“So what?” Jolene gives an angry shrug. “You head off to college and don’t speak to me again? I figured our friendship was more than you just wanting to screw me, but hey, guess I was wrong about that.”
I see him wince, but before he can reply, Jolene holds her hands up. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s done.” She exhales, giving a sharp little shrug. “And now I’ve got things to take care of, so you just do . . . whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”
She turns on her heel and stalks toward the building. Dante looks over at us.
“She hasn’t changed a bit.” He gives a wry smile, but there’s something wistful in his voice. “Anyway, I’d better . . .” He nods toward the building and then goes to follow Jolene, his pace casual but full of purpose.
“Wow.” Bliss waits until they’re both inside before turning to me gleefully. “Drama! What do you think went down?”
“I don’t know. . . .” Now that they’re gone, it feels wrong to be picking over their relationship in the dark of the parking lot, like we’re nothing but vultures swooping for gossip. “It’s not really any of our business.”
Bliss sighs, clearly disappointed. “You saw that look in her eyes though, right? He’s dead to her.”
I’m not convinced, but I don’t want to get drawn into an argument about the nuances of Jolene’s private life, not when we’re surrounded by a crowd of pierced, tattooed kids. I nod instead, heading back to the car to wait.
“What’s taking her so long?” Bliss asks impatiently not even three minutes later. She’s laid claim to the front seat in Jolene’s absence, propping her bare feet on the dashboard and wriggling her French-manicured toes. “I bet they’re making out in there. Or worse.”
“I don’t know what she’s doing, and I really don’t want to,” I reply, trying not to feel anxious. “Plausible deniability, remember?”
Bliss looks at me. “Relax; she’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. And if she doesn’t, I’m sure Dante will.” She gives a salacious grin. “He’s hot, you have to admit.”
I give another vague shrug. “Sure. Hot. If you like that kind of thing.”
“Tall, brooding, handsome — who wouldn’t?”
To be entirely honest, I don’t. Dante seems nice enough, but there’s an edge about him, as if he could do anything; some girls would say that’s exciting, but I’ve never been one to pine over bad boys. No, that honor has always gone to guys so far out of my league, they can barely even see me. Like Tristan. Or . . . Scott.
I catch myself midthought, blushing in the dark. At the party, I was too busy feeling awkward and self-conscious to even focus on him, but now that things have slowed, I can’t help but remember how sweet he was, trying to defend me against the raging sorority girls. And how I just bailed, without even saying good-bye. Not that he even cares, I remind myself. He was probably just relieved that his charity project for the night made such a swift exit.
“I’m hungry.” Bliss sighs beside me. “Brianna better have catering. Like the mini-puffs she did for her New Year’s party — they were amazing.” She looks ravenous at the thought of it.
There’s nothing I can say to that. I remember the party, though — or at least, the furious gossip that dominated the next week at East Midlands. Two new reigning power couples were formed, another split up, and Nikki Hopington did a dance routine to Rihanna that got mass e-mailed to every student in school. Just your typical, average teenage party. With catering, illicit alcohol, and a professional band.
Bliss flicks the radio on, impatiently switching stations. “What’s your deal, anyway?” She asks it almost like an accusation. “You’ve barely said a word all night.”
“I haven’t needed to,” I reply quietly.
She stops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I pause before venturing, “Just, you haven’t really said a thing to me, either.”
I shouldn’t have said that. I drum my fingertips lightly on the steering wheel, keeping my eyes fixed on the stairs for Jolene, but I can feel Bliss watching me.
“I haven’t seen you in school,” she says eventually. “When did you move to town?”
“About fifteen years ago.” My voice has a note of sarcasm in it; I can’t help myself. “We were in History together, ninth grade,” I explain shortly. “And study hall, all last year. And for the past eight months, we’ve had Miss Bowers for Wednesday afternoon PE classes. I was on your volleyball team.”
“Oh.”
There’s silence.
