Rebel Girls

by Elizabeth Keenan

  “Um, like, we quit,” Aimee said. She tried to do a hair flip with her frizzy brown curls, but her hand got stuck in the wiry mess. Aimee had gotten an ill-advised perm over the summer, most likely to look more like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. People often said Aimee looked a little bit like her, which was true enough if you squinted. “It’s, like, too hectic, you know? And Coach Braden is, well, you know.”

  I didn’t know if it was one of Leah and Aimee’s made-up rumors, or just an odd bit of gossip that happened to be true, but a story was circulating that Coach Braden was, you know, a lesbian. It didn’t seem like a good enough reason to quit the cheerleading squad, in my opinion. My guess was if Coach Braden was, you know, a lesbian, she’d be interested in women her own age.

  Back when I was trying to be friends with them for Sean’s sake, I never understood why Leah let someone like Aimee hang around with her. She wasn’t especially pretty, and she could be way too obvious when it came to trying to manipulate people. But fortunately for Aimee, Leah valued someone near her who wasn’t quite as shiny, to make her look better. I should know—it was something she’d said about me to Cassie Sanchez last year, to explain why she’d hung out with me during her temporary exile from popularity.

  Aimee wasn’t creative enough to come up with the lies by herself, or else they’d all be variations on the themes of witchcraft and devil worship. Leah’s input was what made the stories stick; she knew instinctively how people worked and what felt realistic to them. Last year, for instance, after Melissa started dating Aimee’s ex-boyfriend, Leah and Aimee started a rumor that she was the daughter of a Vietnamese prostitute and an American GI who was then sold to her current parents for fifty dollars—and half the school believed them, despite Melissa’s obvious genetic resemblance to her parents.

  Of course, that made me even more worried for Helen.

  “We wanted to have lunch with our friends,” Leah said, flashing Melissa and me a big fake smile. She looked at Kyle’s profile, seemingly willing him to turn to her. He was looking at me, but he glanced at her for a moment. Or maybe it was a second more than a glance—was I imagining that he gave her a once-over? It happened so fast, and then he was looking back at me, as intent as ever.

  “Well, then, you should go find them,” Melissa said. I was thinking it, too, but I never would have said it out loud.

  “Ha-ha-ha,” Leah laughed in a staccato, leaning across the lunch table to give Melissa a gentle punch on her arm. Melissa scowled back at her. “You are so hilarious, Melissa! Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new friend?”

  Great. She was planning to be here for the long haul. I would never get to talk with Kyle, and I couldn’t tell her off, because she was being insincere in a way that would only make me look jealous if I called her out on it.

  “I’m Kyle Buchanan.” He coughed nervously after he said it.

  “Very nice to meet you.” Leah held out a perfectly manicured hand to Kyle. “I’m Leah Sullivan.”

  Kyle shook her hand, and Leah held it for an extra beat, stroking her hand across his palm as she let go. I wanted to kill her. She had a boyfriend—who was one of my best friends!—and here she was, touching the first boy at our school I had any real interest in. And who had willingly joined me at lunch. And who had good taste in music. I wanted to reach across the table and slap her hand way from his.

  It wasn’t that I expected Leah to make a real move on Kyle. But I did expect her to flirt with any guy near me. Her goal in flirting wasn’t to actually capture the guy for herself so much as it was to provide a means of distracting him from me. She did it last year when Trip Wilson, Sean’s friend from the football team, was over at my house for algebra tutoring. I’m still not sure if Trip was interested in me—or if I even wanted him to be—but he sure had a hard time concentrating on his algebra homework when she was around.

  It was different with Trip, though. Leah had flirted with him in an obvious, over-the-top way to embarrass him. He eventually turned all kinds of red anytime she got close. At first, Sean thought it was hilarious, until Trip told him he didn’t think it was funny. Then Sean put a stop to it. Somehow I doubted he’d find it funny if he saw Leah flirting with Kyle the way she was right now.

  And, at any rate, I didn’t want Leah flirting with Kyle. He wasn’t a friend of a friend I was tutoring. He was a guy I was interested in.

