“I guess not.” What the hell is going on here? Seriously, one photo with Grant West and the popular table decides to move to the other side of the room to be near me? No freaking way. But sure enough, they’re all trickling into the cafeteria and filling up all the seats at my table. They don’t even go near their usual spot. It’s like they had some sort of agreement before coming to lunch that they had to sit here.
“Oh hey,” Paul says, appearing on Caroline’s right, he nudges her. “Can you squeeze over a bit?”
Too entranced by Liam’s presence, she barely notices him.
“You know what?” Michelle pipes up. “Maybe you should sit over there,” she points toward a half empty table across the room. “We’re kind of full here.”
Paul looks down at Caroline, his confused smile sagging into a disappointed frown. He starts to retreat.
“Paul wait!” I hear my voice crack above the loud chatter of the table. I’m almost as surprised to hear myself as he is. I shove a little to the right. “There’s room here.”
“Well look at that,” Michelle says with a little snap in her voice.
I stare down at my plate, no longer interested in the hot dog or tater tots before me. I shove it toward Paul whose appetite is only surpassed in impressiveness by his metabolism.
“What the hell is going on here?” he mutters in my ear as we both watch Zane, Shanae, Tara, and Alex try and squeeze in at the end of the table.
“Nothing good.”
***
The idea of popularity is something I’ve considered. Believe me. I’ve often wondered what it might be like if everyone knew my name, if to the rest of the school I wasn’t just somebody’s sister, but Sydney Kane. But it’s never really enticed me, not like it does my sisters. There’s always been something in each and every one of them that craves the spotlight in some way, shape, or form – especially during high school. For Arianna it was heading up the student council and being an honor student. For Alyssa it was starring in the school plays, having her pictures in art shows, and dating hot, misunderstood musicians. Ava led a rampage against the cafeteria for not serving vegetarian friendly meals, and did so in a low cut top and denim mini-skirt. She wasn’t typical popular, but that didn’t stop people from rallying around her. And just look at Angelina. She’s a cookie-cutter cheerleader and natural born bitch. This high school has been ruled time and again by Kane girls. But I’ve always been happy with the sidelines. Sure, sometimes I wish people would get my name right, and that they wouldn’t be so surprised I come from the same gene pool as my sisters...but that doesn’t mean I’m yearning for this kind of attention.
Last week, hell yesterday, these people didn’t even know who I was. Okay, that’s not strictly true. I mean Liam knows me, but only because he and Angelina were so hot and heavy for that brief slice of time and I may have walked in on them making out in the rec-room a few weeks ago. For a guy who appears so confident on the football field, he was quite bashful to be found under my sister with his shirt cast aside on the floor. Just so we’re clear, Caroline does not know, and will never know of this incident.
And yes most of these girls have been to my house, I’ve heard them giggling and bitching through the thin walls that separate my bedroom from Angelina’s. But that doesn’t serve as any basis for the friendships they have deluded themselves into thinking they share with me. These girls don’t want to fold me into their group because they actually like me. They want me because of Grant.
Michelle leans over and smiles. “So Sydney, the girls and I are heading into the city for mani’s and pedi’s after practice. You should come. It’ll be a blast.” She looks at Caroline. “You can come too.”
“Actually I have some stuff to do tonight,” I mimic Michelle’s sweet smile. “But thanks.”
“No problem,” she flips out her hair. “Another time.”
Caroline shoots me a seething look that screams: “What are you doing?” I shrug an apology.
“So Sydney,” Sara Fille grins from across the table. “How long have you and Grant been seeing each other?”
And here it comes. I’m mildly surprised – besides Mr. Hughes, no one has had the guts to out right mention Grant to me all day.
Caroline’s eyes are telling me to lie. But I’m sure, due to the fact her right thigh is currently grazing Liam’s left thigh, she’s not thinking clearly.
“The thing is, we’re not actually together, me and Grant. It was just a kiss.”
The girls laugh. Michelle shakes her head.
“I’m serious. It was a one off thing. I don’t even know him.”
A few of the girls blink, but Michelle just shrugs and her voice goes all sing-songy. “Sure, whatever you say.”
“It was just a kiss.” I repeat.
“In front of dozens of reporters?” Michelle laughs. “Come on Sydney, we’re not stupid and neither is Grant. He wouldn’t attach himself to anyone publicly unless he was totally into her. Besides, People wouldn’t write about you and Grant it if it weren’t true.”
I attempt once more to argue, but they laugh it off. They’re never going to believe me. The realization sits cold and heavy in my stomach. My life is being taken over by a lie…and cheerleaders.
“I mean,” Michelle continues, “look at Grant and Summer Stone. They were together for months before anyone knew they were dating. And he told Ellen the only reason they came out was because he was in love with her...”
“Summer Stone? He was with her?” I whisper. Michelle looks at me like I’m losing it and Caroline frowns at me from across the table. But I don’t care, because suddenly things are starting to make a lot more sense.
I stand up and nod at Caroline to do the same. She looks devastated by the idea, but dutifully follows. As we’re heading away from the table Michelle calls. “By the way I love your...shirt. It’s so...purple! Call me.”
