11:39 AM
Sit with E & E. They’re not the people you think they are.
Oops, forgot your phone broke.
Ha. Did it again.
Dairy Queen
1:10 PM
Buy one blizzard, get one free! Today only! Text STOP to unsubscribe.
Poppy
1:14 PM
Want me to stop for ice cream after practice?
Ugh. Your dumb phone.
“Poppy’s in the bathroom.” Olivia’s fingers are flying over her phone when I get to the second story drinking fountain.
“Oh.” I can’t think of anything else to add. Olivia and I are only friends through Poppy, and when my sister isn’t around, we don’t have much to say to each other. Not that Olivia is talkative around Poppy either. Her phone habits make Poppy look like an amateur.
I lean against the balcony rail overlooking the main hall on the first floor. Hundreds of students jostle around each other as they break off into groups. From up here, it seems like a lot of work for a few short minutes gossiping with friends. When the thirty second warning bell rings, it will be chaos once again as everyone scrambles to get to class on time. Without fully realizing it, I scan the crowd for messy brown hair. Instead, my eyes land on a group of swim team girls in a tight circle.
“I hear you got busted by Torres.” I turn my back to the main hall. “That sucks.”
Olivia shakes her head and sighs. “Don’t get me started.” Her loose blonde curls swing around her shoulders.
I bite back a smile, wondering what it would take for her to put down her phone and “get started.” Several seconds pass, and when I’m confident I can leave without seeming like I ditched her, I say, “If you see Poppy, tell her I went to class.”
“Don’t leave me alone!” She widens her eyes in disbelief and looks up at me for the first time. “We still have two minutes.”
I sigh and lean against the balcony rail again. We don’t say anything else until the warning bell rings and Olivia slides her phone in her bag. “I heard you ate lunch with the new boy today.”
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” I start down the hall toward my next class.
“Poppy said he’s cute.” She raises her voice to be heard over the crowd.
“I have to go! We’ll talk later!”
“I’ll text you!” she calls before she disappears behind a crowd. I sprint down a long hall to get to class on time. The bell rings as I walk in the room, where Poppy is already in her seat. She looks up at me and says something, but I don’t register the words because sitting next to her, in my usual seat, is Rafael.
I should have expected he’d be placed in College Prep. It’s the biggest joke class in the school and one of the only electives with open seats. I originally registered for Computer Programming, but not enough students signed up for the class. Shuffled into the only open elective that fit my schedule, I get to spend the semester learning how to write a resume and answer interview questions. I was hoping it would be an easy A, but Ms. Grant is stricter than any elective teacher has the right to be.
Rafael smiles at me and pats the empty desk in front of him. “We meet again, Just Claire!”
I want to say something, but Ms. Grant is clearing her throat and waiting for me to sit down. When I do, I swear I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck. It takes all of my self-control not to turn around and look at him.
Fifty-five of the world’s longest minutes later, class ends. I briefly consider hanging back to talk to Rafael, but I don’t want to be obvious. Instead, I wave goodbye to Poppy and am the first one out the door. A few steps later, a voice calls my name. “Hey! Just Claire!” Rafael jogs toward me, dodging people left and right.
“So. Hi. How are you, Just Claire?” He falls into step next to me as we descend the stairs in the main hall.
“That’s not actually my name, you know?” The words sounded flirty in my head, but they come out annoyed.
“Do tell.”
Crap. If I tell him my last name, he’ll realize Poppy and I are sisters, and he might make the connection between Just Claire from the cafeteria and Claire Dixon of social media fame.
“Never mind. Just Claire is fine.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my car.”
“Can I walk with you?”
“It appears you already are.”
He pushes the exit door open and waits for me to walk though. “True. But I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
I glance sideways at him. Now that he’s not sitting across from me, or behind me, I can look at him for more than a few seconds at a time. His gait is longer than mine, but he’s slowed down to keep pace with me. His messy hair looks like it’s been through a wind tunnel since lunch, and somehow more perfect for it.
But the thing that stands out the most about him is how relaxed he looks. His arms swing easily by his sides, his eyes straight ahead, not darting around to see who might be lurking behind the nearby trio of minivans. He’s been at this school all of one day, and he already looks more comfortable than I feel after three years.
“Where are the lockers?” he asks suddenly.
“We don’t have lockers.”
He adopts a scandalized expression. “But they’re a staple of all the teen dramas on Netflix.”
“Let me guess, you were hoping to decorate it with pictures of your girlfriend?” I didn’t plan on saying that, but I don’t take it back, either.
He raises an eyebrow but otherwise ignores my implied question. “Actually, I wanted to put up a mirror, to check my hair.”
A bead of sweat trickles into my eye as I laugh. “Is it as hot in India as it is here?”
“Nope. It didn’t get much above thirty degrees.”
“Celsius?” We fall into rhythm next to each other as we weave through the parking lot. A few cars are already lining up to leave, but most people aren’t in a hurry. They’re leaning against car doors and chatting with their friends, relieved to be done with another day. For the first time all year, I feel like one of them, just a girl hanging out with her friend instead of sprinting toward my car with my head down.
