Oh screw you, Carly! "What next? Are you going to expect me to be a bully?" she says through gritted teeth.
"Precisely," Carly almost shouts. "Matt and I are the losers and you are the super popular, super sexy chic."
"Carly," Matt says, glancing down at his wrist watch. "Twenty minutes is up. We're late."
"Well, looks like we'll have to improvise," Carly says, casting Anya a devious look. "Anya, you have to be bold, aggressive and mean. Got it?"
Anya nods her head in attempt to hide her hesitation.
"Look, Anya, you're a really good actress. I'm not lying and I'm not trying to patronize you. I know you can do this," she says.
Anya turns her head until her eyes come in contact with Carly's face. The look of determination in those deep blue eyes makes her feel that perhaps Carly does in fact care for her and those long suppressed feelings are now starting to show. A faint smile forms on her face. "Thanks, Carly."
****
Mr. Hawthorne meets the three of them at the door, but this time, he greets them with a severe look.
"Matt, Carly and Anya; this is very unlikely of you to be two minutes late," he says, tapping on his watch.
The smile fades from Anya's face. "I…we're really sorry, Mr. Hawthorne."
"Not as sorry as I am. When I say you have only twenty minutes to write and rehearse a skit, I mean you must be back at the studio before the last second of the twentieth minute and no later. And where is Patrick?"
It feels as if Anya's heart has just skipped a beat. If Mr. Hawthorne finds out what really happened, we're all dead. But if I tell him the truth, Carly will never forgive me.
"I'm right here, Mr. Hawthorne."
Anya, Matt and Carly all whirl around to find him standing two feet away from them. Anya can feel a piece of her heart break when she sees the disdainful look on his face. Never before has she seen Patrick look so hurt and angry.
"Good, now are all four of you going to perform well together?"
"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne," Anya says, barely able to contain the emotion in her voice. She can feel Matt and Carly's intense gaze, watching her every move. Come on, get it together, Anya. Don't cry in front of them.
"Great then," Mr. Hawthorne says, clasping his hands together. "Seeing that you are all ready, why don't you perform now?"
Anya gulps. She feels a gentle nudge on her right forearm, then she hears Carly whisper into her ear: "We're going with the original plan for this skit. You ready?"
"Yes," Anya says, her voice strained. Nausea grips her stomach, threatening to eject all of its digested food contents. Carly's watchful eyes make the hairs on her neck stand on end. Good thing her hair is down; Carly and Matt can't notice it.
As Patrick walks by, Anya grabs his arm and, leaning close to him, she whispers, "you're the geek in this skit."
"Yeah, and you're their friend."
The sharpness in his voice stings worse than a slap across her face. She longs to tell him that this is all a game created Carly, Matt and Maria and she has nothing to do with it. But it is too late now. They have no choice but to perform. "You're right," is all she can say.
Patrick jerks his arm out of her grip. "When this is over, I'm not talking to you for a long time."
Anya gives him a horrified look. How could he believe that she is the one who's at fault?
"Come on, Anya, snap out of it," Carly hisses in her ear.
When Anya sees the beckoning smile on her face, she instantly forgets about Patrick.
"Okay, guys, get into your positions. The rest of you, silence," Mr. Hawthorne's voice sounds in the background.
Anya breathes in a huge gulp of air. I can do this. I've played very complex characters in the past and succeeded.
"Three..."
I'm going to shock the heck out of everyone in this room.
"Two..."
When this is over, Carly and Matt will be competing for my friendship.
"One."
Anya can feel the adrenaline rush through every limb of her body.
"Action!"
She plays her improvised part with much gusto, getting so lost in the moment that she ignores the agony in Patrick's eyes. The two minutes feel more like five seconds. When Matt finishes speaking his final line and Mr. Hawthorne shuts off the camera, silence engulfs the room. Everyone, including Mr. Hawthorne, stares at the group with wide eyes and open mouths. Then, the entire studio rings with cheering and hand clapping.
