I snorted my laughter. “I bow before your logic.” I tossed some candy into my mouth and relented at Hannah’s pout to throw a few over to her. “Have you ever considered that being stuck at Hope Park just doesn’t give me many chances to meet someone who isn’t a total knob? Maybe once I get out of here, I’ll meet some guy and it’ll be fireworks. He’ll be my soulmate. The one I can’t live without.”
Hannah rolled over onto her stomach. “Jeez, Soph. Drama queen much? I’m just talking about liking some guy. No fireworks. Just chemistry and mutual interests and compatibility.”
“You should totally write Valentine’s Day cards. ‘To my chemically compatible partner. Hope we enjoy a mutual interest together on this fine day.’”
She pulled her pillow, decorated with pictures of sharks, from under her belly. “Then on the back I could include the email for dad’s divorce firm. Get a commission for each referral.”
“Now you’re thinking. I’m off to find vodka.” I left the room to her protest of “leave the candy.” Which I didn’t. But hey. There’s friendship and then there’s peanuty bites of cocoa delight.
There I was, sugar blissing down the hallway and absolutely not thinking that my words about my fated soulmate were going to come back and bite me in the ass in about seven hours.
To be fair, it wasn’t a long bliss out either, since the dorms at Hope Park were set in the short part of the school’s L-shaped structure. Our gender-segregated bedrooms and bathrooms were separated by connecting doors on each floor that were supposed to be locked. Hope Park may have billed itself as forward-thinking but when it came to co-habitation, it was strictly Victorian.
The school itself was a rambling three-story, red brick building nestled in Vancouver Island’s Cowichan Valley, off the west coast of British Columbia. The long part of the main building greeted visitors as they came up the winding driveway. It housed the office, classrooms, gym, and cafeteria. The building was pretty airy, lots of windows—all the better to see students practically wipe out on their butts on the totally-worn-and-slippery-but-we-call-them-charming wood floors.
Felicia dumped me in this slice of rural heaven back in grade one. Most definitely as a boarder. So while I was on a first name basis with some of the cows that roamed outside school property, I couldn’t always say the same about her husbands. Which was probably for the best. Why bother getting to know expendable Number Six when he was only going to be dumped for being too sporty, not sporty enough, or whatever reason Uncle Oliver cited in the divorce papers? Oliver being Felicia’s lawyer and Hannah’s dad.
I checked my watch. Bethany and her crew would still be at yoga, downward dogging away, so I knew I had some time to carry out my evil plan. Carefully I slid her door open.
No one bothered to lock up their rooms. For one thing, cell phones were banned (the easiest item with possible dirt on a person) and for another, most of us had the same kinds of stuff. Most of us also had roommates and really, it was very hard to keep a secret in this place. One way or another, someone was always going to bust you. The closet kleptos were out of luck.
Bethany’s room, a rare single occupancy, was a boudoir explosion. One of the wealthiest students at Hope Park, she could afford pricey lingerie and a plethora of cosmetics and designer yoga wear. It was shocking how much companies could charge for clothes made from panda food. Bethany’s desire to lord this over anyone who gave a rat’s ass extended to the state of her room. I was convinced she never put anything away just so unsuspecting visitors would be forced into up close and personal encounters with all of her privilege. Personally, I found it obnoxious.
Once inside, I stepped over some scarlet Victoria’s Secret push-up number and went directly to the giant teddy bear propped up in the corner. I lifted it up, turning the fugly thing over to reveal the jury-rigged bunghole that Bethany had created to stash her booze. It was all very bootlegger. With a shiver of distaste, I shoved my hand into the wrinkly fold.
Success. I pulled the bottle out of its butt. This felt so wrong on so many levels. I unscrewed the mickey of vodka, carefully opened my packet of laxative powder and—
“Sophie Amalia Bloom, you are in so much trouble!” a voice boomed. I jumped a mile, spilling some of my precious stash in the process, and turned with dread to find Theo leaning against the doorframe, busting a gut laughing.
