneath her lower lip. “And they’ve pretty much told anyone who’ll listen that they’re going to teach Spencer a lesson.”

  She was so cavalier about the whole thing, I was taken aback. “They’re planning to jump him tonight after the dance at Bastanchury Park.”

  “Ah.” She clicked her compact shut and dropped it into her purse. “Good to know.” She turned to me with a huge smile. “Thanks, Trixie. I appreciate that you’re looking out for Spence. You’ve been a really good friend to him, but I’ll be taking over from here. We’re going to cut out early anyway and Uber back to his studio, so we should be fine. Thanks!”

  I lingered in the restroom, pretending that I needed to readjust my strapless bra. In reality, I didn’t want to see Cassilyn and Spencer.

  Despite her friendly display, there was a clear message in her words: Spencer was her conquest. And I was pretty sure she was planning to plant her flag on him tonight after the dance.

  I mean, not that I cared. Wasn’t that really just the ultimate validation of the Formula? I should have been ecstatic that my best friend was dating the most popular girl in school.

  Instead I sort of felt like barfing.

  One thing was for sure, I was ready to get the hell out of there. Maybe Gabe wanted to bail too? I just needed to find him.

  Easier said than done. As I reentered the gym, Gabe was still nowhere in sight.

  The first dance of the year was a big deal at Fullerton Hills. Everyone was there: cool kids, dorky kids, new kids, old kids. Most continued to cling together in packs, rimming the fringes of the dance floor or sprawled out across the bleachers like Spencer, Gabe, and I had been all those years ago. Everyone’s attention was centered on the writhing mass of dancers who congregated in a large circle around the DJ. He spun an upbeat pop tune that everyone seemed to know the lyrics to, especially the girls, several dozen of whom were screeching along at the top of their lungs with such ferocity I could easily hear them over the amplified sound. I noticed with some satisfaction that Cassilyn was one of the screechers, along with Esmeralda, Dakota, and Noel, but that Spencer hadn’t joined in. I caught sight of him standing by the bleachers, arms folded across his chest. But he wasn’t bored, checking his phone like the dozens of others standing apart from the action; Spencer’s attention was very much focused on the dance floor. On Cassilyn.

  Fine, whatever. If that’s the kind of girlfriend he wanted, far be it from me to get in his way and tell him that he could do significantly better. I peeled my eyes away and searched the rest of the crowd. It was weird. No Gabe. No Kurt. And, I realized with a start, no Toile and Jesse. Had my little stunt with the Sybille photos banished her from the first dance of the year? I pictured her home alone in pajamas, watching movies and eating ice cream straight from the carton.

  And I felt bad for her. Guilty too.

  Dammit, why wasn’t anything turning out as I’d planned?

  I rounded the dance floor. Still no sign of Gabe. Maybe he’d gone out one of the side doors and doubled back to the lobby? It was worth a shot.

  The door had just clicked shut behind me, muting the thumping music from inside the gym, when I saw Gabe at the end of the hall near the entrance to the boys’ locker room. He had his back to me, head bowed.

  “Gabe!” I cried, hurrying toward him. “Are you okay?”

  One look at Gabe’s face told me he wasn’t: his eyes were red and puffy, and when he spoke there was a catch in his voice. “Kurt hates me. Says he never wants to see me again. All because I called him out on that stupid outfit he was wearing.”

  “Oh, Gabe.”

  “I thought maybe we could work things out, but then tonight . . . I mean, why would he show up looking like that?”

  Uh-oh. “I think he was trying to fit with your new look.”

  “I don’t know why.” Gabe sniffled. “I’ve never even hinted that I wanted him to change. I liked him the way he was.”

  Guilt overwhelmed me. I’d been trying to help, and now I had totally and completely screwed this up for them. “I think, maybe, Kurt misinterpreted something I said to him.”

  Gabe caught his breath. “Oh, Bea, you didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  He arched an eyebrow, tears gone in an instant. “Get involved in our relationship.”

