by Jess Keating
“Thanks, Ana,” she spat.
I started to fire back an insult, something—anything to stop Ashley from lying, but Patricia threw up her hands. “Enough! Ana, take the night and chill out. We can handle this.”
She looked pointedly toward the door, just like Ashley and I had when we’d wanted Danielle to leave us alone a few hours earlier. Only now I was unwanted. “I think you should go home, Ana.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing herself to tackle the crabs again. Then she shoved through the door into the exhibit, leaving me standing there like a loser.
Top Five People You Should Never Ever Trust, No Matter How Much They Help You Find the Perfect Swimsuit
1. Ashley.
2. Ashley.
3. Ashley.
4. Ashley.
5. The lady at Aviana’s Bikini Hut NOPE, JUST KIDDING. ASHLEY.
Chapter 15
Starfish are capable of regenerating missing limbs.
—Animal Wisdom
What about missing dignity? Can they regenerate that too? Because I sure could use some right about now.
I didn’t go home straightaway. In fact, I didn’t want to go home at all. I was sure that Patricia would tell my parents about what happened (even though it was completely one hundred percent untrue and sabotage), and I knew they would have that sinking look on their faces like the time I tried to steal a pack of Bubblicious watermelon gum from the store when I was seven.
But more than that, I was mad.
It was like all my insides were splintering apart, and it took all of my energy to hold myself together, instead of opening my mouth and screaming and letting all the pieces of me go flying out like shrapnel and hitting windows and innocent bystanders.
I wanted to get back at her. I wanted Ashley to feel as stupid as I did for thinking we could be friends. I wanted her to know I had figured it all out from the start, despite her little game of being nice to me and convincing me with swimsuits and mint chocolate chip ice cream. So I did what any girl who lives in a zoo would do when they were mad.
I hid in the crocodile pavilion.
Settling onto my favorite bench, I stared at Louis, the zoo’s oldest crocodile. It was crazy to me that I’d been sitting right here a couple of months ago when a little girl named Beatrix asked me about crocodiles. Back then, I was worried Ashley would ruin my presentation.
Go figure that she was still being a monster to me now. Patricia’s angry words kept repeating in my head, giving me a fresh rush of anger and shame to relive each time I played them back.
I whipped out my Anti-Ashley notebook and cracked the spine hard. Clearly her game had worked for a while, but I knew better now. Gripping a black pen in one hand, I began to scribble in dark, harsh letters. Louis watched me from his watery exhibit with dark, unreadable eyes.
TOP FIFTY REASONS ASHLEY IS THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD
A small bubble of satisfaction grew in my chest as I wrote. Too bad Ashley couldn’t hear these in her head right now, wherever she was. Then she would know how horrible she was.
1. She acts so special and mature, but really she’s only trying to make up for the fact that her sister, Rebecca, is, like, a zillion times prettier and better at everything.
2. Rayna and Brooke don’t even like her. They’re probably using her because Ashley was already popular when they got there, so Ashley is a free ride to being popular, without ANY work.
3. She’s the most two-faced person on the planet. She will say anything to make herself look better, and then turn around and throw it in the other person’s face like they don’t matter AT ALL.
4. I bet no boys will ever truly like her. They’ll think she’s pretty and everything, but then when they get around her, they will learn she’s horrible, and she will grow up bitter and have nobody who wants to kiss her…
I wrote and wrote and wrote. Eventually, my hand got cramped, but I kept writing anyway. People swarmed around me, knocking against my knees. But the words kept pouring out of me until I felt like I could breathe again. When I was finished, I had a scribbly mess that filled four pages. The pressure in my chest started to lighten as I leaned against the bench, focusing on the whir of the air around me and the chirping birds in the thick trees overhead.
Closing the notebook, I drummed my fingertips over the cover. It’s funny how books seem to get heavier after you’ve written in them. Like the words you wrote somehow weighed more than the pages itself, holding all of your heavy emotions for you. I felt better after writing the list, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the dark cloud over my head was now a rain cloud, pouring buckets of water all over me. What happened to my awesome summer?
I stuffed the notebook back into my bag and checked my watch. My parents would be worried if I wasn’t home soon.
But of course I don’t live in some movie where I can come home and have a heart-to-heart to figure out all of my problems. When I got home, the television was blaring a Shark Week program and the whole house smelled like burned popcorn.
Patricia hadn’t called.
Nobody knew a thing.
A relieved, bleary numbness settled over me as I threw my backpack by the door and sank down next to Dad on the couch.
“Hey, Peanut. Where were you? I thought you finished earlier today? Bella called, by the way.” He offered me the bowl of popcorn that was sitting beside him. The noises of Mom putzing around in the kitchen were loud above the sounds of thrashing great whites on the screen.
“Hey, Dad. Yeah, sorry. I went for a walk around the croc pavilion,” I said, sinking down beside him. The sofa was so comfortable I wanted to sink into the cushions forever. Since when was summer so exhausting? “What’s for dinner?”
Dad’s lip curled slightly. “Your mom got some new recipe from Gail at work, but…” He looked forlornly toward the kitchen. “I really don’t know,” he said finally. The smell of something tangy snaked out of the kitchen toward us.
