by Donna Cooner
“Was Cody a mistake, too?” I can’t help but ask, sitting up on my bed.
“Yes. Everything. Even that.” Zoe doesn’t even deny it. “I just missed you. We both did. I thought it would be like hanging out with you somehow.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I’m so angry, my hand is shaking and the phone rattles against my ear.
“I know. I know. We’re not going out anymore. It’s over.” She’s crying now, and I feel my throat close. “You were the only thing we had in common.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Say you forgive me.”
I listen to her sobbing, and finally I say, “I can’t do that right now.”
“Then say you’ll at least think about it,” she pleads. Begging isn’t like her.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and end the call.
Much later, when I’ve calmed down from talking to Zoe, I pull out the backpack and pile of things from my closet. I place each item separately on the bed, spread out like the photos on Mom’s floor. They look random and disconnected lying on the bedspread.
This is what a life was made of.
I pick up Miranda’s sketchbook page of Sensational Sister. My finger traces the outline of the drawing. I fold it up and put it back on the bed.
What do I say?
I close my eyes and try to imagine speaking in the courtroom, but all I can think about is my mom’s head in my lap and the sadness in her face.
Just pack it all up. Hide it away again.
I fold the baby blanket and slide it down into the backpack, surprised when my fingers touch something at the bottom. I turn the bag over and shake it until something falls out. The moonstone bracelet lies uncovered on the bed in front of me. There is no sparkle — no glimmer of moonlight or magic. I pick it up off the sheets and hold it carefully in my hand. Miranda kept it all those years. Even when we screamed at each other and argued. This bracelet was in her backpack all the time.
Like it meant something to her.
A tightness squeezes at my chest. I just want to talk to her. I’d sit by her grave all night, just like they do in Mexico, waiting for her to return. I would say I was sorry and I’d give her the bracelet. Then she’d be okay. Wherever she was.
“Use your friends as your target audience. Ask them what they’d like to see.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
Monday afternoon in Spanish class, my phone buzzes. At first I think it’s Zoe calling again, and I feel a weird mix of dread and anticipation. But then I see it’s a text from a number I don’t recognize. Meet us at Jilly’s after school. I assume it’s from Blair because I gave her my number at lunch last week. I was so excited she wanted it, I totally forgot to ask for hers.
When Mrs. Garcia isn’t looking, I text back quickly: K. Then I spend the rest of class smiling to myself. Evidently I’ve graduated from lunchtime buddy to after-school buddy. It’s definitely progress.
Jilly’s is a block from the school and an easy walk. A girl in a vintage sundress with an eyebrow piercing takes my order for a skim latte. While I wait, I check out the rest of the café. It’s a narrow space with lime-green walls, wooden tables, and brightly painted mismatched chairs. On one wall is a big chalkboard with blocky red letters that say EXPRESSO YOURSELF. The rest of the decor is all flyers for local bands and fall community events.
Even with my limited experience at the new school, I recognize most of the crowd. There’s the tall girl from my third-period algebra class with the pink streak at her temple. She is wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt and has a big blue ring pierced through her lip. Ross is here, too. He’s wearing a green baseball hat and is over by the window drinking an iced coffee and reading a book. Only he’s holding the book like it’s a prop in a play, his eyes darting up every time a girl walks by. I haven’t seen him turn the page once.
I’m taking my latte off the counter when Mia appears, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a table by the far wall.
“We always sit back here,” she says, settling in and then motioning to the chair across from her.
I sit where she points. “Where are Emily and Blair?” I ask, surprised neither are in sight. Mia is never alone.
“They’re around somewhere.” She shrugs.
That makes me more than a little nervous. “They’re coming, right?”
“They’re just running late. Besides, this gives us some time to get to know each other better.” She leans toward me. “After all, you’re the focus of all the conversation right now. The star attraction.”
I’m not sure I want to get to know Mia better. Especially not with the way she’s looking at me right now. Her stare is intense and cold. I force myself to not look away. Two can play this game.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“You aren’t fooling me,” she says. “You come in with all your perfect hair and your perfect clothes. Just because you look perfect, doesn’t mean you are.”
Her threatening tone makes me nervous, but I hope I don’t show it. “Look, Mia. I never said I was perfect.” I laugh a little bit, throwing my hands up to ward off her bitterness.
It doesn’t work. “You don’t have to say it,” she replies coolly. “You act it. And that’s all it is. An act.”
Mia’s right. I’m not perfect. Far from it. I start talking fast, trying to calm her down. “Look, Mia. I don’t want to upset you. You’ve obviously got tons of friends here and I’m not trying to take your place.”
“Did you know the student body votes on cheerleaders here? It’s a complete popularity contest.”
I shake my head, wondering if she’s changed the subject. I’m confused. “And you’re a cheerleader, so you must be super popular,” I tell her.
“Blair got me that vote. I’m a cheerleader because of her. She’s the one who made people stop calling me ‘pizza face’ in the fifth grade. She talked Jason Edler into going out with me in the seventh grade. I’m everything because of Blair,” Mia says, her face twisted with anger.
