by LK Thompson
Ev looked at me and yelled, “Fine! But I’m so sick of her controlling my every move! Every day I go to dance, she’s telling me how to sit or hold my head. Fix your posture. Cross your ankles. Smile like this. Less gums! Why are your eyes droopy? You don’t look real happy—you look fake happy. I’m not some doll that she can pose! I just wish for once that I could really piss her off. Got any ideas?”
I began pulling her hair back gently and brushing it in sections, “You mean if I wanted to piss Mom off?”
She nodded. Mom had Everly when I was six and a half, so rebelling against Mom wasn’t a necessary reality for me. She was preoccupied with a little kid and I could do whatever I wanted. I mean, Everly was seven when I started sneaking the car out. I’m not so sure our childhoods fully coincided, but I keep that to myself.
I pretended to think, “Hmm…let’s see. I’d probably date someone she’d hate. Or start wearing baggy clothing to hide my womanly figure. We all know how Mom hates loose attire.”
Everly’s eyes were bigger than the moon, “That’s it! I dress way too cute! Take me shopping. Please Elle! Pretty please!”
I laughed, “Hold still. Are you serious?”
Everly wasn’t going to drop it, I could tell. “I just want her to leave me alone.”
“She will, Ev. But, right now, you’re winning awards and she can’t see two feet in front of her face because she’s competitive as hell with the other dance moms. It’s not even about you.”
Everly’s shoulders dropped, “I wish I could quit dance.”
“So, do it. Ask her. Beg her! Tell her you refuse to be her puppet any longer!”
Ev’s face completely changed and she smirked, “That’s the problem. I can’t stand Mom, but I love dance. Sometimes I don’t understand how you don’t dance. It’s so much fun. When I’m on stage, I feel like I can fly.”
I tie up the end of her braid and lean forward to kiss her head.
She’s appalled. “Uh, what’re you doing?”
“Nothing. That was just sweet. The whole idea of you flying. You’re a really good dancer, Ev. Try not to worry too much about Mom. She means well.”
She looked skeptical until I say, “Fine! Wanna raid my closet? I’m sure I have some stuff that could low-level piss her off.”
Ev laughed and jumped off her bed, racing to my room. I stood to follow when I heard my phone buzz in the kitchen. I ran to grab it but it’s a number I don’t recognize with a picture I strain to comprehend. Jake’s standing at the beach in the teal swim shorts he’d just left my house wearing, his orange surfboard on the sand behind him. His face is hard to see because it’s buried in a short brunette’s. She’s on her tippy toes, wearing a fluorescent yellow bikini and suddenly my heart is racing. Another text follows the first, Thought you should know
I typed, who is this? And then, Please! I won’t say anything. Tell me!
But they don’t write again and the vomit begins to rise in my throat. It’s a setup. It has to be. That’s the only logical thing that comes to mind. How could Jake do something like this and why would he want to? We were together today!
I gave him everything.
Everything.
Everly is still rummaging through my closet while I paced the perimeter of my room, deciding on a reasonable plan of attack. First, I searched through my contacts for Vicki Bozzi’s number. Then, I send the picture with a text that reads: Hey—who’s the yellow bikini?
Vicki answers within seconds, Eleanor? I don’t know. Are you and Jake broken up?
I laugh to myself and answered, NOPE. Can you ask Babble for me? Don’t tell anyone I sent you this, k?
She’ll do most of the work. I just had to wait until the comments start to appear on Babble for my answer. Who was the yellow bikini? Once I have her name, Michelle, I send the picture straight to Jake and turn off my phone. So much for an uneventful year. I was beginning to doubt such a thing existed anyway.
8/25
He doesn’t care. Jake writes, I’m sorry Elle. SO sorry.
And then, an hour later, Please don’t hate me. Do you?
I wanted to scream, WHAT DO YOU CARE?
Before bed, he texted once more, I’m sorry Elle. I hope you can forgive me.
Maybe it’s because I’m in my pajamas and tired, but I finally answered him. I asked, Why would you want me to forgive you? You obviously don’t care about me.
He responded quickly, Because I never meant to hurt you! I wanna be with you. You’ve gotta believe me, Elle. We’re meant to be together. I messed up.