  So again, I was back to thinking about getting that moldy bun away from my hamburger, while also trying to figure out what Leah, and most likely Aimee, were doing to my sister. These two goals had nothing to do with each other, but both made anxiety pulse under my skin. Despite our differences as sisters, I knew that the more important goal here was helping Helen, and I might not get another chance. But confronting Leah about Helen might make me seem petty and gossip oriented in front of Kyle.

  Still, Melissa’s strategy of overt hostility wasn’t working. I tried something less direct.

  “Hey, Leah,” I said, trying to sound completely neutral instead of completely rattled by her presence. “What was it that you and Helen were talking about at Superior Grill? You know, when you and Sean came to dinner with us?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from emphasizing Sean’s name, even when the goal was to figure out what was going on between her and Helen. For a half second, Leah pursed her lips together like I’d caught her at something, and she needed a moment to make an excuse.

  “Oh, that?” She shook her head. “I...heard some nice things about her, you know? She’s really getting to be so popular.”

  I had to hand it to her—Leah was good. Taken at face value and to an outside observer, everything she said could be a compliment, like she was flattering Helen, not tearing her down, no trace of sarcasm in her voice. But I’d been there and seen how she made Helen, usually a fount of confidence, quake in her platform boots.

  “What, exactly, have you been hearing?” My voice strained with reined-in anger. I couldn’t let Leah know that she was getting to me, but she was more frustrating than Wisteria had been. Especially since I knew Leah was doing it deliberately.

  She smiled sweetly. “Oh, you know. And if you don’t, you should ask around. I’m sure you’ll hear some great things. Anyway, I’m sure that Kyle doesn’t care about gossip, do you?” Leah turned to him. “I hear you’re really good at math and science. Almost as good as Athena. And, actually, I think Aimee and I need a tutor.” She pouted at Kyle. “Math is hard.”

  Seriously? Math is hard? Was she that awful talking Barbie? My throat burned with anger, with all the words I wanted to say but wouldn’t let exit my mouth. It would make me look terrible in front of Kyle. To an outside observer like him, I’d look like a catty bitch.

  I hated myself for thinking something so antifeminist, but the situation wasn’t exactly giving me a lot of options for practicing riot grrrl revolution.

  “You know, Athena’s a really good tutor.” Melissa leaned across the table toward Leah. “Just ask Trip Wilson. He wouldn’t have passed algebra last year without her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of that,” Leah said, ignoring Melissa and me in favor of training her laser-beam attention on Kyle. “Anyway, Kyle, I’ll be in touch. It was very nice meeting you.”

  Leah smiled at him again and trailed her fingers over his arm as she left the table, a much-more-than-welcoming, totally unnecessary gesture.

  She was diabolical. I needed to tell Sean about this, but he’d never believe me. And even if he did, he’d probably dismiss it as Leah “teasing” me, like she’d “teased” Trip. He always said I could only see bad things about her, and maybe that was true, but he didn’t see any of the bad things about her, and that just killed me.

  “Is she always that friendly?” Kyle asked. An extensive blush spread over his face. I would have thought it was adorable, if not for the fact that Leah had caused it, and that he was nearly stuttering from it.

 
“Only to guys,” Melissa said. “God! She makes revolution girl-style now so hard!”

  I laughed at Melissa’s petulant delivery of the riot grrrl slogan, but I felt a sick mix of jealousy and fear at the back of my throat. I tried to push it down with a reminder to myself about how I shouldn’t compete with other girls. Jealousy—especially over a guy—was antithetical to riot grrrl. But Melissa was right. Leah was hard not to hate, especially now that she seemed to be taking aim at Helen and at Kyle in different ways.

  “Are you okay?” Kyle leaned across the table toward me. “You’re pretty quiet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, trying to push down the feeling that Leah was going to ruin every aspect of my life, and, more than likely, Helen’s. I couldn’t explain any of that to Kyle, though, mostly because I didn’t know what exactly she was doing. Besides, she’d been nice to him. “It’s nothing.”

