The Opposite of Ordinary

by Jessica Sorensen

  I lower my head into my hands and groan. “What the heck did I just do?”

  The question is pretty stupid since I know exactly what I did—completely made an ass out of myself and might’ve lost fifty percent of my friends.

  I consider diving out the window and running back home, but that’d be rude—like the old Ash—and I don’t want to be her anymore, even if she never kissed a guy who didn’t want to be kissed.

  Forcing out a breath, I push to my feet and trudge out of the room.

  When I enter the kitchen, Maxon is by the sink, picking up potato peelings, and he’s not alone. His mom, a forty-something-year-old woman with the same dark hair and cloudy eyes as Maxon is unloading groceries into the cupboards. But that’s not the only person here to witness the after kiss awkwardness that’s about to go down between Maxon and me.

  My mom has wandered over; I’m guessing for their Friday night wine fest since she has a bottle of wine in her hand.

  “I brought some Riesling this time,” she tells Maxon’s mom, setting the bottle down. “I hope that’s okay. I know you’re not a fan of white wine, but I heard this brand is supposed to be good.”

  “That’s fine.” Maxon’s mom removes a few bottles of red from a paper bag. “I have these for back up.”

  They both giggle in a way that makes me wonder if they’ve already cracked open a bottle.

  “So, is Maxon cooking us dinner?” my mom teases, plopping down on a barstool at the counter.

  Maxon glances at her as he drops a handful of potato peels into the trash. “I can if you want me to.”

  “You weren’t planning on it?” his mom asks, and he shakes his head. “Then why on earth did you have so many potatoes in the …” She trails off as she spots me. “Oh, my goodness, is that your daughter, Anita?”

  My mom twists around on the barstool and grins knowingly at me. “Ash?”

  I open and flex my hands a few times before putting on my best chill face. “Hey, Mom.” I cross the kitchen toward her. “You got off work early today.”

  “I decided to tweak the closing time since customers start to really thin out around five o’clock.” She glances back at Maxon’s mom, who’s staring at me like I’m an alien with three eyes, twelve ears, and fifty-five arms. “Miranda, this is my daughter Ashlynn.”

  “I know. I’ve seen her coming in and out of your house.” Her gaze shifts to Maxon, who seems completely fixated with the trash can. Sighing, she smiles at me and crosses the kitchen with her hand stuck out. “Ashlynn, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  I shake her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, too.”

  She smiles, though confusion masks her expression. “I didn’t know you and Maxon were friends.” She looks at Maxon, who’s now busying himself with filling up a pot with water, then returns her gaze back to me. “I guess my son forgot to mention it.”

  “It’s a recent thing,” I tell her. “Really recent.”

  My mom smiles at Miranda as she collects two wineglasses from the cabinet. “I caught them in her room together the other day.”

  Maxon’s head whips up, his eyes huge. “Not like that.”

  “Not like what, honey?” Miranda asks Maxon while trading an amused glance with my mom.

  “Not like …” He tugs his fingers through his hair roughly. “I mean, we weren’t doing anything like what you’re thinking.”

  “And what am I thinking?” Miranda asks, her amusement doubling.

  “That we were doing …” He throws a panicked glance in my direction, his eyes pleading, help me.

  An eviler side of me wants to drag this out for another minute so he can feel as embarrassed as I did when he jerked away from our kiss, but he doesn’t deserve that.

  “We were just discussing being friends,” I explain to them. “That’s all.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear my mom and his seem a tad bit dissatisfied by my statement.

  “And what did you decide?” Miranda asks Maxon, returning to the kitchen. “Are you guys officially friends?”

  Maxon’s gaze crashes with mine, and I have to catch my breath.

  “Yeah, we are,” he answers casually, as if I didn’t just press my lips to his minutes ago. As if he didn’t look at me afterward like I was a succubus trying to seduce him.

  Still, I smile when my mom and his look at me. But it’s my fake smile. The smile I wore for years.

