Awkward (11 page)

“Okay, so just a little bit closer,” I directed. “And … stop!” I sprinted toward my door, using my backpack as a shield from the press, before Logan could say another word. My focus was centered on making it the thirty feet in one piece. I was bombarded with aggressively demanded questions until I felt like my head would never stop buzzing.

“Mackenzie, who was that?”

“Were you on a date?”

“Are you sure he’s not just interested in your fame?”

That last question nearly made me laugh. The idea of Logan Beckett using me to get his face in the papers was patently ridiculous. Logan probably liked the exposure as much as I did. I tend to trust my gut instincts on stuff like that.

Dylan pulled me inside—no easy feat with a throng of reporters and a hallway crammed with packages. It looked like the contents of an entire
UPS
truck had been dumped in our house. The labels all said the same thing: Special Delivery for Mackenzie Wellesley. Things had gotten beyond weird.

Dylan shoved one of the boxes into my arms, and I struggled not to drop it.

“What the hell?”

“It belongs in your room.” He lifted a package himself. “You can show all this stuff, whatever it is, to Mom later. We need to get it cleared up before she gets home.” Sometimes it was too easy to think of him as an annoying kid brother and forget that he cared about our family as strongly as I did.

“Come on.” His voice held a large dose of irritation. “She’ll be home soon.” Hefting the box, I followed Dylan. I gawked when I saw my bed transformed into a swampland of letters, messages, and Post-its. Dylan didn’t give me time to obsess. He just dropped his box, then snapped at me to follow suit.

It took us over forty-five minutes to transport everything upstairs, and that’s excluding a five-minute water break where I rubbed my aching arms. After all my hauling, I never wanted to see another box again. I’d been stabbed and poked by boxes until I felt like one extended bruise. I tried not to whimper every time my body expressed its displeasure with me. Running from the paparazzi, ice skating, and now weight lifting with my boxes was way too much physical exertion for one day.

I couldn’t resist checking out my pile of mystery packages. I grabbed a pair of scissors and attacked a box with a few deliberate swipes. Then all I could do was stare in open-mouthed disbelief.

Shakily, my hand reached in and the smooth texture of silk slithered provocatively over my fingers. It was without a doubt the most gorgeous, subtly sexy thing I’d ever seen. It looked like a dress that would render the wearer invincible. I could picture Helen of Troy wearing it, although the dress could probably launch a thousand ships on its own. It was cute, fun, daring enough to show some leg—and it was mine.

I kept stroking the material, fighting the urge to both laugh and cry. The label revealed it was a
BCBG
Max Azria creation. Setting aside the dress, I pulled out the pair of heels left in the box. I examined them like I was Cinderella getting her first look at the glass slippers.

“Oh, my God”—was all I could say as I stripped off my Converse sneakers and slid my feet into the sexy, black, open toe heels. I had no idea how the reporters were able to figure out my shoe size, but they fit perfectly.

There I was in my new designer shoes and I couldn’t stand up. Not because I didn’t trust the thin, spindly heel but because I knew there’d be no going back. The shoes were incontrovertible proof that my life had changed—that after years of digging at garage sales I owned something wonderful and luxurious. Finally I had something that was just for fun.

So when I finally stood and swiveled in front of my cheap floor-length mirror, it was quite a jolt. For the first time, I couldn’t quite recognize myself. I was left wondering what type of person this new girl might be … and whether I’d like her.

I
showed my Mom my now-overflowing closet, but I didn’t call Corey or Jane that night. I wanted to personally gauge their reactions. I expected them to be stunned—shocked to see their best friend, Mackenzie Wellesley, show up to school clad in designer labels. Really, really cute designer labels. Oscar de la Renta flats, Calvin Klein jeans, and tops from Anthropologie. My textbooks? Yeah, they were lovingly cradled in the folds of an oversized Hobo bag. I’d even applied some makeup that morning—just simple lip gloss and eye shadow, but there was no way I’d land on anyone’s Worst Dressed list. I’d woken up an hour and a half earlier than usual to ensure it.