“You’re Blair’s best friend,” I say. Then I hear myself switch into my beauty-vlogger voice. Perky and exaggerated. “And you’re soooo cute. Adorable, really. And THAT’S why you’re a cheerleader. It isn’t just about Blair. It’s about who you are.”
This tactic seems to work for a moment. Mia blinks, then takes a sip of her chai. When she continues, her voice is softer. “Blair’s at the top of the social stratosphere here and she knows it. She can afford to like the charity cases. It makes her look even better.”
I pick up my latte, but I don’t take a drink.
“And right now,” Mia goes on, “you’re Blair Cunningham’s favorite pity party.”
Jealousy does not look pretty, I think. I feel embarrassed for Mia. Her attitude makes her look desperate. Weak.
But I can’t help wondering if part of what she’s saying is true. If Blair will eventually kick me to the curb. Does she know what everyone’s saying about me online and simply doesn’t care? Or will she be mortified to be seen with me when she finds out? Even worse, she might love the fact that I’m a target and she can rush in to be the savior.
“I’m not trying to take your place,” I say to Mia.
“You think she pities me?” Mia practically spits out the words. I glance around to see if anyone notices her raised voice.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Blair may think you’re the next best thing, but you know what she’s not good at?” Mia asks.
I wait, because I’m sure she’s going to tell me no matter what I say, the full cup of coffee growing cold in my cupped hands.
“Competition,” Mia says.
“You think I’m trying to compete with Blair?” My voice is rising, but I can’t stop now I’ve started. I glance over to see Ross and the theater girl staring curiously in our direction. I struggle to lower my voice. “For what? Queen of the school?”
“You and Blair are just alike. Both of you need to
be the star. And Blair doesn’t like to be invisible.”
Nobody does.
A commotion at the door is a welcome distraction. Emily and Raylene burst into the café, busy as hummingbirds around a bird feeder. Fighting for position, and in constant fluttery motion. The bird feeder, and the object of their adoration, is Blair.
Blair waves in our general direction. Then she and her hummingbirds flutter over to talk to Ross, giving me enough time to regain my composure. Raylene gives me a quick thumbs-up sign from behind Blair’s back, and I wonder how she became a member of this little group. It’s definitely a step up in social status.
Mia must have wondered the same thing because the minute they all land at our table, she asks, “What’s she doing here?”
I’m just happy to have anything interrupt our conversation, but my hands still tremble with anger. I tuck them under my legs so no one can see.
“She was outside,” Emily says. “She followed us in here.”
That’s a horrible thing to say right in front of her, but Raylene doesn’t seem to notice. She just nods like her head is going to fall off. I wish I could tell her to relax, to not look so eager.
“I wanted to tell you all about my Halloween party,” Raylene says to Emily and Blair.
Emily makes an exaggerated yawn. “Yeah. It’s fascinating,” she says.
I feel my face heat up. This is painful.
“It’s going to be a blast,” Raylene continues. If she can pick up on the girls’ disinterest, she’s not showing it. “A week from this Friday. Halloween night. You’re all coming, right?”
“Not sure,” Blair says. “Might be busy.”
Mia snorts, and I know I can’t be here a second longer.
“Let me out,” I mumble. I push against Emily. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll go with you,” Raylene calls out behind me.
“Whatever.” I head toward the back hallway, hoping I’m going in the right direction. I choose the door with the picture of a poodle wearing a dress instead of the one with a bulldog wearing overalls.
“Do you really think they’ll come to my party?” Raylene asks before the door even swings shut behind her.
Are you kidding? “I don’t know,” I say.
I look into the mirror over the sink, then fumble in my bag for lip gloss. My eyes look bluer than usual in the bright bathroom light. I’ve never noticed it before, but I really do look like Miranda. Or rather, she looked like me. I try to focus on the part of her that is there in my reflection. I can almost see another face now, floating over the top of mine.
“You could ask them,” Raylene says.
“What?”
“Ask them if they will come to my party. They’ll do it if you ask them.”
She obviously didn’t overhear my conversation with Mia. I’m not nearly as popular as she thinks. I mumble something on the way out the door that she’s supposed to think is a yes.
“Wait,” Raylene calls out behind me as I walk back out to the crowded café. “You’re going to do it, right?”
I go back to the table. When I see Mia again, she gives me a fake smile and I realize that yes, I will accept Raylene’s challenge. Blair and friends will be at her party. I’ll need a plan, of course, but I will do it somehow.
“Hey, Luis,” the counter girl says. “What’ll it be?”
I freeze, then look over to see Luis ordering a double-shot Americano at the counter. I must have been in the bathroom when he came in. He doesn’t glance in our direction.
“I can’t believe it,” Blair says, wrinkling her nose. “What’s he doing here?”
“What’s the deal with you and Luis?” I blurt out, no longer caring about how the question might sound.
Mia turns to me. “Blair and Frankenstein used to go out. Until he decided he liked dead people better than her.”
I’m stunned. Speechless. Blair and Luis? I must make some kind of noise, because Emily looks over at me with eyes narrowed.
“I — I thought she hated him,” I stammer, hoping the shock isn’t showing on my face.
