Reel Life Starring Us

by Lisa Greenwald

  I’ve been sitting with these girls for over a month now, and all they talk about is grades and Chelsea Stern. They’re so predictable that sometimes I make up stories about the secret lives they could lead. Like Katherine runs to the city on the weekends to play competitive poker, and Maura secretly plays the electric guitar. Stuff like that.

  “Dina, are you coming to my house on Saturday?” Maura asks. “We’re going to order in Chinese and study for the science final.”

  “Dina’s not in honors,” Katherine says almost in a whisper, like it’s some kind of horrible secret I’ve been trying to hide.

  “Oh, right,” Maura says. “No big deal. You can still study for yours. Just bring your books and notes and everything.”

  Thanks, Maura, I think to myself. Thanks for telling me what I need to bring for a study session.

  I should be excited about this—the plans, I mean. It’s the first time they’ve actually invited me over. But I don’t get why we have to study on a Saturday night. The final isn’t for weeks yet.

  “Is that okay, Dina? Sorry,” Maura says.

  She’s one of those girls who say sorry for everything. I don’t think she’s really sorry I’m not good at science.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I say. “Didn’t you say your brother has that new game system?”

  She nods.

  “Well, I can always just play that.”

  “Um.” Maura laughs nervously. “Sure, whatever.”

  Across the cafeteria, Chelsea and her friends are talking and laughing, and one of their guy friends keeps getting up to bring the girls’ table notes from the boys’ table and vice versa.

  Chelsea and I had so much fun chasing Sasha. Could these girls be that fun, too?

  “Have you hung out with Chelsea outside of school?” Trisha asks, as if reading my mind. “Does she talk about Ross all the time?”

  I don’t want to tell them about Sasha Preston and our day in the city. They won’t get it or think it’s cool. They think Chelsea is more of a celebrity than Sasha is anyway.

  I’m trying to think of how to answer that question when I feel someone come up behind me and put hands on my shoulders.

  The whole table looks freaked out, which makes me freaked out. Almost too scared to turn around. But finally I do.

  It’s Ross.

  “I heard you’re a detective,” he says.

  All I can think about is that Ross is at our table. Maura, Trisha, and Katherine are just sitting there, staring at the two of us.

  I’m worried they may pass out.

  “Um,” I say finally. “Well, I’m not like Sherlock Holmes.” I laugh. I can’t believe I just said that. How did I just come up with the stupidest response ever?

  “I heard you’re pretty good,” Ross says.

  Now what do I say? I don’t know. Talking to Ross would be hard anyway, but it’s even harder with the Acceptables sitting here, just staring at us.

  Luckily, Mrs. O’Hanlon, the lunch aide, tells us that it’s time to clean up, so I just say, “Well, gotta throw out the trash.”

  That’s an even stupider response. What in the world is wrong with me?

  As I’m throwing away my turkey sandwich remnants, I’m going over those four sentences—the entire conversation—again and again.

  What will I tell the Acceptables now?

  What if he comes over to the table again?

  What does this all mean?

  • • •

  “I’ve been telling everybody about our day on Saturday,” Chelsea says as soon as she sees me in the library after school.

  “Really?” I ask, even though I figured that out after the Ross lunch interaction.

  “Yes!” She drops her backpack on the table. “Kendall, c’mere.”

  Kendall’s here? Kendall and I have never had a conversation. She’s scarier than my math teacher.

  “Yo yo yo yippee yo!” She runs over to us. Her Prada backpack is half open, and it looks like her books are about to fall all over the floor.

  “You should work for Page Six or something,” she tells me, not even saying hi first, and making it sound like an insult, even though it should really be a compliment. Page Six is this big gossip column that runs in one of the New York papers; my grandma’s always talking about who was written up on Page Six.

  I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, seriously.” She pops her gum. “You’re like a professional stalker. Chelsea’s totally impressed. So is Ross.”

  Chelsea hits Kendall’s arm after she says that. I feel like that arm hit was supposed to mean something, but I’m not sure what.

  Kendall’s charm bracelet makes clacking sounds against the wooden library table, and I immediately want a charm bracelet just like it. Kendall and all her material possessions have that power over people. At least over me.

  “I made a reservation at Gatsby’s for your b-day, Chels,” Kendall says while getting out her phone to text at the same time.

  Gatsby’s is this really cool restaurant in the downtown area of Rockwood Hills. It’s named after the book The Great Gatsby because the book was set only ten minutes from here. So far that’s the coolest thing about Rockwood Hills, and it’s not even that cool because it didn’t take place in this town; it took place ten minutes away.

  Gatsby’s has steak and lobster and all these exotic pasta dishes. They have live music on the weekends, too; Billy Joel played there when he was first getting his start, and also John Mayer. More recently, obviously. It’s really hard to get reservations there. You have to book at least three months in advance. My dad wants to take my grandparents there for their anniversary, but he hasn’t had any luck yet. I guess Kendall has connections.

  “Anyway,” Kendall continues, “I think we should invite the boys. It’ll be easier.”

