I smiled and put a finger to my lips. “Shhh.” To heck with his so-called girlfriend. Drawing attention to my lips definitely counted as upping my game. Bridget would have been proud.
Jonathan stared into my eyes for a minute not speaking. Then, his lips curled into a huge smile. “Nice. Maybe you can tell me about it over lunch one day.”
Did eating lunch together count as a date? If so, this was the best day ever. On second thought, Bridget might kill me if she knew I risked word of our deception seeping out. “I’m not sure if I should—”
“Scratch that.”
I frowned. He didn’t want to have lunch with me after all.
“We shouldn’t waste our precious lunch period discussing Hannah Marshak. But we should still have lunch together.” He blushed. “If you want.”
I grinned. “I want.” Best. Day. Ever.
HANNAH
“Please, Mom,” I begged as I sat on the edge of her bed watching Friends. The plan was to butter her up by spending quality time together watching television while my dad worked late—again. But so far, the plan wasn’t working, and I had resorted to pleading.
My mom reached out and softly rubbed a few strands of my hair between two fingers. “Your hair is such a beautiful dark-chocolate brown. Why would you want to mess with it before you need to?” Touching her own head, she said, “I pay thousands of dollars a year to keep my hair looking as pristine and youthful as yours.”
I gave a half-shrug. My hair color was pretty fabulous, and it was natural, unlike my mother who had to sit in a chair for hours suffering through highlights, toners, straighteners, and smoothers at the hands of her expensive stylist, Saki.
Taking advantage of my momentary silence, my mom continued. “Why would you want red hair, anyway? I can see some subtle blond highlights, but red?” She made a sour face.
My parents told me their newest client at the store is a television producer in the process of designing the set of his new production—a family drama. The show hasn’t been picked up by a network yet, but they are filming the first season and hoping to cast an unknown in the part of the teenage daughter. The best part: an undercover casting director is coming in as a substitute teacher to scope out the talent. They wouldn’t give me any details except that they are searching for a pretty girl, around fifteen or sixteen, with red hair. Keeping this from Bridget is killing me. What if they choose her?
I’d have been more willing to give up shopping for a year than let Bridget Donahue steal that role out from under me. “Because I do.”
Narrowing her eyes at me, my mom said, “I’ll need a better answer before I let you mess with your hair.” She appeared wistful for a moment. “Did I ever tell you about the body wave I talked my parents into letting me get? I was about your age.”
“I’ve seen the pictures.” My mom resembled a poodle in high school, with curly hair in the back and on the sides coupled with thick, straight bangs. Not a great look.
“I’m trying to save you from the teasing you’ll suffer at the hands of your own teenage daughter someday when she finds old photos of you with bright red hair.”
I allowed a slight smile.
“What’s this about?”
Contemplating whether to fess up, I blew air out of my cheeks and gazed at the ceiling. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.” Not telling Plum and Marla I had found Kim’s diary again was killing me, but even though I knew they’d promise not to go after the part themselves, the potential for fame might be too alluring for them to keep their vow.
“Ooh, a secret.” My mom muted the television set and regarded me with enthusiasm. “Isn’t being discreet an unspoken rule of best friends?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. My mom was definitely watching too much Gilmore Girls. She was not my best friend. She was my middle-aged mother. Ignoring her statement, I said, “You can’t tell any of your friends, especially ones with daughters in my school.”
Crossing her heart, my mom swore to me. “I won’t even tell your father if you don’t want me to.”
I imagined my dad’s prideful expression when he found out his daughter was going to star in a television show. “You can tell Dad. Maybe we can all go out to dinner, and I can tell you together?”
“I’m not sure if Daddy is coming home for dinner tonight, and the suspense is killing me. Spill.”
