“Not Rory,” I whispered. “There will be homicide, I swear.”
“Miss Talbot, are you in a group?”
“No, sir. I’ve had a lot of public-speaking experience at the school, as you know. I’d like to waive this project, please.”
“I’m sure you would, but I want total class participation. This is a life skill and you wouldn’t be enrolled here if you didn’t feel it was useful to your future. Therefore, you’ll join Miss Mansfield and Miss Hanna. Stapleton, you too.”
I stifled a scream just in time.
“I’m already in a group, Mr. Jones.”
The instructor looked him over, then at Tate and two other jocks from the rowing team. “I’ll expect great things from this group, Stapleton.”
Rory just grinned at him, but Shani and I practically wilted with relief. Being in contact with Rory Stapleton for any reason whatsoever would totally spoil the last month of senior year.
“Miss Talbot, please join the others at their table. For the last fifteen minutes of the period, do some brainstorming and let me know what your project will be as you leave.”
Vanessa acted as though she were wading through peanut butter as she moved to our table. She dropped her backpack on the floor, draped herself in a chair, and examined her manicure.
“Yeah, well, we’re not a hundred percent happy about it, either,” Shani said in a low tone. “So. What’s our project?”
Vanessa slid the sheet of project prompts off the table and into her backpack. Then she gazed at the clock over the door.
Tick tock.
“Oh, I get it. We’re going to do all the work, and you’re going to take the credit,” Shani said brightly. “Well, that’s buckets of fun. Let’s get started. Lissa, any ideas?”
“The only public thing I’ve got going this term is the Cotillion,” I said. Vanessa’s left shoulder twitched, but she made no other indication she’d heard us. “I’ll be emceeing, introducing guests, introducing the non-academic awards, and all that. So how can we all get involved?”
“Divide it up.”
“Okay, if the—”
“Absolutely not,” Vanessa snapped. “That’s the point of the senior consultant. She manages the planning, so her reward is visibility on the night.”
“Oh, are you part of this group?” Shani inquired. “I thought you just sat there because the view of the clock was better.”
“I’m trying to help you idiots not fail.”
“Can you suggest something, then?” I asked. “Personally, I don’t care about being visible. But if we have to do this project, unless you’re prepared to do some performance art at the cable car terminus at Powell Street, it makes sense to use an event we’re already involved in.”
“We?” Shani inquired silkily.
“It’s we now,” I said.
Heaven help us.
Uh… wait a second. What if this was Heaven’s plan to bring Vanessa closer to us? College might not be high on God’s priority list, but what if she was?
Chapter 11
AS WE LEFT the class, I told Mr. Jones our group would be working on the Cotillion. Vanessa once again slipstreamed me as I made my way down the corridor.
“We should talk,” she said when I’d looked back and caught her eye for the second time. “Do you have to walk so fast?”
“I have Art now, and it’s all the way at the end of the building.” The art studios were above the music practice rooms, which was kind of neat. I could always tell when Gillian was at the piano on the floor below—it made me feel as though I were making jewelry in the middle of a symphony.
“What about after school? We could walk down and get a latte. Throw some ideas around.”
“Sounds great. I’ll let Shani know.”
“I didn’t mean her.”
My stride hitched, and she came up beside me. A couple of people looked at us oddly (Why is the most popular girl in school walking with that skank?) but no one said anything. “Why not?”
“She’s a b—”
“Okay, enough of that. No one calls my friends names in front of me.”
In one of those odd instances of perfect timing, two girls from Phys.Ed. made a big show of crossing to the other side of the corridor when they saw Vanessa. They hissed a nasty word at her and giggled as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
She kept her gaze straight ahead. “Guess I’m not your friend, huh?” I had no idea what class she was going to—or if she bothered to go to some classes at all—but she kept pace with me.
“Do you want to be?”
I couldn’t tell, since she wore her usual this-conversation-is-boring-me-into-a-coma face. All the same, if this really was part of a bigger plan, I needed to listen to that voice inside that never steered me wrong.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God. Or daughters, as the case may be. Decision made.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you at Starbucks at four. That’ll give us an hour before dinner.” She scrunched up her mouth as if I’d offered her a plate of worms. “Say what you want, but I like the food here.”
With a nod, she cut away down the corridor toward the science labs, leaving me wondering what I was getting into.
So, ninety minutes later, I pushed open the door at Starbucks to find a smattering of Spencer blue cardigans at the various tables. Vanessa sat in the back next to a rubber plant, looking very studious with an enormous biology textbook.
Maybe she was studying up on what exactly happened during labor—a section I knew was in there, even though I hadn’t been assigned to read it during my brief and not-so-illustrious career in science.
I got a skinny vanilla latte and joined her. She slid her backpack off the leather chair next to her and I sat. “So. The Cotillion.”
Whoa. Clearly the girl didn’t believe in small talk.
“I was thinking we’d just divide the programming up among the three of us,” I began as she put the Bio book away. “Instead of me doing the whole job all night, we’d each take a section. And it’s being videotaped, so that meets Jones’s requirement.”
