“Val,” she says, holding out her hand imperiously. She’s got the other hand on Ben’s arm. Okay, we get it. He’s all yours. Geez.
“Hey, Val.” Lexi gives her a lazy, dismissive smile that no one else could ever pull off. “So, Ben, what’d you think of the show? Kelsey was pretty great, huh?”
Ben laughs. “Yeah. I didn’t know it was gonna be a comedy, though.”
“Well, I’m all about, um, keeping things, you know, fresh.” Shut up, Kelsey! “So, how’s the paper? Ruin any lives lately besides mine?” Better. Now stop talking immediately.
“Hey, speaking of the paper—Lexi, aren’t you supposed to be writing an article on the play? You should be getting quotes and stuff. Bad reporter!” Ben scolds her, his eyes all twinkly and crinkly and—
Hey! Stop thinking he is cute at once! This guy saw you at your absolute saddest moment, alone in a dark bedroom. Remember?
“Oh, yeah, that’s true.” Lexi is nodding. “So, Ms. Finkelstein, can I get a quote about tonight’s performance? Any thoughts for our readers?”
“Yeah … I think I’d rather not say what I thought about tonight’s performance. Ask Ned for a quote—I’m sure he has plenty to say. You’ll find him crying on Julie Nelson’s shoulder,” I add, pointing to our star.
Lexi glances over at them. “I don’t know if I feel like getting my eyes clawed out tonight. Hey, you’re friends with Julie, aren’t you?” she asks, turning to Valentina. “Any chance I could get you to smooth the way for me?”
Um, Lexi? Whatcha doing there, lady?
Valentina looks totally disarmed. “Uh, what?” She looks at Ben. “Weren’t we gonna go to—”
“Of course she will. Val, this is a budding reporter here. You can help her out, can’t you?”
Valentina grudgingly disentangles herself from Ben and starts walking toward Julie and Ned. Lexi winks at me, following in her wake. What is she doing?
Ben and I stand alone in the hallway uncomfortably.
“So …,” I manage. “Thanks again for coming. Did you, uh, enjoy the show? I mean, before it fell apart in a fiery blaze of horror?”
“I think that was the best part, actually. You should definitely consider a professional career.”
“Ha ha. And to reiterate … ha.”
God, this is awkward.
I sort of hope it lasts forever.
“So, hey—you never got back to me about the special-delivery paper I snagged for you. Is that any way to show supreme gratitude?”
I’m sorry—what? “Gratitude?!” I squeak. “It was a terrible picture! What was I supposed to be grateful for, exactly?”
Ben looks genuinely nonplussed. “What are you talking about? It was a great picture; you looked totally psyched in it about getting your award. I thought you’d like it! No?”
Okay, now I’m confused. “Ben. I’m missing a tooth in that picture.”
“What? No you aren’t.”
I laugh. “Uh, yeah, I totally am.”
“But … I saw you that afternoon and your teeth were fine.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’d just gotten back from the dentist. Do you know how much crap I got for that picture?” What is going on here?
“Man … I guess I didn’t look at it that carefully. When it was submitted, I mean. We just go through the thumbnails and choose … man, I’m sorry. Now I feel bad.” He actually looks like he feels bad.
Now I feel sort of bad.
“It’s fine—I’m used to it by now. Seriously, it’s cool. But, um, what exactly do you do for the paper, anyway?” I ask, starting to get just a tiny bit suspicious. “I thought you said Kate Izzo chose—”
“Well, that was fun.” Valentina saunters over and links her arm through Ben’s. “Ned is such a drama queen. Lexi had a few more questions, but I told her we were running late, so … you ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ben says. He puts his arm around Valentina and gives her one of his crinkly-eyed grins. Then he turns back to me. “Well, sorry again about the picture. I honestly thought you’d be pleased.”
“No, it’s really okay.”
Valentina is looking at me in a not-very-friendly way now.
Uncomfortable pause? Paging uncomfortable pause? Come in, please!
