When we were all talking one night at a sleepover, Marci, Jenny, and me, I lied and said I’d done stuff I hadn’t.
Afterward, I wondered why. Why couldn’t I have just said, I haven’t done that yet? What would have been the big deal?
I guess I was worried if I did, they might have made fun of me for not having done stuff, or they might think I was judging them for the stuff they’d done. What would have happened if I’d just told the truth?
Marci’s totally into the Christian deception. She checks out Lara’s dress list every day, and she judges up a storm. Marci makes the team on the show Fashion Firing Squad look like Girl Scouts. She texts me as soon as Lara posts something new, along with her biting review.
ZOMG, the latest one looks like a red velvet cupcake with chicken pox! Hideous!!!
The funny thing is, Lara’s getting more and more excited about a dance that I haven’t even asked her to yet. Or more accurately, Christian hasn’t. He’s been hinting that he’s going to ask her, but he hasn’t pulled the trigger. It’s kind of fun to watch Lara squirming like a worm on a fishing hook, wondering if and when he’s going to do it.
So Lara keeps herself busy picking out new dresses, and Marci gets to play Fashion Firing Squad. It’s a total win-win-win.
One evening, I’m so busy multitasking, chatting to Lara as Christian in one window on Facebook, laughing with Marci about Lara’s dress choices in another, and trying to actually get homework done in a third, that between all that and the music I’m blasting, I don’t notice that my mom is standing behind me, reading the screen over my shoulder.
“Why are you flirting with Lara Kelley?” she asks.
I jump and quickly minimize all my windows.
“MOM! Did you consider knocking?” I complain, but my heart is beating furiously because I am so busted.
She sits on my bed.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Breanna?” she asks. “I know being a teenager can be … confusing, and especially with all … well, those shows on TV and … well, all I’m saying is, do you need to tell me something about your … uh … preferences?”
It takes me a second to realize what my mom’s saying, or not saying. And when I do I groan. Because, seriously? It’s like she doesn’t know me at all.
“I like boys, Mom, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t understand. Then why are you talking about going to a dance with Lara Kelley?” My mom glances between me and the now-blank computer screen, her brow wrinkling in confusion. Well, wrinkling as much as it can after the Botox she had done before she had the photos taken for those awful “Everything I touch turns to sold” bus shelter posters.
If I’d had some warning, I could have come up with an excuse, but I’m blanking, so I go with the truth. Well, truth-ish.
“It’s a joke I’m playing on Lara, ’cause I was pissed she made cheerleading and I didn’t,” I explain, fully expecting the grounding guillotine to be lowered the minute I’m done. “I’ve been pretending to be this guy Christian for a month or so, and she’s developed a major crush on me. Well, I mean on him …”
I trail off, expecting Mom to start her tirade about how I’m irresponsible and such a disappointment and how I should be more like her — all the usual complaints she has about how I don’t measure up. But to my amazement, she smiles. And then she starts laughing.
“That’s priceless,” she says. “Lara actually believes you’re this guy?”
“Uh … yeah. She’s been, like, flirting with me. Well, him. She even thinks I’m going to invite her to my school dance, and she’s picking out all these really fugly dresses just in case. I’ve kind of been stringing her along and …”
“Now this I have to see. Kathy Kelley’s daughter flirting with a fake boyfriend. C’mon, show me!”
I’m totally glad she’s not mad and grounding me, but … Suddenly, I have this crazy feeling that maybe I wish that she was. Because this feels kind of weird.
Reluctantly, I maximize the Facebook chat window. Lara’s asking, Christian? Are you still there?
Yeah sorry. Had to step away for a sec.
Oh. Thought I said the wrong thing. : )
Lara is so insecure it’s pathetic. Every time Christian shows the slightest bit of coolness to her, she thinks it’s because she did something wrong. It makes it so easy to play her.
“Oh dear. Poor Lara. She’s so needy and gullible,” Mom says. “Tell her, ‘You could never say the wrong thing, baby.’ ”
“What?”
“Go on. Type it.”
You could never say the wrong thing, baby, I type slowly on the keyboard. Just a few moments ago I felt powerful, like Lara was my puppet on a string. Now, all of a sudden, the tables are turned. Now it’s like I’m the puppet and Mom’s the one pulling the strings.
“Type how cute that picture of her is, and how just looking at it gives you the warm fuzzies,” Mom says.
“Christian wouldn’t say ‘warm fuzzies,’ Mom. That’s totally lame.”
“Just type it,” she orders.
My fingers pound the keys angrily.
Aw, you’re so sweet. : ) Lara types back. I seriously want to puke.
“Let me have a turn,” Mom says.
I stare at her. “What?”
“Come on, move over. I want to be Christian for a while.”
Okay, this has now officially moved into Beyond Weird territory.
“No. Mom …”
“Oh, come on, Bree. It’s just a little fun.”
I slide out of my chair. Mom sits down and immediately starts typing.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s one thing for me to do this. It was bad enough when Marci got involved. But now my mother is doing it.
