“Relax. It was only a question,” Bridget said, rubbing my back. “It will be okay.”
I jerked away from her and walked to the nail polish display on my wall. With my back to Bridget, I absently rearranged the colors and said, “I hate her.”
From behind me, Bridget said, “You and me both.”
My breath caught in my throat as my eyes watered once again. I violently shook the almost-empty bottle of essie Ballet Slippers. Who did Hannah think she was? And why was she so determined to ruin my life? What had I ever done to her?
“We need to stop her,” Bridget said as if reading my mind.
“Denise offered to take care of her for us,” I suggested, picturing tufts of Hannah’s hair in the school hallways leading a path to Hannah shoved into a locker, bruised and bleeding.
“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t want anyone getting arrested,” Bridget said.
“Agreed. What do you suggest?” I was at a loss, and Bridget’s lack of response suggested she was, too. I returned the nail polish bottle to the display and dropped my chin toward the floor.
“I’ve got it,” Bridget said, breaking the silence.
I cautiously lifted my head to meet her eyes.
Bridget smiled wide at me, her green eyes twinkling.
I gently bit my lip and leaned in. “What?” My stomach fluttered in cautious hope.
“I’ll give you a hint. It involves two of Hannah’s favorite things.”
Pulling on a strand of my hair, I said, “Um, designer clothes and her own reflection in the mirror?”
Bridget shook her head, but her face seemed to shine. “No, but close. Telling lies and your diary.”
PART TWO
HANNAH
When my alarm rang to the sound of Destiny’s Child’s “Say My Name,” I pressed snooze and flipped over onto my stomach with a groan. I closed my eyes and tried to make the most of my remaining nine minutes of slumber, but it wasn’t long before the events of the previous night flashed through my mind, and nervous knots twisted my belly. I threw the covers off my body with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. Kyle said he really liked me. And I believed him—the only reason I did what I did. He was one of the most popular guys in the eleventh grade, and I was the most popular girl in the tenth grade. Freshman girls were mostly considered off-limits, but sophomore girls were a hot commodity for the eleventh and twelfth grade boys who were bored with the girls in their own classes. With Plum already taken, Marla still carrying around more than a little extra weight (no offense), and most of the other girls either too easy to date seriously or too babyish to hang with the upper classmen, it made sense Kyle would want to get to me before one of his competitors. I loved how his chestnut hair fell across his forehead with such precision it looked like an accident, and the way the swell of his biceps felt when I stroked them with my palm while we were making out. He was cute, popular, sweet … sort of … and he listened to me when I talked as if he was really interested. His eyes never left my face, even as his hands creeped lower and lower down my pants.
As my alarm went off again, I forced myself out of the bed and into the shower so I’d have time to straighten my hair and get the zigzag part just right in time to make the bus. Next time I saw Kyle, I’d ask him to drive me and the girls to school. If Denise Porter, one of the aforementioned “easy” girls, could get a ride to school, so could I.
A bowl of fresh fruit and a glass of orange juice were waiting for me at the kitchen table as my mom, already dressed for an afternoon of leisure in her hot-pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, hummed along to whatever song was playing on her portable CD player.
Removing the headphones from her ears, she smiled widely at me. “Hi, hon. How’d you sleep?”
Either she forgot the way I stormed out of her room the night before, or she pretended she forgot. Sitting down at our white marble kitchen table, I brought a piece of cut-up cantaloupe to my mouth and mumbled, “Fine.”
“I hope your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore. I was going to check in before I went to bed but was afraid to wake you up.”
My face flushed with heat as I imagined my mom walking in on me while I was tangled with Kyle under the covers. “It’s better.” Truthfully, there was an undeniable rolling in my stomach, but I didn’t think another dose of Tums would do the trick. My mind once again flashed back to the night before and then, for whatever reason, Jonathan’s look of disgust after my book report. “What time did Dad come home last night?”
My mom began emptying the dishwasher and without turning around said, “By the time he was finished with his work, it was so late he decided to sleep in the office. He’ll come home to shower later.”
My hand shook as I took one last sip of juice, placed the glass on the table, and pushed my bowl of fruit away. I had lost my appetite. My father would rather sleep on the stinky couch in his office than in their California King bed, but did my mom care? No. They were bizarre. How they managed to create someone as normal as me was a mystery. “Gotta go.” Without awaiting a response, I grabbed my leather Coach Carryall and walked out of the house.
When I arrived at the bus stop at the end of my street, Marla and Plum were already there. They were huddled together in an intense conversation until Marla spotted me and jerked away from Plum with a smile. “Good morning, Hannah. I love your coat.”
I glanced down at my black leather motorcycle jacket. “Thanks.” Marla’s vintage-inspired floral trench coat was striking, but I didn’t return the compliment. The uneasy flutter in my stomach returned. “What were you guys talking about before I so rudely interrupted you?” I asked, trying to keep the paranoid catch out of my voice.
Marla shooed me away. “You didn’t interrupt anything. We were discussing last night’s episode of Dark Angel. Did you watch it? Michael Weatherly is so hot.” She fanned herself for emphasis.
