The Other Girl: A Midvale Academy Novel

by Sarah Miller

  I thought about what makes two people kiss well, and I wondered if he liked kissing her more than he liked kissing me, and I wondered also why he wasn’t thinking about that. People were clapping. I wished they would stop because the noise was prohibiting Gid from thinking about what I wanted to know. Instead, he was thinking, Do I like kissing Pilar, or do I like having everyone see me kiss the hottest girl at the party? Well, the hottest girl in the world, maybe. He didn’t pull away from her exactly, but he moved his mouth and, aware he was drunk, aware this was stupid, whispered into her mouth in feverish, sleep-talking tones, “The hottest girl in the world.”

  A voice—Cullen’s—shouted “The Alamo!”

  Was Pilar the hottest girl in the world?

  I thought maybe the party had gone suddenly quiet. For a second I was afraid something terrible had happened, like a drunk person had fallen out a window and everyone was just staring at a corpse and Gid was too numb to think or something, but even when he was too numb to think, I could see what he was seeing. But right now I couldn’t see him seeing anything. There was nothing left of Gid. Just the quiet. Just my head.

  Was he gone?

  Gideon had slipped out of my head. I just sat there on my bed. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

  He couldn’t just all of a sudden disappear.

  But seeing as he had just whispered the words the hottest girl in the world against the lips of another girl, why didn’t I want him to disappear?

  I had a panicked feeling, like I’d lost my wallet with thousands of dollars in it, or like I was driving with no brakes. How was I supposed to know what he was doing now? What if he was heading off to sleep with Pilar? I had to know. What had I done?

  I lay awake. I waited for him to come back. I worried about what I would see when he did.

  He didn’t come back.

  He was gone for good.

  This was the most terrible silence. When I was thinking about wanting to get out of his head, I was just thinking about not being in pain.

  I forgot about this whole alone thing.

  I wanted to sleep, to escape, but what if he came back quietly and I missed him?

  I don’t know how long I lay there awake, longing to see Gid, longing to hear him, no matter what he was doing, just to know. The harder I found myself concentrating, the more sure I was he was gone.

  Book Two

  Chapter Eight

  I had kind of been hoping to sleep into the next day, but as luck would have it, I woke up at the tail end of afternoon—exactly the time of day when the upstate New York winter dishes out its most heaping helpings of annihilating despair. I lay in bed for a while, wondering how I was supposed to handle being this sad. It was hard to take it all in at once: Gid and I were over. He had kissed Pilar, and he had liked it. Not only had he liked it, he had whispered that she was the most beautiful girl in the world while he had kissed her. I had tried to get him out of my head, and it had worked.

  And I missed him.

  In my bedside table I found a Spice Girls pencil and a notepad from the Buffalo Marriott. I wrote on a piece of paper: Gideon Rayburn is a fucking dick. I wrote, Gideon Rayburn just wants someone perfect so he can prove to himself he’s cool, because he is a loser and he knows it!

  I could hate him. I could get myself there.

  Predictably, it started to rain. Buffalo, like love, couldn’t stay beautiful long. In just a few minutes, the winter wonderland would be a sodden mess.

  I heard a sound like water dripping into a bucket. Even with the covers over my head, the sound grew louder and louder. It was definitely water. It wasn’t rain. It was water trickling into more water, but with soothing regularity. It was the sound of a fountain. I sat up.

  I knew my family did not have a fountain. Buffalo wasn’t exactly an in-home fountain kind of town.

  I lay back down and shut my eyes. The fountain sound persisted.

  Probably I had gone a little crazy.

  Then I heard a voice: I know Madeeson likes these shoes, and she could only pretend she doesn’t like them because she knows eef I could get them how awesome I will look in them.

  It was Pilar Benitez-Jones’s voice. The musical tone. The use of the conditional when the past tense would have been more appropriate. The accent that was pretty much gone except for the occasional inability to produce a soft “I” sound.

  If I wear these shoes tonight, that guy will for definitely geeve me that job.

  There was no question it was her.

