Getting REVENGE on Lauren Wood (5 page)

Cool:
Award yourself up to 10 points for exotic factors such as being from a cool place (large city, anywhere in Europe or Hollywood), knowing famous people, having a good car, being in a band (but not
the
band—wearing a uniform that makes you look like a hotel bellman is never cool), or demonstrating artistic ability.

I was going back to Lincoln High, but not as Helen Worthington. I was going to be remade into the destined-to-be-popular Claire Dantes.

I was named Helen after my mom’s great aunt. Ever notice you don’t meet a lot of Helens these days? That’s because it’s an old lady name. Thankfully, my middle name is Claire. My mom’s
maiden name was Dantes, and since I would be living with my grandma it made some sense to borrow it. My mom was ticked that I wanted to register for school under a different name. She said she didn’t feel it was necessary for me to hide myself like I was spending my senior year in the witness protection program, but I could tell she was just hurt that I didn’t want to use the name she had given me.

In the end my mom backed down. Either my grandma talked her into it or, more likely, the guilt of abandoning me kicked in. No matter the reason—I didn’t care—Helen Worthington ceased to exist. Claire Dantes officially registered at Lincoln High. Step one of the plan was in place.

Chapter Eight

It was my grandmother’s idea for me to skip the very first day of school. She pointed out the importance of making an entrance. On the first day everyone is hyperexcited, wearing their best new school clothes, squealing when they see people, like they had been separated by the war instead of the summer. She said if I started on the second day, more people would be likely to notice me.

It took everything I had not to skip into the building. My outfit was killer. My hair looked perfect. My plan—foolproof. I could tell just from people’s appraising glances as I walked down the hall that I could count on being recognized as destined for popularity before the day was over. I was so excited to finally be doing something versus just thinking about it. I couldn’t believe that I had ever hesitated to move back to Terrace. Thank you, universe. I sat in the office waiting for the secretary to give me my locker combination, my foot tapping on the floor.

“Okay, here we go,” the secretary said, with that fake cheery voice people use for small kids and the demented elderly. I took the locker combination out of her hand and started to turn. “Wait a minute. Your buddy isn’t here.”

“Buddy?”

“We provide a buddy to all new students here at Lincoln. She’ll make sure you find your classrooms, introduce you to people, and help you feel at home,” the secretary said in the same singsong voice.

“You know, I think I’m fine, so I don’t need a buddy, but thanks anyway.”

“Oh, here she is now. Brenda, this is Claire. You’ve lucked out, Claire. Brenda is one of our star students here at Lincoln.”

Brenda may have been a star student, but I was willing to bet she wasn’t popular. Her hair had no layers and came down at an angle, making her head look like a fuzzy, brown Christmas tree. She didn’t wear any makeup, and her glasses made her eyes look buggy. She dressed like she borrowed her clothes from a frumpy elderly librarian who had a fetish for the color beige. I had a sneaking suspicion her favorite show was something like
NOVA
or another PBS series. I’m sure Brenda was a lovely person, but she was going to be a big barrier to my popularity project. I needed to ditch her ASAP.

“Here you go!” The secretary stuck a name badge with bright red letters on my shirt:
hi! my name is claire and today’s my first day!
Brenda was wearing a badge that proudly declared:
lincoln
high buddy! say hi to my new friend, claire!
I stared down at the label on my boob as if some type of disgusting insect had landed there. “You have a great day now,” the secretary chirped.

I followed Brenda out of the office. She didn’t seem to mind the giant name tag at all. Maybe she thought it was an accessory—fashion didn’t appear to be her thing.

“Your locker is down this way,” Brenda said as she took off down the hallway. She walked as if she were heading into a windstorm, head down, shoulders squared, her torso thrust slightly forward. She plowed through the crowds of students, a woman on a mission. While she walked, her hands made spastic gestures as she pointed out different things and offered advice: “The gym is down that way. There are water fountains in every wing and also bathrooms. Cell phones aren’t allowed in class, so if you have one, you should leave it in your locker. The only class we have together is biology. Do you like science?”

