Once Upon a Kiss

by Robin Palmer

  “In honor of the Castle Heights Cougars’ soccer playoffs this afternoon, that was Daft Punk’s ‘Get Lucky,’” he said into the mike. “And now, to amp things a bit because the soda machine is broken therefore denying us some much-needed caffeine this morning, here’s some TV On The Radio.”

  Where was New Order? He always played them between second and third period. Jonah and Nerdy Wayne looked over, surprised to see me.

  “Dude, is that really her, or a hologram?” Wayne asked, freaked-out.

  “It’s really me,” I said.

  Jonah didn’t look freaked-out that I was there. He just looked a little annoyed. “We usually don’t allow visitors in here—”

  “I know. But I’m not a visitor. I’m your best . . . fan,” I vamped.

  “You listen to our shows,” he said doubtfully.

  “I do. Every day.” I left out the part that sometimes I’d fall asleep to them. “Can I please talk to you alone for a second?”

  Jonah looked at Nerdy Wayne.

  “Dude, I am not missing this,” Wayne said.

  Jonah brought a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. “Go get yourself a few doughnuts.”

  Wayne took the money. “Okay. But I don’t have to share, right?”

  Jonah opened the door so he’d leave.

  “Thank you,” I said when we were alone. I took a deep breath. “Now what I’m about to say is going to sound weird. Like really weird. But I just need you to hear me out—”

  He put his finger in front of my lips to shoosh me for a second as he introduced the next song. “And now, for all of you deep in the morass of a heartache, here’s a little something by the National,” he said as a depressing song started up. He turned to me. “What is it?”

  “What it is is that . . . I’m not who you think I am—”

  “I know that.”

  I brightened. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you barely ever leave your perch on the Ramp, so for you to come here—”

  “No. That’s not what I mean,” I said. “What I mean is that . . .” I got closer to him. “You really don’t recognize me?”

  He looked confused. “Of course I recognize you. You’re the most popular girl in school.”

  “I’m really not.”

  Now he really looked baffled. “But that was your campaign slogan. ‘Vote for me—Zoe Brenner. The most popular girl in school.’”

  I cringed. How could this version of me stand myself? I started to pace. I needed to figure out a way to tell him who I really was without completely freaking him out. Well, I paced until I had to sit down, because my feet were killing me from the heels. I took one of my shoes off and began to rub my feet. “These things are killing me. Remember that time at the ballroom dancing class finale? Me in my heels, and you with toilet paper stuck to your loafer?”

  At that, his face got pale and his eyes narrowed. “How’d you know about the toilet paper thing?”

  So much for the avoiding-freaking-him-out thing. I took another deep breath. It was time to just go for it. “Because I was your partner!” I replied. “We danced to that song ‘At Last’ by Etta James but instead sang ‘I Melt with You’ by Modern English to each other!”

  I watched as he started to squint, the way that he did when he was trying to remember the lyrics to the Plimsouls’ “A Million Miles Away” from Valley Girl, a movie which although he proclaimed to think was dumb, I knew he secretly liked from the so-called allergy attack and leaky eyes that just happened to come on right at the moment when Deborah Foreman told Nicolas Cage that it was over and she never wanted to see him again. “Montana was my ballroom dancing partner,” he said, confused.

  “You really don’t know?” I asked anxiously.

  “Know what?”

  I searched his face to see if he was kidding. Jonah was the only person who could get me like that. But he wasn’t kidding. He was dead serious.

  Just then the door opened and Nerdy Wayne walked in with a handful of doughnuts. “I know I said I wasn’t going to share, but you want one?” he asked as he held his hand forward.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said. I looked over at Jonah, who was still freaked-out. “I should probably go.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea,” he agreed firmly.

  I nodded sadly. What did you do when the one person in the world who really got you thought you were crazy?

