This Is All Your Fault, Cassie Parker

by Terra Elan McVoy

  Mom whistles when I step into the hall in my fancy finery, and Leelu claps her approval, but on the way to school I’m still grateful to be getting dropped off instead of having to ride the bus. I want to stand out—but maybe not very first thing in the morning.

  “Cassie certainly will be surprised,” Mom says as she pulls up to the curb. “I haven’t seen you this dressed up in a while.”

  “We wanted to have an impact.” I try to sound nonchalant like Aja, instead of nervous. The way Mom’s saying it, maybe I’m too dressed up.

  “Promise to take pictures,” Leelu demands.

  “Oh, we will.”

  There’s an anxious prickle all over me as I open the door. It’s too late to back out now, even if the idea is starting to feel a little silly, but at least, I remind myself, I won’t be silly on my own. I give Mom and Leelu my best Duchess Kate wave as they drive off, and once they’re out of sight, I turn to my destination. For the first time since Cassie joined forces with Kendra, at least I know for sure where I’m going. Instead of spying on the courtyards, or doing anything Cassie-related, I go straight for the chorus room, where Aja, Evie, and I agreed to meet, so that we can parade to our homerooms together. There are a few strange looks thrown my way as I walk, but with each step in my sparkly sandals I feel increasingly outstanding—all pizazzed up in things I hardly ever get to wear, while the rest of the school looks so slouchy.

  My mood lifts even higher when I make it to the chorus room. Evie and Aja are already there, and I was right that the strands and strands of pearls on Evie are fantastic.

  “I was just about to give Evie some sparkle,” Aja says, spilling feathers from the red boa around her neck as she pulls me over to a chair in the front row. While she spreads glittery stuff on Evie’s eyelids and lips, we talk over each other, relaying our mornings and what it was like walking into school. Several other girls come over as we sit there—some I’ve never talked to before—saying Dress to the Nines Day is way better than pajamas.

  When Aja finishes with her own makeup, she looks like she’s about to walk the red carpet instead of the seventh grade hallway, and if I look half as fabulous as she does, I really can’t wait to get to our lockers.

  First, though, we need pictures. Handing our phones to other chorus girlfriends, we make silly dramatic poses for our personal collection, but also some cute ones for posting later. Then it’s time to head out, with sopranos and altos giggling in our sashaying wake.

  “Oh my gosh, people are looking,” Evie squeaks the minute we round the corner and the main corridor comes into view.

  “Of course they’re looking.” Aja holds her head higher and smiles at a group of sixth graders slinking past us with band cases. “We look spectacular.”

  I make a mental note to write that word down somewhere later, because it’s absolutely the right one to describe my feeling as the three of us enter the crowd. Even a couple of eighth graders smile or jerk their chins up in appreciation of our outfits, and as we push open the doors to the seventh grade wing, it feels like making an entrance to some kind of glamorous party that only we got invited to.

  “Let’s go say hi to the boys,” Aja says, emboldened by her silky dress and dramatic eye makeup. She strides down the hall straight for River’s locker, where he and a couple of friends are hanging around, including—yikes—Tyrick. I’m not sure about being this bold (and Evie clearly wants to turn right around too), but Aja’s so commanding we have no choice but to follow.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling straight at River.

  His friend with braces makes an ooh face.

  “What are you supposed to be?” Tyrick asks her, like he doesn’t even see me standing there.

  “What’re you?” Aja says back, eyeing him with disapproval. “I can’t tell if those are pajamas, or it’s just dirty laundry week at your house.”

  The boys make noises of she got you, grinning and shoving at each other, but Tyrick smiles sheepishly, almost as if he’s pleased by her insult.

  “So are you saying you sleep in that?” River asks.

  Aja smiles big, ready with her comeback. She snaps her fingers and raises them up over her head in a perfect mambo pose. “Not me. I’m up dancing all night long,” she says, before pulling me and Evie away with her in a flurry of satin.

  We keep our giggles in until we reach the safety of my locker at the other end of the hall, where we collapse into various stages of hilarity and embarrassment. Even Aja has her hands over her mouth, bent double with laughing.

