Reel Life Starring Us

by Lisa Greenwald

  She’s just mean; I’ve always thought so, but I stay friends with her anyway. Because the thing is, she’s never been mean to me, just other people, and I guess I’ve always been afraid of what would happen if we stopped being friends. Then she’d be mean to me, obviously, and I couldn’t handle that. I’d never admit that to anyone, but it’s true.

  “You, Kendall, and even Brie—who we’re so not friends with—you’re all working on the science fair stuff.” I pause, waiting for her to say something. She doesn’t. “I was out of school, so I didn’t have a chance to sign up. And now I’m stuck doing this stupid video thing with that new girl.”

  “You mean that girl Dina?”

  “Yeah. What other new girl is there?”

  “She’s weird. I can tell already. Did you see how she was, like, staring out the window the entire math period? She didn’t take one note. And why does she even have a video camera with her? So weird.”

  I don’t respond to that because I didn’t call Molly to gossip about Dina. “Seriously, Molls. Why didn’t you tell me about the project?”

  “No offense, Chels.” She pauses. She always starts sentences “no offense,” especially when she’s about to say something offensive. “But you’re not really into science.”

  I snort. “And you are?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of. Ever since my parents had that meeting with Mrs. Nodenski and they got me into honors.” Through the phone I can hear her popping her gum. “And it’s not like we’re doing science science, like test tubes and beakers and microscopes. We’re doing this study on how weather affects people’s actions and moods—like, if they go shopping as much when it’s raining as they do when it’s sunny, stuff like that. We’re spending a lot of time at the mall, taking surveys and counting people.”

  “Oh.”

  Molly huffs into the receiver. “Anyway, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to leave you out or anything on purpose. We just didn’t think of it.”

  I sigh. That’s almost worse. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  “You mad?” she whines. Molly has the worst whine in the world.

  “A little. Mainly just annoyed.” As soon as I say it, I want to take it back. I wasn’t thinking, saying something like that. I wasn’t thinking at all.

  “Annoyed about what? We decorated your locker to welcome you back. And we have plans to go to the Cheesecake Factory Saturday night. Some of the guys might even be coming. You can totally sleep over after. And we can get a mani on Sunday. What’s there to be annoyed about? Your life is totally great. Who cares about the fiftieth anniversary anyway? I mean, you—”

  “Okay, you’re right.” I stop her. I can’t listen to her babble on anymore. Even her trying to be nice has hints of meanness to it.

  “Good. Glad you agree. See you tomorrow.”

  It’s true that Molly doesn’t really know all I have to be annoyed about, like our take-out rotisserie chicken instead of dinner out at Café Spuntino.

  It’s my fault she doesn’t know, because I haven’t told her, and I don’t plan to.

  I wish that if I told her and Kendall, everything would stay the same between us. But that’s just not how it is with us, and I’ve lived here long enough to know that.

  I flop back onto my bed, open my backpack, and look at my planner to see what homework I have to do.

  I don’t have too much. I think the teachers are being nice and helping me ease back into school, plus I kept up with some of the work while I was home.

  The handout about the fiftieth-anniversary projects from Mr. Valakis falls out of my planner, and I’m forced to face the fact that I actually have to do this. And it’s not going to be done in one day, either.

  Maybe I could scheme my way out of this by having my mom and dad go in and talk to Mr. Oliver, the principal, and say that I’m really better suited for another kind of project. Parents around here always get their kids out of stuff; it wouldn’t be hard.

  But then that would mean my parents would have to go into school, and maybe they’d run into someone they knew and then soon enough everyone would know everything.

  And besides, I don’t really want to fight to work with Kendall and Molly. I want them to fight to work with me. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.

  Video tip: If you need to make a cut in an interview,

  use B-roll footage to cover it. Avoid jump cuts.