And I’ll admit it—it was cool showing up to school looking like a million bucks. Hell, I might have been
wearing
a million bucks. Well, more like five hundred dollars’ worth, but compared to my favorite jeans (a steal at twenty-five cents) it certainly felt like a million. The clothes and makeup made the media attention seem more like a game of make-believe than real life. When the cameras were on me, I pretended that I was effortlessly chic and didn’t notice the fawning.

The crazy thing was … I think I pulled it off.

Other things were definitely different. Guys paid attention to me in the hallways, and most of it seemed centered on my new casually sexy look. Either that or I had botched up the eyeliner and everyone thought:
Hey, look at Raccoon Girl!
But if the slow, appreciative once-overs were any indication, I didn’t resemble any nocturnal creatures.

By the time I had purchased my cheeseburger and fries at lunch, my two best friends had processed my un-Mackenzie-like ensemble.

“You look great!” Jane declared easily when I sat down. I grinned at her before turning to Corey.

“What do you think? Too much? Don’t hold back on me now.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Jane’s right: hot but not slutty. Just don’t rub your eyes or you’ll look like a hot mess. And ditch the ponytail.”

I pulled out my hair tie and let my shoulder-length hair frame my face as I popped a French fry into my mouth. “You guys have any plans for tonight?”

Jane shook her head with her mouth full of muffin.

“No,” Corey said sadly. “Homework as usual.”

“Oh, okay. You guys wouldn’t be interested in going to the ReadySet concert with me, would you?”

Corey’s mouth dropped open. “You got tickets?
Shut up!
”

Jane pulled out a textbook. “I’ll earn it as a study break. I won’t stop studying until the concert, starting … now!”

I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. “You can still give us a ride tonight, right, Corey?”

He nodded, speechless after his initial explosion.

“Good.” I snagged another two fries. “It’d be a shame to waste backstage passes.”

Corey’s delighted shriek rang through the cafeteria. He practically vaulted over the cafeteria table and swept me into a hug.

“This is
insane!
I can’t believe it! You’re the greatest, Mackenzie! You get that, right? The freaking greatest!”

Except he didn’t say “freaking” as he swung me around.

“Let’s meet around six-thirty so we can check out your new wardrobe before the show.”

“Sounds good to me. Jane, you in?”

She just waved her hand distractedly. “Yeah. Sure. Great. I have to concentrate now.”

Jane liked to work her brain into mush before rewarding herself with an evening off—a habit Corey and I kept trying to break with no success.

“How’d you swing this, Mackenzie?” Corey was glowing with excitement. “Backstage passes? That’s some serious shit.”

“They were in my huge pile of letters. You wouldn’t believe the invitations I’ve been getting. Stuff like going on
The Tyra Banks Show
.”

Jane jerked her head up. “Is Tyra the one who talked about smiling with your eyes?”

“It’s smize,” Corey said knowledgeably. “Are you going to do any of it?”

“Me? On
Tyra
? She would devour me whole.” I pointed at my face. “Don’t be fooled by the cosmetics. This is temporary until the press get off my back. It took me almost an hour to do this, since I flinched every time I tried to use eyeliner. So don’t get used to it, buddy.”

Corey was grinning when I noticed a pair of freshman girls walking over … to our table.

“Do you mind if we sit with you?” The girl who spoke had long black hair and an outfit that looked casually expensive. She wouldn’t have seemed out of place on a teen magazine cover. They were both so stylish that they looked more like the other juniors in our class than freshmen.

“No, that’s fine,” I replied. What else could I say? “Don’t you want to sit at the Notable table so you can lead the elite in a few years?” I looked over at Chelsea. She was watching, and her open mouth made her look like a fish. A few seats away, Patrick sat looking adorable. My eyes wandered over to the distant table where I’d spotted Logan sitting with Spencer. He met my gaze and raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t help smiling as it hit me for the first time what I had done: I’d out-Notabled the Notables.

Cool.

The girls were nice once I got past their “Disney princesses” looks. Melanie was a dead ringer for Pocahontas and Rachel looked like mermaid-turned-human Ariel. Maybe Corey had a point about my awkwardness opening doors, because the five of us complained about teachers, crappy cafeteria food, and homework until it began feeling comfortable. It wasn’t supposed to feel good. It was supposed to be tense and nerve-racking and force me to deal with my panic-related gag reflex over being the center of attention. Melanie and Rachel just seemed too … harmless.

