I give him a dripping-with-teen-surliness “I’ll be fine” before I close the bathroom door.
After quickly washing my face, I try again, using the handy-dandy color map that came free on the back of Mom’s eye shadow package. The results are better, but not by much. I still resemble a feral raccoon.
After a third failed attempt, I give up and go with several coats of mascara. Then I emphasize my lips with Mom’s bright pink pencil. I’m surprised at how cool it looks with my slicked-back bun.
I pull a fitted black T-shirt from Mom’s pile of castoffs and cut the collar from it, creating a casual yet cleavage-emphasizing top. I pair this with a pair of her stylish, mid-sized heels and my great-fitting jeans.
When Mom calls up that Colton has arrived, I cringe over how clompy I must sound in her heels overhead. “I’ll be right there,” I shout, trying to cover the clamor of my wobbly footsteps down the hallway.
The shower is running when I pass the bathroom, but Dad’s not singing the way he usually does. Which would make me feel bad if it weren’t for the fact that he’s an awful singer.
I can hear Mom talking to Colton downstairs, but I take a moment to consider my efforts in the full-length mirror by my door. I must admit I’m kind of looking like a knockout. Molly’s hairstyle and Kaia’s outfit may have been my inspirations, but I’ve made the look all my own.
My reward is Colton’s undivided attention as soon as he sees me walking down the stairs. It’s too bad my ability to climb downstairs in heels has not been helped one iota by my repeating this same day twice now.
Recovering from a quick, life-threatening right ankle roll, I hold on tight to the bannister the rest of the way down to the living room. I realize my biggest mistake thus far has been ignoring opportunities to make myself better with my extra time. I mean, I could be a pro at both applying a smoky eye and walking in heels by now, and wonder if I should spend today in my room practicing both skills.
Colton asks, “You look ready, doll. Shall we go?”
I smile at him. My goal today is not about self-improvement. It’s about somehow getting Colton’s lips on my pink ones before sundown. Judging by how attentive he is as he ushers me into his trusty Honda Element, I think I’ve got a decent shot at taking Kaia’s place this time around.
The best benefit of walking poorly in heels is the fact that Colton takes my arm for this whole round of the school tour. I can’t be sure if it’s because of my slamming outfit, or the fact that when I attempted to exit his car I ended up sprawled facedown on the blacktop, but he sweetly took my hand and placed it on his forearm to steady me as we headed through the front doors together.
Today, when people greet him, it is with added interest toward me, and I realize everyone now assumes we are together. As in: a couple. As in: all my dreams are coming true.
Maybe the third time really is the charm. I even remember to avoid running into Goth Guy this morning.
When we approach the gym, where the gaggle of cheerleaders awaits, I lean closer and whisper into Colton’s ear, “Thanks again for the ride.” He smiles at me, not even noticing the girls watching us as we walk past.
Now that we’ve been through all of this a few times, I’m able to steer Colton away from some of his more attention-hogging teammates. More importantly, I manage to completely avoid Kaia. In fact, throughout the day, I quickly derail every attempt she makes to come into contact with the boy who seems more and more mine by the moment.
At lunchtime, I wait in the hallway so I can intercept Colton on his way to the cafeteria and ask if we can please eat outside alone. “I have a few questions about the building’s layout.” I let my voice go so high I sound almost baby-like. “What shape is this building even called?”
He laughs. “I know it can be a little confusing. Come on, I’ll get us some pizza and we can sit in the hexagonal center courtyard with a map.” I spot Kaia pouting at the table in the corner, waiting for Colton to come and fall in love with her. I give her a smug wave of victory. Since we were never introduced today, she slowly returns my wave with a look of confusion.
Her confusion turns to frustration when she watches me steer Colton directly out the side doors to the courtyard. The benches are mostly empty since it’s still overcast today, but I use the opportunity to snuggle tightly into Colton’s side as he shows me how to access a pdf of the school’s map on my phone. He dips his head close to mine, and I smile at how well I am girling right now.
