Kiss & Sell

by Brittany Geragotelis

  “So…that was intense,” Ryder interrupted, when I’d had a chance to calm down. What’s up with those two? she’s straight out of Mean Girls and he’s—did you two date or something?”

  “Me and Cade? no way. We’re just on Homecoming Committee together. Why?”

  “Hmmm? nothing,” Ryder mumbled into my hair. “Just a vibe I got.”

  I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in the music. In the moment. I imagined all the drama of the weeks before melting away and tried to focus on the fact that I was experiencing one of the coolest nights of my life. A grin grew across my face without me even realizing it.

  Then, I opened my eyes and saw that Cade was twenty feet away, staring at me while he danced with Kristi.

  “MIND IF WE sit this next one out? Between drinking all that soda and dancing around, I feel like I’m gonna pop,” Ryder yelled over the music.

  “Sure. I have to go to the bathroom, anyway,” I answered. Realizing how unromantic it was to announce to your very cute date that you needed to pee, I quickly backtracked. “I mean, I think I need to check my makeup.”

  Ryder just cocked his head at me and smiled. “Okay. You go…check your makeup. And I’ll meet you back here in ten?”

  “Sounds good. But remember, you promised to show me the dance you did in Tiki Torch. All of it. Even the ending 360 to a split.”

  Ryder’s face grew serious as he started to back away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shouted, innocently.

  “You’re such a liar!”

  I laughed as he motioned that he couldn’t hear me over the music. When he disappeared into the men’s room, I headed in the opposite direction. I was still riding my Ryder-high when I pushed open the heavy door and slipped into the brightly lit girl’s bathroom. As it closed behind me, the music lowered to a dull thumping, and was replaced with a high-pitched ringing in my ears.

  Appreciating the relative quiet of the room, I walked over to one of the porcelain sinks and rested my hands on the basin. As much fun as I was having with Ryder, being “on” in front of all these people was exhausting. I mean, I knew that most likely everyone was watching Ryder. But even if they weren’t watching my every move, they sort of were, since I was with Ryder as he took his every move. Except for right now, while he was in the bathroom, and I was lucky enough to be in here, alone.

  I jumped as I heard the toilet flush in the last stall and turned to see who was there. The door opened and my stomach sunk as I saw who it was. I had to look down at my hands on the sink to steady myself.

  “Hey, McCartney,” I said, hoping she’d had a change of heart.

  No response. Unless you counted the glare she shot me in the reflection of the mirror. Guess she was still mad after all.

  “Come on, Cart. Can we please call off the Cold War, already?” I asked, facing her as she washed her hands.

  Nothing.

  “Fine. You don’t have to talk to me, but you do have to listen. Look, I’m sorry that I couldn’t go with you guys in the limo. You have no idea how much I wanted to be there with you. But the truth is, MTV is taping our date for a segment they’re producing, and they told me that I couldn’t tell anyone about it. I think they were worried that the paparazzi would find out and ruin the night…I even had to sign a contract promising I wouldn’t tell you or anyone else about it.”

  “Oh, well, if you signed a contract…” McCartney said, sarcastically.

  “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry for you to believe me? all I’ve wanted to do tonight is hang out with you and Phin,” I pleaded. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

  “If that were true then you should’ve been honest with us from the beginning. Contract or no contract,” McCartney shot back as she stalked over to the door to leave. “Face it, Arielle. You’ve changed. And not in a good way.”

  Her comment hit me like a punch to the gut. We hadn’t fought like this since the great santa debate of 2008: “Is he real or is he really our parents?” that one had lasted five days. At the time, I was sure we’d never talk again. But we had. This time, however, was a different story.

  Because I was currently furious.

  Practically on her heels, I stomped after McCartney huffily, rejoining the thumpa-thumpa sounds of the dance floor.

  “Have you gone mental?” I screeched at her, thankful the music was playing loudly enough to drown out most of the scene I was about to make. “You’re just jealous because for the first time in the history of our friendship, people are paying more attention to me than they are to you!”

  As soon as I said it, I regretted it. McCartney grew quiet with shock.

  When she recovered a few moments later, her eyes narrowed, looking angrier than I’d ever seen her before. It was then that I noticed the camera crew posted just a few feet away from us. And they were capturing our entire confrontation. I looked over at the round lens nervously and then back at McCartney.

  I need to get us away from these cameras before we say anything we regret…

  Too late.

  “Do you Really think I want to be like you? you’re famous for your Inexperience. And the only reason anyone is paying attention to you tonight is because you’re here with Ryder.”

  Her words were harsh and powerful. I’d never thought McCartney was capable of hurting me like this. I knew the tears were coming even before they started to fall. Fighting the pain that was building in the back of my throat, I fled from McCartney and the cameras.

  By the time I got back to our table, I was out of breath and out of time. Tears were streaming down my face, taking my makeup along with them. I snatched up my purse, telling Ryder that I had to leave, and then took off toward the door without looking back to see if he was following me. The throngs of people around me were a blur as I passed them on my way to safety. Someone called out my name, but I was so focused on escaping that I didn’t turn to see who it was.