My mission in life had been to go unnoticed, something I’d failed at now that
everyone
knew me. People who couldn’t pick me out of a lineup a week ago were telling reporters all about me. And part of me, the stupid part, actually thought it was kind of cool. Don’t get me wrong, I still wished it hadn’t happened, but the whole popularity thing had its advantages. Maybe I was spending too much time listening to Corey.

Or maybe I’d just spent too many years on the outside watching Chelsea rule the school. Now I could wield a little power. For the first time television shows about mean high school girls squabbling for control actually made sense. I’d always wondered what would compel the girls to act viciously, but now I got it. Popularity is fun. Or at the very least hanging out with Melanie and Rachel was pretty cool. Since I had no desire to shave my head (à la Britney Spears) or do drugs (à la Lindsay Lohan) or crash a car (à la Shia LaBeouf), I thought I was handling the fame pretty well.

Everything was changing: my wardrobe, my social status, my evening plans—everything. I had no idea how it had happened, but my well-structured, organized, conventional, invisible life had completely flipped. I could imagine myself sitting on a therapist’s couch trying to explain. “Well, I was fine, Doc (minus a few abandonment issues) until I became famous. Oh, you saw the music video too? Great.”

Nothing felt real anymore. I was still the same girl, attending the same high school, eating with the same friends, but none of it felt like it had a week ago. None of it. And I had no idea what I wanted to do about that.

I
didn’t know what to expect. Shocking, right? All sarcasm aside, I couldn’t imagine going backstage at a rock concert. Good thing I wasn’t attending alone.

Of course, I wasn’t too happy when Corey and Jane pulled up at my house, took one look at me, and ordered me to change.

“What,” I grumbled, “is wrong with what I wore to school?”

Corey pushed me to my room. “Nothing, for school. This is a concert, Mackenzie.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious but I don’t see …”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Just do it, Kenzie. It’s the only way to shut him up.”

She was right. So I sat on my bed while Corey rifled through my greatly expanded closet and made appreciative sounds from inside.

“My god. You own a Valentino gown? That’s ridiculous!”

“You’re telling me,” I said. “I’m not going to wear anything that fancy, um … ever.”

He spun around. “If you don’t wear this gorgeous dress, I’ll kill you. Then I’ll make sure you’re buried in it.”

I laughed. “So what are you forcing me to wear tonight?”

A pair of dark denim jeans were tossed in my face, followed by a sexy shirt.

“You’re kidding with this one.” I pointed to the plunging neckline. “There’s no way I can pull this off.”

Jane examined the top critically. “I like it.”

Corey held up a pair of wedge heels. “You’re not going to look like a high school girl in these.”

I eyed him nervously. “I
am
a high schooler. What’s wrong with looking my age?”

Corey flashed me a smile. “Most people think you’re in middle school, sweetie.”

“No, they don’t!” I turned to Jane for confirmation. “Right?”

“Well, actually,” she began.

“Oh, hell.”

“It’s the big doe-eyed thing you’ve got going on,” she explained. “Sort of like … Bambi.”

“I look like a deer!”

Jane paused. “Yeah, in a good way. Hey, can I borrow your shoes?” She pointed to my new Kate Spade flats.

I wriggled into my new outfit. “Sure. Can we just go now?”

But Corey had spotted the makeup
MAC
had sent over.

“Oh, hell,” I repeated, as Corey attacked my face.

When Corey
finally
declared us concert ready, I was sporting some seriously smoky eyes. I looked vampy—but not in an I-will-suck-your-blood kind of way. More in an I-could-lure-you-to-the-bad-side kind of way. Corey was definitely skilled.

My mom did a double take when I entered the kitchen.

“Mom, do you want to order me to change this”—I gestured at my cleavage—“ensemble?”

My mom gave me the once-over and smiled. “Oh, that’s a cute one! I didn’t notice it earlier. Can I borrow it sometime?”

The sad thing is, I bet my mom would look way hotter in my new clothes than I did. She’s gorgeous and gets hit on at the restaurant all the time.

“Yeah,” I said. “Feel free to raid my closet whenever.”

That’s the way we’ve always been with each other. Sometimes it almost feels like we’re both parents keeping the family together.