“Yup, left last week. He was beyond excited to get out of here.”
“I bet. So, whatcha do in Puerto Rico?”
“Well, I brought back a five-foot-four replica of myself.” I grinned as I slammed my locker door closed. “My cousin Lilly moved back with me. You’ll see her. She’s a freshman, looks just like me.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded, tossing my purse on my shoulder.
“Well, she must be pretty hot then.”
My head jerked back slightly, but before I could react Bobby shut his locker and headed down the hallway. I watched him walk away.
By lunchtime, I had started to sense that a major shift had occurred in the world of Spring Mills High. I had been approached by more than a dozen students, each one commenting on how “cool” and “awesome” my new cousin was. In the ten years I had been in this school district, I couldn’t remember a single classmate ever calling me cool. But in less than a few hours, Lilly had not only met the elite of our student body, she had won them over.
“Okay, so how many people brought up my party to you this morning?” Madison asked as we sat at our “usual table” in the cafeteria.
“Like, everyone,” Emily stated, shooting me a pointed stare.
“Oh, yeah. Me too,” I added quickly. “They all said Orlando was so hot in person.”
I fidgeted with the dangling starfish on my silver necklace. Between Teresa’s impending arrival, which I still hadn’t mentioned to my parents (it just didn’t seem like breakfast conversation), and Lilly’s insistence on being utterly independent of my presence, I was starting to feel consumed with drama. I needed solutions. So, I decided that I would tell my parents about Teresa at dinner tonight (how I would do that, I didn’t know). But I still hadn’t determined how I would check in on my cousin. Since Lilly was a freshman, a year below me, we didn’t share any classes. I hadn’t passed her in the hall once all day. I had no idea how she was reacting to the new environment, though the peer reviews did give me reason to suspect that she was doing just fine.
“Have people mentioned Lilly to you at all?” I asked, dropping the charm to grab another low-cal potato chip to go with my rubber no-meat hot dog. It was better than the bottled water and carrot sticks Madison called a meal.
“No, why would they? She hasn’t even been here a day.” Madison straightened the collar of her designer shirt.
“It’s just, a bunch of people have come up to me today. Like, people who don’t normally talk to us.”
“Like who?” Emily asked as she bit into a cookie.
“Like Sarah Weaver and Chad Murray.”
“You know those guys?” Emily grumbled through a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.
“No. That’s just it. I didn’t even think they knew I existed. But all day I’ve had jocks and cheerleaders talking to me about my cousin. Like Lilly’s already one of them.”
“Mariana, that’s impossible. No one becomes instantly popular. Not in Spring Mills.” Madison swished her shiny blond hair over her shoulder, brushing off the conversation.
“Hey, Mariana! I met your cousin. Dude, she’s awesome!” yelled Derek Jansorn, captain of the JV lacrosse team.
He was standing in the snack line with a group of lacrosse buddies, who were tall, built, and arguably the best-looking guys in our grade. I hadn’t held a conversation with any of them since elementary school.
“See!” I squealed, nodding to the boys.
“Okay, that was weird,” Emily muttered.
“I know, and it’s been happening all day.”
I flicked a small wave at the guys and grinned awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what the proper response was to their comment. It wasn’t like I could thank them or take credit for Lilly’s “awesomeness.” Actually, it amazed me that someone who practically shared my skin could even be deemed “awesome,” given that our shared appearance hadn’t done much for me in the popularity department over the past fifteen years. Of course, I was noticeably missing her double D’s.
“Maybe something happened this morning we don’t know about,” Madison suggested, frowning.
I nodded, though I didn’t agree. I saw Lilly in Puerto Rico; I saw how many male friends she had and how guys reacted to her presence. There was something about her they were drawn to, and I was guessing that whatever that “something” was, it followed her across the ocean.
