The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

by O'Gorman, Cookie

  Colton leaned forward. “You wouldn’t know fun if it was staring you in the face.”

  I was about to deliver a stunning smackdown—no really, it would have been epic—but right then, Kyle lost the bet he’d made in the car with his brother. He lurched and threw up all the “fun” he’d had onto one of my favorite cardigans. I had less sympathy for him after that.

  A perfect end to the worst day of my life, I thought.

  Later after I had finally washed the puke out of my cardigan—it took a good thirty minutes and half a bottle of liquid detergent—I went to my computer and pulled up the Dancer’s Edge website. They uploaded a new video at the beginning of each month, and it was almost always contemporary, hip hop or some other commercially accepted dance form. This week’s dance was an amazing hip hop solo to a soulful/sexy song, and you could just feel the guy’s energy coming through the screen.

  After watching it (twice), I opened a new tab and pulled up my channel. There was no doubt about it. My videos, though shot impeccably, were definitely more tame…and yes, a little too nice. Maybe instead of jive, I should try a Latin style next time? I thought. Ballroom had never been featured, and it was my goal to be the first, to show them—and the world—just what ballroom could do. But to be honest…”sexy” wasn’t my strong suit. I wasn’t even sure if I could pull off “edgy.” In fact, I was almost 99% sure I couldn’t.

  Sighing, I got into bed. I was more than ready for sleep, snuggling deep under the covers, looking forward to forgetting about today. But for some reason, even as I lay there, Colton’s voice kept me up, buzzing around in my head.

  Just because your eyes are open doesn’t mean you’re awake.

  Good God, I thought. When Colton Freakin’ Bishop, bad boy extraordinaire, started sounding like a poet, there was something very wrong. A change had to be made, I decided. If I wasn’t so “nice,” maybe I would’ve already been accepted by Dancer’s Edge and checked off a few of the items on my “Carpe Diem List.” If I had gone to that party tonight, maybe I would’ve been the one Kyle kissed instead of the one he got sick on. If I was more like Anna or Liz, maybe I wouldn’t be about to end my senior year un-kissed, un-touched and…undeniably pathetic.

  I didn’t want to graduate high school with any regrets, was tired of living quietly.

  I was so sick of being the good girl.

  I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Okay, here’s what I think you should do.”

  Betty wasted no time finding me first thing as she and the rest of the Shady Grove residents walked (and wheeled) into Senior Night at Corner Street Ballroom, my parents’ studio. Her face was even more vibrant than usual, mostly due to the spectacular evening gown she was wearing. Emerald green really was her color. The “Birthday Girl” sash and tiara were nice touches.

  “I thought about you all last night,” she continued. “About the nun thing. About that rejection and how those silly people think you’re too sweet, too nice, unexciting, basically lifeless—”

  “Geez, Betty, okay. I get it,” I mumbled.

  “Sorry, dear, I got carried away. Anyway, even watching a movie didn’t help. It was like I couldn’t sleep until I finally thought up a solution.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes, and Cora was wrong,” she said. “Sadie, you don’t need a man.”

  “Okaaay?” I still had no idea where she was going with this.

  Betty tilted her head. “What you need…is a makeover.”

  “A makeover?” I repeated.

  “Yes.” As she nodded, the rhinestones in her tiara twinkled like stars, catching the light. “A life makeover. They think you’re too dull? They say you lack experience? Well then, go out and get some experience. All you have to do is prove them wrong. It’s not that hard when you think about it.”

  What she was saying made a lot of sense, but—

  “Betty, that all sounds great,” I said. “But how do I get life experience?”

  “Hmm,” she said. “I thought about that one, too. Sadie, first I need to ask you: Are you open to change?”

  My mind went back to yesterday, and I didn’t have to think long. I nodded.

  “Well then, that brings me to step two of my solution. For your life makeover, you’ll need a coach, a guide, someone to help you on your quest to break out of your shell. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. It just has to be someone who can show you how to walk on the wild side. Someone who knows how to be…well, a little bad.”

  I just stared.