Finally, Ben goes, “Okay, cool. Well, great job. See you.” He turns to go, but then stops. “Um, Kelsey … I also wanted to say—and I know this is none of my business, but …” Oh, please, no. What now? “I hope you aren’t getting involved with Sam Sharpe. He’s kind of a—”
“Ben!” Valentina hisses, poking him in the side. “Don’t embarrass her!”
“Sorry. It’s just, you know, he can seem really—”
“No, no, I know!” I blurt out, rapid-fire. “Nothing going on there, not to worry!” I am going to die of humiliation. This is it—I am going to actually expire, right now, right here, with leftover glue on my face.
“Ben, let’s gooooo!” Valentina tugs his arm, shooting me a pitying smile. Fortunately, Em, JoJo, and Cass have finally come out of the theater and they’re all keyed up. I gratefully let them drag me away to the cast party, leaving Ben and Val and my dignity and my fat suit and everything else behind.
Show over, just like that.
The cast party is a super heap of fun, if you consider watching a bunch of other people making out and/or reenacting the flying beard catastrophe to be a heap of fun. Also Ned, who seems to have mostly recovered, makes a big speech about how much we all mean to him and that when he’s at Northwestern next year we’re all welcome to visit him and experience theater at a “college level.” (Goody gumdrops. Pardon my elbows as I shove to the front of the line for that choice opportunity.)
I mostly spend the night exchanging “You were amazing!”s, hugging everyone, signing people’s scripts and/or programs for scrapbook purposes, avoiding Julie’s evil eye(brows), helping collect discarded cups, and trying to pretend my entire post-play conversation with Ben didn’t happen. Especially the part where he gave me dating advice in front of his hot girlfriend.
I’m thinking this is an ideal time to go home and start researching the convent system.
35
I’m in my room after dinner, three incredibly dull weeks after the Great Beard Escape. Now that the play’s over, I don’t really have anything to do except study. Which is boring. I mean, I have my friends, obviously, but they’re all studying, too. I’m trying to understand why I need to re-create Euclid’s constructions. I mean, they didn’t even have toilet paper when he invented these. And everyone wore mandals. Is this really relevant?
Thankfully, my phone buzzes with a text from Lexi, and it says: PROM! CALL ME ASAP!
Huh?
Well, that’s a hell of a lot more interesting than math homework. I dial Lexi’s number.
“That was fast!”
“You said ASAP! What can I say? I take direction extremely well. So … what’s going on?”
“Well, you know how Robby asked me to the junior prom?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I said yes.”
“That was very kind of you. But do take a second to think of the ten devastated guys who will now have to give up hope, okay? It’s the least you can do.”
Lexi giggles. “Kelsey, you are too much, seriously.”
“Yes, I’ve been told that before. So that’s awesome! But what do you need from yours truly?”
“Well, you know Robby’s friend Josh?”
“Uh … is he the one with the lisp?”
“No, that’s Jon, and it’s not a lisp. He had a tongue ring … situation. Anyway, no. Josh is the one with the longish curly hair? He plays lacrosse? He used to date Zoe Walls?”
“Okay, yeah, I think so. And?”
“And, they broke up. See, he thought she was flirting with this guy she knew from another school when she was at his game last week, so he hooked up with this girl Camilla Toht, who graduated last year—”
“Do I know her?”
I sense this is going to be a very long and complicated tale about two or more people I barely know. “Wait, wait, hang on. I’m getting lost here,” I interrupt.
“Right, sorry,” Lexi says. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, now Josh needs a prom date and Robby asked me if I had a friend he could go with and … I said you! Won’t that be fun?”
“Wait. What?”
“You’re going to the prom! It’s at the Mandarin Oriental and we’re going to get a limo. Oh, and the after party is at—”
“Lex, hang on—why would this Josh guy want to take me to prom? Does he even know who I am?”
“Well, he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t see the play …”
“Thank God!”
“So I showed him that picture I have of you on my phone, you know, the one of us after soccer practice?”
“Oh my God, you did not! Why didn’t you just show him the one of me with the cafeteria workers from The Reflector? Jesus, Lexi!”
