by Meg Haston
“What?” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling like Zander had just walked in on me in a string bikini: completely exposed and totally humiliated.
“I mean…” Zander shook his head slowly. “Are you serious? This guy?” He jerked his thumb toward Quinn.
“What up, dude.” Quinn nodded.
“What do you care?” I snapped. “You’re with Molly!”
“I don’t care.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“CURTAIN, EVERYBODY!” Nessa’s voice sounded far away. “I need Kacey Simon, ready for entrance! Kacey! Simon!”
Quinn grinned and squeezed my arm.
“That’s you.”
I’LL HAVE WHAT SHE’S HAVING
Saturday, 9:30 P.M.
By the time the final curtain fell, I’d almost completely forgotten that Zander had ruined my first real kiss. The cast got a standing ovation, and all the performing left me jonesing for a custom cupcake with a side of brand-new boyfriend.
Sean had rented out Sugar Daddy for the night, and it looked amazing. The overhead lights were dimmed, platinum confetti dusted the tables and the floor, and gold star balloons hovered over every chair. The cast and crew were packed around the tables, reliving key show moments over platters of frosted cupcakes.
The girls and I had chosen the small square table in the center of the bakery, since it was the perfect see-and-be-seen spot. There was only one “problem”: Since Liv, Nessa, Jake Fields, and Aaron Peterman had taken four of the five seats, Quinn and I had to share a seat.
Nessa used her knife and fork to dissect her red velvet cupcake. “By the way, this is for you guys to sign.” She dropped her utensils and shoved a play program toward Quinn and me. “They’re auctioning it off at the end of the night.”
I reached for a pen and signed with a flourish. “So is Mols on her way?” And will she have her overly dramatic spy of a boyfriend with her?
“She texted she’ll be here in a minute,” Liv said over a mouthful of vegan chocolate crumbs.
I swallowed. Maybe on the way to Sugar Daddy, Molly and Zander would get into a fight over whose hair dye was uglier and break up. Then Zander could go home before he had a chance to ruin the cast party.
“You rocked it,” Quinn said. His lips were just inches from my ear. “Seriously. You were amazing.”
“So were you,” I flirted back, forcing myself to hold his stare.
Under the table, he intertwined his fingers with mine and squeezed. His hand was a little sweaty, but I told myself it didn’t matter. People were watching and it felt amazing.
“Finally!” Nessa exclaimed, looking over my shoulder.
I whirled around. Molly was standing behind me, in jeans and a neon yellow hoodie the color of banana bubblegum. Zander’s Acoustic Rebellion hoodie. Zander emerged from behind her. He did not look happy to see me.
“Soooo sorry we’re late. But Z and I got… distracted.” Molly scurried away before her words could sink in.
Distracted?
“Hey, guys. Good show,” Zander said. My stomach plunged faster than the night’s final curtain when his eyes stopped briefly on mine.
“You too, Kacey. Not that I’m surprised that you’re such a good actor. I mean, acting’s your specialty, right?”
Nessa frowned. Liv giggled nervously, like it was all a joke. Only I knew it wasn’t.
I reached for Quinn’s hand again and lifted it above the table. My hand was shaking. “Glad you liked the show, Skinny Jeans,” I shot back. “But not everything you see onstage is an act.” I intertwined my fingers with Quinn’s and squeezed. “Of course, you knew that already, since you were spying on us, right?”
“I’m sensing tension,” Nessa observed.
Liv smiled helpfully. “Maybe if you did some deep breath—”
“I’m fine,” I snapped, squeezing Quinn’s hand even harder. Then I reached for a fork and stabbed at my cupcake, jamming a way-too-big bite in my mouth.
Molly came back with an extra chair. Her eyes flitted excitedly from Quinn to me. And back to Quinn.
Quinn slipped his arm around my shoulders. My stomach tightened and the cupcake lodged in my throat.
“Heads down,” Molly hissed suddenly. “Phoebe’s coming over here.”
I swallowed. “Who?” I looked around, desperate to focus on anyone but Zander.
“Kacey!” Paige called, making her way through the crowd. She was wearing one of her campaign buttons. No, two, one on her shirt and one pinned to the strap of her backpack. And instead of her usual head-to-toe black, she was wearing all green. She looked like a tall, skinny leprechaun.