My stomach sank in disappointment, but I brushed it aside and told my mom how Kim Long’s diary fell out of her unclosed locker, and when I went to pick it up so I could return it to her, I accidentally spied her entry about the undercover talent scout coming to our school. While I spoke, my mom’s amber eyes opened wide, and her skin turned a shade of pink. “Now do you understand why dyeing my hair red is so important to me? It could mean the difference between an acting career and a lifetime of running someone else’s errands at a boring office job. I’m made for bigger and better.”
“Since when do you want to be an actress, anyway? I thought you wanted to be a fashion buyer.”
I shrugged. “I did, but that was before. Finding Kim’s diary twice has to mean something.”
Cocking her head to the side, my mom asked, “Twice?”
“I meant once,” I said, running my hands along my parents’ paisley-printed comforter. “Anyway, what do you say?”
My mom smiled. “I say yes—”
I pictured myself on the cover of TV Guide next to whatever hot guy was cast as the son—Shane West from Once and Again would be perfect. “Yay!”
Holding her hand up, my mom said, “Under a few conditions.”
“Anything.” I’d even pretend to be her best friend and tell her about Kyle if it meant she’d help me become the next Julia Stiles. I’d just leave out a few choice details.
KIM
“Earth to Kim.”
I tore my eyes from the bulletin board outside the school cafeteria and faced Bridget with a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Gesturing toward the paper tacked to the wall, Bridget said, “Are you going to sign up?”
Furrowing my brow, I asked, “Sign up for what?”
“The school newspaper.” Pointing her finger at the ten or so names already on the list, she said, “It’s a sign-up sheet for interested freshmen and sophomores.”
“Oh, I was wondering what it was.” I dropped my gaze to Bridget’s slip-on Vans but could feel her frowning at me. As much as I loved to write, aside from required book reports, I had never shared my work with anyone.
Nudging me in the side, Bridget said, “C’mon, I want to grab a muffin before first period. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“Okay,” I said, looking up just in time to witness Bridget collide with a guy on his way out of the cafeteria.
Bridget backed away from him as her skin tone quickly changed from ivory to crimson.
The guy … correction … the very cute guy … stared into Bridget’s eyes as he reached out to steady her with a hand on each of her shoulders. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Bridget shook her head in a silent “no,” while I silently willed her to say something. He was adorable—Jonathan Middleton adorable—with shaggy light-brown hair that fell across his forehead into his piercing blue eyes. And he seemed to tower over Bridget, who wasn’t exactly an Amazon at five foot three, but was still several inches taller than me.
The guy smiled wide. “Thank God. Are you sure? Can I buy you a muffin or something?” His hands still gently gripped her shoulders.
Bridget smiled up at him. Finally finding her voice, she said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. But thank you.” She glanced at her watch, “I should get to class.”
I cursed to myself wondering why Bridget said no when only a few moments earlier, she told me she wanted a muffin.
Releasing his grip on her, he said, “I hope to get a rain check. I’m Kyle, by the way. Kyle Moore.”
Bridget’s green eyes seemed to dance. “I’m Bridget. Bridget Donahue.�
��
“Nice running into you, Bridget Donahue. Let’s do it again sometime.” He winked before walking away.
When he was out of earshot, I poked Bridget in the arm. Her complexion was only just beginning to return to normal as she stared after him. “I think he liked you.”
“No. He was only being nice,” Bridget said, her curls bouncing with the shake of her head.
“No way. He was flirting. And I can tell you liked him, too.”
Bridget protested. “He was not. And I do not.” But the sudden upturn of her lips told me otherwise.
“Bridget and Kyle sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—”
“Cut it out!”
“Fine. But at least admit …” I stopped midsentence as Hannah Marshak appeared in my line of vision. I blinked and took a closer look, not believing my eyes. As nervous laughter bubbled up and out of me, I said, “Check her out.” I subtly angled my head in the direction of Hannah, who was running her fingers through her hair—her newly colored red hair.