  I just sit here quietly making a list of possible angles for the fiftieth-anniversary project. One thought I had was to have only footage, no voice-over, just Sasha talking at the beginning and then shots of all the different kids. It could be powerful that way. I also had an idea that we’d have people say just one word that comes to mind when they think of Rockwood Hills Middle School and then we’d cut that together.

  I have all these ideas, but I need to get Chelsea to agree to them.

  They’re still debating about whether they should invite the boys to the party, if it’ll be easier or harder that way. I have no idea how inviting the boys makes anything easier. Or why it’s even hard to have a birthday dinner in the first place.

  All the birthday dinners I’ve ever had have been with my family and Ali. And they’re not stressful at all.

  “Fine, but if there’s drama between Molly and Marcus, I’ll be so annoyed,” Chelsea says.

  Do they even know I’m here? I mean, of course they know. But do they wonder what I’m doing? Why are they having this conversation in front of me?

  “There won’t be. It’s your birthday, and I’m in charge.” Kendall’s phone bings three times, and she rolls her eyes at it.

  “And I can’t believe you already organized this. My b-day’s not for two weeks. And at Gatsby’s, Ken! That’s amazing.” Chelsea reaches out to hug her.

  “Of course, love.” Kendall smiles in the most over-the-top way, and when the hug separates, she air-smooches Chelsea.

  Now Kendall’s phone is ringing instead of binging. Who in the world needs to reach her so badly? She kisses Chelsea on the cheek (for real this time) and leaves the library. She doesn’t say good-bye to me.

  “Such drama,” Chelsea says once Kendall’s gone. I nod like I know what she means even though I have no idea whatsoever.

  “Anyway, so we only have a few more weeks and I feel like I am even more clueless about this video now,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Now that we found Sasha, which was great and all, it’s, like, who even wants to do this anymore?”

  “Um, I do.” I force a smile.

  “Oh.” She pounds out a text message and looks back at me
. “Do you have any ideas on how we can get this done?”

  I do have ideas, but at the moment, I can’t even process them or say them. All I’m thinking about is that her birthday is soon. I didn’t even know that. And I’m not invited to her party. At least, I don’t think I am.

  All I get to do is hang out with the Acceptables and study for science.

  I thought we were friends, but I guess we’re not.

  “Do you want to take over the project? It’s okay with me, really,” Chelsea says. “After all, this project is sort of your baby.”

  “It’s your baby, too. Your assigned baby.”

  “Yeah. I actually gotta run,” she says, like she didn’t even hear what I just said. “So let’s finalize a plan at lunch tomorrow. Eat fast, okay? I’ll come by your table.”

  I nod. Part of me is excited; Chelsea Stern coming to my lunch table.

  But the Acceptables were absolutely speechless when Ross came by our table. I can only imagine what Katherine, Maura, and Trisha are gonna say about this.

  As soon as I feel like I can handle things here, everything gets shaken up again. Chelsea gets mean and Ross shows up out of nowhere and the Acceptables sometimes don’t even seem that acceptable.

  At my old school we’d do these science experiments where we’d put all these different liquids—seltzer, food coloring, and other stuff that I can’t remember—into a big two-liter soda bottle, and then we’d shake it up to see what would happen when all the liquids mixed together.

  That’s what it feels like here, only I don’t want to be doing the mixing. I want things to just settle—but settle in a good way—and then stay like that.

  Sasha Preston piece of advice: use people’s

  names when you greet them.

  “So I’m just going to put this out there,” Ross says to me on the phone. Lately, we’ve been talking most nights, and I wanted to find out what he thought about having all the boys at my birthday dinner, so I called him. Plus my parents are at curriculum night for Alexa, so I can be sure there won’t be any fighting. I love nights like this. They’re kind of rare now, though they didn’t used to be. “Tell me what you think about Dina. Like, as a girl.”

  “As a girl?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”

  “Come on, Chelsers, you know what I mean.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Would it be weird if I went out with her? ’Cuz, she’s new, and, you know, not in our group or anything.”

  “Are you serious?” I burst out laughing even though it’s not funny and I’m not the kind of girl who bursts out laughing at stuff like this. I don’t know why he’s saying this to me, especially since Kendall and Molly and I have always talked about me and Ross going out. I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to say, and this conversation is making me feel like I don’t know anything, like if someone asked me what two plus two equaled, I wouldn’t even know.

  “She’s never had a boyfriend,” I say before my brain knows that I’m talking. “And she’s only had made-up crushes. And she wears ugly jeans and these weird oversized Tshirts. And her hair isn’t even in a real style; it’s just long and curly and she usually wears it in a ponytail.”

  All he says is “Okay.”

  “And she’s kind of a stalker,” I continue. I can’t stop now. “It’s cool sometimes. But it’s also weird.”

  “You didn’t think it was weird before,” he says. “But you’re saying I shouldn’t go out with her?”

  “I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation,” I mumble.

  There’s silence on the phone for a few moments.

  “I could talk to her for you,” I say, and I’m shocked that the words come out of my mouth, but once I start on this path, I can’t stop. I’m not sure why I just offered that, exactly, but after I say it, I’m excited, like I’m still a part of what’s going to happen.

