Confessions of a Hater

by Caprice Crane

  “Wait—what?”

  “Here’s the thing, Hailey.” He gestured broadly with his hands as he spoke. I got the feeling he must accidentally whack passersby in the face now and then, and the thought forced me to stifle a giggle. “I’ve enjoyed your last few comics, and your talent is certainly undeniable.”

  “Thank you,” I said, still thrown a bit. If I were being honest, and not humble at all, Abby Invisible really had improved since its first incarnation. And it was still getting a great response from other students.

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with CalArts?” he said.

  Of course I was familiar. CalArts was the very first arts college, i.e., the first collegiate institution in the United States, to grant degrees in both visual and performing arts. Okay, so maybe that doesn’t lift your skirt. Try this: It was founded by Walt Freakin’ Disney.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to stay cool. “I’m absolutely … familiar.”

  “Great,” he said. “How would you feel about a CalArts internship this summer? I can’t guarantee your placement, but I can certainly recommend you. I believe in fostering talent when I see it, and provided you do a good job in school the rest of this year, I think this would be a wonderful opportunity.”

  “It would be incredible,” I said, thinking, This is so far beyond incredible.

  “I thought you might think so,” he said. “It’s rare to see such distinct talent so early in a student’s academic career, and when I do spot it … I try to nurture it.”

  I was floored. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just study hard, do all your homework, be a good person and we’ll take it from there.”

  I practically floated out of his office. What an amazing feeling. I’d directed my artistic skills and social commentary into a project that actually meant something to me, people liked it, and bonus: I was getting offered opportunities I couldn’t have even dreamed up!

  * * *

  By the day of that party, I’d managed to convince myself almost completely that Skyler’s invite was genuine—apparently “seize fire” really was in full effect. If they were going to make a move, they’d have made it by now, right? It seemed like everything really was looking up.

  Meanwhile, I had to field about fifteen calls from the girls, all trying to decide what they were going to wear that night. Dahlia had gotten highlights and needed to be reminded of what Noel had said about hair:

  Don’t change your hairstyle/color more than once every three months, so that you don’t look schizo or like early-Madonna. Exception: If you get a really bad color job, change it ASAP, never stick with something that looks bad.

  Emily was the most concerned, yet considering her extracurricular thieftivities, she had the least to worry about. She had the best clothes out of any of us—or at least the most current.

  “I can’t decide between jeans and a cute top or a dress,” Emily said over the phone line. “I’ve literally tried on both outfits like twenty times.”

  “I’m sure you look great in both,” I said.

  “Well … what do you think Andy would like better?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I thought I’d noticed some flirting going on between those two but this made it official. She liked him. “I think Andy will like you in whatever you wear,” I said, “but wear a dress—why not show some leg?”

  Emily giggled as my caller ID flashed: Anya.

  “Can you hold on a second, Em?”

  “Totes!”

  I clicked over to Anya. “Hey.”

  “Do you remember what Carrie wore to the prom?” she asked.

  “Carrie Bradshaw?”

  “No, not fucking Carrie Bradshaw. Carrie—”

  “Yeah, Carrie. Carrie Carrie. I get the reference. And also—really?”

  “I have a dress that looks similar, but my concern is the shoes. Can I wear combat boots?”

  “I think you should,” I said. “Why not put your own spin on it?”

  “I’m thinking about wearing a tiara,” she said. “Do you have a tiara?”

  “Of course I don’t have a tiara,” I said. “Shit, I forgot I have Emily on the other line.”

  “Good! Ask her if she can steal me a tiara!” Anya said.

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I said.

  When I clicked back over, Emily had decided on a Jill Stuart dress, and thankfully my work was done.

  After one last look in the mirror (seriously, I’d been so involved with everyone else’s wardrobe choices I’d barely had time to focus on my own clothes), I finalized my outfit: a short-sleeved Marc Jacobs cream-based top patterned with multicolored finches (cute!), rust-colored Rag & Bone jeans, a vintage denim cutoff vest and booties (all courtesy of Noel). I fussed with my hair for just another minute and then made my way downstairs to say good night to Mom. She was at the dinner table and my dad was seated next to her. I hadn’t even heard him come in.