HANNAH
My nostrils flared, and I ground my teeth watching Bridget Donahue flirt with Kyle. Everyone who was anyone knew we were together. Although Bridget was a nobody, so her cluelessness shouldn’t have surprised me. And who did she think she was fooling with her Miss Innocent act? How did she manage to get her skin to match that hideous hair of hers as she gazed up at him like she was Julia Roberts and he was Richard Gere in Pretty Woman rescuing her from a life on the streets. Kyle was probably taking pity on her by pretending he knew she existed.
I ran a hand through my own ginger locks, for once grateful my mother had such a close relationship with her hair stylist. My mom refused to let me get the red hair I had imagined when I read Kim’s diary entry, and Saki agreed. He said brighter shades of red only flattered those with a fair complexion. Natural brunettes with a medium complexion, like me, looked best with golden chestnut hair with coppery highlights throughout. And he was right. Not only did I increase my chances of being discovered as the next Hollywood “It Girl,” I now possessed that extra “somethin’ somethin’ ” to bring the boys to their knees. And I’d bet my allowance other girls in school would quickly follow suit, although they probably couldn’t afford an ace stylist like Saki.
“What do you say, Hannah?”
I turned to Marla who, along with Plum, Shannon, Holly and some other girls were hovering by the lockers of the more popular juniors and seniors, including Kyle. Plum and I had snagged lockers right next to them. “About what?”
“About seeing The Rocky Horror Picture Show on Friday night. We can say we’re staying over at Plum’s house,” Marla said, her large wide-set brown eyes twinkling with rebellion.
Whenever our weekend plans involved being out after curfew, we told our mothers we were staying at Plum’s house. Since my mom was besties with Marla’s mom Stacey, we’d never get away with using either one of our houses. Plum’s parents were at least a decade older and not in the same social circle. “Whose lame idea was that?” I grimaced to emphasize my disapproval.
Marla giggled and fluffed out her brunette bob-style haircut. “I assume your man will be there,” she said, pointing to Kyle who was a few feet away. “We just overheard his friends discussing doing something retro this weekend.”
I grinned. “On second thought, maybe it’s not a bad idea. Let me see if I can snag us an actual invitation so we don’t seem like wannabes.” I checked my watch to confirm we still had several minutes before the first bell rang. After taking a quick glimpse of my reflection in my locker mirror to a chorus of the girls telling me how beautiful my hair looked, I applied a fresh layer of shiny pink lip gloss and confidently made my way over to where Kyle was standing. Of course, I didn’t approach him. I had to make him come to me by flirting with one of his friends. I chose Darren, another junior, because he wasn’t currently talking to Kyle, but was standing close enough to be in his field of vision.
I took a step toward Darren, about to flash him a dazzling smile, but stopped short when I heard Kyle say, “What do you guys know about Bridget Donahue?” I pretended to tie the laces of my boots so I could eavesdrop without being noticed.
One of his friends said, “Who?”
“The cute redhead over there in the army jacket. I think she’s a sophomore.”
After a brief pause, his friend said, “Ah. She is cute. So’s her little friend. I wouldn’t mind bunkering down with either of them.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Kyle said, laughing.
“You think the carpet matches the drapes?”
“Shut it. She’s sweet.”
“Aw, Kyle’s got a crush. You gonna go for it?”
“I just might.”
“What about Hannah?”
At the sound of my name, I held my breath. This was Kyle’s chance to redeem himself.
“Hannah’s fun and all, but I’m not looking for anything serious with her.”
“Ready to go?” Marla said, tapping me on the back.
I lifted myself to a standing position and immediately turned so my back was facing Kyle and his obnoxious friend. He couldn’t know I’d overheard what he’d said about Bridget, and there was no way I’d let him see me cry. “Ready when you are,” I said, locking my arms with Marla’s.
“Did you get an invite?”
Staring straight ahead and wiping away a stray tear from my cheek, I replied, “Of course, but I said no. We’ll do something better.”
“You all right?” Marla asked with a note of genuine concern in her voice.