I flirt my way through our lunch together, which unfortunately involves ingesting yet another slice of pizza. As I swallow the last bite, Colton makes a comment about how much he likes it when a girl really shows her appetite.
I happen to be a master at eating, and realize this is a chance for me to really shine. Despite my knowledge that the pizza will turn on me later, I boldly announce, “I’m going back for dessert.”
Colton gives me a dreamy look, and I’m sure to give him a sultry over-the-shoulder glance as I wobble back toward the cafeteria. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice the way I need to lunge for the door and cling to its handle to avoid falling again in these heels.
I step inside and am happy to see the line has gone down. I won’t be away from Colton for too long. When I approach the dessert counter, I realize Tom is standing directly in my way.
He takes in my outfit and turns his attention back to the rows of plates holding slices of cake. It seems he thought I looked better in my pink dress from Today 1.0. “Careful,” he says, and catches my arm as I nearly stumble in my heels.
“Thanks,” I say. “Any recommendations?”
“Yes.” He laughs. “Stick with footwear you can actually walk in.”
I slap his arm, trying not to smile. “I meant dessert recommendations.”
He’s holding up a slice of carrot cake and nods to the row of plates. “I’d steer clear of the pudding, especially if you ate the pizza. I think the two are chemically formulated to create a hazardous reaction.” He holds his stomach dramatically.
“Thanks. I’m pretty sure the pizza does that all on its own.” As if in response, my stomach does a quick flip.
Tom says, “Guess you got your wish.” I give him a strange look, and he shrugs. “You and Colton? Together? It’s obvious you were hanging around the movie theater all summer just to get close to him.”
I look down at my impractical shoes. “I like movies too, you know.”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “You like them more than he does. Why do you think I never really minded you being around?” He hands me what appears to be some sort of lemon square with powdered sugar on top, straining to escape its plastic wrap. “These are always a safe bet. My treat.”
I look up at him with surprise. “I remembered my money today,” I say.
“Okaaay, good for you.” His lip gives a twitch. Of course; he knows nothing about my actual first day, when he bought me lunch.
I point toward the courtyard. “Really, I’ve got this. Colton’s waiting for me.”
“Don’t want to keep you two apart.”
“Thanks for the valuable pudding and pizza toxicity warning,” I say. “The stomach you saved could be my own.”
Tom nods and moves so I can grab a second lemon square and head to the register in front of him. On impulse, I grab two bags of cheesy puffs and stuff one under each elbow. If Colton likes a girl with an appetite, I will show him a girl with an appetite.
“Good luck,” Tom says as I carry a dessert plate in each hand and teeter toward the doors with the crinkle sound of chip bags ringing out from my armpits.
I reach the doors, push my way outside, and—too late—am horrified to discover Kaia has joined Colton where he was waiting for me on the bench. On our bench.
I’m speechless at the way she is snuggled up beside him, in the very same position they’ve ended up in for the past two days. Being outdoors has actually increased the coziness quotient of their cuddle. He has such a gooey look on his face, I realize Kaia is much bet
ter at girling than I can ever hope to be.
The door closes behind me, calling attention to the fact that I’m standing here, teetering on too-high heels with junk food in my hands and tucked under my arms.
Just as Colton and Kaia look up, I spontaneously stumble, landing facedown and popping the snack bags of cheesy puffs under both arms. The lemon squares go flying in opposite directions, and one of the dessert plates shatters when it hits the ground.
When the cloud of cheese dust finally clears, Colton looks like he’d love to get up and help me, but Kaia has her long denim legs flung possessively across his lap.
I sit up fast and call out, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Awkwardly, Colton says, “Kaia, this here is Andie, who I was just telling you about.”
My soaring thought that he was telling her about me gets grounded by her lipsticked smirk. “Nice to meet you, Andie. The bathroom is out the cafeteria doors and to the right if you’d like to get yourself cleaned up.”
I lift myself off the ground and look down to see my chest is covered in orange powder from the dual bags of cheesy puffs. So much for trying to show a little cleavage.
