Kim vs the Mean Girl

by Meredith Schorr

  I grabbed the “closed” sign from behind the counter and made my way to the entrance. I locked the door and leaned against it, letting out the breath I had no idea I was holding. I closed my eyes and pictured Nicholas—his warm brown eyes, friendly smile, and sexy stubble. He was seriously hot, but my parents would never let me date a college guy, even one smart enough to attend Duke University. I laughed out loud. Why was I even thinking about another guy? I finally had a date with Jonathan, and it was starting in—I checked my watch—less than two hours. Although it pained me to admit it, I’d never have asked him if Hannah hadn’t pushed me.

  What had my mom said when she urged me to let go of my grudge against Hannah? She’d said I had it pretty good—a loyal best friend I loved, a passion for books, great parents, an adorable baby sis—.

  Just then, Erin came barreling into the room from the back, knocking down the more-than-thirty spools of yarn it had taken me an hour to stack in color-coordinated piles. Seemingly paralyzed from the neck down, Erin observed the mess she’d made on the floor at her feet, her lower lip quivering. Finally, she turned toward me, her brown eyes wide open and fearful.

  I shook my head at her—typical Erin. Bending down and scooping up several spools in one hand, I used the other to ruffle my sister’s curly hair. As she exhaled an audible sigh of relief, I muttered, “Spaz,” before breaking out into hysterics.

  I took another bacon-wrapped date from the platter and smiled up at the tall and gangly college-aged server. I accepted the napkin he was extending and said, “Thanks” before popping the date in my mouth and averting eye contact. If I were counting—which I wasn’t—it would have been my sixth date of the night. But I wasn’t counting, it was my parents’ party, and I’d pig out on bacon if I wanted to (no pun intended), and since Jonathan hadn’t shown up yet, I was currently date-less.

  I smiled uncomfortably at Bridget and Kyle, feeling like a third wheel. Until Jonathan walked in the door—any minute now—I was the odd man out. I glanced at my watch. The party had started almost an hour ago. Any minute now.

  “So, Kyle, what do you do for fun?” I glanced at Bridget and widened my eyes in a silent plea for her to help move the conversation along. He was her date, not mine, but so far, she’d managed to utter a sentence or two at the most. The rest of the time, she gazed at Kyle with googly eyes and played with her hair. He didn’t seem to notice. She might be a horrible flirt, but she looked gorgeous in her velvet midnight-blue dress with her long hair cascading down her shoulders. It was obvious Kyle thought so, too.

  He removed his stare from Bridget for a moment to answer me with, “I play sports” before turning back to her with a sheepish grin.

  Placing a wavy strand of red hair behind her ears to reveal one of the teardrop-shaped sapphire earrings I’d lent her, Bridget said, “That’s cool. Which sports do you play?”

  “Soccer and baseball mostly,” he said. “Are you on any teams?”

  “Does ice skating count? I’ve taken lessons for the last six years.”

  “Ice skating is way harder than soccer,” Kyle said, clearly dazzled.

  Since Bridget and Kyle seemed to have found their groove at last, I decided it was a convenient time to mingle. I spotted my mom by the pasta station, but I was afraid she’d ask me where Jonathan was. It was a question I was hoping to avoid since I didn’t know the answer. I was wearing my brave face because I didn’t want Bridget and Kyle to know I was in full-blown panic mode, but one look at my mom and tears would be shed.

  I flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Jonathan in social studies earlier when I confirmed the party started at six-thirty. Was it possible he thought I meant tomorrow? Or was he standing me up? Needing more bacon, I chased down the closest of the three servers hired for the night and almost burst into tears when I eagerly reached for a date only to find it was smoked salmon on wheat toast.

  My eyes welled up, and I turned away from the crowd, pretending to examine one of the fake trees we had placed around the room. I kept myself busy removing a piece of silver tinsel and then putting it right back. I breathed in and out slowly, willing the tears to stay behind my lids.

  “You all right, K?”

  I jumped at the sound of Bridget’s voice and her finger gently poking me in the back. “Um hmm.” The most surefire way to get someone to cry hysterically was to ask if they were okay. I didn’t dare turn around.

