I can’t wait to go shopping this weekend for a new winter coat. I totally want a silver down jacket, but my mom thinks metallic will be out of style soon, and it’s a waste of money. She wants me to get a more “classic” style. Whatever that means. I bet Hannah’s mom lets her get all of the latest fashions, no questions asked.
So Kim was jealous of me. Join the club. I snickered as I pictured my own new copper bubble jacket waiting in my closet for the temperature to drop. I almost wanted it to get cold so I could wear it. It would play so well against my new highlights.
I kept reading, hoping for something less inclined to put me to sleep.
I think I know who stole Miss Clarke’s ring, but I can’t turn her in without proof. I was in the nurse’s office because I got my period and didn’t have any tampons.
I stopped reading. Ew, Kim. TMI much? I sighed in disgust but forced myself to keep reading to see who Kim thought stole Jaimie’s ring.
As I headed to the bathroom, I heard Caren Hobson-White on the nurse’s phone. She was talking in a hushed tone, but I could swear I heard her say she had come into new money and wanted to place a bet. She said she just needed to get to a pawn shop first in case whoever she was talking to wanted cash instead of the ring. She had to be referring to Miss Clarke’s ring, but I couldn’t be positive and didn’t want to get an innocent girl in trouble.
I knew it. Caren Hobson-White was no more innocent than Keds were still en vogue. I knew the goody-two-shoes persona had to be a disguise for something more sinister. No one could be that perfect. Caren Hobson-White was one of the smartest girls in the class, sweet as sugar cane, and … well … to be honest … not very attractive. Smart, ugly girls needed a vice, and I guessed kleptomania and gambling were Caren’s. Kim was right about something, though—we needed proof. But there was no way I was going to let Kim take the credit for this. It wasn’t my fault she left her diary behind—again. I wasn’t responsible for her sitting on the circumstantial evidence she’d walked right into. If I was the one who overheard Caren on the phone with her bookie, I’d have made it my business to go all Nancy Drew on her ass. I’d shadow her until I found the solid evidence to prove she was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt—exactly what I intended to do. Maybe the school would throw a party in my honor. My parents would come and brag about how, thanks to their daughter, Liberty was a crime-free school where students and teachers could feel safe donning their expensive, or in Jaimie’s case, not-so-expensive jewelry.
“There you are.”
Startled, my feet rose slightly off the ground, and I turned to face Marla while hiding the diary behind my back. “Hey.”
Marla frowned, her puppy-dog eyes opened wide in pools of brown. “You weren’t at lunch, so I came to find you. You all right?”
Returning the diary to my bag, I flashed Marla a smile. “Thanks. I needed to drop something in my locker. I’m ready now.” I considered telling Marla what I’d found. Every Sherlock needed her Watson. But maybe Fred would be a more suitable investigative partner. Plum was out of the question. I’d have to think about it more.
“Good. Lunch is no fun without you. I need to know what you think of Holly’s sequined top. I can’t decide if it’s a fashion yes or a hells no. She said her parents brought it back from Italy, but I think she’s lying.”
I laughed. “Maybe it was made in Italy, but I bet she bought it at Marshalls or somewhere equally pathetic. We’re so nice to hang out with her, aren’t we?” I walked into the cafeteria, back straight and abs tight knowing everyone was watching.
Trailing a step behind me, Marla said, “How else are we going to get into heaven?”
I looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself, beyotch.”
Marla smirked. “Oh yeah, you probably already earned your wings by befriending Fred.”
I stopped in my tracks. “What did you say?”
Turning white, Marla said, “I was joking.”
“Do yourself a favor,” I said, voicing a command not a suggestion.
Marla took a step back. “What?” she asked before chewing on her bottom lip.
“Stop joking.” Despite his weird taste in clothes, lack of height, horrible vision, and unfortunate social standing prior to becoming my friend, I had deemed Fred worthy of popularity. No one, not even my first friend, was allowed to tease him without my permission.