Theo Rockman was the lone male who rounded out Hannah’s and my band of misfits. He didn’t enter the picture until grade two so he was a late addition to the pack and, therefore, the most expendable. A fact we liked to remind him of when he got too mouthy.
Theo had spiky black hair to match his thick-framed black glasses and was the kind of guy who wore his wallet on a chain attached to his belt loops. He was the rumpled poster child for charming “nerd-chic.” Or a living anime character. He was a little touchy about that comparison though, so I only used it for maximum annoyance.
Theo’s parents had died. At least, I think they had. It was never discussed. Except this one time when he was drunk. I assumed (and yes, insert “ass”, “u”, “me” here) that his mom was some hippy chick because he kept calling her an earth goddess. All I pictured were hairy legs, sensible footwear, and baking bread. I wouldn’t have talked about her either.
“You rat bastard …” I began, desperately trying to scoop up all the spilled powder. “Do something useful and hold this.” I shoved the mickey at him.
He glanced at the bottle in surprise as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Vodka? Thought she’d be more of a peach cooler girl.” He launched into his “commercial voice.” “Parents, do your daughters come home smelling like an orchard? Is their giggle quotient higher than usual? They may be in thrall to the dangerous wine cooler. Gateway drug of the terminally insecure, its usage results in excessive clumsiness and the condition ‘trophy wife-itis.’ The lethalness of which only manifests after age thirty-five and ends in gutter living and suicide.”
By this point, I was trying not to pee, I was laughing so hard. “Shut up,” I hissed.
He shot me an innocent smile. I added the remainder of the laxative powder to the alcohol. Theo screwed the cap back on and I motioned for him to give it a good shake.
“Neither sleet, nor snow, nor fear of expulsion can keep our heroine from carrying out her incredibly stupid plan,” he said.
“Well, you’re aiding and abetting now, Einstein. So just stuff good time Charley there back up Teddy and Operation Screw Bethany will be in full swing.”
We put everything back in its place and exited the room without being caught. “You really think this is a bad idea?” I asked.
“No. Gastric blowout goes great with probation. Unless you want to stay under the radar and not get kicked out.”
“Yeah. Too late for limboing under Big Brother. The pills are dissolving as we speak.” I wrinkled my nose. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”
“Except the part that has ‘complete mess’ written all over it.”
“Which part?”
“Pick one.” Theo flinched as I punched his shoulder. “You figure out how to jimmy the bathroom lock yet, Sophie Magoo?” he asked, using his nickname for me.
“I could use a bit more tutoring.”
“Come on, then. If you’re determined to do this, better get you in and out as fast as possible.”
I linked arms with him. “Thanks, Theo. I appreciate you sharing your criminal skills.”
“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Off we went. I felt great. I had a plan and it seemed as if this time, Dame Fortune was going to smile upon me.
Substitute “laugh” for smile, and you’d have been closer.
2
Beauty is in the lie of the beholder
β’
Amidst the hordes of slutty cats, Lady Gaga impe
rsonators, drag queens, and superheroes, Theo, Hannah and I were definitely “three of these things are not like the others.”
You know how little kids make chains of paper loops to string on Christmas trees? Imagine two long loops, one blue, one green, intertwined and strung over Hannah in her flesh colored shirt and leggings. Yep, my friend had gone as DNA. Or, as she corrected, “a double helix.”
“Did you give yourself an extra chromosome for the boob gene?” I asked, peering at a loop from our sidelines of the dance floor in the gym. Shout-out to the decorating committee, they’d really outdone themselves with that lone disco ball spinning lamely on the ceiling.
“Be nice, or I’ll take my hockey socks back.” Hannah started to stuff her hand into my highly padded chest.
I swatted it away. “You made me lopsided.” I dug my hand in and adjusted.
“Dang Soph, show a little class,” winced Theo.
I pinned him with my scowl. “Class. Really. Coming from a guy dressed as a crime scene.”
