“Yeah, he stood you up, right?”
“No. Worse. Sheryl Linklater, one of the cheerleaders, told me he was on a dare to ask the nerdiest girl in school to the dance only to publicly dump her beforehand.”
“You were the nerdiest girl in school?”
“Kind of. Not the nerdiest exactly, but definitely not one of the cool kids. Put it this way, I didn’t have the best haircut back then, I had a bad case of acne and I was a little more . . . chunky.”
She laughed. “Dude! You were the ugly swan. And now you’re beautiful.”
“I was the ugly duckling.”
“No, swan.”
“Duckling.”
Lana sat back in her seat, eyeing me. “I don’t know how the story goes in New Zealand, but here it’s about a swan.”
I decided to let it go.
Lana pushed her cup of coffee away across the table in disgust. “Caffeine or no caffeine, I cannot drink this. So, what happened next?”
“Brady went to the dance with Sheryl, of course, and they told everyone about the ‘fun’ prank they’d pulled on me. I was the laughing stock of the school for weeks. I was so humiliated I wanted to get on the first plane and head back home to New Zealand.”
“This Brady guy sure sounds like a prize douche bag.”
I nodded at her. It sounded weird to hear an elf say "douche bag". “Oh, yes. The thing is, he asked me to a party when I saw him again this morning.”
“He did?” She laughed, her eyes bright. It sounded kind of evil. “Oh, my god. You have to go.”
I shook my head, shuddering at the very thought of it. “No way! It would be horrible. Beyond horrible.”
“Tilly, look at me.” Her voice was serious as she fixed me with her gaze. She looked intense and kind of freaky. It was unnerving. “You need to go. You have to show this Brady guy how awesome you are now. Show him what he missed out on back in the day.”
I shook my head, scrunching my eyes shut.
“Plus, I think a little revenge could be in order.”
My eyes sprung open. “Revenge?”
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Exactly. This party is the perfect opportunity for you.” She glanced at her phone. “Gotta get back to work,” she said with as much enthusiasm as an outlaw facing the noose. “Let’s convene at nineteen hundred hours at the apartment to discuss our battle plan.”
“Lana, what are you talking about? I don’t even want to go to this party. And what’s up with the military terminology?”
“Just being professional. And yes, you do. Don’t you want to see how it feels when you treat him the way he treated you?”
A smile teased the edges of my mouth at the thought of humiliating Brady in front of his friends, making him feel just as bad as I had back in high school. If I was honest, I’d fantasized about doing just that many, many times. And it had always felt so good.
“See? You want to, I know you do,” Lana encouraged. “And I’ll be there for moral support. Oh, and for documentary purposes too.”
My eyes bulged. “You’re going to film it?”
“Of course. What’s the point of revenge if you can’t share it with your closest five hundred friends on social media?”
I scoffed, then paused, deep in thought. Did he remember me? Or was I so forgettable he’d faked it, chancing on the fact we’d been in history class together? I bit my lip. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Lana bounced in her chair, clapping her hands together like an excited seal. Several people turned to look at us. “You are not going to regret this, Tilly Grayson.”
My body gave an involuntary tingle as an image of Brady’s smiling face popped into my head. “I hope not, Lana. I hope not.”
Chapter 3
At precisely nineteen hundred hours that night, Lana was standing in our tiny kitchen when I came through the front door. I was exhausted from a long day of dressing clients—and obsessing about Brady McKinnon.
My mind was a quagmire of conflicting thoughts. Yes, I wanted revenge for my teenage self, and yes, Brady totally deserved it. But seeing him again had brought back those feelings I’d had about him all that time ago: lust, anger, humiliation. But most of all, lust.
I had managed to rescue the crumpled bit of paper with the party’s address on it from the trash, to bemused looks from my colleagues. I placed it safely in my purse after texting the details to Lana as she’d requested.
Now, standing in my apartment, an eager Lana in front of me, I was having second thoughts.
“Are you ready for this?” Lana asked.
