I remembered hating the fact that we were hidden, that we were just sort of backups to the older girls in front.
“I just got used to the front, you know? Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she said I had to be at the bottom of the pyramid. I said, ‘I’m not going to be the bottom of the pyramid,’ and she said, ‘You’re too tall now to be the one on top, so remember this is a team and we make team decisions.’ ”
“Maybe she meant decisions in the best interests of the team?” I suggested.
But Cassidy continued to rant. She was biting her thumbnail while she talked, which made it a little hard to understand her. “Too tall. As if. I’m only five three. Where’s the logic in that? What am I going to do? Getting tossed in the air was my trademark thing.”
I couldn’t remember the last time Cassidy had asked me for advice. “Um, you’ll teach the younger girls how to do things. Be their leader.”
“Take me to your leader,” Cassidy said in a robotic voice, speaking as though she were an alien from outer space.
“That’s not funny,” I said. “Actually, thinking back, you never were all that funny.”
She looked at me, blinking back tears. “Harsh.”
“Teasing, I was teasing,” I said.
“It’s okay, I deserve it.” Her shoulders sank.
“You know, if this doesn’t work out, you could join the Endangered Animals Club. Except that we actually don’t need anyone right now—”
Just then, Ms. Throgfeld shouted, “Cassidy, over here, now! We need you!”
Cassidy jumped down from the bleachers and did a couple of handsprings over to the coach, obviously trying to impress her. She misjudged the amount of room she had and went cartwheeling off the mat, crashing into the wall on the other side of the gym.
Ms. Throgfeld shook her head as Cassidy stood up, looking slightly crumpled and blushing. “Never mind, go sit back down. I don’t know how you’ll be ready for the game Friday night.”
“I can do it!” Cassidy said. “I can do anything you want. Really, just ask!”
Ms. Throgfeld glanced over at me. “Madison, maybe you could talk to her about teamwork, about having the right attitude.”
“Me?” The person who Ms. Throgfeld had told not to bother with cheer if I wasn’t invested in it a hundred percent? I was the last person who should be talking about teamwork. And hadn’t Cassidy just offered to do whatever she wanted? Was Ms. Throgfeld even listening to her?
“No, I don’t think so—sorry, I have to get going,” I said, slowly backing away. I didn’t want to get any more involved with this than I already was.
When I got home, there was a message from Taylor, asking me to call her immediately. When I did, she sounded hysterical. “This is weird, okay? Really, really weird. You won’t believe what happened. I said something to Kayley while she was doing a flip on the balance beam, and she fell off!”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Just her name!” Taylor said.
“Did she get hurt?” I asked. I hated to admit it, but I almost liked the thought of Kayley having a mishap—as long as she wasn’t seriously hurt. She always made such a big deal out of being so good at gymnastics. It was annoying.
“No, she didn’t get hurt then, but—”
“That’s great!” I said.
“No, it’s not great! Listen, that’s not all that happened,” Taylor said. “I was trying to make up for causing her slip on beam by cheering extra hard for her when she did her bars routine, but somehow I yelled, ‘Watch out, Kayley!’ I broke her concentration, and she slipped and fell then, too. So now she has a sprained wrist and she’s completely out of competition for at least a couple of weeks.”
“Oh. That’s not good.” Or is it? I wondered.
“No. I tried to apologize but I ended up telling her that her timing was off. Madison? What’s going on? It’s like I say things that I don’t mean, and I can’t help it. Nothing I say is coming across right. Now other people are getting hurt,” Taylor said, “because of us.”
“Taylor, listen to yourself. Do you really think that you had anything to do with Kayley slipping off the balance beam or bars?” I asked. “I mean, that happens all the time, right?”
“Not with Kayley! And you know what I think? It’s the stuff we got rid of at your house that night. We have to get it back. My Shawn Johnson pendant—I need it.”
“But that’s only a good-luck charm—”
“I need it,” Taylor repeated. “Okay? Please, Madison.”
“Sure. Okay.” I’d never heard calm, logical Taylor sound so worried before. “I’ll find that box. We’ll take everything out of storage and put it back where it was.”
She sighed. “Call me when you find it and I’ll come over.”
“Right. I’ll call in a few minutes.” I hung up the phone in the kitchen and went straight out to the garage.
I nearly tripped on a ladder that had been left in front of the minivan. Why was there a ladder in front of the shelves?
When I looked up, I saw why. The shelves were empty. The garage had never looked cleaner. All the boxes with extra products? Gone. All the boxes of excess nail polish? Gone. Vamoose. History. And with them, our own, very historical, once-upon-a-time-we-were-friends box. Nowhere in sight. Vanished into thin, stale garage air.
I rushed back inside and found my mom in her office, which was looking equally sparse. “Mom? What happened to all the stuff we kept in the garage?” I asked.
“Oh, that? I’m getting ready for a new phase in my career, so I wanted to throw out the things I didn’t need anymore, to open up the space for new projects.”
I really didn’t need her granola-speak at a time like this. “But where did you put everything?”
