Kiss And Blog

by ALSON NOËL

  “Oh, hey,” I say, stopping just shy of the door, wondering what they could possibly want. I mean, Sloane’s hands are on her hips and her eyes are all narrowed into angry little slits, as her posse remains on standby, poised and ready to act on a moment’s notice.

  “You must think you’re really fucking brilliant, huh?” Sloane says, her face a visible scowl, her right, stiletto-clad foot tapping ominously against the concrete floor.

  But I just look at her and shrug. Because even though I really don’t think I’m all that brilliant, I am smart enough to know that answering a question like that is just totally asking for it.

  “You must think you’re just so fucking funny, and clever, and witty, and mysterious. Don’t you?” she says, still glaring at me.

  Okay, this is getting creepy. I mean, I have no idea what she’s talking about. But from the expressions on Jaci, Holly, and Claire’s faces, it’s pretty clear that I’m not the only one who’s confused by all this. So finally I just shrug and say, “Um, I really don’t know what your deal is, but I think I’ll be going now.” Then I turn and reach for the doorknob.

  “Um, hello? Your stupid fucking blog, Winter, that’s what I’m talking about. Or should I call you Eleanor Rigby?”

  Oh, great. I clutch the handle, feeling my palm grow wet and slippery against the metal as my stomach drops to my knees.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I’m too fucking dumb to recognize myself? Did you think I was too fucking stupid to realize that I’m Princess Pink?”

  “I . . .” I turn and look at her, unable to finish that thought. Because the truth is, I really did think all that. Though apparently I was wrong.

  And then just as I’m about to offer an apology for betraying her like that, and maybe even try to explain my side of things, Jaci, Holly, and Claire take one look at her and go, “You’re Princess Pink?” Followed by:

  “Omigod, you made out with your cousin?”

  “You used lip gloss that fell in the toilet?”

  “You made flash cards? That is so fucking retarded!” Jaci says, moving away from her and shaking her head in disgust.

  “Ew!” Holly and Claire cringe, backing away from her as though all of those sad little secrets are somehow contagious.

  As I just stand there, watching Sloane get dumped by the friends she worked so hard to get. And I gotta admit, even though Sloane’s a total bitch, and even though she betrayed me first, it still feels pretty awful to realize that everything that’s happening here is happening because of me.

  “She’s a fucking liar!” Sloane points at me, her face turning a bright, panicked red, as she suddenly realizes she just outed herself. “None of that is true! None of it!”

  But it’s too late for that, because Jaci, Holly, and Claire aren’t buying it. They just stand there shaking their heads and smirking at Sloane, pity and disgust shaping their faces as Sloane stands before them, shaking with rage.

  “Oh, screw you! You think I don’t know you put that note on my butt?” She points at Jaci. “You think I don’t know that all of you are responsible for writing trash about me on those bathroom walls?” She shakes her head and glares at them, smirking as they cringe in shame. But I can tell it’s more the shame of getting caught, as opposed to any real, moral kind. “You’re all jealous! That’s your problem. Every single one of you wishes you were me and you know it!” she says, her voice a scary, harsh whisper.

  “Uh, whatever.” Jaci rolls her eyes and veers for the front door while Holly and Claire trail closely behind. “Good luck Monday at school,” they say.

  Sloane turns toward me, her face red with anger, her eyes squinting back tears. “Happy? I mean, this is what you wanted, right?”

  “Sloane-” I start to say, but then stop. Because the truth is, this is exactly what I wanted. Only now that it’s all mission accomplished, I’m really not feeling all that great about it.

  “You think you won this one, right? Well, think again. I didn’t work this hard, and come this far to be brought down by a loser like you! I’m gonna make you so fucking sorry.” She glares at me.

  I just stand there looking at her. “I already am,” I whisper, watching as she storms away from me, and heads straight for Easton.

  When I finally get into the back room, I plop down onto the old worn-out couch and drop my head in my hands. And no matter how hard I try to block it out, all I can hear is the sound of my mom’s voice echoing, “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.” Which is what she repeated to Autumn and me more times than I care to count. And yet, maybe she was right. Because so far practically everything I’ve wished for has come true. And to be honest, most of it’s not near as great as I hoped it would be. In fact, most of it’s not even close.

  I rest my head against the cushions, and run my fingers over the old, worn corduroy fabric, thinking about how much everything has changed, and how this fossilized couch is now one of the last remaining relics of our old life. And I can’t help but wonder if my mom’s planning to throw it out, too. And suddenly the thought of losing this butt-ugly, yet completely precious sofa makes me feel so unbelievably empty and sad that I suddenly break down in a flood of uncontrollable, unstoppable tears.

  Yup, that’s right, I start sobbing over a couch.

  When I finally quiet down to just a few residual sniffles, I reach for the old, three-shades-of-blue afghan blanket that my grandma knit for me not long before she died, wrap it around me, grab my cell phone, and call my dad.

  And when his phone goes straight into voice mail, I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, he’s a celebrity now, so I’m sure he’s busy being famous somewhere. So I leave a message, wishing him a wonderful New Year, and telling him how much I love and appreciate him, and how because of all that I’ve decided to make myself available for Act II, season two, and anything else he might need. I mean, I’m going to have a stepdad soon, and even though Dave’s like a really cool guy, he’s not my real dad. And it’s not like he could ever replace him.

  Then I snap my phone shut, toss it back in my purse, tuck the blanket under my feet, and drift.

  I guess I must have dozed off for a while, because when I open my eyes again, I can hear someone else in the room. And after squinting and adjusting to the dim light, I realize it’s Rey.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, pilfering quietly through his backpack.