  As I turned to go, the door opened and Montana walked in. When she saw him, her face lit up with a smile. Even the gap between her top front teeth was cool. Like an accessory or something. But when she saw me, the smile faded. “Wow. You’re really taking this fraternizing with the commoners thing seriously. Is there some special election coming up or something?”

  “No. I was just . . . going,” I mumbled as I made my way out before the tears that were springing to the corners of my eyes could take off. Once I got outside, I turned for one last look through the window. As I watched them, I couldn’t help but notice that they fit together perfectly. Like chocolate and peanut butter. Or popcorn and Hershey’s syrup. All things that Jonah liked to eat when we hung out together back when we were best friends instead of them.

  I’D BE LYING IF I SAID THAT I COULDN’T WAIT to get back to being an invisible nobody in 1986. Even though all the new technology was freaking me out, and I’d probably have to add another year of high school just to learn it, it was kind of cool to be in 2016. Just like I’d also be lying if I said I had no interest in taking over Andrea Manson’s title of “Most Popular” if only because it allowed me to be class president. If I played my cards right, I could effect a lot of change before I went back. That is, if I ever figured out how to get back. But if being popular in 2016 meant that I couldn’t have Jonah as my best friend, then I’d trade it in an instant. I would have rather been a 1986 nobody with Jonah by my side than the most popular girl in the world without him.

  I had just come out of the girls’ room (apparently some things did not change—like the smell of the bathroom after Janet Wishner made her morning visit) and was examining the contents of my new locker (hair products, makeup, two mirrors) when a pair of hands grabbed my waist and Brad’s face appeared next to mine in the mirror.

  “Ahh!” I yelped.

  “Man, we’re so hot together, aren’t we?” he asked.

  My initial impulse was to try and slither away from him, but if I was going to be here for a while, I was going to have to do my best to act like I really was his girlfriend. “Oh totally,” I agreed nervously. “Hotter than . . . a summer day in Palm Springs.”

  Before I knew what was happening, Brad managed to snake his leg between and around mine so that I couldn’t move. What he was missing in brains, he more than made up for with coordination. “You miss me?”

  “Um—”

  His face fell. Poor guy. Who knew he was so sensitive?

  “What I mean is how can I possibly miss you when you’re always sending me texts on my iPhone,” I said as I held up my pink thing. I had learned that during the ride to school with Andrea.

  Brad’s face fell further. “But you love how I always text you,” he said. “You’re always saying how lucky you are that I’m like a girl that way.”

  I couldn’t believe it, but I actually felt bad for the guy. There he was, standing there with a totally open heart, willing to hand it over without question to his girlfriend. The problem was, I wasn’t his girlfriend. But if I was having a hard time convincing Jonah of who I really was, Brad definitely wasn’t going to get it. We had been in algebra together. I knew this.

  “And I do love it,” I agreed quickly. At least this version did.

  “Babe, what’s going on with you?” Brad asked. “You’re, like, different today.”

  Talk about the understatement of the year.

 
He leaned in closer. “I mean, you always get a little insane after a particularly intense make-out session, and granted yesterday afternoon’s was off the charts, but you’re acting way weird.”

  Okay, I could not think about that at the moment. Just like I couldn’t think about the fact that as long as I was in this life, there was a very good chance that the kissing thing would probably come up again.

  Brad leaned in. “I’m thinking I need to kiss you again right now as an anecdote—”

  Like, say, now. “Actually, it’s antidote,” I said as I leaned back. “See, an anecdote is a funny story, whereas an antidote is what you take to counteract a poison,” I rambled. “How, like, if you’re bitten by a snake, and you went to a doctor—well, if you were able to make it to the doctor before you died—then you’d be given—” The bell rang signaling the beginning of fourth period. “An antidote! Gotta go!” I cried as I started to bolt.

  “Aren’t you going to walk me to Remedial English?” he called after me.

  “I wish I could, but I don’t want to be late for trig,” I answered over my shoulder.