“Well, some of it went to recycling, some went to hazardous waste, and some was donated to charity …”
“Charity? But what about me?”
“Why, what do you need? If it’s a product, look no further.” She opened the walk-in closet in her office to show me shelves of shampoos, conditioners, and various other hair treatments. “How about some Refreshing Raspberry Rain Shower Rinse? You look a little stressed.”
I laughed, feeling out of control. “Yeah. You could say I’m stressed. I had left something in the garage—in a box. It’s gone now. And I really, really need it back.”
“Oh. Did you have something important in there?”
Would I say I really, really needed something unimportant back? “Yeah.” I laughed again, sounding borderline crazy. “You could say that.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She shrugged, all innocent-like.
“You should have asked!” I said.
“Fine, but since when do you store anything in the garage?”
She had a point. I hated that she was taking the fire out of my argument.
“What was it, anyway? What was in the box?” Mom asked.
“Just some old things. Prized possessions.” Apparently ones that possess magical, mystical powers. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh. Well, let me know if I can help,” she said.
I wish you could, I thought as I went back to the kitchen. I don’t know if anyone can. I drummed my fingernails against the counter.
If we couldn’t get our time capsule back, what would we do? I had to think of another way out of this. Right then, I had no idea what to do, except take a deep breath and dial Taylor’s number. “I can’t find it,” I said when she answered.
“What?”
“But I’m still working on it and—”
“What did you just say? You can’t find it?” Taylor asked. “What kind of idiot would lose something that important?”
“I didn’t lose it,” I said. “It was my mom. She—”
“Oh, sure, blame it on your mom, like everything,” said Taylor. “What kind of friend are you, anyway, if you can’t hold on to important stuff for me?”
“I’ll fix it!” I said, stung b
y her anger.
We were talking to each other like we hated each other. Like we were … mean girls.
Chapter 15
I rushed into Combing Attractions, dripping wet, hands frozen from clutching my handlebars, and completely out of breath. It was five minutes to closing time. I shook off my sopping wet raincoat and hung it on one of the oversize combs.
Inside the salon, Poinsettia was working on an older woman’s hair, running the blow-dryer, which was so loud she didn’t hear me come in. When she stopped to put the finishing touches on her client’s hair, she noticed me and walked over.
“What can I help you with? Your cut and color still look great. Time for an updo?” she asked. “Is there a special occasion coming up? Maybe a school dance?”
“Hardly. More like a redo,” I said. “Anyway, it’s a little late for an updo, since you chopped my hair into a bob.”
She looked a little shocked by my tone—shocked, and annoyed. “You underestimate my considerable powers. I could give you an updo. You wouldn’t even know what hit you, it would look so good, so fast.”
“Hm,” I murmured. “Aren’t you about to close, anyway?”
“Sure, I guess, but I’m always willing to make exceptions for special clients. Well, then, what are you here for?”
“I need help,” I said.
“Honey, you and me both. I’m shorthanded here today. Or should I say short-scissored.” She glanced back at her client, an elderly woman with curly white hair. “Tell you what. I’ll finish up with her and then we’ll talk. Have a seat.”
I did, and sifted through the magazines stacked on the table: Cat Fancy, Fortune Tellers Monthly, and Mysterious Times.
What was with this collection? Hadn’t Poinsettia ever heard of People, or Glamour? How about a copy of Entertainment Weekly?
In a few minutes, she finished the elderly woman’s blow-out, and the older woman paid her bill and collected her coat. “You’re smart to wait. Stick with her,” she advised me as she zipped up. “Best stylist this town’s had in forty years.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She tied a paisley scarf loosely over her hair. “Take care now,” she said as she opened the door and exited into the rainy, windy late afternoon.
I walked over to Poinsettia, who was busy sweeping up. “Okay. So remember when you were coloring my hair, and you were telling that other girl about cutting connections to an old boyfriend?”
“Me? No, I don’t think that would have been me.”
“Yes, it was!” I said. “The day of that rainstorm.”
She rolled her eyes. “Be more specific. Notice how it rains here nearly every day? Well, every day it doesn’t snow.” She laughed and patted her chair. “Have a seat and refresh my memory, why don’t you?”
“Right. I came in with green hair and told you I wanted to go in a new direction. While you were coloring my hair, you talked about writing a letter to that girl’s old boyfriend and burning it, along with his name.”
“Oh, that,” she said slowly, tapping her nails against the desk. “I guess.”
How could something so crucially important to me be like a blip on her radar screen? “How old are you, anyway?” I asked. “Your memory’s not great, is it?”
“Look. Why don’t you tell me your problem and quit being rude at the same time? And if this is going to take more than five minutes, you need to make an appointment for tomorrow,” she said, glancing at the clock, which was shaped like a movie reel.
“Fine, okay.” I spun around in the chair to face her. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry if everything sounds that way. That’s just how it is with me right now,” I explained. “It’s like I start to say one thing, but something else comes out.” I shook my head. “I actually don’t even know how it happens.”
“Maybe you should think about seeing a professional,” she suggested. “You know, a therapist.”