I’m livid with his response and write, Yes, you did Jake! You meant to ruin me. Congratulations, you succeeded. If you wanted to be with me, you wouldn’t humiliate me like this.
She’s been on my ass for weeks. I’m sorry. REALLY. I don’t know how it got out to Babble—humiliating you was never a thought in my head. Can we meet to talk?
Why? To hear you lie to my face? It’s done Jake. Congrats on your new girlfriend.
Elle, please. I’m sorry!
He doesn’t tell me how it happened or who the girl is. He doesn’t claim to understand what I’m going through. In fact, every word is nice. But, it’s all complete and utter dog shit. He was supposed to be my safe space. The one boy I thought I could trust.
I lie and tell the girls that he dumped me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m the victim here. Screw Jake.
8/26
It’s Harlow who says the right thing. Her face is fallen with empathy, her eyes brimmed with sadness. “Oh, Elle. Are you gonna be okay?”
Until she asked I hadn’t been sure. My mind was a cyclone of facts and feelings and conversations. Every moment with Jake replayed over and over again, never landing on any sort of comprehension. In fact, questions only sprouted more questions and my feelings of betrayal multiplied until I was consumed. When Harlow asked, I looked at her and the storm inside my brain quieted for a moment.
Will I be okay?
What kind of girl would admit defeat? Maybe this was my chance to take control and turn it all around. I reassured her, “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I don’t feel okay right this second, but I will. I’m gonna figure out a way.”
Harlow smiled, her worry momentarily at ease. “Good. I hate that he did this to you, but you’ve always been way outta his league.”
“Most girls are,” I laughed and then asked, “You know what really bothers me about the whole thing?”
She smirked, “That he completely and totally blindsided you?”
It was like she was reading my mind! I exclaimed, “Yes! Like, when and where and how did this happen? We were in the physical presence of each other all the time. When we weren’t holding hands, he was texting me or sending me pictures of where he was and whatever it was he was looking at. I was getting sick of him!”
Harlow offered a half smile, “Maybe it was the first time it happened.”
I cast my eyes to the ground, knowing the truth, “I might be upset, but I’m not delusional. Jake mentioned a group of freshmen girls to me before, all defensive about them stalking him at the mall or something. I didn’t care at the time because he told me he loved me. I trusted him. But, Jake’s the kinda guy who could easily prioritize what feels good in the moment. He’s horrible at thinking ahead, honestly.”
“I can’t imagine losing you for her. It’s gotta be killing him.”
I looked away to think about that. Was it killing him? Could I be so lucky? I admitted, “It’d be nice.”
Harlow sighed, “What’re you gonna do?”
I felt the need to tell her a plan, even if I was inventing it on the spot. So I said, “The only thing I can do. Get even with him. Have him feel exactly the way I’m feeling right now. I’ve gotta win him back and cheat on him.”
Harlow’s jaw fell. “Really? That seems pretty elaborate, not to mention time consuming.”
I looked her in the eyes to show her how serious I am. “I don’t care if it takes all year, Harlow. I’
m done getting stepped on.”
Maybe she believed me, maybe she didn’t, but the glean in her eyes told me she was impressed. She raised her glass of water into the air. “This calls for a toast. Let’s cheers to Junior Year. And to not getting stepped on. Wanna stay at my house tonight? Just us, Morgan and Taryn?”
I’d ditched Taryn, Morgan, and Harlow a lot this summer to spend time with Jake. It was time to readjust my priorities. And I’m glad I did, because at Harlow’s, Taryn dedicated a game to my heartache:
“If Eleanor says the words love or Jake everyone takes a shot!” I shouted my undying love for Jake and took the shots that followed. And when Babble read:
Jake Miller is currently kissing a mystery girl by the bathrooms of Cinema 12.
Morgan, who Jake found about as interesting as canker sore, forced us to listen to a hilarious podcast that had me rolling on the floor laughing. Tangled up with my girlfriends, happiness engulfed each and every one of us.
There were days this summer that I despised them and now I can’t think of a single reason why. When I need them, they’re there.