“She does now,” Emily says.
I glance back toward the counter. Luis pays for his drink and leaves. I guess he knows he’s not welcome at a place like Jilly’s.
“You know he’s weird, right?” Blair asks. She’s watching me closely. I try to keep my expression neutral.
Why didn’t he tell me? And then I think, why would he tell me? It’s not like we’re dating or anything. It’s not like he likes me. But then I realize with a sinking feeling that I want him to like me, and that’s not a good thing. Especially in present company.
“I guess I have a lot to learn about everyone here.” I laugh, trying to make a joke of it. To get Blair off the subject. She doesn’t go easily.
“Stay away from him,” she says, standing up from the table. Immediately Mia and Emily follow her lead, gathering up purses and book bags.
“Where are you guys going?” Raylene asks.
“We’re leaving,” Emily says.
“It’s boring,” Mia says, and looks pointedly at me.
“Hey …” I start to say something else, but the whole entourage is already heading toward the door.
“Don’t forget about my Halloween party,” Raylene calls as the door swings shut behind them.
“What party? Did I hear something about a party?” Ross calls out from his table, putting down his book. Raylene happily trots over to fill him in on all the details. I’m left sitting alone.
So much for my first visit to Jilly’s. It’s obvious Mia hates my guts and is sure to be whispering her snarky opinions right into Blair’s ear. Even if I could get them to go to Raylene’s party, it would be a disaster. If only Raylene didn’t want it so badly. On top of all that, Luis has this past with Blair I knew nothing about. And that bothers me most of all.
I might as well go home.
As I leave, I can hear Raylene telling Ross, “You don’t have to dress up, but I’m coming as a black cat.”
I walk outside with my head down, digging around in my purse for my keys. The crack in the sidewalk catches the pointed toe of my Steve Madden pump, and I stumble, steadying myself on a lamppost.
“Whoa, girl.” Luis is standing at the curb, coffee in one hand. “You better watch where you’re going.”
I look around to make sure Blair is long gone, and then say, “For my next trick, I’ll do a double somersault dismount.”
“You never cease to amaze me.” He leans against the black van behind him, clapping his hands together slowly.
“Thanks.” I give a little bow, but I don’t smile. I’m mad at him even though I know it doesn’t make any sense.
What about Blair? Did she amaze you?
I keep walking down the sidewalk. With a few quick strides he’s beside me.
“You weren’t at Jilly’s long,” he says, sliding into step beside me.
I didn’t realize he even knew I was in there. “Were you watching me?” I glare at him.
His smile starts with a crinkle at the side of his dark eyes and then spreads to his mouth. I look at his mouth and then back up to his eyes, swallowing hard, and his grin gets even bigger.
Is that the way you looked at Blair?
“Nope. Just hanging out waiting for Mrs. Johnson to finish a flower arrangement.” He motions to a sign on a store window next door that says KAREN’S FLOWERS. “So Jilly’s wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”
“It was okay.” What do I say? I found out about you and Blair. “I have to do my homework,” I say instead.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and stops me mid-stride. First I look at his chest, because it’s right in front of me, but then I look up at his face. His brows are drawn together, a deep line creasing down in between them. “Is something wrong?”
“You dated Blair?” I blurt it out like an accusation.
“You’re upset about … Blair?” He says it like it’s crazy. “That was last yea
r.”
“So what?” I take in a big breath. “What happened?”
“She was going through a lot. Her dad lost his job. They had a lot of money problems.”
“And you dumped her?” I ask.
“No, she broke up with me.”
Now I’m really confused. “Because you weren’t there for her?”
“I tried to be, but when I quit football to help my dad out, suddenly I wasn’t boyfriend material anymore. Everything was falling apart for Blair at home and I guess she couldn’t stand the thought of her life at school going down the tubes, too. Dating the popular football star was part of who she needed to be.”
“You were popular?” All this new information completely overwhelms me.
He laughs at the shock in my voice. “Playing football seemed to make up for my strange home situation. But when football was gone, so was Blair.”
“Why does she hate you so much if she broke up with you?” I pull back a little so I can get a better look at his face.
“I’m not sure she hates me. I think she’s just angry about things she couldn’t control. I’m one of them.”
“And you don’t care?” Because I can’t imagine not caring about Blair’s opinion of me.
“Sure I do. But Blair’s been getting mad at me since grade school about something or other. She’ll get over it.” He pushes a hand through his hair, then adds, “At least, I hope she will.”
He glances back over my shoulder toward the flower shop. “Look. My grandmother and Mrs. Annie Florence want you to come over to the house on Saturday. I told them you’re interested in el Día de los Muertos. They got all excited. You know how they are about that stuff.”
I don’t say anything right away and his phone buzzes, interrupting the tension between us.
“Sorry.” He takes it out of his pocket. Whatever the message is makes him frown, but he looks back up at me quickly. “You’ll come?”
I nod, reluctantly.
“Okay.” He looks relieved, and then stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “I delivered the flowers, but I need to go. Sorry. Don’t mean to rush you, but there’s a call and I have to help my dad.”