Theo glanced down at himself. “What?”
Hannah and I exchanged looks. Not only was Theo wrapped in a bloody shower curtain, which was held in place by bright yellow “Do Not Cross” tape, he also had a plastic knife sticking out of his liver. I often thought that Theo was morbid beyond his years.
Once I fixed my chest, I was quite happy with my costume. My bamboo yoga wear was hues of mud and sand, supposedly very Gaia chic. They were left over from the one time Felicia dressed me up and sent me out to the yuckapalooza that is hot yoga. My long, red rayon wig was masterfully cut in the same layered locks as Bethany’s. A red Bindi sat squarely between my eyebrows and I’d even henna tattooed my hands. I was a vision of “white chick oms out,” which, considering who I was impersonating, was perfect.
Anil Patel, star wrestler and main meathead at our school, strutted up to us and posed in front of Hannah. His attempt to make his muscles as large as possible was at odds with the crack whore dress and smeared red lips he sported. Not to mention his hot accessories of cauliflower ears and taped-up fingers. This season’s must-haves for the fresh-from-the-mats young wrestler.
Two kinds of kids attended Hope Park: the rich ones, whose parents stuffed them here so they could get on with running huge corporations, arms dealing, or just pretending they’re still young and fancy free, and the others, put here for ideological reasons. Their parents liked the fact that we sat around in discussion groups instead of rows, that we were (in theory) supposed to be responsible for our own learning, and that no subject was taboo to explore. All in all, it was a pretty diverse student body.
Seeing how Hope Park attracted the wide range of kids that it did, you think that we’d all be outcasts on some level. One giant “Breakfast Club.” Alas, no. I don’t know if it was biological imperative or conspiracy theory, but somehow it was always the jocks and the cheerleaders who were the popular kids. My school might not have believed in sports like basketball or football meaning no cheerleaders, but we had the equivalent. Hope Park’s philosophy of “celebrating the individual” just meant our popular kids were wrestlers, track stars, and, of course, Bethany’s crew.
The guys tended to leave me and my friends alone, probably because they were hoping to get into Hannah’s pants at some point and figured that jamming her friends’ heads down the porcelain throne would be a real deal-breaker.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t give them maximum grief.
“I’m guessing that’s a costume and not you finally announcing your lack of a dick to the world,” I said to Anil.
“Nice trying to go as an actual chick, Bloom,” he sneered back. “Maybe one day you won’t need the socks.”
In the improved movie version of my life, I came back with the best comeback ev-ah. Then inflicted him with fiery butt pain. But there in the gym, I am horrified to say that, yes, I glanced down to see if I was showing, causing Anil to guffaw. He’d got me. I did require sports socks for my chest.
If looks could kill, I’d have blasted his fat head into satisfying smithereens. As it was, the DNA stepped in to protect me.
“Back off, asshole, or you might find a Lonomia caterpillar in your bed,” Hannah threatened.
Anil lifted his hands up in mock terror. “Ooh. Wouldn’t want it to cocoon me to death.”
“No worries on that front.” Hannah got that dreamy look that told me she was about to describe an animal kill.
“Uh-oh,” Theo muttered.
“This fuzzy baby would flatten your kidneys, then make your red blood cells explode so you hemorrhaged internally. If you’re lucky, you’d die.”
“Like you have one. If it even exists,” Anil retorted.
I had to give him points for keeping up his bravado.
Hannah leaned in toward him and tilted his chin up with one finger. “I can get anything online, Sugar. Want to test me?”
Anil swallowed, uncomfortable.
“So leave Sophie alone,” Hannah demanded, punctuating the order with a poke to his shoulder that made her chest shake and Anil stare in dumb silence.
That most excellent threat had just died by boob jiggle-age.
“Drool much?” a mocking voice broke in.
I whirled to find Bethany behind me, in a bejeweled sari that must have cost more than entire Indian villages lived off in a year.
She glanced at my costume with disgust. “Wannabe.”