I smirked. I didn’t mind that Mom wasn’t a great cook. It meant we had lots of Michaelangelo’s pizza, and how could you go wrong with that?
“Ooh, check that out!” Dad said suddenly, making me jump.
“What?” I blinked at the TV. A man in a life vest was leaning over the edge of his boat, pointing at the massive shadow of a shark beneath the water. Then the camera flashed to the inside of a lab, where another guy in a white lab coat was peering through a microscope.
“New research,” he explained. “They’ve discovered that some sharks live a lot longer than we thought.”
“Huh,” I said blankly. Snuggling back into the cushions, I let my eyes unfocus. I’d always thought sharks were cool, especially great white sharks. They seemed to swim around the ocean like they owned it. I shoved a handful of popcorn into my mouth. The buttery saltiness made me feel a teensy bit better.
“How come you think they’re so good at it?” I asked aimlessly.
Dad thumbed the volume down on the controller. “Good at what?”
“You know,” I said, picking a popcorn kernel from my teeth. “Good at being so awesome like that. They always seem so…in control.” I watched in awe as a great white launched itself from the water, plowing into a seal like a freight train.
I mean, I felt bad for the seal and all, but still. I tried not to think about the little seal family that had been left behind after the great white turned him into dinner.
Dad sniffed. “It’s true. They’re basically the perfect predator. They’ve evolved to be great, I think. Every creature in the ocean knows better than to mess with them,” he said with admiration. “They take charge, you know? Kick butt and take names!” His mustache wriggled.
A flicker of something stirred inside of me. Was that how I’d gone wrong with Ashley? Obviously I’d been dumb to even think we could be friends, but maybe I needed to take charge like a shark?
Maybe I needed to learn a lesson from Shark Week. You know how they say you have to fight fire with fire? Well, maybe the same went for fighting sharks. You had to be a shark to win it.
I toyed with the idea some more. “What about people taking charge like that?” I asked hesitantly. “You know, acting like a shark?” I waited for him to shake his head and tell me it was a horrible idea. But instead he raised his eyebrows.
“You know,” he said, “there are probably worse animals you could be like. For example, you could be like a dung beetle and spend your life preoccupied with rolling in poop. Or you could be like a starfish and vomit up your own stomach every time you eat.”
I made a face, squirming. “Ew, Dad,” I said. “Now I can see where Daz gets it.” I shoved him.
But despite Dad’s poop/vomit talk, I knew I was onto something.
When Ashley started hanging out at the zoo, I’d tried to adapt, but really I’d been like a tiny fish, trying to avoid getting eaten by the big nasty shark, played by Ashley, of course. I did my best to keep her from messing me up, and for a while there, it almost looked like we could be friends. Well, not friends, but something like friends.
But after today? It was pretty obvious that it was all some big cruel joke so she could sabotage me at exactly the right moment.
I couldn’t argue with Dad’s shark logic. Being weak like prey had only worked for so long because Ashley is a Sneerer and I’d obviously forgotten about that. Now it was time to stop acting like a tiny fish.
It was time to act like an aggressive predator.
It was time to be a shark.
A couple hours later, I was towel drying my hair, enjoying the feeling of having washed that horrible day off my skin. I didn’t have my perfect shark plan for Ashley yet, but I had gotten to have the longest bath in the world because Daz was out and wasn’t around to pester me by knocking on the door and complaining that he needed the bathroom every ten minutes.
Of course, that didn’t stop him from knocking on my bedroom door pretty much the second he got home.
No. Not knocking.
Pounding.
As in, he was mad.
“Where were you?” he demanded, storming into my room. He still had his shoes on and was carrying a tattered plastic bag. “I’ve called a bunch of times!”
“Excuse me?” I snipped, draping my hair towel over the end of my bed. “What are you yelling about?” Like I hadn’t had a hard enough day without Daz getting on my case with his weirdness. “Go call Kevin if you need some subject for your robot experiments tonight,” I said icily.
He dropped the bag on the floor with a thud. “Um, pretty sure I would if Kevin hadn’t just spent the entire night helping out at an old-age home selling Bella’s cookies!”
My heart screeched to a halt.
Bella.
The cookies.
Her bake sale!
“No!” I yelped. I collapsed onto my bed and held my head in my hands. “I didn’t! I mean, I didn’t mean to! Oh noooo,” I wailed. “I totally forgot!”
He sat down beside me, with his shoulders drooping. “I tried to cover for you,” he said grimly. His voice softened a notch. “But it was sort of hard since she knew you weren’t busy tonight. Kevin said he tried calling, but that Dad said you weren’t back yet.”
I shook my head, swallowing down the guilt. “I feel terrible. I had such a bad day, and then—” I thought back to my spontaneous trip to the croc pavilion. I’d been writing an awful list about Ashley when I should have been setting up tables of cookies and bread for my actual friend.
“I got…distracted,” I admitted. “Then when I got home I sort of zonked out on the couch with Dad.”
He sighed. “Well, she’s pretty upset.”
I grimaced. I could practically see Bella’s disappointed face already. She was always such a good friend to me, and I went and messed it up because I was too preoccupied with stupid Ashley.
