by Marni Bates
“Here.” I handed it to him with anger pulsing through me. He took the bill instinctively and then thoughtlessly crumpled it up in his fist as his hand clenched. “Now we’re even.”
“Not even close,” he retorted. “Why are you doing this, Mackenzie? Dylan told me you fled town to go on Ellen. Do you need more fodder for the media? Is that why you spied on me in the first place? Or are you here for something else?” His eyes flashed with anger, and for just a second he looked as raw as I felt. Then it was gone.
“I’m just doing this to clear the air,” I said, but I couldn’t help wondering if that was true. It was the reason I’d given myself to see him, but part of me, the stupid part, had hoped that everything would work out between us. That I could go back to being his tutor and Chelsea would dump him again and the two of us would get together. Stupid. Very stupid.
“And I wasn’t spying on you!” My voice raised an octave. “How many times do I have to tell you that! I was just outside and I happened to see the two of you making out, okay? Not a big deal. I mean: I get it. The two of you have a history, and history repeats itself. And it’s none of my business that you were kissing her anyway. I won’t mention it again.”
I decided not to tell him that I had inadvertently discussed it on Ellen already. He’d find out soon enough. And if he did watch my interview, he’d get to see just how much I liked him. I never should have blurted out those details on television. But it was too late to take it back now. Too late to point out that he would be better off with someone smart and sweet and—okay—awkward than with Chelsea. Someone who could make him laugh. Someone like, oh, I dunno, me!
“I wasn’t,” he said shortly.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “I was right there. I saw the two of you kissing.”
“No, you saw her kissing me. Big difference.”
My heart gave a ka-thump that I tried very hard to ignore.
“It didn’t look like you were fending her off with a stick.”
“No, I wasn’t. She kissed me, and then I explained it wasn’t going to happen again.” He smiled icily. “Satisfied?”
“Oh,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “Well, um. Good to know. Not that it’s, you know, any of my business.”
Oh, hell, I was seconds away from stuttering.
“Right. Look, let’s just forget it. Doesn’t matter.” He turned smoothly on the ice and started for the exit.
“Hold up!” I nearly did a face-plant as I tried to follow him. “I—I got something for you.”
I could see the surprise in his dark blue eyes as he turned around to face me.
“You got something. For me,” he stated slowly.
“It was an impulse buy.” I smiled and felt my heart do another one of those intense ka-thumps as I dug into my messenger bag and pulled it out. “You know, to help clear the air, I guess. Here.”
I shoved it at him and watched as he slowly turned his present over and looked at me. “John Adams?”
“Yeah. HBO did this miniseries on him a while ago and I never saw it and I heard it was good.” I shrugged nervously. “I understand if you don’t want it. I just thought it’d be fun, you know, to watch it. Together.”
I’m amazed I could speak. My mouth felt dry and my hands had gone all clammy.
The truth is, there’s something way scarier than singing in public, or answering questions about your love life on national television, or being swarmed by the paparazzi. And that’s telling the guy (or girl) you like that you like them. Personally, I’d take the Ellen show any day over this.
But that’s why I had to do it.
“So.” Logan looked from me to the DVD box set and then back to me. “You want to be my tutor again?”
“Well, yes and no.” I took a deep breath of air that felt extra cold from the chill of the ice skating rink. I really hoped I wasn’t making a mistake, and as I hesitated for one last second I remembered the secret Logan had told me. The one he’d probably thought I was too drunk to remember in the morning. About how I’d looked at Patrick that day at Starbucks. . . and how he hadn’t liked it.
“I-thought-it-could-be-a-date.” The words came out so fast they sort of blurred together. “Or not. That’s fine too. And it wouldn’t have to be a big deal. Just a movie and some popcorn. Or, you know ...”
But neither one of us found out what I’d been about to babble because Logan tugged on my jacket until I slid across the ice and bumped into him. Only he didn’t seem to mind. Not if the way his mouth instantly covered mine was any indication.
I’d like to say: wow.
If someone had asked me for the name of the second president of the United States (John Adams, of course) I wouldn’t have been able to answer ... because when Logan Beckett kissed me, my brain shut down. All the thoughts in my head, the worries, the concerns, the stresses, became as quiet and still as the empty ice skating rink around us. All I could feel were his lips on mine. Oh, and my heart wasn’t just doing that single ka-thump anymore. It was beating hot and fast.
And I was kissing Logan right back.
“So,” I said when we came up for air, “I take it that’s a yes to a date.”
Pressed against each other that closely I could see every speck of gray in his eyes and I could watch the mouth that had just kissed me brainless spread into a grin. A smug, confident grin that I had never thought I’d have aimed at me. Then again, I had doubted Logan would ever see me as anything besides a geeky tutor. I guess that just goes to show how quickly things can change.
“That’s a yes, Mack.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind one ear. “You know,” he said conversationally as he lightly brushed his lips against mine, “I think we found something you’re not awkward at.”
“Kissing?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
My brain nearly shorted out when he used his fingers to angle my chin.
“Then I guess we should keep doing it.”
