Awkward (13 page)

Still I focused on the song, giving it everything I had, when we reached the lines:

You said, there was no harm in wondering.
You said, it’d just be a peek,
And you said, don’t be a mother hen.
You said, you could land on your feet.
But we both know now,
You had to learn somehow.
Alice, dear, things in mirrors are not as they seem.
Stop risking it all on one of your lunatic schemes.

It sounded good. Damn good. I don’t have any idea how he does it, but Tim makes even fairy-tale allusions edgy and vaguely dark. The line about risking it all on lunatic schemes? Yeah, it made me hesitate, because the song was mine in more ways than one. I was risking my life. My perfectly ordered, ruthlessly organized life was at stake. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I kept endangering it.
I
had showed up to school in designer jeans,
I
had gone backstage at a ReadySet concert, and
I
started to sing onstage. Sure, I’d been pushed, prodded, and poked along the way: but I had done it all myself.

I probably deserved another one of Jane’s “Oh, Kenzie”s, too.

For a moment, I couldn’t decide what was scarier: that I was—once again—putting myself in the line of media attention or that I didn’t seem to care.

Either way, I’d definitely fallen down the rabbit hole.

I
f you’re hoping for ReadySet gossip, you’re going to be disappointed. After having my privacy violated, I can see why celebrities hate the paparazzi. Famous people might understand it’s a by-product of their occupations, but that doesn’t make it any less intrusive or annoying.

So while Tim, Dominic, and Chris didn’t sit around twirling their purity rings after the concert, the media made them out to be far more intense. They seemed content to kick back with Corey, Jane, and me after they’d showered and pulled on clean clothes from their trailer. The three of us didn’t drink. Corey couldn’t as our designated driver, and Jane and I were perfectly content to sip our Cokes. It was no big deal when we declined some offered beer. It did, however, bring up the subject of ages.

“Just how old are you guys?” Tim asked speculatively.

“Corey’s eighteen, I’m seventeen, and Jane’s sixteen—but we’re all high school juniors.”

“That’s quite a spread to be in the same grade,” Dominic commented.

“I was held back a year.” Corey said it casually, as if it weren’t a continual source of annoyance for him. “My parents read a study about boys doing better academically if they’re held back in kindergarten.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Of course, I’m stuck with these two.” He gestured at Jane and me. “But it could be worse.”

“What about you?” Chris asked Jane, and I could tell she was flattered that he’d taken the time to ask her a follow-up question. Of course, Jane is flattered if you so much as say you were impressed by her Wii skills. She’s a light touch.

“I’m just a little young for a junior. But no one remembers that at school, since Kenzie and I have been in the same classes together since, what, second grade?”

I nodded. “Yeah, ever since Smith Elementary School.”

She groaned, and I couldn’t help grinning. Jane’s experiences in elementary school had been no better than mine. Neither of us waxed nostalgic about the “simpler times.”

“Don’t remind me!”

That instantly caught everyone’s attention.

“What happened?” Chris wanted to know.

Jane didn’t look like she knew how to answer, so I cut in to help her out. “Jane’s last name is Smith—as in Jane Smith. And since our town is
obsessed
with naming things after this
other
Smith family, she got a lot of dumb jokes over it. Kids teased her about every part of her name. That’s how we became friends, actually.”

“I was about to cry,” Jane interjected. Now that I had broken the awkwardness she was fine with steering the story. “Some boys were bugging me at recess. They kept saying, ‘You, Jane. Me, Tarzan.’ ” She grinned. “It really bothered me as a kid. Anyway, Kenzie whirled on them with this death ray glare and snapped, ‘She’s Jane, you’re stupid.’ ”

Tim sent me one of his grins that ought to come with a warning sign: May Cause Heart Failure in Ordinary Girls.

“That was brave of you.”

“Yeah, w-well,” I stuttered, “I’ve been a wimp ever since.”

Corey snorted. “Right. That’s why you stared down Alex Thompson when he shoved you in the cafeteria: to prove you are spineless.” The sarcasm dripped off his tongue. “Here I thought you were standing up for yourself.”

He had me there—and that fact felt oddly good. I
had
been sticking up for myself in the cafeteria and against a jerk who easily had a good eighty pounds of muscle on me.

But I didn’t want it mentioned in front of ReadySet.

