by Marni Bates
“I hate those girls,” Scott said without any real heat. Then again, he probably hated me too, but didn’t want to say it with his girlfriend right there. “What do you call them again, Jane? Fake and Shake?”
Jane reddened, but she forced herself to meet my eyes. “Kenzie and I may have nicknamed them . . . Fake and Bake. Ashley, uh, might want to lay off the fake tanners?”
“Around Halloween she definitely fits in with the pumpkins.”
It was a bitchy thing for me to say, but at least it was honest. Considering the way those particular friends had just blown me off for a sale, I felt barely a twinge of guilt for badmouthing them behind their backs.
“So how did you pick Steffani’s nickname?” I asked Jane.
“Fake? The obvious hair dye, the fake nails, the questionable nose job . . . Give her thirty years, and I bet even her chin will be plastic.”
I smiled as if none of it made the slightest difference to me, even as I braced myself for the inevitable. “So what am I? Cake? Lake?”
Jane shrugged. “Kenzie and I never came up with anything for you. You’re not one of them. Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, everyone fears the Notables. But somehow you’ve always been . . . separate.”
A crazy-accurate social assessment, especially coming from two of Smith High School’s biggest self-identified geeks.
“Calling her Lake makes sense to me. With a name like Chelsea, it’s only fitting that her nickname continue in the same watery vein,” Scott observed. “Plus isn’t it a saying that still waters run deep? That fits too.”
I eyed Scott speculatively, waiting to hear a catch. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I’m not sure I do. I said that still waters run deep, not that there is anything nice lurking in the depths.”
Touché.
I poked Jane’s arm to get her attention. “I think he might be a keeper. Any chance I can take him with me?”
She mock glared at me. “Nope. He’s not up for grabs. Don’t even try your hair tossing or flashing your megawatt smile. I will shut you down, Chelsea.”
The steel underlining her tone had me fighting back a grin. Jane wasn’t the same wallflower I had taken pity on during her Romeo and Juliet audition. And I liked to think that I’d played a small role in her recent transformation.
“Well, thanks for seeing me off,” I interrupted before Jane could make any more ridiculous threats. “Both of you.”
It was more than my parents had managed. They were too busy squabbling over furniture to give me a proper send-off. It should have come as a relief, since my dad would have spent the entire car ride asking if I had everything: toothbrush, deodorant, that sort of thing, while my mom accused him of babying me. Then I’d have been stuck listening to them tell me again how lucky I was to get this travel experience.
Classic guilt talk. They had to convince themselves that I was embarking on an incredible journey or they’d feel guilty for shipping me off to a third-world pit.
Jane’s awkward attempt at hugging snapped me back to reality fast. “Are you going to be all right, Chelsea?”
There was no satisfactory answer for me to give. If I said yes, I would be lying. If I said no, I would sound like a drama queen.
No-win situation.
“I guess I’ll have to be okay.” And then, just to stop myself from doing something truly pathetic like crying, I fluttered my eyelashes at Scott. “Unless your big, strong man wants to rescue me from this nightmare. He could whisk me off and—”
“That’s it, I’m out of here.”
Scott headed straight for the doors, while Jane and I both laughed at his hasty departure. For just a second, I felt like the old version of myself. The Chelsea who existed before my parents ever considered shipping me off to Cambodia.
There were times when I missed that girl.
“I got you a going-away gift.” Jane handed me a flash drive and grinned. “I don’t know if it’s your type of music, but I made a travel playlist for you anyway.”
“Hipster music?” I guessed.
“Maybe.”
I grinned. “I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
I wanted to say more, but I recognized Professor Hamilton’s paunchy form approaching us. I knew that my trip leader’s presence only meant one thing: My visiting hours were over.
“Take care, geek.”
“You too, Lake. I expect to hear regular updates.”
And before I could come up with any excuses about needing better Internet access than Cambodia probably supplied, she headed outside after Scott.
Leaving me officially alone.
Well, unless I counted the teacher who was barreling toward me with a foolish grin plastered all over his face. The guy was like an academic version of Tigger—bouncy, flouncy, pouncy, whatever—except his version of fun centered around economic trends in third-world countries.
If you weren’t interested in analyzing that . . . then you were screwed.
“Welcome aboard, Chelsea! Are you ready for the trip of a lifetime?” His friendly punch to my arm instantly had me suppressing the urge to rub where he made contact.
I nodded, but didn’t get the chance to say anything beyond, “Sure, Mr. Ham—”
“No need to start in with formalities! It’s going to be a small group of us in Cambodia, so just call me Neal. First-name basis for everyone. No reason we can’t all be friends, right?”
“Right. Friends,” I repeated unenthusiastically, while Neal began craning his neck to look around the airport.
“So, where are your folks?”
“Not here.”
He looked nervous, like he was waiting for me to start blubbering, My parents don’t love meee!
Well, he wasn’t going to get any of it.
The less speculation I received the easier it would be to sneak on board a flight to Italy. Although given that the other students were probably just as surprised to find a high school girl suddenly signed up for their trip, I could almost guarantee that I’d been the topic of at least a few conversations. I was willing to bet they were all wondering why my dad hadn’t just shipped me off to military school or to one of those intervention programs where I would be forced to grow crops and live off the land. And then they would want to know what exactly I had done to deserve total banishment.