  Bridget stood next to me and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  I stared into the aluminum tree. “At least one of us is having a great first date.”

  “Are you mad?”

  I whipped my head around. “No way!”

  Bridget frowned. “Are you sure? Kyle is cute and all, but you’re my best friend, and I’ll ditch him if you want. Solidarity sisters!”

  I forced out a smile. “Ya-ya! But seriously, I’m glad you guys are having fun.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Where’s Kyle?”

  “Bathroom.” She grinned. “Probably brushing his hair.”

  I laughed. “Go have fun. I’ll come over soon.” I returned my attention to the tree. I couldn’t bear to face the entrance to the store waiting for Jonathan to walk in and have it not happen. He was probably with his tall girlfriend right now. I could picture them sucking face under mistletoe somewhere. Jonathan on his tippy-toes to reach her. Her, a faceless Amazon, with her fingers tangled in his unruly hair. My stomach hurt at the thought.

  I headed over to the makeshift bar near the entrance of the back room. Maybe a shot of vodka would dull the pain. Sure, I was six years from twenty-one, but the bartender was a guy, and I was wearing a low-cut dress. It might work. I stood tall, stuck out my chest, and greeted him. “May I please have a shot of—”

  “Unless you’re about to ask for a shot of cranberry juice or even a tetanus shot, I’d reconsider your order,” my dad said before turning around to greet me with an eyebrow raised.

  Feeling my face drain of color, I said, “Dad. I didn’t see you there.”

  He smiled, lines forming around his brown eyes. “Evidently.” Putting his arm around me and drawing me close, he said to the bartender, “Get my daughter anything she wants as long as it’s alcohol-free.” He took a sip of his own drink, which I was positive had plenty of liquor in it.

  The bartender winked. “Sure thing.”

  I dropped my shoulders as Erin and one of her tween friends ran up to us breathing heavily like they’d been doing laps around the store.

  “Where’d you get the chocolate?” I asked.

  Erin grabbed onto her friend’s arm. With her eyes bulging, she asked, “How did you know we had chocolate?”

  “It’s all over your mouth.” I laughed.

  Erin blushed. “Oh.” After swiping the back of her hand against her lips, she asked, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. And he’s not here.” I swallowed hard before reluctantly meeting my father’s eyes.

  He gazed at me with concern. “Jonathan didn’t show up?”

  I shrugged. “Not yet.” And if dessert was being served, the party would be wrapping up soon.

  “I’m not sure if I should hunt down this guy and teach him a lesson for standing up my daughter or be relieved your first date will be delayed. Have you told your mother?” he asked.

  “It’s not a big deal, Daddy.” I glared at Erin and her friend, who were alternating between whispering to each other and gaping at me. With a sweeping motion of the room, I said to my dad, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your loyal clients?”

  My dad sighed. “I guess.” He took a final swig of his drink, placed the empty glass on the bar, and walked toward where my mom was chatting with some customers.

  “Don’t tell Mom,” I called out after him. I didn’t want her to drop everything to comfort me. I also didn’t want to lose the self-control I’d been working so hard not to cry.

  Twenty minutes later, the party had died do
wn, and almost everyone had left. I walked Bridget and Kyle to the front door. Bridget was planning to sleep over my house, but when Kyle offered to give her a ride home, I insisted she let him. We’d pick her up on our way home from the party. And then I could live vicariously through their make-out session. We’d concocted the genius plan in the bathroom earlier.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Kim,” Kyle said with a nod.

  I smiled at him. “You’re welcome. But it was technically Bridget who asked you.”

  “Well, thanks for having the party, asking Bridget, and convincing her to bring me,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling as he placed a hand on Bridget’s shoulder.

  “Thanks, Kim,” Bridget said with a knowing look on her flushed face.

  I nodded, but my chin was trembling too much to form words. As happy as I was for Bridget’s fledgling relationship with Kyle, this night was also supposed to be about Jonathan and me.

