Getting REVENGE on Lauren Wood (13 page)

Brenda looked over at me. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just thinking you want to make sure your college apps are killer. Give yourself the best chance to get into the best schools.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Important to be well-rounded though too. They look at more than just grades, you know.” I shook my head knowingly.

Brenda pulled her chair back with a yank. “Not again.”

“What?”

“You’re bringing up the school play thing.”

I snapped my fingers as if the connection just came to me. “That’s brilliant! Being in the school play is exactly the kind of thing that can round out an application. Gives you an edge—shows you’ve got the artsy side and the science side.”

“Why do you want me to do this so badly?” Brenda asked. “What does it matter to you?”

“You’re amazing. You shouldn’t keep that kind of talent to yourself. It’s, like, criminal. Besides, it would be good for you.”

“Like eating broccoli.”

“No, like pushing yourself to try new things. Admit it, you like to sing, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t like being up in front of huge crowds of people, I don’t like being the center of attention, and when you round those things out with the fact that I haven’t done a single play in my entire life, it seems like maybe going out for the show isn’t the best plan ever.”

“That’s the very reason that you should do it.”

“How do you figure?”

“You think NASA wants astronauts who shy away from a challenge?” I pushed.

Brenda tapped her pencil and looked out the window.

“I wouldn’t know how to go about trying out even if I wanted to,” she admitted.

I scootched up closer. We had moved from no to logistics.

“You sing one song—I’d recommend something that shows your range—and then you do a short monologue. I can help you pick one out and practice.”

Brenda’s foot bounced up and down as she thought it over.

“You would help me learn the monologue?”

“Totally. Look at it this way: Worst case scenario, you don’t get a part. You don’t have a part now so, really, no big loss.”

“Except for the part where I could make a total ass of myself.”

“No guts, no glory.” I waited a few beats. “Captain Kirk would go for it.”

Brenda shot me a look. “Captain Kirk?”

“I can’t remember the name of the woman captain. Star Trek isn’t really my thing.”

“Captain Janeway,” Brenda said.

“There you go. Janeway would try out for the play.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What can I help you do, if you’re going to help me with this? What is it you want to do?”

“I’m really not holding out on you. I don’t know what I want.” I picked at the carpet. There was no way to explain that what I wanted was to make Lauren’s life miserable. More than miserable. I wanted her to think miserable would be a step up from where her life had sunk. I needed her to lose everything that mattered to her: her boyfriend, her friends, her popularity. She sold me out to get those things and I planned to take them back. I hadn’t really considered what I would do after that. It almost felt like if I had another goal, the universe would decide I was too greedy and not give me either thing I wanted.

“You must have some idea of what you want to do with your life long-term.”

“Not really.”

“So what are you going to do after graduation?” Brenda sounded shocked.

“I figure I’ll sort it out when I get to college.” I could see her eyes widen. “What, a lot of people don’t know what they want to do. College is meant to be a time of self-discovery and all that. Don’t you read the college catalogs?”

“Okay, forget it.”

“If you want to help me, you can help me pass biology.”

“Deal.” Brenda held out her hand to shake on it.

“So you’ll try out for the play?”

“Yes, I’ll try out.”

I jumped up and pumped my fists into the air. “Yes! Enough coloring cytoplasm. Let’s figure out a song for you to sing. Then
we can go online and find a good monologue, nothing too over the top. If you ask me, that’s where people go wrong. They get too dramatic. Understated will win them over every time.”

“Hey,” Brenda said, and I stopped pacing and planning to look at her. “I really appreciate this. You’re a good friend.” She gave me a warm smile.

And just like that, I went from feeling great to feeling like shit.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I started babysitting in seventh grade. Our next-door neighbor back then was Mrs. Kile. She had a son, Jordon, who was four. That kid was equal parts smart and destructive. He took their TV apart and blew the power grid for our whole neighborhood when he stuck something, no one knew what, into the power socket. It was clear that Jordon couldn’t be without constant supervision.