  Great. I was back inside of Gid’s head, but he was shopping with Pilar Benitez-Jones.

  I imagined their cozy morning conversation. She had tucked her perfectly shaped chin into her creamy shoulder, and said, “Come shopping with me.”

  Gid’s eyes blazed with desire as he stared at her. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I never went shopping with Molly once, because I hate it, but I love you so much I will go.”

  I had wanted to be back in his head. I guess I deserved whatever I got. Gideon had decided not to go to St. John with his buddies and had gone to LA with Pilar? I had never been to LA, but I just knew they were there because I saw blond people in loose, casual, expensive clothes toying with their sunglasses, and this is what I had always pictured people did in LA. Outside, satiny palm fronds waved across a blue sky.

  I had worried about them kissing, and when I woke up thirteen hours later, they were going out?

  Gideon and Pilar were on a romantic vacation in Los Angeles, and I was going to have to watch all of it through Gid’s eyes.

  “I really don’t like those shoes, Pilar.” This was Madison Sprague’s voice: lockjaw edged with sneering impatience. “They definitely have this thing about them where they want to be sexy, but they’re just, like, not.”

  How was it that Pilar had just talked shit about Madison to Gid with Madison right there? She wasn’t whispering to him, either.

  This didn’t make any sense. Gid shopping with Madison and Pilar. Unbelievable. He didn’t even like to listen to me and Edie talk on the phone. “It makes me feel like I’m going to turn into a girl,” he would complain. But now Gid wasn’t complaining, even to himself. Was he having fun with them? I didn’t see how. The place was boy hell: racks of belts, glass cases full of jewelry, wall units stuffed with expensive folded jeans, girls tittering to each other, “Oh sweetie! That is so cute on you!” and “I swear to God, he is going to die when he sees you in that.” I did locate the source of the fountain sound: a concrete wall streaming water into a square concrete tub decorated with tiles reading HOPE, HAPPINESS AND ADVENTURE. Santogold pulsed out of invisible speakers.

  Pilar’s voice again: With the right shoes and the right way I put my hair, I will be the eentern to Elias Ganz. Not Madison. And she is trying to stop this from happening, but it weel.

  So apparently every time Madison walked away, Pilar said something nasty about her to Gideon. I had always tried to keep my bitchiness to a minimum around Gideon, thinking it was kind of a turnoff, but apparently Pilar was too good-looking to worry about that sort of thing.

  Someone answered a phone: “Fred Segal.” I think I had heard of this place, or read about it, or something. It was like a department store but mini, and superfancy.

  Pilar was looking down at the shoe now, pivoting it back and forth, back and forth so she could take in every angle. It was a white patent leather T-strap with a high heel. I heard: Madison is so clearly just jealous of me. I mean, she has a nice body and everything, but when you do the equation, with my face, mine is better, and really, her body is only, like, better for clothes, and that isn’t in the equation anyway.

  What was the equation? And why wasn’t Gid like, equation, what? Are you insane?

  Pilar went on: This shoe makes me look reech, and that’s good.

  I had a terrible revelation: that endlessly pivoting shoe. I wasn’t looking across at that shoe. I was looking right down at it, as if it were on my foot. And Pilar wasn’t saying these things out lo
ud. She was just thinking them.

  Pilar looked up from the shoes and stared at herself in the mirror. I watched her admire the line of her eyebrows, the shine of her hair, the smallness of her waist, and the perfectly articulated swell of everything around it. Behind her, she could see Madison, dressed in super low cut jeans, a white tank top with no bra, and an Hermès belt—her signature look—poking idly though a jewelry display. Madison is so thin. Pilar now studied her stomach, frowning. My stomach is not perfect. It is not right. My stomach will be perfect, and then everything will be perfect, because with a perfect stomach maybe I am the prettiest girl in the entire—well, Kobe Bryant’s wife might be prettier than me. And maybe Catherine Zeta-Jones, but only in Zorro, and maybe Beyoncé, except my cousin saw her in person once, and…

  Pilar stared at herself for so long. I stared at Pilar staring at herself. But I was staring at the mirror. I was seeing Pilar as if I were looking out from her eyes.

