Nice and Mean

by Jessica Leader

Strands of fake pearls, sparkly drop earrings, pounds of pearly eye shadow.

  As she posed and blew kisses, I thought, Rachel Winter, you are making this even easier than you know.

  Once I’d gotten enough victim shots, I panned back to Natasha and Crystal’s walk. Right on cue, Elizabeth hobbled down the carpet to attack them for an interview.

  “Oh, my!” she said. “It’s Miss Crystal and Natasha!”

  “Ojé, Mami!” cried Crystal.

  Natasha struck a pose. “Besos a tu madre!”

  Inside, I was cracking up. Sachi made a noise like she was swallowing a cough.

  “You ladies get more fabulous every time I see you,” Elizabeth was saying. “Who ah you wearing?” She gave a big wink to the camera, just like Esmé did ten times a night. I grinned into the monitor. I could feel Sachi crowding for a better look, and tilted the camera in her direction.

  “I,” said Natasha, “am wearing a very exclusive designer.” She lowered her long, gorgeous eyelashes.

  “And you, Miss Thing?” Elizabeth asked Crystal. That was Julian’s line, and she sounded great.

  “I just wanna say,” Crystal began, “kisses to my man Big Kizzy, who—”

  “Hey!” cried a voice. “What’s going on here?”

  I looked over my shoulder to see Julian Navarro, love of my life, vaulting over the desks and heading toward the back of the classroom. Now? He chose to show up now?

  “Keep going!” I whispered to my actors, praying that I could edit my voice out of the movie. But Natasha and Crystal were waving to Julian, and Elizabeth was looking right at me with an expression like, What should I do? The take was ruined. They had totally lost focus.

  “Cut,” I called, and wanted to cry.

  “Julian!” Rachel extended a knobby arm toward him over the desk she was leaning on. “You made it!”

  He walked over and ignored her hand—yes! “Yeah, I made it. You guys started without me?”

  What was I supposed to say? I didn’t want to make him look bad, but I didn’t want to make myself look bad either.

  “Oh,” I cried, upset like someone else had messed up, “I can’t believe that happened!”

  He ran his hands through his long black hair. “I tried to come upstairs earlier, but Mrs. Ramirez was like, ‘Where’s your note? Where’s your note?’ ”

  I thought I told you to skip lunch, I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to fight with him in front of Rachel, who was licking her lips like she was about to get a treat. I needed to think of a new approach, and quickly.

  “Hey, you know what I could really use?” I asked. “Someone to tell me how things look. Can you sit right here and be my assistant director?” I patted the desk between me and Sachi. Sachi had had her chance to watch the monitor. Now it was somebody else’s turn.

  A grin moved slowly across his face. “Assistant director? Ho ho ho.” He walked around Sachi and sat next to me. “That, I can do.”

  “Great,” I said, doing my best not to burst into a ridiculous smile. Take that, victim Rachel. “Let’s just start from where Esmé says—”

  “Wait a sec,” Rachel interrupted, “I think it’s weird.”

  Nobody ask, nobody ask—

  “What?” asked Natasha.

  Grr.

  Rachel shrugged. “You know.”

  Oh, take your time, I thought. We’ve got all day here.

  “That Scotty G wouldn’t be at the Grammys,” she continued. “I mean . . .”

  “I can be in this scene,” Julian said, looking from one of us to the other. “I mean, maybe I should.”

  I gave Rachel a murderous look she pretended not to see.

  I turned to Julian and—boldness—put my hand on his shoulder. “I totally want you for the other scenes,” I said in my sincerest voice. “But we’ve rehearsed this part, and—”

  “It’s okay.” He hopped off the desk. “If you don’t want me, I understand.”

  “Wow, Reener,” said Rachel, “Way to take care of the talent.”

  “Okay, let’s just do it,” I said, ready to blow up. “Julian, take the microphone.” We needed to get something real filmed today, if only so I could go home that night and find the moments where Rachel looked the worst, worst, worst.

  The bell rang right after the shout-out, and everybody except Sachi abandoned me to get changed. It took us forever to put everything back, and by the time I got to the science lab, the bell had already rung, earning me my second late of the year.