“I don’t need a therapist!” I cried. “If anything, I need a psychic.” I looked meaningfully at her. “Someone who’s good at uncasting spells. That sort of thing.”
Poinsettia held up her hands, scissors aloft. “I cut hair. I can teach you how to apply makeup and I’m very good at manicures. That’s it. I’m no psychic.”
“Please,” I said. “We went overboard. We burned our former friends’ names in the fireplace. We threw out some stuff we used to share with them—you know, like, mementos. Now their lives are disasters, and we’ve turned mean. What should we do?”
“Why should you do anything?” she replied. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “No! We didn’t want to turn into them!”
“Okay then. It’s simple. You put too much negativity into the atmosphere. You have to put something positive out there now. You’ve heard of karma, right?”
“Kind of,” I said. “My mom used to have a calendar, I think. She kept track of when good things happened, or she did good deeds—”
“Exactly. And yours is down here.” She pressed the chair lever with the toe of her black boot, and I dropped a foot. “Ground level.”
“You know, that kind of hurt.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Okay. So maybe we did bring bad luck on ourselves by trying to hurt them. How do we get the good karma back?”
“Simple. Be more than nice to them. Maybe they’re just the same as always deep down inside. What you need to do is get to know them better, find out why they’re doing the things they’re doing.”
I raised my eyebrow and looked at her. “I know the answer to that. It’s because they’re mean. Deep down inside. Even if they’re temporarily not, and we are. They’re still the same people who make fun of us—they’re just taking a break.”
“Nobody ends up mean without a pretty good reason,” she said. “You’re going to have to go back to them, to reach out to them.”
“Reach out … to them?” I wrinkled my nose.
She nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
I didn’t want to think about groveling to them. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Well, it depends. Do you want to go through life with bad karma, having everyone dislike you?”
“It’s not everyone,” I argued. “Just most people.” I pondered that for a minute. “My cat still likes me. I think.”
“Good luck going through life talking to your cat,” she said. “That can get you put in the loony bin real fast. I have a great-aunt like that. She’s locked up in Augusta now.”
“Well, it’s your fault if I do end up there. You’re the one who mentioned the stupid name-in-flames idea,” I reminded her.
She raised her eyebrow. “Do you expect to get back your good karma by talking like that?”
“Sorry,” I said. “And, um, how do you get your eyebrows to look so dramatic? I love that. Of course, it’s a little too dramatic, really. Maybe you shouldn’t have plucked all—”
“It’s time to close up for the night,” she said, gently guiding me by my shoulders toward the door. “Think about what I said.”
Chapter 16
There’s not a lot you can’t work out over a basket of French fries at the Whale.
At least, that’s what I used to think.
“You’re late,” said Taylor.
“Sorry.”
“What’s with those jeans? They’re so skinny,” Olivia commented as I walked closer to the table where she and Taylor were waiting for me.
“Maybe they are skinny, but this is how people wear them in New York,” I said in my defense. Was it me, or were they almost identically dressed? Taylor was wearing a typical Taylor gym outfit—fitted black yoga pants, patterned tank top underneath a zip-up hoodie jacket, and a pair of suede slides. And now Olivia, instead of being quirky and interesting, looked exactly the same, except she was about six inches taller and wore pink Crocs.
“New York.” Taylor gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, please. Give me a break. I’ve heard enough about you and New York to last my entire life. You d
on’t even go there very much, okay? And who’s ever heard of that place?” She pointed to my T-shirt.
“Nobody. That’s what makes it cool,” I said. “At least I try to be original. At least I’m not a clone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Olivia demanded.
Wow. The three of us couldn’t even talk now without insulting each other.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s start over. The reason I asked you guys to meet me here … well, it’s probably pretty obvious,” I said.
“You desperately need a social life?” asked Taylor. “And you feel terrible that you sold my Shawn Johnson pendant?”
“I didn’t sell it!” I said. “My mom gave it away.”
“Right. Sure.” Taylor rolled her eyes.
“Ever since we had that sleepover and tried to break all our connections to the mean girls, our lives have been a disaster.”
“They have?” asked Olivia. “Mine hasn’t been. I’m in charge of the newest, most popular club at school—”
“Olivia, you and I are co-chairs,” I said. “Have you forgotten?”
“Now the Recycling Club wants me to run their club, too.” Olivia dragged a fry through a pool of ketchup. “You know, I’m not sure what you’re so worried about. I’m on TV every morning, I know more people at school than I ever did before—”
“And I’ve never had a better week. I’m the top gymnast on our club right now. It feels great,” added Taylor.
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe there are some things to like. Cassidy’s been demoted at cheer, Kayley has a sprained wrist. Alexis can’t make it across the lunchroom without dropping her tray. She’ll have to start bringing her lunch.”
I continued. “Now, we might have thought all this was really great, you know, a couple of weeks ago, when things were really bad and I was publicly humiliated. Repeatedly. But do we really want to get ahead in life only because other people are miserable? That makes us as bad as the mean girls,” I said. “Or worse, even.”
“It does?” asked Olivia.
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