  The cool night air hit my wet cheeks, making me instantly frozen. But I didn’t care. As I tore through the parking lot in search of where we’d parked, I knew that things would never be the same. not just because McCartney was mad at me, but because I knew that in a way she was right. I had changed. Still, I couldn’t imagine my life without her and Phin as my best friends.

  I replayed everything McCartney had said that night. If I was such a horrible person, then why had they been my friend in the first place? and hello? The whole kiss-selling project was their idea! It’s not like I would’ve come up with it on my own. It wasn’t my style. My friends had created this situation, so how could they be upset with the outcome?

  “Arielle!” Ryder called out from behind me.

  I slowed down, but didn’t stop. My chest and head were throbbing, and my body shaking, but all I could think about was getting home—as far away from McCartney, Phin, Crazy Kristi and Cade, that I could get.

  “Arielle, slow down,” Ryder pleaded, grabbing my hand to force me to meet his pace. “What happened back there? are you all right? Why are you crying?”

  I sniffled, not quite able to take a full breath on account of my extreme sobbing. If my brain hadn’t been so messy, I might’ve been embarrassed that I was having a mini-breakdown in front of a movie star. But acting wasn’t my strong suit.

  “Thanks, Ryder, but I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Do you mind if we go home?” I managed to get out as we reached the limo.

  “Of course,” he answered, looking concerned. He held the door open for me, taking my hand as I stepped inside and collapsed onto the nearest seat. Speaking quietly with the driver, and then exchanging a few words with the camera crew and producers, he somehow got them all to leave us alone. Sliding into the car behind me, Ryder gently put his arm around me and pulled me into him protectively.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he said soothingly. “I promise. Everything will look better in the morning.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I had the sneaking suspicion that things mi
ght look even worse in the light of day.

  For about twenty seconds after waking up the next morning, I was happy. My lips formed into a smile and I lingered on the memory of the dream I’d been having before I’d woken up.

  Then, I was drop-kicked back to reality as I recalled the events of the night before. My grin quickly disappeared. I contemplated forcing myself back to sleep so I wouldn’t have to deal with everything. But it was sunday, and that meant Mom was making her signature double-stuffed French toast; the kind she insisted weren’t considered junk food if we ate them together. I usually ignored the lack of logic and happily scarfed down the desert-as-breakfast meal, but as my nerves started to pick up, so did my nausea.

  As I pulled myself up into a sitting position and glanced around my room, it was hard to ignore the collateral damage of my emotional breakdown the night before. My dress lay in a heap on the floor beside my bed, collecting wrinkles on the already wrinkled material. It was too late to save it now, so I left it there, and surveyed the rest of the mess. I located my heels over by the door, scuffed up from where I’d thrown them against the wall after prying them off my throbbing feet. My purse somehow made it onto my desk, but the contents had all spilled out.

  The familiar ping that alerted me to new e-mails came from my computer. With a grumble, I threw my covers off and trudged over to my desk. Sitting down, I pulled my knees to my chest before clicking on my screen and looking at my inbox. As I scanned the list, I began to feel sick to my stomach for the second time that morning. There were e-mails from McCartney, eBay, and one from Cade.

  Without even bothering to look at them, I closed out of my e-mail and turned my back on it all. Why would I give McCartney the chance to tell me off again? Or force myself to deal with Cade’s brooding, even though he had no good reason to be upset? and eBay? That stupid site had brought me nothing but frustration. Just thinking about kissing someone after all of this made me want to forget the whole thing. Let’s put it this way: Becoming a nun was starting to look like a viable option.

  If kissing was going to cause this many problems, then maybe I was better off without it.

  I forced myself to go through the motions of getting up, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed with horror that I had huge bags under my eyes. Probably a result of all the crying I’d done. In short, I looked scary.

  Pulling on an old sweatshirt and slipping my feet into my softest pair of slippers, I followed the familiar noises of my mom bustling around the kitchen. She didn’t see me right away, but eventually turned around when she heard me pull out a chair and sit down.

  “Hi sweetie! I hope you’re hungry. I’m making triple-stuffed French toast this morning. I figured you might need a little extra sugar burst after boogying down last night,” she said, grinning at me as she threw the dirty mixing bowls into the sink. “I can’t wait to hear all about it!”

  My response was to place my forehead down on the top of the table. I prayed that she wouldn’t push the subject. But either her mom-dar was on the fritz or her parental intuition had screamed for her to interfere, because she wasn’t having it.

  “Uh, oh. What happened?” I groaned as she asked it.

  “Do we really have to do this now? it’s still early and I’m really tired,” I answered, hoping she’d take pity on me and just leave me alone.

  “Well, we can either talk about this now while we eat this amazing breakfast I just slaved over, and try to figure out how to fix whatever is bothering you. Or you can choose not to tell me, which will result in me repeatedly asking you about it all day long, until you give in,” she said as she walked over to the fridge and pulled something off the shelf. Returning to the table, she placed a cold can of red Bull in front of me, but kept her hand on it for leverage.

  I couldn’t believe that she was blackmailing me into telling her what happened! My own mother. I was shocked. I was outraged. And to be honest, I was a little impressed that she’d gone with a more direct strategy than her usual reverse psychology bit.