  He looked as if he wanted to question me further, but instead he asked, “So, where do you usually hang out?”

  “Wherever, I guess,” I said absentmindedly. Baton Rouge wasn’t particularly exciting. “Depends on who I’m with. Chimes Street if I’m with Melissa, the Daily Grind if I’m with Sean, home if I’m with my sister, Helen.”

  “What are you doing—”

  The bell rang, drowning out the rest of Kyle’s words.

  “I’ve gotta go. My Latin class is all the way across the school. I’ll be late.” I got up from the table, trying to balance my lunch tray and heave my backpack onto my shoulder at the same time. I couldn’t wait for this conversation to end.

  “Wait! I—” Kyle said.

  I was already in the hall when I realized that Kyle was maybe, sort of, possibly in the process of asking me out.

  7

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know he was asking me out.” I must’ve repeated it at least forty times, both in my head and out loud, on our way to Chimes Street, the only vaguely cool area near LSU. The street was about three blocks long, its short length illustrating how little coolness Baton Rouge had. Chimes contained Highland Coffees, plus a cool used record store and The Bayou, the one bar that I vaguely aspired to get into. It was right around the corner from the Varsity, the only decent music venue for miles, and Paradise, the best place for new records.

  Chimes was also the home of the fake abortion clinic, which Melissa always wanted to spray-paint a message on; a head shop that sold all things related to marijuana consumption; and a used textbook store. Those weren’t places I frequented, but they fit the general demographic of the denizens of Chimes Street.

  “Look, it’s not that bad,” Melissa said, squeezing her Subaru into a tight parallel-parking spot like a master. “You should be celebrating! We should be celebrating! My mom didn’t ground me for getting detention, and you escaped punishment altogether, which I would be mad about, except it’s not your fault. But on top of all that, we’re going to see Lydia’s Dream! The only local band that doesn’t suck!”

  We planned to give my fake ID some exercise tonight. Lydia’s Dream was great, and they were playing an eighteen-plus show at the Varsity. Despite the real threat of being busted if we met up with the wrong bouncer, I was more concerned that I had missed out on my chance with Kyle, and I might not get another.

  I wallowed in a haze of self-recriminating thoughts. I didn’t know that Kyle was asking me out. I didn’t know what Leah and Aimee were spreading about Helen. I didn’t know anything.

  Melissa said I’d definitely get other chances with Kyle, and whatever Leah was up to with Helen was probably something my sister could take care of herself, or else she’d have asked for help. But I’d felt like a zombie all afternoon to the point where I let Melissa pick out my outfit, and now I was wearing a skirt far too short and too tight. Riot grrrl preached body confidence, but I was most confident in slightly looser clothes.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she said, for at least the hundredth time. “I’m sure he’ll ask you again. Trust me.”

  Melissa didn’t look at me while she said that, so I had no idea if I should believe her. She sat on the edge of the driver’s seat of her car, buckling the high-heeled platform boots she’d bought in New Orleans. The buckles went the whole way up her calf, so she was taking forever. She couldn’t drive in the boots, and she couldn’t quite walk in them, but she was determined to wear them. She’d paired the boots with a blue minidress and fishnet tights, which was actually an understated look compared to the metallic boots.

  “Besides, you won’t get another chance to see Lydia’s Dream,” she said. “They’re going on tour soon. And you seriously need to break in that fake ID of yours. But first, I need coffee.”

  Melissa hobbled in her doom-boots and I walked like a normal person past the darkened shops on Chimes Street toward Highland Coffees.

  Under normal circumstances, I loved Highland Coffees. It was better than the rest of Baton Rouge’s coffeehouses, if only for the number of cute college boys studying in its corners. But not even the promise of significantly above-average eye candy could make me feel better after the lunch disaster.

  Melissa pulled open the door to the coffee shop with a sweeping gesture. A gust of espresso-scented air greeted us from the giant roasters near the front door.

  “After you,” she said. “What do you want? It’ll be my treat.”