Chapter 8
I walked into the classroom—sophomore chemistry. It was one of the most dreaded courses at Spring Mills. It required all students to memorize the periodic table. This might be useful if we all pursued careers in chemical engineering, but considering most adults (including our parents) admit to not knowing the molecular formula for any compound other than water, it was hard to convince the student body that we would need this information “in real life.”
Science, however, had always come naturally to me, so I refused to believe the doom and gloom rumors about the course could be true. I made it through biology last year, and that course wasn’t exactly known as a “no-brainer.”
It was my last period of the day. Mr. Berk was quietly seated behind his teacher’s desk scanning the attendance chart. Almost all courses—gym, English, chemistry, whatever—followed a virtually identical formula on the first day. Students received assigned seats. Then, teachers reviewed objectives for the course and expressed their expectations. Finally, we’d have a lame discussion about some current events topic that vaguely connected the subject matter to the outside world.
In gym, we sat on the basketball bleachers and discussed the chances of an Eagles playoff run and whether the QB’s ability to throw outside the pocket could lead them all the way to the Superbowl. In English, we discussed recent plagiarism scandals, the importance of citing sources, and how cheating of any kind would get us expelled from school. In geometry, we analyzed the angles of Citizens Bank Park and discussed how the Phillies could improve their game by using geometric formulas while batting. Now it was Mr. Berk’s turn to convince us that the periodic elements impacted the daily life of a teenager.
“Mariana! Hey, Mariana!”
I spun around and saw Boddy McNabb seated at a lab table equipped with a stainless steel sink, a few Bunsen burners, and several glass beakers. The stool next to him was vacant.
“Hey, Locker Buddy! I can’t believe we actually have a class together this year.” I plopped onto the cold metal stool beside him.
“Yup. I guess we’ll be more than locker buddies now.” He adjusted the black-framed glasses that sat on his slender nose.
He was the only boy I knew who could pull off the look. Somehow the thick plastic frames weren’t dorky on him. They were funky and cool and matched his intentionally messy hair and his button-downs layered over “emo” band T-shirts.
I peered around the classroom. It was the usual suspects. Spring Mills believed in tracking students by their academic ability. So since the eighth grade, I had been in Level 1, which placed me with the top ten percent of our grade. It made it easier to participate, since none of us was winning any popularity awards, and therefore we had no need for dumb acts or class clown routines.
Madison and Emily, however, were in Level 2, which housed approximately sixty percent of our grade and ninety percent of our school drama. That’s why Madison felt comfortable inviting half the student body to her birthday party—she did actually spend time with them (even if they were merely a source of entertaining gossip). She spent most of her classes whispering to Emily rather than listening to her teachers. Not that it mattered much.
Madison’s dad was an alumnus of Duke University, and so were her mother and her brother, and her sister was currently a Duke sophomore. Madison knew where she was going to college, and her father knew how to get her in. She was a legacy, and she just needed to maintain the solid academic record to back up his influence. Emily had a similar set up. Her mother was a poetry professor at Swarthmore, an elite liberal arts college not far from where we lived. Every time we went to her
house, Mrs. Montgomery spat poetry and harped on the importance of a solid liberal arts background to achieve a well-rounded life. Emily was destined to be an English major on the school’s quaint campus, whether she wanted to or not.
Unfortunately, I did not share in their family connections. My dad put himself through night school to get his degree. He made no hefty alumni contributions, nor did he have any deep connections with high-level administrators. Vince and I had to be accepted to college the old-fashioned way—by earning it. I already knew I was competing for spots in the Ivies with every other member of my Spring Mills advanced classes, let alone every other school in the country, so I couldn’t afford to fall behind.
“All right, everyone!” hollered Mr. Berk as he stood up from his teacher’s desk. “Look to the student beside you. That’s your new lab partner. Now, let’s get started.”
I turned to Bobby. When I’d sat down I hadn’t realized I was handing him control over so much of my grade. I knew he was smart, but if given a choice of a lab partner, I would have gone with Sarah Fliesher. She was first in our class and had won a county engineering competition last year.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a slacker,” Bobby whispered, as if reading my expression.
