With my lips pursed, I faced the class. “Kind of domineering social behavior, wouldn’t you say?” I took in the rapt attention of my classmates, stopping for an extra beat to glance at Kim, who was too distracted by whatever Jonathan was scribbling in his notebook to realize what was happening. This annoyed me, but the show had to go on. “And as an aside to this person, who shall remain nameless, I’d like to caution that smoking causes cancer and stunted growth.” I bit my lip to keep my expression serious since I’d been known to take drags of cigarettes when offered to me by older kids at parties. Even though I’d never inhaled—smoking was bad for your skin, stained your teeth, and it did cause cancer—I’d mastered making it look like I did.
“Example two: I’m kind of pissed Bridget made such a big deal about watching Seventh Heaven. I know she thinks it’s a dumb show, but if she’s watching at my house, she doesn’t have the right to veto what we watch.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Aggressive demeanor for sure. Not to mention kind of selfish. Don’t you think?”
KIM
I had almost zoned out through the whole thing. After Hannah opened her report with an oh-so-original comparison between me and Napoleon, I stopped listening. Whatever Jonathan was sketching on a piece of lined paper was much more compelling, as was the way his forehead scrunched up in concentration. The figure he was drawing looked suspiciously like a caricature of Hannah, where her mouth took up three-quarters of her face, and three smaller heads were shoved up against her butt.
I opened my mouth to laugh when the pen dropped out of Jonathan’s fingers, and he jerked his head up. I followed his line of vision to where Hannah was standing.
I’m so pissed Bridget made such a big deal about watching Seventh Heaven. I know she thinks it’s a dumb show, but if she’s watching at my house, she doesn’t have the right to veto what we watch.
“Aggressive demeanor for sure. Not to mention kind of selfish. Don’t you think?” Hannah continued.
Wait … what? I darted my eyes around the room in confusion as my chin trembled. Most of the class appeared equally confused about what was going on as they stared wide-eyed at Hannah. All but Jonathan, who I could see through my peripheral vision, was looking at me. The knot in my stomach curled tighter when I realized where I’d heard Hannah’s words before. I had written them—in my diary. Why did Hannah have my diary?
Hannah continued talking. “We’re two for two. I think there might be some merit to this Napoleon Complex, but I’ll let you decide after you hear this one.”
I gasped in horror as I rummaged through my memory, trying to remember what I’d written down and which of my innermost thoughts Hannah might divulge to my entire class. I pressed my eyes shut and prayed she’d choose one of the lame, off-the-cuff comments I made about my parents and not … please not … something about Jonathan. Oh, God, I wrote about Jonathan in my diary—a lot—never ever intending for anyone to read it. The whole point of a diary was to journal private, personal musings. But as surely as I was the smallest girl in our class, my thoughts were about to be the opposite of secret.
I dared to turn my head a fraction so I could see what Jonathan was doing. He was staring at Hannah, his lips parted as if to speak, but he didn’t say a word.
I leaned forward in my chair, paralyzed. I knew I should stop her—stand up, say something—but I couldn’t will my legs to move or my mouth to open. And so, like a person who steps onto the tracks as a train is approaching, I prepared for impact. Maybe she’d show me some mercy and keep the Jonathan stuff between us. Even Hannah couldn’t be that cruel. Could she?
“Example three,” Hannah said. “Sometimes, when I look at Jonathan in social studies, I wonder what it would be like to have sex with him. I wonder what it would be like to have sex. Period.”
My mouth gaped, and my body shook as if I were locked out of the house with no clothes on in a snowstorm. It was like one of those dreams where everyone is closing in on you and laughing in slow motion, but you can’t hear anything but an echo. I covered my hands with my ears, willing it to stop and fumbled for my backpack—I was aching to get out of there and go someplace safe, like my mommy’s womb. If I hadn’t been born yet, this wouldn’t be happening.