“Someone giving you guys trouble?” Tim’s voice was casual, but his eyes never left Corey’s.

“Just a little dweeb hazing,” I said quickly. “Nothing too serious. Thanks, by the way, for what you said tonight. You know, about me being … erm, awesome.”

Dominic gave me an appreciative once-over. “You sounded pretty good up there.”

Chris nodded. “Any interest in performing?”

I nearly choked on my Coke. “Me? No. Oh, no. I’m more backstage than center stage.”

“What about you?” Tim asked Jane.

“I sing,” she replied easily with a grin sneaking up her face. “Until people start threatening to shove a gag down my throat.”

“You can sing really loudly,” Corey said, nudging her companionably with his foot. “Just not on key. You’re still the champion of Wii Bowling though.”

We didn’t leave until after 1:30 a.m. when all the boys (Dominic grudgingly) agreed Jane was the Queen of the Wii. If it hadn’t been a school night we would have hung out longer. I tried to remember the last time I’d had that much fun with anyone besides Jane and Corey. Running from the paparazzi, hiding in Victoria’s Secret, and ice skating with Logan came to mind—but that was just because I was so exhausted from the concert. I nearly fell asleep in Corey’s car, and I could tell by the lazy way Jane flipped through one of her ever-present textbooks that she was also ready to collapse.

So I didn’t get the chance to dwell on my moment in the spotlight or to wonder what school would be like the next day. I just went into my room, slid into bed, and slept like the dead.

I woke up late.
Really
late. I thought groggily that I must have slept through my alarm clock as I raced around my room collecting textbooks, scattered papers, and homework while I pulled on my jeans.

I barged into the kitchen looking, to be honest, like hell. I’d forgotten to take off my makeup from the night before and now resembled a ghoul. My panicked frenzy had added a thin film of sweat to my pale face and tired, black-lined eyes. My mom didn’t comment on it though. She just sat at the breakfast table while I tried to grab a few raspberry Pop-Tarts to eat on the run.

“Oh, good,” she said calmly. “You’re up. Now, sit down and I’ll make you a real breakfast. We need to talk.”

“I can’t, Mom!” I said, feeling less like Alice in Wonderland and more like the White Rabbit. “I’m late!”

“I know that, sweetie. You’re going to be a little later. Now, sit.”

There’s no arguing with my mom when she knows what she wants. I sat.

“So how was the concert?” she asked as she pulled out eggs from the refrigerator.

I rubbed my eyes, smearing around more of the leftover mascara. “It was great, Mom.” And then because she was making real food for me, I elaborated. “We got to meet the band, and then Jane beat everyone on the Wii. I had a lot of fun.” Which was weird since celebrities are supposed to be like Notables on crack, not like … well, regular people.

“That sounds nice, honey.”

I eyed her suspiciously. My mom likes words of endearment but rarely does she use “sweetie” and “honey” back to back.

“Is there, um, something I should know?” I asked her.

“I was about to ask you the same question.” She placed some toast onto a plate. “You should open the paper, hun.”

Uh-oh. From “honey” to “hun.” Never a good sign.

I flipped over the daily paper and gawked. My picture looked back at me; my face was lined with concentration as I studied my textbook. One of my classmates must have been able to sell one of the shots that they had snapped during class. It was unnerving to see myself so unguarded.

But it was the newspaper headline that really got to me. It screamed:
The Exciting New Romance Between Mackenzie Wellesley and Timothy Goff!
Below that was a series of pictures, the first of which had me plastered against Tim as we sang into his mic. I instantly dove into the article.

Seventeen-year old Mackenzie Wellesley may have gone from lame to fame in less than a week because of a certain YouTube video, but she’s had no trouble adjusting to life in the fast lane … or becoming an item with the hottest musician on the charts. Last night at the Rose Garden in Portland, Mackenzie showed her flare for performance in a choreographed dance routine and a stunning vocal display. Despite being previously considered camera shy, this young ingénue appears ready to step into the spotlight with her new boyfriend. But has the attention already gone to her head? A close source who prefers to remain anonymous says, “Mackenzie is heading down a dangerous path. She’s only interested in Timothy Goff as a way to climb the social ladder. She’ll trade him in the way she’s been going through designer outfits.”

