by Marni Bates
“Your article has to showcase his work.”
I was starting to think her list of demands would never end. It had to be fresh and fun, modern and mature, smart and sexy, and now it also had to be a showcase for Scott’s photography. It sounded like she expected me to be a freaking magician so I could also whip a rabbit out of my hat.
But if I commented on it, I could kiss my fiction page good-bye.
“No problem.”
“Good. Oh, and Jane? Scott can take pictures of anything he wants. Is that clear?”
“Uh, no.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
Lisa Anne couldn’t even be bothered to meet my eyes. Instead, she concentrated on straightening the collar of her shirt so it was perfectly aligned with her form-fitting sweater.
“He’s creating a portfolio based on his photos of you.” She rolled her eyes in a way that implied, There’s no accounting for taste. “And even though I personally think he has chosen the wrong model, The Smithsonian is giving him its full support. As am I.”
I wondered if that was her way of attempting to capture his attention. As a flirting technique I thought it had potential, since the only thing Scott appeared to care about was his stupid camera. Something I should have kept in mind when he’d mentioned a portfolio on Facebook, but instead I had dismissed it as his warped idea of a joke. Surely he valued his photography too much to waste time documenting someone he actively disliked. So I assumed he was making up a portfolio to mess with my head. Apparently, none of it had been a joke.
And I definitely wasn’t laughing.
Lisa Anne held up a hand to silence any potential protest. “A good newspaper requires teamwork. I expect your full cooperation on this.”
The or else hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t hard to fill in the blank. Or else you’ll be sent right back to copyediting. Or else you will be ignored for the rest of high school. And Lisa Anne would ensure that every one of those threats became a reality if I didn’t agree to go along with Scott’s every whim.
Of that I had no doubt.
I surveyed the journalism classroom until I located Scott. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to meet my gaze without flinching after orchestrating his photographic coup d’état. I gritted my teeth.
Game on.
Lisa Anne continued lecturing me about teamwork and professionalism until she spotted one of the smokers trying to sneak out of the classroom. Instead of watching her verbally roast the guy, I seized the opportunity to march over to Scott. In one smooth move, I yanked out a chair and sat down gunslinger style: eyes forward, back straight, jaw set in contempt.
“You went running to Lisa Anne!” I snapped. “Seriously, Scott? Seriously. That was your brilliant plan to convince me to be your model? Not smart.”
Scott’s green eyes were partly hidden by his dark brown bangs, but they didn’t look guilty to me.
Nope, his expression was just as arrogant as ever.
“We should probably talk about this when you’re not so upset.”
I rolled my eyes. “What is there to discuss, Scott? You got what you wanted because you forced me into it. Don’t pretend to care about the blackmailing technique you used now.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Okay, calm down, Grammar Girl. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”
“Right. My mistake. I should be thrilled to have absolutely no say in any of this!” My voice cracked, but my anger had me beyond caring.
“You’re acting like you were sold into bondage.”
“I know this isn’t slavery, Scott. But it is indentured servitude. And from where I’m sitting that still completely sucks!”
“You’re making way too big a deal out of this.”
I folded my arms. “No way would you be saying that if the positions were reversed.”
When Scott finally spoke, his voice held none of the humor I had heard yesterday in the bookstore. “If it were me, I’d concentrate on getting the job done. But if you want to whine about it, by all means continue.”
“I’m not going to model for you.”
He didn’t appear any more rattled by that statement than by anything else I had said.
“Look, I didn’t plan on using you for my portfolio. I thought you’d have failed this project already and my talents would be redirected elsewhere. But apparently ‘transition’ is a popular theme for art schools, and since I’ve got such great shots from the fight”—he shrugged—“I’m going to continue following you everywhere—whether you like it or not.”
Then he turned his back on me, logged into one of the computers, and began toying with his photos from the cafeteria. I couldn’t help glancing past his shoulders at the screen and was rewarded by a glimpse of an action shot featuring a virtually unrecognizable version of myself with a raised fist and eyes shooting bloody murder. It was disconcerting, not just because I looked so different, but because I looked strong. My expression belonged on someone fearless about to charge into battle in defense of her homeland. And even though I didn’t particularly want that look captured on film, I couldn’t deny that it showcased his photography skills nicely. I just couldn’t tell him that I wanted a copy without the acknowledgment going to his head. And no way did I want to encourage his insufferable ego to even greater heights—especially not after Lisa Anne’s decision to give Scott approval power.
Not when he took so much enjoyment out of messing with every aspect of my life.
I might not have wanted to write the front-page story, but I sure didn’t appreciate having Scott in charge of what I could say. As far as I was concerned, Scott and Lisa Anne already were a match made in hell. I had no trouble picturing some future argyle-wearing devil-spawn daughter of theirs snapping photos of her classmates leaving restrooms with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of their shoes and then cackling evilly at the prospect of placing it on the front page. I shook my head to clear away the image.
The only way to make them back off was to write the story of the century.
Way easier said than done.
