Confessions of a Hater

by Caprice Crane

  I let the relief sink in. It didn’t sink in too deeply.

  My mom gave me a playful jab in the arm. “So you were with Chris?”

  Change the subject much?

  “Yeah,” I said. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I was in the tenth grade when I had my first boyfriend too.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Mick,” she said. “His parents were big Rolling Stones fans.”

  “What happened with him?” I asked.

  “I met another boy who didn’t go to our school and he stole me away.”

  “You cheated?”

  “No!” she said quickly, like really quickly. I looked at her like she was a space alien, and she smiled and continued.

  “I just knew I liked him better—Jackson—so I broke up with poor Mick. Your grandfather was so funny. He told me, ‘I like him better too.’ And when I asked him why, he said, ‘I like his earring better.’”

  Now I gave her a double space-alien look. “Huh?”

  Mom smiled. “He was teasing me. Both boys had pierced ears. Well, one ear pierced. The left. That was the thing when I was in high school. Especially with musicians.”

  Mom seemed to feel better, and that made me feel better, and she had answered the million-dollar question: We’re not moving. I wouldn’t say I was satisfied, but the whole drug-deal-gone-wrong-quadruple-murder confession could wait.

  It wasn’t until later, when I was lying in bed, alone with my thoughts, that I felt the uneasy feelings return.

  This is why you should never be alone with your thoughts, I thought. Your thoughts are shitty company. They eat all the pizza and don’t help clean up and they make you get all freaked out about the future.

  Mom’s words echoed in my brain: You won’t move anywhere you don’t want to. Now I really felt like a lawyer, trying to cross-examine witness testimony. I asked her if we were moving, and she said, “You won’t move,” almost like … we weren’t a package deal.

  Was I reading too much into that? Did she just happen to answer it that way? Was I making way too much of one word? Should I have pressed her on it?

  Did I really want to know the answer?

  My stomach was in knots. I watched the clock most of the night, trying to fall asleep and failing miserably. It was like the night before the first day of school all over again.

  But shittier.

  The next day at school … you can imagine my disposition. I was totally exhausted and in the worst mood. I needed an outlet, some constructive way to harness the frustration, confusion and anger I was feeling. Since I didn’t do krav maga—I really need to learn krav maga—I fell back on what’s worked so well recently: plotting against the bitches who were undoubtedly plotting the same for us.

  * * *

  I gave the signal to the girls I saw in the halls, and I put a note on our message board for everyone to meet at the Grove after school. I’d been mulling over the Westminster Dog Show prank that Skyler had planned on pulling, and I’d come up with an idea. Actually it was Skyler’s idea, just taken to the next level.

  “BitchBook.”

  We had assembled by the fountain, and I said it just like that: “BitchBook.” A few puzzled looks from the girls, and then Grace said:

  “Like Facebook?”

  “Exactly. There’s already a DogBook app; it’s a part of Facebook for actual dogs. And that’s not as awesome a name as BitchBook anyway. So we create a site called BitchBook. It’s Skyler’s ‘brilliant’ idea, but better. We don’t just plaster pictures on the Homecoming Wall like they were going to. We go high-tech. We create pages for each one of them with pictures and descriptions of what kinds of dogs they are—and why.”

  “Harsh,” Anya said.

  “They were gonna do it to us,” I replied. “They still probably are!”

  “Well, sorta,” she said.

  I gave her the space-alien look.

  “Well,” Anya continued, “they were going to do it to a bunch of people—whoever they thought they could get away with humiliating—during Spirit Week.”

  “And you don’t think that would include us?” I asked.

  “Well, sure, now,” Anya said. “These days we’re A-Number-One with a bullet on their list. I’m just saying—”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Grace said. “It could have been some of us, some other girls, all of the above. It’s still messed up and awful.”

  Anya sighed. “I know. I’m not saying they’re not assholes—I’ve been the biggest victim of Skyler’s bullshit; she’s a fucking sociopath—I’m just saying a lot’s changed. The Invisibles didn’t even exist when Skyler concocted her Evil Plan of Evil. Hailey wasn’t even here. Things are different.”

  I turned to Anya. “Are they all that different? Did Skyler turn into Mother Teresa overnight? The same girl who looked me right in the eye, told me she wanted to make peace and then had her minions hand us valet uniforms for her party? You think she’s not going to do everything in her power to humiliate us? Jesus, after everything that’s happened, she’s going to be ten times more Vengeance Bitch than she was before. Right?”

  Anya nodded. “Yeah. That’s probably right.”

  “So we beat her to the punch,” I said. “Best defense is a good offense. We do the same thing to them a week early, and we not only take away their prank … we do it better.”

  “I like it,” Dahlia said.

  Anya shrugged. “Well, it is right up your technical alley.”

  “Why does that sound dirty to me?” Xandra asked.

  “Because everything sounds dirty to you,” Anya said.

  Xandra shrugged now. “True.”

  “We can allow comments and post check-ins,” Dahlia added. “And we can make it so other people can leave comments, add pictures and share.”

  “Is it too mean?” Grace asked.