  “Tut tut,” whispered Rachel as I slid into my seat. “Somebody needs to learn time management.”

  “Somebody could have used a little help downstairs,” I told her, wrestling my notebook out of my book bag.

  Rachel just laughed like it was a joke.

  Before I could think of a comeback, she passed me a note that had “White Pages, Volume 2” written on the cover. Volume 1 had been revenge plans for Señora Blanca (“Blanca” meant “white” in Spanish), and Volume 2 was slam notes about people in our classes. I didn’t know why Rachel wanted to White-Page with me after being such a freak during my filming, but I was curious, so I opened it. Rachel had drawn a picture of Addie with huge cheeks and big black blobs next to her eyes. Underneath, it said, “Mascara boogers!”

  I stole a look at Addie. Her eyes did not look that bad. Did Rachel think that Crystal and Natasha were now her BFFs, and Addie was her entertainment? I crumpled up her note.

  Rachel didn’t even notice. She was leaning over me to talk to Addie. “Addie,” she whispered. “Go like this.” She put a finger under each eye and wiped dramatically. “Boogers!”

  Addie’s hands flew to her face as if she’d been slapped, and smeared the black all over her cheeks. “Did I get it?” she asked.

  “You look fine,” I told her. She gave me a nervous smile. Poor Addie. Rachel didn’t deserve her.

  Yes. Rachel didn’t deserve her. Revenge, part two.

  “Adds,” I whispered, leaning across the aisle, “come over after school tomorrow. I have the best idea.”

  SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #6.0

  INTERIOR. THE VIDEO LAB—DAY

  Sachi and MARINA sit at their desks, facing each other.

  SACHI

  So, I’ve been trying to tell you—I’d really like to film some interviews to go after Victim/Victorious.

  MARINA

  Sachi. There is no way I’m going to let you make my video look nerdy. And I would say I’m sorry about it, but really, I’m not.

  Here. Take this red carpet. We’re going to shoot another one of my scenes.

  As I stood at my locker, gathering books for Thursday night’s homework, my stomach started to feel hollow, and it wasn’t just because I hadn’t eaten since eleven thirty. Today was the day we were supposed to tell Mr. Phillips our video topics.

  English notebook, English folder, pencil case . . .

  Marina’s scene the day before had been funny. Even I had laughed at those gorgeous eighth graders acting like spoiled rock stars. But had I contributed one single thing, other than making sure no one tripped over the red carpet? No, I had not. I had had nothing to do with it, and it had had nothing to do with me. If I didn’t get Marina to listen to me today, it would be ten more weeks of afternoons just like that one, and a video that embarrassed me more than a thousand pink tank tops.

  On the other side of the hall, a door opened, and a laugh rose above the other sounds in a way that made me look over. Rachel Winter, her hair in poofy pigtails, was clutching Addie Ling and laughing so hard, she was almost choking. I had certainly heard that sound enough yesterday. Behind her, Marina seemed to be feeling the same way, and a grim look had settled on her usually pretty face.

  I was about to turn back to my books when I noticed Marina talking to Lainey. Lainey drew back, as if Marina had said something mean to her, then dropped her gaze to the floor and continued down the hallway.

  What had just happened? Did they even know each other? As Lainey passed by, I waved
her over to my locker. “Hey,” I said, “is everything okay?”

  Lainey shrugged, making her bright green backpack twitch. “Just stupid people.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, Marina just said, ‘Nice shirt.’ No big deal.”

  I examined her T-shirt, which was a pretty periwinkle and had a picture of tofu saying, “It’s okay to eat me!” It seemed like a cute enough shirt.

  “Why did she say that?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” Lainey rolled her eyes. “Everyone at this school gives me such a hard time about how I dress. Just because I’m not Little Miss Preppy or Fashionista Wannabe . . .”

  “I love how you dress!” I blurted out. In addition to the shirt, she was wearing a short jean skirt, pink high-tops, and black-and-white-striped socks. I didn’t mean to sound dorky, but I didn’t want Marina to get Lainey down. And the more I thought about the video I hoped to make (gulp), the more I realized that I didn’t want to keep dressing in such boring clothes. A koala bear key chain wasn’t the place to start, but how? “Where do you buy all that stuff, anyway?” I asked Lainey.