“Don’t look!” Molly giggled.
“Great show, guys,” Paige said when she reached the table. “Especially you, Kacey.”
“Thanks,” I grinned. “And did you see the part where—”
Molly kicked me under the table.
“Thanks,” I said again, leaning in to Quinn.
Paige didn’t seem to notice. “So, I was thinking maybe I could spend the night over at your place tonight, and we could work on the debate?”
Molly shot me a death stare. Nessa sucked in her cheeks and rolled her eyes at me.
“Actually, I was thinking about spending the night over at Nessa’s tonight with the girls. But maybe we can hang out next weekend?”
Paige’s dark eyebrows sank beneath the tops of her frames. “It’s just, next weekend I’m going to my grandparents’, so I wanted to get started sooner. Remember?”
“I know.” I sighed, a little annoyed. Couldn’t she at least wait until my big night was over? “But—”
“PRESS! PRESS coming through!” Abra Laing burrowed through the crowd toward my table. She was holding a Marquette mic and flashing the program from the show like it was a press pass. “KACEY! Can I get a sound bite for the MINUTE?” She sidled up next to my chair, bumping Paige out of the way.
“Hey!” Paige glared at Abra. “Kacey and I were in the middle of something.”
“Paige! I told you. Another. Time.” The second the words left my mouth, I knew I could have said them differently. My voice sounded harsh, even to me.
The table went silent and Paige stared at me. Then her face seemed to relax, and the weirdest thing happened.
She laughed.
“Sure, Kacey. Another time. Like that’s gonna happen. You got what you wanted, right?” Her face hardened again. “So the rest of us don’t really matter.”
“Right on,” Zander said, just loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh, give me a break,” I snapped. With Quinn smashed against me on one side, and Paige and Abra crowding me on the other, I could hardly breathe. “Just chill out and back off so I can enjoy the rest of the night, okay?”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table and everyone shifted in their seats, avoiding one another’s gaze.
“You know, I thought you’d changed.” A look of disgust settled on Paige’s face. “But I guess I was wrong.” She spun on her heel and bolted for the door.
“Paige!” Zander shoved past Abra. “Wait up!”
“Zander!” Molly looked horrified. “Hello?”
“Let him go,” I spat. Zander followed Paige outside, where she paced back and forth, gesturing angrily. He nodded, clearly agreeing with whatever she was saying about me.
I turned back around, feeling a deep stab of betrayal in my gut. “Ready, Abra.” I sniffed and gave my hair a quick shake.
“O-okay,” Abra stammered, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh, stand up and we’ll get your table behind you.” Abra nodded at the camera guy. A bright white light flooded the space around me as I stood, and the tiny red RECORD light started flashing.
“I’m Abra Laing, AND THIS IS MARQUETTE! IN A MINUTE!” Abra shouted at the camera. “I’m HERE with KACEY SIMON, STAR OF GUYS AND DOLLS! KACEY! TONIGHT! YOU MADE A MAJOR COMEBACK! HOW DO YOU FEEL? IS IT TRUE THAT YOU AND QUINN WILDER ARE TAKING YOUR ROMANCE OFFS
TAGE??”
I stared past Abra toward the doors. Now Zander had his arm around Paige, whose face was hidden in his jacket. Was she… crying? A lump formed in my throat, and I blinked back tears. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to take it all back, or run outside and yell at Paige for making me feel so awful on my big night.
“KACEY?” Abra said again. Her eyes darted nervously from the camera to me. “HOW DO YOU FEEL?”
How did I feel? It was an oddly complicated question. Sugar Daddy was packed wall-to-wall with my friends, and castmates, and teachers, each one of them here to celebrate me. I should have felt alive. But the only thing I felt was empty.
IN THE HARSH LIGHT OF DAY
Sunday, 7:14 A.M.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, diluted gray light was just starting to filter through the windows. My room was still dark, but I could see well enough to make out the puffy paint sign Ella had made me: SIMON SAYS: KACEY ROCKS!