“How could you not tell me about Summer and Grant?” I whisper-yell at Caroline as I pull her down the first floor hall behind me.
“I thought you knew,” she shrugged. “I mean I think everyone on the planet knew. They were together for over a year!”
I turn and face her. “You’re talking to the girl that didn’t even recognize Grant West while his face was planted against hers.”
“Right. Fine. But why is this such a big deal? Why do you care? Are you jealous? Do you actually like him?” Her face pulsates with giddiness.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t you see it?”
She shrugs at me.
“Summer was there. We walked out of the restaurant and she climbed out of a limo with some soap actor, who she was all over by the way.”
“Okay?”
“Think about it. Grant had no interest in me up until that point. I was just some girl he was talking to. Then suddenly he sees Summer with that guy, and he’s all over me? I don’t know what the point was –maybe to make her jealous – I don’t care, but don’t you see? He didn’t kiss me because he liked me, he used me! That stupid, vain, asshole.”
I stomp my foot against the linoleum floor and slap my hand against a nearby locker, making a metallic ringing sound fill the hall. A nearby ninth grader looks over at us. I don’t have the heart to be nice, and simply glare. She scurries away. For a minute I feel like Angelina and it makes me nauseous. I sort of want to chase after the girl and tell her I’m sorry. But I don’t. Instead I turn to Caroline and continue with my tirade.
“Now people think I’m his girlfriend and won’t believe me when I say I’m not, my face is all over the internet, and Michelle Trabeck wants to go for mani’s and pedi’s!”
“Yeah. Your life is so hard,” Caroline deadpans. “Fame, friends, a gorgeous guy kissed you. Damn the world.”
“Shut up.”
“Calm down. In a few days some pop-star
will get pregnant again or get shipped off to rehab. People will realize you can’t get them close to him and you’ll just be regular old Sydney again.”
“You think?”
“Sure,” she smiles what I think is supposed to be reassuringly, but something in it wavers. Maybe hope that I won’t fall by the wayside, or maybe she knows I’ll never be normal again and she doesn’t want to let on. “This country has ADD. You’re today’s news, but tomorrow there will be something bigger and better to talk about. Just wait.”
Chapter Seven
The problem is that tomorrow is tomorrow, and I’m still stuck in today. I manage to make it through the rest of the school day without incident. Sure, in drama when Mrs. Willis asks us to pick partners, fourteen people try to pair with me, and afterschool some football player tries to give me a ride home, despite the fact I’m unlocking the door to my own car as he asks. But other than that, I make it out okay. And wonder of all wonders, maybe the rest of the school won’t believe me, but Zane, Shanae, Alex, Paul, and Tara do. Sure they’re skeptical at first, but after Caroline reasons with them (“Why on earth would Grant West want to date Sydney?”), they seem to accept the truth.
I leave school feeling relieved to be free from all the stares and questioning looks. It doesn’t even occur to me that what’s waiting at home could be far worse than what I just left behind. When I pull into my driveway I notice two things, well two cars actually. My mom’s and my dad’s. They should be at work, not home. A mild panic starts to worm through my body. I was so busy worrying about everyone at school, I didn’t even stop to consider what my parents might think about this whole debacle.
I slam the door of my Toyota and slowly make my way up the front walk. There are lots of other reasons they could be home. A mid afternoon tryst (ew), or maybe America had another soccer thing (please God).
I open the front door and slip inside. I contemplate just running up to my room and locking myself in, but before I can even complete the thought, my dad steps out of the kitchen and into the front hall – anger blazing in his green eyes. His hair looks particularly unkempt, as if he’s been pulling at it all afternoon.
“You’re home,” he rumbles.
“Um, yes.”
“Clarissa!” he calls out to my mom. “She’s here.”
Seconds later Mom appears at the top of the staircase. She sees me, smiles briefly before painting her face with a grim gaze, and then rushes down to us.
“Follow me,” Dad barks. Mom and I traipse behind him into the living room.
“Sit!” Although I’m rather disinclined to be treated like a dog, the sheer force of his anger makes my legs fold beneath me as I drop down onto the squishy surface of the large, brown couch behind me.
Mom perches on the armrest of a chair across from where I’m sitting, and Dad chooses to pace the length of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“My daughter! All over the television and internet! How did this happen?”
“Tom,” Mom stands and lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. We talked about this.” But he doesn’t calm down. He merely looks at her, sort of swats her hand away, and then erupts once more.
“How can I calm down? And why aren’t you more upset? You’re the one who saw her on The Today Show this morning and nearly had a heart attack!”
“Well I was surprised, but after...”
“Wait a minute. I was on The Today Show?” I blurt out and stare up at them. Probably not the best thing to say, in the current climate of my dad’s anger. But how was I supposed to know TV shows were running the story, I’ve been at school all day.
“And CNN, MSNBC, FOX NEWS, and The View,” Dad shouts. “It’s everywhere.”
“Oh.”
“They’re lovely pictures,” Mom cuts in. “You look beautiful. Was that a new dress? And who did your hair? Alyssa? I mean it was kind of flat...maybe a bit of curl would have helped. But really, you looked lovely.”