Chapter 16
I must have looked miserable when I plunked down my cafeteria tray because Kenzie unwrapped her arm from Logan’s shoulder and really focused on me for the first time in weeks.
“What’s wrong, Jane?”
Just as if things between us had never changed.
Except she didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on in my life. She didn’t know about Scott posing as my fake boyfriend. She didn’t know how badly I wanted to have an important role on the paper. She didn’t know how much I missed her.
“I’ve been ordered to model for Scott,” I said bluntly. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Logan sat up straighter and stopped nudging Kenzie’s knee under the table. The two of them tried not to be nauseating with their public displays of affection . . . but they didn’t always succeed.
“What happened?” Logan demanded in his concerned-big-brother kind of way.
“He’s working on his portfolio and . . . you know what? We can get back to that later. Right now, I’d much rather have you tell me what exactly you said to Scott a few weeks ago.”
I couldn’t believe that I was interrogating Logan about it over lunch. But since the words had already slipped out, I had no intention of trying to take them back. The concern on his handsome face was wiped away in an instant, leaving only a carefully shuttered expression in its place.
“Logan?”
He couldn’t stand disappointing Kenzie, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before he cracked under our interrogation.
“It was nothing,” he said staunchly.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to say anything to Scott,” Kenzie reminded him. “Just like you aren’t going to confront Alex about his fight with Jane.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
I gave him the firmest look I could muster, which in his case wasn’t very tough. It helped that Logan
was dating my best friend, but the guy was still a Notable.
And everyone at Smith High School was well aware that glaring at a Notable could be hazardous to your health.
I’m just surprised the Surgeon General hasn’t issued any official warnings about it.
“If it wasn’t planned, then what was it?” I asked him.
Logan sighed and crossed his arms. “You sounded really upset about his journalism crack, okay? So when Spencer and I happened to see him in the parking lot . . . we may have mentioned that we don’t think kindly of those who mess with our friends.”
Kenzie jabbed him with her elbow. “That’s getting involved!”
“It was no big deal.”
“Yes, it was!” I protested. “It was a very big deal. He’s on the school paper with me! Now thanks to you, that has become about a million times more awkward! God, what else did you do? Let me guess, it was your genius idea for him to start calling me ‘Grammar Girl’ too!”
That last part was pure sarcasm, but instead of rolling his eyes, Logan looked guiltily at the french fries on his plate. “Spencer and I may have mentioned something along those lines.”
“What?”
The guy really needed to learn when he was only digging himself deeper. “We may have said something about . . . not going near you or, um”—he faltered as he took in our horrified expressions—“not getting to know each other on a first-name basis.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” I put my head down on the table and seriously considered whacking it against the hard surface a few times.
Kenzie grabbed Logan’s shoulders. “What were you thinking?”
“It was no big deal, Mack,” Logan repeated.
For the first time I wasn’t jealous of Kenzie’s relationship—I wouldn’t have relished trying to explain why it is generally considered a bad idea to warn off other guys behind your girlfriend’s best friend’s back.
“I bet that’s when he began referring to me as Grammar Girl.” I felt numb. “For future reference, when I say, I’m just venting, don’t get involved, that is not code for Please intimidate the guy I have to see every single day in class!”
Logan didn’t appear to have anything to say to that, probably because he had never imagined good little Jane Smith yelling at him.
Kenzie cleared her throat. “Jane? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine!”
Logan and Kenzie traded skeptical looks as I focused on stabbing the pasta on my plate.
“Hey, guys.” Corey slid into the seat next to mine. “How are you, Jane?”
“She’s fine,” Kenzie answered quickly, probably because I looked like I was reconsidering my decision not to beat my head against the table.
“Oh good. So you’re not worried about that story anymore then?”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “What story?”
“Jane’s struggling a bit in journalism,” Kenzie explained as she reached over to steal a french fry from Logan’s plate. I felt a small kick of jealousy. I wanted to be in the kind of relationship where I could elbow my boyfriend for being a blockhead, sneak a fry, and then continue playing footsie under the table.
“It’s not worth freaking out over, Jane. It’s just the school paper. It doesn’t mean anything.”
It doesn’t mean anything.
I couldn’t believe she was being so blasé about it. When her botched attempt at CPR got four million hits on YouTube, did I tell her not to worry about it?
It’s just the Internet, Kenzie. It doesn’t mean anything.
No, I did not.
My problems with The Smithsonian were nothing compared to being the punch line for every late-night comedian, but that didn’t make them any less real to me. I still needed my best friend’s support, even though I was already too pigeonholed into the role of sidekick to get it.
I didn’t trust myself not to say something I would regret, so I kept my mouth shut and scanned the cafeteria. Logan’s best friend, Spencer, and all his hockey teammates sat at the Notable table presided over by Chelsea Halloway. At least half of the guys looked like they would willingly quit the team just for a date with her. Saturday night . . . Sunday afternoon . . . I bet most of them would willingly sell a kidney for a private Wednesday lunch.
