But I was not me.
I was Catwoman.
For the first time since the accident, I liked what I looked like. A) My face was covered, and B) my newly acquired fat, disgusting in regular clothes, was compressed into submission by my cat suit. I was curvy in all the right places.
The word meow actually rolled off my lips, and instead of sounding dumb, it sounded hot. Which is what a disguise does. It gives you permission to act however you want—to not care what people say, to become someone else.
The girls’ room, too, was a whole new experience. I could actually look at my reflection without cringing. I could reapply my lipstick in front of the mirror and feel completely at ease.
“I love your costume,” a girl from my English class gushed as she added a layer of mascara to her lashes.
I couldn’t tell if she recognized me, but I thanked her.
“Why didn’t we wear costumes?” asked another girl in a pink tulle dress and black mask. “We should have worn costumes.”
“Seriously,” her friend said. Then, to me, “You look awesome.”
“Thanks.”
I double-checked my mask in the mirror, making sure that the graft was completely hidden and no stray blonde hairs had escaped.
Perfect.
As I walked out into the hall, something stopped me. A few yards away, bent over the water fountain, was one of the grim reapers. He was holding his mask in one hand, and when he stood up and tossed his bangs out of his eyes, I saw who it was.
Jarrod’s friend Rob, Taylor’s greatest crush of all time.
That’s when this idea started taking shape in my mind. Right here, right now is my chance to get back at her.
I could picture it exactly. I could see myself walking over to Rob and taking his hand, leading him into the nearest classroom, shutting the door behind us.
“What are we doing?” he would say.
But I would say nothing.
Instead, I would push him into a chair.
I would lift up his robe.
I would unzip his jeans.
I would do exactly what Taylor did to me.
Rob was a senior, and he was probably as much of a perv as Jarrod. I’d seen him in his bathing suit at the LeFevres’ pool. He had a line of thick, black hair leading from his belly button downward. His “treasure trail,” Taylor called it. He’d probably had sex a hundred times.
But so what? Tonight, I was Catwoman. If he tried to touch me, my cat suit would be like a force field between us. I, however, would be touching the real thing.
The real thing.
I suddenly remembered this Halloween party Taylor had once, where her mom dressed as a witch and we all wandered around the LeFevres’ pitch-black basement, sticking our hands in different bowls, shrieking as we touched the lizard eyeballs (which were really cherry tomatoes) and rat intestines (cold spaghetti).
I wondered what a penis would feel like. I’d never touched one, so I could only guess. Cucumber? … Hot dog? … Twinkie?
I tried to stifle a laugh, but it didn’t work. I was picturing X-rated things, but my mind was still stuck in third grade.
“What’s so funny?”
Rob was looking at me curiously.
I only sniggered harder.
“Come on. Share.”
I shook my head.
“Lexi, right? Taylor’s friend?” He took a step toward me. “I’d know you anywhere.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Why look at a girl’s face when you could look at her body? Every guy at the dance probably knew who I was. Still, the realization hit me like a wrecking ball. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thought that a little spandex would make me invisible?
Rob took another step toward me, smiling. “Hey,” he said, cocking his head toward the gym. “You going back? I’ll walk with you.”
But I didn’t answer.
Slick as the jungle cat I was, I turned and ran in the opposite direction. I darted around a corner and down the darkened corridor. The weight room, I remembered, was somewhere in senior hall. I could get back to the gym through there.
The first thing I noticed was her feet.
Two sky-high, strappy sandals propped on a weight bench, pointing in opposite directions. I couldn’t see the rest of her. The lights were on, but black robes, like the one Rob had been wearing, obscured my view. There were four of them, standing in a semicircle, all holding—not plastic knives this time—cell phones.
It took me a minute to work my way around the bodies, but when I did, there she was. Taylor, flopped on a wrestling mat, head lolling to one side. Her dress was pulled up to her chin and so was her bra. Her rainbow underpants—a pair I recognized because we’d gone shopping together and bought the same ones—were halfway down her hips.