  Day two is so much harder than day one. On day one it’s okay and acceptable to be a little frazzled and out of it. But day two you’re expected to know what’s going on. You don’t have the excuse anymore. You can’t just say, “Oh, it’s my first day,” because it’s not. And it’s lame to go around saying, “Oh, it’s my second day.” By the second day, no one cares. You still feel new, and you still are new, but no one wants to help you find your way.

  Right now I’m in homeroom. I’m in the same exact seat I sat in yesterday. All the rest of the kids are in different seats. Some of them aren’t even sitting down, or they’re sitting on the tops of the desks chatting with one another. And I’m just sitting quietly staring at my planner because I don’t really know anyone well enough to chat with. And I don’t want to do that whole introducing myself thing because, again, it’s the second day, not the first.

  Besides, I tried to be chatty in homeroom yesterday. It didn’t get me anywhere.

  Mrs. Welsh comes in. She takes our attendance and then goes on for ten minutes about the fiftieth anniversary and how we need to take our projects seriously.

  I am taking it seriously. Even though I only learned about it yesterday.

  “What are you doing for the project?” I ask the girl sitting next to me. It’s the only thing I can think to say. She’s wearing all black and trying to hide the fact that she’s playing Tetris on her cell phone.

  “I said I’d help with cleanup.”

  “You’re allowed to do that?”

  “No. But I’m already the poorest kid in the school so I might as well be treated like everyone else’s housekeeper.”

  I gasp. Now I really can’t think of anything to say.

  She smiles. “I’m kidding. I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

  “Oh.” I force a smile.

  “I’m on Brainbusters.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The trivia team.” She sits back in her chair and puts one foot up on the side of the desk. “I’m Lee, by the way.”

  “Dina.” I feel like we should shake hands or something. Who is Lee friends with? Definitely not Chelsea Stern and those girls. And I don’t think she and I have much in common, either.

  “I know. I saw you yesterday.” The bell rings finally and Lee grabs her backpack with patches halfheartedly sewn on. “Good luck working with Chelsea Stern, by the way. I feel for you.” She looks down at my bag. “Oh, um, sorry about that.”

  It happened again. I was chipped. If it keeps happening, I’m just going to start eating the crumbs. They’re too delicious to waste.

  Lee walks on ahead of me. I try to figure out exactly what she means about Chelsea. I’m not sure if I really even want to know.

  Soon it’s social studies again, which means video time.

  I get to Mr. Valakis’s classroom and take a seat in the middle and wait for class to start. So far there’s no sight of Chelsea.

  “If you’re here early, you can get started,” Mr. Valakis says. He has a much more laid-back tone today, and he’s sitting on the desk. He’s wearing those ultrathick wool socks people wear for hiking in the middle of the winter, even though it’s really not that cold.

  So everyone gets started working, and I just sit here writing down different ideas for the video: a photo montage with voice-over, a skit about Rockwood Hills Middle School, maybe something totally different altogether like a video about the ways kids around here are giving back to their community? There are so many possibilities.

  “Dina?” Mr. Valakis asks.

  I look up.

  “
Are you getting started? Not to put pressure on you, but you and Chelsea are already behind, you know. The event is in a little less than two months.”

  “Yeah, I’m writing down all the ideas I have.” I smile, but for some reason he doesn’t respond. “I have my camera and everything.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  Finally, Chelsea and her friends stroll in. They’re carrying Dunkin’ Donuts cups. And I thought I was the only eighth grader who drank coffee. I got the habit from my bubbie and her friends. They always sit around sipping coffee and eating babka and telling jokes, and I join them whenever I can. It’s a grandmas-telling-jokes club, and even though I’m nowhere near grandma age, I really enjoy it. I’ve been doing it since I was really little, like six or seven, which is how I developed a love for coffee. I don’t believe that whole it’ll-stunt-your-growth thing.

  “You’re late,” Mr. Valakis says to them.

  “We were in Mr. Oliver’s office,” one of Chelsea’s friends says, talking with her back to Mr. Valakis as she walks to her seat.

  “With coffee?”

  “Uh-huh,” another friend says. “We were discussing the anniversary gala. Our moms were there, too, and they brought coffee for everyone.”

