Art Geeks and Prom Queens (5 page)

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.

“She does? How can you tell? From the Mercedes?”

“Is she a friend of yours?” she continues, ignoring my comment.

“Not really.”

“Well, she must like you or else why would she drive you home?” she asks hopefully.

“Got me.” I head upstairs.

“What’s her last name?” She’s following right behind me.

Jeez, I can’t believe her. We’ve been here like what? A week? And she’s already familiar with the local who’s who. “I think it’s Wood,” I say, going into my room and throwing my books on the floor in the corner since I
still
don’t have any furniture, which is getting really old by the way.

“Wood. Wood,” she says, squinting at the wall. “I think there’s a Wood in my yogalates class.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I boot up my laptop and make myself comfortable on the floor.

“Rio, you’re not e-mailing Paige and Hud are you?” she asks, standing over me, all disapproving.

“No,” I lie. “I’m doing homework.”

“Good. Because, we live
here
now, and it’s really time you made some friends at your new school. Kristi seems really nice and I think you should give her a chance.”

“Mom, can I please just do my homework?” I point at my computer. “Of course,” she says, smiling. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

And the second she leaves I instant message Paige.

The next day in AP English I’m sitting at my desk when Kristi looks over and says, “Hey, Brazil.”

But I don’t correct her this time because I know she knows my real name. She’s just trying to be all cute or something.

“Is your mom Jahne Jones?” She stares at me, waiting for an answer.

And while I’m hesitating, Mrs. Abbot says, “Open your books to page one twenty-five. Hunter, would you read for us starting with the second paragraph?”

And luckily I’m off the hook for now. Because I don’t know if she meant Jahne Jones from her mom’s yogalates class, or Jahne Jones former almost-supermodel. And the truth is, I don’t really feel like talking about either one.

My mom is complicated. Well actually, my mom is pretty simple, it’s our relationship that’s complicated. I mean, it’s not that she’s a bad person or anything because she’s not. It’s just that she’s extremely interested in things that don’t really do it for me. Like she’s really into shopping, and I don’t know why, but even though I like nice things, I think wearing a ton of labels is kind of embarrassing. She’s also really into her looks, and I never feel comfortable with mine.

But now that I’m taller and my braces are gone, people are starting to say we look alike. Which I guess is a compliment, but to be honest, I’m
not really comfortable with that kind of attention like she is. It’s like, my mom lives to be in front of the camera, but I’d rather be behind it.

And for the record, Jahne is
not
her real name. She was born Jane Jones. But when she became a model they thought that was too plain so they added an
h
and changed the pronunciation to
Jahne
. She started traveling the world on fashion shoots when she was only fourteen, so she didn’t really finish high school, but she took her GED and she reads a lot so she’s not stupid.

Because of her job she met all these famous people, like rock stars, movie stars, and other models you might have heard of, and even though she was once on location with Christy, Linda, Cindy, Naomi, and Claudia, she never quite made it to their level. She’s more like someone people vaguely recognize but they’re not sure why.

Then, when she was around twenty-four, she was on a flight from L.A. to New York, and sitting in first class right next to her was Griffin Jones (her future husband/my dad). They started dating, blah blah blah, and within three months they got married and she didn’t even have to change her last name. (I just hope somebody had the good sense to make sure they’re not related or something because how gross would that be?) When she had me at twenty-five and a half, they moved to the ‘burbs and that was pretty much the end of her modeling career.