Ella’s rising and falling silhouette came into focus; she’d fallen asleep in my bed last night after I got home. Her mouth was slightly parted, and there was a dried smudge of chocolate above her lip. She looked calmer than Molly’s hair after a relaxing treatment. Not me. My head throbbed, and my stomach was tied in more knots than one of Liv’s hand-crocheted sweaters.
With a sigh, I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could and stuffed my feet in a pair of worn red slippers. Downstairs, Mom had left a note next to the coffeemaker.
got a call to sub for the early morning show. be back by 9. pancake stuff’s in the pantry & fridge. make sure ella doesn’t eat the batter raw this time. cell’s on if you need it.
so proud of you, sweet girl!!!!!
love, mom
p.s.: no cake for breakfast! (b/c i ate it)
p.p.s.: did i mention how proud i am?
I crumpled the note in my hand, stifling the urge to start sobbing into the sink. If Mom knew what I had done to get my part back, or had seen Paige and Zander’s faces last night, she’d take it all back.
I put the kettle on for hot chocolate and sat down at the kitchen table to check my cell: 15 NEW MSGS.
MOLLY: U WERE GR8. WASN’T I SUPER CUTE IN Z’S HOODIE? I SLEPT IN IT LAST NITE.
NESSA: SUGAR DADDY L8R? I’M OFFICIALLY ADDICTED. IT’S A PROBLEM.
LIV: NESSA WANTS 2 GO 2 SUGAR DADDY. BUT I’M ON A DETOX. TEAVANA @ 4?
QUINN: WANNA HANG LATER?
MOLLY: WAS THE HOODIE CUTE ENOUGH TO WEAR TO Z’S BAND’S SHOWCASE NEXT WKND? I NEED WARDROBE HELP!
My head throbbed at the mention of the showcase. I deleted her text and read the remaining messages. The texts went on and on, but not a single one was from Zander or Paige. I lifted my laptop screen and logged on to Paige’s website, clicking on her latest blog post.
A BUMP IN THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL
POSTED BY PREZPAIGE | SATURDAY @ 10:47 P.M.
The campaign hit a snag last night, with one of my biggest so-called supporters (we’ll call her Sarah Brown) deserting the cause in favor of her fifteen minutes of fame on the Marquette Middle stage. But like any good politician, I’ve uncovered the truth about this so-called friend.
This presidential hopeful wants to know: What happened to friendships based on loyalty and trust, instead of popularity?
The campaign must go on. So I’ll be heading to Marquette’s TV studio Monday to review the DVD of my latest practice campaign speech, and shoot a promo to debut during announcements in election week.
And remember, to donate to the campaign, click on the GiveGreene link on the left of the page. You can support a brighter future for Marquette, even if some people won’t.
Peace, Love, and Democracy,
Prez Paige
I reread the post once, twice, and three times, my migraine sharpening with every passing second. I had picked my comeback over Paige, even though it was her plan that had gotten me back onstage and back with my friends. I hadn’t even thanked her. I’d just cast her aside, exactly like Molly had done the second I’d gotten braces and glasses.
GREENE WITH HONESTY
Monday, 7:11 A.M.
“Bye, Mom!” I yelled as I trampled down the stairs Monday morning. If I was going to intercept Paige before she got to the studio, I had no time for family breakfast. I’d barely had enough time to coordinate my outfit in support of Paige’s “Go Greene” campaign. I’d settled on an olive taffeta mini with a black cashmere V-neck, textured tights, and black suede ankle boots.
I grabbed my houndstooth coat and black scarf and headed out the door, armed with fresh determination. I could fix this. I had to.
Next door, Paige was just leaving her house with an armful of green balloons, two backpacks stuffed with rolled-up campaign posters, and her enormous foam display board.
“PAIGE!” I shouted, watching her teeter precariously down the steps. “HOLD ON! I’M COMING TO HELP YOU WITH YOUR STUUUUUFF!”
Paige glared over the top of a giant plastic jar stuffed with green Tootsie Pops.
I sprinted down the steps, shoved through the front gate, and intercepted her in front of the fence. “Hey,” I said breathlessly.
“Hey,” she said coolly, without breaking her stride.
“Need help?” I offered.
“Not from you.”
