I could see the muscles flexing in Anya’s jaw. It looked like she was clenching her teeth together, which made me wonder if she grinds her teeth at night like I do, and if she had a mouth guard, and which one, and if she liked it … but we probably had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
“Fine,” Anya finally uttered. “Why not? It’s a new year, right? It’s nothing so earth-shattering or life-changing that we can’t bury the proverbial hatchet, right? I mean, assuming I’m not the ‘psycho’ you apparently tell everyone I am, and I’m not actually wielding a hatchet under my coat.”
She leaned in toward Andy. “Don’t worry; I’m not. I leave my hatchet home on Tuesdays.”
I wasn’t sure how much of that was intended to be friendly, but it seemed like most of it was.
“Fine by me,” Andy said. “Since Hailey is apparently in charge of who is friends with who, I guess it’s her world now, we just live in it.”
“Great!” I said, pleased with myself. “It’s about time. Wanna shake on it? Wait—even better, maybe you could hug it out.”
Dead silence in Yogurtland.
“Um, let’s work up to that,” Anya said. Andy just stared at his shoes—Shoegazer! Shoegazer! I oddly thought, but kept to myself—and he chuckled uncomfortably.
“Fine,” I said. “Baby steps.”
Oh, crap, I thought, even as I was finishing the second word, realizing that’s the last thing I should have said around Anya.
I glanced at her to catch any reaction, but thankfully that’s right when Xandra sauntered in, distracting everyone from me trying to pry my foot from my big fat mouth with a crowbar.
Xandra was wearing a cashmere hoodie, black leggings and metallic Ugg boots. I bet an Ugg boot would fit in my mouth right now.
“Hey hey,” she singsonged. I glanced at the shimmering eyesores adorning her feet, thrilled at the opportunity for my wit to wipe away my gigantic brain fart. “Xan, when aliens finally wipe us out, it’s gonna be because they couldn’t get past our wearing Uggs.”
Andy laughed and Anya nodded with approval. But Xandra was impervious.
“I like them,” she said. “And they’re comfy.”
“Don’t let Emily see you in those,” I said. “She’ll call PETA.”
“Let her,” Xandra said. “I’ll call mall security next time she goes ‘shopping.’” Xandra made air quotes when she said shopping, and we all (except Andy) knew exactly what that meant: Emily’s penchant for five-fingered discounts. Speaking of Andy, Xandra spun in his direction and said hi.
“Hey,” he replied.
Xandra waited for it to dawn on Andy that he should proffer a little more. “I’m Andy.”
“Oh, I know,” she said coolly. “I’m Xandra. We have chemistry together.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s—you know, a big class.”
“I sit right next to you.”
“Right,” he said, flailing. “I just get so focused on my studies—”
“You’re barely passing the class. You’ve cheated off my paper five times. On the semester midterm, when Mr. Spaid was distracted by the fire alarm your buddy Frankie tripped just for kicks, you actually leaned over and asked me what a covalent bond was.”
“Um, right, and I meant to thank you for that, but I’m just, you know, not great with names.”
Xandra chuckled. “So you know a lot of Xandras?”
Andy turned red. I worried for a second that he would get pissy with her, especially coming right after my forced Andy–Anya intervention, but he was impressively diplomatic: “No. Look, I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“You’re busy with your friends. Like Skyler and … the others.”
She said “the others” portentously and followed with a smile, breaking the tension. Andy laughed with relief. I wondered whether he watched Lost and if that was what Xandra meant by the foreboding “others” reference, or whether it was unintentional.
The four of us walked outside. We were a few blocks into our walk when Andy suddenly turned to Anya.
“Anya,” he said tentatively. He started to speak again and stopped. We could all hear the gears grinding as he tried to select his words.
“Look. I owe you a huge apology. Skyler told me to spread the ‘psycho’ term around school. It’s no excuse, but … I just didn’t have the balls to tell her off.”
Anya looked genuinely touched.