“You spilled grape juice on me in the cafeteria line last month,” I add softly. “Kaitlin said it looked like I had my period. You all laughed.”
“What are you, like, keeping track?” Bliss sounds defensive.
“No. I just pay attention to the people around me.”
She stiffens. “And I don’t?”
I’m on dangerous ground here. I backtrack. “I never said that.”
“No,” Bliss says quietly. “You don’t say much of anything. You just skulk around, keeping out of the way and pretending like you’re above us all. ‘No, we can’t take Kaitlin’s diary,’” she mimics, “‘We can’t go to a college party. That would be wrong.’”
I don’t respond. What’s the use? She’s back in her superior clique mode, as if she owns the place. Never mind that any sane person would think twice about getting tangled up in trouble; no, when I say so, it’s because I’m pathetic.
“See?” she says, sounding amused. “I bet you’re doing it right now, thinking how mean I’m being, and how much better you are than me.”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, tired. “Start crying? Insult you right back?” I shrug. “What’s the point, anyway?”
“The point is, you need to start sticking up for yourself.” Bliss begins to twist her hair around one finger. “You’ll never get anywhere like this.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your advice,” I reply, fighting to stay calm. I hate that I get emotional so easily — already, I can feel the telltale heat of tears welling up in the back of my throat, my skin flushed and prickling. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Bliss snorts. “Sure, being a total outcast is fine.”
I break. “Why do you have to be such a bitch?”
There’s silence, and then she looks at me with a curious smile on her freshly glossed lips. “That’s better.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
Bliss sighs, clearly exasperated. “I mean, fight back, for once in your life. God, don’t you get sick of it? Always doing whatever you’re told. No wonder I don’t remember you; it’s like I’m looking at a black hole or something — you just suck all the fun and energy out of a room!”
“I . . .” I start to reply, but my survival instincts are screaming the same as usual. Retreat. Hide. Wait for this all to go away. “At least I’m not shallow and self-absorbed like you,” I manage, still holding back tears.
“There you go again.” Bliss shakes her head, sending ringlets bouncing around her face. “Little Miss Perfect. Did it ever strike you that maybe the reason you don’t have any friends isn’t that we’re all bitches, but that you’re just . . . boring?”
I look away, but that doesn’t seem to matter to her.
“I mean, sure, I might not talk to you in school, but give me one good reason why I should,” Bliss continues, sounding self-righteous. “I didn’t just wake up one morning with friends and plans every weekend. I worked for it. You’ve got to make an effort, Meg. No one will just hand you everything for free.”
I pray for her to finish, but it seems like she’s just warming up.
“It’s not that you’re even weird.” Bliss gives me a critical look. “I mean, you’re kind of nerdy, but look at Callie Stephans, or that Tom guy who keeps scoring perfect 800s on all the SAT prep — they manage to have functioning social lives, so why can’t you?” She sighs, as if I’m exhausting her with my uselessness. “You could be fin
e, if you’d just stand up and try.”
That gets me. I feel the tears again, hot in my throat.
“Just join a few clubs,” she suggests, as if I’ve never thought of that before. “Or try out for teams. Well, maybe not sports.” She corrects herself. “But you’ve got to be good at something, and —”
“Shut up.” I can hear my voice break and hate myself for it, but not as much as I hate her right now. “This is my car, and I get to make the rules, so you just shut the hell up!”
Bliss just gives me this pitying look. “OK.” She shrugs. “Fine. I’ll go find Jolene.”
I wait until she’s inside before I let myself cry. She sounded as if she was almost trying to help me in her own twisted way, but to me, it’s so much worse than a sneer. Bitching, I can ignore; I just tell myself that it’s all a stupid lie. This sincerity is something worse.
Something true.
