Art Geeks and Prom Queens Read online

  “Some friends drove me,” I say, studying the toe of my tennis shoe as though it’s fascinating.

  “And who are these friends of yours?”

  “Jas and Mason. They’re just some kids from school.”

  “Are these your detention friends?” she asks.

  Okay. Now I know what this is really about. It’s not about breaking school policy, or exorbitant tuition, or even the possible negative effect of detention on my academic standing.

  Oh, no.

  It’s about hanging with the wrong crowd.

  In my mom’s world, being popular with the princess posse takes precedence. And the fact that I’ve never belonged to a group like that really bugs her. But I just say, “Whatever,” and roll my eyes again. Mostly because I know how much she hates it when I do that.

  She’s gripping her bottle of Evian so hard it makes a crackling sound, then she dabs at some sweat on her forehead and says, “I don’t like your tone, young lady. And let me tell you something else, your father is not going to be at all happy when he hears about this. He is working on a very big case right now and the last thing he needs is to hear this.”

  “So let’s not tell him,” I say, looking right at her.

  She stares at me for a moment, and I’m waiting for her to really lay into me. But when she doesn’t, I go, “Can I be excused?”

  When she nods, I bolt upstairs to my room and close the door firmly. But I don’t slam it ‘cause that’s just asking for it.

  I throw my books on the floor and rush over to my laptop, which is perched on a sturdy box in the corner. And when I check my e-mail I’m totally disappointed that my in box is empty.

  So I tool around the Internet for a while, looking stuff up, and when my computer finally beeps I check my mail again. And I’m feeling all excited, until I see that it’s just a note from my dad. Not that that isn’t nice, because he’s back in New York, and I haven’t seen him for over a week. But still, it’s not the same as getting something from a friend.

  I hit reply and tell him how I started school today, and about my new art project, but somehow I totally avoid mentioning detention. Then I tell him how much I miss him, and to hurry home.

  And then Paige instant messages me.

  PAIGE: How’d it go 2day??????

  ME: Awesome!!! I got detention!

  And the pathetic thing is, I do think it was awesome, because up until today nothing ever really happened to me. I mean, I’ve always just gone along and blended in. But now I’m in a new school, making a new start.

  I can be whoever I want to be.

  Six

  The next morning when I’m getting ready for school my mom “suggests” that I wear this new Michael Stars T-shirt she bought me, and I don’t even fight it. I just put it on, with the 7 for All Mankind (whatever the hell that means) jeans she also “suggested,” then I sit quietly on the edge of my bed while she attempts to cover my chin scab with her tiny, little makeup brush and a pot of Chanel concealer. And even when the final result is just a big, nasty, beige chin scab, I don’t protest. I just smile, grab my backpack, and let her drive me to school.

  Then the minute she drops me off, I head straight for the bathroom where I cover the T-shirt with the “ ape Crew” sweatshirt I had stashed in my backpack and go over to the sink, where I wash all the beige off my chin so that it’s back to being purplish red, but at least it looks natural.

  When I sit at my desk in English I’m hoping that Kristi won’t stare at me all through class again. I mean, I’m so dressed down there’s really nothing to see. But she does it anyway. And every time I get the courage to look over and confront her she looks away.

  After class when I’m switching out books at my locker, I glance over toward her locker where she’s talking to these two other cheerleaders. They’re laughing hysterically at something she said, and it’s kind of obvious that Kristi’s like the CEO and they’re competing to be her apprentice. I mean, just because I’ve never been popular, doesn’t mean I don’t get how they operate.

  But while I’m standing there watching them and thinking all this, Kristi looks over and sees me staring at her!

  Oh, god. Now that I’ve been caught I know I have to do something fast, but I just continue to stand there like the biggest geek on the planet. And then Kristi says something to her friends and they all turn and stare. Then the redhead waves and they all start laughing again. So I quickly slam my locker shut and make a run for my art class. Real smooth, I know.

  When I get to our table Jas isn’t there yet, but Mason is. So I lean toward her and whisper, “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “You?”

  “Totally.” I roll my eyes. “My mom gave me this big lecture about disadvantaged youth, how lucky I am, and how much they spend on this school. Please.” I roll my eyes and shake my head.

  “I’m here on full scholarship,” she says. “I live with my mom in a tiny apartment in Costa Mesa.”

  Silence.

  She’s looking right at me, but I don’t know how she can even see me because I’m like half an inch tall now and I’m choking on my own foot. “Sorry,” I whisper. God, I really am a spoiled brat.

  “Whatever.” She shrugs.

  Jas arrives then, and completely unaware of our girl-on-girl tension, he says something funny.

  But it’s one of those moments when you’re busy inside your own head, listening to a continuous play of the stupid, hurtful, snotty thing you just said. So you can’t really hear the words that were just spoken to you, but you can tell by the delivery that you’re supposed to laugh.

  So I do.

  But apparently a little too loudly, ’cause Jas looks at me strangely and a bunch of students turn and stare, and I’m thinking maybe I should just hang out in the darkroom until graduation.