Ms. Wellesley certainly seems to have captured the interest of Mr. Goff. Just two days ago she was quoted saying, “What love life?” but this photograph paints a very different picture. The same inside source went on to say, “I think Mackenzie’s obvious boy-chasing tactics make her a very poor example for others. She’s only going to hurt Timothy Goff—and many other boys in the process. Her parents should have taught her the value of a little self-respect.”

The product of a broken home, Ms. Wellesley might find it best to reconnect with her father before the real reason that teen rock sensation Timothy Goff describes her as “awesome” is revealed. Perhaps her sensational singing wasn’t the only thing that got a standing ovation last night. Mr. Goff’s publicist chose not to confirm or deny their relationship at this time.

“Mom.” I could barely speak. “I didn’t. You know I’m not some kind of—of boy-crazy, social-climbing slut.” I rubbed my eyes again. “I can’t believe this. I’ve never been kissed, but I still have to assure everyone I’m not a skank who hooks up with rock stars.”

“Language, Mackenzie.” My mom doesn’t tolerate insults beyond a strict PG rating.

“Fine. You know that I’m not sexually promiscuous.”

She smiled and I felt some of my stomach knots unravel. My mom has a knack for calming me down. “Yes, I do. Honey, like it or not people are going to gossip. They’re going to lie and you need to ignore it. I raised a smart, independent young woman, and I don’t want you to let this upset you. Now, eat your eggs.”

I speared a mouthful. “Thanks, Mom.”

She joined me at the breakfast table and looked knowingly into my eyes. It’s almost spooky how well she can read me.

“I trust you with boys, Mackenzie. What we need to discuss is the last part of the article.”

I looked at her blankly. “The concert? Mom, it was an impromptu thing that only happened because Corey shoved me onstage.”

“Not that, although I wish I’d seen it. You’ve always had a lovely voice. You really shouldn’t have hidden during all your middle school choir performances… .”

“Then what was it?” I interrupted before she pushed me to join a community choir.

“The part about your father.”

I stiffened like I’d just been zapped with a taser. My mom and I don’t discuss my dad. Ever. Nothing there for us to discuss. As far as Dylan and I are concerned, he doesn’t exist. We all preferred it that way.

“What about it?”

“Honey, he … well, he called.”

The eggs that had been so delicious just a second earlier sank nastily in my stomach and thickened into cement. “He—he called you. When?”

“This morning. That’s why I turned off your alarm and let you sleep in.” She ran her hand soothingly down my hair in a gesture that was comforting and sweet. The same as she had done twelve years and five months ago when he’d walked out on us. I felt nauseated.

“Oh yeah.” I tried to say it coolly—like it was no big deal he’d contacted us beyond child care checks. “What’d he want?”

“He said”—my mom rose to clear the dishes, a nervous habit of hers that popped out when she was worried—“he wanted to talk to you.”

I let that soak in. “What about Dylan?”

My mom looked at me blankly. “What about him?”

And I guess that said it all. Of course my dad didn’t ask about Dylan. He wouldn’t have called if it weren’t for my newfound fame. That’s just the way he works.

I nodded. “So … that’s it. He just called and said … what? After twelve years he wants to chat?”

My mom twisted tense fingers. “He’s, um, concerned about the recent press.”

“Oh, I get it.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out now. “I can be a skank as long as he never reads about it in the paper.”

“Language, Mackenzie!”

“Seriously, Mom? Saying ‘sexually promiscuous’ doesn’t change anything!”

She stiffened, and I knew it was stupid for me to fight about her Language Policy.

“How we speak matters, Mackenzie. Now, I know you’re upset.” She reached out a hand to stroke my hair again. “And you don’t have to say a word to him. You are under no obligation whatsoever, but you had the right to know he called.”

I had to do something, so I poured myself a glass of orange juice and sat down in silence.

“Okay,” I said at last. “I’m not calling him back. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“Oh, honey.” She wrapped her arms around me and I let her hang on. She needed the physical contact as much as I did. She tilted my chin up to look into her eyes. “I worry about you. Your job is to be a kid. I see how hard you try to make everything perfect, and I wish you didn’t feel the need to do that.” She rubbed my shoulders. “It’s okay, on occasion, to take a mental health day. I won’t love you any less if your AP test score isn’t perfect.”