  “Did you see his face?” she says, shoulders shaking.

  “Aja, I can’t believe you.” Evie’s high-pitched voice makes it hard to tell whether she’s angry or not.

  “I can’t believe it, either,” Aja admits. “It just came out. I don’t know—maybe it’s this dress or something.” She strikes another pose, though not one so dramatic. “It makes me feel sassy and outrageous.”

  “You don’t need a dress like that to be outrageous,” Evie tells her.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if I can take Supermodel Aja on top of regular Aja,” I tease, hoping that joking will cover up the unexpected uneasiness I feel about what just happened. Though Aja’s rather hard not to notice in general, Tyrick was so focused on her he barely even acknowledged my existence.

  “This is so fun!” Evie squeals, her dimply grin sparkling even more than her glittery makeup.

  “I know,” Aja agrees. “And it’s all thanks to Fiona. I would never have—”

  She’s cut off by a loud, mock-shocked voice coming toward us down the hall: “What is this? Some kind of Dork Disney Princess convention?”

  It freezes all of us.

  “Don’t look,” Aja whispers, eyes on the approaching gang.

  But I don’t have to, even though I can’t help glancing as they pass. I’d still know Cassie’s voice anywhere, and I definitely recognize Kendra’s and Izzy’s cackles of approval. As they glide by together in a collection of Lululemon yoga pants and designer nightgowns, someone—I think it’s Cheyenne—mutters an insult about dress-up being for kindergarten, and one of the boys says something about this not being prom. I’m trying to ignore them. Or at least look like I am. But still I can’t help seeing Gates, bending in a deep and phony bow to us, wearing teddy-bear-print footie pajamas that I can’t believe they make in a size big enough to fit.

  There are no words in me for a clever comeback. It’d be nice to say they look ridiculous, but really they’re the coolest Pajama Day ever, and I feel like a fool. Aja’s trying to act like it doesn’t matter, but even she’s eyeing her boa with doubt.

  The stronger version of me would ask who cares what Kendra’s gang thinks, and maybe somewhere inside I don’t, but it wasn’t her who said that awful thing. It was Cassie.

  When the homeroom bell rings over our heads, the three of us split up, not saying anything—not even see you later. I’m so mad and disappointed, in homeroom I take out my English notebook without caring about pencils or mean comments. I may be too afraid to bring my diary to school, and there’s a chance someone will still tease me or steal this, but if how I’m feeling right now somehow got back to Cassie, I wouldn’t care anymore, anyway.

  To: Cassie Parker

  From: Fiona Coppleton

  Date: June 2016

  Re: Being Called a Dork Disney Princess by the Number One President of That Fan Club, even if No One Else Knows It

  Dear Cassie:

  You may not care anymore, but I am writing to formally exterminate our friendship for now and evermore. I thought maybe you missed me, and maybe I missed you, but after what you pulled in the hallway, I can’t ever be your friend again. I hope you are happy with your new ones, though I’m convinced you’ve become even worse than them.

  I don’t care if they’re mean to you. I hope they’re mean to you, because if I hated anything, I think I hate you right now. And not even for the reasons you think. I don’t hate you for not defending me against K on the bus, or not
getting my diary back. I don’t even hate you for ditching me for your new group. Well, maybe a little. But you can have K and her gang—you deserve each other. What I hate you most for—what I will never ever forget that you did—is ruining something that was fun for me and my new friends, all to make yourself look better than us.

  So that’s it, Cassie Parker. We are finished forever.

  With gravest sincerity,

  Your former friend,

  Fiona

  Chapter Eight

  After that, everything goes wrong.

  And it’s all Cassie’s fault.

  By chorus, even though I’ve gotten some compliments on my dress and my jewels, it seems like people are saying it in more of a teasing way than not, and as soon as I walk into the room I notice Aja’s not wearing her boa anymore. Evie’s down to only one short strand of pearls, too.

  “That thing was itching my neck is all.” Aja tilts her chin and shakes her glittery earrings as we get our music folders. “It’s still fun.”

