by Summer Day
The two other Princesses had waved us goodbye from the pavement wearing today’s furry back pack slung over their shoulders. They were wearing their matching boots and jeans. Even Mark looked twice. I made a note of this in our diary under the heading: what to wear / dressing to impress.
Now, you might think we’re being uncharitable towards the Princesses since it’s obvious they are trying to make an effort but you don’t share the history. Perhaps it’s time I shared a bit of it as we head to the swim centre about twenty minutes from school.
Once, when we were in first grade at the Los Angeles School for Young Ladies, Teegan tried to make us pick her lunch up off the floor. She just dropped her grilled cheese and chilli fries all over our shoes. Splat. Then her twin sister, Tory, laughed and said, ‘pick it up and eat it. All of it.’
Then, it was our turn to laugh.
‘As if,’ Mouche said. Instead, we kicked those fries right back at her and ran in the opposite direction.
These war-like incidents happened between us all the way through grade-school.
In the beginning, we might have been friends. As we got older, we all aced fashion and theatre design but then Teegan hired a designer to do the costumes for our lame sixth grade musical and made sure Mouche and I wore the most hideous ones. Freya and Mouche had a fight over whose mommy was prettier and everyone started being catty with each other after that.
As girls, we weren’t really taught to support each other, just to compete with each other, which is so wrong if you ask me. Anyway, the Princesses were much better at ganging up than Mouche and I. Once they all conspired to get us into trouble for something we didn’t do (like writing horrible notes about our super-strict history teacher), we were defenceless against their conspiracies. For a start, it was always their word against ours. In the end, there were more of them; and sisters usually side with each other. Go figure. At least I had Mouche. And she had me.
The bus slowed and pulled over. Mouche, who doesn’t get car sick, is busy studying boyzamples. She hastily shuts down the images on her cell. We bunch up our belongings and grab our bags. This time, Mark hands me mine and our fingers touch. It’s kind of uncomfortable but, in a good way. Mouche sees my blush and starts to giggle as we head to the pool.
‘Alright everyone, you have three minutes in the changing rooms. Then I want you all out here and ready to go by 9.30am.’
Mr Frames was raising his voice. He has brown, curly hair, glasses and a nice smile. Although he teaches music, he doubles as a swim coach and is one of the best teachers at Sunrise.
Teegan was adjusting her goggles and talking to me in the bleachers as the boys lined up for the one hundred metres.
‘Take a look at Mark. He really grew up in England.’
I was stuffing my hair into the required bathing cap and trying to find my goggles as Mouche rolled her eyes and began the search for her missing ear plug.
We could hear Tory rating all the boys as they stood on the blocks: ‘nine, eight, six, eight and a half, three, ten, ten.’
The last two were Jet and Mark. The one who got three, well, he wasn’t exactly athletic. Teegan and Freya started smirking when Mark adjusted himself.
Mouche and I nearly walked into Mark and Jet as we hurried back to the bus a few hours later, but Mark just said, ‘excuse me,’ quite dismissively and walked past me without saying anything else. Jet paused and smiled at Mouche and I noticed she smiled back, but now Jet seemed hesitant to actually say anything. Boys are complicated.
That evening, after my mom and I finished our late night shopping at the market on Main Street, Mouche met me and together we tried on dresses for the dance. Mouche whispered into a changing room mirror as we swapped make-up, ‘I’ve been reading loads of classic dating guides, such as Deal With It - He Doesn’t Want to Date You and The Unspoken Laws of Romance but I think we’re embracing unknown territory, our own Dating Adventure for Teenage Girls.’
‘Because we’re such experts...’ I added sarcastically.
‘True,’ Mouche replied, ‘but I’m sure we can teach while we learn – look at Mr Frames.’
Mr Frames was our student teacher last year and we leaned into the store window to watch him and his new fiancée walking across the road hand in hand. We’d conspired to let Mr Frames know how much our other student teacher, Miss Love, liked him. Now they’re both fully registered teachers and we’ve received invites to their wedding this winter. We are obviously very good matchmakers for other people – why not each other? Why not all the girls in school? The whole town? The universe even?
‘But what is the point of all of this, when, what we really need, is some money for our college funds?’ Mouche said. ‘You’re starting to take this whole Emma fixation a little too far. Forget about school plays and dating new boys, I’m starting to worry I may not get my college scholarship.’
‘Of course you will Mouche. You’re one of the smartest girls I know. Besides, money isn’t everything...’
‘I just have this feeling,’ Mouche said.
‘What?’
‘That we’re going to be seriously sidetracked...’
‘Well, maybe that’s a good thing, because sometimes the real world lacks excitement...’
‘Really Pheebs, you are my best friend, but I’m not so sure...’
I smiled and pulled out the copy of Wuthering Heights that I was being forced to re-read and review for an English assignment. I’d just finished skimming Emma, another Austen story, but Mouche had preferred the movie version. ‘Life’s kind of like that now,’ she had said one afternoon when we watched it, ‘except faster and with more sex and swearing.’
