“Hey, what’s up?” I heard Ken’s voice in the hallway downstairs. “Bring on the ‘Velocity,’” George cheered. My heart started to beat faster. What about the SubSonic song everyone was coming to hear? Was that a fake too?
The doorbell rang yet again. I didn’t have time to wonder. Glancing back to make sure the door was closed, I opened the desk drawer and found a black marker. I fixed the smudged K, grabbed the blow-dryer, set the temperature to low, and pointed it at the “autograph,” praying that the ink would dry quickly and that there was some kind of logical explanation for all of this. But the whole time, Sarah J.’s words were ringing in my head: “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s a liar and a big fake.”
23
We Party
HEY,” I HEARD SOMEONE say as I came out of Em’s bedroom. “Down here.” It was Ken, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey,” I said back unenthusiastically, hoping he’d go away. After all, I was going to have to slide down the stairs on my butt—wearing a miniskirt and leg warmers.
“How’s it going with the leg thing?” he asked.
“Awesome,” I said, but he didn’t seem to get that I was being sarcastic. I waved good-bye so he’d maybe take the hint and join Em in the basement. He didn’t.
“Do you need help or something?”
“No,” I said. “I’m good.” I approached the stairs carefully on my crutches while trying to hold the stack of posters under my arm. I didn’t even make it down one step before I started wobbling and had to grab for the railing. The posters fell, sliding over one another down the stairs. My left crutch thudded after them. “Dammit,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Ken said. “I can see that you’re totally good.” He came up the stairs, picking up posters and kicking my crutch out of his way. “Dude, you’re crippled. You should let people help you.”
“I’m not crippled!” I said.
“Fine. Disabled. Call it what you want.” He took my other crutch from me and threw it down the stairs, then picked up my arm and put it around his shoulder. “Ready?” I hopped down a few steps, leaning on him for support. It was weird beyond belief. This was the same guy who’d oinked at me and stuffed ham sandwiches in my bag, and who—just a week ago—would tease me any chance he got. I kept expecting him to drop me, but he didn’t. “So, have you heard the single yet?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “Em wants it to be like a big reveal.” Now that I said it out loud, it sounded like a lame excuse. I was the cohost. Why hadn’t Em played me the song?
He nodded like that made perfect sense. “This is gonna be awesome,” he said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “My brother heard them live in Seattle once. He said they blew his mind.”
The doorbell rang just as Ken was handing me my crutches, and I walked over to let in Zoe Daniels—one of the eighth grade girls who’d tried on Em’s shoes—along with her friend Kiki Yamanashi and three guys they’d brought. “Hey,” Zoe said, closing a polka-dot umbrella. “I hope we’re not late. Kiki had to tell her parents she was sleeping over at my place, so her dad dropped her off there first, then we took the bus. This is Steve, Anderson, and Kosta.” She pointed to the guys, who were still standing outside the door, two of them with their jackets pulled up over their heads.
“Whoa, nice place,” Zoe said, kicking off her shoes into the pile by the door, which was starting to look like the shoe pile at my place—only wetter. Kiki and the boys followed her in.
“Everyone’s downstairs,” I said, pointing the way. Based on the shoe count, there must have been ten people already, and more were coming up the walkway.
Charlie Baker, from our class, and his girlfriend Amber were getting out of a red car that had pulled up to the curb. “Just pick us up on your way home,” Charlie shouted to the driver—probably his older brother—over the thumping bass of some really loud techno song.
I was just about to close the door when I heard somebody call my name. Cynthia and Brayden from the girls’ volleyball team were running up the street, pointlessly holding a flattened and soaked cardboard box over their heads. “Margot! Wait!” Brayden shouted. “Oh my God! Even my underwear is wet. And we only came from Cynthia’s place.” Drenched as they were, they still looked great. All three of them had dressed up in short skirts. I was extra glad that Em had made me change.