“And he thought you were super cute, which you are, and he said he was sick of dealing with the obnoxious girls in his class, so he wants you to go with him! Isn’t that great?”
I take a second to mull this over. I mean, going to the junior prom as a freshman? Extremely cool. Definitely in keeping with my (thus far, not what I’d intended) plan to have an outstanding freshman year of high school. I guess it’s not quite the scenario I would’ve come up with, i.e., being actually asked by a guy who liked me instead of tagging along as a date replacement. But hey, you can’t have everything in this life, right?
Lexi is still making plans on the other end of the line. “You’ll need to get a dress! And your mom will let you get your hair done, right? Then we can get ready together. And—”
“Lex, Lex, slow down. Yes, it will definitely be really fun. And seriously, it was so sweet of you to think of me.”
“Kels, we’re gonna have such a great time. Maybe you and Josh will hit it off! And if not, there will be lots of cute boys there. Including … a certain junior named Ben?”
Oh, lordy. Lexi has not let up on the Ben theme since, well, the day we both met him in the paper office. If I let her, she’ll go into a detailed story right now of how he’s going to leave his date (Val, I’m sure) behind on the dance floor for me. Which will only get my hopes up and then dash them against the rocks when it doesn’t happen.
Not that I like the guy. I’m done with men, as I’ve stated.
Seriously.
“Okay, Lex, I actually have to finish this Euclid stuff. It’s for tomorrow, so …”
“Fine, fine. Anyway, I’ll tell Robby to tell Josh you’re in. ‘Kay?”
“Sounds good. Thanks!”
And that’s that. I guess I’m going to the junior prom!
After I call Em, Cass, and JoJo to tell them the big news, I go down to the kitchen and grab a box of Cinnamon Life from the snack closet. I go into the TV room, where Travis is splayed out on her hideous pink beanbag chair, watching a Friends rerun. I put down the cereal box and she picks it up and takes a handful. We munch silently for a minute and then I decide I’ll try to initiate a sisterly discussion. I say, “Hey, Trav? Do you think about boys yet?”
“Duh, stupid, I have a boyfriend. His name is David D. and we’ve been going out for three weeks.”
Gee. That cheers me right up.
I snatch the Life and go back up to my room. Of course, I had a “boyfriend” when I was ten, too. He’s probably asking someone to ask someone else he doesn’t know to go to the prom with him right now. Stupid boys. I fish my math homework out of the trash. Stupid Euclid.
Sometimes my life is simply too exhausting to bear.
At school the next day, Cass helpfully points out Josh to me in the hallway. He’s pretty cute in a Team Jacob way—and a totally different guy than I thought. But whatever.
“So, am I supposed to, you know … introduce myself to him? Or just … appear on prom night, or what?”
Cass chews on her hair thoughtfully. “I guess you could go over to him. But what would you say?”
“I dunno—‘I’m Kelsey, I don’t have a dress yet, but I promise not to show up to your prom naked’?”
JoJo appears beside me. “That’s probably the last thing he wants to hear. What else ya got?”
“I don’t know. But, I mean, isn’t this a little weird? To go to a prom with a guy I’ve never even spoken to? Shouldn’t he be approaching me?”
“Welcome to the age of the modern man, Kels,” JoJo quips. “If you don’t like it, you’d better get out now.” I glance at Cassidy, who shrugs. Since the play ended, JoJo has been a bit MIA, and Cass and Em and I are wondering if maybe she’s been occupying her time with something we don’t know about. As in, a girl. I wish she’d talk to us about it.
Cass goes off to her English class and JoJo and I head to math. On the way in, we pass Keith Mayhew leaving. He gives me a big grin. “Oh, hey, Kelsey! I meant to ask, y’know, what are you doing this weekend?”
The bell rings again and he gets swallowed up in the mass exodus to class. “I’ll text you later!” I hear through the melee. JoJo and I exchange a knowing look. Keith’s been getting all “Remember when we went to that concert?” with me the last few weeks, trying to convince me to hang out with him again. Well, he can keep his floppy tongue and “comitment” issues to himself, I say.
It is interesting to think about how very, very far away that concert seems, though. And how different things were—so much has changed since then. When I planned to have this super memorable freshman year, I had very different kinds of memorable experiences in mind. For instance, none of them involved being goalie, fake beards, friend breakups, terrible make-out experiences, bitchy juniors with giant eyebrows, or being shadowed by a mysterious newspaper photographer.
But … now I’m going to the prom. Maybe this is the experience I’ve been waiting for. Maybe the rest of that stuff was just a lead-up to the real awesomeness that is headed my way!
All I need now is a dress.
36
“Do you have any idea what things cost, young lady? If you think I get up at six o’clock in the morning to go to work so I can throw money away on crap that’s going to fall apart in five minutes, then you’ve got another think coming. Here’s an idea—why don’t you get a job? Then you can feel free to shop wherever you damn well please.”
Well, that experiment was an epic FAIL.
My mother, who was initially elated by the news of my impending prom attendance, was less pleased by the reveal that I hadn’t actually been asked by anyone, and fell apart completely when I told her where I wanted to shop for a dress. Which is: anywhere but where she wants to take me. Which is Loehmann’s. Of course.
I decide to run to my room and slam the door, which is as Typically Adolescent as it gets and therefore acceptable, I guess. Life is easier when you know what’s expected of you, isn’t it? I speed-dial Em.
“Hey, so: disaster. Ma Finkelstein is on the rampage.”
“Uh-oh. Is she doing the ‘I get up at six o’clock in the morning’ routine?”
“Yep,” I confirm, turning the volume up on my stereo. “She just got to the part about me getting a job when I split.”
“Oh, no! So, what now? You have to get a dress! I’d lend you the one I wore to my cousin’s sweet sixteen last year, but …”
“But it would drag on the floor behind me by about a foot?”
Em giggles. “Well. Yeah. And I don’t think trains are in this year.”
I groan despairingly. “I know—I’ll just wear the tempting blazer and beautiful checked pants I got on the September Loehmann’s trip! I’ll probably get asked to dance by every guy there.”
“Look, Kels, you have to restrategize. Tell you what—I’ll go with you to Loehmann’s. There has to be something normal there. Right?”
“No. It’s hopeless.
”
“Come on,” she coaxes in her best soothing voice. “We’ll go together. Just us. What do you say?”
“Well …”
“Good, it’s decided! Now … do you think your mom will give you her credit card if you swear to only use it at Loehmann’s?”
“Maybe you’d better ask,” I sigh. “She likes you a lot more than she likes me.”
Saturday afternoon, I follow Em into the store, armed with my mother’s credit card and a resolve made of steel (which is instantly penetrated by the sight of two women arguing over what appears to be a pair of high-waisted purple leggings). Immediately, I want to run out. We are the youngest people here by about a generation, and there is a large sign advertising a sale on “Intimates.” Kill me.
“Come on,” Em says. “We’ll go to the dress section. They have lots of designer stuff, I swear!”
“Maybe I should just cancel this whole thing,” I grumble as we trudge up about seventeen escalators. “I mean, it’s not like Josh even knows me. Lexi can find him someone else. You could go!”
Em holds up a scary pink item and looks at it thoughtfully. “Are you insane?!” I cry. “That has weird fringe all over it! You’re supposed to be helping!”
“Kels, it’s Oscar de la Renta!”
“It’s gross and no way.”
“Fiiiine.” She puts it back and moves on to the next section. “Anyway … I actually can’t go to prom with Josh. Because … guess who IMed me last night after I hung up with you?” Em leads me over to a rack filled with terrifying gowns. She starts flipping the hangers aside like a seasoned shopper on a mission. I try on a hilarious fur hat and dance around in front of a wall mirror.
“Who?”
“James.”
“What?” I stop mid-jig. “What did he say? You should’ve ignored him—or better, signed off immediately!”
“I know I should’ve … he was such a jerk to me. And the last month or so, I’ve actually felt like flirting with other guys again. But … I couldn’t do it. I still miss him so much, Kels. And … he apologized. A lot.”
Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters Page 17