  “There are lots of cool stores near my house,” Lainey said, leaning her head on the locker next to mine. “Hey, do you want to come over this weekend? I really want to see the new Kyle Griffin movie.” She fanned herself and added, “Hot!”

  I giggled. “Maybe.” I pulled my French book from my locker, my face warm from happiness. Lainey wanted to get together with me outside of school! I wasn’t just Flora’s friend to her. “Which day?” I asked, praying she would say Saturday. The past few Sundays, we’d helped my father clean out the back room of his jewelry store, then eaten dinner with our relatives in Queens. But before Lainey could answer, a voice said, “Hey, girls!”

  I pulled my head out of my locker to see Flora bouncing up to us. “What’s up?”

  “I was just seeing if Sachi wanted to come to the movie this weekend,” Lainey explained.

  Oh. She wasn’t inviting me alone. I set my backpack on the floor to zip it up.

  “Downtown?” Flora seemed shocked.

  “Yeah.” Lainey looked down at me and back up to Flora. “What?”

  “Nothing,” said Flora. “I just don’t think Sachi will be able to go.”

  “Why not?” I stood up. “Lainey, where do you live?”

  “On Eighth Street,” she said, looking hurt. “It’s not dangerous or anything.”

  “No!” Flora’s green eyes widened in protest. “I didn’t mean that. Sachi just can’t go that many places, that’s all.”

  “Yes I can,” I said, not believing she’d just told Lainey that. “I went to your uncle’s play with you that time.”

  Flora shrugged as if to say that didn’t really count.

  “Let me ask my parents,” I told Lainey.

  “Okay, cool.”

  I put on my backpack, stung. It used to be that when I complained about my parents, Flora would complain about hers—“Those crazy Albanians,” she’d say. They wouldn’t even take her to PG-13 movies until last year. So why would she try to make me look bad in front of Lainey?

  Suddenly I realized that the hall had almost cleared out. I glanced at the clock. Only one minute left until Video!

  SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE 6.1

  INTERIOR. THE VIDEO LAB—DAY

  The bell RINGS.

  Mr. Phillips shuts the door.

  KNOCKING on the door.

  CLOSE-UP: Sachi, her face pressed against the glass, pleading in silent desperation.

  MR. PHILLIPS

  Late, are you? You know what we do to latecomers in this class.

  MARINA (holds hands in air)

  It’s all Victim/Victorious, all the time!

  “I have to go,” I said quickly. “I’ll ask my parents about the movie tonight. See you later!” Without even waiting for a good-bye, I slammed my locker door shut and bolted for the stairs.

  When I got to the lab, every chair in the circle was filled except the one next to Marina. A quick glance told me that people were sitting next to their partners. I flew into the seat and said a startled “Oh!” as the person on the other side of me dropped a handout onto my desk. “Video Topic,” it said at the top, and underneath was a list of things you needed to fill out about each scene: location, action, props. I peeled the top one off the stack and passed the pile to Marina. My heart, beating fast from the running, didn’t show any signs of slowing. If I didn’t get my ideas on this sheet, Mr. Phillips wouldn’t know they existed, and I’d have no way to get Marina to include them.

  The room was buzzing with partners talking excitedly—I overheard the words “rock star hamsters” and “the man with the hook”—but Marina wasn’t even looking at me. Instead she was bent over her handout, writing in the space that said “Topic,” “Victim/Victorious.” Then, next to “Scene,” she wrote, “One: Grammy Awards Red Carpet.” She was about to write something on the next line when Mr. Phillips plunked his stool down in front of my desk. “Have you two decided what you’re going to do yet?” he asked.

  Marina passed her paper across my desk. “Yup.”

  My heart still pounding, I stuck my hand on top of the paper. “Um,” I said, “not entirely.”

  Marina turned to me. “What?”

  Mr. Phillips raised his eyebrows.

  “I was hoping there could be a second part,” I told him, trying to pretend that Marina wasn’t there. “Like in that movie last year about where everyone sits in the cafeteria, they had interviews? I thought maybe I could do . . . interviews. That went after Victim/Victorious and sort of talked about how people decided what to wear.” Now that I’d said it out loud, it seemed beyond silly. Priyanka would never speak to me after a video like that! I thought quickly and added, “It would be like a fashion investigation.”

