“No, no.” I shook my head. “Something more civilized.”
“Definitely,” said Taylor. “I am not into potions and spells.”
“Me neither. I couldn’t even read the first Harry Potter,” said Olivia.
While we were talking, Olivia found some articles on self-help sites about how to deal with negative energy and get rid of “toxic” people. We weren’t really sure if that’s what we meant.
“Let’s plan on the name-in-flames stuff,” Taylor said. “But what else can we do for a good-bye party?”
I pictured tossing Bar Harbor Barbie into the fire. Probably that would create an environmental disaster. So maybe we wouldn’t burn everything—maybe we’d burn the names, but just put away a box of things from the time when we were BFFs.
“Whatever we do, it will have to involve lots of snacks and a movie,” said Olivia.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because all our fun nights do,” she said. “Duh.” She reached for a small bowl of mixed nuts on the counter and took a handful.
“Then we’ll eat anti-mean snacks,” I said.
Olivia’s forehead creased in thought. “What are anti-mean snacks?”
“I don’t know. Sweet things? Anything with lots of sugar?” I guessed. “Do I have to come up with everything?”
“How about ‘mean-free,’ ” Olivia suggested. “You know, in the tradition of sugar-free, gluten-free …”
“Sounds good,” said Taylor.
“What night should we have the party?” I asked.
“Saturday?”
“I can’t Saturday,” both Olivia and Taylor said at the same time.
“Okay … how about Friday?”
“Well, what are the chances we’ll go to the dance Friday?” asked Olivia.
“Uh, slim,” I said. I thought about Hunter and how Cassidy had pushed me to talk to him about the dance, when all he wanted was my homework so he could go to the dance. With someone else. Her, probably.
“What’s so special about it, anyway,” commented Taylor. “I bet it will be totally boring.”
Suddenly Olivia turned to us with a deadly serious expression. She looked pained, like she had just bitten her cheeks with her braces.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
She adjusted one of her earrings, which had gotten tangled in her hair. “You know that old saying, don’t shoot the messenger?”
Taylor and I both nodded.
“Madison, I really don’t want to show you this. But I have to,” Olivia said. “I was looking for stuff about the eighth-grade dance, just in case, you know, we wanted to know more … and I came across this. It’s like … evil.”
She turned the computer toward us, and I saw in big letters: PAYNESTON PEEPS. That’s our school’s social networking site.
And right below that, under Today’s Update (still not favorite words of mine):
GOING ATTRACTIONS
WHAT SEVENTH GRADER RECENTLY LOPPED OFF HER MARTIAN-GREEN LOCKS? WE THINK SHE LOST HER BEST FEATURE, BUT YOU BE THE JUDGE.
VOTE ON “BEFORE” AND “AFTER”!
View results here.
“Before” was the picture Alexis had taken of me outside school that morning. Hunter was standing behind me, holding up his fingers in a V above my head.
I really did hate him now.
Wow. It really was that green, I thought.
Under “after,” there was a picture of me walking out of Combing Attractions that afternoon. My hair was blowing all over the place in the wind, and some strands seemed to be floating straight up to the sky. I looked slightly possessed, or like I’d been caught in an electrical storm.
Funny. I didn’t remember seeing anyone on Main Street when I left, but maybe I was too excited about the new look and how I felt, like I’d left some of my problems—seaweed spinach hair—on the salon floor. Apparently not.
“Do you, um, want to see the results?” asked Olivia.
“No.” Hot tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t believe they’d gone this far. Mocking me online for everyone to see?
If I’d had any doubts about our plan to get them out of our lives, they were gone.
“So.” Taylor put her arm around my shoulder. “Friday night sound okay?”
Chapter 7
The next four days went by quickly.
I kept a low profile at school. Extremely low. Even if I did look better, I certainly didn’t feel any better—especially not whenever I thought about being uninvited to Cassidy’s Halloween party, or the “before and after” blog comments she, Alexis, and Kayley had made. I just knew they had to be behind the Peeps post. Who else would do something like that? Olivia told me it had been taken down, but it was too late.