  I wanted to refuse, but between the smells that were coming from the frying pan (the tri-fecta of chocolate, bananas and peanut butter) and my extreme need for caffeine, I reluctantly gave in.

  “Fine,” I said, without energy. I snatched the red Bull from her hand and popped the top. “The dance was a disaster.”

  “How so?” Mom asked as she walked over to the stove to flip our breakfast.

  “Well, everything was fine until we got to the dance. Ryder was the perfect date. We went to this really nice restaurant for dinner…”

  “What’d you get?”

  “Ravioli.”

  My mom nodded her approval and then motioned for me to go on.

  “And I even started to get used to the cameras following us around the whole time. But then when we got to the dance, I ran into McCartney and Phin, who are officially pissed at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t ride in the limo with them to the dance,” I said, shrugging. “I guess they felt like I ditched them or something. And then when I showed up with an entire TV crew—that I didn’t tell them about—it pushed them over the edge.”

  “Did you explain that you couldn’t tell them?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I tried to. But then McCartney accused me of changing and then said some really mean things about me while the cameras were taping. I was so humiliated that I ran out of there before the dance was even over.”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she answered, giving me a tight hug.

  As she rubbed my back, she grew silent. Which was unusual for her. Mom always had an opinion.

  “What?” I asked, knowing that I was about to be “Shrink-ed.”

  “Well, I was just thinking that McCartney is…kind of right,” she said carefully.

  Are you kidding me? What was this, bash Arielle weekend? I looked at my mom incredulously.

  “Hear me out,” she answered, searching my face. “You have changed, Arielle. Over the past month, you’ve grown more self-assured, confident and adventurous. You’ve come out of your shell, and for the first time, you’ve really stepped out from behind McCartney and Phin’s shadows and into your own spotlight.”

  I blinked in surprise. Was it possible Mom was right? Had I changed that much? sure, I’d been more outgoing in general lately. I mean, going on that talk show and getting back at Dan stevenson for spreading those rumors about me—the old me would never have done all that. And it was sort of true that I hadn’t been as dependent on McCartney or Phin lately. Before the last few weeks, I never would’ve been able to survive a whole night alone with a guy as cute as Ryder, let alone as famous. And agreeing to be on the Dance Committee? Forget about it. Before, I only would’ve signed up if McCartney and Phin were doing it, too.

  So, maybe I had changed…slightly. But I couldn’t see how being more self-sufficient and sociable would be a bad thing.

  “McCartney sort of said the same thing to me,” I confessed. “only she wasn’t as nice about it.”

  “I bet she was just hurt and scared, and that made her say some things she didn’t exactly mean,” Mom said.

  “Nope, I’m pretty sure she meant it,” I said recalling how mad she’d been. “Besides, what could she possibly be scared about?”

  My mom turned off the stove and brought over the ginormous plate of French toast, placing it in the middle of the table. I grumpily snagged a few pieces of the stuffed bread and slathered it in syrup. Across the table, my mom did the same.

  “Did you ever think that maybe she’s scared that you’re going to outgrow your friendship and pretty soon you won’t need her anymore? Or maybe she’s worried that you’ll move on without her?” Mom answered, between mouthfuls.

  “McCartney knows I’ll always be her friend,” I said. “Well, if it were up to me, at least. How could she even think that I’d ditch her?”

  My mom finished chewing what was left in he
r mouth and then washed it down with a gulp from her “Mommy Dearest” mug.

  “Didn’t you kind of already do that?” she said, evenly. “I’m not trying to be mean here, Arielle, but didn’t you choose to go to the dance with Ryder instead of with your friends?”

  I frowned as I stuffed a forkful of food into my mouth.

  “Now, I’m not saying that what you did was wrong, and I think that both of your emotions are running a little high right now, but maybe before you write her off, you should try to see things from her perspective.”

  “But I already tried to talk to her about it and she said all those horrible things…”

  “So try again,” Mom said, taking another sip of her coffee. “Don’t you think that seven years of friendship is worth more than one attempt at a reconciliation?”

  She had a point. And I didn’t exactly like the idea of holding auditions for a new BFF or going through the rest of my high school experience solo. But getting back to where McCartney, Phin and I had been wouldn’t be as easy as Mom made it sound. “Fine. But I’m still mad at her for the things she said.”

  Mom just nodded, knowing that once I’d cooled down I’d do the right thing.

  When she was finished, she got up from the table to clear her plate and give me some time to think about everything. Oddly, as I sat there, I felt my anger start to subside and fade into guilt. Deep down I knew that McCartney was just scared of losing our friendship, and I could sort of see why she felt that way. In fact, I was beginning to think that our fight was mostly my fault.

  God, I hope it’s not too late to make things right between us and save this friendship.

  “Thanks for the talk, Mom,” I said, bolting out of my chair.

  I started to gather my dishes, but she waved me off. “Go talk to McCartney and Phin. I’ll clean up.”

  I gave her a smile I hoped showed how much I appreciated her, and then rushed upstairs into my bedroom. Crashing down in front of my computer, I signed into IM and to my relief, saw that both McCartney and Phin were online. I opened windows with both of them and started typing.