  I hate the way I sound now, all shaky and uncertain and insecure. Sometimes I’ve worried that Ross and I would have this conversation—but about Kendall or Molly, never about Dina.

  “Okay, but don’t be all awkward,” he says. “We don’t need to be all fourth-grade about it.”

  “I wouldn’t be.” I want to get off the phone with him. Right now. “I gotta go, Ross.”

  “Um. You okay, Chelsea?” he asks. “About Dina and all? I just figured that since you spend all this time with the girl working on that crazy video you’d be the best one to talk to about this, and I really don’t know any of her friends.”

  “She doesn’t have any friends,” I say, and as soon as I say it I feel like the meanest person ever. I don’t want to be this person, but it seems like she’s taking over, like this personality owns me now.

  “Harsh,” he says. “Okay, later, Chelsers.”

  I used to like when he called me that. And now I hate it. Now I hate everything.

  I thought things were better on Saturday, when I got to meet Sasha Preston and when my parents had plans and Ross was coming over, and then today Kendall’s planning my birthday and getting a reservation at Gatsby’s—it seemed like everything was normal and fun again.

  But it’s not.

  In truth, things weren’t better even though my parents did go out to eat, because when they got home, they were fighting about how my mom was so nervous the credit card would be declined. And then my dad kept saying that it wasn’t declined, it was fine, and then my mom kept saying the worrying was just as bad, as if it had actually happened.

  And then they fought for forty-seven minutes. I timed it.

  And I know my parents will never be able to pay for everyone to go to Gatsby’s for my birthday. I couldn’t tell Kendall, because it was so nice and normal of her to make the reservation, but I was fooling myself.

  Things aren’t better.

  Now Dina and I still have to work on this stupid project, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with her and Ross Grunner. They’ll end up going out, I bet, and she’ll end up being in my group, and everyone will like her better than they like me because she doesn’t act nervous and worried all the time. She’s actually pretty funny, and she does crazy things like they’re not even a big deal, and even Kendall seems impressed with her now.

  My parents get home from curriculum night a few minutes later and I can tell things didn’t go well because they come in silently except for the slamming of the front door.

  “You were in a trance when the Malheims were talking to us,” my mom says. “Did you see how they were looking at us?”

  Silence from my dad.

  “Bruce, please. You have to realize how you act,” my mom goes on.

  “I’m sorry, Dayna. I can’t live up to your expectations of how you want people to see me, to see us,” he says. “There’s more to life than how others see you.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “You are. You want me to be an accessory of yours. Or I don’t know what.”

  “I don’t. I just hate when people look at us the way they’re looking at us,” my mom says.

  “Which is what?”

  “That pity look,” she says.

  “That’s not my fault. It’s theirs,” my dad says, and I hear him walking up the stairs, away from my mom.

  It’s hard to tell who’s right and who’s wrong here or exactly what happened, and in the end I’m not really sure I want to know.

  I get into bed and pretend to go to sleep, so that when my mom comes in to say good night, I’ll already be asleep and I won’t have to talk to her.

  Sure enough, she does knock on my door. When she peeks her head in, the lights are out and I’m pretending to be asleep.

  Lately, I do a lot of pretending, and I’m not sure why or where it’s getting me.

  Hours and hours of me worrying and stressing and tossing and turning go by, and then I hear my phone vibrate with a text from Kendall.

  Some kid who graduated last year started this unofficial, students-only page, and it has stupid posts
about dances and fund-raisers, though it got more popular since people have been writing gossipy stuff on it. People like to read about other people’s misfortunes. It’s like the whole chipped thing—people like to see other people suffer.

  At least the news about my dad wasn’t posted on it. Not yet. Kendall texts me again.

  So I get out of bed, which isn’t really a big deal since I wasn’t even sleeping anyway, and when I sign into Facebook and look at the page, I know right away what she’s done.

  She posted the video of Dina, the one of her falling in the doorway of Mr. Valakis’s classroom, with the train of toilet paper around her ankle.

  And people have seen it. There are forty-two comments, and it’s only been posted for ten minutes.

  I text back:

  Five minutes later, she writes back:

  I don’t know why I do it—I’m not even sure I believe it—but I text her right back:

  I’m a terrible, awful person, and I would never admit this to anyone, but after what Ross said to me on the phone, I need Kendall to be my friend.

  Video tip: when conducting an interview,

  avoid yes-or-no questions.

  I walk into school the next morning and I swear people are staring at me. But they’re not just staring—they’re laughing, too.

  Then I turn my back for one second at my locker and I’m chipped. Again. Totally caught off guard.

  And then I’m walking to class and people are looking at me, and I’m not just being self-conscious.

  “Sorry that happened to you,” Lee says in homeroom as I’m shaking the potato chip crumbs out of my backpack into the trash. I used to sneak into the bathroom stall to get rid of the crumbs, but now I don’t even bother.

  “Oh, I’m used to it.”

  “You’re used to people posting embarrassing videos of you on Facebook and then the whole school watching and commenting?” She snickers. “Whoa, rough life! Rougher than I thought.”