Who needed their stupid party, anyway? We had our own to plan.
Friday night, I walked into the kitchen to find Parker glued to the computer, playing a video game.
This wouldn’t do. I had a dozen things I wanted to accomplish before the others showed up at seven, and even though I’d had all week to get ready? I was still not ready.
Gianni always said that creative people made the best procrastinators. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Anyway, my friends were on their way to our house, and I was feeling unprepared. Did that mean I was especially creative, or especially lazy?
Never mind. I had to make Rice Krispies Treats. Not that it’s a complicated recipe, but you know—even a not-so-top chef needs to concentrate.
“Could you leave?” I asked Parker, for what seemed like the ninth time, but was probably only the fifth. “Could you just sort of disappear tonight? This is really important.”
“Oh, yeah. Crucial,” Parker said. He didn’t look up or tear himself away from Illegal Death Ride VII. He tapped at the keys as I poured snapping, crackling, popping cereal (hey, it says so on the box) into a pan of melted marshmallows. “It’s a sleepover. Since when is a sleepover vitally important?”
“Since when do you know what the word vitally means?” I replied.
“I’m younger than you. I’m not dumber than you,” he said. He scooted closer to the table and fired off some key explosions that made the riders careen into oblivion. “Yes!”
I didn’t expect him to understand, much less be sympathetic. I think he used to have a sort of little-brother crush on Cassidy and he hadn’t forgiven me for not being friends with her anymore. He’d always acted a little extra goofy when she was around.
“Since this sleepover is … look, it’s hard to explain,” I said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, right, because I don’t understand … eating munchies, watching movies, and sleeping in sleeping bags.” He swiped some gooey marshmallow that was left in the saucepan. “Is Cassidy coming?”
“No,” I said. “Definitely not.”
“Then why are you making Rice Krispies Treats with chocolate chips?”
“Because they’re Cassidy’s favorite snack.”
“Okay … have you lost your mind? Are you even listening to yourself?” asked Parker. “You just said Cassidy’s not coming. You’re not really hanging out with Cassidy anymore.”
I sighed. “I know. I realize that.”
“So … why are you making her favorite snack?”
“Because—look. This party tonight, it’s because … we’re trying to get Cassidy and her friends, who used to be our friends, to quit harassing us and just leave us alone,” I explained. “Because we’re not friends anymore, and they’re not exactly nice to us.”
“Seriously? Cassidy’s not nice?”
“Yup.”
“Why not?” asked Parker.
“Ask her,” I suggested.
“Maybe I will.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “Please don’t talk to her.”
“Make up your mind. And what does making her favorite Rice Krispies Treats have to do with not talking to her anymore?” he asked.
“We’re … going to sort of sm
ash them,” I said. “Or eat them. Or throw them in the fire or something.”
“You’re getting really weird as you get older.” Parker looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and actually, I did think I was starting to sound that way. “That’s a waste. Give them to me instead,” he said. “I’ll eat half, then take the other half to Cassidy’s house and tell her you’re sorry. Or, instead of burning dessert, why don’t you just tell them to leave you alone?”
Sometimes Parker is kind of right about things, and insightful, which kind of makes me hate him. Maybe he was right this time, that the bigger and stronger thing to do would have been to confront them and just say, “Leave me alone and don’t write hurtful posts about my hair.”
But that wasn’t dramatic, and it wouldn’t change anything, either. And the fact that an immature ten-year-old could point out that this whole idea was sort of, well, immature, made me sad.
“But I’m not sorry!” I cried. “She’s the one who should be sorry.” Fortunately my mother came into the kitchen just then. “Mom, make Parker leave,” I insisted.
She laughed. “What do you think I am, a witch?”
I froze, mid-stir of the sticky marshmallow mix. If my mother were a witch, would she be able to help me with tonight’s ceremony? “Uh, why did you say that?” I asked.
