Awkward (8 page)

“
I-I
have to go to school,” I said flatly. I squared my shoulders and walked straight to the kitchen to fix my mom’s coffee. The whole time I told myself that soon I’d be a regular teenager going to a normal high school outside Portland, Oregon. So what if my fifteen minutes of fame weren’t over yet? I could survive another fifteen.

Probably.

I played it cool. I handed my mom the mug and told her I needed her to drop me off at school. She sipped and nodded. But even though she never said, “Mackenzie, I don’t have time to play chauffeur!” I felt like crap. The last thing she needed was more stress in her life. I’d have to make it up to her with more than a cup of coffee. She downed her drink while I ran through my schedule, searching for time I could spend vacuuming, sweeping, and Windexing—after school, tutoring, and homework, but before dinner.

My mom’s eyes cleared with the coffee, sloughing off the gray mist that comes when she’s only half awake. I wish I had inherited my mom’s eyes, a clear blue, instead of my dad’s boring brown ones. Her flame red hair made me think of leprechauns dancing on gold.

“Let’s go, then,” she said.

There were no reporters lingering on our driveway or ankle deep in the lawn that was a continuous clump of weeds. Maybe the ReadySet thing wouldn’t be a big deal after all. That thought lasted until we pulled up to school.

It was like the day before … only a billion times worse.

“What the—”

I didn’t let my mom finish. If I looked at the veritable sea of reporters, I might lose my nerve. I opened the door to make a run for it. Five feet from the car I was swallowed up in the jumble of business suits, cameras, and sound equipment. I spun in circles, desperately looking for someone I knew—someone to help me. I was panicky, naïve, and unprepared. A microphone was thrown in my face, and I clutched it as I searched for my exit.

“Mackenzie, what size are you?”

“Are you a ReadySet fan?”

“Are you going to their concert Thursday night?”

“Um.”
Too many questions!
“Size, uh, twelve, I think? Yeah, I like ReadySet. Who doesn’t? But I don’t have tickets. It’s probably sold out.”

“Is it true you’re dating the lead singer, Timothy Goff?”

“I’ve, uh, never even met the guy.” I was tempted to just drop the microphone and bolt, but I was afraid of being charged for any damages.

“Mackenzie, what are you wearing?”

I looked down at myself uncertainly. “Um, jeans?”

“Do you have a favorite designer?”

I stared at the reporter in disbelief. She looked so polished in a dark blue silk blouse and tailored suit pants. And she was asking
me
about fashion.

“It’s from a garage sale,” I mumbled. “I don’t—”

But there was a whole new set of questions.

“Where do you want to go to college?”

“Who’s your favorite celebrity?”

“How does it feel to be ‘America’s Most Awkward Girl’?”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

I couldn’t process what I was hearing.

“I’m sorry,” I said politely. “Really. I know you guys are just trying to do your jobs, but I need to get to class. And you’re freaking me out.” I blushed and focused on the microphone. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “But you want one of the Notables, not me.” I could have bitten my tongue off at the slip. “I don’t do designer clothes. I’ll never afford them. And with AP tests, tutoring, and high school, I can’t deal with all this
attention
.” I made it sound like the plague. “So thanks for your time, but I need to go now.”

I was relieved to see a determined police officer wade her way through the cameras. She looked like a hero on a cop show, with her brisk, no-nonsense walk. She’d probably spent her career proving herself until she was the toughest cop in the area.

She snaked out an arm to grasp my shoulder as we headed for one of the buildings. “Ignore them,” she instructed me as reporters kept yelling, “Mackenzie, who are the Notables?” and “Is it hard living in a single-parent home?” I saw her nod as other police officers moved in to enforce a media perimeter. A quick glance over my shoulder told me the media weren’t finished with their interviews. A whole circle of reporters listened to the Evil Trio. From the corner of my eye, I saw Chelsea toss her hair into a cascade of gold down her back. She’d look like a goddess while I looked like a geek. Not for the first time I wished Chelsea was famous instead of me.

The policewoman kept her hand firmly clamped on my shoulder until I was safe from the paparazzi. Even inside the English building, she didn’t ditch me. She steered me over to the nearest drinking fountain.