As Mrs. Lieberman yelled for Hannah to sit down, I somehow kept my butt glued to my seat, refusing to draw more attention to myself than Hannah already had. Unable to brave eye contact with Jonathan, or anyone else for that matter, I stared down the wall clock, counting down the last three minutes of class as if my life depended on it.
HANNAH
“Hannah!”
I turned to Mrs. Lieberman. “What?” I asked with my eyes wide and innocent.
Her lips pursed, and a purplish dot decorating each of her cheeks, Mrs. Lieberman pointed toward my desk. “We’ve heard about enough from you today. Sit down.”
I smiled bewitchingly and handed her my paper without the extra credit portion. “I was finished anyway.”
When I returned to my chair, I reached into my bag, pulled out Kim’s pink diary, and dropped it on her desk with a loud thump. Smirking, I said, “You left this on the bus.” I’d debated keeping it, but figured I’d embarrassed the poor girl enough. Maybe she’d learn her lesson and be more careful. She might even woman up enough to actually speak to Jonathan instead of just drooling in his direction. And besides, I’d already used all of the juicy stuff against her during my report—the girl was boring.
When Jonathan, red as a fire truck, narrowed his eyes at me, I flashed him a wink. At least now he knew for certain Kim wanted to jump his bones. He should have thanked me for breaking the ice, not given me a stony glare. As the bell rang, I watched Kim race out the door like Barnes & Noble was giving away free books in the hallway. As I glanced in amusement at her empty desk and back to Jonathan, I said, “Someone was in a hurry.”
Jonathan ran his fingers through his spiked hair, stood up, and said, “Get a life, Hannah,” before walking away.
“So much for gratitude,” I mumbled.
KIM
The moment the bell rang, I bolted out of the classroom and faking calmness, speed-walked to the office and called my mom at the craft store she owned with my dad. Even though there was only one period left in the day, forty-eight minutes would feel more like forty-eight years, especially if the news of Hannah’s latest hijinks spread as quickly as I suspected it would.
“LONG-ing for Crafts. How may I help you?”
“M … mom?” The word came out as two syllables as my voice shook.
“What’s wrong, Kim? Did something happen? Tell me.”
“Can you pick me up, please?”
“Are you okay?”
I did a three-sixty of the bustling office, avoiding eye contact with the school secretary and hoping no one I knew would come in. I covered my mouth with my hand so no one would hear me and said, “Please, Mom. I never ask to leave school early.” I was generally a good kid and far less dramatic than Erin.
“I’ll be right there.” She hung up without awaiting a response.
I returned the phone to the receiver, let out a deep exhale, and glanced timidly at the secretary. “My mom’s coming to pick me up. I’ll wait for her outside.” I turned to walk away.
“Bye, Kim. Feel better.”
Paranoid she’d already heard what happened, I pivoted on my heel to face her, but she’d gone back to her computer. Get a grip, Kim. I wished I had a way to get in touch with Bridget, but I wasn’t willing to go deeper into the school to leave a note in her locker. Thankfully, the bell rang, and as I made my way out to the parking lot, the hallways were empty aside from a few seniors who had early dismissal. I hoped my mom would arrive promptly since LONG-ing for Crafts was only a five-minute drive from the school.
Except instead of my mom’s silver Toyota Camry pulling up, it was my dad’s olive-green Volvo. I groaned as he parked next to me and rolled down the window. “Your mom sent me.”
Stepping into the car, the air freshene
r dangling from the rearview mirror sending the scent of vanilla up my nose, I said, “Where’s Mommy?” I suspected the next words out of his mouth would be something like “What happened?” There was no way I could tell my dad Hannah disclosed my private reflections to the class, especially since those thoughts involved sex—something my dad would prefer not cross my mind until I was forty.
“She was with a customer.” His brown eyes regarded me with concern. “You all right, Tiny Kim?”
