Recalling Fred’s suggestion I take up writing, I smiled to myself as I thought of another way to spend the evening. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. Removing a pen and paper from my desk drawer, I began writing.
Once upon a time, on the right side of the tracks, lived a girl with an astounding sense of style and the finest wardrobe in the state, possibly the country. Her name was Jannah. Jannah’s talents brought great pride to her adoring parents and accolades from her many friends. But unbeknownst to her loved ones, all was not perfect in Jannah’s world. Jannah—thin and gorgeous Jannah—had a secret.
I looked up from my paper with a sense of pride. Maybe Fred was onto something after all.
I could have had my hair washed, deep conditioned, cut, blow-dried, and flat-ironed in the time it took Fred to finish reading the fourteen pages of the book I’d written while trapped in my dad’s apartment over the weekend. I read it over his shoulder, but he was so slow to turn the pages, I counted how many different shades of brown he had in his curly hair—at least six—while I waited. As soon as he placed the stack of paper on the desk in front of him and raised his multicolored head of hair to face me, I pounced. “What do you think? Brilliant, right?”
He scratched his jaw and said, “You’re a good writer, Hannah.”
“I know!” I shouted before whispering, “Tell me more. What did you really think?” We were in the library after school. Even though I’d only asked Fred to tutor me in science because he was a prince, my grades actually improved, so I stuck with it.
Fred frowned. “Are you sure you want my honest-to-goodness opinion?”
I nodded eagerly. “Positive. Your opinion means more to me than anyone else’s.” My head jerked back as the truth in the statement hit me.
“You won’t be mad if I give you some … constructive criticism?” Not one hundred percent recovered from his weekend cold, he covered his mouth with his hand as he coughed.
Since he’d already said I was a great writer, I figured anything negative would be minor and shrugged him off like dandruff. “I swear on my parents’ lives.” Then I giggled.
Fred smiled widely. “I’ll feel more comfortable if you swear on the life of someone who you actually like right now. Like Plum.”
“Fine. I swear on Plum’s life I won’t be mad. I swear on your life.”
“Creepy,” Fred said with a shudder. “Okay, here goes.”
I leaned forward, anxious to hear how talented I was.
“Like I said, you’re a very good writer. Honestly, I’m not sure there isn’t anything you don’t do well.”
With a flutter in my belly, I whispered, “Thanks.” I knew Fred wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.
Fred continued, “But I wonder if Jannah couldn’t be less ...” He stopped talking and took a deep breath.
“Less what?” I pulled on a piece of my hair and scooched my chair closer to the table. Defensively, I asked, “What’s wrong with Jannah?” Besides nothing.
Fred placed his elbows on the table. “She’s too perfect. She has ideal loving and supportive parents who happen to have more money than God. She’s good at everything. Everyone loves her.”
Feeling hot fire swim through my veins, I hissed, “What’s wrong with that?”
Fred’s face turned red. “Nothing isn’t wrong with it, and therein lies the problem! Even her secret isn’t bad. She can grant people wishes?”
“Yes. She doesn’t want to tell her friends she’s Wish Girl because she’s afraid they’ll take advantage of her power. I thought it was genius.” I stared down at the ugly red and brown carpeting until I felt Fred’s hand on mine. “What?” I asked, my voice shaking. I was afraid to meet his eyes.
He smiled. “It’s a great concept, Hannah. And you have a way with words.” He reached for the stack of pages and rummaged through it. “This was one of my favorite parts: Jannah stared down the line in front of her, into the anxious eyes of those hoping she’d grant them a wish. If she had a dollar for every request involving falling in love or winning the lottery, it wouldn’t matter because she already had more money than God. Jannah’s own desire was for someone to ask for a cure for cancer, world peace, or an end to poverty, but unfortunately, Wish Girl couldn’t grant her own wishes. It’s very deep and a little funny, too.” He smiled.
“But?” My pulse raced like an Olympic runner.
Fred sighed. “Jannah has no flaws. Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s rich, brilliant, kind, generous, and she always does the right thing. And her parents are actually cool. Cool parents? C’mon!”
I pressed my lips together. “It’s a book. What’s wrong with writing a perfect character with an ideal life? Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
Fred shrugged. “I kind of hated Jannah, to be honest.”
I opened my eyes wide. “You did?”
He nodded. “She wasn’t real. Anyone that perfect is obviously hiding something. Or really boring.” He paused for a beat. “So maybe take it down a notch. This is only a suggestion, but you can make her family poor. Or maybe she’s not the prettiest girl in school. I think if you make her more down-to-earth, people will like her better because they can relate to her.”
I had no desire to write about an ugly girl on welfare with parents who beat her, but my gut said Fred might be right. Looking across the table at him, I felt a rush of affection. “You really are a prince, Fred.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you think so. Especially since you swore on my life you wouldn’t be pissed.”
Moment of truth time. “Is that why you haven’t told anyone about … you know? Because you’re afraid they won’t be able to relate?”
Fred cocked his head to the side. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“It’s okay, Fred. I know.”