  “Don’t look at me like that, dear,” she sniffed. “I was a bit of a hell raiser in my day, and you see how well I turned out.”

  “No, it’s just…you’ve thought a lot about this,” I said.

  “Of course, I have. You’re one of my favorite people.”

  My heart warmed. “Are you offering to be my coach?”

  She laughed. “Good Lord, no! You need someone who can get out and show you the world. Trust me, dear, a life makeover is the answer to all your problems. It sounds fabulous, doesn’t it?”

  “A life makeover,” I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “I like it. How’d you come up with that anyway?”

  “Well, like I said, I couldn’t sleep. So, I was watching Pretty Woman, and—”

  “Betty,” I said flatly. “Please tell me, you did not just solve my life problems based on a movie about a heart-of-gold hooker and her millionaire playboy.”

  Betty crossed her arms. “So what if I did? You love the idea.”

  I couldn’t even argue because I did love it.

  “Now, we just have to find your playboy.” Betty clapped her hands then nudged my side. “I mean, your coach.”

  The lights dimmed at that moment. The idea was…brilliant. It was the perfect solution to my good girl dilemma. One day I’m a nun, the next a prostitute. Made perfect sense, I thought. My mind was still going over the life makeover idea as we made our way to the two seats Cora had saved us. Unfortunately, as we drew closer, I realized the seat next to mine was occupied. The woman I secretly referred to as the Home Wrecker was scowling as my mom welcomed everyone.

  “Sadie,” Amanda said in her usual fake tone. “How nice to see you.”

  “Hmm,” I said noncommittally, “why are you here? Did Dad bring you?”

  “Of course, he did. I’m his girlfriend.”

  “For now,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Her smile turned sharp. “What was that?”

  “Oh nothing,” I said. “I just haven’t seen you here before. So, you like dance?”

  “Uh no,” she scoffed, straightening in her chair. “Your dad promised to take me out for a nice, expensive Italian dinner after this. Little Sicily, very high end, only the best people get in. He said enrollment has been down, so I’m here to support him.”

  Riiight. And the Snobs-R-Us dinner had nothing to do with it.

  “Hope your mom doesn’t mind me coming. I wouldn’t want to trespass on her turf.”

  The words were perfectly delivered. The Home Wrecker was smiling an innocent smile, eyes wide. But if you looked a little closer, there was a glint of satisfaction there, a maliciousness she couldn’t quite hide.

  Yes, Amanda was pretty (on the surface). But she was a shameless gold digger who was twelve years younger than my dad. She wouldn’t last. Dad wasn’t a bad father, but he was a life-long serial cheater. There had been several other Home Wreckers in the past. I knew she’d be gone once she figured out Dad didn’t have the deep pockets she was used to, but right now, she was trespassing on Mom’s turf. I was looking forward to her rude awakening.

  “No worries,” I said, smiling. “I assume he told you about the opening number.”

  Before she could respond with more than a blank stare, Mom’s voice rose above the chatter.

  “Hi everyone! Corner Street Ballroom would like to wish the happiest of happy birthdays to our good friend Miss Betty,” Mom said, blowing a kiss at Betty as everyone
cheered. “I know how you like it hot and spicy, Betty. This dance is dedicated to you.”

  Music filled the room, smooth and sultry, as my mom and dad assumed their starting positions. Rhumba. Perfect.

  The Home Wrecker sat straighter. “What are they doing?”

  “They do this once a month,” Betty said, speaking across me. “Just wait, their chemistry is amazing. It’s the highlight of the night.”

  Amanda’s answering frown was the highlight of my night.

  As Mom and Dad moved across the floor, every eye was on them. I’d grown up with parents who had gone into marriage for the long haul, had promised to love and to cherish each other forever. But forever came and went when my Dad decided that he was in love/lust with my mother’s best friend, Camille (Home Wrecker #1), and when Mom decided life would be better without him to worry about. They’d divorced when I was ten, but still co-directed the dance studio.

