by Rachel Shane
Displaying 2 out of 11 comments
Ali said…
I remember getting that email. I thought it was super weird. And now I know it actually was!
Clark said…
You’re right. The disguises are better.
I STARED AT THE computer monitor and brushed my finger against the comment from Clark that had appeared overnight. It was just a word, a simple name, but to me it meant everything. My heart thumped in my chest. I pushed myself away from my desk and paced the room. My cell phone rested on my dresser and I sprang for it. I punched in the area code to his phone number so hard, my phone took a few seconds to respond and pop the numbers up on the display. Even seeing those, I felt like all the distance—in both months and miles—between us had disappeared.
I jammed down another number, then stopped. A prickle started at the back of my neck. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. After all, Finn/Clark/the-boy-I-lost vowed never to speak to me again. And I hadn’t even gotten to the part of my story that would explain my side of things to him.
A breath rattled out of my lungs as I held down the delete key, then dialed Lonnie’s number instead.
He answered on the fifth ring. “It’s the middle of the night, woman.” His voice sounded groggy.
“It’s eleven A.M.” I settled onto my bed. My light blue comforter rose up on either side of me, nestling me in a cocoon. “I thought you liked getting up early.”
“That was when I had band practice on weekends. Kind of hard to practice without a guitar.”
I bit my lip. “What about the one you’re renting from the school?”
“I only get access on days I have music elective.”
“Oh.” I pulled my knees close to my chest. “I hate to ask this, but—”
“It wasn’t me.” His voice came through loud and clear, no hint of sleepiness.
I shot up. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“My guess? Ali. That girl isn’t exactly subtle.”
An anvil tore through my chest. That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but now that he said it, it tasted like the truth. “Yeah. You’re right.” I knew the disappointment was evident in my voice. I turned the disappointment to hope, for his benefit. “You don’t think it was Denise, right?”
“I don’t know her well enough to answer that.”
I fingered the seam of my comforter. “You should correct that at once.”
A moment of silence passed before he sighed and said, “Have you checked the IP?”
“The what now?”
“It’ll let you see where the comment was posted from. If it’s from New York City, well, you’ll have your answer.”
I hopped off the bed and rushed to the computer. Even though all signs pointed to the IP coming from the Upper East Side where Ali lived, there was still an inkling of hope pulsing at the back of my brain that maybe it wouldn’t.
Lonnie walked me through quick instructions on how to log into the analytical software the school provided for students.
“How do you know how to do this?” I clicked through to another screen.
“I’m reading from the instructions on the school website.” He let out a laugh.
The results popped up. My heart picked up speed. “It says United States? Verizon Wireless?”
“Well, that narrows it down. Your commentor accessed your site from a cell phone. A cell phone they used in the U.S.”
I leaned back in my chair. “How helpful.” A lump formed in my throat. This didn’t change anything, I reminded myself. It wasn’t Finn. It was Ali. I would not allow myself to get excited over any further comments from that IP address.
“Here, I do know one thing that will help,” Lonnie said. I imagined him smiling on the other end in an attempt to cheer me up. The sound of typing came through the phone. “There.”
A new comment popped up on the blog.
Lonnie said…
At least I don’t hide behind a fake identity like a real man. (Or in your case, a woman. Hi, Ali!)
I forced myself to laugh. “Thanks.”
“Least I could do.”
I shot upright. “Wait, there’s one thing you can do. Can you tell me if Lara’s reading this blog at all?”
“You need to look for an IP address coming from Brooklyn.”
I held my breath as I perused the list of hits. Wow, there were way more than I expected, most coming from New York City. Barely anyone commented, but clearly they were all reading. “The only one I see is from today.” I glanced at the clock. “Right now, actually.” I couldn’t hide the excitement coming from my voice. “Do you think she’s reading as we speak?” If she was, I’d try to bang out the rest of the story while I had her attention.
“That’s you, dumb ass.”
“Oh.” Which meant despite Ali’s email, Lara hadn’t bothered to look at it yet.
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WIT FOR
Posted by Kasey at 5:01 P.M.
Sunday, September 7
Past Mood: Reluctant
SAT Word Of The Day: Chicanery. Definition: No one can argue against the fact that the joke’s on me.
I’m on to you, commentor Clark. Mess with me all you want, I won’t be fooled.
The next morning, I emerged from the bathroom and scrambled with Lara’s ceramic iron. She raised an eyebrow at me as she applied make-up. I knew it was counter-productive to straighten my hair when I was just going to the pool. But I had to make the most of the morning since my parents were ripping me away from Finn in the afternoon for some stupid swimming with dolphins excursion in St. Thomas. I was envious that Lara wasn’t allowed to go. Mom was making her stay on the ship and practice for the talent show.
I wanted to stay behind too.
“All I have to say is if she makes me practice tomorrow morning and miss Belize too, I’m ditching her and getting off the ship myself.”
“I’ll help you.” Steam escaped from the ceramic iron as I pressed it along my damp hair. “Though honestly, I think you have the better deal here. Dolphins? With Mom and Dad? Just imagine the horrible jokes Dad has in store for me today.” I lowered my voice in my best impersonation of him. “Kasey, look, the dolphins are flipping out at the sight of you.”
