by Mary Strand
Just as my lips moved to his ear, a crash of cymbals blasted me. I lurched backward until Drew caught me.
His eyebrows went up. “You don’t usually see a slow song end so spectacularly.”
I glanced at Jeremy, who was doing an impromptu drum solo now, eyes wide open but definitely not looking at me. Michael and Zach were glaring at Jeremy, and Mary looked curiously from Drew and me to Jeremy. Only Kirk, fiddling with the tuning knobs on his guitar, looked unperturbed.
“Drew?”
I twisted in Drew’s suddenly limp arms to see Chelsea slouched against the basement door, her arms folded across her boobs. “What are you doing with her?”
“Oh, hey.” He pulled away and offered Chelsea the same lopsided grin he’d aimed at me five minutes ago. “We were just dancing.”
She frowned at me, a snotty little scrunch to her nose, as if something reeked in the room and it was coming from my direction. I just stood frozen.
The band started playing again, loudly, the drums and cymbals now earsplitting. As if in a nightmare, I watched Chelsea and Drew, who were in liplock mode. Someone tapped my shoulder. And tapped again. Blinking, I turned as Mary handed me the keys to the Jeep. Clutching them, I somehow crossed the room, stumbled past Drew and Chelsea on my way upstairs, then found myself outside. Without my jacket or purse.
I climbed into the Jeep, fumbled with the keys until I heard an engine start, and managed to shift into gear. Amazingly, I made it home intact.
Well, mostly.
No one asked any questions when I walked in the door, stone faced and alone, and dumped the keys to the Jeep in the basket on the front-hall table. Dad was contorted in yoga pose number fifty-seven and Mom was nowhere in sight.
I headed up to my room, where my eyes lingered on the duffle bag on the floor of my open closet. I could run. But what would I be running away from? Drew? My so-called friends? Or maybe myself?
I had a job. At Nickelodeon Universe, but still. I also had a chance to score points at the art show, unless Mr. Reiman and Megan had just been blowing smoke at me. And if I ran away, I’d be acting like the poor, pitiful, hapless Kitty Bennet in The Book, and I wasn’t that girl.
Grumbling, I pulled my copy of Pride and Prejudice out of my backpack and opened to the bookmarked page where I’d left off. If I was going to bitch about my sucky fate, I should find out what my fate was. And then, like Mary, I’d change it.
Not that I believed in fate. Or Mary. Or the concept of homework on a Sunday afternoon.
“You’re reading The Book?”
My head jerked on my pillow, and my eyes opened in time to catch Mary picking The Book off the floor, where I must’ve dropped it. I couldn’t help it. Jane Austen had a way of lulling me off to la-la land. I mean, dancing around a piano? Sitting around pretending to read or do needlework whenever guys showed up? At least Kitty and Lydia partied and had fun with the officers, but not that much fun.
The Book sounded more like my life—at least, my former life—than I’d realized, but it was still boring. And Mary was standing by my bed, giving me weird looks.
“Are you okay?” She hovered closer. Too close.
“Sure.” Still feeling stupid, I couldn’t look at Mary. “I just danced with Drew, and then his girlfriend showed up. No biggie. But thanks for giving me the Jeep.”
“Uh-huh.” Mary took a step closer, glanced down at the edge of my bed, then moved away to stare out the window. “You don’t have to put up with that crap, you know.”
I bristled, even though I knew exactly what she meant. “Which crap? The part where Mom and Dad lock me up or chain me to you?”
She flinched. “It doesn’t have to be this way. I was like this with Jane and Liz. I didn’t trust them to help me or think they could, but it’s all cool now.”
“Well, raise the flag. But I’m not you, and you’re not Jane or Liz, and I don’t need any of you.”
“What you don’t need is your so-called friends.”
I didn’t say a word. I was too busy not crying.
“I’m just saying.” Mary took a step toward the door, then paused. “You can do so much better.”
“Yeah. I’ll get right on it.”
The only good news about Drew dancing with me and then dissing me yesterday was that Jeremy stopped talking to me. Stopped leaning over to peek at my homework. Stopped telling everyone he had a crush on me.