  The smile I wish I never had to use again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wish I could say that by the time I leave Maxon’s house, the awkwardness between us has settled. If I told you that, though, my nose would sprout into a giant tree branch.

  When I leave his trailer with my mom an hour later, we can barely look each other in the eye. Still, when I get home, I go to my room and work on the letter. Friends or not, Maxon deserves to know the truth about what happened the day him and his friends got expelled from the university’s science fair.

  I write until my hand is cramped and my vision is blurry. Around ten o’clock, I’m finally signing my name at the end of the seven-page letter that details one of my darkest secrets and probably divulges way too much of my feelings. But there’s no turning back—I won’t allow it. Now all I need to do is deliver the letter, but that might be more difficult than writing the letter itself.

  Putting the letter away, I grab some pajamas and get ready for bed. As I slip off my jacket, the card I found on the floor of the girls’ locker room falls out of the pocket. I scoop it up and thrum my fingers on the sides of my legs. Heartbreaker Society, what are you?

  Curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the web app on my phone to search the number. Nothing comes up. So, I type “Heartbreaker Society in Fareland” into the search engine. Again, nothing.

  Way too curious, I decide to go straight to the answer and punch the phone number into my phone. Then I chew on my fingernail as the line rings, not expecting anyone to answer since it’s so late. But after the third ring, someone does.

  “What’s one way to rip out an evil villain’s heart and destroy it?” a deep male voice asks.

  “Um …”

  “Don’t um me,” he says. “Answer the question or I’m hanging up.”

  “Um … By reaching into their chest, removing it, and squeezing it into dust,” I offer the only answer I can come up with.

  He huffs out an annoyed exhale. “This isn’t an episode of Once Upon a Time. Call back when you have a real answer.” Then the line clicks.

  I move the phone away from my ear and blink at the “call ended” flashing on the screen. “Okay, that was …” Well, I’m not sure what that was, but now I’m even more curious to find out. Clarissa may be the only source for an answer, though, and I’m not sure she’ll be too keen on giving me one.

  Putting the card in my nightstand, I change into my pajamas and climb into bed, wondering how my life got so wonky. Then my thoughts quickly wander to the letter tucked under my pillow. A letter that will yank the wonkiness right out from under my feet until all that is left is a deep, dark abyss to fall into.

  ***

  When I wake up, I procrastinate heading over to Maxon’s until around noon-ish when I can no longer make up any more excuses.

  Hiking across the yard and up to his trailer, I knock on the door with the letter clutched in my hand. When no one answers, I knock again, and again, and again.

  After ten knocks, I return to my house to text Maxon, wanting to find out when he’s going to be home.

  Me: Hey, where were you this morning? I stopped by your house to give you something, but no one answered.

  Maxon: My mom works on Saturdays, and I got up early to work on a project with Clove. Sorry, I missed you. Do you need something? Is everything okay?

  Me: Everything’s fine. I just wanted to give you something. I’ll just give it to you later.

  Maxon: Okay. But I won’t be home until tomorrow.

  Me: Okay. Is it cool if I stop by tomor
row and give it to you?

  Maxon: Sure. :)

  His response isn’t rude, but a restless feeling funnels in my stomach, anyway. What if I ruined this friendship already because I couldn’t keep my lips and hormones to myself?

  Pouting like a five-year-old, I crank up “Miserable At Best” by Mayday Parade and lie down in bed, wallowing in a teenage angst pity party until my phone hums with an incoming message.

  I eagerly scoop it up, hoping it’s from Maxon. Nope. Karma doesn’t love me that much.

  Queeny: Mirror, mirror on the wall, tell me how I can make Ash truly pay for what she did to me. XoXo

  Instead of ignoring her message, I decide to type back.

  Me: Finally started quoting cartoon characters, huh?

  Queeny: That’s not from a cartoon.

  Me: If you say so.

  Queeny: Whatever. Think what you want, but the only thing that matters is the answer.

  I almost stop typing—I should stop typing—but my fingers move of their own accord.