“I guess,” I mumbled, trying to look like I wasn’t actually with her.

Brenda stopped suddenly and I nearly slammed into her back.

“It’s my absolute favorite subject,” she stated as if she thought I was going to argue with her, maybe debate the merits of science versus English lit. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t know. Art, I guess.”

Brenda’s eyebrows scrunched together. I should point out that her eyebrows didn’t have far to go to meet in the middle.
I suspected she didn’t consider art to be a real subject. When I didn’t say anything else, she headed back down the hall.

Brenda stopped in front of my locker and then stood to the side as if she were my Secret Service agent, prepared to take a bullet for me. Nice girl, but Brenda had to go.

“You know, I appreciate your helping me find my locker and all, but I don’t need a buddy.”

“The buddy code says that we stick with you for your first week. We give you a tour, make sure you find your classes, help you meet all your teachers, introduce you to our friends, and eat with you at lunch.” She ticked each item off on her fingers.

“There’s a code?”

“I don’t want to get into trouble or anything.”

“You’re not a big rule breaker, are you, Brenda?”

“No, not really.”

“Here’s the thing—I think I’ll do better on my own.” Brenda’s eyes widened. I suddenly had the feeling that when she got the call about me coming to town and her chance to be a buddy, it had been the most exciting thing to happen to her in months. “I mean it’s not you; it’s totally me. I’m the independent type. I’m not really a buddy kind of person.” She had no idea how true it was that being buddies didn’t come easy to me.

“It’s not just the buddy code. I’m also hoping to put this on my transcript so I can show some community service activities. The problem is, we don’t get a lot of new students, so if I don’t
get to help you, then I can’t really put it on my applications.”

Great, now I was standing between Brenda and her college dreams. Why couldn’t she feed the homeless or something? There must be a diseased kitten farm or something where she could volunteer.

“Okay, look, you can show me around and stuff, but we don’t need to do the full buddy program thing. Like the name tags, for example.”

“You don’t like the name tags?” Brenda fingered the edge of her tag.

“No. I hate name tags. It feels like a label. I hate to label people. Isn’t part of the buddy code making sure I feel at home?” Brenda nodded. “I don’t feel at home in a name tag.”

“I guess we could get rid of them.”

I ripped the tag off my shirt, crumpled it, and tossed it into my locker. Brenda looked around as if she expected a SWAT team to come and take me down for name tag violations. I pointed at her chest and the offending tag. She sighed and pulled it off. The morning bell gave its first warning.

“Okay, I should get going. I’ve got French.” I dumped a few things in my locker, slammed it shut, and started to head off. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait a minute. How do you know where to go?”

I stopped short. Shit. This was supposed to be my first time in the building. The revenge plan wasn’t going to go very well if I couldn’t even fool buddy Brenda.

“Just a guess. It felt like French would be that way.” I motioned vaguely down the hall.

“Well, you guessed right.” Brenda looked like she wasn’t sure if she should believe me or not. “Do you want me to walk you down there?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“So, I’ll see you later?”

“You bet, buddy!” I gave her what I hoped was a friendly smile and started down the hall. I shot a look behind me and noticed that she was still watching me. What kind of person volunteers to show new people around? With any luck she would settle for giving me a quick tour and then go back to hanging out with her own friends, who no doubt included the president of the chess club.

I slipped into the classroom and gave a quick look around. At the back of the room sat Bailey and Kyla. I recognized them from Lauren’s Facebook page as two of her best friends. Of course their matching blue and white cheerleader skirts were also a giveaway. Cheerleader outfits are like gang colors, a sure way to identify who belongs and who doesn’t. I didn’t talk to anyone, just sat down in an empty desk and stared straight ahead. I had practiced this cool and aloof expression in the mirror until it was perfect. I was wearing a vintage lace shirt under a short black jacket with slim black pants. I’d used a skinny plaid men’s tie as a belt. I’d done my best to modify my wardrobe to ride the line between edgy and popular. I peeked
down to make sure there wasn’t any sticky glue from the name tag still on my shirt.