“So says Miss Exotic Other. How many children were harmed in your cultural appropriation?”
“It was a purchase to aid a women’s collective in Rajasthan.”
I made a gagging motion at her Indian accented pronunciation.
“So much hostility,” she soothed. “I know a great pose for relieving stress. It involves shoving your head up your ass.”
“I couldn’t steal your signature move. Oh wait. That’s shoving your head up the teachers’ asses. My bad.”
Bethany opened her mouth to say something but instead gave a loud fart.
“Gross,” Anil summed up.
I contained my utter glee that my evil plan was working and instead fanned the air in front of my face vigorously.
“It’s my high fiber diet. At least I won’t drop dead at thirty,” she retorted and flounced onto the dance floor.
Anil turned to Hannah. “Wanna come enjoy a private party that’ll blow your mind?” Yup. Her rack had definitely wiped all potential danger signals from his hypothalamus. (Living with Hannah for years had taught me a thing or two.)
She slitted her grey eyes in disgust. “I’d rather have spiders lay eggs in my brain.”
“A date with Anil would run a close second,” Theo commented dryly.
Anil didn’t find that funny. Away he stomped.
Hannah immediately shrugged the encounter off. “Oooh. I love this song.” She grinned as the opening strains of the Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive” came on. The portion of the evening catering to the teachers stuck chaperoning us. Turning their crankiness to happiness through nostalgic boogie down.
Hannah enthusiastically began to sing along, getting all the words wrong as usual. “To the right. Do me, ‘kay. You make love the other way,” she mangled before stopping dead at Theo’s burst of laughter.
“Those aren’t the lyrics, you idiot,” he snickered. “‘Other way?’ What did you think? Someone had an extra penis? Or used a foot or something?”
Hannah went bright red. “Doggie style. As opposed to missionary position. Makes perfect sense.” Her lame attempt at a logical explanation only made Theo laugh harder.
“Death by caterpillar is still on the table, Rockman,” she growled.
I put my arms around their shoulders. “Friends, don’t fight. This is a happy night. Now keep Bethany in view so we can enjoy her gastric discomfort. I need to get to t
he bathroom before she does.”
I was counting on her using the staff bathroom over the girls’ one off the gym. The one whose lock I’d had Theo teach me how to jimmy. It was private and conveniently located by the exit that led to the back field.
In the event that someone caught me, I’d just say I was worried Bethany was going to make a horrible mistake by meeting this strange guy, and while my strategy was perhaps misguided (locking her in the bathroom), it was all for her safety. Desperate times and all that. Basically, lie my way out of trouble.
After the number of talks we girls had gotten from the school about stranger danger, I had to be believed.
I pulled Theo and Hannah out onto the floor with me. The next little while, I hung out and had a good time dancing with my friends. Sabotaging Bethany was the farthest thing from my mind. Until 11:30. That was when I noticed Bethany making freaky twitching faces. I excused myself to grab some water. A cool refreshing drink, then it was time to put stage two of the plan into motion.
You’re probably thinking that my plan didn’t work. Well, ha ha, it totally did. Perfectly.
Boy, do I wish it hadn’t.
Ten minutes before midnight, I was lurking in the shadows of the hallway by the open bathroom door.
“Are we hiding or seeking?” a voice asked from close behind me.
I jumped, thwacking my ankle in the process. “Jeez,” I muttered, shaking it out. “Put on some cat bells, Cassie.”
Cassandra Jones. A bit of a loner. A bit weird. But nice enough. She was dressed in wild colors befitting her gypsy costume, her ginger curls bobbing around her pixieish face. Usually, I would have chatted with her, but not tonight. I didn’t want anything wrecking my plan.
“Just taking a break from the fun,” I replied, all casual.
“Ah.” She stood there, head tilted to one side, looking at me. Then she gave a little shiver. “Bethany’s coming.”
My Ex From Hell (The Blooming Goddess Trilogy) Page 2