  But I just sit up and glance around, wondering how long I’d been sleeping. Then I look at him and say, “You guys sounded really good out there.” I push my hair off of my face and smile.

  But he just laughs and goes, “Yeah, I can see that, with the way you were sleeping and all.”

  But I don’t want him to think that his music sucks, so I go, “No, really, I was just-” But then I stop, deciding to let the sentence end there. Because even though I don’t want him to think that his music put me to sleep, I also realize that I can’t exactly confide in him about how I just battled my way through a severe emotional meltdown over an old, sagging, brown corduroy couch.

  And just as he grabs the door handle, ready to head back out, he turns and looks at me. “Should I tell Easton you’re here?”

  And when I look at him, I realize it’s actually a much bigger question than it might seem. I also know that it’s now or never. That if I mess this one up, he’ll walk out that door, and I may never get a chance to really talk to him again. And even though there are so many things I want to tell him, now that it’s time, I can’t seem to find the right words. But even if I could, I doubt that the lump in my throat would allow me to say them.

  So I just shake my head in a silent good-bye.

  But then, the next thing I know, he’s sitting right beside me, and he’s kissing me. And even though this may be hard to believe, I’m totally not exaggerating when I say that it’s even better than the first time.

  Then he pulls away, looks in my eyes, and says, “Winter, I-”

  But I p
ress my finger to his lips, stopping his words as I lean in to kiss him again. Because right now I don’t want to hear anything. I just want this.

  Twenty-nine

  By the very last set, I’m up onstage, having reinstated my role as backup singer for the band. And I just stand there, nodding my head to the beat, waiting my turn to sing, as I watch Autumn dance awkwardly (but happily!) with Boyd, as Sloane engages in a full-scale seduction of Easton, attaching herself to his body, while glaring at me from over his shoulder.

  I guess once she learned that he was a working actor, currently cast in an indie film, it was good-bye, Rey, hello, Sundance Film Festival.

  And even though part of me is bugged when I watch just how much pleasure she takes in stealing the guy she thinks I’m with, the other part feels pretty good when I realize just how easy it was to dupe her. And how Easton is really just a decoy for the ultimate catch I was after.

  And not that I want to move too quickly, or make any kind of crazy, false assumptions, but I think it might actually be safe to say that Rey is now officially my boyfriend.

  I mean, at one point when we were in the back room, kissing on the old corduroy couch, he pulled away and looked at me. And this time he insisted on talking.

  “Winter,” he said, shaking his head and peering at me. “I have liked you this whole entire time. Ever since that day you ran into me in the hall.”

  But just because I knew he was telling the truth, doesn’t mean I knew how to respond. So I just sat there, listening to his words, but not contributing any of my own.

  “And I tried to make it clear, I mean I tried so many times to let you know how I felt, but you were so preoccupied with Sloane and Cash and all that other stuff, that I finally just gave up. Because I knew there was just no way I could compete with all that.”

  And even though I knew this to be true, I refused to let him off that easy. “But you’re the one who invited Shay to the Dirty Bird that night, not me,” I finally said, speaking up in my own defense.

  But he just looked at me, and shook his head. “That was a pathetic, last-minute attempt to get your attention. And when it failed, I decided it was time to move on.”

  And not knowing what else to say, I tried to just lean in and kiss him again. But he stopped me. Holding my face in his hands, he looked me in the eye, and said, “Winter, I’m serious.”

  And then, pressing my lips against his, I whispered, “Rey, me too.”

  TO: ELEANOR RIGBY

  FROM: CALVIN BURKE

  RE: PLEASE RECONSIDER

  Dear Ms. Rigby:

  Please forgive my tardy response as I was out of the country for several weeks and have only just returned to find your e-mail. I am sorry to read that you are unable to accept my offer and am hoping that I can persuade you to please reconsider, I have already spoken with a few publishers, all of whom have shown interest in your story, and once the book rights are sold, I plan to move on to film,

  I’m sure you’re aware of the level of competition, and that opportunities like this don’t come around often,

  I hope I’ve managed to regain your interest, and that you will soon contact me at your earliest convenience, I look forward to working with you,

  Sincerely,

  Calvin Burke

  THE GOSPEL OF ELEANOR RIGBY

  Wednesday, January 10, 2007

  4:45 P.M.

  Current Mood—In love!

  Current Music-“A Hazy Shade of Winter” by my ultimate, all-time, favorite indie band

  Quote of the Day-“Be who you are and say what you feel, because

  those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter

  don’t mind."—Dr. Seuss

  It’s My Life

  Spotted: the girl formerly known as Princess Pink, but now better known as Social Casualty #1, sitting alone, and deflecting glares, jeers, and heckles from her former friends and Pastel Posse members, while her thumbs twitch like crazy as she furiously text messages mysterious someone. Could it be Mr. Hollywood from the New Year’s Eve midnight make-out?

  We may never know.

  Because it’s a new year, and I’m moving on to new things. Which means I will no longer be spying on, obsessing over, or spilling any more of P. P.’s secrets. Or anyone else’s secrets. Which also means there will be no book deal, no Podcast, and no big-screen adaptation (sorry C. B.), and no more blog entries.

  I mean, I think I might have actually learned a few things last year. Like: people change, secrets are sacred, and that with the right people in attendance, even the lowliest lunch table can feel like the warmest place on the planet.

  And so I say good-bye. Though I thank you for all of your comments and support, and for joining me on this amazing journey. And now that I’m ready to go it alone, I wish you all the best on yours.

  Your friend,

  Eleanor Rigby

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine