Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing

by Mary Strand

  My head jerked at the sound of Liz’s voice, and I turned to eye Liz warily. “Why are you here?”

  Liz leaned against the doorjamb, her arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle. “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Yeah? From Minneapolis?”

  Her apartment with Jane on Lake Calhoun was half an hour from here, even when Liz was driving, and she didn’t technically have a car. Dad bought Jane a Prius when she started college, and she shared it with Liz, but not always.

  Liz shrugged. “I had to stop by to grab something.”

  “Like my iPod? Out of my closet?”

  She held up her hands. “A couple of things were missing from my room, and I went looking for them.”

  In my closet. I held my breath, wondering what I’d taken from Liz. Anything? We weren’t the same clothing size, but everyone looked at me first if something went missing.

  Unless of course Lydia was in town.

  I shrugged. “Did you find them?”

  “No. I brought your iPod downstairs to ask if I could borrow it for a run while I was here, but it didn’t seem like a good time to ask.” Liz stared keenly at me as I shoved the duffle bag behind me. “Weird finding all the loot in your duffle, though. Like you were going on a trip.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down my neck, but I brushed it away. Casually. Except for my shaking hand.

  “I must’ve had that stuff in there from when I stayed at a girlfriend’s house.”

  “Huh.” Just that. Liz was unflappable.

  And not unlike a pit bull.

  Before I could even consider caving in and confessing my plan—as if—Liz nodded at me. “Nice of you to shovel for Mr. Fogarty. He’s getting up there.”

  He was long past up there, but Liz looked sincere.

  “No biggie.” This whole conversation was, though. I ran a sweaty hand through my hair. “He plied me with hot cocoa afterward. Like I was eight.”

  Liz cracked a grin, then suddenly turned serious. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “I thought you stopped by to grab something.”

  “My CDs.” She pushed herself away from the doorjamb. Just when I thought she might leave me in peace, she crossed the room and plunked down on Lydia’s bed. “What are you doing this weekend?”

  Absolutely nothing. “You know. The usual.”

  “Jane and Mary and I were going to catch a movie tonight. Want to join us?”

  “Thanks, but I’m kinda busy.”

  Liz’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? With homework you’re not touching, or the art club you haven’t joined, or the job you don’t have, or the friends you’re not hanging with lately?”

  I sucked in a breath. “You’re not in charge of me.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. Old habit, and Jane’s the only one who lets me get away with it. Believe me, I found that out with Mary.” She glanced around the room as if she’d never seen it before. “It must be nice having a room to yourself. Or is it tough having Lydia so far away?”

  “It’s not so—” I frowned, remembering who I was talking to. Liz wasn’t a squealer, but I also didn’t know her. “It’s fine. Why are you pretending to be so nice to me?”

  “I don’t pretend.” Liz’s gaze left the perimeter of my room, which was still decorated with Lydia’s posters, Lydia’s everything, and zeroed in on me again. “That stash in your closet isn’t for an overnight with a girlfriend. The cash would be in your purse. I asked Jane about it.”

  “You asked Jane?”

  She held up a hand. “Like I said, I asked Jane. Not Mom. Not Dad. And she told me to talk to you.”

  “You. Talking to me. After all these years.”

  “Another thing I heard about from Mary. Do you guys compare notes or something?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I broke off, remembering that Liz and Jane were charter members of the Mary Bennet fan club. “But you’ve never hung out with me.”

  “Better late than never.” Grinning, Liz grabbed the pillow from Lydia’s bed and whipped it across the room at me, nailing me in the stomach.

  I wasn’t so sure. I crawled on my knees over to the end of my bed, grabbed my backpack, and rummaged around in it. As if I were looking for something. As if I could ignore Liz.

  “Seriously. Don’t you want to come out with us tonight? Or would you rather endure Mom’s cooking? I think she mentioned Spam surprise.”

  Oh, God. I closed my eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. What the heck. I’ll even let you pick out the movie with me before Jane and Mary get here.”