I walk away from Meg feeling like a totally worthless human being. I didn’t mean to make her cry like that; I didn’t even mean to get so personal. I just wanted to give her a few social pointers, but something about the way she looked at me set me on edge — that resigned, victim expression in her eyes, like she’s curling up and waiting for it all to be over. The thing is, it’s never over; that’s what she doesn’t get. We have to fight for everything — status, popularity, whatever — and Meg might think I don’t understand what it’s like for her, but I do. I orbited on the edge of Brianna’s clique all through junior high, getting invites as an afterthought, tagging along after the others at lunch and to the mall even though they didn’t really care if I came or not. I was the new kid then, the outsider, but I didn’t give up like Meg. I decided I was going to belong, and I didn’t quit until I was right there in the middle of everything.
At least, I used to be. Before tonight.
Inside, the Loft is dark and noisy, with a grungy band onstage wailing about misery and alienation, and people mooching around, trying to look like they’re not having any fun. I’ve never been here before. This is freak central, a place for all the alt kids to drink bad coffee and plot against consumerist society, or whatever. No need for IDs or, you know, actual social skills — just torn-up couches and the sound of third-rate emo screeching from the sound system. I grimace, heading deeper in search of Jolene.
“Inside, I die, for you, tonight!”
A group of teenage boys is blocking my way, chanting along with the chorus. I try to edge through them, but they’re lurching around in a tight knot, and soon, I’m surrounded.
“Excuse me?”
They don’t move.
“Hello?” I try again with my elbows out, but they’re moshing, oblivious. Then one of them hurtles into me, crunching his ugly-ass boots on my bare toes. “Hey!” I yelp. And with Jolene’s pep talk fresh in my mind, I shove him back. Hard.
He knocks back against the next guy, who flails around until they both go crashing to the floor.
“What the hell?” He swears. “Crazy bitch!”
I leave them in a pile of bad hair dye and inner pain and head deeper into the crowd, hoping to just slip through and find Jolene without any drama. But everywhere I look, there’s nothing but suspicious stares and flat-out hostile glaring. A couple of pierced, rainbow-haired girls even start to move in my direction before I turn on my heel and flee. Why couldn’t Jolene need to stop somewhere normal? I’m used to being able to own whatever room I walk into, but I don’t think it’s just the fact I’m subverting their precious dress code that’s making me Most Hated around here. They know me, and clearly, I’m not welcome.
Finally, I spot Jolene down the back corridor, just inside a dim office. Dante waits in the doorway, a few steps away.
“There you are!” I head toward her, relieved. “This place is so lame. Can we get out of here —” I stop. A skinny boy is lounging at the desk inside, dressed — surprise — all in black with tiny loops pierced down the outside of one ear and a swoop of bleached hair falling over his forehead.
I feel a flicker of unease.
“Bliss Merino.” Eli sizes me up, already starting to smirk. “Wouldn’t have thought this was your scene.”
“Because you know me so well.” I roll my eyes, but inside, I feel . . . well, not exactly guilt. I mean, Brianna was technically the one who hit send on that video forward, alerting the entire school to his drag queen lip-synch act. And who films themselves doing that kind of stuff unless deep down, they have some subconscious desire for everyone to see it? So he got mercilessly bullied, dropped out, and became the joke of the entire Internet. . . . It’s not all my fault.
But from the look in Eli’s eyes, I’m guessing he doesn’t agree.
“Well?” I turn to Jolene. “Can we get out of here already?”
“Not yet.” She keeps her gaze fixed on Eli, unmoving. “I need something first.”
Eli shrugs. “And I’ve already told you: no.”
“I only need it an hour, maybe less!” Jolene looks strangely desperate. “Come on, Eli, what’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Eli leans back on his chair. He’s freakishly pale, like he never goes outside, and not even in a cute chiseled vampire way. “What do you think will happen when you get caught? They’ll take one look at the hardware and come right to me. You think I want the police crawling all over this place?” He gestures around. It’s not exactly a secret lair, just piles of comic books and some peeling Marvel posters on the wall, but who knows? Maybe he has other, more illegal stuff stashed away behind the Star Wars action figures.