He chuckled. “That makes one of us.”
“You can trust me. I know you’re the Prince of Denmark.”
Fred’s blue eyes bugged out. “I’m the what of where?”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
Little by little, Fred’s body began to shake. The quakes started with the curls on the top of his head and then moved down his face where his nose twitched, and his lips quivered. As I watched in astonishment, his shoulders bobbed up and down, and then his entire torso wiggled like Jell-O. In between his hysterics, he asked, “Where on earth did you get this information?”
Not amused, I blurted out, “I read it in Kim Long’s …” At the disbelieving expression on Fred’s face, I swallowed back the rest of the sentence. Feeling stupid, I opened my mouth to say I was messing with him but fessed up at the last moment, “I thought I overheard it somewhere. But I guess I heard it wrong.” Fred’s laughing fit stopped abruptly, and the color drained from his cheeks. Even though I much preferred chuckling at someone else’s expense over my own—and was obviously more familiar with it—Fred’s sudden change of mood concerned me. Frowning, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
He solemnly shook his head. “At least now I know what was behind your sudden desire to be my buddy.” He bent his head down but not before I spied the tears in his eyes.
Seeing him so sad made my heart wrench, and I choked up, too. “I’m sorry, Fred. For what it’s worth, it makes no difference to me whether you’re a prince, and it hasn’t for a long time.”
Fred looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine. “Does that mean we’re still friends?”
“Best friends. If you’ll have me.” I held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if Fred didn’t like me anymore. Would I still like me if the roles were reversed?
“I’ll have you.”
I relaxed in my chair and exhaled.
Fred smiled, and unless it was my imagination, it was kind of an evil grin. “And now I have blackmail material on you if you ever piss me off,” he said.
Although Fred was the only person who knew how beaten down I was about my parents’ separation —and let’s face it, eventual divorce—it wasn’t exactly page-turn
ing material for The Inquirer even with me as the subject. “What kind of material?”
He laughed. “How stupid would you look if people knew you actually believed I was the Prince of Denmark, and for how many months now?”
Flipping my hair, I matter-of-factly said, “Never happened.”
Fred raised his eyebrows. “But it did.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Your word against mine, Fred. Who do you think people will believe?”
He cracked up. “You’ve got a point there, Ms. Marshak.”
“Naturally.” I laughed with him until I glimpsed through the glass walls of the library and spotted Kim Long and Bridget Donahue standing in the hallway outside of the newspaper room, all fat grins and rosy cheeks. I groaned. It was Kim’s stupid fault I thought Fred was a prince to begin with because of her dumb diary. Kim was the original gullible queen, not me. Unless. My heart skipped a beat. No way. There was no way Kim Long was clever enough to pull off something so wicked. Although… I rubbed a couple strands of my red hair between my fingers, recalling why I dyed it in the first place. I got that tasty morsel of information from Kim’s journal, too, and there was no SAG card in my Gucci wallet despite charming every substitute teacher in the school. As the blood rushed to my face, I lifted myself to a standing position. I was going to strangle Kim’s scrawny throat with my bare hands.
Standing up with me, Fred asked, “What’s wrong?”
I looked at him and then at Kim and Bridget. The two of them were like gnats, flying around with no purpose, but to do something as evil as writing fake entries in a diary wasn’t their style. To pull that off, they’d need to be more like … me. And besides, her entry about Caren Hobson-White stealing Jaimie’s puny engagement ring was spot on.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, sitting back down. As my heart rate returned to normal, I smiled to myself. Kim and Bridget were as lame as ever, unlike my friends who came racing over to our table, arms flailing and lips moving a mile a minute. It wasn’t like we were in the library or anything. Withholding a giggle, I put two fingers to my lips. “Shhh. This is not Nassau Coliseum. Where’s the fire?”
Marla and Holly sat on either side of me while Plum and Shannon sat next to Fred.
“We’ve been searching for you guys everywhere,” Marla said.
Plum said, “I even called your cell phone from the principal’s office, but you didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” I pulled my phone out of my bag and saw there was a notification of a missed call. “Why were you in the principal’s office anyway?” I hoped nothing momentous had happened without me.
Pointing her finger at me, Plum said, “I got a paper cut.”
I jerked my head back in confusion. “Why would you go to the principal’s office for a paper cut?”
Plum frowned. “I thought it was the nurse’s office.”
My belly quivered, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Through my side vision, I noticed Marla’s shoulders bobbing up and down. Holly’s lips trembled, and Shannon dropped her head on the table, but it was Fred who broke the silence. “Happens to me all the time, Plum,” he said, putting an arm around her. “At least once a month.”
Marla snorted. “Once a week for me.”
“Every day for me. I win.” I glanced at Holly and Shannon, silencing them with my eyes. Remembering something, I said, “So, who wants to be my special guest for dinner with Ms. Clarke and her fiancé?”
Plum raised a hand in the air. “Me!”
“I’m your gym buddy. Take me!” Shannon said.
Marla leaned her head on my shoulder. “I’ve been friends with you the longest.”
