by Jen Calonita
“I… I… are you okay?” I ask nervously.
“If you call being in a cast okay,” he says, acknowledging his leg with a small shrug. But the way he says it, it doesn’t sound mean. Just matter-of-fact. This conversation is going better than I expected.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I don’t know what happened!” Literally. “One minute we were driving, and the next the world was upside down. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.” He looks at me curiously. “For anyone to get hurt,” I clarify.
“I know.” He exhales sharply. “You kept saying that when we were being put in the ambulance. Why would you want to run me down? We’re sort of friends.”
We’re friends! This is a good sign, and yet, we’re just friends. Hmph.
Austin sighs. “At least we were friends.”
Ah. There it is. He’s friend-dumping me for running him over.
He runs his fingers through that blond mop of his and looks away for a second. “I want us to be friends, but it’s tough. I’ve told you that. It’s hard.” I nod, even though I don’t know what he’s talking about, and he looks at me guiltily. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, surprised.
“Like you’re disappointed,” he says. “I know I have issues, but you do too, you know.”
Oh, I know.
“You’ve become as obsessed with being popular as I am,” Austin reminds me.
“I have?” Maybe he’s not dumping me. Maybe… this is a conversation that he and I started before I ran him over?
“Yeah,” Austin says. “You’re not in the in-crowd here, which makes it hard for us to hang out, but you’re still on the popularity kick. All you and Liz talk about is getting into Hollywood parties and hanging with stars like Lauren Cobb and Ava Hayden. You tell me not to get suckered into doing what’s popular, not to let the people at Clark Hall rule my life, but you’re doing the same thing yourself. I don’t get you, Kaitlin Burke.”
Uhh… let me get this straight: Austin and I definitely aren’t dating, but there might be something between us that neither of us can act on because he’s hugely popular and I’m not (not to mention, he has a girlfriend). And I turn him off with my fascination with being a Hollywood wannabe.
Wow. My relationship with Austin in this world is much different than it was back home. “I don’t get myself sometimes either,” I tell him, which is the truth. “Forget about all that other stuff for a minute. The important thing is that I’m sorry. About everything.”
“I know that.” There is that smile I love! Sigh.
“Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” I ask hopefully.
Austin leans on one crutch. “I was. I mean, I wanted to be, but I can’t stay mad at you.”
Now what does that mean? What was our history before the accident? Were we secretly talking about wanting to be together, but he was afraid of what his friends would say? I wish I knew the truth, but my heart thumps so loud I think Austin can hear it.
“But, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be on my way to a game against Southside in an hour,” Austin adds.
I look down at my feet—one is in a cast, and one is wearing a ballet flat. “I can’t believe you can’t play. Did they say how long?”
“At best, two months, at worst, not till next fall, if someone even wants me to play for their college team when they can’t see me this spring.” He grimaces. “And you? How long are you going to be in—”
“Haven’t you caused enough damage, Tread Marks?” A guy appears out of nowhere at Austin’s side and pokes me hard in the shoulder.
I look at him and realize it’s Austin’s best buddy and lacrosse teammate, Rob Murray. “Murray!” I exclaim excitedly before I can stop myself, which I should have because the look Murray gives me makes the Terminators running around in T3 seem friendly.
“Who you calling Murray?” he asks, leaning into my face rather menacingly. I’ve never heard him so angry before, and I sort of stumble backward. Austin reaches out to help me, but then stops. “Only my friends call me Murray, and you are not my friend, Tread Marks. You could have killed us the other day! You better watch yourself. After what you did to my boy here”—he nods to Austin—“you’re at the top of our Tipster List.”
“What’s the Tipster List?” I ask, even though I don’t think I want to know. The Tipster List sounds very bad, and the way Murray’s normally wonderful smile is curled up into a snarl, I’m sure I’m right.
“Why are you even talking to her, man?” Murray asks Austin gruffly.
“I’m not,” Austin says to my surprise. “I was just telling her where she can stick her crutch.” He laughs awkwardly and puts his hand up for a high five.
Wow. Austin’s so afraid of being unpopular that he’ll do anything to avoid being kicked out of the in-crowd himself.
“Nice.” Murray nods appreciatively, then scowls at me again. “A, I can’t even look at her, man. I’m outtie. See you in history. Or not.”
“Not.” Austin laughs as Murray walks away. He looks around before talking to me again, and his face is pained. “I’m sorry. You’ve got to understand, especially now, we can’t be seen together. I should go.” He sticks his right crutch in front of my left one, but I’m too quick. Using one of my crutches, I block his path.
“Wait,” I insist. “Do you mean to tell me we’re covert friends?”
Austin sort of sighs and hangs his head, which is yet another thing I’ve never seen him do before. But then again, I’ve never cost him a lacrosse season before. “Kaitlin, you know how things work around here. I have a rep to maintain.”
The real Austin has told me that before we met at Clark Hall he wasn’t always such a great guy. He struggled with doing the right thing versus maintaining his popularity. If alter-Austin has been with Lori the whole time we would have been together in the real world, then the pull of being popular is that much stronger. Still, he must want to change, a little, if he’s friends with a “loser” like me. I may not be here long (I hope), but while I am, I’ve got to help him.