My dad was the only person who was allowed to tease my height and get away with it. At his words and the caring expression on his face, the tears I was holding onto for dear life began to escape. Hoping he wouldn’t see them, I nodded and stared absently out the window as we passed the Plaza Diner, a popular late-night destination for students, and then the junior high where Erin spent her days. My dad squeezed my knee in silent acknowledgement that he knew I wasn’t okay but didn’t want to discuss it with him. I was pretty certain it was the way he preferred it. We pulled into a parking space at LONG-ing for Crafts, and I followed my dad into the store with my head down. “Thanks, Dad,” I called over my shoulder as I made my way toward the back room where I often helped with inventory. Doing homework was out of the question since I left most of my notebooks in my locker, so while I waited for my mom, I ripped out every page of the diary and put it through the shredder. When I was finished, I rested my head on the desk and prayed Hannah hadn’t made photocopies of any of the excerpts.
Twenty minutes later, the whole dirty story came pouring out. From my chair, I watched my mom, red-faced, pace the linoleum floors in overt anger. Pulling at her honey-blond shoulder-length hair, she said, “What is wrong with that girl?”
“She’s a bitch!” I threw my hand against my mouth as the curse word slipped out.
Not acknowledging my profanity, my mom turned to me with her hands on her slender hips. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know it’s hard, but you can’t let the mean girls get to you.”
“I usually don’t, but this was bad. And Jonathan was there—right next to me with only Hannah’s empty chair between us. Now he knows I like him. And now Bridget knows I write about her in my diary, too. What if she’s mad?” I chewed on my lip, tasting remnants from my frosted strawberry-flavored lip gloss.
My mom frowned. “This calls for ice cream.” She threw her purse over her arm. “Let’s go.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What about dinner?”
“We’re having ice cream for dinner tonight. Maybe we’ll have salad for dessert.”
I smiled. My mom was the best.
HANNAH
“Mom?” When I stepped into my parents bedroom, I found my mother on a yoga mat doing abdominal crunches. My mom’s favorite new show, Gilmore Girls, was on the television. She enjoyed the show more than I did because people said she resembled the pretty mom. I thought the daughter was way too prissy. I was her age and couldn’t think of anyone even remotely as sweet and smart as Rory Gilmore. When my mom didn’t respond to my first greeting, I raised my voice. “Mom!”
Sitting up to face me, my mom wiped her brow and sounding out of breath, said, “What’s up, hon?”
“Do you have any Tums?” As she stood up and stretched her arms over her head, revealing her flat belly, my tummy felt worse.
“I’m not sure. But if not, we have Pepto-Bismol.” She walked into the master bathroom, gesturing for me to follow her. “Are you not feeling well?”
I brought the top of my hand to my mouth and fought the urge to bite. The mild pain felt good, and I liked the smell of my skin, but it was a habit I only did in private. “My stomach is out of sorts.”
My mom turned around and furrowed her arched brows. “Did you feel sick all day?”
I shrugged. “Only since late this afternoon.”
“The lamb chops you ate at dinner probably didn’t help things. You should have said something earlier.”
“Well, I didn’t. So …?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“All right. Calm down.” Handing me two chalky pink Tums, she said, “Take these. If they don’t work, let me know.” She leaned down and kissed me.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling away. I hated when my mom tried to get touchy-feely with me. I wasn’t nine and didn’t want to snuggle with her. “Where’s Dad?”
With her back to me as she returned the container of Tums to the medicine cabinet, she responded, “Working.”
I glanced at the clock radio on her nightstand. It was almost ten o’clock. “So late?”
“Hannah,” my mom said through grinded teeth. “If your dad didn’t work so hard, you wouldn’t be the best-dressed girl in school. Something I don’t hear you complaining about. Or the annual vacations to St. Barts.” Turning around to face me, she asked, “Am I right?”
What did nice clothes have to do with wanting my dad to come home from work before midnight? Maybe if my mom worried more about keeping him happy and less about stocking her closet with designer labels, he would. My future husband would make it his business to come home for dinner or, even better, show off his hot, fashionable wife and precious children at the finest restaurants in town. My mom just didn’t get it. “Whatever.”