Without waiting for a response, I said, “I’ll see you at the table,” and walked toward where Kim Long was sitting a few feet away. Although lately I’d seen her eating with Jonathan, today, she was alone with her head buried inside a book. She’d probably inundated Jonathan with reading recommendations until he lost interest. “Kim.”
Kim slowly lifted her head. “What?”
I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? When someone does something nice for you, you’re supposed to be appreciative, not snotty.”
Kim tilted her head to the side. “Are you doing something nice?”
I dropped my eyes toward her half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich and fries and swallowed back my annoyance she could eat like a pig and stay skinny. For all I knew, she binged and purged. Tossing the diary on the table, I said, “You left this in math. You really should be more careful. A lesser person would have read it.”
Kim’s eyes opened in alarm, and she snatched the diary from the table like it was a million dollar bill. “You didn’t read it?”
I snorted and waved her off. “As if I have any interest in your tiny life.” Giving her a once-over, I said, “No pun intended.”
She glared at me, her eyes flinty. “None taken,” she said before returning her attention to her book.
“You’re welcome.” I continued to hover over her.
Slamming her book shut, Kim said, “Thank you, Hannah. Thank you soooooo much.” Then she batted her eyes at me and said, “Are you satisfied now?”
“It will do.” As I walked toward my table, a smile playing across my lips, I roamed the room, hoping for a Caren sighting. I had no idea if she even had lunch this period. Her schedule was never of any interest to me. Until now.
KIM
“You should have seen the way I feigned panic when Hannah returned my diary. I could have won an Academy Award for my performance.”
Bridget slammed her locker shut and grinned at me. “Atta girl.”
Chewing on a fingernail, I said, “Although I wasn’t entirely faking my surprise. I didn’t expect her to return the diary to me this time. What if she didn’t even read it?”
Bridget pursed her lips and patted my head like I was a toddler. “Silly girl. Of course, she read it. You lead a horse to hay, and it always chews. And Hannah is the horse in this equation.”
Laughing, I said, “You’re probably right.” But I still wasn’t positive. “Our last fake entries were so dry, maybe she’d lost interest. I wrote about finally throwing out my Xena Warrior Princess comforter, for the love of God. Boring.”
Bridget shrugged. “It was a perfect entry to throw her off in case she was getting suspicious. No one comes into juicy, secretive knowledge every day of the week.”
“True,” I said, wrinkling my nose. I wished I shared Bridget’s confidence and certainty Hannah would fall for this entry—it was a doozy.
“And you didn’t really toss the Xena Warrior Princess comforter, did you?”
I giggled. “Of course not. It’s a classic I’ll hand down to my daughter.”
“Right. When you and Jonathan have babies.” She smirked.
I glanced around to confirm the coast was clear. “I wish.” Clarifying myself, I added, “Not now, of course. But someday.”
Bridget nodded. “Gotcha. So, what’s the plan?”
“We spy on Hannah as she tails Caren and hopefully catch her in the act of breaking into Caren’s locker.”
“Can you imagine anyone accusing Caren Hobson-White—the probable first female president of the United States—of stealing?” Bridget snorted.
“And having a bookie!” I giggled. “Something as likely as Fred Gordon being the prince of Denmark.” My stomach quaked as I laughed hard.
“Or Hannah getting discovered as the next Sarah Michelle Gellar.”
I slid down my locker onto the floor while holding my belly. “She might get cast in Buffy the Vampire Slayer all right, but as a demon.”
“A dumb demon,” Bridget said as she sat down on the floor next to me, her long hair doing little to disguise her face as it contorted in laughter.
We stopped giggling to catch our breath. After a moment of a silence, we looked at each other and broke out into hysterics all over again. We were too far gone to care about the strange glances we were getting from kids walking by on the way to their next class.