“I, um, I didn’t say anything,” I stuttered, turning my gaze toward my three-ring binder.
“You didn’t have to. But that’s cool. You know, I can do more than just shoot movies.”
“You’re right. I’ve seen you open a mean locker,” I teased.
“You too. You’re pretty quick with that dial.”
“Well, I practice at home. I have a simulated locker set up in my bedroom, so I can increase my locker-opening speed and maximize my time between classes.” I offered a smile.
“Oh, well, that explains it,” he chuckled, his gleaming white teeth peeking through his grin. “You know, Mariana, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“Spoken like a true film geek.”
I opened up my binder just in time to hear Mr. Berk start his lecture on how various chemical properties affect everything from our morning makeup applications to our weekly dry cleaning bills. It went on for ninety minutes.
After class, I headed straight to Madison’s locker and waited for Lilly. She was late.
“Are you sure she knows where to meet us?” Madison asked.
“Yes, I’m positive. I told her.” I scanned the hallway.
“Her locker is pretty far away,” Emily noted.
Since Lilly was a freshman, her locker was located on one of the upper wings—actually not far from where Vince’s locker used to be.
I peered down the hall once more and finally spotted my cousin turning the corner. Her auburn locks flowed as her borrowed clothes swished in a way that they never did on me. Three guys, whose names I didn’t know, but whose faces were popular on local sports pages, were tailing her. Their tongues practically left trails of saliva on the floor as they panted. Beside Lilly was Betsy Sumner, Spring Mills’ very own Olympic-bound tennis star.
“Hi, guys. Sorry I’m late, but it turns out I’m not gonna need a ride home today,” Lilly announced as she approached. “Betsy invited me to watch her tennis match. I’m thinking of joining the team, if it’s not too late.”
She smiled at her perky blond friend.
“Oh, don’t worry. I can totally get you on. Mrs. Silver will do anything I say.” Betsy’s orthodontia-perfected grin nearly lit up the hallway.
“Well, you are the star,” said one of the guys, gleaming at Betsy.
“Maybe Lilly will become your secret weapon,” another guy stated dreamily, his green eyes oozing devotion toward my cousin’s cleavage.
“Well, I’ve never played before, so I doubt it.” Lilly flipped a glance toward him, and a wave of pink fluttered across his face.
Back in Utuado, guys reacted like this to Lilly all the time, but I had assumed their feelings were based on long-standing relationships. This spectacle, with these guys, in my hometown, was grounded merely in a first impression. She had an instant impact on my classmates. She was accepted. My chest clamped as I swallowed hard.
“Well, whatever. We gotta go,” Madison stated through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, see you at home,” I added, shaking my head to knock the puzzled expression from my face.
Emily clutched my shoulder and pulled me away.
After an hour of “Oprah” and an endless conversation about how Lilly’s Spring Mills debut seemed oddly fitting for the social pages of the Main Line Times, Madison abruptly shifted the conversation toward a new topic—my birthday plans. And while I realized turning sixteen was a monumental moment in Madison’s life from which all else circled, I just wasn’t feeling the same enthusiasm (though I had a hard time getting this point across to my friends, no matter how bluntly I put it).
Realistically, I didn’t have the largest social circle, and inviting the entire sophomore class, all 276 of us, didn’t seem appealing (nor a financial undertaking I could reasonably talk my father into). So, if I were to go through with the dreaded celebration, I would have to resort to inviting either my honor society classmates or a bunch of relative strangers whom I passed in the hallowed halls of Spring Mills, but to whom I rarely uttered a syllable. Sure, Madison had no problem doing this when it came to her party. She shared classes with jocks and cheerleaders and class clowns, while I was not a blip on their radar. And even if I were (due to the superstar Latina down the hall), I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend my birthday celebrating with them. They weren’t my friends, nor did I wish them to be.