I stand up and let out a squeak before escaping the stares of Colton and my snuggle stealer. Flinging open the glass doors to the cafeteria, I rush inside, running smack into Goth Guy, who was busy returning his tray. It falls to the ground with such a loud ringing clatter that everyone in the cafeteria stops to look at me, now covered in both cheese dust and Goth Guy’s leftover brown goo. Perfect.
All hope has officially left the building for the rest of the day.
chapter 8
After yet another ride on the awful, smelly school bus and another night of cereal for dinner because of wicked stomach cramps from pizza that I can’t seem to stop eating, I spend the rest of the night in my room. There, I practice walking in heels while watching video tutorials on how to properly apply a smoky eye.
Apparently, until I get true love’s first kiss, I’ll be stuck repeating this same day. I might as well work on getting better at a few things.
Dad bangs on the ceiling at my tromping back and forth, but I merely stomp even harder. He likes writing psychology books so much, let him live one. I’m effectively channeling “teen train wreck” right now, and if he sorts me out, he’ll probably have a bestseller on his hands.
The next morning, after waking up on the couch and getting myself all ready, I’m, well . . . I’m still pretty spazzy at walking in heels, but my eye makeup application is starting to improve. And since things with Colton continue to go about the same as usual, with Kaia intercepting him at different points each day, I get a few more evenings of stomping about my bedroom in heels.
Eventually, I kind of get the hang of it.
One morning, I take my position at the top of the stairs and my brain tells me, This is it. I’ve perfected my morning routine, and my smoky eyes are picture-perfect and smoldering. I stride confidently down the steps in my mother’s patent leather four-inch heels and stop to strike a solid pose at the bottom.
Mom stands in the center of the living room staring at me in shock, and Colton lets out a long whistle.
“Let’s do this,” I say, confidently, as I stride over and take Colton’s arm. By now I feel so comfortable with him, knowing exactly what he’ll say and when he’ll say it, that I take charge.
Which sort of backfires.
“Are you okay, Andie? You seem . . . different.” He says it in a way that makes it clear different may not be such a good thing.
I’m so sick and tired of inching closer and closer to getting a kiss from him. A few times I’ve even considered just grabbing him and pressing my lips against his simply to break this blasted curse once and for all. But kissing Colton in my living room in front of my mom is not the version of reality I’d like to break the cycle with and stay stuck on.
“I feel different,” I say. “Excited to get to Punxsutawney High and check out what my new school has to offer.”
“That’s the spirit, honey,” Mom calls, and snaps a photo as I lead Colton out the front door.
I can tell by the way he half-heartedly opens the passenger car door for me that I’ve overplayed my self-confidence. He doesn’t seem to be interested in what must have come across as “arrogant Andie.” I just can’t seem to pull off Kaia’s poise and confidence without turning Colton cold.
By the time we get to school, it’s obvious another day has been blown. Colton is polite, but so distant I don’t even bother trying to direct our path as I numbly cruise-control my ride through this tour. I’m nearly Colton’s height as I stomp silently beside him, passing rows and rows of identical lockers and thinking to myself that I’ll try again tomorrow. The word reverberates in my mind with every step. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. And I’m hit by the truth.
Tomorrow isn’t coming.
I feel a wave of depression over the idea of puppeting through this day yet again. “I’m not sure how much more of this soul-crushing sameness I can take,” I say out loud just as we pass Anna sliding a heavy book into her locker.
“You can say that again.” She slams her locker closed with a thunk and walks away.
Colton and I find ourselves in the gymnasium, interacting with the cheerleaders. I notice Colton is utterly fascinated by their uniforms, and wonder for the first time if the key to getting a kiss from him and freeing myself could be as simple as becoming a cheerleader.
And by “simple,” of course I mean “impossible.”
But maybe, instead of trying to out-Kaia Kaia, I should be reinventing myself, incorporating all Colton’s favorite features into one Amazing and Utterly Irresistible Andie. After all, nothing has been working so far, and I’m willing to try anything. Even becoming a cheerleader.