Andy continued, “It was really wrong. I just … I don’t know, there’s just been so much stuff and—”
He stopped, glancing at Xandra and me, and I suddenly felt like my presence was unwanted, like I’d just walked into the boys’ bathroom. I glanced down, staring at my bracelet as if I’d just discovered the secret to eternal life etched in it.
Anya took mercy on him, classy and cool as ever: “Hey. It’s okay. Really. It takes even bigger balls to apologize and admit you were wrong.”
Andy looked up appreciatively. “Thanks.”
Then again, Anya being Anya, she took only another second to bust those very same balls: “So if you just remind me every day for the next two weeks that you’ve been a complete dick, I’m willing to start over. If you are.”
Andy burst out in laughter. “I am.”
Anya: “And…”
Andy sighed. “And I am a complete dick.”
Xandra chimed in: “Okay, dude, you’re totally winning points. So I have to know: Why do you even hang out with those assholes?”
Andy pondered. “You mean Skyler and her clique?”
“All of ’em. Skyler and the ‘others,’ sure, but also the jocks, those jerks who make life hard for anyone whose only goal in life isn’t to letter in three sports and win a district championship.”
Andy laughed. “I can’t deny the assholeness of that crew.” He gathered his thoughts again. “But they’re my friends. They are. I know how they can come off, and I know the way they act gets old, but it’s just, you know—”
I pitched in: “Insecurity?”
“I guess. I mean, underneath the meathead exterior of those guys … is another level of meathead idiocy … but underneath that, you have some good guys. They just have to put up a front, you know? Everybody does that sometimes, right?”
They sure do, I thought, feeling a little gross about myself.
“And the bitches?” Xandra asked. No beating around the bush for her.
“Definitely insecurity,” he said.
“True dat,” I agreed.
Turns out Andy was a lot smarter than I’d given him credit for. (His ineptness with protons and electrons notwithstanding.) Seeing him bring his guard down, I liked him more now than ever. In fact, his loyalty to the idiot crowd was endearing. And a shrewder purpose came to mind: His ability to navigate easily between a variety of sociological groups could come in handy down the line.
* * *
It was a gorgeous Saturday in September. I was in the kitchen trying to decide what I wanted to snack on when my dad walked in with a picnic basket.
“Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,” I said.
My dad smiled his easy grin and placed the basket on the counter. “Is there anything in there worth munching?” he asked.
“I was just trying to decide.”
“Well, if not, we’re going to Bay Cities and getting sandwiches to go.”
“I vote for that,” I said. “What’s Bay Cities?”
“What’s Bay Cities?” Dad was making his incredulous face, which always made me laugh. “You mean to tell me none of your new friends have taken you there yet?”
“Uh … nope?”
“These are not friends,” he said. “Bay Cities has by far the best sandwiches in the city. Messy and delicious.”
“Oh, really?” my mom said as she entered the kitchen. “How do you know who has the best sandwiches, and why haven’t you taken us there?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, for one, it’s in Santa Monica—which isn’t far, but it’s not exactly on the way to a
ny of our local haunts.”
“We have haunts?” I asked.
“Oh, we have haunts,” he said. “Yours is the refrigerator. Anything new in there since you last looked ten minutes ago?”
“No,” I said. “I always think that something will magically change, and yet it never does.”
“Get used to it, babe,” Dad said. “Life lesson numero uno: Nothing changes. People. Refrigerator contents. Nothing.”
“Well, unless someone goes shopping,” Mom said.
“For refrigerator contents or people?” I asked.
“Well, that settles it,” my dad said as he stood. “We’re getting sammiches at Bay Cities, and then I’m taking you to Hollywood Forever Cemetery.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I gave him my alarmed face, and it was totally sincere. “Cemetery? You think that a) I want to go to a cemetery, and b) I want to eat there? Uh … no.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” my dad said, flashing his usual Cheshire Cat grin.
My objection was filed for the record and otherwise ignored, as usual. We got the sandwiches and headed for the cemetery, and though I protested most of the way, I was mildly curious as to what the hell my dad had planned.