“I’m not going to get caught,” Jolene insists, her face flushed. “I told you — I have everything to get me in there. I just need to disable the security feed.”
“Sorry.” Eli shrugs, sounding anything but. “No deal. This is proprietary tech, I’ve got to put my business first.”
Jolene swears. Her hands are clenched in tight fists by her sides, and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to snap and start trashing the place, but then she spins on her heel.
“Jolene —” Dante tries to stop her.
“Get the hell out of my way.” Jolene shakes him off, not even looking in my direction before disappearing out into the dim hallway.
“What’s going on?” I look around for answers. Jolene is freaking me out now — not so much vengeful and determined as slowly cracking up.
“She’s just PMSing,” Eli says smoothly.
Dante shakes his head, unreadable. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s kind of late for that,” I exclaim, but both of them refuse to meet my eyes. They idle there, not saying a word, as if whatever’s going on here has nothing to do with me. “I’ll go find her,” I say. They shrug, like they’re synchronized freaking swimmers or something.
Boys.
Jolene’s in the narrow storeroom, tearing into a pack of candy, when I approach.
“Hey,” I start cautiously, checking if she’s still ready to explode, but Jolene just sags against the ugly Formica counter top.
“Hi.” She exhales, worn out, so I figure it’s safe to come closer.
“Does Eli run this place or something?” I ask, trying to figure out his power trip.
She nods, gnawing on a hunk of red licorice. “He graduated early. Took his SATs and got the hell out.”
“To this?” I look around. “Isn’t the entire point of leaving high school to go someplace better?”
She gives me this ghost of a smile. “Are you kidding? He sits around all day playing Xbox and taking money from freshman Mountain Dew addicts. It’s like heaven.”
“Sure it is.” There’s a pause, the noise of that terrible band drifting loud from the main room.
I wait for a second, trying to figure out what to do next. Meg’s out crying in the car, Jolene’s fixated on getting this thing from Eli, and I’m no closer to my after-party and general normalcy. Perfect. For a moment I think about just calling a cab and bailing on this whole mess, but the idea doesn’t last long.
Even I’m not that low, and something tells me Jolene likes to hold a grudge.
“So . . .” I reach over and take a thin ribbon of licorice, peeling off an even thinner strand to nibble. “What’s this thing all about?”
Jolene looks at me for a second and then relents. “He’s got this device that can jam transmission signals. Video feeds, radios, even cell phones if you set the right frequencies.”
“And?”
“And I need it,” she says simply.
I nod, beginning to understand. “To get into your dad’s office.”
“Yup. It’s kind of the electronic version of an invisibility cloak. In and out, no trace left behind.”
“Hmmm.” I twist the strip around my finger, watching the blood pool in the tip. “It’s a lot of effort, just to steal something.”
“Says the girl who had us dressed like a Victoria’s Secret catalog, like, an hour ago,” Jolene snaps back.
“Fair point.” I watch her, curious. “What did he do? Your dad, I mean.”
I expect her to clam up and get defensive, but instead, Jolene just exhales again. “He took something from me — the thing I wanted more than anything. So, I’m going to do the same.” She pauses. “At least, I was going to.”
“It’s not money, or anything like that?” I ask, struck with sudden panic.
“No. It’s . . . a painting,” she admits, her voice quiet. “Just a stupid painting.” But I can tell it means way more than she’s letting on, because her lower lip begins to tremble. She turns quickly and begins to rifle through the fridge, like she’s still pretending this is no big deal, but the careless act isn’t fooling me anymore.
This matters to her.
The strange and secret desires of Jolene Nelson should be the least of my problems, but despite all the glares, sarcasm, and general hostility she’s thrown my way tonight, I can’t help but feel some weird debt. She helped me out with my revenge, so aren’t I honor-bound to help out with hers? Besides: if I deal with this, she won’t ever tell about Cameron.
Sometimes, I hate my conscience.
The Anti-Prom Page 10