"Bravo. Bravo. An outstanding performance. That is what acting is all about," Mr. Hawthorne says, shaking each of the four students' hands.
"Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne," Anya says with a curtsey. She then turns to face the rest of her class and curtsies once more. She is elated. Her entire body trembles with excitement and she knows Matt and Carly feel the same by the way they pat her back and shoulders. She has passed the test and now she has just sprung up the popularity chart. But, the second she sets her eyes on Patrick, her excitement deflates, leaving her as miserable as she was before the mini performance.
Patrick meets her gaze. His expression spells dejection, betrayal and degradation.
The remainder of the hour and thirty minute acting session slips by in a blur of mixed thoughts and feelings. Their dazzling performance is followed by another and another. While everyone around her enjoys themselves immensely, Anya sits with her chin perched on the palm of her hand. She is too despondent to even bother to focus her attention on the other performances. The only thing that wakes her from her dreariness is the loud ring of the bell.
Anya motions for Patrick to come and talk to her, but he walks right by, keeping his gaze fixed on the door in front of him. She crumples her brow. "Patrick, please don't walk away from me without saying anything."
"Don't talk, Anya. Don't you say another word," he says, keeping his back to her.
"But you won't even let me explain myself," Anya says, feeling a heavy lump form in the back of her throat.
Patrick whirls around to face her, his face flushed with anger. "I already know everything, Anya: your little secret plot with Maria. But hey, you sure put on a good act before this class began."
She gasps. "What are you talking about? I didn't know that Maria talked to Carly about me."
"Look, Anya, you can cut the acting crap now. You helped Maria plan that charade and you succeeded. You finally got what you wanted, and at my expense. Some bloody friend you are." He spins on his heels, then marches out the door, leaving Anya standing in the same spot, torn to pieces.
She walks out of the studio slowly, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. She doesn’t know that Carly is around the corner until she steps directly into her path.
"Anya, you were amazing! Wait…what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Anya says, shrugging her shoulders in attempt to pretend that there is nothing wrong.
"It's Patrick, isn't it?"
Anya bites her lower lip. "How do you know?"
"Because you two were inseparable, hello." The expression on her face suddenly becomes more solemn. "Look, Anya, all along, we thought you were a complete loser, unable to socialize with anyone other than Patrick."
Anya narrows her eyes. "I know. It was only two hours ago that you hated my guts. You spent every waking moment finding ways to make me feel like a complete…you just said the word."
"Alright, alright, it's in the past now, so leave it there. Maria was right when she said you weren't a loser, and we were right to give you a second chance. You proved to us that you are your own person. Congratulations, Anya, you passed the test." She then takes a step back and examines Anya with a slightly disgusted look on her face. "If you're going to hang with us, you can't wear those clothes."
Anya studies the Tommy Hilfiger jeans and the clingy, red sweater that Carly is wearing, then looks down at her baggy khakis pants and hoodie. "Where am I going to get clothes like yours? I work only on the weekends, and I'm not making enough money to buy new clothes."
<
br /> "That's why we're going shopping after school."
Patrick suddenly returns to Anya's mind. She has Creative Writing with him in less than five minutes, and they always sit together. And he often takes her out for a coffee or an ice cream after school. A wave of sadness and guilt crashes over her like a tidal wave. She tries to hold back the tears that spring to her eyes, but she fails.
"Anya, are you thinking about Patrick again? Don't cry. Please don't cry," Carly says, casting her a worried look.
"I'm sorry," Anya says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Carly shoots her a pointed look. "Yes, you should be sorry. Anya, I never thought I’d ever say this, but you are miles above Patrick. You're both competing for Mr. Hawthorne's sponsorship to VFS, for God’s sake. Do you really think that, if Mr. Hawthorne chooses one of you, he will still to be your friend?"
Anya eyes her skeptically. "Aren't you competing for the same thing?"
"Uh, yeah. Everyone in his class is competing for the same thing. Duh. But I'm not the kind of person who uses my friends to get what I want."