“Yeah, sorry. That’s in the upper eighties, Fahrenheit.”
All I really know about India is that it is hot, but apparently, it’s not as hot there as it is here. I smile, strangely proud of my state. “Arizona wins.”
“It’s a contest?”
“Oh yeah.”
Rafael uses his hand to shade his eyes against the sun. “Do you like the heat?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Doesn’t that mean you lose?” He steps to the side to avoid being hit by a girl who is dribbling a soccer ball through the parking lot.
“I guess it does.” I laugh and come to a stop in front of my car.
Rafael stops short, lips parted in obvious surprise.
“Something wrong?”
“Not a lot of kids drive a Mercedes where I’m from, that’s all.”
I shrug, unsure of what to say. Mine and Poppy’s luxury vehicles are rare in our high school’s parking lot, but everyone knows how we can afford them. It’s another thing I’ve never needed to explain before now.
Fortunately, Rafael doesn’t ask for an explanation. He simply nods goodbye and doubles back to his car.
“ Did you look at the website?” Mom asks when I walk in the door ten minutes later. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the ottoman. Next to her is a diet soda and a bowl of popcorn. On her lap is her computer, where she’s editing a batch of outfit photos. Behold, my mother in her natural habitat.
I sit next to her on the couch and grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “Not yet.”
She transfers her computer to me and I navigate to the front-end of her blog. It takes about two minutes to find and fix the bug that is causing her photos to have trouble loading.
“Done.”
“Thanks. And to think, if you’d answered my texts, that could’ve been solved hours ago.”
“I didn’t get them. My phone broke.” I pull my purse onto my lap and fish out my phone.
She tries to turn it on. When that doesn’t work, she turns it over and takes the battery out.
“Don’t bother. It’s toast.”
She frowns at the useless hunk of metal. “At least you’re off the hook for ignoring my texts.”
“Forever?”
“Nice try.” She opens the internet browser on her computer. “I’ll order you a new one. Same one as before?” She pulls up a picture of my current phone, which is the newest model on the market.
“Please and thank you!”
She nods her head and puts it in her virtual cart. “Oh, shoot! This one is on backorder. It won’t be here until next week.”
I’m about to tell her to get something else when I hear Rafael’s voice in my head. A phone? Probably. Eventually. I’m not too worried about it. And then I think about all the kids in the cafeteria bent over their screens, and how I may have never gotten to look into Rafael’s eyes if my phone had been working.
“I can wait.”
She raises one eyebrow at me. “What are you going to do until then?”
“I’m not too worried about it.” I toss some popcorn into my mouth and try to mimic her expression, but I know from experience that my right eyebrow stubbornly refuses to move while my left eye twitches uncontrollably. Poppy can do it just like Mom, but I’ve yet to master the skill.
“Well, I’m worried about it. What if I need to contact you while you’re at school, like I did today?”
“Text Poppy.”
“What about while she’s swimming?”
“I’m at home then.”
Mom purses her lips and looks as if she’s about to disagree with me. Then she changes her mind and clicks the checkout button. “Done. It will be here next week.”
“Thanks.” I pick up my laptop from the end table, put a pillow on my outstretched legs, and balance the computer on top. I pull up my latest coding project, a 15-puzzle created from a picture of Poppy mid-sneeze.
Mom peers over my shoulder with a frown. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else?”
“Homework?” I ask hopefully, knowing full well she has something else in mind. Thanks to the agenda, I always know what I “should” be doing.
“What homework?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Online quiz for my Spanish class.”
“After that, you need to spend some time engaging with your community, responding to comments. When you quit the swim team, you promised you’d spend more time working.”
I did say that.
Why did I say that?
“It’s the reason I let you quit.”
Oh yeah.
“You never hang out with your friends anymore—”
“They weren’t really my friends.” A fact she would know if she ever listened.
“. . . and your work is slacking.” She tilts her head to the side, awaiting an explanation for the reason I’m spending less time online. You know, just your average teenage rebellion and debauchery.
I thread my fingers together and avoid her eyes. “The vicious comments are still happening. And the emails.”
Mom takes my hands in hers and squeezes. “Don’t give away a single second of your happiness for people who don’t care about you.”
No, just give it all to you.
“If you’re going to make it in this business, you need to build a thicker skin.”
Maybe I don’t want to make it.
“A thick skin can’t protect me from everything,” I mumble.
“I know. That’s what Poppy and I are for.” She releases my hands and returns to her computer, signaling the end of our conversation. I gather my laptop and my bag and reluctantly pull myself off the couch. If I try really hard, I can make my Spanish quiz last twenty minutes. Twenty-five, if I pretend to be super dumb. The more time I spend on homework, the less time I have to spend reading vlog comments.
“Dinner at 5:30,” Mom says as I leave the room.
I stick my head around the corner so I can see her. “Dinner-dinner, or work-dinner?” I narrow my eyes. You never know with her.