“I’ll do your homework for a week,” Holly said.
I smiled. It was such fun seeing to what lengths the girls would go to be my plus one. While they continued talking over each other, I winked at Fred.
He had it in the bag.
KIM
Responsible for closing LONG-ing for Crafts, I stared down the wall clock and summoned the hand to move faster so four o’clock would arrive, and I could lock the door at last. My folks insisted on keeping the store open the day of the holiday soirée because they did the best business in December and didn’t want to lose the sales, but they always closed three hours early. Impatient for the party to start at six-thirty, I had put on my dress—bright red with green trim and as form-fitting as my mom would allow—an hour earlier and had offered to hold down the fort while my parents and Erin changed into their party outfits in the back room. The caterers were coming at five. As I adjusted the Santa Claus hat on my head, I heard the jingle of the front bell and groaned. “We’re closing in five …” I turned around and came face-to-face with a cute boy who looked to be a few years older than me. “Minutes,” I said, completing the sentence.
With an earnest expression, the guy ran a hand along the beginnings of stubble on his jaw. “Please help. I’m kind of desperate here.”
I cocked my head to the side as I debated turning him away, but his pleading brown eyes won me over. And I knew my parents wouldn’t want me to refuse a customer when it was technically a few minutes before closing. Blowing a stream of air out of my mouth, I said, “Okay. What can I help you with?” With any luck, it would be past four by the time I finished with him—that much closer to my date with Jonathan. As long as no one else showed up in urgent need of assistance.
He grinned wide. “You’re the best. Thank you.”
When he smiled, his entire face lit up, making me feel warm and fuzzy. “You’re welcome. Now how can I help?”
“I need a Christmas present for my younger sister. She’s fourteen. What do you get a fourteen-year-old girl?”
“Does she like jewelry?”
“She’s a girl, so … yes.”
I chuckled. “What’s her favorite color?”
He shrugged. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Why? You want to buy me a gift instead?” My flirting game was on fire tonight—good practice for Jonathan later.
He winked. “If I manage to leave here with a gift for Natalie, I just might. But I was asking because you’re a girl and I’m guessing close to her age.” His eyes roamed the length of my body—pausing a beat at my chest. “Or maybe a couple years older. Am I right?”
Suddenly feeling shy and wishing I were at least sixteen, I confessed, “I’m fifteen.”
He nodded, his eyes meeting mine until my face got warm, and I had to look away. “So ... any suggestions for my kid sister?” he asked, blessedly interrupting the awkward moment.
“Yes. Come with me.” I led the way past the paints, picture frames, and spools of yarn to where beads of more colors than in the one hundred and twenty Crayola Crayon box were stored in display cases. With each step, I was conscious of the older boy’s presence behind me and tried to focus on coming up with a bracelet design his sister would love. “These are my favorite beads,” I said, stopping in front of a case of blush pink beads. “But I love the color pink.”
“I would have guessed your favorite color was red,” he said, motioning toward my dress.
I glanced down at my outfit. “The store holiday party is tonight. I wanted to be festive.”
“You’ve succeeded,” he said with a smile before reaching forward and flicking the tip of my hat.
My knees wobbled, and I cleared my throat to gain my bearings. Removing three pink beads from the case, three silver pewter ones, and three pearls, I placed them in my palm and asked, “What do you think of this combination?”
He glanced down and ran his fingers over the beads without removing them from my hand. “I love it. You’ve got yourself a sale.”
“Great.” Too bad my parents didn’t pay me a commission.
“Do you make the necklace for me here, or do I buy the beads and make it later?”
“Either way is fine, but I suggest you let her make it. It’s more fun, and she can decide how she wants it to look.” If he didn’t leave soon, I was
afraid more customers would come before I could lock up. Or else I’d invite him to the party and have more adorable dates than I knew what to do with. I couldn’t even share him with Bridget since she’d asked Kyle.
“Sounds great.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. After collecting enough beads for Natalie to make a bracelet or necklace, I rang her brother up at the register.
“This place is great,” he said, circling the store with his eyes. “We don’t have anything like it where I’m from. It would make Christmas shopping for the women in my life much easier.”
I wondered if he was referring to a girlfriend, but I didn’t dare ask. “Where are you from?”
“Vermont.”
Raising an eyebrow, I said, “Quite a long way to travel for a Christmas present.”
“I’m the best brother ever,” he said before chuckling. “Actually, I’ve been here a couple of weeks. Duke is out for winter break, and I took the opportunity to visit an old friend.”
“Nice,” I said, before handing him the bag of beads and his change.
“Thanks so much for your help … what’s your name?”
“It’s Kim. What’s your name?”
“Nicholas.”
“Well, you’re very welcome, Nicholas. Happy holidays. I hope your sister likes the gift.”
“I’ve no doubt. Happy holidays back at you.” After another exchange of smiles, Nicholas turned around and headed toward the exit. With a strange feeling of loss, I watched as his frame got farther away until his hand gripped the doorknob, and he turned around again. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday, Kimmie,” he said with a huge smile before walking out the door.
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 13