“Sure.” What could it hurt to hear what she had to say? I settled down on a stool at what our landlord laughingly called the kitchen bench.
“Okay. Here’s the plan.” With a theatrical flourish, she pulled a tea towel away, revealing a whiteboard covered in writing.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Work.”
I eyed what looked like an elaborate plan on the board. “Is this all really necessary?”
“Yes, it is!” She looked offended. “Look, Tilly, you need to forget this tragic teenage girl crush on this guy. People in the revenge business need to be focused on one thing and one thing only: revenge.”
I opened my mouth to protest. She was right. It was a tragic teenage girl crush. I needed to forget about it. It was official: I was in the revenge business. “Okay,” I replied weakly.
She nodded at me and brandished a wooden spoon at the board. “So, as you can see here, we have a Three Point Revenge Plan. First off,” she began, whacking the spoon loudly against the board, “and most crucially I might add, Point One: Look Devastatingly Hot. You have to turn up to this party looking so hot he gets a chubby from you simply saying hello.”
I guffawed. “Sure, no problem. I’ll just jump in my Make Me into A Sexy Super Model machine over here.”
“Ha! You’re gorgeous, and you know it. And with my expert guidance you will be amazeballs hot.”
I shrugged, unconvinced. “You can try. I don’t know if I have a party dress, though.”
She waved the spoon in the air. “It’s all in hand. I have a gazillion dresses you can borrow. You’ll look good enough to eat and you can reel Brady right on in.” She mimed a fisherman, hauling in a fish.
“Reel him in?” Brady’s face atop a fish body at the end of my fishing line sprung to mind.
“Yeah. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”
I tried to swallow the rising lump in my throat. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Yeah you can. Just look hot, lead him on, and then dump his sorry ass.”
I shook my head, biting my lip. Lead him on and then dump him? Those pesky hamsters from earlier today returned, starting a boisterous dance party in my belly.
“Now, moving on.” Lana whacked the board with the spoon again. “Point Two: Dog Turd Gift.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What?”
“Inside a beautiful, fragrantly scented gift will be a large, stinking dog turd.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ah, one question,” I interjected, raising my hand like I was back in the classroom.
“Tilly,” Lana replied, as though she had an audience of many to choose from.
“Where, exactly, will I get a dog turd?”
“Out on the street, of course.” Her tone implied I’d asked the dumbest question known to humanity. “There are oodles of dogs in New York City. All you have to do is scoop up some of their poop, and hey presto, Brady gift time.”
I curled my toes at the thought. “So, I’m just going to rock on up to this party, looking amazing, and hand Brady a dog turd disguised as a present?”
“No.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “You’re going to set it alight.”
I stared at her, my eyes huge. “I am?”
“Tilly! Haven’t you seen Orange is the New Black?”
“That prison show?”
She nodded.
“No. Why?”
“Okay, let me explain what they did. This character wanted revenge on her ex so she got a pile of dog turd, wrapped it up, doused it in gasoline, put it on the ground, then set it alight. When the guy saw the fire, he stomped on it to put it out, only to get dog poop all over himself! It was classic.” She leaned back against the bench, satisfied with Point Two in her Three Point Revenge Plan. “That’s what you’re going to do.”
I gaped at her. “You want me to do what? Lana, that would be crazy, not to mention completely unsafe. And disgusting.”
She shook her head at me. “It’s a roof garden party, stupid. You’ll be outside. It’s perfect!”
I bristled at being called ‘stupid’. “I’m not sure it’ll work.”
“I’ve used this one and it works great, trust me.” She had a satisfied look on her face.
I nodded at her whiteboard, pushing the thought of lighting a dog poop at a Christmas party from my mind. “What’s the final point?”
“Point Three is Attack of the Digestive System, for what I hope is obvious reasons.”
I arched my eyebrows. “You want me to attack his digestive system? How?”
She reached around the back of the whiteboard and pulled out a bottle. “Exhibit A.”