She let out a forced laugh. “Yeah. Definitely not jealous of that.” Her voice came off more sad than sarcastic.
“I’m serious. I’ll distract them tomorrow while you go get your passport from the safe in their room.”
She uncapped a tube of lipstick. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
I hoped she’d think about grabbing my passport as well so I could tagalong if she decided to sneak off the ship. “Can I borrow that when you’re done?” I asked, pointing at her lipstick.
Lara rose from the floor in front of the mirror. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” The word “boyfriend” popped into my head. My cheeks grew hot so I stared at the floor and tugged the iron over a lock of unruly hair. Sometimes I thought premature hair loss would be a much more effective way of styling this mane.
“Kasey…” Lara flopped onto the bed. “You’re in way over your head. I know you like this boy, but you’re on vacation. It’s a fling. You guys live so far away, you’re never going to see him after Sunday.”
She didn’t know what she was talking about. Of course, I’d see him again. It wasn’t like we were living in medieval times, before they had things like Skype. And Cleveland wasn’t that far away from Brooklyn. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“I really don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I wanted to snort. If there was anything I was sure of in my whole life, it was Finn. “And what about you? With Hayden?”
“I like hanging out with him. But I know the boundaries, and I’m not letting my heart get involved. Just be careful, Kase. At least until you know how the long distance thing works, okay?”
I nodded, but after my conversation with Finn on the balcony, I knew there was no
thing to worry about. He wouldn’t screw me over.
“So the talent show is tomorrow…” Finn winked. Or maybe the sunlight glanced off his eye and I misread it.
We sat on the ledge of the pool and dangled our legs in the water. Kids splashed near us, swimmies bulging from their arms like muscles. A few girls in designer sunglasses flirted with guys who seemed to pay more attention to the beers in their hand. The sun warmed my shoulders, in sharp contrast with the cool breeze blowing my straight hair into frizzy knots.
Already I knew Finn well enough to guess where this suggestion was going. “And we’ll be happily watching from the audience.” I took comfort in the fact that auditions were days ago.
He shook his head and smoothed his lips into a straight line. Serious. All business. “I’m pretty sure we won’t.”
I fake coughed. “I’m sick. Totally out of commission.”
“I was just thinking about how funny you were on stage at the Newlywed Game.” Finn circled his feet in the water, creating ripples that radiated outward and tickled my ankles. “And the ship only auditioned dancers and singers, but there’s plenty of other talent on board that should be showcased. Like comedians.” He smacked his hand against the concrete ledge, sending a sprinkle of water droplets onto me. “Like you.”
“I’m confused.” Wasn’t his goal to prove I could dance as well as Lara? Maybe he’d already given up on me, too. “You want me to do a comedy routine?”
“Both of us. Just trust me, babe.” He leaned back, stretching his arms behind him. “I have a plan.”
The way he used the word ‘babe’ made me melt, but the plan part scared me. I wrapped my arms around my knees. “I hope your plan doesn’t involve injuring one of the contestants so we take their spot.”
“How about we make a deal?” He pulled his legs out of the water and stepped onto the deck, dripping tiny puddles beneath his feet. “If we can weasel our way onto the line-up, you’ll agree to perform?”
He looked at me with such hopeful eyes. I might be shy, but I was confident about one thing: getting on the show would be impossible. I decided to go along with Finn’s little game, knowing I’d be there to comfort him when we failed. And if we did somehow succeed, at least comedy seemed a lot less scary than competing against my sister in dance.
“Okay,” I agreed. My stomach fluttered in response, but I took a deep breath and made those butterflies fly away from their cocoon. No need for nerves.
We set-off for wherever he thought would get us into the show. We only had to go around the slide before he slowed his pace. On a small makeshift stage, the Cruise Director, Jorge, held a microphone, emceeing a hula-hoop contest. Finn joined the audience and clapped as a twelve-year old girl and a balding man took the stage for a hip-swiveling showdown.
I pushed my way through the crowd to stand next to Finn. “What’s going on?”
Instead of answering my question, he whooped and cheered for the contestants.
I tapped him on the shoulder to bug him again, but he grabbed my hands and slapped them together.
The competition ended, and Jorge crowned the twelve-year old girl winner, no doubt because her middle-aged opponent graciously threw it to her.
As soon as the crowd parted, Finn weaved his way through the empty spaces and confronted the cruise director. I tiptoed behind.
“Ah, well isn’t it the lovely Newlyweds.” He shook ‘Clark’s’ hand. “I hope you practiced on that one question you had trouble with.” He raised his eyebrows a few times in succession.
A shiver ran up my spine. I knew which question he meant. The zero one.
Finn attempted to thaw me by placing his arm around my shoulder. “You mean the donut question? Don’t worry, she’s been taking inventory of my diet for future game shows.”
Jorge’s brow furrowed.
Finn pulled me closer to his body. “Anyway, we wanted to talk to you about the talent show tomorrow night.”