“Drink,” she ordered. I obeyed her instinctively. My mouth must have become dry during my impromptu interview—something I’d failed to notice. Just like I hadn’t realized my hands were shaking like hummingbird wings.

“Feel better?” she asked, once I gulped my fill.

I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded.

“Good.” She looked at me appraisingly and then shook her head. I thought I caught pity in her eyes. “Next time: head down, shoulders back, no eye contact, no faltering, and you’ll be just fine. Now get to class.”

I was following her instructions when she called out, “Ms. Wellesley.”

I turned around.

“Good luck.”

She had no idea just how much I needed it.

T
here were eyes everywhere. No matter where I turned, I met half a dozen stares. Every single movement I made was analyzed—my nervous habit of tucking my brown hair behind my ears was documented. I could hear the persistent clicking of cell phone cameras, and I tried my hardest not to flinch, hide my face, or flee into the girls’ bathroom.

In all my time at Smith High School, I’d never felt more isolated and alone.

At least no one made fun of me anymore. The same jerk who had imitated me in a falsetto voice now eyed me speculatively without saying a word. I was definitely no longer an Invisible. It was like a new category had been created just for me: the Spectacle. Everyone observed but nobody spoke to me. Great.

Even Jane and Corey were affected. They pretended things were normal, but they were clearly rattled by this new level of visibility. Jane kept scanning the other lunch tables as if expecting an attack. Like some kid was going to scream, “ReadySet should have used
me
in their music video!” before opening fire on our table. Teenagers had done stupider things for worse reasons.

“So …” Corey said conversationally. “Are you going?”

I looked up from the muffin I was systematically mangling into a pile of crumbs. “Huh?”

“The ReadySet concert tomorrow. Are you going?”

“Are they playing nearby?” I asked blankly.

“Portland, Rose Garden, tomorrow night, seven-thirty.”

I glanced at Jane. She was still staring at the kids who were staring at us.

Great.

“O-kay,” I said slowly. “Cool. But even if it hasn’t sold out, I couldn’t afford a ticket.”

“I was hoping you could use your, er, connections to score us some seats.”

I nearly choked on my Diet Coke. “Connections? I don’t have any
connections
.”

“Since you’re in the music video, it’s only right that you are invited to the show.” He flashed his slightly wicked grin. “Maybe you could bring some friends who would
kill
to go to a ReadySet concert. Friends who wouldn’t mind driving into Portland for the show or footing the gas bill.”

“I get it,” I said, laughing. It’s pretty hard to be offended by Corey—maybe because his ploys are always so obvious. “I’ll let you know if anything turns up, I promise.”

He leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself. He was wearing a plaid shirt and skinny jeans that somehow didn’t look creepy on him, which was impressive since most guys can’t pull off the look. Corey jerked his head and his bangs swished to one side. Seriously, they
swished.
My hair never obeys me like that.

“What about you, Jane,” I asked. “Anything you want me to score?”

“What?” She jerked back into the conversation. “Sorry, I was distracted by the fact that
everyone in the school is staring at us!
”

“Look, there’s nothing I can do about the attention. A few days from now this will all be over.”

“In the meantime, have you considered hiring a stylist?”

Before I could answer Corey, Logan slid into an empty seat next to Jane. The cafeteria went silent before a hum of mass whispering began. Jane’s mouth dropped open, not attractively I might add, as she stared at him in shock. Notables are always a shock on the system. I felt like I’d just consumed another shot of caffeine.

Corey sat up in his chair but pretended as if a Notable visit was an everyday occurrence. I could practically hear Corey’s gaydar beeping, as he tried to decipher Logan’s sexuality. I was guessing straight since he’d been distracted by Chelsea’s cleavage, but I’ve got notoriously bad gaydar.

“Hey,” said Logan smoothly, as if eating a hamburger and fries with a pair of Invisibles and the Spectacle was no big deal.

“Um, hey,” I managed. Jane needed more time to untangle her tongue. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” He picked up a fry and turned to see everyone in the cafeteria watching the four of us. “That’s a little intense.”