"Are you saying that Patrick is using me?"
"Yes. Think, Anya, why is he so nice to you all the time? He doesn't mean any of it. He's just pretending to be your friend because he's got no one else."
Anya shakes her head. "Patrick would never do that to me. He's not that kind of person."
Carly's perfectly shaped eyebrows narrow until they are almost straight. "Get real, Anya. You've got to see things for what they really are. Patrick is your competition, not your friend."
Anya lowers her head. Carly can't be right. Patrick would never use me to get ahead. No, he would never do a thing like that. But the serious tone in her voice starts to make Anya wonder about him. The harder she tries to convince herself that Carly is wrong, the more suspicious of Patrick she becomes. Besides he had no right to blame her for doing something she did not do. That shows her that, in these kinds of situations, he does not trust her. Anya narrows her eyes. "Well, he has been flirting with me a lot lately, and ever since he got his new truck, he's been acting so up himself, like he knows it all."
"That's because Patrick thinks he's so much better than everyone else. Nobody likes him. He just doesn't realize how idiotic he makes himself look."
So that's the reason why you hated me all these years. "Yeah, like yesterday, when I told him how I really wished I had my driver's license, he looked at me and said, 'you're so young, you have lots of time.' I'm gonna be eighteen in July for God sakes. Now, he's mad at me for embarrassing him in acting class. It was just a stupid skit. He seriously--"
"Patrick is a legend in his own mind. Anya, forget him, he's not worth the effort. Hang with us and you'll be a different person in no time."
Anya smiles at her. "I have to go to Creative Writing now. Where will I meet you guys after school?"
"In the courtyard. Maria is going there to have a smoke, so she told us to meet her there."
"Great, see you then," Anya says, now feeling much better. The thought of Patrick no longer upsets her. In fact, she plans to sit as far away from him as possible.
CHAPTER 11
It is quarter past five in the evening when Anya returns home after a full two hours of clothes shopping with Maria, Carly and Kirsten. The afternoon has left her feeling exhilarated, but incredibly exhausted, though it's a content exhaustion, a feeling Anya has never felt before. Her new friends and clothes make her feel special. She realizes that she will have to pay the girls back the five hundred dollars they spent on her, but that shouldn't be a problem, especially since she knows that she will get Mr. Hawthorne's sponsorship. In the meantime, Anya could quit her weekend job and get a job with the Okanagan Players. They do have some openings coming up soon. The pay is better and the hours are quite flexible. All of the directors know her well, so getting hired on with them should be no problem.
"Anya," Sophia says, abruptly interrupting her thoughts.
"Yes, Sophia."
"Where did you get all those clothes? Did dad buy them for you?"
"No."
"Well, then who did?"
Anya casts her a sharp look. "None of your business."
"It's about time you got cool," Sophia says, giving her a snooty look.
Anya narrows her eyes. You may be my sister, but I can't stand you.
"Oh, by the way, you're stupid boyfriend called three times for you."
Anya crumples her brow. "What boyfriend?"
"Patrick. Seriously, Anya, who else would call for you?"
"Whatever, Sophia," Anya says, trudging past her kid sister. She barely manages to keep a strong grip around the wealth of shopping bags.
Once in her room, she lazily drops them onto her bed. She walks over to the night stand, then presses the play button on her 1998 model stereo. Shania Twain, singing 'Man, I Feel Like a Woman', blares from the small speakers. Anya hums along to the song while she pulls a patterned, spaghetti-strap dress from one of the bags. She throws off her hoodie and khakis, then slips into her new dress. The material is so light, it feels like she is naked, but for the first time in her life, Anya feels good about the way she looks.