  “Hey, little lady,” he said, standing and giving me a hug.

  “Hey, mister,” I said. “Anyone ever tell you that you look just like my dad? I think so, at least. Haven’t seen him in a while. I think we have some black-and-white photographs somewhere.…”

  Dad grunted. “This new job’s a lot of work, honey. Have to make a good impression in your first year.”

  Mom laughed. “As many hours as you’re putting in, you should be the CEO by now.”

  I piled on: “Yeah, Dad, where’s the corporate mansion?”

  “You might never see it,” he said. “It’s reserved for appreciative daughters who respect their elders.”

  “Then she’ll definitely never see it,” Mom said with a smile.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said.

  “I thought maybe we could hang out tonight,” he said, “but you’re obviously dressed for—” He turned to Mom. “A date?”

  “A party,” Mom said. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

  “Uh-oh,” Dad said. “Do we know these people?”

  “It’s just some friends from school, Dad. It’s fine.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “So you’ll be in by ten?”

  I looked at Mom. She turned to my dad and said: “We agreed on eleven. No later.”

  “What, eleven?” he said, sounding genuinely shocked. “At your age? That’s—”

  “—earlier than you get in some nights,” I said before I could stop myself. Well, it was true.

  He sighed. “Alright. But not a second later. Promise?”

  I gave him a hug and headed for the door. “Promise!”

  * * *

  Skyler’s house was hidden high in the hills, off windy roads and multiple turns, tucked away behind a gate. Which is to say, it’s not exactly a place you could stumble across. Hell, delivering a pizza would probably take an hour, guarantee be damned.

  Once you gained entry, let’s just say you’d never look at your own home the same way again. “Humble abode” took on a whole new meaning.

  Her house? Gorgeous. Crazy insane gorgeous, like you had unlimited funds in one of those virtual reality games and just decided to design your own Sims Mansion that was intended purely for Sims Parties and Sims Bridal Receptions and Sims Royal Weddings and basically the most ostentatious shit you can Sims-imagine. It was your typical “house in the hills,” like everything you’ve seen on TV. Everything you’d expect from the over-privileged.

  Gate to keep out the riffraff? Check. Circular driveway with ridiculously overpriced cars scattered about? Check. Perfectly manicured hedges with flawless blooming flowers? Check.

  You might say we were a hair intimidated as we neared the house.

  Grace already had her license, so Anya, Grace and I took one car. (Yes, Anya wore the Carrie dress and her combat boots.) The second we made that last turn and pulled up to Skyler’s house, we immediately saw Cassidy and Jericha out front, leaning against an Audi. Dahlia and Emily pulled up right behind us; Kura was nowhere to be found.
<
br />   Xandra too, but she had texted:

  No way in hell I wanna b face-to-face with Skyler, in her home. Esp. so soon after the videotape incident. Have fun n get me TONS of gossip!

  “Hi, girls,” Jericha said.

  “Hey,” we all said back.

  “So, we’re all so glad you could come tonight,” Jericha said. “Cassidy, do you have their party favors?”

  “Yep,” Cassidy said, seemingly buzzed and distracted by trying to screw off the top of her pop-top beer (a Corona). “Party favors. They get special party favors.”

  She reached into the trunk of the Audi and pulled out a box, then opened the flaps, saying, “Here you go, girls.”

  We stepped forward, and even as we did, I had this terrible feeling. I tried to bite it down—I told myself it was just my old insecurities rising to the surface. It’s not fish guts, I told myself. It doesn’t look like fish guts. It doesn’t smell like fish guts. It’s just …

  Clothes?

  The box contained red vests and little red bow ties.

  “Now, don’t worry,” Jericha said. “We made sure these were all professionally dry-cleaned first. We need you to look professional when you valet park all our friends’ cars.”