  Was it too mean? I thought before answering. No. How do we know what they have planned? Part of me still felt responsible for the party incident, and sure we turned it around in the form of the valet parking from hell … but I would never forget the look on Grace’s face when they shut us down outside. This was finally her moment to be accepted. And she was humiliated. Again. We all were. I didn’t care what they had planned for us this time. I wasn’t going to let them win.

  “I repeat,” I said, “it’s exactly what they were going to do. Just a more technological version. Because we’re smarter than them. We—”

  The words lodged in my throat as I witnessed the oddest thing: A trickle of blue snot ran from Kura’s nose to her upper lip. We all saw it.

  Kura wiped it away quickly, but it only smeared blue across her cheek.

  “What?” Kura asked, but she looked at her hand and saw blue.

  “I thought you were going to stop that,” Emily said.

  “I did!” Kura said.

  “Uh … not quite,” Emily said.

  Kura glared at Emily. “I did, but then I got all depressed, I guess, from being used to it, and I have a big test and I need to focus,” Kura defended.

  “And you can’t just take your Adderall like a normal person?” Emily asked. “You have to snort it?”

  “Works faster that way,” Kura said.

  “It’s dangerous,” Emily said.

  Oh Jesus, I thought, then said, “Says the person who risks getting thrown in jail twice a week.”

  “Wow,” Emily said, turning to glare at me. “What’s your problem?”

  I’d regretted that knock right after it came out of my mouth, but I was in no mood to show weakness. I was in no mood to tolerate anything today.

  “Sorry, Emily,” I replied, “I’m just saying. It’s not exactly the smartest thing to pilfer a new ensemble every time something at Urban Outfitters strikes your fancy.”

  “But it doesn’t risk my life like snorting Adderall,” Emily snapped. “Why are you attacking me?”

  “Why are you attacking Kura?” I said, not even s
ure where I was in this argument—maybe I should have stayed in bed today—because I actually agreed with Emily on that point. Kura definitely shouldn’t be snorting her Adderall.

  “Time out!” Anya yelled. “Just stop it. What’s going on here? Why are we fighting?”

  Emily: “I’m trying to help a friend—”

  “And so am I,” I interrupted. “Look, I don’t think Kura should be snorting anything. But I don’t think you should steal either.”

  “Awesome, so it’s parenting time,” Anya said. “We’ll be closing out today’s session with Hailey doling out allowances and chores for the week—”

  I felt myself about to go off on Anya, but I saw the look in her eyes, and just shut my mouth. My head hurt. My stomach continued to feel like it was being invaded by my rib cage.

  It was dead silent for a few seconds, and as the de facto leader of this little crew of outcasts, rebels, drug abusers and thieves, I needed to step up to the plate.

  “Look,” I said, “we all have our issues. I’m sure Emily meant well, and I meant well, and—”

  Kura’s looking at me like I just kicked her dog.

  “—we all … appreciate the pressures everyone’s under. So let’s just—”

  “Let’s just do it,” Dahlia said. “Let’s get back to talking about the real bitches and how we’re gonna digitally destroy them.”

  “Yeah,” Grace said, her head down. “Let’s do that.” She didn’t look up, and if she was particularly enthused about the BitchBook plan, it wasn’t apparent in her voice.

  Outside of the wonderful oasis that was my visit with Chris, this obviously was destined to be the most frustrating twenty-four hours of my life. First my mom clams up like a Mafioso, and now my brilliant BitchBook plan—and it was brilliant, damn it—was being met with less-than-universal acclaim.

  Oh, and I can’t keep one girl from shoving shit in her backpack and another one from shoving shit up her nose. Yay me!

  “If you guys don’t want to do this, we don’t have to,” I said. “It’s not up to me. We’re in this together. If you want to just say fuck it and let them go ahead with their posters and do nothing about it, then, hey, that’s an option too.”

  “No,” Anya said. “You’re right, Hailey. We can’t let them get away with that shit. We’ve put too much on the line already. We’re … in it to win it.”

  Everyone laughed for a second. That was one of Anya’s deadpan ironic lines. She loved tossing clichés into everyday conversation. You should hear her do It is what it is or We need 110 percent out of you.

  Thank goodness Anya provided a clean break for us. Now we needed something to bring us together.

  The truth is I had emailed Noel the night before. I wanted to get her opinion on the idea. Of course she hadn’t responded, so I just decided on my own: Yes, it’s perfect. Plus I was pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination that Skyler had been holding glances at Chris a little too long lately, and if she thought she was going to get him back she needed to be put in check. Because that? Was not happening.

  “Why don’t we take a vote?” I asked. “Anyone who is not in favor of the new plan, raise your hand.”

  A long pause, and then Grace raised her hand.

  She looked around.

  No one else joined her.

  For a second, I thought maybe I should say something—maybe just straight out ask Grace what she was so concerned about. But I didn’t. A part of me didn’t want any more debate, any more discussion. I was sick of trying to balance other people’s concerns, sick of knocking this around. It was time for action.

  And Grace slowly lowered her hand.

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess that means we’re a go.”