“Hannah. Don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I said, before stalking off to my bedroom down the hall and slamming my door. I leaped onto my canopy bed and let out an exasperated sigh. I hated my mom. And my dad, too. My parents sucked. I stared up at the ceiling. If I didn’t get an A on my social studies paper, I would complain to the principal about Mrs. Lieberman’s unfair grading system. It was an amazing paper, and I had nothing to feel guilty about. In fact, I’d done Kim and Jonathan a favor—they were never going to get together on their own. Thanks to my help, their obviously mutual feelings were now out in the open. A little embarrassment was a small price to pay for true love. I bet if I offered my matchmaking skills schoolwide, my fellow classmates would jump at the chance to be my client. Yes, Kim and Jonathan should be thanking their lucky stars.
I pressed my hand against my upset stomach and prayed the Tums would work quickly. When my phone rang, I summoned my fake happy voice. “Hello?”
“Hello back at you.”
I closed my eyes and smiled. “Hi, Kyle.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just lying in bed.”
“I like that visual.”
My body flushed with warmth. “Do you, now?” I flirted.
“Can I come over?”
I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. “Now?” I’d never been alone with a boy in my house after dark.
“Yeah.”
“My parents will never let me.”
“Can you sneak me in?”
The answer was “probably.” When my mom was absorbed in her television shows, an earthquake could hit, and she might not notice. “I don’t know.” I bit my clammy hand, both excited and terrified for Kyle to come over.
“Please, Hannah. I just want to hang out with the prettiest girl in school for a few minutes. I don’t have to stay long. We can talk.”
Kyle had the smoothest, deepest voice of any guy I’d ever talked to. And he thought I was the prettiest girl in school and not only the best dressed. Trembling with nervous excitement, I jumped off the bed and bounced from foot to foot. “Okay. Come around the back. I’ll let you in.”
KIM
As Becca walked the hallway from second to third periods, she tried to drown out the jumbled inner thoughts of her classmates and focus on her destination. “Am I invisible? Do my classmates even see me?” Becca whipped around and regarded Aimee Rappaport with pity. She wasn’t invisible. Why would she think that?
“Kim?”
At the sound of my mom’s voice, I lifted my head from my work in progress—writing was the only true distraction from what would surely go down in history as one of the worst days of my life so far—and swallowed hard when I saw Bridget standing at the entrance to my bedroom. “Hi,” I said in a s
haky voice. I had wanted to call her at least a thousand times during the course of the evening but didn’t know what to say.
“I’ll leave you be,” my mom said. “Don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night.”
My eyes opened wide as I noticed the overnight bag on the floor next to Bridget.
My mom smiled softly and closed the door behind her, leaving us alone.
“You okay?” Bridget asked, joining me on my twin-size bed where I was lying face down across the white comforter, my feet resting on my pillows.
“I’m sorry, Bridge. It’s just my stupid diary. Don’t be mad, please.”
Bridget jerked her head back. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
“Because … because of what I said in my diary … about Seventh Heaven.” I sat up and hugged a lavender throw pillow against my chest.
Bridget bounced up and down on the bed, making it shake underneath us. “I’m not a moron, Kim. It’ll take more than a dumb diary entry about a stupid show featuring a rabbi and his fourteen kids to get me riled up.”
I chuckled despite the tears of relief welling up behind my eyelids. “It’s about a minister and his seven children.”
“I don’t care if it’s about a priest and his two-hundred immaculately conceived offspring. I’m not mad at you.”
I dropped the pillow onto the bed. “Thank God. Now my life is only ninety percent over.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow. “My friendship is only worth ten percent of your life?”
I smiled. “No. You know I’m not very good at math.”
We laughed together for a moment until Bridget frowned at me and asked, “Have you heard from Jonathan?”
“No way!” A tingle swept the back of my neck as I considered Jonathan’s reaction to knowing I was sexually curious about him. My stomach curdled, and I rethought the second scoop of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream I’d had earlier.
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 3