  Two girls—one tall and brunette, the other black with a blond afro—walked past.

  Forty percent, Pilar thought, looking at the brunette, and then, looking at the black girl, she thought, 25 percent. I didn’t know what she meant, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that I now knew that she wasn’t talking out loud. She was talking to herself, and I could hear her.

  I was now inside the mind of Pilar Benitez-Jones.

  Chapter Nine

  I instant-messaged Dr. Stanley Whitmeyer.

  Out of boyfriends head now in horrible girl’s head. That boyfriend likes. And is nightmare pretty. She’s so pretty people look at her like they want her dead.

  Hello? Hello?

  Nothing.

  I didn’t know how I had gotten into her head. I didn’t know how I’d gotten into Gid’s. Not only was this not the plan, this was the opposite of the plan. What had I been thinking about that had landed me in here? I tried to remember the last moments of being in Gid’s head. The more I thought about it, the more confused I got. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how hard it was to think while being in Pilar Benitez-Jones’s head because she did a lot of thinking herself.

  I should say instead that she had a lot of thoughts. I don’t know if thoughts can always be called thinking. Look natural. Don’t look like you care what Madison’s doing. Is supima a natural or synthetic fiber? Oh, I just dropped that thing I was looking at on the floor. Oh well, that salesgirl will get it. That’s her job. She likes to pick things up or she wouldn’t work here.

  Indeed, momentarily a salesgirl slipped past her to return the garment to its gray silk padded hanger.

  Pilar’s eyes ticked over the girl’s face, body, and outfit and a number popped into her head: 40 percent.

  What was she doing?

  Pilar and Madison drifted into another section of the boutique. It wasn’t as busy, it was more spare and, with no music playing, it seemed to whisper, things like Fashion is important and No fatties. It was the dress boutique. The place people bought shit to go out in. I would have thought Pilar would be in her element here, but she was pissed. Pissed and nervous. She watched Madison out of the corner of her eye.

  She better not get a dress here. We have a plan of outfits, and eef she changes it, she is such a…Madison was examining something aqua blue and sheer, and Pilar watched her intently, finally sighing with relief. Thank God, it’s just a camisole. She ees just looking for clothes for general. Not for tonight.

  Madison studied the item with great seriousness until something about it seemed to disappoint her. She scowled and tossed it over a rack. Another salesgirl appeared to clean up her mess. This one had a black pixie cut and wore a long green vintage slip with lace-up Victorian boots. Pilar openly stared at her, and now I was able to follow her mind through its whole process. The face is an eight, the body, well, I can’t see it that well, let’s just geeve it an eight, but style is a ten. Great vintage Celine boots. Beautiful red glass earrings. Pilar multiplied the face number, eight, by three; the body number, eight, by two; and the style number, ten, remained on its own. She added these numbers together, divided by three, and came up with the number sixteen and two thirds, which she rounded up to seventeen.

  It was this number that led Pilar to the decision that this girl was 78 percent as hot as she was.

  Gid was always saying there was more to Pilar than meets the eye, but I had always suspected she mostly occupied herself with checking out other girls and thinking how much hotter she was than they were.

  I had never imagined she had an actual formula for this. And I couldn’t help but wonder, what number would she assign to me?

  Pilar continued to walk around the dress boutique with that slow, contemplative walk most people use in museums. Other than her and Madison, there were four of five other young women shopping, all in varying uniforms of tight jeans, tight T-shirts, and high heels, all keeping a respectful distance from one another so as not to interfere with this holy business of shopping. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that every single one of them looked at Pilar in awe. The same questions seemed to linger in all of their eyes: what is it like to be her? With a girl that beautiful around, why do I ever bother?

  Pilar soaked up their attention like a sponge.

  I saw them looking at my hair, wondering how I get it to curl like this. Eemagine how sad they would be eef they knew it was natural. And that one girl who would stare at my chest like she wanted to punch me because mine are real and so high up and hers probably feel like a doll’s. I am going to look amazing tonight.