  I guess this upcoming art show is like a pretty big deal. Mason really wants to go to an art school like Parsons or something, so she’s pretty serious about working on her portfolio and not wrecking her chance at a scholarship by getting into any more trouble. At least that’s what she said right before getting up from our table and heading for her easel.

  Then Jas got up and went over to the potter’s wheel, and with his hands immersed in clay, he looked completely gorgeous and intense. So before I could do or say anything stupid I asked Ms. Tate if I could walk around campus and see if I could find something inspiring for my own project.

  She hands me a hall pass that’s dangling on a long string, so I slip it around my neck, grab my camera, and head out.

  In New York, my old school was like this big, imposing brick building that you entered at eight and left at three, and you rarely saw any daylight in between. But here, it’s the exact opposite. Instead of one big building, it’s like several smaller ones made of smooth beige stone with green-tinted glass windows, and they’re all connected by these sun-dappled, rambling walkways lined with flowers on one side and color-coordinated lockers on the other. There’s even a view of the ocean from the lunch area! I mean, it looks more like a resort than a high school, but then everything in Newport Beach is so polished and glossy and new (even the people!) that sometimes I wonder if we’ve accidentally moved to Stepford.

  I head out to the big athletic field behind the gym where there are some guys running around the track. And as I stand there watching them take the corner, I contemplate doing a whole “motion, speed, and glory” kind of theme. But since I’m not really into sports, I doubt it will hold my interest.

  I’m resting my camera against my shoulder, and trying to come up with something creative, when I notice Kristi and company sitting on the grass just a few feet away, and they just stop what they’re doing (inspecting their cuticles and gossiping) and stare.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Kristi out of her cheerleading ensemble but there’s no doubt it’s her. She’s wearing the same kind of terry-cloth drawstring shorts like my mom wears, a pair of silver Nikes, and a T-shirt with a pic
ture of a seagull on it that says “Sea Crest High School” (which is what they make us wear when we do PE), and her long dark hair is in two braids. Her two friends are like total clones of her except that apprentice wanna-be number one has brown eyes and long red hair in two braids, and number two has long brown hair with major blond highlights, but I can’t see her eyes because they’re hidden behind a pair of big, black Versace sunglasses.

  So then all of a sudden they lean in really close to one another and give me this big fake smile and wave. And it seems really strange. And I’m not sure what to do. So I just sort of stand there and give a little wave back.

  And then Kristi goes, “Hey, Brazil. Take the picture already!”

  Brazil? Oh, very cute. And then I realize they’re posing for me. But I don’t really want to photograph them. But I also know that actually telling them that would make me a social casualty for the next two years (if I’m not one already).

  So I fake-take it.

  And then I go, “Thanks.”

  But when I turn to walk away, Kristi says. “I didn’t hear it click. You better take another.”

  So I go, “Oh. Really?” And then I peer at the camera, angling it in all these different ways, like I’m looking for a defect.

  Then Kristi says through clenched teeth with her lips barely moving, “Just take another one before my face cracks from smiling.”

  So I do.

  And this time when I push down on the shutter it makes that clicking sound, and the second it’s over she goes, I need to approve that before you use it for anything.”

  Like I’m with The Enquirer and she’s Jennifer Aniston. But I don’t say anything. I just nod and walk away.

  Lunch is definitely the scariest part of the day. It’s like thirty-five minutes of unstructured hell for the new girl. And even though I started the day thinking I had two new friends, the fact is now I’m not so sure.

  By the time I got back to class Mason and Jas were already gone and I had no idea where to find them. So I turned in the hall pass, expecting Ms. Tate to be mad that I was gone that whole time, but she just smiled.

  And since I snuck off campus yesterday, I’m not really sure what the lunch rules are, but I know they exist because every school has them. It’s like, you can’t just walk up to some random table and take a seat, since everyone is so segregated into such carefully designated groups, that you can’t just assume you’ll be welcomed.

  Not to mention that my mom made lunch for me today, and I’m not sure if that’s cool or not. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to sit at the wrong table and pull out a sandwich made by Mom’s carefully manicured, self-tanned hands when everybody else is hitting the vending machines. It may sound paranoid, but it’s those little moments that label you forever.

  And I’m not used to worrying about stuff like this, ‘cause at my old school it was just me, Paige, and Hud (I know, you already know that, but please play along), and we didn’t really care what everyone else thought. I guess you could say we were geeks, but it didn’t matter. But now that it’s just me, I admit, it kind of matters.

  But I’m also hungry.

  And how stupid would it be to not eat my lunch when I’m hungry? So I grab the bag out of my locker and figure I’ll just go sit in some shady spot near the lunch tables so I can check out the action without actually putting myself on the front line. And as I’m walking over there I hear someone go, “Hey, Rio!”

  And I turn to see Jas waving at me. So of course I immediately change direction. As I’m walking toward him he’s looking right at me and it makes me all nervous, so I look up for a moment at this banner that’s hanging overhead that says in turquoise-and-green letters:

  Winter Formal!

  This Saturday!

  Don t miss it!

  And when I’m right in front of him he asks, “Do you like movies?”