I braced myself to be on the receiving end of sideways looks and furtive glances as a girl with messy dark brown hair, big brown doe eyes, and an enormous I Heart New York sweatshirt that dwarfed her curvy frame waved at Neal before approaching me.
“Um, hi! I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet, uh . . .” Her voice began to peter out when I didn’t return her smile. “You.”
Sweet and easily controlled. Excellent.
I spared her only the briefest nod, since another girl in our group had captured my attention. At least, I was assuming it was a girl. The bright color clash between the hand-stitched turquoise pig on her shirt, her purple-rimmed glasses, her hot-pink-and-gold-painted nails, and her red-streaked hair . . . made her look like a parrot to me.
“Liz! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” Neal boomed enthusiastically, while I wondered how I would survive months of his nonstop cheerfulness. I had spent less than five minutes with the man and already I wanted to shank him with my nail clippers. Probably not a very good sign.
“Great to see you, Liz! And here come Houston and Ben. Excellent!”
Before I could get a good look at the guys, Neal delivered yet another hearty round of backslaps. I winced, Amy nearly toppled over, but it didn’t seem to faze Liz in the slightest. She was definitely tougher than me.
So I’d have to work twice as hard to prove my invulnerability.
That’s when I realized that standing right next to Amy was the plaid-wearing, dark-haired hottie who hadn’t spared Ashley a second glance. Although I was quickly rethinking the “hottie” part of my analysis no
w that I was close enough to see that beneath the plaid he wore a black shirt with some crazy-looking scientist guy yelling, “No edge!” on it.
Geek alert.
Which explained why the guy had ignored Ashley. He probably went exclusively for girls like Mackenzie Wellesley who say stuff like “Math is an integral part of my life.”
The reminder of my nemesis instantly twisted my gut. It didn’t help matters that when his green eyes finally met mine, he merely raised one eyebrow skeptically before he continued his conversation with Amy.
Not that I cared about one dork’s opinion, especially when I could be testing the potency of my most charming smile on his very attractive friend. This one was an appealing golden boy, whose hobbies probably included lounging shirtless on pristine white beaches . . . or maybe I was just reading way too much into his lifeguarding shirt. Still, I had no trouble imagining him sitting in a guard tower squinting out at the waves or flirting with bikini-clad girls. His fingers wrapped around mine in a firm handshake that lasted a breath too long for the physical contact to be a purely friendly gesture.
Now this was one game I knew how to play.
“So are you Ben or Houston?” I asked flirtatiously.
“That depends on whether you have a preference.” His grin had probably inspired some exceedingly foolish girls to fake drowning, just so that they could receive his CPR.
“Of course I have a preference. I like hearing the truth.”
That got a surprised laugh from him. “I’m Ben.”
“Chelsea.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
I nodded and then leaned forward to adjust the tag on my suitcase, knowing perfectly well that the movement offered a slight glimpse down the neckline of my shirt. Not enough to be scandalous, merely a touch seductive. Ben’s smile widened, but his friend Houston certainly didn’t look impressed. If anything, Houston’s expression twisted into outright derision before he refocused on his conversation with Amy. They kept right on chatting about their experiences with both Neal and the larger history department at Lewis & Clark while the professor under discussion happily discussed our travel plans with a ticket agent.
Not my favorite topics of conversation, but I wasn’t about to let anyone render me irrelevant, especially since I suspected that Houston was doing it intentionally.
I just didn’t know why . . . yet.
“Neal’s pretty funny when you get some wine in him,” I announced casually. “Although he makes a lot of puns about the Visigoths. Not really my scene, but tolerable.”
“You have socialized with Neal?”
It wasn’t exactly hard to read the subtext lurking behind Houston’s words: Yeah, right. Not even outgoing Neal Hamilton would waste his time talking to a pampered ditz like her. At least, not unless he was absolutely smashed.
“He’s only attended our annual Christmas party for, oh, the past five years.” I matched Houston’s disdainful tone to perfection. “He gave me a necklace with ballet slippers on it once. So, yeah, we’ve socialized plenty.”
Houston tensed, as if he were waiting for me to go on the attack or something. Which was weird for a whole host of reasons, the primary one being that I had done nothing to alienate him. And I usually make a very good first impression.
“So was he fun?” Amy asked eagerly. “I’ve heard the professor who led the trip last year was super-strict. Do you think Neal will be more laid-back?”
The trip hadn’t even begun and someone was already turning to me.
Score one for the high school girl.
Too bad the scoreboard didn’t remain that way for long. In fact, it lasted only until airport security demanded to go through my bag and started disposing of the large bottles of lotion and hand sanitizer I had impulsively stuffed into it before heading to the airport. Houston scowled in annoyance, Ben’s smile was one of wry amusement as he waited for his turn to go through security, Liz tapped her foot impatiently, and Amy kept glancing down at her watch as if she expected it to start berating her for being late. I struggled to keep my own face neutral as airport security confiscated the kitchen scissors I had completely forgotten about packing.