“Clarissa!” Dad’s face turns beet red. Clearly her dismay isn’t up to his standards. She shrinks back, gives me a smile that says: “what can you do?” and lets him take the reins again.
He rubs his forehead. “How did this happen? How long has this Grant been your boyfriend? And why didn’t you tell your mother and me about him?”
“The thing is, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“That’s not what they’re saying on television!”
“Well it’s not true. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me young lady.”
“I’m not. I promise. Grant West is not my boyfriend. Are you going to believe a TV show over your own daughter?”
“So you’re not dating him?” Mom looks at me and, is that disappointment I see in her eyes?
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why were you kissing him?” Dad asks, bracing his hands on his hips. He’s looking at me like I’m some kind of criminal, which quite frankly, pisses me off.
“It just happened. I met him at this restaurant I was supposed to meet Alyssa at. We talked. I didn’t even realize who he was. And then when I was leaving he kissed me.”
I realize as the words tumble out of my mouth, and as the vein on my father’s forehead begins to throb, that I’ve just messed up majorly.
“You’re telling me that you didn’t even know him? That you just let some strange boy you’d barely met kiss you?” He tosses his hands into the air. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
I probably should maintain a healthy sort of sanity about the whole thing. But the fact that he’s laying into me so severely pushes on my every nerve. It’s not like I meant to kiss Grant West! And besides, it was just one stupid kiss, hardly reason enough for my parents, well my Dad at least, to despise me. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “I didn’t let him...I mean I guess I didn’t push him away. But it’s not like he was all ‘hey can I kiss you?’ He just did it! One minute I’m about to climb in a cab, the next his lips are on mine. And for the love of God! It was just one kiss! Angelina runs around this place with a new guy practically every week and you never say anything! And what about that guy Ava tried to bring home from Peru?”
“I do miss Javier,” Mom sighs. Dad glares at her.
“This is different,” he shakes his head. “Your sisters aren’t parading around on the cover of tabloid magazines.”
I’m about to say, “and neither am I,” but stop myself. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen. I can just see it now. Maybe tomorrow, the next day, or even next week, I’ll be at the drugstore or grocery store or somewhere and there will be my face on the cover of US Weekly or STAR. Maybe even People. Please let Kim Kardashian get engaged again before then, or maybe have Madonna adopt another baby. Just something, anything, that’s bigger news than this.
“You’re never to see this Grant again!” He says Grant’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“That’s not fair!” Okay, I realize that not five seconds ago I had absolutely no intention or means actually, of ever seeing Grant West again. In fact I was cursing the ground he walked on and if I did see him, I would have been happy to slap him across the face. But that was back when it was my choice.
“Sydney, sweetie,” Mom stands and nudges Dad to the side. “What your father means is that he doesn’t feel...”
“We don’t, Clarissa,” Dad snaps.
“Right.” She kind of shakes her head, but goes with it. “We don’t feel this boy is appropriate for you.”
“Why not?” Okay I’m really losing it. I’m trying to remind myself that I hate Grant, but maybe it’s just the genetic code of a teenager. If your parents forbid something, you have to want it. I’ve never felt this before. This forceful urge to rebel. Maybe because I’ve spent my entire life being so damn complacent and good. I n
ever get into trouble. “Because he’s famous? Smart? Talented? Rich?”
“Partly. It’s just that a boy like Grant is far too mature for you, Sydney. You’re a sixteen-year-old girl in high school and he’s…”
“So it’s his age then?” I cut her off.
Mom’s eyes practically pop out of her head. She steps back so Dad can’t see her and then throws her arms into the air and shakes her head from side to side so quickly I wonder if she’s attempting to give herself whip lash.
“What do you mean, his age?” Dad says slowly.
Crap. Crap. Crap. “Ummm...”
“How old is this boy?”
I turn and look toward the kitchen. In my negligible experience, I’ve never had any previous boy issues with regards to my parents – before now – but I’ve witnessed many arguments and forebodings on my sisters’ behalves. In general my dad is usually pretty cool, at least when it comes to me, seeing as besides that tiny blip in junior high, I’ve been terminally single since birth. But when it comes older boys, he’s ridiculously over protective. When Arianna was in ninth grade, she tried to date a senior and Dad locked her in her room for three weeks straight. I think it goes back to when Dad’s sister – at age 17, ran off and eloped with a 24-year-old guy. But Aunt Shirley and Uncle Mike are still together, so it’s not like it was some stupid whim. They loved each other.
“Is that the phone ringing?” I say meekly. “Maybe I should go check.” I start to stand.
“Sit!”
I drop back down onto the couch.
“How old?”
I grit my teeth. “Nineteen.”
“What?” his eyes are bulging now. “I thought he was your age, he was sixteen in that movie of his that Angelina always makes us a watch, and that just came out last year!”
“He was acting sweetheart,” Mom sighs and pats him on the back.
I probably could have gotten out of this okay if I hadn’t brought up Grant’s age. Sure, I likely wouldn’t have been able to wiggle out of the whole forbidding me to see him again thing. But come on, I was never going to see him again anyways. Now, though, I’m screwed.
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