As the tension left my body, I mentally kicked myself for being worried. They were my best friends and wouldn’t dare talk about me behind my back. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ll check it out.” I’d wait until lunch to tell them what I was doing last night while they were watching television.
“You should,” Plum said excitedly. “Isn’t that your dad, Hannah?” she asked, pointing at a white car approaching us on its way to my house.
It was, and I lifted my hand to wave at him, but quickly shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans as he drove by without glancing over at the bus stop. I shrugged before noticing Patty Lawson standing along the outskirts of the circle Marla, Plum, and I had formed. She was clearly eavesdropping on our conversation. Patty was my next-door neighbor, and even though we were in the same class, we hadn’t associated since the third grade when I single-handedly abolished the silly rule about inviting every kid in the class to your party. She would have learned the lesson eventually, and at least it saved her parents the cost of buying me a gift. Adopting a syrupy voice, I said, “Hi, Patty. Do you watch Dark Angel?”
Patty nervously tugged at the stupid beret she was wearing before stammering, “Y-yes. Did you know Jessica Alba and Michael Weatherly were dating in real life?”
“Of course we—” Marla began.
I raised my hand. “I had no idea. How interesting. What else do you know?”
“I heard they’re getting engaged,” she said, daring to step closer to us.
“I bet there’s something you don’t know,” I said, turning around and giving the girls a look that screamed, “Wait for it.”
Patty opened her eyes wide. “What?”
I tapped the top of her hat and smiled. “It’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations uninvited. And make no mistake, no one invited you to this one.” I felt a moment of satisfaction as Patty’s body shrunk into itself, and I heard Marla and Plum snicker from behind me. Quickly though, the nauseous ache returned to my stomach. “No offense,” I said to Patty, but she had already walked away. The truth was, she had brought it all on herself. If she’d kept her distance in t
he first place, I wouldn’t have been forced to say something.
Happy to see the bus pull up, I gestured for Marla and Plum to follow me to the back.
KIM
My sleepover with Bridget did wonders to distract me from the mortification I suffered at the hands of Hannah, but as I walked behind her onto the school bus the next morning, my legs still shook in anticipation of what awaited me—first on the ride to school, then in the hallways, and finally in seventh period when I’d have to see Jonathan.
I followed Bridget to the first fully empty seat only a few rows from the back. When I spotted Hannah in the rear seat, I fought the urge to return to the front and offer up my allowance to anyone who would switch seats with me. Bridget stepped aside so I could slide past the aisle seat and gaze out the window to make the ride go faster.
The bus had barely pulled away from the stop when we heard Hannah say, “Shannon can wear it today. Holly, I’ll hold onto yours and give it back to you on the ride home.”
I glanced at Bridget and whispered, “What is she talking about?”
Bridget put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She cocked her head toward the back of the bus and pulled on her ear as if it would make the sound go in better.
“Why can’t we both wear it today?” someone asked. Holly?
“Because it’s the same necklace. You can’t both wear the same necklace on the same day,” Hannah said with a touch of annoyance. “Never mind that shell necklaces should be put away after Labor Day.” No one argued this time.
Bridget pretended to stick a finger down her throat while I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe these girls were letting Hannah tell them what jewelry to wear.
“She’ll get hers,” Bridget said with a knowing smile as she rubbed her own multicolored shell necklace.
I dug my hand into my bag and ran my fingers along the new diary, which was resting on the bottom. Bridget and I had spent many hours over the last several years ruminating over ways to enact revenge on the mean girl but had never put our plans into motion. Until now. My lips twitched in anticipation as I snuck a glance behind me at Hannah and quickly turned back around. My eyes met Bridget’s, and she winked.
I could live with the humiliation I had endured the day before if it served as the catalyst to finally seeing the tables turned on Hannah.
“You ready for this?” Bridget asked, peering into my eyes with an “all-business” expression.
I leaned against my locker and let out a deep exhalation. “Yes.” My heart pounded underneath my off-the-shoulder sweater, and I wiped my clammy hands along my denim skirt. Even my feet were sweating inside my UGGs. I wasn’t built for vengeance.
“Tell me,” Bridget prodded.
I giggled despite my anxiety. Bridget had insisted I walk her through the very straightforward scheme we had devised into the wee hours of the night at least six times since my mom had woken us up this morning. She was afraid I lacked the moxie to follow through, but she was wrong. For the seventh and final time, I provided a verbal outline of the plan. With a subtle high five and a shoulder bump, we said our goodbyes before walking in opposite directions to our respective homerooms.
HANNAH
An exasperated sigh escaped my lips as I ran a glob of professional stylist straightening gel along the ends of my hair. What was the point of blow-drying my hair for thirty minutes if it was going to turn into a frizzy mess after a few boring laps around the outdoor track? When I grew up, I was totally moving to a dry climate on the West Coast. I pictured a Southern California beach filled with blond-haired supermodels with huge boobs and glanced down at my less-than-ample chest in disgust. My mom would support a boob job—it would be hypocritical of her not to—but I still had to get my dad on board. First, we’d have to be in the same room for more than three minutes.