“What are you more worried about?” I ask. “Your rep or where you’re going to be a year from now? You won’t even see these people then! You’ll be back on that field before you know it and you can still wow the scouts at Boston College. In the meantime, can’t we both stop worrying about what’s popular? I don’t think the real you cares about rep that much.” Blech. I sound like his mom. I stare at the sidewalk because it’s less scary. Concrete is nice even if it is covered in gum. Haven’t these people ever heard of garbage cans?
“How do you know about Boston College?” Austin asks. “I haven’t told anyone that BC is one of my top picks.”
“You told me,” I lie. “Remember? The morning of the accident.” Austin seems to think this through.
Shoot. I have to be careful about spoiling secrets real people have told me. This makes me think of HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER TWELVE: TV show spoilers are sometimes leaked on purpose. George dying on Grey’s Anatomy. Charlie coming back for Lost’s final season. These types of secrets are too big to be kept under wraps till the episode airs, so the network is savvy enough to take care of matters themselves and beat the gossip rags at their own game. Creators and producers may not come out and tell you exactly what will happen, but they will tease that “something monumental will change the lives of all the characters.” An actual spoiler, of course, is a specific plot point, which no TV person in his or her right mind would give away on purpose. But a teaser is okay. Sometimes they’re a thank-you to fans who are so obsessed with their favorite show that they can’t wait another millisecond to know what will happen next.
What I just did to Austin wasn’t a tease. It was a spoiler that the real me knows, but obviously alter-Kaitlin and the rest of this universe is not supposed to.
“I don’t remember saying something, but if you know, I guess I did,” Austin says and then smiles again, just a little. “I really have to go now.”
<
br /> “Please don’t go,” I say before I can stop myself. I know this is not my Austin, but he’s still Austin, and I feel better just being around him.
“Kaitlin—” He says my name like it hurts. But that’s the last thing he says before I get knocked sideways by his girlfriend, Lori Peters. In the real world, he broke up with her a long time ago, right after he met me.
“God! Haven’t you done enough to my man already, Tread Marks?” Lori says. “Austin, why are you talking to her?”
“I’m not.” Austin shrugs. “I was just on my way to find you.” Lori smiles at me smugly.
Blech.
The alter-universe has been just as kind to Lori as the real one. She’s as beautiful as ever, unfortunately. Perfect platinum blond pin-straight hair, Barbie’s proportions, height, and killer clothes. She’s wearing a Dolce & Gabbana black dress with knee-high Jimmy Choo boots.
God, I really miss my clothes.
“Leave. Him. Alone. You cost him the upcoming spring lacrosse season and our school’s chances at being five-time champs!” Lori points a long, pale pink nail in my face.
“I know that,” I counter. “I came over here to apologize.”
As soon as Lori opens her mouth, people start to gather round, like they’re watching a taping of Ellen. I bet they’ve been waiting all day for someone to tear into me like this. Austin looks as uncomfortable as I am, but he lets her yell at me anyway.
“He doesn’t care about your apology,” Lori continues and crosses her arms defiantly. “It doesn’t change things. He still can’t play lacrosse, and you’re still a loser.” She smiles at me wickedly. “Austin, from now on, Tread Marks is number one on our Tipster List.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I snap. I can’t stand either version of this girl.
“Lori, let’s go,” Austin interrupts, not looking at me. “She’s not worth it.”
Even though I know Austin doesn’t believe that, hearing him say it still hurts.
“You’re right. She’s not,” Lori sniffs and hikes a Gucci backpack over her bony right shoulder. “She’s nobody.” Lori starts to lead Austin away.
Someone snickers and I snap. No one talks to me—real me or alter-me—like that. Austin may not have the guts to say what he feels, but I do. “I am not a nobody,” I tell Lori loudly. “I have a life, and a pretty good one, that doesn’t include the likes of you. You are the nobody, Miss Head Cheerleader. You can’t even get a cheerleading scholarship from UCLA.” Ha! Pays to know stuff. Liz told me about this last week.
Lori’s jaw drops. “How do you know that? No one knows, I mean, I haven’t even, she’s lying,” she sputters, but Austin is staring at me curiously. I focus on him.
“You’re somebody, Austin,” I stress. “And you’re better than these people. Don’t stoop to Lori’s level.”
Lori looks at him angrily. “What is she talking about?”
“I don’t know what she’s yammering about.” He looks away. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, let’s,” Lori agrees and gives me a dirty look. She puts her arm around Austin’s back, staring menacingly at me as she goes, and grabs his grubby navy messenger bag. “We are out of here,” she tells the growing crowd. “She’s Tipster List, number one! Don’t forget it, people!”
Where is my guide? In the movies, whenever someone gets stuck in a coma or an alternate reality, there is supposed to be a guide to help smooth things over. Where is my Glinda the Good Witch?
“God, you made things worse,” I hear someone say. It’s Liz, looking great in a Burberry headband, fitted red shirt, and a tan Gucci skirt with Tory Burch flats. “I know we can’t stand Lori’s crew, but do you have to make things intolerable during school hours?”