  Me: Haven’t I already paid enough? Especially for something I never did.

  Queeny: You’re such a liar! And soon everyone is going to believe that.

  Me: I think everyone already does, thanks to you.

  Queeny: Nope, not everyone. There are a few morons who seem to think you’re still the princess you pretend to be.

  My pulse accelerates as I recall what I overheard in the girls’ locker room.

  Me: Leave them alone, Queeny. I mean it.

  Queeny: Leave who alone?

  Me: Don’t play dumb with me. I heard you talking in the girls’ locker room.

  Queeny: I know you did, and you heard exactly what I wanted you to hear.

  Me: You’re such a liar.

  Queeny: Yeah, but at least I don’t pretend not to be.

  Me: Well, I’m not pretending anymore.

  Queeny: So you’ve told all your secrets?

  Me: Yes.

  Well, soon.

  Queeny: Liar. I know you haven’t.

  Me: There’s no way you could possibly know that.

  Queeny: I know everything, Ash. Haven’t you figured that out yet?

  Me: And that right there is your weakness. You think you know everything, when really, you know nothing.

  Queeny: Aw, is the kitty’s claws coming out, Ash? Because FYI, a kitten doesn’t stand a chance against a lion.

  Me: I’m not bringing the claws out. I’m stating facts. You know what? I’m done with this conversation. I’ve spent way too many years playing these games with you, and I’m done.

  Queeny: You’re not done until I say you’re done.

  “Wanna bet?” I hold down the power button to shut off my phone.

  It feels so good to walk away from the fight. To end the drama.

  Maybe when Clove accesses her messages, I can make all the drama end. I just need the name of the person who started the rumor. Then I’ll track them down and make them confess the truth to Queeny.

  Easy-peasy, right?

  Ha! If that person is at all like I used to be, they’ll fight giving a confession until the end of time. But I’m going to be as persuasive as I can to get Queeny away from me, Maxon, Clove, my brother, my family—everyone I care about.

  ***

  I spend the next four hours pouting in my room until Gabby arrives, decked out in a purple and pink striped dress, matching knee-high socks, and cat ears.

  “Hello, Cheshire Cat,” I greet her, sitting up in bed. “You better not be here to trick me.”

  Grinning from ear-to-ear, she seizes my hand and drags me away from my self-inflicted misery. “That all depends on what you mean by tricks.”

  Before I can ask what she means, she ushers me into the living room where Lucky is lounging around in his sweatpants with his legs kicked up on the coffee table that is covered with empty soda cans.

  “Time to get all dolled up,” she announces, kicking his feet off the table.

  Lucky frowns, sitting up straight. “Do I really have to wear a costume?”

  Nodding, she bends over, picks up a duffel bag from off the floor, and tosses it at him. “And if you complain, then no Breaking Bad marathon tomorrow.”

  “Oh, fine.” Sulking, Lucky grabs the duffel bag and gets up. “What am I going to be, anyway?”

  “It’s a surprise.” Her grin is the perfect reenactment of the Cheshire Cat. “But here’s a hint: it has to do with Alice in Wonderland.”

  He gives her a blank look. “Obviously, since it’s an Alice in Wonderland party.”

  I rigidly straighten like I’ve been electrocuted. “Wait? Wonderland party?”

  Gabby nods, sending strands of red hair into her heavily lined eyes. “And we have to dress up as a character from the book.”

  “That’s cool.” I give a short pause. “But who’s throwing this party?”

  “My cousin Clarissa,” she says then hurriedly adds, “Don’t worry; I already told her you were coming, and she’s cool with it.”

  I pick at my fingernails. “What about the other people coming to the party?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she responds with a dismissive wave. “I’m not even sure you’ll know everyone who’s going to be there.”

  I don’t bother mentioning how that theory is completely unlikely, considering the low population of Fareland.

  “There might be a few people who don’t want me there.” Like Maxon. And Kinslee, who I’m sure will be there.

  She taps her fingers against the sides of her legs, considering. “Well, as long as you’re nice, they shouldn’t be bothered.”