Friends til the end. Sisters for life.
8/27
Having Harlow back in the group makes me feel whole again. She makes the foursome palpable because out of all of us, she’s the simplest. Harlow’s just nice. Every night, she sends me a message wishing me sweet dreams and in the morning, she sends a meme of something random, but funny. I’ve been friends with her forever and yet, it feels new.
I wish Morgan and Taryn shared the sentiment. Today, sitting by Taryn’s pool, I hear the distaste in their voices as they discussed Harlow’s absence. She was school shopping with her mom and they don’t like that. The both of them are jealous people by nature, so I try to overlook it, but I’d be an idiot not to notice. I know what they’re doing. Measuring. Scoop for scoop. Who has more? Who has less?
They validate one another’s feelings, sharing sideways glances while I remain miles away, pretending I don’t hear. Something inside me tells me not to make a fuss. If I don’t allow the discussion to continue, it’ll go away.
“She’s school shopping with her perfect mother. Lame.” The sentence is small as it slips easily from Taryn’s lips, but it holds a lot of weight. If last year taught me anything, it’s that the littlest words are the easiest to go unnoticed as they pile high. Soon, they’ll be strong enough to crush someone. Without the distraction of Jake, I’ll be sure to watch. Count the accumulations. Send out a warning before it’s too late.
9/2
School’s in full swing and it’s funny because I see the gifts we’ve been granted. Taryn’s got a license, Harlow’s back, there’s only one grade above us. Against all odds, we’ve been placed in the same lunch period. The girls are positively swooning over this power move, but it’s a message on Babble that sticks with me.
Are you kidding me? The school let THEM (Taryn, Harlow, Eleanor, and Morgan for any newcomers) share the same lunch period?! Who’d Eleanor have to sleep with to make that happen?!
I’ve never been one to sleep around—in fact, I’ve only slept with one person who was my boyfriend, so why do they put my name there? Girls in this school have done what I’ve done, ten-fold. It irks me. I listen to Harlow at lunch, when she laughs and announces the comment proudly. Morgan and Taryn chuckle. I smile, about to do the same, but ask, “Why would they say that?”
Taryn answers triumphantly, “Because they’re obsessed with us?”
I clarified my statement, “No, about me sleeping with someone. Why would they say that about me? And not, say…you?”
Taryn exchanged looks with Harlow and Morgan. She opened her mouth to speak and ate a bite of her sandwich instead. Harlow interjected, “I wouldn’t worry about it. Babble’s always saying the dumbest stuff.”
“I get that. But, whenever there’s a sexual comment, it’s always about me. I don’t sleep around.”
The table was quiet for a minute before Morgan changed the subject. I understand why—addressing my comment would be uncomfortable. It’s just that, what if the jokes on me? What if my reputation is why Jake cheated on me? Does the whole school think I’m a slut? If that were true, would the girls even tell me?
9/7
Babble is making my breakup with Jake unlivable. So much so, that I’ve just been scolded publicly by my own best friend.
Jake and Michelle are steaming up P hallway. Again. Hot couple alert.
They’re official? That didn’t take long.
Well, they were definitely talking for a couple weeks when he was still with Eleanor.
Okay, that was just rude. The impossibility of it forces me to rebuke their false claims. Michelle might have followed Jake around, but they weren’t “talking.”
I’m sorry, but WHO are you people? AND WHERE DO YOU COME UP WITH THIS CRAP? Jake was with me EVERY DAY! —Eleanor
ELEANOR, GET OFF BABBLE, NOW! —Taryn
I miss the days when I didn’t know this Michelle girl existed. I wish someone warned me, so I could’ve built a suit of armor in preparation. Maybe I could have dumped Jake first. Or at least not slept with him.
I wonder if I would’ve.
Michelle isn’t awful looking and so far she’s not obnoxious. She’s simply a freshman rocket ship soaring to the top of the popularity food chain. Her appearance is cute in a young, bubbly, infuriating way and she lives in a nice house (which I know from riding my bike by it every single day—yes it’s out of my way. No, I don’t think that makes me crazy) eerily close to Jake’s, and she’s got gigantic boobs and a tiny frame, which is something I can’t compete with and don’t want to. She’s shorter than me by a good six inches and wears her brown hair straight, framing her face perfectly. She fusses with it obsessively, almost like a nervous tick and I’m not being catty when I say that if she doesn’t pull that hair into a ponytail soon, I’m gonna rip it out.