At least, I think it was good news. It was hard to look at him, what with his hair dyed black with streaks of bright yellow on the spikes. Totally bizarre.
“Cat? How do you think Kitty Bennet reacted to being left home with Mary after all her other sisters got married?”
I knew exactly how Kitty felt about getting stuck with Mary. I lived it, didn’t I?
“I don’t think anyone gives a sh—” I coughed when shit nearly came out of my mouth. “I mean, I don’t think anyone cares about Kitty’s reaction. The book isn’t about her.”
“But you—”
“Yeah, my name is Catherine Bennet, but I don’t have any connection to this book. I read it because you assigned it.”
As several kids laughed, Ms. Mickel stood on the far side of the room, hands on her bony hips, obviously trying to figure out her strategy. From the buzz in the room, I figured kids were taking bets on whether I scored detention. The thing was, I just wanted her to lay off me.
Jeremy leaned over toward me. If his chair tilted any more, he’d land in my lap. “Way to go.”
I couldn’t answer him, not with my chances of detention hanging in mid-air. But he was talking to me again, and his soft brown eyes bored into mine, and it stupidly made me feel better. Even though it was Jeremy.
I caught Tess staring at me from across the room, giving me a friendly little finger wave when Ms. Mickel wasn’t looking. A couple of chairs behind her, Megan was staring, too, but she didn’t exactly look happy. She looked upset.
Finally, Ms. Mickel blew out a loud breath and moved on to her next victim. “Jeremy?”
The legs of his chair hit the floor with a loud thump as I opened my book and started reading. How did Kitty Bennet feel? Dumped on? Dissed? Invisible? Played? Utterly stupid and lost? Most likely, all of the above.
I didn’t need a book to tell me so.
“Cat, how are you?” The hand grabbing my sleeve as I headed out of English class belonged to Tess, and so did the voice, but everything else felt wrong. I kept walking. I didn’t need to be late to my next class, and this was Tess. A total stranger who used to be my best friend other than Lydia.
She sounded breathless. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday with Drew.”
I didn’t see Drew or anyone from my old posse, but I wouldn’t put it past Tess to hide a secret tape recorder in her pocket. “We danced. So?”
“I had no idea Chelsea was showing up.”
Did I look stupid? “Whatever. It was no biggie.”
“And we never got to finish talking about you singing with the band.”
I stopped so fast, right in the middle of the hall, that a couple of freshman girls ran into my back. “Tess, you’re not in the band. Why are you looking for a singer? Besides, I told you. I’m busy.”
My locker loomed to my right, and I scooted sideways to get to it. It also gave me a chance to slip away from Tess, but she stayed next to me.
I spun the dial as she kept babbling. “You’d be so good.”
Doubtful, but I didn’t care. “So would you. Why don’t you sing with the band?”
Tess shrugged. “You heard Amber. You’re an alto, and I’m a soprano.”
My locker opened, and I shoved my English books on the top shelf and grabbed what I needed for second period. “Amber’s an alto, too, and she still sings in choir. I haven’t done that since eighth grade.”
“But you’re so good.”
I slammed my locker. “I’m late for class. Gotta run, Tess. See you later?”
“Sure.” She glanced down the
hall in the direction of her own locker. “Have lunch with me?”
Weird. For the first time in ages, the thought didn’t excite me. Like, not at all.
“What did your friend Tess want?”
I turned toward Megan’s soft voice, saw the same odd look she’d given me in English class, and glanced over at Mr. Reiman to make sure he wasn’t ready to pounce.
“Tess? When?”
Tess had saved a seat for me at my old lunch table, then chattered about the band and how great it’d be if I sang. No one else said much, and Drew and Chelsea were nowhere in sight, but Tess even glared at Amber when she said something snotty, so I guess we were pals again. But it didn’t explain yesterday with the band, and Amber, and the whole mess with Drew.
“After English class.”
Mr. Reiman was strolling around the room now, making comments. The bowl of overripe fruit had been replaced by a bunch of musty old sneakers, hiking boots, and sandals, none of which I’d be caught dead wearing.