  Mr. Phillips nodded encouragingly. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  I did not need to turn to see that Marina was not nodding encouragingly. “Wait, what?” she asked. “We haven’t even talked about that.”

  The whole world seemed to be that white handout, lying diagonally across the cream-colored desk. “I did try,” I said in a small voice. “I think maybe you just didn’t hear me.”

  Marina clicked her pen. “Oookay.”

  “I really like your Victim/Victorious idea,” I added, feeling like I needed to explain, “but I think interviews are a little more my . . . style.” Not that she thought I had any style.

  “Marina,” Mr. Phillips said in an almost warning voice. “Does that sound okay to you?”

  “If that’s what Sachi wants,” Marina replied.

  What was the end of that sentence? She’s a huge nerd? I hadn’t meant to be sneaky, but I couldn’t see any other way to make her listen.

  Mr. Phillips stood up. “I can see that you are coming from different places, and sometimes video partners do divide and conquer, so it’s fine that you’re going in separate directions. Just make sure you help each other on your shoots, okay?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure what Marina did.

  Mr. Phillips moved on to the next group.

  “Great,” said Marina, reaching over my desk to grab the paper. “Now we have to redo it.”

  “I don’t think we do,” I said. “You can have that part back, and I can plan my half on my own page.”

  My only answer was the sound of writing, scratchy like the bug zappers in Nani’s courtyard. Three guesses about who was the bug.

  I should have been happy. I had gotten my idea into the video. I just wished I could have done it without making Marina think I was a sneak.

  I stared at the blank space at the top of the page: “Topic.” What was my topic?

  Then I noticed the blanks next to the word “Scene.” There were six.

  Six?

  I had been so busy nightmaring about Topic, I had barely thought about Scene. If I couldn’t come up with anything, Marina would take over again with one of the many, many ideas that she was using
to fill up her page. Our video was supposed to be only ten minutes long, fifteen at most, but hers looked like it could be a half-hour show all by itself.

  I slid my hand into my backpack, unzipped my pencil pouch, and pulled out a pen. The pencil pouch, a birthday present from Pallavi, had pictures on it from the Jabber Monkeys cartoon, and now was not the time for Marina to sniff at one of my fashion choices. Still, that was just a mini-worry. The bigger worry was this: Whatever I did for my interviews needed to be really, really good.

  MARINA’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK, ENTRY #7

  * Biggest Sneaky Kiss-Up Video Ruiner: Sachi Parikh

  The teacher may love you, but that only gets you so far.

  * Least Likely to Play Video Assistant: Addie Ling

  But here she is.

  * Most Embarrassingly Desperate: Marina Glass

  Tell anyone and you’re toast!

  It wasn’t until I’d looked through half the photos on my computer that I realized how late it was. Four thirty! I had wasted too much time updating the categories in my LBB. Addie would be here at my house in less than an hour, and I needed to get to work.

  I opened my editing software and began adding the photos I had dragged into my “Video” folder. The pics of Crystal and Chelsea were nothing to slow down for, but all the ones of Rachel made me laugh.

  The first was from the week before school started, with Rachel’s hair bunched in pigtails that were not as cute as she hoped they’d be. I’d snapped the second just the other day—Rachel in crazy-tight pants and a nutty red belt that was big enough to be a Hula-hoop. The biggest prize, though, was Rachel in a loud-print halter top at sixth-grade graduation, looking down her nose like she was on the cover of Vogue. Those were the three best, and judging from the Victim/Victorious clips I’d watched on YouTube, three was what I needed. It was funny—I couldn’t even count how many episodes I’d seen, but I’d never thought about how they put it together before. Now I knew that they showed exactly three photos of past outfits worn by the main star of each episode. It wasn’t the kind of info that would help me pull up my English grade, but it was kind of cool that I’d figured it out.

  When I’d dragged my three photos into the slide show, I got to choose: Should the photos fade into each other, tile, or cartwheel? Cartwheel sounded like the most fun, but as I now knew from V/V, fading was the real way to do it. I clicked “fade” and sat back to watch the Victim-a-Thon.