  When Kyle reached for the door, Bridget threw herself into my arms and hugged me fiercely. Whispering in my ear, she said, “I’ll see you in a little while.” She squeezed me tight. “It will be okay. I promise.”

  I swallowed a huge gulp of air and fought the nausea building in my stomach. “Thanks.”

  While the caterers cleaned up, I floated through the store in a daze, absently tossing dirty napkins in the garbage can. Wishing it was all a bad dream and Jonathan hadn’t really flaked out on me, I pinched my skin, hoping it wouldn’t hurt. I flinched from the pain and sank to the floor underneath one of the Christmas trees, closing my eyes. It was real. How would I face him on Monday? I used to wish I had more classes with him than just lunch and social studies. Now I wished we went to different schools.

  A knock on the front door followed by the ringing of the chimes as someone entered the store startled me from my anguish. Then I heard my mom say, “She’s around somewhere. Kim!”

  “I’m here,” I mumbled, not bothering to look up or move from my cozy spot under the tree.

  The sound of rustling feet came closer until I found myself staring at a pair of black cap-toe oxford shoes. I slowly raised my head. “Jonathan,” I said in surprise.

  He released a long breath. “Thank God you’re still here. I’m so sorry I missed the party.”

  I gave him a once-over from head to toe. “You look like you’ve been mugged.” His hair was matted against his head, the apples of his cheeks were red, and the buttons of his jacket were out of alignment. “No offense.”

  Gesturing next to me, he said, “None taken. Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” I scooted over to give him room to slide in next to me under the tree. “What happened?”

  He buried his head in his hands. “What a mess. The battery died in my mom’s piece-of-shit car, and we had to wait for AAA to come and jump-start it. It took forever. We called the store from my mom’s cell phone, but no one answered.”

  He hadn’t stood me up after all. I felt a flutter in my belly and a tickle in my throat, and before I could stop myself, I giggled. I quickly brought a hand to my mouth, but I couldn’t stop.

  Dropping his hands away from his head, Jonathan gave me an incredulous look. “You find this funny?”

  Between closed lips, I said, “Uh huh.” I laughed again and then hiccupped.

  Jonathan smiled big. “I thought you’d be mad.”

  I shook my head as another hiccup escaped. After regaining my composure, I said, “I thought you stood me up.”

  Frowning, Jonathan said, “No way. I was psyched for this party.”

  I beamed. “Really?”

  “Definitely. We were all over the place, trying to find a small box. No one had them.”

  I finally noticed the small cardboard box resting in his lap. “Looks like you found one somewhere.”

  “It’s recycled.” He gave me a sheepish grin and handed me the box. “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

  “You didn’t have to bring me anything.” I ran my fingers along the smooth surface, dying to know what was inside. “Can I open it?”

  Jonathan nodded. “I hope you like it.”

  My heart beat rapidly as I removed the lid. I plucked out the canvas drawing inside and gasped when I saw it was a pencil sketch of me and Napoleon Bonaparte standing over a collapsed Hannah Marshak. “Oh my God. This is …” I was lost for words. “This is amazing. And hilarious.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Short or not, you could totally take down Hannah Marshak, with or without Napoleon’s help.”

  “Been there. Tried that,” I muttered.

  Jonathan scrunched up his face at me. “Huh?”

  I hugged the picture against my chest. “Never mind. Thank you. I love it.”

  Jonathan grinned and swiped his forehead in a show of relief. “I’m so glad. I hoped you’d think it was funny, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “I do.” I bumped my elbow gently against his side.

  Angling his head toward me, he said, “Good,” before pulling on my Santa hat. “You look cute.”

  My eyes widening, I said, “I do?”

  While I held my breath, Jonathan stared into my eyes for a moment. Without blinking, he said, “Absolutely.”

  I smiled shyly. “Thank you. You do, too.”

  He glanced down the length of his body. “Even after standing in the cold for hours waiting for AAA?”

  I licked my lips. “Yes.” I reached up and flattened my favorite strand of his hair with two of my fingers until Jonathan took my hand in his and gestured toward the mistletoe hanging above us.