“It’ll never fly,” she said flatly.
“Why not?”
She looked at me as if my brains were dribbling out my ears. “Hello? The only reason you have this job at all is because…?”
Because the committee didn’t want you up on that stage. Right. “But if your getting involved again is a requirement for a class, nobody can say anything.”
“Uh-huh. They might not say anything, but you’ll find that, hey, it’s the last week before Cotillion and all your teams suddenly have homework to do or they’re on field trips or they have seventy-five hours of community service to catch up on.”
“My team won’t do that.”
“Are you willing to take the risk?”
I thought of the phenomenal amount of work ahead of us. We’d hired lighting crews and a band and caterers and an event planner, but the success of the dance still depended on the smooth operation of my various subcommittees. People had to interface the band with the sound system, and the caterers with Dining Services, and the lighting riggers with Facilities. If even one of them flaked, the whole operation would tilt dangerously into panic mode.
“Shani can take part of the emcee job,” Vanessa said quietly. The scope of what she was suggesting must have shown on my face. “But if you expect to include me, you might have to change your project.”
“None of us has time to come up with anything else,” I said. “This is tailor made for us. We just have to think creatively, that’s all. Or, hey, just not tell anyone you’re part of it, and hand you the microphone at the last minute.”
“You think creatively. I have to go.”
“Wait a minute.” I grabbed her arm and out of sheer shock, she plopped into her chair again. “You can’t say let’s get together and discuss this and then not discuss it.”
“I just did.”
“Telling me
it’s impossible isn’t a discussion.”
“I don’t hear you coming up with ideas.”
“Hello, I’ve had five whole minutes to think about it.”
“And look what that got you. People would find out if you planned to bring me in at the last minute. Your friend would flap her mouth for sure.”
“Maybe. Though maybe if you were nicer to her, she wouldn’t.”
“She isn’t nice to me.”
“It has to start somewhere.”
“Don’t preach at me, Christian girl.”
Something snapped in my brain and unraveled like a rubber band wound too tight. “You know what you need, Vanessa? You need a good spanking. You say you’re trying to help us succeed, but you’re not. You’re just using us for whipping girls to take out your rage on.”
Silence fell over the entire coffee bar, as though a cloaking device had just been activated.
My voice felt rough in my throat as I dropped the volume. “News flash, girlfriend. You got yourself pregnant, and people are taking advantage of that to get you back for years of snottiness and abuse. But not all of us are. Some of us feel sorry for you. Some of us would support you if you’d let us. But no. All we get is more of the same. Are you really that one-dimensional, or is there a real person in there who is going to make this baby a decent mother?”
Vanessa stared at me, her mouth open a little and her eyes positively burning a death ray through me. “Are you quite finished?”
“No. I’m not.” The noise level around us rose a little. “Yes, I’m a Christian. But what that means is that I can feel. I can empathize. I can try to be your friend, but you’re too busy calling me names and dissing my friends to see that.”
“I don’t want your empathy. Or your pity.”
“Maybe not. But what you do need is a friend.”
“Why should you care?”
Because God is love, and compassion, and all those things you need right now. And I may not be much, but I’m the closest thing you’ve got to Him, sister.
“Maybe I’m just that kind of person. But you’ve never given me a chance to be who I am.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “There’s more to Surfing Barbie than meets the eye. Who knew?”
“Maybe. And maybe there’s more to the PeeGee Princess, too.”
Her gaze held mine for a couple of seconds. “That still doesn’t solve the Cotillion problem.”
“Maybe not. But I’d like to think it solved a few others.”
Her lips twitched again. Then she chuckled. And finally she threw her head back and laughed—a real laugh. I had never seen Vanessa Talbot laugh before, ever. Sneer derisively, sure. Snarl, bait, smile, and tease, yup. But never laugh.
Neither had anyone else in the coffee bar. People gawked, and some sophomore actually whipped out her camera phone and took a picture.
It was contagious, too. When she finally got control of herself, both of us were smiling. “All right, Barbie,” she said at last and shook her hair back. “You’ve got more spine than I gave you credit for.”
“Truce?” I said, just to be sure.
“Truce. We have work to do.”
“Friends?” I pressed. As Mac would say, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” But her lips twitched again as she said it.
The Ginger Ale Effect? Or the power of God?
I had a feeling they were the same thing.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: May 17, 2010
Re: Gossip
Hey, lassie! (How do you say that in Spanish?) I miss you too—thanks for the pic of your mum’s muslin. That’s what you call it, right? The practice dress. I hope she realizes how amazingly talented you are, because that is going to be one beautiful wedding ensemble.
I got a note from Shani and I’m still quite in shock. Lissa and La Talbot friends? I’d be less surprised if you’d told me Posh and Becks had grown out their hair and joined a commune. How is this even possible? Vanessa hates Lissa. And our L is too trusting for her own good. I’m very much afraid it’s all a ruse and V is setting her up for some horrific fall.