We sat in the Sunrise cafe and viewed the world going past our window booth, each of us adding to the Boy Rating Diary as we waited for our food.
Joel Goodman worked in the diner. He was kind of hot but monosyllabic. I should know. I tutored him in English once a month and in return he helped to fulfil my credit quota. He’d been brought up speaking English as a second language and although he spoke almost without an accent, he sometimes wrote the words around the wrong way.
‘Hey,’ he said as he took our orders wearing all black and his usual wife-beater shirt, ‘the usual?’
‘Yes please,’ said Mouche, who was unfailingly polite in public. Joel smiled at her then me, in turn. I looked away, because Joel was a huge flirt.
‘You know how long we’ll need to work Saturdays just to get enough money for even a year in New York?’ Mouche asked.
‘Do not fear...I have a feeling everything will come together in the end. It always does and money worries are no reason to change our plans...’
We expanded our ideas on napkins after eating the special burger deal, watching the Sunrise world go by. Most of the people we saw through the window we knew or had met at least once. That was one of the things I liked about Sunrise, though Mouche and I mostly wanted to get out. Maybe she wanted out even more than I did.
Later that evening we continued to plot.
Mouche dropped her purchases next door at her house, then came over.
I was sitting on the porch eating ice-cream having my musical theatre star fantasy and waiting for my agent to call.
Oh, that’s something else I haven’t told you much about yet. I’ve been acting, or rather auditioning professionally, part-time, since I turned twelve. I try not to spread this about as I was teased mercilessly at HSYL. I got to do a commercial a few years ago for breakfast cereal but since then the money has kind of dried up. It’s so weird how I can be outgoing when I’m pretending to be someone else, although lately, I’m starting to fear stage-fright. I have to really psyche myself up to perform. But I’ll get over that. All the best actresses do.
My agent, Thom, says I need to wait until I’ve made the transition from ‘child to woman,’ which would be a bit creepy if Thom were even vaguely interested in females for anything apart from ‘art or fashion.’ Although Mouche liked dance and drama, she never seriousl
y considered the artistic world in her career prospects.
But when I looked up that evening, I suddenly noticed a possible usurper for my junior year glory. Mouche was framed by the moonlight and actually looked much more like a star in repose than I did.
Mouche was so pretty. I believe Mrs Jones may have referred to her as ‘breathtaking.’
Have you ever felt like someone else has stolen your life? Well, Mouche is so perfect and so perfectly nice that you’d almost give her your life if she asked, but then you’d totally regret it.
The thing was, she could steal your life or the hottest guy in school, if she was so inclined. She was much prettier, if you ask me, than even the Princesses; although I’m fairly sure she never thought it. Mouche had Alice in Wonderland hair and cool jeans and perfect boots and was wearing bright pink, frosty lipstick.
I forgot about the slight pang of envy I felt as we were trying on our Fall Fling dresses again and deciding what shoes and accessories to take. As we stood in front of the full length bedroom mirror, I knew it was wrong to be jealous or envious of your best friend forever, but it didn’t feel wrong at the time.
Chapter 7
Scandal
Mouche had us sorted. She’d read the entire contents of Dating Yourself into Oblivion and used her instincts to ‘encourage’ Jet to consider coming to the Fall Fling.
As social monitors of the year, we were totally prepared to attend, cameras in tow, by ourselves: but arm candy always made the other girls jealous. And who could resist that? Mouche left an old-fashioned note in Jet’s locker, waiting for Jet to take the bait. When she pulled into my driveway that morning looking very excited, I thought he’d maybe replied.
‘Not so much, turns out I might have been a bit previous with the note, I’ve been up half the night doing extra research. I think I should’ve made the pursuit more of a challenge for him...meanwhile...’ Mouche thrust a handful of highlighted pages in my face.
‘Guess what I’ve come up with...’
It turned out Mouche had refined and highlighted the next entry of the Boy-Rating Diary with a specific list:
THE BOYS OF SUNRISE HIGH
Mark Knightly
Transfer student from Loratio and England, seriously hot, very dark and broody
Jet Campbell
Also a transfer student, just as hot; recently obtained his pilot’s licence. There really doesn’t seem to be a downside to this man...
Joel Goodman
Dangerous, brutish, charming
Jack Adams
Film school tragic; owns and runs the film club every Friday lunch time
Tom Allen
Wants to be a stockbroker, possibly more interested in money than dating
Josh Klein
Art major, sci-fi fan
Peter Williamson
Musical theatre star (a real challenge for a date), honors student
Adam Feldman
Academic genius, slightly stooped from being bent over his microscope, doubt he has ever spoken to a female, interested in insects.