“I’m such a jerk,” I said. The truth hung in the air like a stinky dog towel on a rainy day. “I’ll call her. I promise. Did she sell a lot?”
His frown turned to a devilish grin. “We did.” He stuck out his chest. “People even liked the sweet potato thingies,” he said. “She was completely sold out. She saved these for you because she knew you liked them best.” He nudged the container to me.
Relief rushed through me. At least she had done well. Without my help at all. I leaned against my pillow. It was Ashley’s fault that I’d missed Bella’s big night. I mean, technically it was me who forgot about it. But how could I not be distracted by her doing something so awful?
“Hey, Daz,” I said, stretching over to kick my door closed.
“If I were to ask your help with something…” I ventured. “Would you do it?” I didn’t know what I was thinking.
He raised his eyebrows. “You are not testing out makeup on me,” he said, leaning away. “Or doing some weird dance routine…?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “What exactly do you think girls do all day? Put on makeup and choreograph dances? Please.”
He shrugged. “I only know what I see in the movies,” he admitted, narrowing his eyes. “Who knows with you people?”
I went on, keeping my voice low. “I know you’re good at…secret stuff,” I said. “I may need your help later, that’s all.”
If I ever thought of the perfect sharky plan, that is.
“Do you want to rob a bank?” he asked, sighing dejectedly. “I already promised Mom I wouldn’t break the law,” he whined. “I mean, all that money is probably just sitting there.” He raised his fists to the ceiling.
“Whoa,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Calm down. It’s not illegal. I’m having a problem with someone, that’s all.”
He puffed up again. “A problem? Need me to beat someone up? That’s what big brothers are for!” He stood up, tripping over the sheet. “Let me at him!”
Sometimes I think he really might be adopted.
“You’re not my big brother, Daz. I’m four minutes older than you,” I pointed out.
He sniffed. “Yeah, but I’m taller. So…bigger.”
“I’ll let you know what I decide,” I said. He nodded and slunk back to his room.
Something must be wrong with me. Was I seriously considering getting Daz’s help with Ashley? I looked at the small container of no-bake cookies Daz had brought me. I hated letting Bella down. And it wouldn’t have happened without Ashley being such a sabotaging jerk. Whoever said girls just want to have fun was a total lame-o. The truth? Girls just want to survive until high school.
Chapter 16
The common octopus can eject a cloud of black ink to hide itself from predators.
—Animal Wisdom
If humans had that ability, I’m pretty sure I’d spent 98 percent of my life covered in black ink. Just saying.
I called Bella first thing the next morning to beg for her forgiveness. I promised her I’d be her recipe tester until the end of time, even for the scary-looking cookies with weird seeds that didn’t have any sugar in them. It was the least I could do, considering how much of a turd I’d been.
She wasn’t angry at me, at least not nearly as angry as she should have been. Somehow that made me feel even guiltier. Here I was worried about stupid Ashley, while everyone else seemed to be having loads of fun and making cookies and having normal summer fun.
I didn’t have time to figure out a perfect revenge plan for Ashley yet. But I did get an e-mail from Liv during the night.
And on the list of things Ana Wasn’t Ready For, it was sitting near the
top.
Dear Ana,
I’ve been doing some thinking about our kissing pact, and I think I have an idea! You know that saying, “Luck favors the prepared mind,” right? Ms. Harris had a poster of it in our English class last year. Anyway, I was thinking, this could be the key for us! We have to prepare for our first kiss! I think to get ready we should do the thing we’ve been talking about doing for six months now. Let’s have a leg shaving day! We can shave our legs together and that will show the universe that we’re READY to be women! Real women with shaved legs and lipstick and dates! Our first kiss is bound to follow, right? What says “kiss me” like super-smooth legs like those girls on the shaving cream commercial? I bet they get kissed all the time! Plus, this is perfect timing because I’m going out with Leilani this weekend to see a movie and she’s bringing this cute guy, Ryan, and I’m wearing an adorable dress and don’t want him to think I’m some little kid with hairy legs!
I’ll chat with you online tomorrow at exactly 4 p.m., your time. Be ready!
—Liviola xoxoxo
Ugh.
Now, somehow I was sitting in my computer chair with a bottle of Nair beside me, waiting for Liv to ding me so we could start our video chat. And believe me, I was S-C-A-R-E-D. I could imagine every single hair on my leg staring up at me, pleading, “Why do you want to cut us all off, Ana?!”
I know.
I’m such a wuss.
But I would seriously rather wrangle an angry crocodile than shave my legs. Razors are freaky! Did you know that the razors in the commercials are supersharp, like a surgeon’s knife! I don’t want a surgeon’s knife going anywhere near my legs! One blade is bad enough, but I checked and Mom’s razor has five all lined up like some demented grin with five rows of teeth. What if I impale myself and have to go to the hospital and end up with a limp or something? Can you imagine what Ashley or the other Sneerers would say? What if I had to have my whole leg amputated?
Plus, once you started shaving your legs, you couldn’t quit. I’ve seen Mom’s legs when she goes a few days without shaving hers and believe me it is not pretty. It’s like she’s part porcupine!