“Cute outfit,” Brayden said to me as she stepped into the front hall. Water was dripping off the end of her ponytail like a leaky faucet. She turned to wave to Claire, another volleyball girl, who’d just gotten out of a black car and was clicking up the path in high-heeled boots, wobbling a little as she tried to avoid puddles. “Woo, work it, girl!” Brayden called.
“Hey guys. Basement’s down the hall,” I said, sounding casual even though inside I was a nervous wreck.
“Come on, Button,” Ken said, closing the door and leading the way. “It’s party time.”
When we reached the rec room, George, Charlie Baker, and Amber were already settled in on the big L-shaped couch. The guys were talking about hockey, while Amber sat silently. The eighth graders were on bar stools, set up next to the actual bar with a real working sink. When Em had brought me down there on the day of the invite list it had been fully stocked with different bottles of booze, but thankfully, she’d hidden them. The room also had a dartboard, a pool table the size of my entire bedroom, and the huge plasma TV. Definitely perfect for a party. While Em was busy offering dry clothes to some of the girls, I looked around for somewhere to sit.
“Oh my God,” I heard someone say. “Margot, how are you?” The room was dark, so it took me a minute to figure out that it was Michelle. She was perched on an extra bar stool by the wall. Her friend Bethany was beside her.
“We heard your leg is broken. We were so worried,” she added. “Here, sit.” She hopped off her stool. It was such a change from the way they’d both smirked at me over the Ferris wheel picture the first day of school, but I wasn’t about to complain.
“Margot,” Em interrupted, “did you bring the autographed posters?”
I handed her the stack that Ken had carried down for me. “Hi girls,” she said to Michelle and Bethany. “I watched Reach for the Stars last night, Bethany. So funny. And Michelle, you’re so right. I loved Tanya Angel’s outfits.” Clearly they’d been hanging out while I was away from school. Michelle and Bethany grinned like Em had just crowned them both Miss America or something.
Em smiled back, then went to put the “autographed” posters down on the bar. People immediately started wandering up to get copies…everyone but Gorgeous George, who wasn’t budging from the big couch where he’d staked out a spot close to one of the surround-sound speakers.
“Em,” I said, sliding off my bar stool, “can I talk to you?” She nodded. “In the bathroom?” She gave me a confused look but led me down the hall, pushing open the door to a bathroom that had a huge Jacuzzi tub in it. “Look,” I said, closing the door behind us. “I’m not going to tell anyone, but I know about the posters.”
“What about the posters?”
“That the autographs aren’t real.”
“What do you mean?” she said, her face blank.
“I touched the ink upstairs, and it was still wet. So I know your dad didn’t send them from New York. I know you signed them yourself.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” She glared at me.
“No,” I said, even though I maybe kind of was.
“Okay, look, Margot.” She pulled open the medicine cabinet and took out a compact of powder, then started patting her face angrily with the puff. “I like you. But if you can’t trust me, you can call a taxi and go home. I’m sick of people calling me a liar. I’d expect it from Sarah J., but not from you.”
“But, Em, the ink was wet.”
“Well, yeah,” she said, like it was obvious. She snapped the compact shut. “Do you know anything about celebrities, Margot?” I knew that they had a lot of money. I knew they were
better looking than regular people. “They’re busy. Okay? Especially when he’s about to release a new album and go on tour, K.wack’ed has tons to do. Do you think he actually has time to sign autographs?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “He doesn’t. So my dad sent me the posters, which, by the way, haven’t even been released in stores yet, and I took care of the rest. So what? Most celebrity autographs are forged anyway. Get over it. Now, if you don’t mind. I need to make sure nobody spills stuff on the sofa.” She pushed past me and opened the door.
“Em. Wait,” I said. She turned. “Sorry. I—I didn’t know that. I don’t think you’re a liar.”
“Whatever.” She was already walking back to the rec room. I felt like an idiot. What had I been thinking? That the members of SubSonic were just sitting at home, dying to sign autographs for a bunch of seventh graders? It made sense that the signatures were fake. Still, it made me nervous. If the kids outside found out, they wouldn’t be as understanding. And I couldn’t shake a feeling of dread about the SubSonic song, even though I wanted so badly to believe in Em.