And that’s exactly what we did.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
1. At the beginning of the novel, Mackenzie blames her mistimed elementary school ballet accident for her parents’ divorce. She also feels like her dad ditched them, then replaced them for the ballet teacher and a new family. Have you ever blamed yourself for something that was beyond your control? If you thought you were being replaced, how would you handle it?
2. Everyone at Smith High School thinks of Mackenzie as the resident nerd because she does well in class and is willing to raise her hand when she knows the answer. Does this make her a geek? Is that such a bad thing to be? How does being an outsider come in handy for Mackenzie and her friends?
3. The Notables at Smith High School make popularity look easy and maintain a social hierarchy within the school. How does this change when Mackenzie becomes famous? Are they really as put together up close as Mackenzie first thought they were? Where do you see yourself fitting into your school’s social scene? Do you think you would be happier somewhere else?
4. Mackenzie considers herself an Invisible, and therefore below the notice of Notables. How does this perception help when she begins tutoring Logan? How does it hold her back? How does Logan and Mackenzie’s relationship change as she is thrust into the spotlight?
5. Chelsea Halloway has a talent for making Mackenzie feel small and insignificant ... and Mackenzie doesn’t know how to deal with it. How should she have tried to stand up for herself? Was Mackenzie’s technique of staying Invisible the smartest path for her to take?
6. When the video of Mackenzie knocking over Alex Thompson hits YouTube, her life gets turned upside down with the force of the insane media attention. Does the media go too far when they chase her and Logan into the mall? Why does the line blur between public and private when someone becomes famous? How would you handle being the center of national attention?
7. The YouTube video makes Mackenzie the center of attention, and even though she doesn’t want the attention, it comes with some really great perks: gr
eat clothes, backstage concert tickets, and access to celebrities. What would you want most if you were to become famous? What aspect of being a celebrity would you hate? Would it make a difference what thrust you into the national spotlight, whether it was because of an accident or an unseen talent?
8. Mackenzie is very responsible when it comes to money, but it can also be a sensitive issue for her. How does her reaction to money differ from Logan’s attitude to it? To Spencer’s? Is it as simple as when you have money you aren’t afraid of spending it? Is it possible to become too obsessed with saving money rather than spending it?
Check out Marni’s next book,
FAUXMANCE,
in stores in October 2012.
Chapter 1
Ilooked like a skank. I tugged down the green monstrosity wrapped tightly around my waist so that it brushed mid-thigh and I tried to remember why I put up with Jennifer Lawley as my best friend. This time, she had gone too far.
“I can’t do this!”
It wasn’t the first time I had tried mutiny, and given that I was now wearing the aforementioned green monstrosity instead of staring at it on a hanger, I guess she was justified in believing that I’d back down.
But never again.
She plumped up her already cheery red lips and rolled her eyes at me in the mirror.
“Come on, Holly. It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad!” I sputtered. “We look like mutants! Worse than that! We look like slutty mutants whose clothing went through a woodchipper!”
“We look like Santa’s helpers. Get into the spirit of things already. ’Tis the season, you know!”
Right, because nothing perks up a girl more than hearing Christmas carols twenty-four seven and being forced to ask little children if they’ve been naughty or nice lately. And while I hadn’t actually asked any kids about their naughty-to-nice ratio, it was only because I had yet to join the crowds in the Westside Pavilion to serve my time as “Santa’s Little Helper.” I still knew what was coming. Crying babies, and overprotective parents who snapped orders and bitched into their cell phones about their stupid yearly Christmas cards. And given the very short nature of our “Santa’s Little Helpers” skirts, I had a feeling that Jen and I would be on the receiving end of more than a few crude suggestions about how we could help certain boys fully enjoy their Christmas season.
Let me tell you: you have to be desperate to agree to become an elf in Los Angeles. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
But that’s exactly what I was: desperate. Maybe if I had an allowance, or a regular source of income, I wouldn’t have been taking a Christmas cruise to the Mexican Riviera with my grandpa and (wince) my cousins with absolutely nothing appropriate to wear. But my grandpa believes I need to know the true value of money. I know it, all right.... It makes the difference between being mocked and accepted.
Under normal circumstances, Jen would tell me how lucky I am to have a grandpa who wants to celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday in paradise. She would be envious of me for trading in smoggy Los Angeles for sunny beaches and fruity drinks. Hell, under normal circumstances, I would be thrilled to go myself. If it weren’t for my cousins. To be fair, Andrew and Jacob are okay. I mean, they’re teenage boys who would be more than a little interested in noting the length of Jen’s short skirt. But they’re relatively harmless.
Alison and Claire, on the other hand, are like the Olsen twins on bitch steroids.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating here.
Alison and Claire are an amalgamation of all the twenty-first-century social problems: they are self-entitled, materialistic jerks who enjoy online bullying, teasing, and general unpleasantness as hobbies. They also have a talent for detecting every crack in someone’s self-esteem, which they then hammer away at until the tormented person breaks into a million shattered pieces.
And I’m lucky enough to share a gene pool with them.