After first period, Michelle turns down H hall with a red headed friend glued to her side. I found this fact out accidentally, but have come to enjoy following her after she passes by me. At her classroom door, she will quickly tuck herself into a desk while I linger in the entry and stare at her, willing her to notice me. C’mon Michelle, tell me how you stole my boyfriend. Tell me how you met! Tell me if you thought I’d just lay down and let this happen!
But she’s mute, fidgeting with her horrible hair. Yesterday, I leaned inside a few inches, chewing my gum, utterly enthralled. She knew I was there, because the color on her cheeks changed from blush pink to candy apple red, yet she refused to make eye contact. When the second bell rang, alerting me that I was about to be late to my own class, I ignored it. Michelle’s teacher lifted herself from her seat at the head of the room and approached me, “Can I help you with something?”
I smiled sweetly, “Oh, I just wanted to give this to Michelle.” I plucked a single hair tie from my wrist and slid it into the teacher’s hand. “She needs it for her hair.”
Finally, Michelle turned to see me and my sweet smile fell flat. The teacher spoke once more, “Okay then, I’ll pass this along. Everything else okay?”
“Yep. All good.”
And it will be. Everyone thinks Taryn is the ruthless one but like I told Harlow, I’m not going to be a doormat this year. This is the year that people will think of me as the player. I’ll make Jake proud.
9/10
Mom placed Everly in another dance school in Maplewood. This one is competitive and will take her talents to the next level or whatever.
Mom frantically gathered Ev’s hair into a slick top bun in front of the small antique mirror that hangs by the back door as she raved about the school’s credentials. She wanted me to come with them, exclaiming, “You’ve gotta see it, Elle! It’s like a dance school in the movies!”
Mom is invigorated by anything movie quality, or even reality TV quality. She’s donning an old black tube top of mine that doesn’t fit her chest whatsoever and her cleavage is spilling out in every direction.
I looked to Ev, “Another dance school?”
Ev nodded. “Just come with us.”
Without much else to do, I agreed. Maplewood’s only the next town over, but a completely different vibe. Pelham is beachy with salty sea air, bike lanes, and sandy accumulations in every street corner, while Maplewood’s just a town.
We made it there fifteen minutes before Ev’s class, which is apparently a school requirement, so I had the pleasure of sitting amongst a herd of hyper focused dance parents pulling tiny head’s of hair into tight pony tails and fussing over runs in their stockings—clear nail polish and hairspray hard at work to keep their ballerinas looking picture perfect. Yet it was the framed photographs on the wall that bothered me the most. Little girls, coated in full on makeup. They looked absurd!
Pointing to the portraits, I was sure to voice my disgust, “Ew, are these people going to force Ev to look like that?”
“Shh! Don’t be rude!” Mom hissed.
Undeterred, I shrugged, “Sorry, but they look ridiculous.”
“Oh God, Eleanor, it’s only for the recitals. Calm down and hush. This is the best dance school in the area and now that she’s ten, it’s time to take her gift seriously.”
I burst into condescending laughter. Everly works hard for that gift—something that Mom should recognize. It was obvious that I couldn’t stick around to watch a bunch of psycho moms critiquing each other’s children, so I told Mom I was going for a walk.
A good distance down the road, I popped into the first building I could find, a Sunoco gas station mini-mart. I scanned the aisles aimlessly and decided to buy gum and a magazine. An older man in front of me argued with the cashier over the ten lottery tickets he wanted to purchase, and I didn’t mind because I had time to kill. Apparently, the tickets needed to be paid for in cash, but he didn’t have enough money. The cashier was explaining that he could afford nine, but that was a problem since the number nine was “unlucky”. I would have offered him a couple bucks, but the customer was being a little ridiculous. If nine is unlucky, do eight. C’mon. I ripped open the pack of gum in my hands and placed a stick in my mouth. When I did, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.