“Do you need tickets? I’ll get you a front row seat. Just show up several hours early and keep them warm with your butts.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, finding my voice and channeling the confidence I’d borrowed at the Newlywed Game. I figured I might as well play along so Finn would think I tried my best, despite this being a lost cause. “We already paid someone to squat them for us.” I pressed my index finger to my lip. “Well, actually, I just handcuffed a stranger to the front row.”
Jorge laughed. “I like this one. I can see why you married her.”
“Good. Because she wants to perform tomorrow night.” Finn squeezed my arm. “I mean we want to perform tonight.”
Gravity claimed the corners of Jorge’s lips. He bent down to grab a hula-hoop and tuck it underneath his arm. “I’m afraid you just missed the dress rehearsal, you should have auditioned when—”
I aimed a beaming smile onto Finn. But I couldn’t ignore the weird empty feeling in my chest.
“We’ve got a comedy routine, which is completely different,” Finn said. “Think of the variety. It doesn’t have to just be a song and dance.”
Jorge scratched his chin. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. I like you guys. And I’ve been saying the same cheesy…I mean hilarious jokes every week for four months now. How about you take over my introduction and do your stuff?” He glanced at his clipboard. “Tomorrow I’m off the ship most of the day in Belize, so come by the auditorium a half hour early and we’ll run through your routine.” He wrote down a few instructions about time limits and suggested topics for our jokes.
“But, that’s!” My voice sounded as jittery as my nerves. “We can’t!”
“She’s so excited, she can’t speak.” Finn shook Jorge’s hand. “We’ll be there. More coherently.”
I shot daggers at Finn and considered debarking tomorrow at Belize and never coming back.
Jorge left to carry out the rest of his daily duties.
“You promised.” Finn nudged my shoulder.
I had to sit down. I fell into the first empty chair I could find. “I’m not a comedian. I can think of a good comeback on the spot, but coming up with a routine is a whole different thing.”
Finn perched on the edge of the seat and leaned in. “We’re not really going to do a comedy routine. We’ll write one to perform for Jorge, but during the real show? We’re dancing.”
All the blood drained from my face. “But—”
“I know what you’re going to say, but Lara’s doing a solo routine. We’ll do a ballroom number. Apples to oranges.”
“It’s not. The Next American Dance Star producers might still be in the audience. It’s still a competition.” I shook my head vigorously. “And I don’t want to compete against my sister.”
He grabbed my hands. “That’s the thing, Kasey. I think you do.”
Displaying 3 out of 5 comments
Clark said…
I’m not an imposter.
Finn said…
Neither am I!
Clark disguised as Finn said…
I am.
I SLIPPED INTO MY self-assigned seat in the back of the English room. It wasn’t where I wanted to sit, not by a long shot, but on the first day last week, I walked into the room and stopped short at the sight of Denise sitting in the second row. She darted her head around at the empty desks surrounding her before she reached down and clutched her bag as if she would have to choose a new seat, or maybe a new classroom, as soon as I sat down.
Despite the way my knees rattled, I lifted my chin and crossed to the opposite end of the room. The least I could do was give her what she wanted. After all, that was my entire plan to get her to forgive me. Give her back the one thing she always wanted. It wasn’t sitting away from her, but it was a step in the right direction.
Now, a week later, she ducked into the room with her head down, hand covering her view. She faced forward in her seat, her long black hair dangling down her back. She didn’t dare turn her head even a centimeter toward the window. If she did,
she might inadvertently catch a glimpse of me.
A bald man I didn’t recognize sauntered into the room, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He crossed to the teacher’s desk and proceeded to lift papers up, searching beneath them. The bell rang and he startled. A few sheets flew from his hands and fluttered down to the ground. “Mr. Winslow is out sick today,” he said as he bent down. Before he could even finish his sentence, chatter erupted through the class, notebooks slammed shut, and legs kicked up on the edge of desks. Denise sat straight, the only person besides me who hadn’t taken the announcement as the cue to goof off.
“Settle down,” the sub yelled. When that didn’t work, he spun around to the board and scrawled in magic erase marker: Independent Reading: Unit 1 in your textbook. He may as well have written: Slack off for the rest of class, then cram read Chapter 1 during homeroom tomorrow.
I sighed as I flipped my textbook open to Unit 1. I had nothing else to do. Translation: I had no one else to talk to.
“Psst,” the girl next to me, Amanda Reynolds, whispered. “Kasey.”
I shifted in my seat, glancing first at the sub, then at her. The sub sank into the desk chair and flipped open a paperback novel. “What?” I asked her.
“What did you do to your sister?” She scooted her chair closer to me, her curly locks bouncing as she did so. “Come on, you can tell me. I’ll keep it a secret, I swear.”
I’d never spoken to this girl in my life except last week when I tilted my notebook toward her so she could copy the homework assignment down since she’d been too busy sneaking text messages to pay attention to Mr. Winslow. I knew nothing about her. My neck felt cold as I realized just how much she knew about me. I opened my mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut. This wasn’t about me. This was about Lara. And the whole point of the blog was to make her a star again. “You have to keep reading for that.” I pasted an encouraging smile on my face.
The boy in front of me, Carson Anderson with his dimples and too-blue eyes, turned around. “My guess?” he said, like I cared what he thought. “You pushed her down the stairs.”