  The love of ballroom had kept them together—if not in marriage then at least in friendship. Although they hardly ever danced together anymore, one Saturday out of the month, they still performed for the students. There was something between them when they danced. Dad’s flavor-of-the-month girlfriend always looked nervous when they danced.

  Amanda looked pale, mouth pursed, as they moved across the floor.

  Good, I thought. Let her suffer a little.

  I wasn’t delusional.

  I didn’t carry any false hopes that my parents would get back together, and we’d be one big happy family. Yeah, right. But seeing that look on the current Home Wrecker’s face as sparks flew between my mom and dad?

  Loving. Every. Second.

  As Dad pulled Mom to him, lifting her leg, dipping her back for the final pose, the applause was instant. I whooped and hollered with the rest of them. Beside me, Amanda sat stiff as a board, noticeably silent, but whatever. Even she should’ve appreciated that performance. Rhumba had always been one of my favorites. They’d just set that floor on fire.

  After they bowed, Mom said, “Thank you, thank you all so much. Now if you’ll just pair up and join us out on the dance floor, we’ll get this party started!”

  The residents took to the floor, some girl-boy pairs, others girl-girl or boy-boy. All were welcome here. The dance studio was a safe space. There were always more women than men who signed up to take class, but it didn’t really matter. Everyone just wanted to learn and have a good time.

  Walter came over and said, “Cora, my love, would you care to dance?”

  Her response: “Of course, you old fart. Let’s go cut a rug.”

  As he helped her to her feet, Walter threw me a wink. He was actually 84, eight years younger than Cora. They’d been married over 60 years and were still the cutest thing under the sun. Old John came by to scoop Betty up; Amanda had gone off to talk to my father; and my mom was walking around giving pointers on proper technique. Looking up and down the row of chairs…yep, I was the only one without a partner.

  Story of my life.

  It was a good thing I loved to people watch, or I’d be feeling pretty lonely right now.

  My eyes traveled back to the dance floor and stopped once again on Walter and Cora. They were slow dancing together, swaying really. Her head rested on his shoulder, their hands clasped and resting over his heart. There were at least ten other pairs out there. The couples circled the room like colorful spinning tops as they practiced.

  Walter’s eyes never left his wife.

  I sighed.

  “So, this is what you do on Saturday? Sit alone, looking sad, watching old people dance?”

  With a gasp, I turned and found Colton—Colton Bishop, of all people!—sitting next to me, arms crossed, leaning back like he owned the place. The sight was so unexpected—him, here, at Corner Street Ballroom. It took me a moment to realize he was real and not a hallucination.

  Colton shook his head. “This is pathetic even for you, Sadie.”

  “Where did you come from?” I asked.

  “Mom found out about Kyle and the party. Of course, my brother was never a good liar. When she asked why he looked so sick this morning, he sang like a hung-over canary.” He didn’t look at me but lifted his chin at something in the crowd. “Mom thought this would be a good punishment.”

  Looking out, I spotted Kyle immediately. He’d been dancing behind a pillar with Edith, who looked like she was leading and enjoying herself immensely. She was moving to a beat only she could hear, pulling him around the floor. Now that they were getting closer, I could hear her counting: “One-two-three. One-two-three. C’mon keep up!”

  I smiled as Kyle caught my eye. It looked like he was mouthing the words, “Help me.”

  “Dancing’s too fun to be considered a good punishment,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?” Colton said. “You sure look like you’re having a good time over here by yourself.”

  At that, I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. But Kyle’s the one who got drunk. Why did she make you come?”

  “Simple,” Colton shrugged. “Because even if I’m not the one who’s drunk, I’m the bad influence. I’m the one who told him about the party. I was the one who let Kyle drink. Ergo, I share in the punishment.”

  “Well, that’s unfair,” I frowned. “And did you just use the word ‘ergo’ in a sentence? I’m impressed.”

  “Now, Sadie, try and keep your panties on.” He said all this with a straight face. “Like I said, I’m a bad influence. You wouldn’t want to encourage me.”

  “But a big vocabulary is such a turn on,” I said breathily.

  His head whipped to face me, and I laughed—right until I caught sight of the metal on his lip.