  I made it through the wilderness …

  —MADONNA

  “Like a Virgin”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Over the next few weeks, Chris and I became one of those couples everyone makes fun of for being joined at the hip—though I should clarify that our hips had not yet actually joined, much to our growing frustration. But our relationship had deepened, and I felt closer to him than I probably had ever felt with anybody.

  We’d pretty much spend every day together after school and we ate lunch together at school … and sometimes snuck off campus. I even created a comic character in his honor, though he didn’t have a name or thought bubbles or storylines—okay, maybe I was just drawing him over and over again—my version of writing CHRIS + HAILEY = all over my notebook.

  I felt guilty about ignoring my friends, especially Anya, but she understood and didn’t seem to be resentful that I wasn’t available much lately. She understood how it was when you were in a relationship and the unspoken resignation to hang out when the boyfriend or girlfriend was otherwise occupied. She’d had relationships before—had she ever.

  In light of her experiences, it was Anya I turned to when I needed advice of a somewhat sensitive sort.

  “Oh God, really?” she said. “We’re really gonna do this?”

  “Well…,” I stammered. “I don’t want to be … bad at it.”

  We were on the outdoor basketball court, giving PE our usual level of devotion, which was none at all. I’m not anti-sports, I’m just anti-getting-all-sweaty-at-school. It’s one thing if they gave you enough time to shower and dress and do your hair and makeup, but … ten minutes before the bell just doesn’t cut it. Why do they have to cut all the arts and music classes? Cut frigging PE!

  Anya put a hand on my shoulder. “Trust me. He’ll just be happy you’re doing it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an instance where a guy complained about getting a blow job.”

  “Don’t make me beg you. This is embarrassing enough.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Freeze two bananas.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Remember when we watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High and they practiced on carrots by just moving them in and out? Well, that’s just about the most boring technique I’ve ever seen, and carrots are kinda gross and a banana is a much more realistic size, so just get two fucking bananas and freeze them, okay?”

  “Fine,” I said. But couldn’t help myself: “Why frozen exactly?”

  I’ve never seen a human being make a more grandiose act of rolling her eyes.

  “Jesus,” she said. “Was I this stupid when I was a virgin? Did I have like twenty-five IQ points hidden behind my hymen?”

  Ugh, this is aggravating. “Come on, Anya. I just want to be sure I understand exactly what I’m getting into.”

  “You mean what’s getting into you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, Hailey, here’s why it needs to be frozen: because the male penis, when aroused, is as chilly as an icicle.”

  I glared at her.

  “You have to be careful. You can get your tongue stuck to it, like licking a frozen flagpole in the winter.”

  Double glare. Considering Chris’s last name wasn’t “Cullen” and considering vampires don’t actually exist, even I knew better than that.

  “Anya…,” I growled.

  She smiled. “Jeez, Hailes. Because a banana at room temperature is soft and it gets mushy and it will get even more mushy in your mouth and do I really have to explain this to you?”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.”

  “Like the fact that dicks are banana flavored?”

  So I punched her. Just playfully. At least we got some physical exertion out of PE.

  And when I got home, I froze two bananas.

  The next day, Anya came over, and we went over technique.

  “Okay,” she said, holding the banana to her lips. “Now, you don’t want to forget to use your hands.”

  “But I thought the whole point was it’s not a hand job!”

  “Oh, young grasshopper,” she said. “You use both. Like this…”

  Anya showed me on her banana what to do and in between
intermittent giggling fits, I got the basic gist.

  “And eye contact,” she said. “They like it when you look up at them.”

  “Why?” I asked. “That’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed looking at you right now!”

  “You should be. You’re fellating a banana.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Just look up at him every now and then when you’re doing it,” she said. “Yeah, you don’t want to stare at him the whole time—that would be creepy—but they love it when you hit ’em with those puppy-dog eyes, big and wide, every once in a while while you’re tending to their needs.”

  “Okay, that just creeped me out a little,” I said. “Guys want puppy-dog eyes? Like I’m a dog?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Just think, like, big, wide eyes, like anime or something.”

  I’d seen some examples from Anya’s anime collection, and that didn’t make me feel a whole lot better either, but I just played along. This whole year had been about stepping out of my comfort zone. Now I was about to take a giant leap out of the fucker.

  Once Anya and I had gone over the basics and I felt I had a good hand (and mouth) on it, we moved on to the subject of spicing it up. This hadn’t even crossed my mind. Good thing I had Anya.

  “Ice cubes,” she said.

  “Like … during?”

  “Well…” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, probably not. But if you have one in your mouth right before and then do it, your mouth will be really cold and they like that. It feels good.”

  “Okay,” I said. Ice cubes. Noted.

  “You can also try mints,” she said. “Having a couple mints in your mouth is supposed to be mind-blowing.”

  “Any special kind of mints?”

  “Breath mints. Like Altoids.”

  “Before?” I asked, trying to clarify, feeling like an idiot, but there were so many rules: ice before, not during. Mints = during. Practice bananas = frozen.

  “No, during,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said, slightly skeptical but willing.

  * * *

  We were at Chris’s house on a Tuesday when I finally decided to go for it. We’d been an official couple for over two months now, and since I still wasn’t going to go all the way, I decided that particular Tuesday was as good a time as any for me to blow his mind, not to mention his—