  “I want to restart this entire day,” I said. “And not make an ass out of myself in front of Kyle.”

  “Stop being so negative,” Melissa scolded, steering me into the coffee shop. “The night is young. You need to open up to its possibilities. Look around you. And I mean, really look around you. Now, what do you want?”

  “Ye olde iced mocha, I guess.” My enthusiasm should have been at an all-time high: Lydia’s Dream, good coffee, cute boys. But I felt deflated. I’d landed Melissa in detention, messed up with Kyle, and let Leah get to me. The day had been an utter disaster.

  Melissa marched toward the counter. “Open up to the possibilities,” she repeated, and I really wished I could, if only to get her to quit with the self-help talk. “Really look around you.” As if any of the college guys here would look twice at me.

  Past the counter where Melissa was ordering our drinks, Highland Coffees opened up into a large room filled with tables and couches, sprinkled with the occasional solitary armchair perfect for reading. During the day, light flooded the seating area through enormous windows that looked like they belonged in an old-fashioned library. At night, cozy and welcoming lamps gently lit the room. Tonight, the coffee shop was crowded with couples on dates and students with statistics and chemistry textbooks working on problems in their notebooks. A cluster of writers occupied one corner, loudly and pretentiously critiquing each other’s work.

  As I looked for an empty table, I suddenly realized I knew what Melissa had meant by “really look around you,” because there was Kyle, sitting alone at a table, waving me over. He looked almost as enthusiastic and dorky as I must have, and it only took me a second to figure out why. His smile wasn’t the half smile he’d given me on his way back to his seat in class, but a full-on grin. I suddenly felt way more at ease, a considerable feat since I was wearing Melissa’s super short skirt.

  I could feel Melissa standing next to me, radiating victory.

  “You noticed.” She was grinning, too.

  “Yeah. Did you have something to do with this?” I gestured toward Kyle, slightly afraid that he was a mirage.

  “Sort of,” Melissa said. “Well, yeah, I totally did. It was kind of a gamble. When you darted off to class, Kyle asked what you were doing tonight. So I told him to meet us here.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I was so miserable all afternoon!”

  Melissa raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

  “I didn’t know if my plan would work out exactly as I wanted,” she said, the tiniest trace of smugness in her voice. “If I�
�d told you, you would have freaked out the minute anything went wrong. So I didn’t say anything. Now, go over there before he starts waving like an air traffic controller to get your attention.”

  Melissa gave me a thumbs-up before she darted toward one of the shop’s cushy chairs, as far from Kyle’s table as possible.

  I took a deep breath to calm my eager pulse. I had a do-over, a chance to redeem myself as someone who could hold a conversation. I would remember the things that had flown out of my head earlier: music, books, where had he been all my life? Maybe not the last one, which was super over-the-top, but I would for sure ask him what he’d been up to before moving to Baton Rouge.

  I sat down in the chair across from Kyle. He immediately closed his paperback—J. D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey, one of my favorite books. I was impressed. Most of the boys I knew didn’t read—well, not anything approaching literature anyway. I almost wondered if Melissa had tipped him off to my reading taste. After all, she had planned all this without telling me, so why not work his side of the equation, too?

  “I guess Melissa broke it to you that you weren’t going to the show,” he said, smiling.

  “No,” I said. “But that’s okay. I kind of want to kill her for lying to me, though.”

  I wasn’t really mad at Melissa—she was an amazing best friend for setting this up. But somehow, pretending to be annoyed with her made talking with Kyle a little easier, since the part of my brain that kept questioning everything I said and what to do next had something to focus on.

  “It could be worse,” he said. “I thought I’d check out the show before coming here, but the bouncer took my fake ID. Now I’ll never get into shows for the rest of my high school career, all for a show I was only going to spend a half hour at.”

  “It’s not like anyone worth seeing ever comes here, so you won’t be missing much.” I meant for it to sound reassuring, as if the show we were missing right now wasn’t that amazing, but then I realized it might come across as too negative, and I was back to worrying a little.