Chelsea knew it too.
Her two lackeys, Fake and Bake, tittered away nearby as she gracefully tossed her hair over her shoulder and accepted a diet soda from one of her many admirers.
Her every move looked like a choreographed dance.
I couldn’t help wondering how she made being popular look so effortless. Chelsea Halloway might not excel under academic pressure, but I had yet to catch her ever appearing anything less than perfect. It was like she was genetically predetermined to get everything she wanted—or almost everything. Although she hadn’t managed to get back together with Logan.
And, according to Kenzie, that hadn’t been for lack of trying.
Not that she appeared to be suffering. In fact, Chelsea looked perfectly content to flirt with every cute guy in her vicinity. On the rare occasion that she glanced over at our table, she merely sent Logan a vaguely pitying smile.
You picked the wrong girl, and we both know it.
At least that was how I always interpreted the look.
“Earth to Jane!” Corey elbowed me right in the stomach.
“Sorry. I was sucked into the Notable vortex. What did I miss?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I sighed. “You’re going to have to repeat it if you expect an answer.”
“Are you still freaking out over your journalism story or what?” Corey demanded impatiently.
“Oh, that.” My stomach muscles coiled into even tighter knots. “Yeah, it’s not going so well.”
Corey patted my knee and made some sympathetic noises before launching into a recitation of his own drama. Not that he had anything new to report.
Oh, I’m having trouble getting in touch with my ridiculously hot rock-star boyfriend. Poor me!
I wasn’t even sure that should count as a problem.
Long-distance relationships can’t be easy, but . . . Corey’s whining was getting old fast. Especially since, contrary to what he thought, not all of his friends were deliriously happy in committed relationships.
Some of us were lying to little old ladies to avoid being fixed up with grandsons.
Or maybe that was just me.
Still, I was just starting to feel guilty for not taking Corey’s relationship issues seriously enough when his face spread into a broad grin.
“On the plus side . . . Tim is flying up to Portland tonight!”
Corey couldn’t have just started the conversation that way. Oh no, he had to build the tension first.
“No way!”
“That’s great, man.”
I nodded along with Kenzie and Logan. “I’m really happy for you, Corey.”
The guy was positively beaming. “His manager, Mitch Monroe, has been talking about doing a collaborative track on their upcoming album with Wilco. So when he heard that Wilco was looking for someone to step in as a replacement for an opening act, the guys jumped on it.”
Meaning that Corey’s separation from his boyfriend was about to be temporarily relieved.
“When is the concert?” Kenzie stole another one of Logan’s fries as he playfully batted her hand away.
“Friday. As in, this Friday.”
“And you didn’t mention it to us earlier!”
Corey’s grin only widened. “I just found out myself. And did I mention that the manager wants to meet you?”
Kenzie looked momentarily surprised, then shook her head. “I’m done with the spotlight, Corey. I mean it.”
“Yes, but that’s not something we’re mentioning to Mr. Monroe—at least not until he hands you the backstage passes. We all scored tickets!” He pulled out two tickets from his backpack and handed them to Kenzie and Logan. “The guys want to see
you again. And they want to meet Logan since they’ve heard so much about him.” Corey rolled his eyes to indicate that Kenzie hadn’t been able to shut up about him during their bus trip from Portland to LA.
I hadn’t been invited to join them then.
They had never asked me. In fact, they never even considered it. Instead, they had assumed that my parents wouldn’t give me their permission and that even if they did . . . I would probably want to stay at home with my Calculus homework.
Not so much, actually.
But I couldn’t accept an invitation that was never extended to me in the first place. Just like I couldn’t invite myself along to this new ReadySet concert, even though it was exactly the kind of thing I should be scoping out for my article. Something I expected Corey to have considered.
I stared at the tickets clutched in Kenzie’s hand as I tried to process what had just happened. I should be happy for Corey that Tim was coming to Portland. I should be happy for Kenzie that she was going backstage with her boyfriend. And, most importantly, I should not be upset that my best friends hadn’t thought to include me. I opened my mouth to say something supportive like, Wow! That sounds amazing. You guys are going to have so much fun! when a tray laden with food thumped down right next to me. I looked up to see . . . Scott.
Uh oh.
Chapter 17
“Sorry I’m late.”
I had entirely forgotten about Scott’s plan to accompany me to lunch. Probably because accusations that include indentured servitude aren’t usually followed up with a friendly meal. He also had no business sitting in on my time with my friends—regardless of Lisa Anne’s opinions, I was still entitled to a private life. Although I found it doubtful that his presence at our table had anything to do with me. He was probably just trying to piss off Logan by joining us.
I suspected that angering Logan was all the motivation Scott needed.
“Uh, hey. I didn’t expect you to show.”
Scott merely nodded and took a massive bite out of his slice of pizza. That’s when he noticed the tickets in Kenzie’s hands.
“Are we going to a concert, Grammar Girl?”
“I—uh, wasn’t really invited.”