Bridget was the first to regain her composure. Standing up, she said, “But seriously, how can we make sure we catch Hannah in the act? Shadowing her every move could prove challenging.”
Joining her on my feet, I said, “I have next period with both Hannah and Caren—phys ed. How much do you want to bet Caren’s gym locker is the first stop in Hannah’s investigation?”
“I would say the odds are in your favor. We should give Caren’s bookie a call.”
I smiled. “Right. So, I’ll keep Hannah in my sights during the entire class even if I have to climb inside a locker to hide my presence.”
“Brilliant.” Bridget slung her bag over her shoulder and gestured in the direction of the gym.
“Where are you going? Don’t you have class?”
“Psst. I can cut study hall. No way would I miss witnessing Hannah try to weasel her way out of rummaging through a star student’s property. And I’m small enough to fit inside a locker, too.”
HANNAH
Now this was convenient. No one was more surprised than me to discover Caren Hobson-White was in my gym class, but there she was—ten feet away from me—taking off her out-of-style, ill-fitting jeans and pulling on her gray drawstring sweats. All I had to do was wait for her to leave the locker room, and I would go through her bags. Even if she were smart enough to keep the ring somewhere safe, there was sure to be some proof she was the guilty culprit or at the very least, a clue leading me to solid evidence.
As I changed into my gym clothes, I half-listened to Shannon play back her conversation with Fred on the school bus this morning—suddenly, they were best friends, too—while maintaining a steady eye on Caren.
“I’d love to hear his poetry. He said he’d invite us to the next amateur night at the café. Wouldn’t that be fun?” She swallowed. “If it’s okay with you, of course.”
Strategically positioning myself so I could keep Caren in my line of vision, I answered Shannon. “As long as Fred is comfortable with it, it’s fine with me. I don’t want you girls making him more nervous than he already is.” Although even I couldn’t have predicted a more successful debut performance. After some initial awkwardness, Fred had brought down the house with his poem. I had come clean with Plum about my promise to Fred, and she’d asked her parents if we could go for an early dinner so I could join them and still meet Fred in time for his seven o’clock performance. Her parents were thrilled to eat dinner at five—they were in their fifties and probably went to sleep early, anyway.
Fred didn’t like any of the girls we met after, but I thought one of the guys had potential for me. I pictured him—brown hair and eyes, with the slightest trace of stubble on his jaw and a butt that fit perfectly in his jeans. He was definitely a couple years older, and his hotness factor outweighed what he lacked in the height department. He was from Vermont and just visiting a friend, which was probably why he didn’t ask for my number. I wished there was even a single boy in my own school as cute as him, but I brushed aside the image of his sexy face as I observed Caren shut her locker door and close the combination lock. Damn. I didn’t know how to pick a lock. What now?
I turned my back on Shannon and hurried over to Caren. “Caren.”
Caren turned toward me and asked in a quiet voice, “Are you talking to me?”
A snotty comeback at the ready, but remembering I needed to tread carefully, I thought fast. “Yes. I’m Hannah.” I guessed the introduction wasn’t necessary since everyone knew who I was. And Caren was visibly blushing. It was probably the first time a popular girl ever spoke to her.
She gave me a cautious smile. “I know who you are.”
Duh. I smiled. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m a member of the Thespians. We’re performing Gypsy this year.”
Caren tightened her dirty-blond ponytail and frowned. “Oh. This is about the play. Of course, I’ve seen the posters around school. I promise I’ll buy a ticket.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “Class is starting soon.”
“I’m so glad you want to see it. I’m playing June.”
Caren’s lips parted slightly. “That’s amazing, Hannah. I’m happy for you. Maybe we can—”
“It’s a supporting role, but I was promised a featured part next year.” This was an eventual truth since my appearance in Gypsy was sure to lead to more ticket sales from students who’d otherwise prefer to drink beer in the parking lot than sit still for two hours in the school’s theater. In order to ensure my continuing membership in the Thespians, the faculty would need to give me a starring role since another supporting part or, God forbid, a role in the ensemble cast was out of the question.