“Because, I don’t have supernatural powers to get Parker to leave,” she said. “I suppose I could ask him nicely, or you could ask him more nicely than you just did.”
Was this really a time to go all Emily Post on me?
“Parker,” I said with a phony smile. “Would you mind not being here when my friends show up? And could you please stay invisible throughout the entire night? Because if you do that, I might promise I will save some good food for you.”
“Define ‘some,’ ” he said.
“Lots.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I will gladly get lost. It’s not like I want to be here.”
“And it’s not like I want you to be here, either.”
“We’re on our way upstairs, Madison,” said Mom. “We’ll check back in a while.”
“No, don’t,” I muttered.
Mom coughed. “We will check back in a while,” she repeated slowly, giving me The Look. She sounded as if she was gritting her teeth a bit, too. What was she so stressed about? I was the one trying to change my life with one measly sleepover. She ought to meditate for a while and just chill out.
“Right. That’d be great. See you soon!” I hoped she understood I was under a lot of pressure: hosting, baking, and plotting the demise of former friendships.
I pressed the marshmallow and cereal into a rectangular cake pan. I’d never cooked something before that I planned on trashing. It did seem pretty wasteful. Maybe we should rethink this part of the plan, I decided.
No sooner had I finished the Rice Krispies Treats and washed my hands than there was a knock at the back door.
Taylor walked in first, and then Olivia. Each carried a backpack, a sleeping bag, and some kind of food.
“Yay, you’re here! What did you guys bring?” I asked.
“I made devil’s food cake.” Taylor set a domed cake plate on the counter. “Three layers. My grandmother’s special recipe. Okay, technically my mom and I made it together—actually she made the cake part and I did the frosting. Some of the frosting.”
“Sounds delish, but I don’t get it,” I said.
“It’s devil’s food cake,” Taylor said again. “You know, in honor of our former friends. Or enemies. Sometimes it’s hard to know what category to put them in.”
“Devils? Isn’t that kind of harsh? They’re not devils,” I said.
“Well, they’re certainly not angels,” Olivia said. “We must have been on the same wavelength. I brought deviled eggs.”
Taylor held her nose as Olivia pried open the red Ziploc container. “I hate deviled eggs.”
“Really? I love them.” I leaned in to pick one up.
Taylor spoke in a nasal tone, still holding her nose. “They smell funny. Plus, they have weird orange powder sprinkled on top.”
“Paprika.” I swallowed the deviled egg and looked around the kitchen sheepishly. Olivia and Taylor were staring at me. “What? Are we not eating yet?” I asked.
“If you’re so worried, don’t have any,” Olivia said to Taylor. “We’ll save them all for Madison.” She snapped the cover back on and slid the container to me. I put them into the fridge.
Taylor reached into her canvas tote bag and took out a large jar. “I also brought dill pickles. I was thinking that what we do tonight will get us out of a pickle.”
Olivia licked a gob of marshmallow off her thumb. “I eat pickles like five times a week. It hasn’t helped.”
“Yes, but that was before you were trying to focus,” Taylor said in a very serious voice.
Olivia started laughing. “You sound crazy.”
“Oh, and you don’t?” Taylor teased back.
“Pickles, deviled eggs, and marshmallows. We’re going to get so sick. Aren’t we?” I asked, laughing. “I made Cassidy’s favorite snack. So, we’ve got all the bases covered. We can eat their favorite foods and really rich food with a devilish aspect to it. Or we can just, like, eat nothing and not get sick. Come on, let’s get started.”
“Eating?” asked Olivia.
“Meeting. Let’s get what we need. The sun’s going down,” I said.
“Do your powers run out at dark or something?” Taylor teased. “We have all night, right?”
“So what do we do first?” asked Olivia.
“First, let’s go in the living room. I have a box there—did you guys bring things to put in storage?” We’d planned to take something important from each of us that represented that time in our lives when we were pals with the mean girls, and put everything into a box, to cut those connections, too. We wouldn’t burn them, though, just in case there was a time when we got nostalgic and wanted to have them back. Somehow I didn’t think that would happen, but you never knew. Besides, I was sure some of the things in the box would stink up the house if we tried to burn them.