  No one overrode Liz when it came to movies. “As long as I pick something with bloodshed or Channing Tatum, right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  I rolled my eyes. But I had a date on a Friday night—if sisters counted, which they didn’t—which meant I was better off than I had been ten minutes ago. At least theoretically.

  Chapter 9

  I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday morning brought clouds, my mom’s usual screeching, and the depressing thought that I’d be locked in chains in the basement by the end of the day. As I lay in bed, wondering what I should do—like maybe look for a job—someone rapped lightly on my door.

  I groaned and rolled over, curling my pillow around my head, as my door banged open. A moment later, my pillow got yanked from my arms.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Liz. Argh.

  The pillow landed back on my face, and I shoved it to one side. “What time is it, anyway?”

  Jane, standing next to Liz, glanced at the clock on my desk. “It’s nine. You’re the last one up.”

  “On your last day of freedom.”

  “Liz!” Jane slapped her. “I told you not to say that.”

  “But it’s true.” Liz shrugged, not looking a bit apologetic. As always. “Even after we plied you with B&J’s Cinnamon Buns ice cream last night, you never admitted how you planned to stay out of Dad’s evil clutches.”

  I groaned. For an annoying twerp, Liz had a way of zeroing in on my problems.

  Jane glanced at Liz, then at my still-open bedroom door. In three long strides, and without a word spoken between the two of them, Liz shut the door. How did they do that? Even with Lydia, it had never been like that. Lydia spoke, and I jumped.

  “Seriously.” Jane tried to give me an encouraging look, but the vertical crease in her forehead said otherwise. “You need a plan of attack. We’re good with that.”

  “What, you plan and Liz attacks?”

  Liz let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Got it in one. You’re not as—”

  She broke off when I glared at her and pulled the covers up tighter around my neck.

  “Hey, don’t give me that look.” Liz frowned at me, then waved off Jane when she started to spring to my defense. “It was fun hanging out last night.”

  It had been fun. In a not-partying, not-friends, no-dance-to-go-to kind of way. Today, though, Liz was back to her usual annoying self.

  Hands on her nonexistent hips, she studied me. “But you do need a plan of attack, and I’m guessing you don’t have one. Am I right?”

  I bit my lip, not sure I wanted to answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Liz, cut her some slack.”

  Liz flicked a glance at Jane. “I did. In case you forgot, I voted for waking her up at eight.”

  A painful grin tickled the corner of my mouth.

  “See? Cat appreciates the fact that I waited an hour.”

  Giving up, I threw back the covers and propped myself up in bed. “Fine. Do you guys actually have a plan, or are you just here to bug me?”

  “Some of both.” Liz laughed again. “No, seriously, it seems like you need to get a job.”

  I glared at her. “Why? You never worked in high school. At least, not during the
school year.”

  “I played three varsity sports. No time. And Jane was editor of the school newspaper, and the yearbook, and was president of half the clubs in school.”

  “Two clubs. Senior year.” Jane rolled her eyes as she sat on the edge of Lydia’s bed. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “My point is that we were busy, and Dad and Mom want Cat to find something to keep her busy.” Liz flopped onto the floor, stretching her legs but stopping short of one of Dad’s yoga poses. “Art club alone isn’t gonna cut it, babe. Don’t they meet once a week, if that? Besides, you’re not the art-geek type.”

  “Her teacher thinks she has talent.” Jane smiled at me, but she couldn’t hide the surprise in her eyes. “That’s very cool, by the way.”

  “Of course she can draw. I’ve seen her stuff.” Liz looked in Jane’s direction as she spoke, not mine, and I wasn’t sure if she was serious or just blowing smoke. “I just mean—”

  “—that I don’t fit in with art types.”

  “Nothing wrong with art types, but I don’t see it. You’ve never hung out with them before, have you?”

  Jane pushed off the edge of Lydia’s bed and started pacing around my smallish room. “Maybe she’s trying to find a new crowd. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

  I jerked up straight. “What do you mean? My friends are cool. Like, the coolest in school.”