  I nod in agreement, though I can’t wait to put on jeans myself, and forget the whole day.

  There’s no further mention of tomorrow—what’s supposed to be International Day for us, while everyone else dresses in patriotic gear. When Leelu asks about it the next morning, I toss my homemade French flag T-shirt onto her bed, telling her since it was her idea, she should wear it. I pull on cord capris and a T-shirt with glow-in-the-dark fireworks on it, which feels slightly American, in case anyone cares. International is still way cooler, but I know, after yesterday, none of us wants to stand out anymore.

  “What happened to Les Misérables?” Mom wants to know when I enter the kitchen.

  “We didn’t think anyone would get it.”

  She makes a sound like “Is that so?” and hands me a plate of buttered cinnamon raisin toast before sitting down to check her email while I eat.

  “Everything seemed so urgent over the weekend,” she says after a few moments.

  “Yes, well, after—”

  “Hang on, Fiona. Leelu, you really need to get down here!” she hollers. Mom had dinner with some Chicago clients who were in town last night, which meant Maritza stayed late, and we didn’t get to talk about what happened with Cassie. In the light of a new morning, though, yesterday feels too mortifying to say out loud.

  Mom turns her attention back to me. “Well, last week of school. I hope it’s still fun. Your dad said he made reservations at Sardine Factory for Friday?”

  I nod. Dad gets us for the last day of school this year, because Mom had us last time.

  “And we’ll celebrate together later, too.”

  Another nod from me. The Sardine Factory is my favorite, but I’m not feeling very celebratory these days.

  “Do you want to do something special here with Cassie, or is she part of dinner on Friday?” She cocks her ear toward the hall, trying to listen for sounds of my sister stirring. “Leelu, this is not a drill.”

  “I think Cassie has different plans.”

  Mom looks surprised. “Is everything okay?”

  I don’t know what to say. Because suddenly it absolutely isn’t—not what happened with my diary, or Cassie abandoning me, or the nasty way she treated my friends and me—but I also have a sense, the way I’m suddenly getting beamed with alert-Mom attention, that if I admit what happened, the first thing Mom’ll do is call Cassie’s mom, try to arrange some kind of intervention or truce between us. And if Cassie’s making fun of me for dressing up like a princess, the humiliation of our moms getting involved would be far worse than having my diary read out loud. Maybe. Besides, we have to leave in about seven minutes, and if Leelu doesn’t get downstairs right now, she and Mom will be at it again.

  “I’ll go get Leelu,” I offer instead, sliding out of my chair.

  I try not to let Cassie dominate my final week of school, but it turns out to be impossible. For one thing, when I go to post the cute pic of me, Aja, and Evie in our fancy finery (because it was fun, and I’m not going to let anyone rob me of that), right off I see a new photo of Cassie cheek to cheek with Izzy, the caption saying You don’t have to wear a tiara to be queen! There are more of her with Kendra, and the other girls, but the worst are a bunch of pictures from her grandmother’s wedding this weekend, including several group shots in which there’s a girl who must be her new cousin, Lana. Cassie had been so worried about Tess getting married, especially to someone like Howie, whom Cassie barely knew, but she was optimistic about finally having a cousin her age. Now it’s already happened, but I didn’t get to hear about any of it. From the pictures of everyone dancing and smiling, though, it’s obvious Cassie’s more than fine, and why wouldn’t she be? Not only is she now part of the most envied group in school, but she has a new family member to replace me with, too. They’re even wearing the same fantastic dress.

  I have to watch her the rest of the week in real life, parading around with her new friends in their matching Spirit Week uniforms, acting up in the halls and the cafeteria with even more obnoxiousness than usual.