  “New piercing?” I asked.

  “Nah, I got it done a while ago,” he mumbled. “And were you serious about the vocabulary thing?”

  “No,” I laughed. The way the light played off that tiny piece of silver drew my attention straight to his mouth. It was inexplicable, and I had to force my eyes away. “Though it doesn’t hurt. Hey, tell the truth. Does that metal have anything to do with why you were sent here? I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Got it done last summer. My mom may have found out about it this morning and had a mini breakdown,” he said. “Your turn. Why’d you sigh a second ago?”

  “Because I was overwhelmed by your magnetic presence,” I deadpanned.

  “Come on, for real. What were you thinking?”

  I dropped the act, looked at him a second, then shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” he said.

  “Fine.” I sighed again, this time in defeat. “You see that couple out there?”

  He looked to where I was pointing.

  “I was thinking, sixty years of marriage…and he still looks at her like that.”

  Colton nodded. “Ah, girly thoughts.”

  Yes, I thought, completely girly, and he didn’t even know the half of it. What I’d really been thinking was: I wish someone would look at me like that.

  Checking to make sure he wasn’t looking, I angled my body slightly away from Colton and pulled out my list, only unfolding it the smallest amount, keeping it mostly hidden inside my hands. “Carpe Diem” was written in big bold letters and underlined at the top. Right there, just under the title, was the first and most important item on my list.

  1) Fall in love with someone who will love me back.

  It was also the most impossible thing. Considering I’d fallen for my gay best friend all those years ago, I knew love wasn’t in the cards for me. I’d had to bury my emotions for Kyle for our relationship to survive. It was a sad fact of life, but not everyone got their happily-ever-after. Some of us just had to settle for mostly-happy-but-missing-something. But still…a girl could dream.

  I sighed, looking down the rest of my list. There were no check marks, nothing crossed off as complete, no gold stars to indicate I’d accomplished any of the tasks I’d hope to when writing it. Betty was right. I really did need a life mak
eover.

  “What’s that you’re reading?”

  “Nothing.” I jerked my hands closed before Colton could see, hastily refolding and tucking the sheet of paper back into my pocket.

  Colton raised an eyebrow (the pierced one, of course).

  “It’s none of your business,” I said.

  “Whatever you say. It’s not like I care anyway.”

  Moments later, just as I started to relax, he smoothly grabbed the end of the paper sticking out of my pocket and jogged a few steps away. The sound that came out of my throat was a combination of banshee in distress and wounded animal. For his part, Colton looked very pleased with himself.

  “What are you trying to hide, Sadie?” He flipped the little square back and forth between his fingers as I stumbled toward him, arms outstretched.

  “Hand it over,” I said.

  Not hearing or not caring about the desperation in my voice, he began to inch the paper open. I tried to snatch the list back—but he held it out of reach.

  “Colton, I mean it!”

  His grin broadened as I jumped and missed, but seriously, I couldn’t reach my list without scaling his much taller body like a tree. It was a sign of how desperate I was that I even considered it. I must’ve looked silly, but I didn’t care. He literally held the most personal, most humiliating document I’d ever written in his hands. No way was I letting him read that. No. Way.

  “Geez, Sadie, what’s the big—oomph!”

  Taking advantage of his outstretched position and his assumption that I was some goody-two-shoes, I hooked my leg behind his and gave a quick push. Colton was so surprised he dropped the list immediately and went to the ground like a stone.

  “Damn girl,” he said, wheezed really. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

  “I know several ninjas, one of whom is a girl who could totally kick your butt.” I sniffed. I’d taken a few self-defense classes from a girl named Snow. She was my age, one of the coolest chicks I knew, and phenomenal at martial arts. Like Bruce Lee phenomenal. Basically, I’d learned from the best. “Ninjas, Colton. I hang with ninjas. I’d keep that in mind the next time you try and mess with me.”

  “Noted.” Colton got to his feet, but I must not have hurt him too bad because that grin was still in place. The idiot. “Sister Sadie, prissy librarian by day, ninja warrior princess by night. Who knew?”