  I hadn’t noticed we were all alone in the room until now. The caterers had left, and I guessed my parents had dragged Erin and her friend into the back room to give us privacy. The lights were dimmed, and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played in the background. Jonathan leaned closer to me, and I knew it was going to happen—he was going to kiss me.

  I met him halfway, closed my eyes, and waited. And then it was happening. His plump mouth softly touched mine, and I drank in the sweet taste of him. I debated asking about the tall girl from Liberty West, but the timing seemed off, and then my mind flashed back to Hannah and Plan Bad Diary. As I ran my hands through Jonathan’s silky hair, I knew it had all been worth it—Hannah’s invasion of my privacy in front of the entire class, her snide comments about my height, even her taking the credit for solving the mystery of Ms. Clarke’s ring—because it brought me to this delicious moment.

  My mom was right when she said my life was great. I had loving parents, a future gig at the student paper, an awesome best friend who was, at this very moment, probably smooching the cutest guy in the junior class, and let’s not forget the very steamy smooch fest I was currently enjoying with Jonathan.

  But why was I thinking about my mother at a time like this? I had more kissing to do. I smiled at Jonathan, who had removed his lips from mine for a much-needed breath of air, and pulled him to me once again.

  We could breathe tomorrow.

  PREVIEW OF BLOGGER GIRL

  BLOGGER GIRL ONE)

  BY MEREDITH SCHORR

  This novel includes mature themes that may not be appropriate for young readers

  1

  I slid my mouse back and forth between four and four and a half pink champagne flutes. I couldn’t decide if the book Gladly Never After was worthy of four and a half flutes. The ending was abrupt and the hero kind of obvious from the beginning. But it was certainly an engaging story, so much so that I took every available opportunity to turn on my e-reader and see what happened next, even while squatting on the toilet between beers at happy hour.

  “Long!”

  I saved a draft of my review and stood up. “Yes, Rob?” I walked into his large fishbowl-shaped office knowing he wouldn’t come to me. “What’s up?”

  Rob handed me two sheets of paper. “Can you scan this to Bartlett?”

  Removing the papers from his hand, I said, “No problem. Should I include a message?”

  He scra
tched his thick head of brown hair. “Nah. He’ll know what it is.”

  Rob’s recent takeover of a high-profile litigation was definitely getting in the way of my blogging. I had four books scheduled for review in the next two weeks and had received several more from publishers and authors in the past couple of days. Then again, it was my day job as a legal secretary at a midsized New York City law firm that paid my $1800 rent, not my voluntary—albeit immensely more satisfying—side gig as a chick lit book blogger.

  “Also, send an email to the team about squad drinks around the corner at Banc Café at five.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Who should I include in the email?”

  Rob was now facing his computer. Without bothering to turn around, he said, “The whole team. Lucy, David, Nicholas, Blah, Blah, Blah.”

  Rob probably didn’t actually say, “Blah, Blah, Blah,” but I had tuned out after he said “Nicholas.” Ordinarily, I preferred the company of friends over the partners, associates, and paralegals that made up Rob’s team, but I’d make an exception if Nicholas was going to be there. I took stock of my outfit, exhaling a sigh of relief that I was wearing a flattering low-cut black top and form-fitting black pants. I fingered my necklace, a platinum chain with an opal pendant that conveniently fell right in the line of my cleavage. “Sounds good. Uh, I forgot who else you mentioned after Nicholas.” Not that it mattered.

  Rob waved me away. “Just the team. The usuals. Add a sentence at the end about inviting anyone I forgot.”

  “Gotcha.”

  When I got back to my desk, I emailed the team about happy hour, casually adding Nicholas’s address somewhere in the middle. It was very short notice, but it was free drinks and Rob was the boss. By virtue of him being the boss, sufficient advance notice was not required. Once I confirmed the email went through, I hurried to the copy room, scanned Rob’s documents, and sent them to Bartlett. I glanced at my Movado watch, a gift from my parents for my twenty-eighth birthday earlier that year. It was 4:42. After I grabbed my enormous leather purse from the bottom drawer of my desk and told Rob I was stepping away, I headed to the bathroom and called Bridget.