At first, I didn’t realize what was happening. What the cell phones were for. Then, it hit me. “Are you taking pictures?”
All four skeleton heads turned.
“Easy, kitty cat,” one of them muttered.
And another said, “She’s wasted.”
I felt a mean, hard spark of triumph in my gut. Serves her right, is what I thought. Karma.
But then one of the grim reapers bent down to take a close-up picture of Taylor’s bare boob. “My new screen saver!” he announced.
The rest of them cracked up.
Taylor didn’t make a sound.
And I don’t know why, but something in me snapped. I started hissing, “Stop that! Get away from her!” With all the strength I had, I shoved my way in. “Taylor?” I knelt beside her and started yanking her clothes back into place, too rough, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to cover her up. “Tay?”
“Oh, shit,” I heard someone mutter. “Is that LeFevre’s sister?”
“Tay!” I said again.
She didn’t respond. Not even when I shook her. Not even when I screamed her name. Panic rose like bile in my throat, but when I turned around for help, the black robes were gone.
Not knowing what else to do, I heaved Taylor up from the wrestling mat and onto her feet, where she collapsed like a Slinky. I tried again, this time planting myself beside her, wedging my right shoulder under her left armpit and wrapping my arm around her waist. Somehow, I managed to drag her out the door.
We didn’t make it two feet before a teacher materialized in the hallway. At first, I thought it was a student because she looked so young, but then I saw her chaperone badge.
“I’m Ms. McCann?” she said, like she was asking a question instead of stating a fact. “The library media specialist?” She hesitated, glancing at Taylor, then back at me. “Someone said they heard screaming?”
I knew that this was the luckiest break ever, Ms. McCann being the one to find us, and I knew that she couldn’t identify me, but I was still tongue-tied. I felt the same way I did at Girl Scout camp when I was ten. My counselor, Lacey, was only six years older, and all the girls in my cabin acted like she was our annoying big sister, but to me, Lacey was an adult whose rules I needed to obey. Ms. McCann may have been wearing a ponytail and jean skirt, but she was still in charge.
“My friend’s sick,” I blurted—the first lie that popped into my head. “I think it’s that flu bug. You know … the one that’s been going around? I just got over it myself…. Anyway, she’s so tired she can’t even keep her eyes open. We’re heading outside for some fresh air.”
Ms. McCann frowned like she wasn’t sure this was such a great idea.
“It’s just a twenty-four-hour thing,” I babbled on. “The best thing for her is rest…. I already called her parents. They’re on their way to pick us up.”
Either I was an incredible liar, or Ms. McCann was a total pushover. In any case, she must have believed me.
Because she let us go.
“Ruthie? I need you to pick me up…. Because I do … Because … Because I rode my bike and I can’t put Taylor on the back…. Because she’s passed out, okay? She’s completely wasted�
��. I’ll explain later…. No … No, I am not calling Mom…. What could you possibly be doing right now that’s more important than helping your own sister? … Just get here, okay? … Fine. The courtyard by the parking lot.”
After I hung up, I walked back toward the cluster of bushes where I’d left Taylor, curled up in the fetal position on a bench.
Only now she wasn’t alone.
At first, when I saw a pair of horn-rimmed glasses glinting at me, I panicked. I thought it was the computer teacher, Mr. Canto. But then, in the glow of the security light, I saw the camera around his neck. And the same intense expression he’d worn in the darkroom.
“What are you—” I started to say before I caught a whiff of something horrible emanating from the bench. “Oh God. Did she throw up?”
Photo Boy nodded. “I won’t be wearing these shoes again.”
I grimaced.
He shrugged. “They’re just shoes.”
Before I could respond, Taylor suddenly revived herself, sitting straight up and squinting at him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Theo.”
“You’re cute,” she said. Then she slumped sideways and ralphed all over his jeans.
The smell was so overpowering, for a second I thought that I, too, was going to be sick. But I managed to breathe through my mouth, and the moment passed.