  “I’ll be nice,” I assure her. “But I think some people might be uncomfortable with me being there.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” She smooths her palms down the front of her black dress then heads for the front door. “Come on; let’s go get your costume out of the car so you can get dressed, and then we can hit the road.” She fights back a smirk as she glances at Lucky. “We wouldn’t want to be late.”

  “Ah, hell. I’m the White Rabbit, aren’t I?” Heaving a sigh, Lucky trudges across the living room, looking like a real party pooper. “Fine, but I’m taking my flask with me.” Then he disappears down the hallway.

  I feel like I’m about to ride a wildly twisty roller coaster after eating too many hotdogs and caramel apples as I follow Gabby to the front door.

  “You brought me a costume?”

  She nods. “And it’s going to look wicked cool on you.”

  “What character am I?”

  “Alice.”

  “Oh.”

  She pauses, gripping the doorknob. “You thought I was going to say the Queeny of Hearts, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I admit with a nod. “It’d be pretty fitting.”

  She pulls open the door with a contemplative expression. “Nah, I think Alice is more fitting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, deep down, I think you’re a smart and curious girl who got lost from Wonderland, but is now finding her way back.”

  “That’s not really how the story goes.”

  “Isn’t it?” With a sparkle in her eyes, she steps outside where the sky is grey.

  Feeling as lost as ever, I follow after her, wondering if maybe she’s right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two hours later, I’m standing in front of a small farmhouse, wearing a short, poofy blue dress with checkered trimming, black and white striped knee-high socks, red platform shoes, black lace-up gloves, and a matching choker. My hair is curled and decorated with a bow, my makeup is minimal, and my insides are a hot mess.

  “Has the party started already?” I ask as Gabby bangs on the door.

  “We’re a little bit late!” she says loudly over the music vibrating through the concrete steps below me and the chatter flowing from the backyard. “Thanks to Mr. White Rabbit over here.”

  I take in my brother’s outfit for the twentieth time since he wal
ked out of his room.

  “Don’t you dare laugh.” He fiddles with one of the white rabbit ears on top of his head. “Gabby, please don’t make me wear this all night.”

  “Breaking Bad,” is all she says as she knocks on the door again.

  Lucky’s mouth turns into a full-on pout. “Fine. I’ll wear it all night.” Then he sticks his hand into the pocket of his vest, retrieves a flask, and takes a long swig. “There. I’m feeling a little bit better.”

  “Lucky you.” I lean against the railing behind me. “No pun intended.”

  “I don’t know why you’re being sulky.” He screws the lid back on the flask. “You look decent. Nowhere near as ridiculous as me.”

  “I’m just nervous,” I admit. “There’s probably a lot of people here who don’t like me very much. And I’m sober.”

  “Here.” He shoves the flask at me. “Take only a sip.”

  Twisting the cap off, I take a swig and nearly gag from the burn. Coughing, I return the flask to him.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Gabby shoots him a harsh look as she raps on the door again. “Did you seriously just give your sister alcohol?”

  He tucks the flask into his pocket. “She’s nervous. Besides, it’s not like she won’t drink while we’re here.”

  “I don’t think it’s that kind of party,” she tells him, hammering her fist against the door. “Clarissa’s never been much of a drinker.”

  Lucky pulls a face that looks ridiculous with whiskers surrounding his nose. “Talk about a buzzkill …” His words fade as the door swings open.

  Clarissa stands in the doorway wearing a short black dress with a long, black, high collar, and red hearts up the front. The look is topped off with black boots and a golden crown.

  “Hello, everyone,” she greets us with a smile. But the warmness goes good-bye, see ya later when her eyes find me. “Alice,” she says with a curt nod.

  Unsure if she’s in character or not, I force a smile. “Queen of Hearts, it’s so nice of you to invite me to your party, though I know you want to cut off my head.”

  A deliberate smile curls her lips. “I think I’ll go easy on threats of decapitation for tonight. But all bets are off tomorrow.”