For the first part of the party she sat with the guys, barely looking in my direction. Meanwhile, I listened to the volleyball team gossip about the Cownie Hill Hyenas. How bad their serving technique was and how ugly their uniforms were. (“I don’t even know what you’d call that color. Greige?”)
I nodded and smiled and made agreeing noises in all the right places, but honestly, I was bored. I was still used to sleepover parties with Erika, where we watched a movie, played a board game, or put on face masks. This party was more like the standing-around-chatting potluck parties my mom used to drag me to—only without the adults or the hummus platter…and with way louder music. Now that Em had turned up the volume on the stereo, it was almost impossible to talk.
“Hey, Margot?” Michelle was shouting, but I could barely hear her. “Do you want to go milk a cow?” Or at least I thought that was what she said.
“Huh?” I turned, and as I did, a bolt of pain shot through my leg, making me wince.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?” Michelle shouted, much louder this time. “Do you want me to get you something?” I looked at the clock. It had been four hours since I’d taken my last painkiller. And I was supposed to take them every two.
“Actually,” I yelled back, “if you could get my bag.” She returned about twenty seconds later with the little beaded purse Em had given me. I took out the prescription bottle, opened a can of ginger ale, and popped two pills into my mouth.
“I love your top,” Zoe screamed into my ear, as she joined our group.
“Yeah, great skirt too, Margot,” Kiki shouted in my other ear. I couldn’t believe she actually knew my name. I was about to tell her that I liked her skirt too, but just then, Em turned the music down.
“Okay, guys. The moment has arrived.” She held up the burned CD and a hush spread through the room. “As you know, this is an unreleased single off the new album SubZero. K.wack’ed is risking a lot by letting us have this, so don’t tell anyone you heard it here, and don’t ask me to burn you a copy because it’s not happening. Enjoy.” Em slid it into the player and turned the volume up as high as it would go. I kept my eyes on George, who was already leaning forward on the sofa to prepare himself for the optimum listening experience.
He was their biggest fan, after all. If the single was a fake, he was going to know it from the first note. The party, and any popularity we’d gained, would be over before we could blink. Em hit play.
The song started with crackling noises, like someone was tuning an old-fashioned radio, then it moved into a warbly electric guitar solo. I held my breath, only letting it out when a man’s voice started repeating in a robot-like refrain. “Vel-o-ci-ty. Vel-o-ci-ty. Ter-mi-nal vel-o-ci-ty. You will get a load of me when I reach my vel-o-ci-ty.” The drums and bass kicked in, heavy and loud. George had his eyes closed. His head was bobbing to the deafening beat. Relief flooded through me.
Next, cranky bra-woman started singing/rapping, all ultra-tough: “They tried to bring me down. But just look at me now. I got the heat, I’m gaining speed, I’m a gonna rule this town.”
The eighth grade girls got up to dance, doing these crazy rubber band body waves and lightning-fast hip shakes—and I closed my eyes, feeling the beat pulse through me and believing, just for a few seconds, that I was invincible too. When it ended, Em switched off the CD player and there was silence in the room before everyone broke into cheers.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” George shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
“That was so good. Soooooo good,” Zoe kept saying.
I found Em near the bar a few minutes later. She was perched on a stool while Charlie Baker, his girlfriend, and the eighth grade girls crowded around her, telling her how awesome the song was and asking questions about how many times she’d seen them live (she’d lost count), and if she was invited to the CD launch party (her dad was trying to get her on the guest list). When the crowd finally cleared and I could get her alone for a minute, I walked up.
“Hey, Em,” I said, wobbling on my crutches. The painkillers were definitely starting to kick in.
“Hey.” Her tone was pretty cold.
“Listen, I’m really sorry I doubted you. The song was amazing.”
“I know,” she said, still not seeming to forgive me. In fact, she was barely even making eye contact with me. Instead, she was looking over my shoulder toward the stairs.
“So? Do you forgive me? Please?”