  Mr. Valakis squints a little like he doesn’t quite believe them. “I see.”

  Chelsea and her friends keep sipping their coffee as they start to work on their project. I expect Chelsea to come over to me to get to work on ours. But she doesn’t. She stays with them.

  I just sit here. I want to go over to them. I want to tell Chelsea my ideas, but I feel like I can’t.

  The clock on the wall with the oversized numbers ticks loudly, and I stare at it, noticing minute after minute go by. We literally haven’t done a single thing on this project. It’s only my second day here and I’m already a delinquent. Everyone around me is working.

  This isn’t me. I’m not that girl, the one who didn’t do what she was supposed to do.

  I stare at my notebook and keep writing stuff. That way if anyone asks, I can just say I’m jotting down ideas for the project. Which I am. Trying to, at least.

  “Chelsea,” Mr. Valakis calls out to her. “Please get to work. I don’t want to have to say it again.”

  She huffs like someone offended her and stands up. Her friends say things like “Good luck, Chels” and “Bye, Chelsers, have fun” in these totally sarcastic, mocking tones.

  After Chelsea sits down next to me, she starts talking. “So we just had this meeting with Mr. Oliver. He’s our principal—you know that, right? Anyway, my friends convinced me to see if I could get switched onto the science projects group with them, but apparently he feels really strongly about this video thing and he thinks I can do a good job with it.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Yeah, well, obviously I need your help learning about the school.” I hear her friends in the back of the room talking and laughing. I try to ignore them. “But I can handle the video stuff.”

  She stands up, puts her hands on her hips, and yells to her friends to be quiet. Then she sits back down.

  “Well, we’ll just get it done as quickly as we can.” She takes the last sip of coffee. “But we’re gonna have to meet after school in the library to do the shooting. We can’t disrupt any classes during the school day.”

  “Oh.” I try to stop myself from jumping up and down in my seat. Chelsea and me, hanging out after school! This is great. And I didn’t have to say it first! This is my chance to have friends the way I thought I would. My chance to be someone here. My chance to be happy here.

  “Yeah, I know.” She rolls her eyes again. She thinks I’m upset. Wow—I didn’t realize I was that hard to read. “Anyway, meet me in the library after ninth period. We’ll see what we can do.”

  I nod. The bell rings, and everyone leaves the classroom.

  I walk out alone, but I don’t dwell on it. I feel hopeful. I feel like things are looking up.

  Sasha Preston piece of advice: Compliment

  someone at least once a day. It makes everyone happy.

  “They’re hot, right?” Molly asks. We’re in the cafeteria finishing lunch and she’s standing up with her back to us and her head turned over her shoulder, like a wannabe supermodel. “Three hundred. But they only made, like, fifty pairs, so they’re kind of like a collectible.”

  “Yeah, I’m on the waiting list at Denim Spectator. They’re trying to see if they can find me a pair. They’ve even called the manufacturer,” Kendall adds.

  The thing with Kendall is that she always has to have exactly what everyone else has. It started when she and I had the same baby fur coat in playgroup when we were two years old, and it’s been that way ever since. Usually, I’m the one she tries to clone, but she’s been acting more like Molly lately. I wonder if it’s because she’s noticed that I don’t have the newest, coolest stuff before everyone else does anymore.

  I should have those jeans. I’m the one who got everyone into the brand in the first place after I went to the trunk show with my dad and one of his colleagues. I hate that I get into a bad mood just because I don’t have those jeans, and won’t ever have those jeans.

  “Are you getting them, Chels?” Kendall asks.

  “Yeah, of course.” I smile. “I just haven’t been shopping so much because of the mono.”

  “Well, if Denim Spectator finds me a pair, I’ll just pick them up for you and you can pay me back,” she says. “No problem.”

  I nod and swallow hard. I pray they don’t find them. It’s weird Kendall cares about me having them. Usually, she’s only concerned that she has what everyone else has.