I finished sketching the outline of the strap on a pair of leather sandals that could’ve been worn by one of the original Romans, then leaned slightly in Megan’s direction and spoke without looking at her. “Not much. My sister’s in a band, and Tess thinks I should sing in the band.”
“And you trust her?”
Frowning, I forgot all about Mr. Reiman and stared at Megan. “I don’t trust anyone. But I used to sing.”
Megan chewed on the corner of her lip as she resumed her own drawing. I watched her, waiting for a snotty comment about my singing, but it didn’t come.
I got tired of waiting. “And?”
Her gaze locked on a pile of gross sneakers in the corner, a couple of them covered with mold. She finally spoke. “I heard she went to the dance on Friday.”
My jaw dropped. Impossible. “No, she didn’t.”
“Megan? Cat? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
How we missed Mr. Reiman sneaking down the aisle, I have no idea. But when Megan turned stark white, I glanced toward the back of the room to catch Bethany glaring at me. As if it was my fault. As if I was the bad girl in this scenario.
I glared at her before turning back to face Mr. Reiman. “Megan and I were talking about how the light catches the mold on those disgusting sneakers over there.”
Tight lipped, Megan nodded.
Mr. Reiman glanced over at the sneakers. “Let’s just say I got a good deal on them from the Gym teachers, but I’d rather have you drawing shoes than discussing them.”
I bent my head and got to work, but I kept thinking about Megan. She was wrong. Tess told me she couldn’t go to the dance, and Megan hadn’t even gone. She said so herself.
Obviously, Megan thought I’d be pals with her if she dumped on Tess, but that wasn’t how friendship worked. Okay, lately I didn’t know how it worked, but it wasn’t like that.
I’m pretty sure.
Chapter 11
“I must not decide on my own performance.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday afternoon, right after school, I reported for work at Nickelodeon Universe. I changed into a pair of black slacks and a yellow polo with the Nickelodeon Universe logo, then filled out a bazillion forms, half of which I barely read. After I signed the last one, I followed my teenage boss, Zoe, on a quick tour of the rides and concessions before getting assigned to the concession store at the east end, near the kiddie rides and the American Girl store, where I’d be buried up to my neck in SpongeBob and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
The good news? No one I knew would buy anything here.
The bad news? No one I knew would buy anything here.
A zit-challenged guy named Pete stood by the cash register and greeted me with such a huge grin that I couldn’t help wondering if zits would break out on my chin if I worked here long enough. I frowned, hating the mean thought, even though Tess and Amber would totally laugh at the poor guy.
I wondered why I thought of that.
When Zoe took off without even a wave to me, Pete grinned at me again. I stared at the cash register.
Pete nodded. “Yeah, I should show you how everything works. It’s simple.”
He spent the next ten minutes showing me just how simple it wasn’t, starting with the cash register. After five minutes, my eyes glazed over, my head felt like exploding, and I prayed I’d never have to work alone at opening or closing. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Ever.
Then . . . we stood there. No customers, hardly anyone walking by. No one I knew, which was good. I tried not to sneak peeks at my new watch, tried not to count, in minutes and seconds, the amount of time left in my shift. But I couldn’t help it. Two hours, fifty-three minutes, and thirty-five seconds to go.
At least, if my watch was right.
Megan caught me outside the door to English on Wednesday morning. “You didn’t come to art club last night. Mr. Reiman talked all about the art show.”
Hi to you, too. “I didn’t exactly get the impression I’d be welcome at art club.”
I’d been working, of course, at the most lame-o place on the planet, but I didn’t tell Megan. She’d just wrinkle her nose and act like I’d done something else wrong.
Megan’s nose wrinkled, right on schedule. “Everyone is welcome at art club.”
“Yeah? Have you asked Bethany about that?”
“Bethany is just—”
“Cat.” Tess swept between Megan and me, grabbing my arm and dragging me into class with her. “Gotta talk to you.”
