Art Geeks and Prom Queens (30 page)

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel powerful, revolutionary, and kind of like a goddess. So imagine my disappointment when I was walking through campus between fifth and sixth period and like ten different kids said something rude about my hair.

When my mom picked me up after school she looked all worried when she asked, “So how’d it go?”

“Good,” I said, getting into the Range Rover and fastening my seat belt as she pulls out of the parking lot. “Nothing changed, but it went okay.”

“Do you need me to step in?”

“No, they haven’t changed, but I have, and that’s all that really matters.”

Instead of going home we drive straight to the airport since my dad is getting back in town. And I’m feeling kind of nervous to see him, since he’s always made this big deal about my “long, golden mane” (his words, not mine).

We get there kind of early so instead of driving around and around in circles, my mom parks the car and we wait in the baggage claim area. I’m standing off to the side, just hanging with “The Duke,” when
I see my dad coming down the escalator. He grabs his luggage off the carousel, gives my mom a big hug, and walks right past me.

So I go, “Dad? Hel-
lo
?”

And he turns and squints and goes, “Rio?” Like it was truly a question. I’m not kidding.

So I go,
“Yeah?
”

And he just stands there and blinks. Well at least he didn’t do the big-screen scream like my mom. Then he says, “What happened to all of your hair?”

My mom gives me a nervous look since we didn’t exactly go over our story. But I just say, “I wanted to try something new.”

“I took her to Laurence,” she pipes in. “Isn’t it chic?”

I guess she doesn’t want him knowing that the first cut was on me, since that can be a sign of insanity.

“You look so grown-up,” he says.

Ohmygod, is my dad getting misty-eyed?

“Don’t worry,” I say, going over to hug him. “I’m still me.”

We went to Morton’s for dinner and it was really nice being with him, and my mom only annoyed me twice. Okay, maybe three times, but I totally refrained from rolling my eyes.

And that’s when I told her that I decided to go to New York and be in the Gap ad with her.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“I know I don’t
have
to. Maybe that’s why I want to. I mean, all the other models’ kids are going right?”

She nods.

“Well, then how bad would it look if I didn’t show?”

And my dad goes, “We’re going to have two models in the family?”

“No, just one,” I told him. “I’m hoping I can talk to Mario about interning this summer.”

When we get home Kayla and Jen Jen are sitting in Kayla’s black convertible Bug right outside our gate.

And when my dad asks, “Do you know those girls?” I say, “Yeah, they used to be my friends.”

He presses the remote to open the gate, and I motion for them to follow. And when he pulls into the garage I say, “I’ll be in later.” Then I walk over to the black Bug just as Jen Jen and Kayla are getting out.

“Hey,” I say.

“How are you?” Kayla asks.

“Okay.” I try not to fidget so they won’t think I’m nervous, even though I am.

“Um, okay, here’s the thing,” Kayla starts.

But then Jen Jen interrupts her and says, “We want to apologize. We’re really sorry for everything that happened.”

“Except for the locker,” Kayla says.

“Yeah. I mean, we’re
sorry
about the locker, but I swear we didn’t do it. And I promise we don’t know who did. It was probably Kristi, but it’s not like we saw her.”

I nod, but I don’t say anything.

“We said some really bad things about you, and we’re really sorry. It’s like, today at lunch, when you were going off on us, it made us stop and think,” Kayla says.

“You were so right,” says Jen Jen. “She’s like such a bitch and we’re so afraid to go against her. She’s mean to everyone and we feel bad, but we just stand there and let it happen.”

“Or even worse, we join in,” Kayla says. “Anyway it was really brave of you to do that and I’m glad you did. Because I am tired of it, and Jen is, too.”

I look at Jen Jen. She nods.

“Well, I said some bad stuff about you, too, but I only did it so Kristi would like me—which I know is a pretty lame excuse. I really am sorry,” I tell them.

“Let’s just try to forget all that and move on,” Kayla says.

“So what are you guys gonna do?” I ask.

“Well, we’re not putting up with her crap anymore. And if she doesn’t like it then she doesn’t have to hang with
us.
” Kayla smiles.

“So do you need a ride to school tomorrow?” Jen Jen asks.

I look at both of them and while I appreciate the offer, I go, “My dad’s taking me tomorrow, but maybe the next day.”

The next morning when I go downstairs for breakfast my dad looks up from the paper and goes, “I haven’t seen that in a long time.”

And when my mom looks at me I can see the disapproval in her eyes, but to her credit, she refrains from saying anything.

When I get to my locker Kristi breezes right past me and goes,
“Nice shirt,
Brazil. Back where you started, huh loser?”

Well, I’d rather be part of an “ ape Crew” than her crew. I’m just glad I didn’t throw it away like she suggested. But since I already had it out with her yesterday, I just turn back to my locker. I mean, maybe I can’t change her, but I can change my response to her.

But then the weirdest thing happens. Some girl I don’t even know walks right up to her and goes, “Why don’t you just leave her alone?”

Kristi turns, and in total disbelief says, “Excuse me? Did you just speak to me?”

The girl looks all red and nervous, but she stands her ground and says, “You heard me.”

I stand next to my locker, watching them face off in front of a crowd of people. (Nothing like the promise of bloodshed to bring people together.) And while I think it’s really nice of this girl to put herself on the line like that, I really don’t want her to become a social suicide on my behalf. I’m just about to step in when I see Jen Jen and Kayla walk up.

“Back off, Kristi,” they say.

Kristi glares at them. “This is none of your business,” she says.

“The shitty way you treat people is everyone’s business,” Jen Jen says.

Kristi just stands there trying to appear calm, but if you look closely, you can see her hands shaking. “You’re so gonna regret this,” she says. “You’re gonna be so fucking sorry!”