“Thanks for your support,” I grumble and take a huge step with my crutches to get ahead of her.
“I can’t believe you tried to talk to Austin,” Liz says as she catches up and walks along next to me. “We went over this—he’s never going to own up to liking you, Kaitlin. You should move on.”
I stop short. “Austin really does like me?” Why does this make me so happy? It’s not like this is the real Austin.
Liz gives me a look. “You think so. And yes, it sounds like it, but come on! That guy is too weak to stand up to his friends, especially now.” She throws an arm around me. “Besides, why would you want to waste your time on a high school guy when you could be with someone like Drew Thomas?”
“Eww, Drew Thomas?” I freak. Liz is talking about my self-absorbed ex-boyfriend and costar in Pretty Young Assassins. He practically cost me my relationship with Austin a while back. “I would never date Drew!”
Liz laughs. “What are you talking about? You were majorly flirting with him two weeks ago at the Motorola party! You better get going on that. You said yourself you need him to take you to a premiere before he moves on to the next hot thing.”
Oh gross! “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Oh, stop!” Liz looks at her Movado watch and then at the fork in the cobblestone path ahead of us. Each walkway leads to a different brick mansion. “Fourth is basically over, so why don’t we just skip and head over to the caf ? We need to read this week’s gossips so we can figure out who to hang with next.” I must not look that enthused because then Liz adds, “Added benefit to an early lunch: You can probably avoid being target numero uno on the Tipster List if we eat now.”
“I’m in.” The thought of sitting in class doesn’t seem that appealing at the moment anyway.
Liz starts texting while we walk. Well, she walks and I hobble with my heavy red bag—do I really need to carry this many books for class? “I’ve got so much to do before Thursday night. I could really use a new dress for the party—I mean parties—and some cute shoes and maybe an airbrush tan. You should go through my closet and pick something out that has a label.” Her phone pings and Liz squeals. “It’s Lauren!” She holds the text up proudly. “She’s inviting us to the after-party. You in?”
“Doesn’t that start at three AM?” I ask, knowing how these kind of parties work. “My mom will never let me go to a party that late.” Here’s one time it pays to have alter-Mom. She’s much more concerned about my beauty rest.
“Just say you’re staying over at my place. Please?” Liz begs. “Don’t make me go alone. We’ve got to wow these girls or they won’t invite us out again. I know it’s late and you’ve got a long day on Friday with the internship, but you can take a nap or something. Please?”
Friday! So that’s when I have the studio internship. “I forgot I had work on Friday. What time do I have to be there again?”
Liz looks at me. “Two PM, like always. You get to skip ninth period since it’s study hall. Did you forget to take your meds today?”
I nod solemnly. “I do feel a bit foggy.”
“You’re coming with me to that party,” Liz insists. “You need to get out. I’m telling the girls you’re in before you can say no.” She types too quickly for me to stop her. “There! I hit send. Now you have to come or Lauren and Ava will dis us. You don’t want to be on their Tipster List too, do you?”
I bite my lower lip. “Liz, what exactly is the Tipster List anyway?”
Liz groans as she holds open the door to the mansion that has been converted to Clark Hall’s cafeteria and culinary school. The noise level is definitely high, and I can see the large eating area is packed with tables of teens.
“If you don’t remember, I’m certainly not telling you,” Liz says. “It’s too depressing to explain. You’ll never leave your room again.” Liz walks into the room and heads straight to the lunch line.
The place is packed, and I look longingly at the wall of French doors leading to the outdoor tables we used to sit at. I hope we’re going out there. This room is loud, and I can already hear people whispering about me. Liz already has her tray and is moving down the line, grabbing a mesclun salad and ordering a panini.
“Liz! Wait! I could use so
me help.” She doesn’t hear me. Fine. I can do this. I stare down at the pile of faded orange trays in front of me and try to figure out how to pick one up and manage my crutches. I bend forward and grab a tray, but I can’t really walk like this. I look at Liz, hoping to send her a telepathic message to turn around, but instead all she does is answer her cell phone.
“Need help?” a girl behind me asks. It’s Beth, and next to her, Allison. Saved! Beth and Allison were great friends to me here when I was at Clark Hall, and Liz adores them. I look at the girls nervously, half expecting them to be as changed as everyone else in this alternative universe, but thankfully they look the same. Beth is still petite, dark-skinned with curly black hair, and Allison still has brown hair and is super tall, which works for an aspiring ballerina. Neither has had a boob job, lip plumping, or gone overly tan! They both smile shyly.
“Beth! Ali!” I exclaim, and they sort of take a step back. “I mean, thanks. That would be great. Liz didn’t hear me call her.” I hobble ahead of them.
“What do you want, Kaitlin?” Beth asks, adjusting her black wire-rim glasses before picking up my tray.
“A roast beef sandwich and a Diet Coke would be great. Thanks so much. How are you guys doing?”
“Are you feeling okay?” Ali sounds concerned, and she looks at Beth curiously.