  “But you hate trig,”

  Some things hadn’t changed. “Yeah, well, this is a new me!”

  I wondered if I’d ever get back to the old one.

  At lunch that day, I got a new perspective on my life.

  Literally.

  “Wow. It’s not like we’re all that high up here, but it does make a person feel above everyone else, huh?” I said as I peered over the edge of the Ramp. The Ramp was an area of about 150 square feet that was raised about three feet higher than the rest of the cafeteria, with tables and chairs. Because of who I was—at least in this life—we had the best table up there: smack in the middle, right next to the edge. All the better to gaze over my kingdom at my subjects.

  Brad did his inbred-cocker-spaniel head tilt again as he thought about it. “But that’s, like, the point, isn’t it?” he finally said.

  “Omigod, that’s so weird! I was going to say the exact same thing!” Andrea gasped.

  Did she realize that she was kissing my boyfriend’s butt right in front of me?

  “It probably is the point,” I replied, “but that doesn’t mean it’s right.”

  “It’s not?” Brad asked.

  “Nope. This is a democracy. Not a monarchy,” I said. “Which means that we should all be on the same playing field.”

  Andrea leaned toward him. “I don’t know what’s going on with her,” she whispered as she not-so-subtly yanked the front of her top down so she was showing some cleavage. “She’s been like this ever since I showed up this morning to pick her up.”

  As I scanned the cafeteria, I saw Jonah walk out of the food bay with his tray. Even from this far I knew what was on it: a taco, which he would drown with hot sauce; no beans, because he had once farted during history after eating them and it scarred him for life; and extra tortilla chips that he had charmed out of Gladys, the lunch lady who scowled at everyone but was nice to him because he had won her over with his corny knock-knock jokes. “Jonah!” I yelled without thinking. What was I doing? He had pretty much made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.

  He turned and scanned the cafeteria, looking for the source. When he saw me, he looked embarrassed. Maybe because I was waving my hands so he’d see me, and attracting a lot of strange looks.

  I jumped up and jogged toward him. “I . . . um . . . was wondering if you wanted to come up there and check out the view,” I asked. “Because, you know, you’ve never been up there.”

  He wasn’t the only one who looked uncomfortable. The entire cafeteria looked freaked that I was daring to talk to a mere mortal.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m good,” he said warily as he walked into the sea of tables over to where we sat. And where Montana was waiting for him. With a sigh, I went back to my table and, for the rest of lunch, tried to pay attention to what Brad and Andrea were talking about (something about something called Instagram) but I found myself unable to stop looking over at Jonah and Montana. Every time I did, Jonah was in mid-laugh over something she had said. She had great style and she was funny? I watched as she shoved some potato chips in her mouth. And she wasn’t a dainty eater like most girls? She was kind of perfect. No wonder Jonah liked her.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. But did he like her like her?

  And if he did, why did the idea of that make me upset? He was my best friend. I wanted him to be happy.

  Right?

  As I watched her make Jonah laugh yet again, I heard the sound of someone clearing her throat. I looked down toward the ground and saw Sarah Bernstein standing there, holding her phone. “Oh hey, Sarah,” I said.

  “Hi,” she said, surprised to be recognized.

  “So what’s up?”

  “I was wondering if I could get a picture,” she said nervously.

  I looked around. “I don’t see any signs that say you can’t.”

  “No. I meant . . . with you,” she said.

  “Why would you want a picture with me?” I asked, confused.

  “Um, because you’re you and she’s her?” Andrea offered as Brad laughed.

  To them—people who had always been haves versus have-nots—they wouldn’t have noticed it. But for me—someone who knew all too well what it was like to be looked down upon—I caught the shame that flashed across Sarah’s face. “It’s for my little sister,” Sarah went on. “It’s her birthday. She’s a huge fan. She follows you on Facebook and Twitter.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like it carried a lot of weight. I smiled. “Of course. Come on up.”