“Well,” Theo deadpanned, “I guess I won’t be wearing these jeans again, either.”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to. There was nothing funny about this situation, but still, I laughed.
Theo bent down in front of Taylor’s face. “She’s breathing…. Probably just needed to get it out of her system … How much did she drink? Do you know?”
“No … She’s only been drunk one time before. I’ve never seen her like this.”
Theo nodded, then stood up. “So, is this your superpower?”
“What?”
“Rescuing your inebriated friends.”
I shook my head. “She’s not my friend.” Then, like a moron, I kept going. “She used to be. But she’s not anymore.”
“Rescuing inebriated ex-friends?” Theo raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m impressed.”
I thought, Don’t be.
“I’m Theo,” he said, extending a hand.
“Catwoman,” I said, shaking it.
I was glad again, to be wearing the costume. Relieved that Theo didn’t recognize me from the darkroom.
“So,” I said, “what’s your superpower? Taking pictures?”
But before he could respond, my phone rang. It was Ruthie, saying she’d just left the party and was on her way.
“A band party?” I said.
“Screw you, Lex,” she snapped, and hung up.
I turned to Theo. “My sister just hung up on me. Can you believe that?”
“I don’t know. Who’s your sister?”
“Ruth Mayer. She’s a senior. You probably don’t know her.”
“Sure I do,” Theo said. “She’s the queen of chocolate chip cookies.”
I gave him a blank look.
“I’m a senior, too. She was my home-ec partner last year.”
I nodded as though this made perfect sense.
“Your sister’s cool,” he added.
I scanned his face to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.
“Yeah,” I said, covering my surprise. “She plays a mean trombone.”
When Ruthie pulled up and saw Theo standing next to me she looked confused.
“Clark Kent?” she said through the driver’s side window.
And he said, “Ruth Wakefield?”
“What are you doing here?”
Theo held up his camera.
“You’re covering the dance?”
“I was. Until I ran into Catwoman.”
Ruthie’s forehead crinkled at me. “What’s with the unitard?”
“What’s with the hair?” I retorted.
My sister—who’d never used a styling product in her life—seemed to have busted out the gel tonight. And the weird thing was, it actually looked good. Parted to one side, slicked down and clipped into place by a sparkly barrette.
I stared at her for a second before shaking my head. “Never mind,” I said. “What took you so long? I told you Taylor’s drunk. She’s been throwing up and everything. She could have alcohol poisoning for all we know! What are we going to do?”
“First of all,” Ruthie said, “chill. We are going to take Taylor home. Her parents will decide if she needs to go to the hospital. You and Theo get her in the backseat.”
The ride to Taylor’s house was worse than I could have imagined. She threw up twice, both times with me holding her head so she wouldn’t choke. Most of it landed in my lap.
Ruthie didn’t say much. I filled her in on the essentials of what had happened, and Theo interjected once to say “Never trust a grim reaper,” but Ruthie’s responses were minimal. To my sister, our job was to get Taylor home; that was all. Her frowns in the rearview mirror spoke volumes. She was disgusted with the whole thing.
By the time we pulled into the LeFevres’ driveway, Taylor was still too drunk to walk. When Ruthie and I tried to drag her out of the backseat, she opened her eyes and suddenly shrieked with excitement.
“Woofie!” A glob of something flew out of her mouth and onto Ruthie’s chin. “Hiiii!”
“Hi, Taylor,” my sister said grimly, wiping her face with one hand and clasping Taylor’s elbow with the other. “You’re home.”
“Woofiewoofiewoofie,” Taylor chortled. “Where’s Theo?”
“Theo’s in the front seat,” Ruthie said.
“Hey, Taylor,” Theo said, walking around to our side of the car.
“The-ooooo! You’re cute.”
“Thanks. Hey. It’s time to go in now.”
“That’s right,” Ruthie said. “It’s bedtime.”