But when we got there, it turned out he wasn’t necessarily the one who had done the planning. They actually have this ridiculously cool thing at the cemetery where they show classic (or cult) movies on the side of a huge mausoleum, and people bring blankets and picnic baskets and make a night of it. A DJ spins records to set the mood or just entertain people while they wait until it gets dark. Then they start the movie around nine p.m.
That night, the movie was Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. I’d never seen it, but my dad had always said it was one of his favorites, and we tended to share the same taste in movies. It was so cool.
Part of me wished my mom hadn’t had plans with Andy’s mom, so she could have experienced it with us, but the other part of me was glad Mom was making friends and glad that my dad and I kind of had a new thing. Not that I planned to spend every weekend night out with my dad, but it was pretty fun, plus this was something my friends and I could do as well.
Oh, and the sandwiches were damn good too.
I told Anya about it the next day, and she wanted to go, but two nights in a row were a bit much for me, so we made plans to get a bigger group and go next weekend. Plus, Sunday was a school night, so Saturday made more sense. Ever think about how much that sucks? Sunday is the weekend, but it’s also a school night. Kind of ruins the whole day. Like if you get quiet enough on a Sunday night, you can almost hear Monday taunting you with the theme from Jaws.
* * *
In fifth-period English, we were being quizzed on Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. The question posed by Miss Mercer: “How much power should a government have?” Considering all the unrest and protests we’d lived through the past few years, it would seem like a legitimate answer might be “less than it currently has.” I expected even Skyler to say as much when she proudly raised her hand.
Not so much.
“Um…,” Skyler said. “I feel like we need to be protected. Like, is freedom more important than safety? All the hippies who get crazy over their ‘rights’ and have so much free time to stand outside and protest don’t seem to have jobs. So how much does their opinion really matter?”
Of course. Spoken like a true girl of privilege.
She continued, “I think government should have more control, actually. Like wouldn’t it be nice if someone could step in and make sure Hailey wasn’t wearing a Marc Jacobs shirt from two seasons ago? Like, embarrassing much?”
God, really?
Several kids turned to look at me and my Marc Jacobs shirt. Even though intellectually I knew she was making an ass of herself, no one let my subconscious in on that. Old insecurities rose up, and I could feel my face getting hot. I heard a few laughs, and I felt even more embarrassed as some guy I didn’t know put up his hand to high-five Skyler. (The only saving grace? She didn’t raise her hand to meet his—apparently she’s above high fives. I can’t say I’m a fan of them either, but I digress.)
The Old Hailey would have sunk down in her chair and prayed for the moment to pass, but I decided to take this one head-on. I could hear Miss Mercer starting to admonish Skyler for her attitude, but the last thing I needed was a teacher defending me. That’s the sort of thing no one lives down.
“Guilty as charged,” I said. (I mean, it was true. The shirt I was wearing was one of Noel’s castoffs—new to me, but not to the fashionistas of the world. Apparently.) “This shirt was not purchased at full retail from an overpriced boutique within the past few weeks. I didn’t know clothes had an expiration date, but thank you for teaching me they do.”
“My pleasure,” Skyler replied, unrepentant. “I do what I can to educate the less fortunate. It’s a calling.”
Suddenly, a boy’s voice chimed in: “I’ve had this shirt for a couple years.” I turned to see it was Chris.
Holy crap, Chris was looking right at Skyler, eyes boring holes through her. “I’d like to personally apologize to everyone for wearing this ancient shirt to school today,” he said. “I guess I’m ‘like totally’ out of fashion.”
Skyler pursed her lips, steaming. She said nothing.
“Beyond,” I said to Chris. “I don’t know how you can even walk these halls.”
“I probably shouldn’t,” he said with a smile. “Miss Mercer, can I be excused? I have to go home for the day. I’m wearing clothes Skyler doesn’t approve of.”
Marry me now.
Skyler exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “Chris, I didn’t say anything about your clothes.”