  Her eyes widened, like a cat stuck in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen wheeler. “On . . . the Ramp?”

  I nodded.

  She looked down at her clothes. “I’m really not dressed for it today.”

  “Hello, understatement of the year,” Andrea muttered.

  I shot her a look before turning back to Sarah. “Fine. I’ll come down there,” I said, getting up. All this rarefied air was making me light-headed anyway. To say that the crowd parted as I made my way down wasn’t a lie. I was so used to getting jostled and having to go around people because everyone ignored my Excuse mes that I felt like a stone a slingshot had just released. I practically tripped my way there, although part of that was probably because of the heels. After the picture, I took a deep breath. It felt good to be on solid ground again.

  “Zoe, what are you doing? Come back up here,” Andrea called nervously.

  “I’ll be back,” I called over my shoulder as I started to make my way into the sea of non-Ramp-dwelling students.

  “Hi, guys,” I said as I slid into a seat at the table where Jonah and Montana were sitting.

  “Oh no,” Jonah said under his breath.

  Montana was so stunned that she didn’t notice the salsa that dripped off her chip onto her shirt. And when she finally did, she dabbed at it once before forgetting about it. Which—from the amount of stained T-shirts I owned—was exactly what I did.

  “I don’t mean this to sound rude,” she said when she recovered, “but what are you doing here?”

  I shrugged and reached for one of Jonah’s chips. “Just saying hi.” I knew I was pushing my luck, seeing that Jonah had already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help it. Something in me just wouldn’t let it rest.

  As Jonah reached his hand out, it collided with mine.

  “Oh my God. Our snacking synchronicity is gone,” I gasped.

  He looked at me. “Our what?”

  I stared at him. Jonah had one of those faces where everything showed, and yet there was nothing. It was obvious that he really didn’t know what I was talking about. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” I said softly.

  I looked ove
r at Montana, who was staring at me like I was up to no good. It was exactly the kind of look I’d give someone if they were doing this to Jonah. I stood up. “Never mind. Sorry to disturb your lunch.”

  It looked like I was on my own with this stuff.

  AFTER SCHOOL, WHEN ANDREA ASKED IF I wanted to go shopping on Fairfax, I got excited. Not because I liked the idea of some BFBWS (Best Friend Bonding While Shopping, according to Andrea, who was big on abbreviations), but because I could stop and see Terri. Terri was just weird enough that if I told her what had happened to me, she’d probably believe it. And even if she didn’t know how to help me get back to 1986, she had enough weird friends that maybe one of them would know. And if she did think I was nuts, I could run out of there and never show my face again.

  But when we got there, Terri’s store was nowhere to be found. In its place was something called the Dell, a giant mall. “Where’s Terri’s?” I asked Andrea as we pulled into the parking structure.

  “Who’s Terri?”

  “Terri of Terri’s Totally Bitchin’ Treasures.”

  “I have no idea what that is,” she replied. “Did it just open?”

  “No. It’s been here since 1982.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “So it’s old. Must be over in the Farmers Market with all those other old people. Ew. It always smells like Vicks VapoRub over there.”

  As she pulled up to the valet, a bunch of guys descended on the car and fawned over us like we were royalty. “Miss Zoe! So nice to see you always!” one of the men said as he opened my door.

  “Thank you—” I shot Andrea a look.

  José, she mouthed.

  “—José,” I finished.

  “Those guys are so great,” Andrea said as we got in the elevator. “Remember that coronation ceremony when we were granted VIP Parking status and they sang ‘For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ to us in Spanish and gave us those tiaras and you wouldn’t take yours off for two days?”

  I cringed. First the discovery about my love of pink and now the revelation that I had dared to wear a tiara in public. If it were possible to perform a citizen’s arrest on yourself for fashion faux pas–ing, I’d do it. “That sure was a great day,” I lied. Maybe Terri’s was now part of this Dell thing, even though Terri had sworn she’d never be part of a mall culture.