It started with his mom calling me to come over when she needed to get something done. I would hang out in their living room and keep Jordon from accidentally building a thermonuclear device using Legos and Pop Rocks. The Kiles always had Doritos or string cheese or those plastic pudding cups. I would have done it for the trans-fat snacks alone, but Mrs. Kile insisted on paying me. It was the first money I ever made on my own, unless you count my allowance, which I didn’t because it was so small.

There isn’t much to do in the summer in Terrace. If I made the mistake of complaining to my parents about being bored they would sign me up for some cheesy day camp and I’d spend the rest of the summer making “art” from nontoxic glue, yarn, and Popsicle sticks. Instead, I would head over to Lauren’s and we would hang out at the mall all day. The mall was air conditioned, frequently contained packs of other preteen kids, and had a food court. It was as close as we were going to get to an amusement park. We would go into the stores and talk in loud voices about how we had a very important party to go to and then try on the fancy cocktail dresses. The salesclerks hated us. Once we had tried everything on and eaten at least $10 worth of Dairy Queen we would go to Hudson’s Department Store and hang around the makeup counter.

Lauren had strong feelings about makeup. Her mom wore only Chanel cosmetics. She had lotions that were made from ground Peruvian berries, cost more than a small used car, and in theory would stop her aging. My mom, when she wore makeup at all, leaned toward some weird organic brand she bought at the health food store.

“This is the kind of lip gloss I want to get,” Lauren said one day the summer before her betrayal. She smoothed on a thin coat from the sample container on the display. The salesclerk, who wore a white coat like she was a doctor working in a research lab, not a peddler of eye shadow, didn’t even bother to help us. She leaned against the counter chewing her gum and
talking about her boyfriend to the perfume salesclerk across the aisle.

“It looks nice,” I said.

“It’s not just ‘nice.’ This lip gloss is made in Paris. Everyone knows that the French do the best lipstick.”

“They do?”

“Duh? Why do you think they call it French kissing?”

I wasn’t sure she was right, but I also wasn’t sure she was wrong. I took the tube from her and inspected it. I put a small bit on my pinky finger and smeared it across my lips just like Lauren had.

“How does it look on me?”

“Good. Try a darker color too.” Lauren pulled another sample off the display and passed it over to me. “My mom says that she won’t get it for me because she’s afraid I’ll lose it. As if.”

I didn’t say anything, but Lauren’s mom was right. Lauren was the only person I knew who traveled with her own personal black hole. She was always losing stuff.

I looked at the darker lip gloss on my face. It wasn’t me at all. Plus my mom would freak out if she saw me in it. She didn’t feel I should wear makeup at all until at least ninth grade.

“I think I’ll get a tube of lighter stuff,” I said, reaching for the display.

“That stuff costs $25 a tube,” Lauren said, her tone pointing out that this type of lip gloss was far from the three-for-the-price-of-two sales at Walgreens.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the money.” I pulled my babysitting cash out of my pocket. It lay on the counter sort of crumpled and damp-looking. Lauren looked at me and then down at the money. “I started babysitting for Ms. Kile,” I added, my chin thrusting up in a proud way.

“You really should get the darker shade. It goes better with your hair color.”

“I like the lighter one better.”

“Fine.” Lauren turned away with her arms crossed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong, but I was sure something was. Lauren has a PhD in pouting. No one pouts like her. She could teach lessons to toddlers.

“Are you mad I’m getting the lip gloss?”

“I just think it’s rude that you would get the color you know I want.”

“But you said your mom wouldn’t get it for you.”

“Well, that’s what she says now, but I would have talked her into it. She would have gotten it for me. Or I would have bought it myself.”

“You could get it too. What’s wrong with us having the same color?”

“Duh, Helen. If you don’t understand, then I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

“Forget it. I won’t get the lip gloss,” I said.

“No, go ahead. You want it. It doesn’t matter that I wanted it first, so just go ahead and do what you want.”

“No, I don’t want it anymore. I’ll get something else.” I hated when Lauren was mad at me. It would ruin the whole day. If she was really ticked, the cold shoulder could last all week. I jammed the money back in my pocket.

“No. Get it.” Lauren grabbed a tube of gloss from the display and practically tossed it at the salesclerk. “My friend wants to get this.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes she does.”