But they just shrug.

Then Kristi looks at everyone gathered around and goes, “Well, you’re not making me late to class.” Then she takes off toward English in a big hurry, even though the bell hasn’t rung yet.

I slam my locker shut, and that girl walks up to me and says, “You know, I’ve spent the last three years trying to avoid her, because she’s always so mean to me. But yesterday, when I saw you stand up to her like that, I decided it was time I did the same. Thanks for giving me the courage to face her.”

We smile at each other, and then the bell rings, and we all go to class.

But by the time I get to Art I’m feeling like a loser again, because everyone’s so excited about the show, and I’m no longer part of it. And as I head toward the darkroom I’m hoping I can come up with something at least halfway decent for my project. I mean, how humiliating would it be to flunk high-school art when I want to be an artist?

As I walk by Jas, he looks right at me, but he doesn’t even smile or nod. His behavior toward me is really making me wonder.

So after agitating the tank, and fixing the image, I’m so anxious to see the negatives I carefully pull out a tiny bit of film to inspect it. But it’s totally depressing because the first three are just more stupid pictures of Tyler. So I pour some clearing agent and agitate again, then I perform my final wash. And while I’m hanging the film to dry I check out the rest of the roll. More shots of Tyler, followed by a series of leaves blowing in the wind that make me question my ability, if not my sanity. God, it’s like nothing is as good as those lost photos. But then maybe I just think that because I no longer have them. Because you know how you
always
want what you don’t have.

I’m almost at the end of the roll when I get to this picture I don’t remember taking. And I’m leaning in really close and squinting at it, because this may sound crazy, but it looks like the back of Kristi’s head. But that’s because it
is
the back of her head.

She’s standing in front of my locker, writing something. And I can just make out the words “Stuck-up B—”

There are four more in the sequence, including one with her handling “doggy excrement.”

I told you she wasn’t so delicate.

But who took these pictures?

Ohmygod,
it was Jas! He had my camera, so it must have been him!

I grab my stuff and run out of the darkroom. When I get to Mason’s easel I go, “Do you know where jas went?”

“He left,” she says, setting down her paintbrush and looking at me.

“Oh.” I just stand there, trying to mask my disappointment. Then I get an idea. “What are you doing after school?” I ask.

She gives me a really strange look (which makes me feel bad, but I guess I deserve it), then she shrugs and goes, “Nothing, why?”

“Do you think you could help me with a little project?”

After Kinko’s, Mason drops me off at my house. “You really gotta get your license,” she says.

“I know, I know. Hey, you wanna come in?”

She shakes her head and looks kind of uncomfortable. “That’s okay. Jas told me your mom doesn’t want you hanging with us.”

I open her car door and step onto my driveway. Then I look at her and go, “That was true then, but not anymore. Come on.”

When we go inside, you’re not gonna believe this but I have a living room—and it’s beautiful. And it’s not an Epcot living room, either. I just stand there taking it all in, and then my mom walks up and goes, “What do you think?”

“It’s awesome. But it’s not exactly minimalism, is it?” I say, noticing all the lamps, and cushions, and framed photographs.

“I decided to tune out everyone’s opinion and just do what I wanted for a change. I figured if you could do it, then I could, too.” She smiles and looks at Mason, and I realize they’ve never actually met so I introduce them. “Is that a Norma Kamali?” my mom asks, looking at her dress.

“Circa nineteen eighty-three. I got it at this great vintage place in L.A.,” Mason says.

It’s like love at first sight. Before you know it my mom’s dragging her upstairs to look at the time warp side of her closet, otherwise known as “the shrine that’s dedicated to all things seventies and eighties.” She’s showing Mason all this designer stuff she snagged from photo shoots: Stephen Sprouse graffiti blouses, original Jordache jeans,
she even lets Mason touch her Ramones T-shirt that Joey Ramone spit on or pissed on or threw up on or something. And watching them together makes me feel totally relieved, because the truth is I was a little worried about bringing her over.

By the time Mason leaves she’s clutching a Duran Duran T-shirt (my mom has six more), and I’m walking her to her car when she goes, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

And I go, “Why? Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“No, I think it’s good. I just want you to be sure that’s all.”

I watch her get in her car, and when she starts the engine, I say, “Hey, Mason.”

She turns to look at me.

“Thanks for helping me, I really appreciate it. And I’m sorry about all the bad stuff before.”

“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.

And I watch her drive through the open gate and down the road.

The next day when I come downstairs carrying the big cardboard box, my dad looks at me and asks, “What’s that?”

“School project,” I say, then I look at my mom nervously, but she just smiles and winks. I set it on the counter and down a quick cup of coffee. And when I hear Jen Jen’s horn I grab the box and my backpack and head out the door.

I push the passenger seat forward and place the box carefully in the back. Then I lift the lid and say, “Check it out.”

“I knew it!” she says, shaking her head.

By the time the first period bell rings the whole school knows. Because I took the box, placed it in the middle of the quad, removed the lid, then stood on the sidelines so I could watch.

And believe it or not, Tyler and Kristi were the first to investigate. He leaned down and picked up the first flyer I had stacked in the box. But unfortunately for Kristi it was the picture of her holding the piece of dog shit.

I mean, she was wearing rubber gloves,
but still.

“Fuckin’ sick!” he yells, looking from the flyer to her.

And before she can stop it, everyone has a copy.

When I get to English, Kristi’s standing near the door, waiting for me. And for the first time ever, I can honestly say she doesn’t look so perfect.

“So,” she says, eyes smudged with mascara, bare lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “You must be feeling pretty proud of yourself.” She crosses her arms against her chest.