  Ohmygod! He’s asking me out! I knew it! Deep down inside, I knew he wasn’t dating Mason!

  So I go, “Um yeah, I really love movies!” As I mentally prepare for the best (okay, first), date of my life.

  “Great,” he says, smiling and wrapping his arm loosely around my shoulder as we walk down the hall, with me acting all casual, like I’m totally used to having gorgeous guys who smell amazing ask me out on dates.

  And when we get to the end, he opens the classroom door and goes, “We’re having a film club meeting and we need more members. Are you interested?” He looks at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Uh, sure,” I squeak, clutching my lunch bag and following him into a room filled with five other people who really love movies.

  I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to get through the rest of the day (including detention), without doing anything majorly stupid. But mostly because I stayed very quiet, and I didn’t look at Jas.

  So as I was walking to the parking lot, where my mom was supposed to be waiting, I turned on my cell phone just in time to listen to a message from her telling me how she was running late, and that I could either: a) wait or b) call a cab.

  A cab? Is she kidding? There are no cabs in Newport Beach. ‘Cause from what I’ve seen you can’t even live here unless you own a Mercedes, a Jag, or a Hummer. So I sit on the curb, deciding to wait, and just as I’m calling to tell her that, Kristi walks up.

  “Hey, Brazil,” she says, standing in front of me, holding a Louis Vuitton bag with one hand and shielding her eyes from the sun with the other, so as not to disturb the Chanel sunglasses that are carefully placed in her hair.

  “Um, it’s not Brazil, it’s Rio,” I say, pausing between numbers.

  “Why are you still here?” she asks, looking at her watch, then back at me.

  “I had detention,” I tell her, even though it’s really none of her business.

  She raises an eyebrow and looks me over. “So what are you doing now?”

  “Waiting for my mom. She’s late.”

  “Don’t you have a car?” she says, eyes going all wide like she just found out something really juicy.

  “No.” I shrug. “I don’t have my license yet.”

  “You’re joking.” She says it like a statement not a question.

  And I press my lips together and raise my shoulders in a slightly more animated shrug than the previous one.

  “Oh, my god. We totally have to fix that.”

  We? I think. But again, I don’t say anything.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I say. “She’ll be here.” But deep down inside I wonder if it’s true.

  “Come,” she demands, dangling her keys.

  And I hesitate for a moment. Then I get up and follow her. But not because she’s that powerful, but because my mom is that unreliable.

  “So where do you live?” she asks, starting up the engine of a silver convertible Mercedes.

  “Over on Playa del Sol. Is this your car?” I mean, I’m amazed that someone in high school would drive this.

  “I wish. It’s my mom’s. Mine’s a TT Convertible, but it’s getting customized,” she says, pulling out of the student lot. “So I live nearby. I’m on Vista del Mar.” She looks at me and smiles in a way that’s not exactly warm, but not entirely evil either.

  “Oh, I think Jas lives on that street,” I say, just trying to make conversation and not because I wanted to say his name out loud.

  “Jasper Klein? You know him?” Kristi asks, narrowing her eyes.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, looking out the window, because she’s making me uncomfortable.

  “How do you know him?”

  “We have AP Art together,” I say, turning to watch the road for her since she’s still looking at me.

  “So how do you know where he lives? Have you been to his house?”

  “Just once.” God, why is she interrogating me?

  “Oh, well then you must have seen my house, because I live right across the street.” She smiles brightly, but there’s something behind it.


  I just shrug.

  “So are you guys going to Winter Formal together?” she asks. “What? Jas and me? I don’t think so. I mean, no, definitely not.” Oh, that was cool. “Why, are you going?”

  “Duh? Of course I’m going.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

  I just look out the window then because I really don’t know what else to do, and I’m beginning to wonder if she’s only driving me home so she can gather information to use against me later. I mean, not to sound paranoid, but really, why would a perfect, popular girl like her want to hang with me? It’s like one minute she’s being nice, and the next she’s making fun of me ‘cause I asked her about the dance. I’m beginning to feel like I’m caught in a game I don’t know the rules to.

  When we finally turn onto my street I’ve never been so happy to call this place home. “Um, it’s the one at the end, right there.” I point at my house, then hurriedly remove my sweatshirt and shove it inside my backpack.

  “You live there? Wow, that house is like, major. What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a lawyer,” I say, gathering my books, anxious to get out of here.

  “Really?” She looks at my house again like she’s trying to add it all up.

  “Okay, well thanks,” I say, climbing out of the Mercedes just as my mom pulls into the driveway. Great.

  “Rio, you could have called. I went all the way to your school.” She’s lecturing me, but peering at Kristi.

  “Sorry,” I say, trapped between two luxury cars.

  “Is that your mom?” Kristi whispers, watching her get out of the Jag.

  “Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Kristi. Kristi, my mom.” I watch them exchange nearly identical perfect teeth smiles, then I go, “Okay, see ya.”

  “She looks really familiar,” Kristi says.

  But I don’t acknowledge it. I just wave good-bye and go inside.

  So, of course, like the minute I walk in the door my mom goes (in her animated voice), “She seems really nice!” Then she looks at me waiting for confirmation.