Which is why I know from firsthand experience that if I show up for the cruise wearing the same jeans I’ve had for the last two years, they’ll start calling me Annie again. As in Little Orphan Annie. Because ever since my parents died in a car accident, that’s exactly what I’ve been—an orphan.
Real nice, right?
But it’s not all bad. I mean, it’s not like I ever knew my parents in any meaningful way. Apparently, I was a fussy baby, so at the nine-month mark they asked my grandpa to watch me for a weekend while they took a much needed mini-break.
And when my exhausted dad fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a tree, what started as a two-day visit turned into a permanent living situation.
My grandpa was great about the whole thing. There were never any parental duties that he skipped out on. He supported me in becoming a Girl Scout, helped me sell boxes of cookies, and then hugged me tightly when I told him that none of the other girls liked me. He told me they just didn’t appreciate my chutzpah the way he did. And even though he went to Synagogue every week, he never pressured me to have a Bat Mitzvah or go by Rachel, my Jewish-sounding middle name. Grandpa understood that after a brutal ten hours of labor on Christmas Day, his Jewish daughter and her Catholic-raised husband thought the prickly name Holly was appropriate.
If only they could see me now—dressed up like a tarty elf.
I tugged down my skirt once again.
“I mean it.” I told Jen. “You said I only had to try on the costume and then I could back out. Well, I tried it on. I look like a holiday hooker. Can we go now? I need to start sending copies of my résumé out to department stores.”
Jen tugged her own costume down, only she was adjusting the low-dipping green shirt so that it flashed a cheery bit of red bra under the cleavage.
“Like you have a résumé!”
She had a point.
“Then clearly we need to get out of here so that I can make one up and then I can start handing it out to department stores.”
“The economy, as always, sucks. No one is hiring, Holly. It’s a Christmas miracle that we found this job as it is. Now we are going to go out there and spread some holiday cheer!”
I didn’t know how she could manage to say that last bit with a straight face.
“A Christmas miracle that has me sluttified and asking people how ‘naughty’ they’ve been?” I squawked. “If we were outside, we could get arrested for this!”
“It’s not indecent exposure on an elf.” She flicked back the red streak in her bangs. “Look, there are kids out there and they expect us to make them happy. Are you really going to disappoint the children?”
Jen knew I had a soft spot for kids, and if it got me out of the dressing room and into the mall where she could try out her flirting technique in her green elf skirt, then she was going to play the you can’t disappoint the children card for all it was worth.
“Fine,” I grumbled, “but you—”
“Owe you big-time,” she finished for me. “Yeah, Holly, I know. Whatever. Now let’s boldly go where many elves have gone before.”
“Fine. Let’s just get this thing over with then.”
Jen grabbed my arm and thrust me out the door of the employee bathroom like she didn’t trust me to actually leave.
She knows me way too well.
The outside world was an absolute madhouse. Shoppers in December should be forced to take a sedative before trying to purchase presents for loved ones. One particularly frazzled mother was yelling at her daughter, “No, I’m not going to buy you any plastic ponies, Krystal! And if I hear one more word about them, Christmas will be canceled!”
Jen and I were shoved and jostled by strangers who madly searched for just the right gift that said, “I love and appreciate you. Also, I’m sorry about that stupid thing I did last week. Forgive me?” With the pressure to be thoughtful, creative, generous, and sweet all tied into a present, it was a wonder that more people didn’t off themselves during the holiday season. It’s not so much that I really minded Christmas. . . just the way it eclipsed my
birthday. My grandpa did his best, but I never had a real party since no parents wanted to schlep their kids around the day after Christmas when they could gaze bleary-eyed at the fake plastic tree sitting in the living room. But when grandpa told me his plans for this year—that in celebration of his mid-December birthday we were spending the holidays on a family cruise with my aunt and her picture-perfect nuclear family—I really wanted to ask if I could stay with Jen in LA instead.
Hence the need for new clothes and the job that forced me to spread holiday cheer. And act jolly. And all that other nonsense.
So I plastered a big ol’ smile on my face as Jen and I walked up to the special area where Santa was evidently enjoying the last of his lunch break with a cup of eggnog in his hand.
It wasn’t until we were right next to St. Nick that we realized eggnog wasn’t the main ingredient in his drink.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one having trouble getting into the holiday spirit.
Although he seemed to become significantly more chipper when he spotted Jen and me in our outfits. “C’mere!” he suggested. “Sit on Santa’s lap!”
Then he cackled as if he had said something incredibly clever instead of creepily attempting to hit on a pair of high school girls.
Jen clutched my hideous green tunic sleeve. “Oh, my God!” she breathed in horror. “Not Santa!”
Jen was one of those kids who resolutely believed all through elementary school that the big man came down her chimney. She also wanted to give other children that same feeling of magic each year. I didn’t care. I mean, I like kids, but it’s not like they aren’t going to figure out eventually that they sat on some weird guy’s lap every year.
“Yep. It looks like good St. Nick has been a bit on the naughty side this year.”
Santa lolled back in his huge chair, apparently oblivious to our whispered conversation.
“Should we report him?” I asked Jen. “Or better yet, can we leave now? The man reeks, and if he spews, we don’t want to be the ones cleaning it up.”