Taylor took off her Shawn Johnson pendant. “Kayley and I bought matching ones after the Beijing Olympics. I still love Shawn Johnson, but …” She placed the pendant in the box.
“Olivia, you’re next,” I said.
“This is good. Really, really good.” Olivia reached into her brown shopping bag and pulled out a towel. She unwrapped the towel, and lifted out a brightly colored ceramic plate. “For Alexis’s tenth birthday party, we made plates at Paint Your Plate. Look at all the little messages we put on there. And I drew a picture of her dog. Of course, now her dog won’t even talk to me.” We started laughing, but as Olivia handed the plate over to me to put into the box, it slipped from her hand.
The plate fell onto the tile floor surrounding the fireplace and smashed into a dozen pieces. “Oh, no—I’m so sorry!” I said.
“It’s not your fault—I’m the one who dropped it.” Olivia leaned down to pick up the pieces; there were three large pieces, and several small ones.
“I think that’s bad luck,” Taylor said. “Seven years?
We’ll be in college by the time it wears off.”
“No, that’s mirrors. Besides, I wasn’t going to be using the plate anymore, right?” Olivia laughed as she put the three big pieces of the plate into the box. I grabbed the small broom we kept by the fireplace for cleaning up ash, and swept up the small shards.
“Okay, Madison, it’s your turn,” Taylor said.
“I have these.” I held up a set of pom-poms from when Cassidy and I did cheer together in sixth grade.
“And these.” I put an old pair of pink ballet slippers in the box.
“And this.” I held up a program from a dance recital we’d done when we were six.
“Oh, I can’t forget this.” I showed them a small silver bracelet—Cassidy and I had worn matching ones at about the same time we wore identical cl
othes. Which was most of elementary school.
“Not to mention these.” I pointed to a stack of books on the footstool. “We used to trade books back and forth all the time.”
“I think you’re going to have to narrow it down. The box isn’t that big,” Olivia said.
“Okay. I’ll pick what seems most important.” I slid the ballet slippers in with the dance program, two paperbacks, and one pom-pom. “Done. Can one of you seal it up while I start the fire? And can the other one write down the names so we can toss them in when the fire is ready?”
Olivia picked up the roll of packing tape and pulled off a strip. “What should I write on here?” She grabbed a bottle of nail polish from the collection I’d put on the coffee table for our sleepover. We usually paint our toenails while we sit around watching movies. “How about, ‘our stuff’?”
A minute later, while I was stacking logs in the fireplace, I heard Olivia say, “Why isn’t this showing …? Oh, hold on a second. I grabbed clear.” She started laughing.
“Here, Oblivia, use this.” Taylor handed her a bottle of purple glitter polish. “I’m done.” She waved the sheet of paper in the air, showing us Cassidy’s, Kayley’s, and Alexis’s names written in large letters.
“I just want to get this over with,” Olivia said. “It’s starting to feel kind of creepy. Like voodoo dolls. Then again, those don’t work. This is going to work. Right?”
“Wait a second. When did you try voodoo dolls?” Taylor asked.
“Remember that time your neck hurt really badly, and you thought it was from a new trick you did on the balance beam?” Olivia asked.
Taylor’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Olivia giggled. “No, I’m only joking. Why would I do that to you?” She laughed again. “I actually tried it on someone else.”
“Who?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds it might incriminalize me,” said Olivia.
“Incriminate,” I corrected her.
“Whatever. I’m not saying.” Olivia smiled. “So, how’s that fire coming along?” She nudged me in the side.
I backed away from the fireplace. I’d arranged the logs and stuffed kindling underneath them, and now all I had to do was throw in a lit match. Easy, right? I lit a match. And then another and another. Each one went out instantly as soon as I laid it in the fireplace.
Meanicures Page 5