  “Sucks you have to hang out with that girl after school,” Kendall says. “I’m so sorry we didn’t get you into our science group. I totally thought buttering up Mr. Oliver with Dunkin’ Donuts would work.”

  I guess I made them feel guilty, so they did end up fighting to work with me—for a few minutes, at least—so that was good.

  “Yeah, I have to meet up with the new girl. How else am I gonna finish the stupid video?” I eat the last section of my clementine. “I shouldn’t have laughed in front of Mr. Valakis. Apparently, he doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

  They both shrug. “That girl is strange,” Molly says. “The way she videos random stuff. She doesn’t even have any friends here, so what’s she videoing?” Molly stares at Dina as she talks about her. Molly doesn’t even try to be slick when she’s talking about people. It’s like she wants them to know she’s talking about them.

  “I have no idea.” I look over at Dina. She’s sitting only one table away from us, and I wonder if she can hear what we’re saying. I hope not; that would make the whole working together thing even more awkward.

  She’s sitting with the studying-obsessed girls who wanted to start a field hockey team last year. They never seem to really like each other, either. They sit quietly at lunch with books on their laps, studying and barely talking to each other. Dina has her camera out of course, and she’s just randomly taping the cafeteria. Who does that?

  We’re all watching her, and then we see Ross walk over to her.

  “Guys, Ross Grunner is walking over to that girl right now,” Molly says, as if we can’t all see it ourselves.

  He kneels down next to Dina’s seat and whispers something to her. She looks all confused, then she smiles and says something back, and then he gets up and walks away.

  I can’t look, and yet all I want to do is look. I keep looking away and then turning to look again. It could have been a bad clementine, but my stomach is doing flips right now.

  “Aren’t you going to stop that, Chels?” Kendall asks. “Ross is talking to the new girl more than he’s talking to you.”

  I don’t say anything. It’s not really that big of a deal, but the way they’re reacting is stressing me out. I’m ripping my clementine peel into a million little pieces.

  “We should make a video of her!” Kendall yelps. “And, like, show it to people and stuff. Wo
uldn’t that be hilarious?”

  “Do you know how to even use a camera, Ken?” Molly elbows Kendall. “Come on.”

  “Yeah, there’s one on my phone!”

  Finally, the bell rings and we all leave the cafeteria. I block out the fact that Ross was just talking to Dina and I have absolutely no idea why. I block out the fact that it seems like Kendall wants to torment the new girl.

  Have they really stooped that low? Have I stooped that low, too?

  After school, I meet Dina in the library. She’s sitting at one of the back tables, writing in a Curious George notebook. It’s one of those thick, sturdy ones, with a red binding and a bright yellow cover, and I immediately want it. I have a soft spot for school supplies. I’m staring at it so I almost trip on one of the blue library carts that’s sitting in the middle of the floor.

  “Oh, sorry,” this kid says, running over to move it.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. I can’t think of his name. He was new last year, but he hasn’t been in any of my classes. I think something happened to him over the summer—he’s turned cute out of nowhere. He has ultrashort brown hair and very blue eyes. You don’t see that combination very often.

  As I get closer to Dina, I notice how neat her handwriting is and spot the pretty turquoise ring on her middle finger.

  There are cool things about her when you take the time to pay attention. Maybe Ross realized that.

  “Hey,” I say. I want to compliment her on her notebook and her ring, but I don’t. The words don’t come out.

  “Oh, hi!” Dina’s way too cheery for three fifteen, and it bugs me when people are too cheery for no reason at all. I want to tell her to cheer down. “I was just jotting down notes. I have a million ideas, but here’s the best one: I can tape and you can be the star of the video! Like how Mr. Valakis said ‘a day in the life’ of a student here. Well, this can be a day in your life!”

  “Um.” At first, I think that sounds like an amazing idea. Who doesn’t want to be a star? It could be like my own reality show, a camera following me around. Then I could be discovered and become the next Sasha Preston. But after I think about it for a few minutes, I change my mind. “That would be cool, but I don’t think so.”