Alex Miller
Dubious moral values, rumored to run a school gambling racket
Ethan Mandel
Future concert pianist, always dragged into composing the school musical
Tobias Olson
Xbox fan, martial arts expert, quite the rebel, caught in freshman year smoking who knew what and suspended from school for a week.
Scott Riley
Boy next door (literally lives across the road)
While Mouche was parking, I executed a few ballet twirls and a high kick up the steps before I leapt and landed on my feet near the fence. This isn’t so unusual in our school, and besides, no one was looking. Oh, except Mark. My face went red as I hastily looked away.
‘How deeply embarrassing,’ Mouche said.
‘Why? I’ve gotta warm up for class,’ I covered, as if I wasn’t the least embarrassed.
‘Wow. You’re becoming more like Buffy every day,’ Mouche said.
‘What a shame that series was cancelled. I’d have auditioned for a role and we wouldn’t have had to go to school at all. You could’ve been my assistant.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure that would be a rewarding job, Phoebe. Face it, we should’ve fleeced our father’s bank accounts and emigrated to New York years ago. We could’ve attended the Professional Children’s School thus avoiding HSYL altogether.’
‘Those days are over, Mouche.’
‘Thanks for the memories.’
Our time at HSYL had been very harsh, if you haven’t gathered that already. Mrs Mouche had dated the school guidance counsellor and a scandal had erupted when their relationship resulted in the birth of a child – Mouche’s half-sister, Wednesday. As it turned out, Wednesday’s Dad was actually Mr Married Guidance Counsellor from nine streets away. Mouche was understandably keen to vacate this town, maybe even this state, permanently. (Of course, Mr Married Guidance Counsellor had never told Mrs Mouche that he was attached and since we’d never needed his guidance, we didn’t know, but it was all a mini social nightmare in our street and everyone was treating Mrs Mouche like the town bike).
Mouche and I had felt more like lepers in the Gothic halls of HSYL that month after the scandal broke. Between trawling through academic work and being taunted by the Princesses chanting, ‘sluttie mommies, sluttie mommies, you both have sluttie mommies...’ You can imagine the rest. It was all caused by Mrs Mouche’s scandal and the fact that my mother totally stood by her (that’s what friends are for). And of course, I stood by Mouche, just as she had always stood by me. People saw us as the offspring of our morally dubious, adulterous mommies. Although, as Mrs Mouche said, ‘I wasn’t knowingly committing adultery since he lied to me – he was the jerk!’
I’m sure that’s why, after playing the good girl cards, we decided to go for it and turn the Boy-Rating Diary into a real challenge. We’d learned a lot about being social pariahs at HSYL and placed our competitive natures aside to learn what it took and how important it was to have a loyal friend.
‘You only need one,’ my mother once said, ‘as long as it’s a good one.’
Or was that husbands?
‘I totally love my mom but I just can’t believe she did it with him,’ Mouche admitted,
‘You’d think she could’ve used contraception... but then we wouldn’t have Wednesday, who is seriously cute.’
‘It says here, ‘the ‘accidental’ conception is rare past thirty...men are terrified of needy, baby-hungry, gold diggers desperate to secure them for their net value and sperm...’
‘Ew...once again...disgusting. Besides, ‘men need to re-learn to be grateful...they require direction in the art of seduction...like in the old days...make them thankful that women even want to sleep with them...’
‘Gold diggers? Nothing in return? Who’s the gold digger? Who asks for nothing in return?’ Teegan’s ears pricked up when we walked by her. She gave us a piercing stare. Teegan was a virtual conduit for any form of relationship gossip. Of course, this particular gem came from Miss Suzy’s Bunny Girl Secrets but I wasn’t ready to share them with my nemesis just yet.
Singing had been re-scheduled and replaced with English class because our teacher was in the auditorium with Mr Sparks, preparing the audition roster for Rocco and Julie. Before class started, the rain was tapping on my window. It never rained in Sunrise and Mark was late. I was pending his arrival like an ingenue awaiting her first Oscar but he didn’t appear and I was more disappointed than I’d let show. Finally, ten minutes after the lesson started, he showed up, late, which raised eyebrows but since he was the only person in the class (apart from me) who’d read the prescribed text (Wuthering Heights), the teacher was willing to forgive him once she’d read his notes. She seemed exceedingly pleased to have been graced by his mere presence. We were working on a modern re-write of the dialogue from the famous scene when Cathy tells Nelly it would degrade her to marry Heathcliffe as Mark walked down the aisle
towards the vacant seat next to me.
Teegan immediately staked her claim. She planted her dainty, black tap shoe firmly at his feet to prevent him going any further.
‘Oh, hi Mark,’ she said, ‘I just love your jacket. Did you get it at French Connection UK? My cousin used to work at the store on Kings Road...’
He gave me an apologetic smile, then sat where he was bade.
I was a little annoyed that my Franco hadn’t fought for me, but since we hadn’t properly conversed there was little I could do, except wait longingly and plan.