I read the label. “Liquid laxative. Oh, I get it. You want me to give him the runs.”
“Yes! Wouldn’t that be hilarious? He won’t know what hit him and he’ll have to leave the party. With any luck, he’ll poop in his pants on the way home.”
I let a giggle escape. “That would be kind of funny.”
“I know, right? Let me see. The recommended does for constipation is,” she searched the back of the bottle, “one teaspoon. I say we go for ten as a starting point.”
I chortled in disbelief. “Ten?”
“We want to make sure it works.”
“Fair point. What are those?” I pointed to the edge of a box poking out from behind the whiteboard. I was getting into this whole revenge idea now.
Lana picked the box up. “Aha! Exhibit B.”
I peered at the label. “Santa molds.”
“Yeah, baby. We’re going to make laxative-laced chocolate Santas.”
“I should have known.” I shook my head. “Logistical question: how do I make sure only Brady eats them?”
“Who is going to be there? Anyone else who was crappy to you in high school?”
My eyes narrowed as a shadow passed over me. “Tobey Thomas. He was the ring leader.”
She waggled the Santa molds at me. “Feel like exacting some revenge on him too?”
An image of Tobey Thomas clutching at his belly in pain as he sat on a toilet popped into my head. A smile teased the edges of my mouth. “Oh, yes.”
Lana nodded. “See? It’s a win-win.”
I looked over the battle gear. “Wow, this really is a poop-themed revenge plan.”
“Isn’t it great? And that’s all there is to it. It’s clean and simple. Well, clean for you anyway. I think Brady will find it all pretty messy.”
I scrunched my nose.
She brandished her wooden spoon once more, banging it against the whiteboard with a whack. “Okay. To recap: Point One is Look Devastatingly Hot so you can seduce him and dump him.” Whack. “Point Two is Dog Turd Gift.” Whack. “Point Three is Attack of the Digestive System. Got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“And remember, we’re going for utter and total humiliation here.”
“Utter and total humiliation,” I echoed. I pushed down a feeling I couldn’t quite identify. “You’ve got it.”
Chapter 4
Why had I agreed to this?
I’d been following a middle-aged, balding man with an impressive double chin and his pug dog on their early evening stroll for three blocks and still the damned pooch hadn’t found it necessary to provide me with anything even vaguely resembling a poop.
Not for the first time this evening, the dog owner turned around nervously to look at me. I’d had to use a variety of diversion tactics, such as pretending to find a tree suddenly very interesting, bending down to tie my shoelace, and once even ducking into an apartment building entrance. This time though there was no tree, my shoelaces were perfectly tied, and there wasn’t an apartment entrance within spitting distance.
He looked me up and down. “May I help you?” he asked, narrowing his small, pug dog eyes at me. If this guy was anything to go by, it was true what they said about people looking like their pets.
I put my hand on my chest, glancing about me. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve been following me.” His chins wobbled to and fro.
I plastered on my best I’m-innocent-honestly-sir look. “No, I haven’t.”
“You have,” Two Chins insisted, taking a step towards me as he brandished his finger. “I saw you about two blocks back. You haven’t overtaken me, no matter how often I stop for Chester to sniff.”
I glanced down at Chester, my eyes pleading with him to make a lovely, steamy turd so I could get this over with and get out of here.
“I . . . umm . . ." I tried desperately to think of a plausible excuse but came up with nothing. “You have a cute dog.” I watched with mild disgust as Chester’s drool dribbled down onto the sidewalk in a stringy line. Against my better judgment, I inched closer towards them.
Two Chins pulled Chester’s lead closer into his body. The poor dog was wrenched backwards, his eyes bulging out in surprise. “Stay where you are,” he warned loudly.
I smiled at him. “I’m nothing to worry about, honestly. I just like your . . . your cute doggie.” My attention was diverted as I noticed Chester turning around and around in a circle before squatting down and beginning to poop. I watched, marveling at the size of the thing. Good job, Chester!