“No, really?” I couldn’t help saying. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Corey elbowed me in the ribs, but Logan just grinned. Slowly Jane and Corey began to relax.

“So … has Alex given you any more trouble?” Logan asked casually.

This time I really smiled. The one time I’d seen Alex in the cafeteria he’d given me a wide berth. Just the way I wanted it.

“I guess my threat yesterday worked!” I elbowed Corey back, a little harder than necessary as payback. “Told you I could handle it.”

“Yeah, way to deliver an empty threat,” Jane said weakly.

“I could probably tell
Teen People
about him or something.” I considered it for a moment. “But I don’t think I’ve got the nerve.”

Corey paused midbite of his pizza. He can scarf down twice the amount of junk food I can and fit into size 4 skinny jeans. Boys and their stupid metabolisms. “He just better leave you alone, Mackenzie.”

Jane and Logan nodded in agreement—which was weird. Why would Logan Beckett care whether a football player harassed me? Unless … maybe he wanted more friends. But that couldn’t be it. He didn’t need Invisible friends—he probably had too many invites for keggers and parties already. Plus, I couldn’t picture him looking forward to a movie night with the three of us.

“How’s AP US going?” I asked him, to take the attention off me.

God, I’m a geek.

“I didn’t get what Helm was talking about today.”

“Well,” I said. “Remember in the chapter how …”

“Study session after school?” he interrupted. “I could use the extra time.”

“Um, sure.” The answer was automatic.

“Great,” Logan said simply. “I’ll meet you after class.” Then he turned to Corey and asked him something about Woodshop. While the two of them discussed cherrywood and sanding techniques, Jane and I carried on a nonverbal conversation.

A small shake of the head meant she couldn’t believe what was happening.

My answering shrug confirmed I didn’t get it either.

Then Jane flicked a glance at Logan before letting her eyes linger meaningfully at me.

I shook my head deliberately. I am so not Logan’s type, which is (of course) tall, willowy, blond, and generously endowed. That’s why he and Chelsea are obviously suited for each other. Just like I’m perfect for Patrick.

Jane raised an eyebrow, and it was a good thing the boys missed my derisive little snort.

The world’s social order would have to implode before Logan Beckett and I ever became an item. I couldn’t see that happening either.

I
didn’t know where I was supposed to meet him. He’d said “after class,” but that didn’t really tell me anything. I mean, was I supposed to stand outside AP Lit and wait for him to appear? I didn’t like that idea. I may fear the spotlight, but I am no Cinderella waiting around. I learned a long time ago that when you depend on people, they usually let you down. Not that I believed all guys wanted to make out with ballet instructors—I’m not that damaged. I just knew that the only person I could rely on was myself.

But none of that gave me any insight into where I should meet Logan … or what I should say to him.

“Hey, long time no see.”

Yeah, probably not.

“So that was an interesting meal.”

Not that either.

“Were you on something when you sat down at my table? Because hanging out with Invisibles is going to affect your social status. You get that, right?” Mental head slap.

I was still searching for a conversation starter when Logan appeared, looking as unconcerned as ever.

“Hey.” He smiled like I wasn’t just the pain-in-the-ass tutor he put up with to get his parents off his back. I wondered why he was meeting up with me in the first place. I had yet to really make a difference as his tutor.

However, a smile, even a fleeting one, was far from his standard disinterested shrug. Maybe he was looking for an in with Corey—we’d have to discuss his gaydar later.

“So about tutoring today … I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” He studied me. “Are you backing out?”

“No-o.” Mentally I was screaming,
Yes! The paparazzi might be waiting for me! Are you INSANE?

“Good.” He nodded his head toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

I hoped that the press wouldn’t be there. That they’d left before school ended like they’d done the day before. That we could walk over to his car without
Teen People
snapping photos of me in my ratty jeans and sweatshirt.

“So did you hear about—”

Logan never got the chance to finish his sentence. The paparazzi should have left. I mean, hello, I’d already said way too much. What were the vultures hoping for … another scene, maybe? I could practically see it:

ME: (blinded by the flashing of cameras) Wh-what?

REPORTER
ONE: Mackenzie, do you blame anyone for your fame?