Cameo (8 page)

I bent down to wipe off my leg. I overheard a girl from my gym class talking to another girl. “Yeah, she's outside with him now. They've been gone for like twenty minutes,” she said.

“Oh, there he is. Do you think they, you know?” the other girl asked.

“Whatever happened to saving something for prom night?” the girl from gym class said. Apparently the girl from gym class was ticked off. I waited to see if the two girls were going to walk away so I could see who they were talking about. About sixty seconds passed before I realized that I didn't have all day. So I decided to show my face. They took one look at me and cleared out. If I would've known that, I would've saved myself a wasted minute.

Just then, I started to feel the burn of my three-inch stilettos. What I would've given for a pair of sneakers.

“I didn't know you'd be here,” Jason said.

“Maybe you should pretend I'm not,” I said. What if they were talking about …? “Jason! Don't grab me like that.” I couldn't even complete a thought with this guy around. He leaned in close to me from behind with his arm around my neck. It was much less of a grab and much more of a hold that he had on me. It had been so long I couldn't tell the difference.

“Let me know when we get to checkmate,” he whispered in my ear.

I took a deep breath and began to cough. I removed his arm from my neck. There was no telling where it had been. “Try again when you don't reek of fragrance.”

I only knew one girl who bathed in Undercover Starlet
^™
fragrance as if it were lotion for a dry skin problem. How dare he think he could play me that? “I actually started to believe that …” I laughed uneasily. “Give my regards to Carolina. No hard feelings. I'll consider this thing a cameo.” I shrugged it off and walked away.

“Nia,” he called out under his breath.

I pretended I didn't hear him. My body must have agreed with me too, because all of a sudden I found myself bouncing to the beat of the new song “Cameo.” The DJ must have been reading my mind.

He tapped me from behind. I was walking upstairs to retreat to the bathroom to do the usual—every party, I did the same thing. I spent ten minutes in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror and wondering why I was even at the party. I guess I could face him first, no?

“Seems they're playing our song,” I said.

“What? Why do you say that?”

“We're not really meant to be. I think you've found yourself a girlfriend,” I said.

“You think too much. She asked me to help her with her car. It wouldn't start or something.”

“Her car? Right! Did you give her a tune-up? I bet you checked under the hood.” Was I really pretending to be jealous of Carolina?

“Okay. She kissed me, but I told her I was talking to someone.” He said that last part under his breath.

“We don't have to talk about this. You could have any girl here. So, this is my shadow leaving the place.” I walked away from him, knowing he was probably telling the truth. I turned to him and
sang, “I guess you understand why we can't be. Thought it over and this is what came to me. You're my cameo lover. No need for another.” I blew him a kiss.

A few minutes later, my out-of-use cell phone had received its first text message all day. I opened the message: “Game on. Your cameo lover.”

I checked the sender, and it was private. This was the second private message I had gotten this week. I didn't even have Jason's number saved. I was confused. Jason didn't really seem to be secretive like this—he seemed like he would sign his name. Maybe I was just reading too much into this.

One month without a boyfriend, and I didn't know how to flirt. Yet, then again, when did flirting become borderline menacing? And there was still the question of who pulled the bathroom stunt. Who would work with Carolina and what would they get out of it? She was kind of pretty, but there was something about her that reminded me of a rat. I did once hear that her stepdad was loaded and that she had bribed her first boyfriend into staying with her an extra month by buying him a new pair of sneakers. Obviously she was about as deep as a puddle, so I could only imagine the type of guy that would fathom dating her.

I looked around the hallway inconspicuously. The farther down the hallway I went, this place felt more and more like one of those eerie fun houses. Did they have me on camera or something? My face was probably glaring with oil. Years ago, during a bout with acne I had used this infomercial stuff that was like steroids in a bottle, and since halting all use of that skin kit thing, my skin was like an oil slick two or three hours after washing my face. Better on the surface than in my pores, is what I told myself. But on camera, with a few editing tricks, I could quickly go from fresh-faced and dewy to greasy and gooey.