“Err, thank you,” Two Chins replied as he gripped onto Chester’s lead. The dog’s business completed, Two Chins pulled a bag out of his pocket to begin the clean-up, a wary eye still trained on me.
“Oh, my gosh! What’s that over there?” I asked, pointing down the street at nothing.
“What?” Two Chins turned and looked.
Faster than The Flash himself I pulled my own bag out of my pocket. Taking a large gulp of fresh air, I bent down, placed the bag over my hand, and picked up the hot, steaming poop. Without a backwards glance, I tied the bag up, turned, and dashed down the street, leaving a perplexed and confused Two Chins gaping after me in disbelief.
Chapter 5
That evening, I stood next to Lana outside Tobey Thomas’s parents’ apartment block, as nervous as a cat at the dog pound. I was holding Chester’s offering in the form of the puppy poop present, wrapped in layer upon layer of scented paper and drenched with almost a full bottle of cheap perfume. Despite the extreme chemical cocktail, I could still catch a whiff of eau de turd when the breeze blew in a certain direction. I hoped against all hope Brady wouldn’t notice it.
I also had the liquid laxative, lighter fluid, and matches in my purse ready to be used to deploy our Three Point Revenge Plan. Lana held the laxative-laced Santa chocolates, wrapped up in a cellophane bag, tied up with a red ribbon and a sprig of mistletoe. Coming from New Zealand where Christmas is in summer, I had never actually seen mistletoe in the flesh before and, I must admit, I was a little disappointed—mistletoe wasn’t going to win any beauty prizes any time soon.
“Are you ready?” Lana asked.
I glanced at her, biting my lower lip. “But, Lana, what if he’s changed? What if he’s really nice now? Isn’t this all a bit . . . mean?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Wasn’t it mean how he humiliated you in high school? You, the poor pudgy, spotty, nerdy girl with no friends?”
“Hey, I never said I didn’t have any friends. And I wasn’t that overweight. Puberty was rough on me,” I interjected, pouting.
Lana waved my protestations away with a gloved hand. “He deserves this, Tilly. You know it. I know it. He probably k
nows it. His mother probably even knows it. His—”
“I get the picture,” I interrupted, my hand in the ‘stop’ sign. I took a deep, steadying breath, getting a lung-full of perfume-laced poop in the process. It was beyond disgusting. I coughed, my eyes watering. I wiped them dry, holding the present as far away from myself as possible. I could really do with some Inspector Gadget arms about now. “Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”
Lana nodded at me as she took my free hand in hers. “Prepare for battle. This is going to be epic.”
We walked through the doors into the lobby, where a doorman directed us to the roof garden. Lana and I exchanged glances. This place was fancy with a capital ‘F’. The Tobester’s parents must have some serious wedge—yet another reason to despise him. An elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, we walked out onto the most beautiful roof terrace I’d ever seen. Fairy lights adorned the shrubs and bushes dotted around the terrace edges, with fake snow—because it still hadn’t snowed, but don’t start me on that again—sprinkled all around. There was even a strip of lawn at the far end of the terrace. Who knew how that worked up here on the twenty-third floor?
Cheesy Christmas music blasted out of speakers. The terrace was full of people, wrapped up in their winter warmers against the chill night air, most with reindeer antlers and Santa hats adorning their heads. They were laughing and talking, looking happy and festive. I let out a sigh. It was a simply enchanting Christmas scene.
I turned to see Brady approaching us. As part of Point One (Look Devastatingly Hot), with a sigh of regret, I shrugged my warm winter coat off, shivered, and tried to look Super Model bored—as though the scene before me wasn’t my idea of Christmas perfection.
I flicked my hair the way Lana suggested, trying to look confident and sexy. Thanks to almost the entire contents of a bottle of hairspray, it barely budged.
Brady had a big grin on his impossibly handsome face and he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket, bundled up against the cold.
“Hi, Tilly! I’m so glad you could make it.”
I'm Scheming of a White Christmas Page 2