“We’ll go downtown and celebrate one million subscribers! You deserve a night off.”
My shoulders relax and tension flows from my body. A night off. It has a nice ring to it. And just like that, my bad mood evaporates, and I take the rest of the steps two at a time.
A loud crash comes from inside my closet, and I look up from my laptop. “Need help in there?”
“Um, yeah. That’s why I asked for help,” Poppy growls, stepping over a mountain of shoes into my bedroom. Her arms are piled high with various articles of my clothing.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“Shocker. What are you looking at?”
“BITES.”
“Anything good?” Poppy asks.
“Nora is tossing around the word ‘uprising’ again.”
“What else is new?” She rolls her eyes as she drops the clothes on the corner of my bed and sits next to me, leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen.
Because They Said So, or BITES, is my baby. My pride and joy. The heart that beats outside my body. Okay, really, it’s just a website I created, but unlike the vlog, this is all mine. The whole thing started a couple of years ago when Poppy and I attended a “Voices of the Next Generation” party thrown by some teen magazine. Basically, if you were the offspring of someone with an impressive online following, you were invited. It was amazing. For the first time in my life, I was in a room full of people who grew up like I did. Despite the fact that our lives look different from the outside, we instantly connected over our shared experiences (i.e., inexplicable fame and utter lack of privacy).
After the party, some of us kept in touch through group text messages and emails. This lasted for a few months until I got tired of being woken up in the middle of the night by texts from the European kids, so I created a place for us to go online. It’s not fancy, just a private message board with a direct chat feature, but it’s mine. And it’s theirs. It’s a place we can go to vent about our parents. It’s also the only online platform where I’m not constantly compared to my sister.
“Nora needs to get over herself. No one wants to hear complaints from Iceland.” Poppy stands up to sort through the clothes on the bed.
Nora, or NORABOREALIS, as she’s known on BITES, is the daughter of travel bloggers. She spends her entire life vacationing across the globe, and she never stops complaining about it. All she wants is to settle down in some boring suburban town and go to high school like Poppy and I. Which just goes to show you some people are insane. HOMESTEADHELL, on the other hand, has a legitimate right to complain. Gideon has fifteen brothers and sisters and lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere. His parents homeschool him and his siblings and make a fat paycheck writing about it. Whenever we start playing the one-up game, he always brings up the fact that he shares a bedroom with five of his brothers. From where I stand, he wins every time.
“Help me!” Poppy insists, pulling my thoughts from BITES and back onto her.
“What about your new yellow dress?”
“I wore that last weekend,” she whines.
“So?”
“People will notice.”
“We’re just going to dinner. Not a photo shoot.” I say the words, but I don’t believe them.
“What about this?” She reenters the closet, pulls a flowy floral tank top off a hanger and tosses it onto the bed.
“I don’t care.” I have been ready to go for forty-five minutes because, as Mom so thoughtfully pointed out this afternoon, I have no life beyond my computer screen.
Poppy comes out of the closet and pulls the shirt on. She turns left and then right in front of the mirror. “This looks fin
e, right?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes glare at me from the mirror. “You’re extra chatty tonight.”
For the first time, I sit up and look at her in my top. “It looks good. Besides, people love it when you wear florals. Poppy wearing poppies! They eat that crap up.”
Now Poppy is smiling at her reflection. “You’re right. It’s perfect. Let’s go.”
Mom parks the SUV in a dirt lot that functions as overflow parking, and I jump out, ready to celebrate. She loves downtown because there’s no shortage of good photo backdrops, and I love it because it bleeds charm. Whenever I see the historic water tower with our town name painted on it or the old railroad tracks that cut through the main road, I can’t help but smile. Mom grabs three garment bags from the back of the SUV and unzips them, handing us each an army green trench coat.
So much for a night off.
Poppy looks at me with one raised eyebrow. Even she has her limit, and I have a feeling we’ve reached it.
“Mom, no. Seriously. Just no,” she says.
“What are you talking about?” Mom looks at us with a frown. “You agreed to wear them last month.”
“This is supposed to be a celebration, and a night off! Besides, it’s 110 degrees outside,” Poppy insists. “No way.” Her eyes widen, pleading with me for help. Part of me wants to stay quiet and let her be the problem child for once, but I can’t leave her hanging. Wearing a coat in the scorching heat isn’t going to garner much sympathy on BITES, but it’s still absurd. And not happening.
“Heat stroke. It’s a real thing,” I say.
“The sponsor wants us to do a post featuring these coats this week. It’s non-negotiable.”
“Why are we being sponsored by these people? It’s never cold enough to wear these,” Poppy points out.
“Not everyone lives in Arizona. Coats on.”
We don’t move.
“I’ll snap a few pictures now and you can take them off during dinner. Final offer.”
This is obviously the best deal we’re going to get, so we pull on the coats despite the heat. I catch my reflection in the car window as we pass. The coat is cute, but I don’t have to admit that to Mom when sweat is already pooling under my arms.
Just for Clicks Page 3