If she thought she could blow me off that easily, she was wrong. “Are you sure? Because if you need some help with your promo—”
“Seriously, Kacey.” Paige snapped. “I said I don’t need help.” As if on cue, her Tootsie Pops jar, foam board, and a handful of buttons from her second backpack tumbled to the ground.
“Great.” The word caught in her throat.
I swooped down and scooped up a handful of Tootsie Pops, feeling the sting of her sarcasm.
“Paige.” I dumped the candy into the empty plastic jar, and it made a hollow thud. I swallowed. “I’m… sorry. But I want to help with the campaign now. Okay? Please.” I scrambled around like a total desperado, clawing at every piece of campaign paraphernalia I could get my hands on.
She dropped to her knees and stared directly into my eyes. Her black crocheted cap was crooked, and suddenly I wanted to straighten it. “No,” she said simply.
An open pin on the back of one of the campaign buttons stabbed me in the thumb. “But… I said I was really sorry.” My voice cracked. When people apologized sincerely, you were supposed to accept! Had Paige not gotten the memo?
“I only want loyal, committed people on my campaign. Not people who are so self-absorbed they can’t even be trusted to hold up their end of a bargain.” She screwed the top on the Tootsie Pops jar and stood.
I pushed myself up, something inside me snapping. What did I have to do to get her to forgive me? Throw a televised campaign rally? Get her airtime on Mom’s network? Show up to school in head-to-toe green body paint for the next month?
“I said I was sorry. I—”
“I, I, I.” Paige snagged the last of her escaped materials and picked up the pace again. I scrambled to keep up. “Is there any other word in your vocabulary? You’re so obsessed with yourself, you think everybody else has to be just like you! Do what you’d do, say what you’d say, wear what you’d wear! Well, I’ve got news for you!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Not everybody wants to be Kacey freaking Simon!”
“PAIGE!” I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides as Paige stormed down the street, leaving the occasional Tootsie Pop in her wake like she was Gretel. My stomach churned violently, and tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to turn back and take a sick day, but instead I forced myself to finish the trek to the train station.
By the time I made it onto the Armitage platform, Paige was long gone. The only people there were a few students and a messenger wheeling his bike to the edge of the platform. I lined my toes up with the yellow caution stripe and tucked my chin to my chest, not wanting anyone to see my puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
“Helloooo!”
I jumped a
s Molly’s voice sounded next to me. She swung her arm around me. “We’ve been calling you for like a block!”
“Ohhh my God, it’s Kacey Simon!” Liv teased, fanning her face with the edge of her scarf like she might faint. “THE Kacey Simon. Can I have your autograph?” She shoved a half-finished French worksheet in my face.
“Hey, guys,” I managed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Nessa asked bluntly, adjusting the bejeweled bobby pin in her pixie. “You look awful.”
“I’m fine. Just tired,” I lied, blinking rapidly.
“Haven’t you heard?” Liv tightened her flatironed side pony. “Being a celebrity is sooooo exhausting.”
I managed a halfhearted smile.
“Maybe these will make you feel better.” Liv reached into the pocket of her vintage trench and pulled out a pair of cat-eye glasses. They were just like the ones Nessa had worn Saturday night, except these had tiny emerald stones embedded in the outer corner. “They go on sale today. Everybody’s gonna want a pair.” She slid them on.
I knew one person who would have wanted them: Paige. They would have been perfect for her campaign speech. “They’re gorgeous,” I said miserably.
“I bet you have, like, a billion Simon Says entries after Saturday night,” Molly said as she wound her hair into a loose bun on top of her head. “Those losers are probably lining up at the door to get a piece of you.”
“Which losers?” Liv handed her French worksheet to Nessa, who rolled her eyes but immediately started conjugating with a purple pen.
“You know. Other… people.”
“Let’s check!” Before I could stop her, Liv’s hand shot into my messenger bag, and reemerged with my phone. She lifted it over her head in victory like it was the Holy Grail, then hacked into my Simon Says e-mail. “Ohhhkay. Let’s see. First, we have Jilted Joe.”
“Laaaame,” Molly decided.
“ ‘Dear Kacey, I’m writing because I’m desperate.’ ”