  “I didn’t get involved. I just, you know, talked to him. Explained why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

  “What the hell did you say to him?” His voice was no longer choked up, his sadness replaced by anger.

  “I was just trying to help,” I said, feeling defensive. “It’s not like I told Kurt to show up for the dance like it was White Party weekend in Palm Springs. I merely suggested that perhaps he needed to roll with your school persona if you guys were going to be a couple. And I guess he took that to mean he needed to be more like the new you.”

  “Goddammit!” The word exploded from Gabe’s mouth. “Bea, can’t you mind your own fucking business?”

  I’d never seen Gabe get angry before, and it caught me off guard. “I—”

  “NO!” Gabe held his hands up before him, keeping me at bay. “I don’t want to hear it. Just leave me alone.” He backed up down the hall.

  “Wait!” I called after him. “I’ll talk to Kurt and explain.”

  But it was no use. Gabe rounded a corner and was gone.

  “Hey!” I shouted into the empty hallway long after he’d disappeared. “You guys asked for my help.”

  I should have gone after him, but that felt like begging—for his understanding and his friendship—and I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I’d completely screwed up the only two friendships I had, and I wasn’t sure Gabe or Spencer would ever forgive me.

  I tried to picture what it would be like going through senior year without any friends. But would I really have to? I wasn’t Math Girl anymore. I was ASB president. I’d find new friends, more important friends, friends who would appreciate all the awesomeness I brought to the table instead of constantly judging me, arguing with me, and making me feel like a bad person.

  It shouldn’t be that hard to do. I was relatively sure I could create a formula for finding new friends. Trixie hadn’t had much of a problem getting people to like her, so maybe I could transition some of that openness to Bea?

  Somehow, that wasn’t comforting. I didn’t want just any friends. I wanted my friends.

  Without realizing it, I’d wandered back into the gym. The music had changed; a slow dance was playing. Duos dotted the dance floor, bodies pressed together as they swayed back and forth. This was the domain of the happily coupled, where high school relationships were on display.

  My eyes fell on one couple, and I found myself envying the clear intimacy they were experiencing. She h
ad her face nuzzled into his chest, while he rested his cheek against the top of her head, pressing into her voluminous curls. His arms were wrapped around her: one across her shoulders, one lower, near the small of her back. He looked as if he was engulfing her, and though his face was turned away from me, I could picture his blissful smile.

  The couple turned in time with a dramatic swell in the song, and I gasped. It was Spencer.

  His eyes were open, and before I could look away, he’d caught my gaze. For an instant, I thought perhaps he was going to break away from Cassilyn, come over, and sweep me up in his arms the same way he’d been holding her. But he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his face to Cassilyn’s and kissed her.

  Then everything around me began to spin.

  I staggered, my balance shaken, and I was pretty sure that roaring sound in my ears was my chest breaking open as three years of emotions blindsided me, a nauseating wave of joy and pain, sadness and elation.

  I was in love with Spencer.

  When had that happened? Had I always been in love with him and just not realized it? Was I that incredibly stupid when it came to my heart? I thought of the first day of school, when he’d held me tightly in his arms and my stomach had felt as if it was being twisted up in a knot. And the day after Jesse dumped me, when we’d been wrestling on my bed.

  And the day I’d kissed him backstage in the theater.

  How could I have been so stupid? How could my brain have ignored the signals from my heart?

  Because you were too scared to admit that you were wrong: you’d been in love with Spencer, not Jesse, all along.

  The song began to fade out and Cassilyn broke their embrace. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. Spencer nodded. Then she took his hand and led him out of the gym.

  He never looked back at me.

  I knew where they were going, what they were going to do. The gym suddenly felt oppressive, close and hot and encroaching. I broke into a sweat as the swirling DJ lights left me dizzy and disoriented. I needed to get out of there. I needed fresh air. I turned and ran for the back door.