  Based on her pursed lips, Jane didn’t agree. But what did she know? She was four years older than me. Totally different friends, cliques, definitions of cool. Jane probably never even drank beer until college, and I wasn’t sure she’d tried it yet.

  “Mary said you’re not hanging out with those kids anymore. You still think they’re cool?”

  “Mary doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Dead silence. Finally, Liz gave Jane a long look, then swung her intense gaze back to me. “A job is actually a good idea. You get spending money. With any luck, you also get to see your friends. Like at the Mall of America.”

  I’d thought of that, actually, but I hated the idea of caving in to Dad. Agreeing with Liz was tough enough.

  “I already tried the mall.”

  “Right. You went there exactly once, when you tried to ditch Mary and hang out with your friends. Neither idea worked, did it?”

  I just stared at her.

  “What about Nickelodeon Universe?”

  My mouth twisted in disgust. “Have you seen the geeks who work there? If I have to work, I was thinking Abercrombie. Or Hollister.”

  “You and everyone else.” Liz brushed me off, as if I hadn’t given this much thought. I had. At least ten minutes’ worth. “So try there first, but then go to Nickelodeon Universe. Unless you want to work at McDonald’s again.”

  “Why don’t you get a job at Nickelodeon Universe?”

  “It’s not near school or my apartment, for starters, but I’ve actually snagged a job as a research assistant for my biochem professor.”

  Jane halted her steps, put her hands on her hips, and stared at Liz. “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday.” Liz gave us both a sideways grin. “Why do you think I had to celebrate last night with a Channing Tatum movie?”

  Jane glanced at me, and I tossed her my pillow. A moment later, as Jane tried to smother Liz with it, I joined in the laughter. For the first time in too long.

  A quick shower and breakfast-on-the-run later, I took off for the Mall of America in the Jeep. Alone. Dad must’ve felt sorry for me, because he dangled the keys in front of my face and didn’t even yank them away when I reached for them, which is what Mary or maybe even Liz would’ve done.

  I hit the first few stores on my wish list—Abercrombie, Hollister, Forever 21—with a lot of hope and more than a dash of perfectly reasonable confidence. How hard could this be?

  After my first five stores today, I had my answer: hard. After my shower, I’d almost worn skinny jeans and a cute sweater from Gap before settling on Dockers, a button-down Oxford, and loafers. I practically looked like Liz, for God’s sake, and she always got whatever she wanted.

  So far, I’d scored only one job application, and the girl who handed it to me scrunched her nose as she gave me a rude up-and-down, as if I didn’t know how to dress. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit for school or a party, but I knew how to dress as well as that snooty girl.

  She was wearing skinny jeans and a funky top like the ones hanging on the clothing rack five feet away from her. I bit my lip, wanting to smack myself, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Still, I should’ve changed clothes the instant Dad and Mom nodded approvingly at this stupid outfit.

  Too late now. The managers at every store claimed they didn’t have jobs, but the looks on their faces said I reeked. I trudged out of one store after the manager swore she didn’t have any openings, but when I walked past the store two minutes later, I saw her give another girl a smile and a job application. I hadn’t even scored a smile all day.

  After two hours of rejection, I slumped on a stool at Chipotle, my guacamole burrito untouched.

  “Cat? What’s up?”

  I brushed a quick hand under my eye, just in case my tear ducts caught wind of my mood, before looking up at Megan. I gave her a weak smile. “Hey.”

  She grabbed the stool next to me. “Bethany and I were out shopping, but she’s looking for a job, so I popped in here while she stopped by Cold Stone.”

  Cold Stone. Scooping ice cream all day. Better than flipping burgers, maybe, but no thanks. I didn’t mind going vegetarian, but I’d hate to dread the sight of ice cream.

  Megan laughed. “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I’m an artist, just like you.” She patted my arm. “And we notice the looks on people’s faces.”