“
Bonjour
, everyone,” Mrs. Charles said tapping on her desk for attention. She looked over at me with a smile. “We have a new student joining our Lincoln High family. I’m sure everyone will welcome”—she paused to look down at her class register—“Claire Dantes. It says you’re from New York City. This must be quite the change for you.”

I heard people in the room perk up, just as I knew they would. Someone from New York was infinitely cooler than someone who moved from Wisconsin or North Dakota. Granted, we hadn’t lived right in the city, but it was close enough. Plus, I didn’t plan to mention that we lived in the ’burbs. I gave Mrs. Charles a smile.

“This is senior French. We can test you later to see how what you learned in your old school compares to here, but I’m sure the students here can help you if you need anything.”

“Merci, Madame Charles. J’attends avec impatience vraiment cette classe.”
I looked out over the room.
“J’ai hâte aussi de recontrer tout le monde.”

Mrs. Charles’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“You speak lovely,” she sputtered, looking down at her class notes as if there would be some additional information there, like that I was secretly a French exchange student or former Bond girl.

“My family spends our summers in France,” I said with a
shrug. This was not technically true, but we did spend two weeks there one summer. My dad was fluent, and he and I used to practice by speaking French at dinner. I was willing to bet my French was better than Mrs. Charles’s. Besides, summering in France was worth several bonus points on my Popularity Scale with a triple bonus score for being fluent in a cool language.

“You spend your summers in Paris?” Bailey asked, leaning forward on her seat.

“Usually just a few days at the beginning and the end of the trip. You know how it is; Paris is so hot and gross in the summer,” I said. Bailey nodded. “We spend most of our time on the Riviera.” I gave Bailey and Kyla a smile and turned around so they couldn’t see me rubbing my hands together in evil glee.

When class was over I took my time getting my stuff together. As expected, Bailey and Kyla were waiting for me by the door. I tossed my purse over my shoulder, making sure they got a good look.

“Is that a Fendi bag?” Kyla said, eyeing it as if it were sirloin and she was starving.

I spun the bag around and looked at it as if I was noticing it for the first time.

“This? Oh yeah. I got it in New York.” I left off the part where I bought it as a knockoff from a street vendor. Let her think I had a few spare thousands to spend on handbags, and that it was the real thing.

“It’s gorgeous!” Bailey cooed, running her finger down the side of the bag like it were a baby’s cheek.

“Thanks.”

“I like your whole outfit,” Kyla said.

“London flea market,” I tossed off casually.

“You’re going to hate shopping here. There’s, like, nothing but a total fashion wasteland out here,” Bailey offered sadly.

“It’s just a year. I’m moving right after graduation.”

“Back to New York?”

“Probably, or I’ll take a year and backpack through Europe.”

Bailey and Kyla looked at each other. I had the feeling they were planning on being roomies at Michigan State, then being the maid of honor in each other’s wedding, and most likely would buy houses on the same block. Even though this is what they wanted, they
wanted
to want something else.

“Do you have first or second lunch?” Bailey asked.

“First.”

“Awesome. We usually sit over by the windows. Come find us and we’ll introduce you to everyone.”

I felt a smile slide across my face. It was even easier than I’d hoped.

“Why, that would be just great.”

Chapter Nine

I felt nauseated as soon as I walked into the cafeteria, and not just because of the way it smelled. This would be the first time I saw Lauren. Although I was pretty sure my former BFF wouldn’t recognize me, I still wondered. We certainly had enough past history. We spent thousands of nights at each other’s houses as kids. Her family took me with them on summer vacations. We knew all of each other’s secrets. I felt like she should know me even if I looked completely different, and yet at the same time I was counting on her not recognizing me.

The cafeteria at Lincoln High was a mini–solar system of popularity. The most popular kids sat by the windows near the fresh air and light. Even the tables and chairs were nicer in that section. Circling out from there were the hangers-on, the second tier, those who didn’t set the trends, but who were the first to carry them out. Then the third tier, those who weren’t popular, but weren’t unpopular either. And in the final ring, the
untouchables, the geeks, the dorks, the stoners, and the losers. Everyone knew their places as well as if there were assigned seats or name cards.