  It’s one thing to feel horrible for a single mistake. Like, let’s say you borrowed your buddy’s bicycle, and you promised you were only going to ride it up the street to the supermarket, but instead you took it mountain biking. And then you smashed it into a tree and it’s totally wrecked forever. You feel bad about what happened, but you feel worse because you promised one thing, and because you lied, you’ve ruined something important to your friend.

  I felt horrible for a variety of mistakes. Like trusting Skyler. Like convincing my friends it was worth showing up to this party. Like letting them get their hopes up—for some of them, the first time they’d trusted in anything for a long time—just to have the horrible bitches rip their hearts out—right now, on their turf—even as my friends are wearing their carefully selected outfits, the ones they looked forward to showing off in front of the other party guests.

  And now these bitches wanted us to tear off our awesome outfits and wear valet costumes.

  And park their fucking cars.

  “It’s not that complicated,” Jericha said. “There’s a nice, fully landscaped plot right down the street that Skyler’s family owns. You saw it when you came up, where the blue flashing barricades are? It’s only a half mile down, maybe a hair more. Just park the cars there, then jog back up to park the next car. And then hang out to retrieve the cars tonight. You might even get tips!”

  My heart sank and my stomach dropped. Everything inside me ached for my friends. And that was all multiplied when we heard the laughter. It came from the few kids who’d arrived early and witnessed the blessed moment. They all thought it was hilarious. Emily stormed over to her car and the laughter only got louder. It seemed that Skyler had struck a mighty blow.

  I saw tears start to well up in Grace’s eyes. Under her breath she said, “I want to drain her pool. I want to jump in and cannonball and drain her fucking pool.”

  I couldn’t let this happen.

  I wouldn’t let this happen.

  They want us to wear this stupid shit?

  Fine. We’ll wear your stupid shit.

  I was the first to grab a vest and bow tie. I slipped into the vest as if this were totally normal and turned to Anya as I tried to affix my bow tie: “Is this crooked? I don’t want it to be crooked.”

  Anya smiled and adjusted my tie, then she grabbed a vest and put it on. One by one, all of the Invisibles put on the vests and bow ties—even Emily walked back from her car to join in, not knowing what the hell we were thinking, but still acting a team player.

  Jericha finally walked up to me, amazed that we were actually going to do it. “God, what is wrong with you? Don’t you know we were just—”

  “Wanting us to park cars?” I replied. “Got it. On it. No prob.”

  “No, but, see, it was—”

  “Right, like an initiation,” I replied. “Or a hazing. We get it. We have to do this so we can gain favor. That’s cool.”

  “No,” replied Cassidy, who still had no clue how to open her beer, despite seeming far from sober. “See, it’s—you aren’t—it’s, like, wait, see, it’s, like—it’s, it’s.”

  “We’re good,” Anya said. “We’re going to park cars.” By now, almost everyone was dressed in their valet outfits.

  “Actually, I don’t think—hang on, let me call Skyler,” Jericha said.

  “No need!” I said. “You have tickets, right?” I asked. “Because otherwise, how will we keep track of keys and cars?”

  Cassidy looked at Jericha: Do we have tickets? Cassidy looked in her box and sure enough, she did.

  Just then someone pulled up: Brian Caldwell, captain of the football team. He slowed to a stop when he saw us.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I said, opening Brian’s door for him. I helped him out of the car and handed him a ticket.

  I drove Brian’s car slightly down the hill, going until I was just out of sight, parking it in front of a perfectly lovely fire hydrant.

  Once I returned and put his keys in a safe place, Jericha and Cassidy had vanished. I presumed Jericha was satisfied that their prank had turned into a legitimate valet-parking service for the party, and was looking forward to reporting this to Skyler. Would Skyler shut it all down? Would she just let us go ahead and valet? Either way, I presumed that Cassidy would be vomiting all over herself within minutes, given that she looked pretty wrecked.