“Never better,” I said as we stepped into our classroom. If Kyle could be attracted to a nonentity like Bridget, I wouldn’t touch him again with antibacterial gloves. She could have him. Moving on …
I needed to focus on our science teacher—our substitute science teacher. As I gave him a smile I hoped screamed, “star quality,” I wondered if he was the talent scout Kim wrote about in her diary. I searched for Kim in class to see if she was thinking the same thing. She stared straight ahead, yet there was the slightest twitch in her lips as if she were holding back a smile. I remembered Kyle’s friend saying, “I’d bunker down with either one of them” and felt a tightening in my chest at the possibility of Bridget becoming a famous actress instead of me. For someone whose dirtiest secrets poured over like spilled milk less than a week ago, Kim looked awfully smug. She was on crack if she thought I’d let her help Bridget become a star.
I removed a sheet of paper and scrawled a note. Someone needed to be taken down a notch—again. Then, I could focus on the big picture: getting discovered and showing Kyle what he’d just lost as a result of his stupid crush on Bridget. I was no one’s piece on the side.
KIM
While our English teacher wrote a list of Julius Caesar’s motivations on the chalkboard, I took the opportunity to slip a note to Bridget. English was the only class we had together, and since it was my favorite subject, I usually paid attention. But right now, a Shakespeare tragedy had nothing over real life.
I can’t believe it worked. You should have seen the way Hannah flirted with the sub in Earth Science, like she was Jennifer Aniston and he was Brad Pitt. I wouldn’t be surprised if she got in trouble for indecent behavior.
I watched Bridget read the note and smile before writing me back and letting the folded-up paper gently drop to the floor next to my desk. I bent down to pick it up.
Mr. Riley’s absence came at the perfect time. Fate is on our side. Hopefully, at least one of us will get more front-row seats to watch her fall all over more talent scouts disguised as substitute teachers. Whose brilliant idea was that again? Oh yeah, mine. Ha!
I chuckled as I flashed back to Hannah prefacing a question to the sub with the nonsensical, “When I starred in my summer camp’s performance of Damn Yankees … oh, never mind, is the answer retrograde?” Of course, no one else picked up on it. They were too busy fawning over her shiny, new hair color. I bent over my desk and wrote Bridget back.
Figures she actually looks good as a redhead. I was hoping she’d resemble Ronald McDonald. No such luck.
When our teacher turned around again, I raised my butt off the seat and planted the note on Bridget’s desk. Being slick was too exhausting.
Bridget glanced my way and shook her head before writing me back.
Like her mom would ever let her show up looking like Raggedy Ann? She probably forked over hundreds of dollars for that ‘do. But you’re missing the big picture. The plan is working even if we’re the only ones in the know. Shall we plan phase two after school?
I supposed Bridget was right. Hannah was chasing her tail trying to get discovered by an imaginary casting director because of the seed we planted. We knew it, even if we were the only ones. Between the nice progression of Plan Bad Diary and a hot guy flirting with Bridget even before the first bell rang, the day was turning out better than expected, especially for a Monday. And I suddenly had a great idea for my novel. With almost two full periods to go before lunch, I was afraid I would lose my inspiration if I didn’t write it down immediately. I flipped my loose-leaf notebook to a blank page and flinched as a crumpled-up piece of paper fell at my feet. I removed the note from the floor and unfolded it with a smile, assuming it was from Bridget, but with one glance, I knew better. I recognized the exaggerated curvy handwriting immediately as Hannah’s.
Dear Kim Short (I mean Long … oops!!)
I’m sorry about what happened in social studies last week. I was trying to help you get Jonathan, but unfortunately, even my powers have limitations. Don’t be sad. I’m sure there’s a boy somewhere who would like you. I heard Fred Gordon is single, and he’s more your size. Let me know if you want me to hook you guys up. No promises, but I can try.
Your friend,
Hannah
My friend? As if. I scrunched the note and buried it at the bottom of my backpack as my lips trembled. “Ugh!”
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 5