Now in addition to Lauren being annoyed with me, the salesclerk was too. “Do you want it or not?” the clerk asked, no doubt already counting down the minutes until summer ended and packs of kids stopped trolling the mall.

“We could share it,” I offered. “I can pay for it now, and then we can both use it.”

Lauren stopped and turned around so she was facing me. There was a hint of a thaw on her face.

“You would share it with me?”

“Of course. What are best friends for?”

Lauren gave a happy squeak. The clerk did her best to avoid rolling her eyes and wrapped up the tube in tissue before placing it in a tiny glossy shopping bag with the logo of the makeup company in thick, raised gold foil.

“I’ll carry it,” Lauren said, grabbing the bag as if she were
doing me a favor by carrying such a heavy item. We went straight to the ladies’ room and each applied a coat of the lip gloss and looked at each other very carefully in the mirror. Once we decided we were suitably fabulous we went back out into the mall. Lauren had a new bounce to her step, and she swung the bag to make sure it attracted the maximum amount of attention.

“It might be better if we kept the lip gloss at my place,” Lauren said.

“Why?”

“You know how your mom is. If she sees it she’ll have a fit. She’ll think you should have sent the money to some group that is saving whales or something stupid like that.”

“It’s not like I would tell her how much I spent on it. Besides, she pretty much stays out of my stuff.”

“Yeah, but whenever we go somewhere we almost always get ready at my place, so if the lip gloss is there, then we’ll have it. Otherwise you could forget.”

And just like that, it went from my lip gloss to hers. I was like a dad after a divorce with limited visitation rights. Of course the whole thing didn’t matter much since about three weeks later Lauren lost the tube of lip gloss altogether. She didn’t care as much. She had started babysitting too by that time and was earning her own money. She bought another tube, but there was never any discussion of us sharing it. Later, after the whole “incident,” I realized that Lauren did stuff like this all the time.
Turned situations around until I ended up apologizing for nothing at all and she ended up with whatever she wanted in the first place. At the time I had thought Lauren was just more sensitive than me, someone who needed to be treated carefully. Later I realized that she manipulated me and used me all along.

The situation with Brenda was completely different. I wasn’t using her. Okay, I was using her a bit, but it wasn’t like I was using her to get something for myself. She was being used to get justice, for the greater good. Besides, being in the play was going to benefit Brenda in the long-term. In some ways you could see it as me helping her, encouraging her to be all she can be and that kind of thing.

I lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. I wasn’t like Lauren. This situation was nothing like the stuff she used to do to me, the stuff she still pulled with Bailey and Kyla.

Even if it was a less-than-ideal situation, there wasn’t a choice. I hadn’t come this far to settle for merely giving Lauren greasy hair and torn jeans. It was time for her to pay.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bailey, Kyla, and I took Lauren out for dinner the night before auditions for good luck. Why we picked dinner was a mystery, as the list of things Lauren wouldn’t eat was a mile long. She had to avoid anything that might impact her voice or—God forbid—result in her looking bloated on the big day. It was clear she was nervous.

Unlike Lauren, I was really looking forward to the auditions. I couldn’t wait to see her face when Brenda started singing. I was going to have to fight the urge to break into song myself. “
Ding-dong
, the witch is dead …” Then there was the added bonus that I would have a chance to talk to Christopher again. I tried to keep the focus on getting closer to Christopher as a means of making sure he didn’t fall under Lauren’s spell. However, I was willing to admit that the idea of spending time with him was the best part of the revenge plan so far.

Lauren sat there picking at a salad that had anything that
might be considered tasty left off. It appeared to be nothing more than iceberg lettuce with lemon juice on top. I took a big bite of my cheeseburger and tossed it back with a slurp from my milkshake. Lauren glanced at me, disgusted. It was becoming clear that Lauren didn’t know quite what to do with me. Due to my nonstop scheming and strategic butt kissing, both Bailey and Kyla loved me. Everyone at school thought I was cosmopolitan and cool. Freshman girls copied how I wore my hair. Lauren was stuck with me. I was like a flea on her otherwise perfectly groomed lapdogs.