Miss Mercer was now conspicuous in her silence, letting this whole thing play out. She even seemed to be enjoying it. Power to the people, I guess. Less governing, more Bradbury.
“I should probably be excused too,” I told Miss Mercer. “It was my shirt that started this. I don’t want to offend anyone else’s delicate fashion sensibilities. It could lead to, I don’t know, anarchy. Human sacrifice. Cats and dogs living together. Mass hysteria!”
Chris laughed. I didn’t know whether he got the ancient Ghostbusters reference (one of my dad’s favorites) or just thought it was funny. I didn’t care, just as long as he was laughing.
“Well,” Miss Mercer said, “in the spirit of our lesson plan, perhaps I should abdicate power and leave it to the people. Show of hands: Who thinks Hailey and Chris should go home because their clothes aren’t as up to date as Skyler would like?”
Hailey and Chris. I didn’t mind the sound of that at all.
We looked around the room. No hands were raised. (Which was good, but wouldn’t it be awesome if we could leave for the day? We could go to the mall, grab some frozen yogurt, compare favorite bands…)
Skyler sunk down a bit, but she wasn’t totally chastened. She raised her hand. Only Skyler.
“Well,” Miss Mercer said. “That settles that. It seems Skyler is the only one bothered by this. Nobody gets excused. But, Skyler, see me after class.”
Skyler rolled her eyes and then just looked down. I mouthed, “Thank you” to Chris, and he winked at me. My face felt hot again, but this time it most definitely wasn’t from embarrassment.
* * *
It was a perfect California day: seventy-five degrees and sunny. I’d come to learn that meant the smog layer wasn’t so brutal for a change—today, you could actually see things more than fifty feet away.
Emily, Xandra and Anya had come over after school. I was preparing myself for a confession. Maybe it was how honest everyone had been, or maybe it was because I’ve never been a really good liar—so much for my career in politics or big business—but I felt I needed to come clean.
“You guys?” My voice was meek, maybe more so than I’d intended.
Anya looked up. She’d been attending to the sole of her Converse sneaker, coloring in part of it. Emily and Xandra sat perched at attention.
“I kind of nee
d to tell you something.”
Anya’s eyebrow cocked.
Emily sat patiently.
Xandra piped up: “You’re a man.”
“No!” I blurted, and everyone cracked up.
“It’s okay,” Emily said, joining in. “We’re all friends here. We don’t care that you have boy parts.”
“They have lots of great support groups for that,” Anya said. “Especially in California. You sit in a circle and everyone tells their stories.”
I smiled.
“Guys, seriously,” I said, trying to steer this back on course. “It’s not like a huge deal or anything, but it’s kind of an interesting thing, I guess, and I just feel I owe it to you to be totally honest. Because we’re really friends now.”
“Oh my Christ,” Anya said. “This is something serious? What’s the deal? You’re not actually a man, are you?”
“Lesbian!” Xandra announced. “Lesbian? It’s lesbian, right?”
“No, I’m not a lesbian.”
Emily: “But if you were, you’d totally be into me, right?”
I sighed.
“Oh, spit it out,” Anya said. “You can tell us anything. Unless it’s that you like Nickelback.”
“Oh God, no,” Xandra said. “Not that.”
“I’d rather hang myself than listen to that band,” Anya added.
“Stop it, you guys,” I said, laughing. I took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s none of those things. It’s definitely not Nickelback. Here’s the thing: I, well, I wasn’t always popular. Like at my last school, I wasn’t popular at all.” I thought about Amy and got a pit in my stomach as soon as I said that, making a mental note to Skype with her later. I’d been pretty bad the last few weeks about staying in touch.
Nobody said anything. Maybe I made too big a deal out of that popularity part. Technically, I had only been popular at West Hollywood for a few days, but still.
I continued, “I wasn’t just unpopular; I was a total outcast. People made fun of me and it sucked and I hated school and, so … yeah.”
Confessions of a Hater Page 8