  Skyler never emerged, so that’s how we spent the party.

  Parking cars.

  Wherever the fuck we felt like parking them.

  It wasn’t until the party was in its waning hours that Skyler would realize her “valet parking crew” was nowhere to be found. We’d left all the keys for them, but the cars?

  That was a different story. We all took turns parking the cars ALL. OVER. TOWN.

  Anywhere and everywhere.

  Cars in front of hydrants? Hell yeah.

  Cars parked right in front of the ordering sign in the KFC drive-through window? You’d better believe it.

  Cars parked in sandboxes in children’s playgrounds? That might well have occurred.

  One on the fifth floor of a mall parking garage? Yep. One at Dodgers Stadium? You know it.

  Yes, this wasn’t the smartest thing, considering most of us didn’t even have our licenses. Still, yes, there was at least one car parked in a mud pit by a lake, where it would require a tow truck to pull the car free. (But in our defense, that dick was using a disability tag, probably belonging to a relative, and he’s a perfectly healthy letterman in three sports. So eat it, Eddie Bauer.)

  Andy was inside at the party. He never saw us (or Emily in her dress) because he’d arrived early before it all went down, but he’d heard rumblings about the valet gag they’d pulled on us, and he texted me to see if it was actually true. I called him back to confirm and to let him know what happened. He was steaming mad, but I talked him into playing it cool.

  “Stay there, have fun, be our ears,” I told him over the phone during one car drop-off. “See what you can do to keep Skyler inside or Jericha or whoever. The longer it takes them to figure out what we’re doing, the better.”

  “Okay,” Andy said. “Be careful.”

  “I will, thank—”

  Suddenly, I heard another voice over the phone, somewhere in the background:

  “Are you kidding me? Oh my GOD, it BURNS!”

  It was a girl’s voice. Familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “No clue,” Andy said.

  The voice again: “Ow! God! What the hell!”

  “Andy,” I said, “is someone on fire over there?”

  “No, I don’t know—some of the girls are in a bathroom, the door’s closed, but they’re still—”

&
nbsp; “Really fucking loud?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m—”

  The voice again: “I told you we should have used vanilla! Not citrus!”

  This night just keeps getting more interesting. I signed off with Andy and got back to “work.”

  At all times, at least two of us were using our own cars to pick up the girls depositing the cars. Now, we’re not total assholes—and we didn’t want anyone calling the LAPD and accusing us of stealing cars per se—so we made a point of noting everywhere we’d parked cars on handwritten lists, with brief descriptions of the cars and where they were left. We left behind our lists and all the keys. If the partygoers had to call cabs or catch rides to get to their cars, so be it.

  After a couple of hours, we headed out for good, and we kept the damn vests and ties. We figured we’d worked hard for them. Later, we found out that not everything had worked out like we expected—it actually turned out better.

  Apparently, shortly after we left, Skyler popped out to check on how we were doing. She found the keys and the notes and maps. To try to save face and keep the partygoers clueless about the situation, Skyler, Daniella and Jericha (Cassidy was having her own drama) each had to frantically drive all over town picking up cars. Because they had to drive the cars back, they had to take taxis to each car, costing them a minor fortune. They also missed the rest of their own party.

  Cassidy, we learned, had an even worse night. She’d decided to try out the latest supposed craze of using vodka-soaked tampons to get drunk. Yeah, that’s quite possibly the most idiotic thing I have ever heard of. They say it gets into your bloodstream quicker than drinking vodka and saves you the stomach upset (and calories), but from what I overheard, Cassidy did not have a pleasant experience. And it didn’t help that Skyler, Daniella and Jericha had to abandon Cassidy and her corrosive cooch in her moment of panic to solve the car situation.

  Even though they found many of the cars in time, some hadn’t been retrieved when people needed their cars (because of curfews or whatever). The whole thing was a mess, and everybody blamed Skyler because the “valet joke” was her mean-spirited idea to begin with.