  On the last day of school, instead of separate lunch periods, all the classes have a giant picnic out on the soccer field. Aja, Evie, and I sit together, dutifully wearing school colors without having talked about it, like none of us ever heard of Reverse Spirit Week, and I try not to look at Kendra passing out big helium balloons to all her friends (including Cassie, of course) from a giant bouquet she had delivered to campus. Evie spends a long time filling an entire page in my yearbook with her giant bubbly script, and while she does Aja and I make plans to go to the mall next week before she visits her uncle in Seattle, but I can’t help feeling bitter. This isn’t how things were supposed to go. This isn’t how I’m supposed to feel. Even when Tyrick signed my yearbook in English, all I could think was that there isn’t anyone to show it to who knows or cares. He only wrote Nice knowing ya—have a good summer, anyway, which he probably writes in everyone’s.

  Behind us a squeal interrupts my thoughts, and when I look over, a bunch of eighth graders have their arms around each other, hugging. Some of them are even crying: sad and excited to be moving on to high school. At first I think they look ridiculous, until I realize next year, I’ll be one of them.

  And I’ll be darned if I’m going to feel anywhere near as bad as this then.

  Luckily, I still have Leelu.

  “We’re going to the boardwalk!” she shouts the minute I get to Maritza’s car at the end of the day. And while I can’t quite get to her level of bounciness about it yet, the combination of sunshine, cotton candy, and booths of souvenirs all remind me of summers before I even knew Cassie—back way before the Divorce—when Leelu and I were little. When we wore fairy wings every day, including to weekly story time at the library, or for the daytime movies with our old nanny, Romella. We swam in the neighborhood pool every afternoon, Dad grilled out almost every night whether Mom had to work or not, and we still had a real family. Watching the beach breeze stir the tips of the zillion tiny braids Leelu has scooped in a pony on top of her head, I’m so grateful to have her to always help me through rough times.

  “Let’s get our faces painted,” I suggest, as we pass by a booth decorated with streamers and pictures of different possibilities. I want to do something symbolic. Something Cassie wouldn’t be caught dead doing anymore, but that Leelu will still love. Without much begging on our part, Maritza says yes and we’re all three picking out patterns: orange, gold, and black tiger designs for Maritza; snowflake swirls and sparkles for Leelu; and a trellis of glittery roses to climb up my cheek. We post pictures and Leelu and I skip together in the sunshine, licking ice cream cones.

  Just as I thought it would, my bitterness is already starting to melt.

  Dad’s home when we get back, and though he loves our decorated faces, he tells us with a mischievously arched eyebrow to wash everything off and hurry into dinner clothes, even though it’s only five thirty.

  “A surprise!” Leelu claps, bouncing down t
he hall to our bathroom. Dad wanting to take us out on the last day of school isn’t that much of a surprise, but we excitedly help each other into our dresses anyway, speculating what beyond the Sardine Factory he might have in store.

  “Maybe he’s taking us to San Francisco,” Leelu says hopefully. Leelu’s class did a project on Alcatraz last month, and she’s been curious about it ever since.

  “Not tonight, silly. It’s too long a trip. But we could go this summer.”

  “And roller-skating?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I move to my desk, going automatically for my diary, but at the last second take out the more anonymous notepad I’ve been using instead. School’s over, and there’s no chance of anyone teasing me about my diary for another three months, but the idea of writing in it still feels dangerous. “Let’s make a list.”

  We go into the living room, where we can sit without rumpling our dresses.

  “We should have some sort of project or challenge,” Leelu says, leaning back against the fluffy white cushions of Dad’s giant couch. “Like, you know, summer reading or something. Where we get rewards.”

  I write it down, thinking that’s something Cassie would come up with. Or, at least, used to.

  “You put down roller-skating, right?”

  I nod, adding it.

  “And!” Her face goes from serious to playful. “How about we do one of those—”

  The doorbell startles us both.

  “Would one of you please get that?” Dad calls from his bedroom in the back. “I’m just finishing up.”

  And right away I know who it is.

  “Well hellooo there, beauties,” Jennifer coos when Leelu flings open the door. I thought Leelu was silly for thinking Dad might take us to San Francisco tonight, but I feel silly for not imagining that his “happy” surprise would be something involving Jennifer. In the doorway, she stoops and kisses Leelu on the forehead instead of giving her a hug, because her arms are full of presents.