So what if I can’t clap in time to save my life? I have the greatest power of all in my possession. I own time. I’ve got time handcuffed in my closet and I can do anything I want.
I tune in just as one of the girls is asking if I plan on making practice for cheerleader tryouts later. It feels like fate when I answer her with a wide smile. “What time and where?”
Cycling through the endless number of days it takes for me to learn how to become a cheerleader is a unique and exquisite torture. I know just how Sisyphus must have felt with his heavy boulder as I show up for practice after school again and again and again.
I’m so naturally off beat that it takes a full week’s worth of humiliating afternoons just to get me clapping somewhat in time. The girls laugh at me behind my back as well as to my face, but they continue trying to teach me. They seem to have infinite patience, calling out, “Ready? OKAY!” over and over until I am saying it to myself anytime I’m about to do anything.
Time to climb into the shower: “Ready? OKAY!”
Time to get on the sad yellow activities bus and go home: “Ready? OKAY!”
Time to get up from the giant pink leather couch and try again: “Ready? OKAY!”
Progress is agonizingly slow, but as I begin to pick up the routine, I start to get what can only be described as respect from the other girls. Treating me like more of a peer, the cheerleaders show a different side of themselves. A side that could be called . . . nice.
I am forced to consider the possibility that these girls were never really my enemies.
“That sweater looks great on you,” I hear repeated often enough that I know it’s a genuine compliment. And Mom’s vintage Mary Janes never fail to garner a stream of praise from the blondes. “You really should try wearing your hair in a high pony,” one of them tells me. “The bounce of it will emphasize the sharpness of your moves.”
As days cycle through, I get fleeting glimpses of the girls’ bond with each other. There’s a cool Sharpie cartoon on the back of the bleachers that must’ve appeared over the summer. It’s a stylized drawing of two little kids talking about how exhausted they are from stress. The blondest-blonde, whose name is Tammy, calls the gang over at the
beginning of practice each day to show it to everyone.
“I found this this morning and had to share it with you guys. It sums up how I feel sometimes,” she says. “The pressure is so intense, it’s like we don’t have permission to just be young and have fun and play!”
At that, the least-blonde blonde always calls out, “Same! I want to play!” and the whole gaggle of cheerleaders bursts into rowdy high kicks as they disperse to finish warming up.
One afternoon, after admiring the cartoon, Tammy asks me, “What are you doing tonight?” I’ve apparently won her approval by nailing a particularly difficult cheer the first time. I mean, the first time this day. I’ve probably been working on it for over a month by now.
“I really need to spend some time practicing tonight.” This is the truth. The only reason I’m getting good at this is because I spend hours each night working on my own.
“You sound like Jacynda. She practices obsessively, even though she doesn’t need to.” Tammy points to a short African American girl with dark curls, who is busy doing a gravity-defying backflip.
“Trust me,” I say. “I need the practice.”
Tammy flings an arm over her head and bends into a deep side-stretch. “Jacynda thinks she needs to worry about tryouts too. Isn’t that right, Jayce?” Jacynda must be listening in, because she gives Tammy a big thumbs-up with the hand that’s not holding one of her own legs straight in the air.
“Okay, if she needs to worry, I may as well just give up.” I try miming Tammy’s stretching moves, but despite endless hours of practice, my inner awkward klutz still shows up often.
Tammy laughs. “You may not be at Jayce’s level, but based on how quickly you picked up that last cheer, I’d say you’re a shoo-in to make the squad.”
“Thanks.” I give a tense smile. The only way I’ll ever advance to tryout day is to convince Colton I’m full of surprises and cheerleading talent, and hopefully get that first kiss. I’ve come up with a really good plan that I hope I’ll be ready to execute soon.
Tammy tells me, “Well, if you decide to stop obsessing over your performance, we’re heading over to Maya’s house after practice. You’d be a welcome addition.”
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 9