A frantic panic came over me. I asked some random girl in the hallway where the bathroom was. She pointed all the way to the end of the hall. Suddenly it seemed like I had been walking forever. That was when I stumbled upon Cindy and Peter.

Oh, gosh! I couldn't stop staring. It was so rude. They didn't seem to notice me between Peter taking off Cindy's cardigan, and Cindy wrapping her legs around him like he was the dreaded rope climb in gym class. She told me that she always wore layers to parties for this exact purpose—as she put it, guys liked to rip your clothes off, so a girl had to build up the anticipation by having more to take off. He clumsily opened the door and the two stumbled into his bedroom. I took a step forward, allowing my eyes to follow them in. They dropped to the floor about three feet shy of his huge king-size bed. His room was decorated like one of those sleek, modern hotel rooms with a brown suede headboard and dark blue curtains and sheets, and there was even a sofa and a fifty- or sixty-inch flat-screen. Yet there were no pictures on the walls or anything. A few soccer trophies, some staged lacrosse racquets … I guess that's what you called them. I didn't know what the game entailed, but I did know that lacrosse had been invented by Native Americans. Why was I thinking of this at a party? Probably because I'd rather be at home reading a book. In short, the room was nice but stale.

I felt relieved that I didn't live in one of these humongous farm houses with so much space one wouldn't know what to do with it. But the decorating was lovely. That was my mother's word: lovely. I continued down the hallway in search of a bathroom.

I knew Cindy was promiscuous. But she was my best friend. I looked at her as being in control of her dating life rather than submitting to pressure or doing it to be liked. She had a lot of strengths that made her really cool. Seeing her in action had me in shock, though. I just kept thinking that she barely knew him. It was, like, yesterday when he gave her his number. I wasn't one to sleep with every guy I fancied. In fact, I had only slept with one guy in my entire life.

“Entire life” is such a weighted phrase. Here's my disclaimer—I'd only reached puberty at age fourteen, and I believed a girl shouldn't have sex before seventeen. That was the magic number of maturity in my book. Although my friends said most girls lost it at sixteen.

This was not the time for a soliloquy. There wasn't a line at the bathroom, surprise, surprise. At these types of shindigs, there was always a long wait to use the restroom. It was beautiful, the bathroom. It had honed marble countertops, beautifully marble tiled floors, a steam shower, and a classic view of the ocean, though I guess anybody out in the ocean had a classic view of me too. Now this was definitely the type of bathroom I wanted to have built right next to my bedroom. I did the obligatory makeup check. I was so paranoid about people being able to see me that I turned out the light. I could still see with the moonlight.

After I used the swanky toilet, I realized there was a shadow of an animal on the floor right in front of the sink. It was either a bird or a squirrel—probably a bird, because it didn't have a tail from what I could see. The large window wrapped around the corner, so I peeked my head around the corner. Just how big was this bathroom? I found a complete mirror, vanity, and a huge spa tub. This bathroom was almost as big as the entire second floor of my house. Then I spotted the red cardinal perched on the window seat. That was weird. As long as he was alive, I was still safe. Dead birds were always harbingers of bad things to come. Before I turned to wash my hands, the red bird dropped off the cliff as if his wings had malfunctioned. If I wasn't such a germaphobe, I would've turned on the lights to ease my anxiety. But I hadn't washed my hands yet, and I hated spreading germs—which reminded me, the doorknob was probably full of germs anyway.

I finally washed and dried my hands. I used the same paper towel I dried my hands with to twist the door knob. That's when I realized this gold body glow stuff Cindy insisted I put on was all uneven. One spot looked like I had doused a whole bottle of the stuff on it. I could've skipped cleaning
it off with a paper towel and hand soap, but I did it anyway. Oddly, I could see two dusty, black tennis shoes standing right behind me.