“You could have a theme party,” Madison suggested as she grabbed a catalog off my desk. “Make everyone wear white. Or throw a Parisian bash with mini Eiffel Tower favors. Or hire a fortune teller ...”
“Or you could throw the whole thing at that cool new bowling alley in the city, or rent out a club and have live music,” Emily offered as she leaned against a bed post.
“Guys, I’m sorry, but I just don’t know if I’m into it. It’s not like I’ve got much time to plan. My birthday’s in a month.”
I was sprawled lazily on my bed, staring at my giant poodle cuddled in a ball at the foot of the mattress. His subtle snoring was more interesting than this conversation.
“Mariana, it’s your Sweet Sixteen. You have to have a party,” Madison ordered as she flipped through the designer lingerie catalog.
My mother was on a mailing list for every clothing and home goods store in the Western world. We received at least two color spreads per day, along with at least one mail-ordered product.
“You could just rent out a restaurant or something,” Emily suggested.
“Yeah, and bore us all to death?”
“So? If that’s what she wants ...”
My mind drifted from the conversation. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lilly. She had found new friends in a single day. I suddenly felt embarrassed for latching onto her so tightly in Puerto Rico. She must have thought I was a loser. Why couldn’t I adapt to Utuado like she was adapting to Spring Mills? And why wasn’t she happy with just being friends with my friends? I was sure Madison and Emily would warm up to her eventually.
“Mariana! Are your friends staying for dinner?” my mother called from downstairs.
I looked to Emily and Madison, who both shook their heads.
“No!” I screamed toward the kitchen.
“Hey, did you tell your dad about that woman moving here?” Madison asked, looking up from her catalog.
I groaned, standing up from the bed and shoving my polished toes into a pair of flip-flops. Tootsie’s curly head popped up; he was annoyed that I had disturbed him. I rubbed his belly. “No, not yet. I’m thinking of bringing up Teresa over dinner. God, I can’t tell you how much I hate this. I just want my family to be normal again.”
“Like it ever was?” Madison joked.
“Seriously, there’s nothing you can do,” Emily said, her expression hardening as she pul
led a hair elastic from her wrist. “At least it’s your aunts and uncles who are fighting, not your parents.”
She gathered her dark brown hair atop her head, her short locks creating more of a bunny tail than a ponytail. It looked nothing like the long sweeping mane I remembered.
“I know, but my dad ...”
“Your dad, what? Spic, you can’t change the fact that he has some bastard sister,” Madison snipped candidly.
“Okay, there are so many things wrong with that statement that I’m not even gonna go there.” My shoulders tensed.
“What? Why are you getting all defensive?”
I cocked my head at Madison and didn’t respond. There was no point in explaining it. She didn’t want to understand.
Chapter 9
Lilly came home not long after my friends left. She was buzzing about her newly forged tennis career and asking to borrow my old racquet. I had lasted one summer’s worth of private lessons in sixth grade before realizing that ballet was my only true talent. Of course, this realization came only seconds after the fuzzy green ball was served directly into my nose. There’s still a bump.
“Betsy is so nice!” Lilly glowed. “I can’t believe she got the coach to put me on the team. I mean, I’m only on JV, but still. They’ve already been practicing for a month now. Did you know that teams start practicing in the summer before school starts?”
“Uh, yeah, Lil. I do live here, remember?”
“Oh, right. And Chad gave us a ride a home. He was really impressed with your house, by the way. He said he’d never been down this street before. Have you ever been to Chestnut Grove? That’s where he lives. He said it’s near some lake.”
“I know where Chestnut Grove is,” I moaned, dismissing her praise.
“Oh, I keep forgetting. It’s all so new to me.”
“I know,” I muttered, before trudging out of my bedroom and down the hardwood stairs toward the kitchen.
I could smell the sauerkraut simmering, and frankly the scent of Lilly’s borrowed Chanel perfume (“Betsy carries it everywhere!”) was beginning to make me nauseated.
Amigas and School Scandals Page 5