“Congratulations.” Caren peeked at her watch again before taking a step to her right.
Too bad she’d shut her locker because now I needed a reason for her to open it again. To stall for time, I mirrored her actions and blocked her pathway. “I … uh …” My eyes rested on the strange piece of beaded jewelry she donned around her neck. “I love your necklace.”
Caren touched two fingers to her choker as she beamed at me. “Thank you. I made it myself.”
My brain finally cooperating, I opened my eyes wide, hoping I looked duly impressed. “Your immense talent is actually the reason I wanted to talk to you. I’m helping to recruit backstage help for the show, and I think you’d be awesome at costume creation. Would you be interested?”
“Maybe.” Caren bit her lip. “But I’m so busy with student counsel, Key Club, Hunger Club, and the newspaper. I’m not sure I can take on anything else.”
I waved her away. “Nonsense! If anyone can handle multiple projects, it’s you.” Leaning in closer, I whispered, “And another extracurricular on your resume could be the difference between Cornell and Harvard.”
She pursed her lips. “You’ve got a point.”
“Do you have anything else to show me? I know of several other students who are interested, and we can only use a couple. My vote could go a long way. Perhaps you have another piece in your locker?”
Caren glanced nervously behind her. “Uh, I don’t keep anything here.”
“Sure you do.” I made a move closer to her locker. “Let’s see. It will only take a minute.”
Blocking my way, Caren said, “We’re tardy. Do you mind if we talk about this later?”
“Actually, Caren. I think we should talk about it now.”
KIM
I nudged Bridget in the side and whispered, “This is priceless.” It turned out we didn’t need to hide inside a locker after all, as Hannah was interrogating Caren out in the open. Even Shannon, one of Hannah’s followers, was observing the interaction with blatant confusion.
The corners of Bridget’s mouth curled up as she put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. It’s getting interesting.”
“Can you please move out of my way?” Caren asked as she attempted to get past Hannah.
Lifting her arms out to the sides, Hannah said, “As soon as you show me what’s in your locker.”
Caren crossed her arms against her chest. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to work on the play. Now let me go.”
Hannah stood on her tippy toes so she towered over Caren. “Not so fast,” she insisted.
&nb
sp; Shoving Hannah, Caren said, “Move!”
“No!” Hannah said before pushing her back.
I tore my eyes away from the comedy of errors playing out before me and glanced at Bridget. I was afraid someone might get physically hurt but was enjoying the performance too much to put a stop to it. From the undisguised delight on Bridget’s face as she took in the show, it was obvious she felt the same.
Caren glanced to the right and then to the left and shuffled her feet back and forth like she was in a boxing ring while Hannah covered her—palms facing out—as if they were playing basketball. Caren stepped to the left and then quickly angled to the right, but she was no match for Hannah who grabbed her from under her elbow. “Ouch!” Caren wailed.
“What is going on here?”
At the sound of Miss Clarke’s voice, Hannah and Caren stopped in their tracks. I widened my eyes toward Bridget, who stood, eyes riveted on Miss Clarke.
“Hannah won’t get out of my way. She’s the reason I’m late. And she hurt me.” She held onto her arm as if it would fall off if she let go.
“Is this true, Hannah?” Miss Clarke asked.
“Yes. But it’s only because I’m trying to help you,” Hannah said, glaring at a pale-faced Caren.
“Help me how?” Miss Clarke asked.
Hannah pointed to Caren. “She stole your ring.”
Bridget kicked her foot against mine as my lips quivered dangerously.
Miss Clarke’s head swung back in surprise. “What?”
“Caren is a thief. And a gambling addict, too!”
“I am not!” Caren shouted. “Wait … what is this about gambling?”
I chuckled into my hand as subtly as possible. This was every bit as entertaining as Dawson’s Creek.
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 9