“Kathy Kelley always walks around with her nose in the air like she’s better than everyone else,” Mom mutters as she’s typing. “Pretending she’s the perfect mom. Ha!”
She turns to me and smiles.
“We know better than that, don’t we, Bree?”
“Um … yeah. We do. If she’s such a perfect mom, then why is Lara such a screwup?”
I’ve heard Mom say those exact words so many times I just repeat what she expects me to say.
“I’m so sick of seeing her fake smile on those campaign posters,” Mom says. “You should have made the cheerleading team, not that crazy daughter of hers. I bet it was all about politics. Kathy probably pulled strings with the coach. I knew I should have called Coach Carlucci.”
I started this whole Christian thing because I was mad that Lara laughed at me when she made the team and I got cut. But listening to Mom, I try to remember why I was so mad. It wasn’t me who was that into cheerleading to begin with. It was my mom. I’ve kept it going because I was bored, and to be honest, I’m curious how far I can take this. How long it takes before Lara realizes that she’s been tricked into baring her heart to a fake guy.
But now that Mom’s involved, I almost wish I’d never started.
“Chill, Mom, she didn’t,” I say. “I just didn’t make the team, okay?”
“Oh, look, Lara has to get off the computer, but she sent us xoxo. How cute,” Mom says. She types, Love you.
“What?!” I shriek. “What did you do that for? I’m not ready for the L word!”
“It’s not you saying it,” Mom says. “It’s Christian.”
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!
Now I really wish she’d grounded me instead. It’s always like this with Mom. I can’t have anything for myself without her ruining it. I’m glad I didn’t make the stupid cheerleading team. It’s worth it just to spite her.
“It’s about time someone took those Kelleys down a peg or two. I’m proud of you, Bree.”
I’ve tried so hard and for so long to get my mom to say those words. But now that she does, they leave me feeling hollow.
SYDNEY KELLEY and I haven’t sat on the bus together for a long time, but after she climbed up and hung out with me i
n the tree fort last week, something’s shifted. Today she gets on the bus before me, then slides over and smiles when I get on, inviting me to sit next to her.
I hesitate for a second or two, wondering about what Spencer and the rest of the guys are going to say. But then I remember how good it felt to chill with Syd again, and I sit down next to her, our shoulders touching as the bus lurches forward onto the next stop.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Okay,” she says. “Lara’s still being annoying, but that’s not exactly breaking news.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Bree is, too,” I tell her. “But let’s not talk about our stupid sisters, okay?”
“Good thinking,” Syd says. She pulls some papers out of her backpack. “Hey, can you run some lines with me? Beauty and the Beast auditions are on Friday after school, and I’m trying out for Belle.”
“Sure,” I say, hoping I don’t get carsick. I mean, we’re on a bus, so maybe it’ll be different.
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by singing anything,” Syd says.
“I don’t care if you sing, as long as you don’t expect me to,” I tell her.
She laughs and seems to shift a little closer to me. Our knees touch, and she doesn’t move hers away.
“You read the Beast. Start here,” Syd says, pointing with her finger.
“Okay. Here goes,” I say, clearing the morning frogginess out of my throat.
“Belle? Are you happy here with me?”
“Yes,” Syd answers tentatively.
“What is it?” I read.
Syd looks at me with wide, sad eyes. I feel queasy. I think it’s just because I’m reading on the bus.
“If only I could see my father again, just for a moment. I miss him so much.”
“There is a way,” I read. I pretend to hand her a magic mirror. “This mirror will show you anything, anything you wish to see.”
“I’d like to see my father, please,” Syd says.
According to the script, this magic mirror shows Belle’s dad stumbling around in the woods, lost, sick, and in pretty bad shape.
“Papa. Oh no. He’s sick, he may be dying. And he’s all alone.”
Syd’s good at this acting thing. I turn to look at her, because she sounds like she’s starting to cry. But she smiles at me, so I carry on reading.
“Then … then you must go to him,” I say.
I feel sorry for the Beast dude. He obviously likes this Belle chick, but he’s going to have to let her go.
“What did you say?”
“I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.”
I wonder — if I had a girl I liked as my prisoner and I thought maybe she was starting to like me back, would I let her go? I mean, I know it would be the right thing to do, but if I were some Beast guy living all alone in the middle of the woods, would I still care about doing the right thing? Who would be there to know if I did the wrong thing except for me?
“You mean … I’m free?”
Syd sounds so amazed that you’d think I was really keeping her prisoner.
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank you,” she says. And then she tells the pretend magic mirror, “Hold on, Papa. I’m on my way.”
“Take it with you so you’ll always have a way to look back and remember me,” I read. I’m really feeling this dude’s pain now. I don’t want her to go.
“Thank you for understanding how much he needs me,” Syd says, and the warmth and gratitude in her eyes is so genuine I almost feel like she’s going to lean forward and kiss me.
“Did I get all the lines right?” she asks.
“What? Oh yeah,” I say, half disappointed that she doesn’t, even though I’d really catch crap for that. But it would be worth it.