Taylor tried to yank her arm out of Ruthie’s grasp. “No-nonononono.”
“Yes. It’s late. Everyone’s tired.”
Shaking her head wildly, Taylor finally noticed me standing there and started crooning like an idiot. “Hello, kitty. Kittykittykitty. Niiice kitty.”
I don’t know what possessed me to do this, but for the first time all night, I pulled off my mask.
“It’s me, Tay. Lexi.”
Taylor’s face crumpled and a string of nonsense came out of her mouth—something about me hating her, and Ruthie hating her, and boys hating her, then some rant about high heels, which by that point she’d pulled off her feet and was holding in her hands.
Then she started bawling.
Ruthie turned to me. “Go ring the doorbell.”
She said it in a way that meant don’t even think about arguing. But still, I hesitated.
“You too,” Ruthie said to Theo.
“Me?” he said.
“Yeah. Make sure Catwoman doesn’t wimp out.”
Theo shrugged. “Okay, boss.”
The two of us trudged up the brick walkway.
I knew exactly what was going to happen next because Taylor’s mom went out every Saturday night to play bunco. Taylor’s dad would come to the door, take one look at her, and hit the roof. If there was one thing I’d learned about Mr. LeFevre over the years, it was this: he hated surprises. One night when I was over for dinner, Taylor’s mom forgot to turn on the oven for the meat loaf. When she brought it out of the oven, cold, Taylor’s dad got so mad he threw the whole thing against the wall.
My finger hovered in front of the buzzer. I tried to imagine the look on Mr. LeFevre’s face. No way was Taylor going to pull this one past him. He’d already grounded her once, after Jarrod’s party. Now there was puke in her hair. The smell coming off her was flammable.
“Hey,” Theo said as my finger continued to hover, “if you can bust into a darkroom, you can ring a doorbell.”
Only then did I remember that my mask was off. Of course he recognized me. I glanced at him and saw that he was smiling. For a second,
I forgot what I was doing. Maybe it was the glasses, but I noticed that his eyes, which I had thought were just green, were actually flecked with gold. His skin, too, looked different in the porch light. Less pale, more—
“They’d rather have her drunk than dead,” Theo said.
“Do it,” Ruthie commanded, suddenly appearing behind us, Taylor slung over her shoulder like Santa’s sack.
When I didn’t move fast enough, my sister grabbed my finger and pressed it to the buzzer, holding it there.
“Shit,” I murmured.
And the door swung open.
Petty Little Problems
“DID YOU SEE the look on his face?” I asked as we backed out of the LeFevres’ driveway. “He’s going to kill her.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Ruthie said.
“What?”
“You wanted payback. Now her dad’s going to kill her. You should be dancing a jig right now.”
I shook my head. Of course I wanted payback. Taylor deserved serious punishment, but still—
“Why are you shaking your head?” Ruthie asked. “You wanted this to happen. You called me, remember?”
“Yeah, but not to bring her home. Her dad is a complete lunatic.”
“In fact,” Ruthie said, ignoring me, “I seem to remember you begging me to come.” She made her voice high and squeaky. “I need you, Ruthie! Tell me what to do, Ruthie! I left Sasha and Beatrice stranded at the party. For you.”
“That’s not…” I spluttered. “It wasn’t like…”
“What did she do?” Theo, who was sitting in the passenger seat, turned around to look at me.
“What?”
“Taylor. What did she do that was so bad?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Ruthie beat me to it.
“She seduced Lexi’s boyfriend.”
“Ouch,” Theo said.
I shot Ruthie a look in the rearview mirror.
“What?” she said innocently. “Am I wrong?”
I thought about jabbing my sister in the back of the head. I would have, if she wasn’t driving.
“Where to, Mr. Kent?” Ruthie said, like this was some kind of TV sitcom, and she was playing the butler.
“Geneseo Lane, Ms. Wakefield,” Theo said. “Number sixty-seven.”
My Life in Black and White Page 14