Even as I shot Megan a helpless look, a glance at Tess reminded me—as if I could forget—about Megan claiming Tess went to the dance on Friday. No way. I hoped.
The bell rang, and Ms. Mickel was already at the front of the room, so I shrugged at Tess and headed to my desk. “Sorry. Talk to you later?”
She glanced at Ms. Mickel, smirked, then nodded. “Join us at lunch, okay?”
I didn’t get what the smirk was about. But, then, I didn’t get much of anything lately. Except confused.
At lunch, I grabbed a cheese enchilada and Diet Coke, then shuffled my feet toward my old table, where my friends chattered and looked just like they always had, only . . . not quite. Part of me itched for my sketchpad and pencil, so I could capture on paper what felt different and maybe make sense of it.
But my drawing stuff was stowed in my locker, and I’d get laughed out of the cafeteria if I did something that psycho even by art-geek standards. As it was, Tess gave me a cool up-and-down perusal when I paused ten feet from the table, and Amber’s lips twitched as she pretended not to look at me.
One chair was still free, at the end of the table opposite where Drew and Chelsea sat locked in a clinch, but I chewed the inside of my lower lip.
A voice almost too quiet to be heard in the cafeteria murmured in my ear. “Cat, wanna join us?”
I glanced sideways at Megan. “I, uh—”
“I wanted to tell you about art club and the art show.”
On the verge of turning her down, I glanced over at my old table just as Kirk Easton claimed the last free chair. Tess and Amber weren’t looking at me now. I wondered if talking to Megan made me invisible. Or worse.
What the hell. I followed Megan over to her table, on the other side of the cafeteria. Bethany was there, plus a few other kids from Drawing class. Half the table was empty. The other half was occupied by geeks.
And, now, me.
Sighing, I grabbed the chair next to Megan’s. Bethany sat across from us, totally mute, running her hand through her long brown hair, but in a distracted way, not like she wanted some guy to hit on her.
“Guys, you all know Cat, right?”
As Megan spoke in her chirpy little voice, a couple of kids nodded and the others stared curiously at Megan, as if she’d grown three heads. Bethany kept zoning. I think she was humming to herself.
“Anyway.” Megan picked at her salad before turning
to smile at me. It wasn’t a fake smile, not exactly, but it looked like it hurt. “With the art show just five weeks away, the art club is focused on getting ready for it. We’ll support everyone who’s entering, get advice from the art teachers, maybe critique each other’s work.”
Let other kids critique my drawings? I barely glanced at my own sketches after I finished them. I bit into my quesadilla, which lodged in my throat.
I swallowed hard against it. “On Tuesdays?”
Megan nodded as she munched on her salad. A heap of iceberg lettuce and a few random carrots and cherry tomatoes. No wonder she was rail thin.
“Sorry. Can’t do it. I’m working now, and they booked me on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” At my request, sure, but I didn’t have to admit it to Megan.
Megan stopped chewing as she frowned at me.
“You can’t.” Megan jabbed her fork in my direction, then dropped it with a clatter when I stared at her. “I mean, you can, but this is so important. It’s the all-school art show. Mr. Reiman asked you specifically to enter.”
A sour look twisted Bethany’s face. Apparently, she hadn’t heard the good news.
It almost made me feel like switching my hours from Tuesdays to Wednesdays, but Zoe had offered me either Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday or Wednesday-Friday-Sunday, and I hadn’t yet resigned myself to the reality of having nothing better to do on Friday night. Although I was close.
“Sorry. I can’t.”
“Maybe we could switch art club to another night.” Megan glanced around the table, as if asking for agreement.
Bethany shook her head. “We always meet on Tuesday. That’s the day we agreed on. Right, guys?”
The other art geeks stared at me before one nodded, meekly. I glanced over at my old table, wondering if it was too late to grab an extra chair and join them. At least the kids at my old table weren’t geeks or other mutant life forms.
Megan’s nose wrinkled, and everyone else went silent, while I swallowed my quesadilla as fast as I could without heaving it back up. I drained my Diet Coke in a few long gulps, then pushed back from the table and stood up.