My friend Shannon appeared next to me and met my eyes through the mirror. “I love your wavy hair,” she said.
My mouth opened to deny the existence of waves but thought better of it at the last minute. Flipping my hair across my shoulder, I smiled brilliantly. “Thank you. My stylist told me he has clients who pay hundreds of dollars to achieve what my hair does naturally.”
“You’re so lucky,” Shannon said, still looking at my reflection with glassy eyes.
“I am.” I gave Shannon a once-over, my eyes stopping at her necklace. Gesturing toward it, I said, “I’m glad you’re wearing it today. Don’t tell Holly I said so, but it’s way more flattering on you. The real reason I told her to take it off was because I wanted you to get the attention you deserved.” This was obviously a lie, but with her thick shoulder-length blond hair, large dark-brown eyes, clear complexion, and curvy figure, she could be a contender. She also knew how to follow the leader. It didn’t escape my attention that Holly put up an argument before ultimately getting in line.
“Thanks. I won’t say a word to Holly.”
“Good.” I glanced at my watch. It was almost time for my next class. “We should get out …” I lost my train of thought as Kim Long sped past us in a mad dash out of the locker room.
“You all right?” Shannon regarded me with concern.
I waved a hand. “Of course. I actually need to use the bathroom. You go on without me.”
“You sure? I can wait.”
“It’s fine. Go ahead.”
Shannon frowned and appeared to hesitate before finally leaving me alone. I sat down on the bench and buried my head in my hands, my stomach uneasy once again. What was wrong with me? After a moment, I raised my head and lifted myself to a standing position. I needed to get to my class. Even I could only get away with being tardy so many times. On my way toward the exit, I walked past rows of orange gym lockers and went to close one that hadn’t been shut completely—Kim Long’s. As I ran the tips of my fingers along the metal surface, I gave into the temptation to take a quick peek inside. After glancing behind me to make sure I was still alone, I opened the door to find a pair of dirty socks and a Hello Kitty journal. I flipped it open, recognizing the handwriting immediately. I wouldn’t take it this time, but I had to read it. Anyone stupid enough to leave her diary behind twice forfeited all rights to privacy.
Knowing I only had a minute before the next set of students arrived, I flipped through it as quickly as I could. Fortunately, it was a new diary with only a few days of content.
I should probably be careful about what I write moving forward, in case this one makes its way into Hannah’s sticky palm, too. I still can’t believe she pulled it off. From an objective standpoint, it was pretty clever, even if it was cruel and undeserved. If only she used her brains for good instead of evil, she could rule the world. Although she already rules the school. She’s so popular. I wish she liked me. Even if I hate her, I sort of look up to her. Don’t tell Bridget I said that.
I rubbed my lips, contemplating whether to return the journal to the locker unread or even redeem myself by bringing it to social studies and telling her she left it in her locker. Kim wasn’t so bad.
But then I read the next line:
But I can’t keep this to myself, and my parents said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone—not even Bridget.
She couldn’t even tell Bridget? I wondered if this was how Eve felt when she bit into the apple. It was far too tempting, and I knew walking away was not going to happen. I read what came next.
KIM
As I focused my attention on Mallory Eades, who was reporting on the rise of Enlightenment ideals during the French Revolution, I spotted Hannah glancing in my direction several times through my peripheral vision. It was obvious she had walked right into our setup, and I only hoped it meant she would continue to behave as Bridget and I predicted.
I couldn’t help but notice another person who was giving me fleeting glances periodically throughout the class—Jonathan. Thanks to Hannah, he probably assumed I was daydreaming about having sex with him. I wasn’t. Until now. I flipped the page on my textbook as I felt my face get ho
t.
When the bell rang, I pushed my way to the door so I could meet Bridget by my locker and let her know Plan Bad Diary was underway.
“Kim. Wait up.”
My heart jumped into my throat, but after taking a calming breath, I slowed my pace until I was walking alongside Jonathan. “Hi,” I said with a quick turn of my head in his direction. Must play it cool. Must not get lost in the green specks in his eyes. And most importantly, must act casual if he mentions yesterday.
“These reports are pretty lame, huh?”
One foot in front of the other, Kim. Just keeping walking. My eyes boring a hole in the back of the kid walking in front of me, I said, “Pretty much. But I’m fairly certain mine won’t be much more exciting.” When Jonathan stopped walking, I followed suit.
He ran his hands through his thick locks.
I withheld the smile aching to come out as I imagined smoothing down the ends of his hair, which now stood up straighter than usual.
“You’ll do great. You don’t exactly have a hard act to follow. Hannah Marshak’s report, for instance—total fail.”
As an unexpected cough escaped my lips, I covered my mouth with my hand in embarrassment.
“She’s a wench,” Jonathan continued, seemingly unfazed.
Recovered from my coughing fit, I nodded in agreement. Was I dreaming? No mention of my diary entry about him and … the sex. Thank God. Even if he was dating a tall girl from Liberty West and only taking pity on me, he was the perfect guy.
“Hopefully, she’ll get her karma someday.”
Without thinking, I blurted out, “We’re working on it.”
His eyebrow arched, Jonathan said, “Yeah?”
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 4