“You make a pretty good Beast,” Syd says. “If you could carry a tune, I’d tell you to try out.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. No way, no how,” I assure her. “The only place I sing is in the shower.”
“Coward,” she says. “I’ve heard you sing before — when we were younger. You weren’t that bad.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, my voice has changed since then.”
“Yeah, it’s not as high and squeaky,” Syd says, but she’s grinning, so I know she’s teasing me.
“My voice was never squeaky,” I tell her.
She starts making squeaky mouse noises, and so I tickle her side, in the place I remember from when we were little that she’s really ticklish, and then she’s laughing and gasping. “Stop! Truce!”
So I do.
“Seriously, do you think I’ve got a chance?” she asks. “I want the part of Belle so badly. I’ve been practicing for over a month.”
“I’m no expert, but I think you’re great,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“It’s hard, because Maddie and Cara are trying out, too, and they’re my best friends. I want the part, but I’ll feel bad if they’re upset that they don’t get it.”
I like that about Syd. She’s ambitious, like Mom, but she’s not just out for herself.
“Well, you know what they say … all’s fair in love and theater.”
She laughs. “I don’t think that’s exactly what they say, but theater can feel like war sometimes.”
The bus pulls up in front of school.
“Well, good luck with the auditions,” I tell her.
“Break a leg,” she says. “That’s what you say in theater.”
“Break a leg, then. Break both of them.”
“No, don’t say that!” Syd giggles as she follows me off the bus. “Breaking both legs wouldn’t be so great!”
“Definitely only break one, then.”
The last thing I want is to wish bad luck on Sydney, just when we’re starting to hang out again.
WHEN MR. JONES asked for my math homework and I didn’t have it, I wanted to sink through the floor, because I’m not the kind of student who does that. Honestly, I’m not. I always do my homework.
Except last night I didn’t, because how could I possibly think about logarithms after Christian said he loved me? It wasn’t a long, romantic protestation of love — just a simple Love you right as he was signing off. But still — he said it. The L word.
I tried to concentrate on my homework, I really did. But it was impossible. It’s the first time anyone has said Love you to me other than my parents or my grandparents. The first time a guy has said it to me. That’s a pretty memorable moment, right? I printed out the chat convo and put it in the carved wooden box Grandma and Grandpa brought back from their trip to Canada. The memory box, where I keep my treasures — things that remind me of important events or special moments that make me happy. There aren’t many things inside it.
I bet Christian isn’t letting his grades slip. He’s super smart, as well as hot. He’s taking four AP classes this year. I can’t even imagine. I don’t want him to think I’m not smart enough for him. It’s bad enough wondering if I’m pretty enough every time I look at his profile picture.
I worry whether I’m enough for him, period, all the time. I know he doesn’t spend as much time worrying about me. I asked him once why there were so few posts on his Facebook wall and he said he’s so busy with APs that he really only ever logs in to talk to me. He just doesn’t have the time to keep up with everyone else’s posts.
If only I were that focused.
But he still hasn’t asked me to his dance, even though he’s been hinting at it for weeks. That’s another thing that’s been driving me crazy, and, if I’m honest, affecting my schoolwork. I’ve been spending a lot of my time on the computer either chatting to Christian or searching for dresses instead of doing what I should be doing. And Syd is being such a pain, always bugging me to get off because she thinks her homework is more important than mine, even though she’s only in middle school and I’m in high school.
I don’t understand why Christian doesn’t just come out and ask me. If he c
an say he loves me, then asking me to the dance should be a no-brainer, right? Why does he keep stringing me along? It’s soooooooo frustrating, not to mention crazy-making. I just want to know for certain so I can pick my dress, get some shoes, figure out how to wear my hair, and all that stuff — and also because then I’ll finally get to meet Christian in real life. The thought of walking into the dance with him, dancing to some slow song, being in his arms knowing that all the other girls are wishing that they were me …
My daydream is interrupted by a text from Ashley.
Don’t forget to wear uniform to school tomorrow!
Oh shoot! I forgot. I have to go throw my cheerleading uniform in the wash. I’ll wait till later, because Syd’s going to want the computer.
Plink!
Facebook chat window. It’s him …
Hey, babe — how’s it going?
Pretty good. But can’t chat much. Too much homework. Got to catch up.
: ( Homework more exciting than me?
Trust me, I’d SO much rather talk to you than do math. But I have to keep my grades up or the ’rents will freak.
Yeah, I know. My dad is always on my case about grades.
It’s more Mom with me. Dad, too, but Mom’s much worse. Anyway, I better go …
Wait! Quick question before you go. Tell me, who’s your best friend?
I don’t want to admit that I haven’t got a real best friend anymore — not since Bree. I mean, I’ve made other friends, sure, like Julisa and Ashley, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good of friends with anyone as I was with Bree, telling them everything, all the time. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older — or maybe just wiser. I couldn’t understand how she could just dump me when we got to high school, after we’d been besties for so long.
Still, Christian’s not going to know if I lie — at least not till we actually meet. So whatever, I figure.
This girl Ashley. We’re on the squad together. She’s awesome.
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