“Shut up, Margot,” she said quietly, still not looking at me. My heart sank.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“You can stop talking,” she said again, then motioned with her head. “We have a problem.” I turned, and there, at the bottom of the stairs, was Sarah J.’s ninth grade boyfriend, Matt, dressed in a black leather coat that was glistening with rain. His hair looked even taller than before. And if I thought he seemed threatening, he was nothing compared to what stood behind him—one big East Asian guy in a wet red sweatshirt and an even bigger white guy with a shaved head.
“Hey. We heard there was a party,” Matt said, all casual-like. Everyone was looking at them. Someone turned the music down.
Em stood up. “By invite only.” She put her hands on her hips. “Who let you in?”
“The door was unlocked,” Matt answered.
“You have a thing for trespassing, don’t you? You should leave.”
“Or else what? You’re going to throw jelly beans at me?”
Matt smiled, taking a handful from one of the bowls we’d set out. The guys behind him laughed. The one with the shaved head flopped down on the sofa like he owned the place.
Em took a step forward. “Hey, hey,” Matt said. “Chill. We’re not staying long. We just want to hear that SubSonic single you claim to have.” Matt walked over and joined his friend on the couch. “And also, I think you should tell me you’re sorry about what you did to my girlfriend.”
“I didn’t do anything to your girlfriend. But your girlfriend broke my best friend’s leg…so if anybody should be apologizing…” As terrified as I was, I still couldn’t help doing a small happy-dance on the inside. Best friend?! “And sorry,” Em went on, “but you already missed the premiere of the single.” As she said this, Em grabbed a CD off the shelf behind her and held it up. “If you’d had an invitation, which you don’t, you would have known you were supposed to be here at seven.” She held the disk tightly against her stomach.
“Well, why don’t you just play it again?” Matt suggested, putting his feet up on the coffee table to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. The big East Asian guy stuck one hand out and leaned against the wall near the stairs, blocking the exit to make the same point. “Or better yet, give it to me. I’ll listen to it at home,” Matt added. Em stepped forward again so that she was directly in front of me. At first I thought it was sweet—like she was protecting me, her broken-legged best friend—but then
she extended her arm, straight back…so quickly that nobody saw. I felt something cold and sharp touch my hand—the edge of a CD, the real CD. I took it, slipping my hand awkwardly behind my crutch and quickly shoving the disk down the back of my super-tight elasticized black skirt.
“Not happening,” Em said, making a show of putting the fake CD behind her back.
Matt got up off the sofa and started walking toward her. “Listen, just give it to me, and then we’ll leave. No problems.” Ken, who’d been standing on the sidelines, stepped forward now, putting himself between Em and Matt.
“Just take off, man. Nobody wants you here.”
“Like I said, I’ll take off once she gives me the CD. What’s the big deal anyway? She can burn herself another copy.”
“This is an unreleased single,” Em said, peering around Ken. “Nobody’s going anywhere with it.”
“Come on. Let’s just make this easy, okay? Give me the CD.” Matt lunged forward to get past Ken, but before he could reach Em, she’d darted around the other side and hurdled over the smaller sofa, knocking it down as she went. The big guy blocking the stairs made a grab for her, but she faked a left, then slipped around the right, dashing up the basement stairs. Matt chased after her, tripping on Ken’s outstretched foot and crashing into the coffee table, spilling drinks everywhere. “Get her!” he shouted from the floor, and the two high school guys started after Em. Ken was right behind them…and Charlie Baker, Steve, Anderson, and most of the girls’ volleyball team weren’t far behind. I watched them go, knowing I couldn’t follow on my crutches anyway.…Plus, I had bigger things to worry about. Em had trusted me with the most important job of all—keeping the SubSonic single safe. I couldn’t let her down. And I could only think of one place where Matt and his goons wouldn’t be able to get to it. I walked quickly down the hall—the CD pressing a cold circle against my back—and pushed open the door to the bathroom with my crutch. I flipped on the light.
“Hey!” I froze. There, washing his hands at the sink, was Gorgeous George.
Mission (Un)Popular Page 22