Anya migrates over to the bathroom to examine herself in the mirror. As expected, it gives her a pleasant reflection. She gathers all of her hair in her hands, twists it, forming it into a large, elegant bun on top of her head. She smiles while she loosens her grip, allowing it to tumble down her back. Imagination is great, but the real thing is even better. She turns so that her back faces the bathtub, places her hands on her hips and continues to study herself in the mirror. The v-cut neckline plunges down her chest, exposing half of her breasts, and the bottom hemline sits two inches above her knees. Anya's gaze shifts from the mirror to her chest. She traces her fingers over the pale skin down to where the material begins. I will have to work on a tan this spring. Now that the weather is finally starting to get--'
A loud knock on the front door causes her to jump. Could that be Maria, or Kirsten, or dad? A louder knock sounds upon the door. That can't be Kirsten, she's away at some hair styling thing for the evening. And Maria is with Shondra. It couldn't be Carly, she lives in Southland Heights, and that's a good twenty minutes away from here. And dad: he's probably sitting at a bar, half way to drunkenness by now.
"Anya, it's Patrick," Sophia yells from the living room.
Anya grunts. "Ugh, what is he doing here?"
Patrick's eyebrows snap up when he sees her. "Where did you get that dress?"
Anya can tell by the sharpness in his tone that he is not impressed. "I bought it," she says.
"Yeah, with whom?"
Anya purses her lips. That is none of your dang business. "No one. I bought it myself, with my own money. I have enough money in my bank account to afford one item of expensive clothing."
The suspicious look on his face tells Anya that he does not believe her lie.
"Well, I'll let you know, that dress does not make you look attractive."
Anya's face becomes inflamed. "How do you know, Patrick? You've never seen me in anything other than baggy clothing, so you have no right to judge me like that. And I don't care what you think. I love this dress and I feel good in it, so if you have a problem with it, then you will just have to deal with it!"
Patrick recoils. "What has come over you, Anya? I mean, why are you suddenly friends with Maria Hernandez and…Carly? Carly was so mean to you throughout Junior High, and Senior High wasn't hard enough for her to change her attitude."
"Until today."
"You wish."
"Patrick."
"Anya, get with it. She and Maria are only being nice to you because they want what you have. They want to bring you down so they can get what they want."
Anya's heart flutters. It's not true. They wouldn't have spent the money on my clothes if they didn't care about me. "That's so not true."
The look on his face darkens. "Yes it is, and you know it is. Why the heck would you ev
en want to be friends with Carly after the way she treated you? And Maria: she's quite the slut. Popularity isn't as glamorous as you think it is. I wish you’d realize that."
Anya shoots him a furious look. "How would you know, Patrick? The only friend you've had since you came to this country was me."
"And I'm not good enough? Who let you sleep at his parents' house after all the times your brother beat you? Who took you out for dinner after Mr. Hawthorne told us that we were both accepted into his advanced acting class? Who spends all of his free time with you?"
"I had nothing to do with Maria's plot to get Carly to do what she did. She did it all on her own. And now that I think about it, I'm glad they decided to take a chance on me, because if they hadn't, I would still be miserable. And Maria is one of the nicest girls I've ever met; she's so bold and confident. I've always wanted to be that kind of person, and now I finally can. I want to be just like Maria."
Patrick's lips tremble and his eyes glaze over. "Anya, I came here to apologize for the way I treated you earlier. But now I don't feel any remorse. I can't believe you are willing to throw away a good friendship. I don't mean anything to you, do I."
Anya averts her eyes to the old, woolen slippers on her feet. Her feet are beginning to sting from the cold, but she is to confused and angry to care. She breathes out a heavy sigh, her breath lingering in the air.
"Well, that answers my question," Patrick says, his voice hoarse. "I'm going now. Until you figure out who your real friend is, don't call me and don't talk to me." He turns, then strides down the short, narrow walkway, disappearing around the corner.
CHAPTER 12
Anya runs back to her room, desperate to talk to Maria, but only to discover that the phone is not in the room like she thought it was. Darn! The phone's in Sophia's room. It's always in Sophia's room. This really sucks. She curses while she rummages through her khakis pants in search for the number Maria had given her. After going through each pocket twice, she finds the piece of paper that contains Maria's contact information. She pulls it out of her pants, then places it on the edge of the nightstand.
To be Maria Page 5