  OK, like a crazy sponge.

  But Pilar’s self-satisfaction seemed to dissolve when she looked at Madison. I am going to look amazing tonight eef Madison doesn’t look better than I do. I know he said that he might hire both of us, but I theenk I heard something about the economy not being so good. If he just would hire one of us, it would have to be me.

  Now I got it. Pilar and Madison were meeting their potential employer tonight, outfits had been chosen, and on the basis of these outfits, Pilar was sure she was going to be his first, if not only, choice. But if Madison changed her outfit, Madison could be the favorite.

  Twisted logic, but I could follow it.

  Automatically I picked up the phone to try Dr. Whitmeyer again. But then I put it down. For the first time since Gid had broken up with me, I smiled. I had always thought of Pilar and Madison as a united front, two wealthy, stylish goddesses allied against the world of bargain-bin mortals. But there was trouble in paradise.

  Maybe I would watch for just a little longer.

  Pilar pretended to examine the hem on a dress knit so loose it looked like a spiderweb. She said casually, “I’m a leetle hungry. Are you?”

  Madison turned away from a rack of dresses made out of tiny tiles. “Yeah,” she said.

  Oh please, let’s go. Let’s go back to the hotel and thees will be over and I can sleep a nap…

  But Madison said, “Let’s smoke a cigarette and then look around some more.”

  Pilar’s heart sank. What can I do to get her out of here?

  They walked down a Lucite staircase, through a set of glass doors, and onto a brick walkway lined with pink and white flowers. Pilar lit a cigarette. “I’m already getting lines around my mouth,” she said. Maybe eef I can convince Madison I’m not that much prettier than her she won’t feel the need to get another dress.

  Madison nodded and ashed.

  “OK,” Pilar said. “So after this do you want to get going?”

  Madison took a deep inhale and watched two women in matching orange leggings, one in a cowboy hat and the other in a headscarf, get out of a Lexus SUV.

  “Madison?” Pilar said tentatively.

  “I heard you!” Madison snapped. She lit her own cigarette and shook her match out, ignoring Pilar. “You’re the one who took, like, a million hours in Miss Sixty.”

  I don’t understand how I can be prettier than Madison but sort of scared of her. She should be scared of me. I ab
solutely have to make sure she gets out of thees store not buying a better outfit than mine for tonight. But I can’t let her know I am doing that. Madison might have a flat stomach, but she so does not understand the importance of matching an outfit to a décor, and her outfit does not match the décor and at this point, two hours before, she isn’t going to find the perfect thing. I am so getting thees job.

  The store’s heavy glass door opened and Amber, the girl who had been helping Pilar with her shoes, stuck her head out. “So!” she exclaimed to Madison. “I have a bunch of dresses for you to try on. Just like you said, casual evening, like, day dresses that just happen to go tonight. I think some of them are really amazing!”

  Oh no. The whole time we were looking through the dresses, she already had thees planned. Why is that salesgirl giving me that giant smile, like we’re best friends? All she did was talk to me about a pair of shoes. And what is Madison’s problem about Miss Sixty?

  Amber clapped her hands excitedly. “You must be so excited to see your friend in all these amazing dresses. I mean, does she have the figure for it or what?”

  Is this girl trying to torture me, or is she just stupid? “Oh, yes,” Pilar said. “I just can’t wait.”

  She followed them toward the dressing room. Amber and Madison were several paces ahead of her, and Pilar stared at their tiny butts with envy. They’re like tiddlywinks. I can’t believe Madison doesn’t even like eating. A slideshow of delicious food items paraded through Pilar’s head: pizza, burritos, cake.

  Amber led Pilar to a bizarrely shaped chair, made out of metal and woven pieces of orange elastic. “This is an original from artist Raul Amudsen,” she said to Pilar.

  “Wow,” Pilar said. Who the fuck cares? She sank into the chair and looked at the back of the dressing room door, where the dresses Amber had selected were hanging. Those are all exactly the kind of thing I can’t wear. They are for human hangers.