Someone slapped a hand across my mouth. I stomped my foot on theirs. Then I yanked at the hand on my mouth. I looked at myself in the oversize mirror. And it freaked me out even more. Was this me under siege? This was like a bad action movie with me as the victim. How did I get here? The skinny arms were one clue. But once I shifted my focus from me, I realized the person was wearing mascara. Unless he was gay, this was a girl. I dug my nails into her arm. Oodles of anger and fear ripped through my veins. Who did she think she was? She looked skinny, but her grip on my face was insane. I kept pulling at her hand to get it off. I wasn't about to be ambushed by some cross-dressing stalker. If this was a representation of good and evil, the line was clear.

“Listen, don't scream.”

I tried to open my mouth to bite her hand, but it was a failed attempt. The pressure she had on my mouth prevented my lips from moving enough for me to bite. Then she tightened her grip on my jaw. I elbowed her in the stomach. That was the only thing I could remember from self-defense day in gym class. All year long, they teach you how to play volleyball, yet only one day was dedicated to what turned out to be most useful.

“Shit,” she said. She let go of my mouth.

I wailed, “Help!”

Suddenly it felt like a brick was being smashed against my intestines. My cries for help had dried up. I had been silenced by a karate chop in the stomach. Next thing I knew, she swung her foot underneath mine. I flew to the ground. You would've thought she had taken my self-defense class. I knew that move, so why didn't I use it?

“I am here to help you.”

If I wasn't ready to unload whatever drops were left in my bladder before those words, I was definitely ready to do so after them.

“Stay down, insolent. I am not trying to assault you.”

“You wouldn't assault me.”

I grabbed her ankle and yanked it toward me.

“Ahhh!” she screamed. Then she hit the floor with a loud thud. I reached for the door.

“I'm a whistleblower, if I may,” she said. She quickly jumped up and slammed the door. What was she, an acrobat?

“The time has come to blow the whistle,” she said. She sounded like a cross between a cheesy proverb and a fortune cookie.

“Come ON!” I threw my forearm into her stomach. That knocked her back a few paces. I opened the door again. “Help!” I yelled.

She slammed the door again.

“If you're here to help, then why don't you stay down?” I grabbed hold of her throat with my tightest grip. I didn't know what had come over me. What the hell was she doing walking into a locked bathroom dressed like a robber in a dark ski mask, oversize overalls, and black leather gloves?

“Get off me!” She dug her fingernails into my hand. Though she had gloves on, it felt like they were piercing my skin.

“No! Why don't you blow the whistle and do what you came here to do?” I asked.

“As if I had any concern with beating you up. There are worse things, many of which have already happened to you. Now, I only asked you to move your hand to give you a chance to get on my good side.”

I let go of her neck a little. I mean, I didn't intend to strangle her. This was getting a little too violent. She quickly pushed me into the door, grabbed my leg, and twisted it. Next thing I knew, I had flown off balance and landed face-down right into the floor.

“I'm a purple belt in karate! I'm going to tell you this in the hopes that you spread the word.” She laughed. “Should you share this with anyone, you will find yourself blacked out of the yearbook like you never existed. There are those of us who prefer it that way.”

I tried to push myself off the ground, only to be pinned down by her narrow foot.

“This started out as a freshman prank. An initiation into our house, if you will. But there is one who has taken this too far. She has watched you closely and has much to vindicate. She has heard you sing, as you might be aware. This is a warning. We are no longer involved in this.”

“And what does your house represent?”

“You will tell no one of this if you wish to be acknowledged as a part of the student body,” she said.

“Who heads this club?” I asked.

“You do not ask questions of me!” she said.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I yelled.

“You're so stupid.”

The person opened the door, and she shut it. “Do not come in. I am not dressed,” she said. Suddenly the light went out. Then she threw the door back. It slammed into my already pulsating foot that was jammed into a three-inch stiletto pump. I heard her run expediently down the hall. Then I heard a slam just outside the door.

“Say excuse me!”

It was Jane's voice. After peeling myself off the floor, I rushed out the door.

“What are you doing in there?” Jane asked.