Watch out for her, will you? I told Shani the same. Lissa’s heart is in the right place but sometimes her head is… blond. Don’t let her get hurt.
Dad sends his regards, and Mummy says please come for a month before you start college. She’s going to be mucking out the attics and wants an informed opinion on some of that old clobber. Namely: museum, jumble sale, or PREZZIE FOR YOU. Hee hee. I’m not too proud to resort to bribery.
Please come!!
Love, Mac
PRAYER CIRCLE IS the one place where a person’s true feelings can come out—where you can feel safe letting them out.
And no one showed her feelings more than Carly, who sat opposite me, practically glowing. Why? Because sitting next to her was Brett, who, she had texted us all, had asked her what he needed to do to become a Christian. Yes. Brett Loyola, scion of one of San Francisco’s wealthiest families, captain of the rowing team, former bad boy… giving his heart to God. Can we just pause for a moment to appreciate that?
I know they’ve talked about faith stuff in private. The whole “no sex before marriage” discussion came up right away last spring, when they first got together, just in case he had other ideas. But there’s a difference between talking about something and acting on it, as I had been proving myself this last week or so.
I was dying to ask her if he was going to church with her on Sunday, but it would have to wait until later. As it was, I exchanged a sparkly glance with Gillian that was as close as we could get to “Squeee!” without saying a word.
There was a lot of praising going on in that room, so when my turn came around, I just let it rip.
“Father in heaven, I am really glad to be here tonight to see all the unique ways You show love to Your children. Your face is really shining on Carly, with her mom and Brett and Parsons and FIDM and everything. Thank You for that. So tonight I just really want to praise You for getting me past Vanessa Talbot’s deflector shields and helping us connect. Help me be the friend she needs, Lord, and help me be as transparent as glass so she can see You without me getting in the way. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
There were a couple of ticks of silence before Derrik Vaughan, who was sitting next to me, began to pray, and when I glanced at Gillian again, her eyes were closed and her face had become solemn. So, okay, I hadn’t really talked to her since yesterday. She and Jeremy—still officially together as far as I knew—had decided to take Monday night off to let their cortexes unkink and had gone to a movie, and I’d been asleep when she came in. Consequently this morning had been a rush of nearly sleeping through the alarm and throwing clothes on and rushing down to breakfast. So I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the breakthrough in Starbucks.
I looked forward to telling her the details. I mean, prayer is a good foundation for a change in any relationship, but then you have to act, right? So both our philosophies could be right in the long term.
Big picture or deets, I didn’t get a chance to say any of it. After we finished up with a contemporary praise song, the whole group seemed buoyed along by happy spirits and wound up at the juice bar down the hill.
So much for BFF dishing time.
Or so I thought, until Shani climbed onto the high stool next to me with her ginger and lemongrass in a tall, slender glass. “So.” She flipped out her phone and tapped her way to a familiar-looking photograph of a laughing Vanessa, the back of my head on one side of the frame. “What’s the story here? Word is you and the PeeGee VeeTee had a big public blowout.”
“I heard you threatened to spank her.” Carly put her handbag on a stool to save the latter for Brett, who was still at the counter, and got comfortable across from me.
Shani snorted juice and clapped a napkin to her face. “You just made me spew!”
“I told
her that was what she needed. I didn’t volunteer to do it.”
“Did I really hear that?” Gillian paused in the act of pulling up a stool. “Spanked?”
Brett and Derrik Vaughan joined us, both carrying glasses of something revolting and green.
“What is that?”
“Wheatgrass and carrot juice.” Brett took a big swallow. “All the guys on crew drink it.”
“Ewwww,” we chorused. I knocked back half my organic unpasteurized apple juice in sheer defense.
Brett waited until I was finished. “So it’s true? You and Vanessa decided to forgive and forget?”
“I think she needs a friend,” I said slowly. The juice tasted like a bite of a fresh-picked apple, like late summer when I was a kid and the only complication life held was the big red circle on the calendar that meant the first day of school. “Mr. Jones put her in a project group with Shani and me, so we have to work together. But I think it’s something bigger. A God thing.”
“Maybe it is. This is not the face of someone forced to work together.” Shani waggled the phone at the group before she put it back in her bag. “I can’t believe you guys met without me.”
“She insisted. She says you’re not nice to her.”
Shani’s eyes bugged out. “Me? Not nice to her?”
“I told her it went both ways, and she told me not to preach. That’s when I lost it and told her she needed a spanking. But it ended well, so that’s the main thing.”
Brett chuckled into his glass. “I’d have bought a ticket to see that.”
“I would, too,” Gillian said. “We might have to start lifting up Lissa in prayer circle at this rate.”
“Speaking of prayer circle, what’s all this about Parsons and FIDM?” Brett nudged Carly with his shoulder. “You holding out on me?”
Carly shot me an agonized glance.
Uh-oh. Prayer circle was good for a lot of things, but clearly there was such a thing as too much truth. Especially when you appeared to be keeping it from your boy-friend.
The Chic Shall Inherit the Earth Page 9