  No kidding. I’d noticed them all morning: disgusted.

  “So what’s up with you?”

  I debated not telling her, but I hadn’t seen a friendly face in too long. “I’m looking for a job, too.”

  A puzzled frown made Megan’s eyebrows quiver. At least, that’s how I’d draw it. “Eddie Bauer?”

  I blinked at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you’re dressed in their clothes?”

  Megan took a sip of her soda as I stared at her, trying to figure out when she’d morphed from sweet to snotty. Did she get it from Bethany? Or was she talking to my friends now?

  Her smile dimmed when I didn’t say anything. “Hey, I like Eddie Bauer. I’m just surprised, I guess. You don’t normally dress like that.”

  “I told you. I’m looking for a job.”

  Didn’t everyone dress like this to get a job at the mall? I didn’t need to ask Jane or Liz for fashion advice, did I? I just needed a job. And I was dressed for it.

  Even if the look on Megan’s face said otherwise.

  “Okay, you’re looking for a job. But you’re an artist.”

  “Or so you keep telling me.”

  “So I do.” She grinned, her usual chirpy self again. “And artists notice things. Like the fact that the kids who work in clothing stores dress in the clothes they’re selling.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course they do.”

  “But if you’re looking for a job, why would you wear a Gap shirt to Abercrombie, or vice versa? So you’d have to keep changing clothes.” Her gaze flickered over my outfit. “Or you go for a neutral look. But maybe not quite so neutral.”

  “You think I look too neutral.” I felt my jaw clench as I bit out the words.

  She scooted an inch or so farther away on her stool. “And do you even have time for a job? I mean, don’t you need to work on your portfolio?”

  “My portfolio?”

  “For the all-school art show, silly. Didn’t Mr. Reiman explain it to you?”

  I frowned. When did I mention the art show to Megan? Had someone drop-kicked me into an alternate reality, one where Megan knew everything
going on in my life? Only Lydia—or maybe Tess and Amber—had ever been like that. But not lately.

  Megan’s grin faltered. “Sorry. After you asked me about the art club, I asked Mr. Reiman if you were entering the art show. He said you were. Or, I guess, he hoped you were.”

  Did I even want to? “He didn’t mention a portfolio to me.”

  Of course, I’d scooted out of his room so fast that day, he wouldn’t have had a chance.

  “Most of the kids they pick to exhibit just get to display a few works of art. But they sometimes let one or two kids show practically their whole portfolio.”

  “Oh.” No wonder Mr. Reiman hadn’t said anything. If I hadn’t known the score before today, I did now. I bit down my disappointment and tried to give her an encouraging look. “So you’re working on a portfolio?”

  She shrugged. “I’m always working on one. But you should, too, and it takes time.”

  I didn’t have a clue. “Is this the kind of stuff people talk about in art club?”

  A weird look scuttled across Megan’s face, almost as if she got caught doing something wrong. “Yes. I mean—”

  “Megan? You ready?”

  I blinked at the sudden appearance of Bethany, her purse over one arm, a job application in her other hand. She didn’t even glance at me. She just stared at Megan, who looked uncomfortable.

  “I was talking to Cat.”

  Bethany looked at her watch. “C’mon, it’s getting late.”

  Megan frowned, then shot a look of embarrassed apology at me. “Sorry, Cat. I’ll catch you another time, okay?”

  From the look on Bethany’s face, it wouldn’t be when anyone else was around.

  Sighing, I tossed my uneaten lunch in the wastebasket. All of a sudden, being locked in chains in the basement didn’t sound like the worst fate on earth.

  I left Chipotle right after Megan and Bethany, feeling like a reject, and not just from the job search. Deciding to declare the day a total loss, I headed to the parking ramp.

  Unbelievable. Jeremy was standing next to the Jeep. As if he expected me. As if he was stalking me.

  The weather was warmer than last week, maybe ten degrees now, but not warm enough to tempt any sane person to hang out in a parking lot just in case someone came by.