I knew exactly what everyone was thinking: This is what you get for taking a high-maintenance high school girl with more lip balm than brains to Cambodia.
Only Neal kept assuring me that little mistakes like this happen to everyone. He hefted my tote-bag and insisted on carrying it himself until we reached our boarding gate, even though I kept telling him I was perfectly capable of handling it myself. He merely chuckled and said that he wanted to personally ensure that my trip started off on the right foot.
I nodded politely, but I kept my mouth firmly shut. There was no need to tell Neal that the others were probably discussing ways to vote me off the trip. And telling him that I secretly wanted them to succeed in whatever plan they created to get me out of there wouldn’t do me any good either.
Even before boarding the freaking plane, I knew I was only going to crash and burn.
I just had no way of stopping it.
Chapter 5
“I know all about you.”
Not exactly a normal thing to say to the girl in an adjacent seat on a long flight to London, especially if you’ve only just met her and couldn’t bring yourself to exchange more than two complete sentences back on solid ground. But it appeared the geek had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to go on the offensive. I couldn’t help being slightly impressed with the way he timed it. The minuscule airplane seats definitely added a level of difficulty to any escape I might have otherwise attempted.
I turned to Houston and wished that I had trusted my gut instinct to trade places with Amy. Even sitting next to our overly enthusiastic teacher had to be better than chatting with the one person who appeared to have it in for me. If my parents hadn’t signed me up to spend months with him in Cam-freaking-bodia, I already would have told him exactly where he could go shove his condescending glances.
I batted my lashes instead. “Houston, do we have a problem?”
“Cute.”
“Always.”
“You can save the effort. That might have worked in high school, but it’s not going to help you here. Especially since I already know the way you operate.”
I did a pointed once-over, not exactly an easy task considering that I was squashed between Houston and some stranger who was snoring heavily and taking up more than his share of the armrest.
“I’ve known you for all of fifteen minutes. So I seriously doubt you know anything about the way I operate.” I reached down to grab my tote, which was resting where my leg space would’ve been if the guy in front of me hadn’t pushed his seat all the way back. It was probably going to take over an hour of ballet before my cramped body would loosen up again.
“I know that your dad asked me to find a program for you because he couldn’t have you around right now.”
I didn’t flinch even though this latest parental betrayal stung like hell. Any sign of weakness is a fatal mistake when you’re playing poker with a shark.
“You?” I said skeptically. “My dad confided in you? Again, I doubt it.”
“Paul said you needed to get out of Portland so you wouldn’t trash your life. You know, when most kids tank their grades they get summer school, not a free trip to Cambodia. I bet you have no idea how freaking lucky you are either.”
The geek probably thought that being on a first-name basis with my dad would impress me.
Not so much.
“Yeah? Well, I guess that means you’re just as clueless as my dad. Congratulations. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
Houston shot me a piercing look. “Given what I’ve heard in his office, I’d say he knows plenty.”
“Spend a lot of time pressing your ear to the door, do you?”
“I’m his TA.”
“That stands for ‘Terrible Ass-kisser,’ right?”
He smiled grimly. “Let’s get o
ne thing straight, princess: Your dad’s a good guy who doesn’t deserve to be saddled with a stuck-up snob for a daughter. So you can keep trying to play your pathetic little games with airport security or you can accept that I’m going to be keeping an eye on you for him. Either way, your troublemaking days are over.”
I brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from my ballet bun and leaned in close so that he could look right into my eyes.
“Well, Houston, it looks like you really do have a problem. Because I’m not going to waste my time listening to some geek who owns more plaid than common sense.”
Then I popped in my headphones and blasted the Ben Fold’s song “You Don’t Know Me” loudly enough to drown out both Houston and the armrest thief on my other side.
Damn straight, Houston didn’t know me.
Although, apparently, that hadn’t stopped him from helping my parents ship me off to Cambodia before ordering me to behave. And then he had the audacity to call me a stuck-up snob . . . based on what, exactly? Even if my dad had mentioned I was the most popular girl at school, that was still one hell of an assumption. I almost snarled at Houston that well-developed social skills aren’t synonymous with snobbery, although I could easily understand why he wouldn’t see the difference. The guy was definitely plagued by residual nerd envy from his own days in high school and was now trying to overcompensate by pretending that being an International Affairs major made him cool.
Well, I refused to feel guilty about my talent for getting my own way. Maybe, if given the choice, I might be tempted to pick Jane’s skill with standardized test taking over my ability to manipulate and maneuver. Then again . . . maybe not. Either way, it’s not like I ever actually had the option of exchanging my skill set for another. The only practical thing for me to do was to work with what I was given—and I wasn’t going to tolerate anyone shaming me for it.
So if some brown-nosing twit planned on ordering me around, he was going to have to get used to receiving the middle finger for his efforts. Hopefully, that would be enough to make him rethink his bizarre loyalty to my dad, or at the very least prevent him from stalking me for the next four months in Southeast Asia. I briefly considered emailing my dad—demanding that he call off his watchdog—but I doubted it would make a difference.
