Getting REVENGE on Lauren Wood (7 page)

She put a quick smear on and handed it back. We both looked at her in the mirror. She looked better; the shiny pink lip gloss gave her some color. Of course she was bound to look better without the snot bubble; everything else from there was a bonus.

“Thanks. I guess we’re back to being buddies, huh?”

I chewed my lip and tried to figure out how to explain things.

Brenda looked down. “Forget it. This is stupid.” She pushed open the bathroom door and left.

I considered going after her, but then I remembered. This was war. There are always risks of civilian casualities.

Chapter Eleven

I’d checked off establish popularity on my to-do list. Now it was time to move to stage two: active destruction.

I had done as much research as possible on Justin, Lauren’s boyfriend. I studied his Facebook page as if it held the secret to immortality. I had a piece of paper where I scribbled down every number I thought could be important to him and different combinations of those numbers: Lauren’s birthday, their anniversary, his football jersey number, the number of his favorite player on the Detroit Lions, his best track time, and his top score on Grand Theft Auto. I waited until math class was under way with a riveting lecture on the importance of polynomial algebraic functions, and then I raised my hand to request the hall pass.

The halls were empty. I stood outside Justin’s locker and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. Lincoln High lets you reset your locker combination to anything you like as long as you give the number to the janitor. I was counting on the idea that Justin
would pick something he could easily remember. He struck me as the kind of guy who doesn’t have a lot of spare storage space in his brain. I tried Lauren’s birthday first, nothing. Then their anniversary, nothing. I tapped my foot, thinking what my best chance would be. I’d only known the guy a couple of days. There were zillions of combinations of numbers he could’ve picked. I worried it would take all year to try them all, and my math teacher would have someone come looking for me long before then. I dialed in his birthday, hoping Justin was a keep-it-simple kind of guy. I spun the lock around, then said a small prayer, and pulled down. Nothing. Shit. In frustration, I yanked harder and then it clicked, popping open. It sounded really loud in the empty hallway and I flinched, waiting for classroom doors on either side to fly open with people pouring out to ask me what the hell I was doing, but nothing happened.

I pulled open the door and took a step back. Ick. At the bottom of Justin’s locker was a pile of gym clothing and football gear that smelled like he last washed them sometime around sophomore year. The odor waves were nearly visible to the naked eye. It was possible that there were a few lunch leftovers buried in there too. Something had a vague banana-past-its-prime smell to it. I held my breath and started rummaging around in his jacket pockets. Nothing.

Lincoln High forbids students from having cell phones in class. I was certain Justin would keep his in his locker like everyone else. I gave another quick look around. I didn’t have time to
do an archeological dig in the compost pile at the bottom of the locker. How did he manage to get so much stuff in here already? I reached my hand up and tried to feel around on the shelf, hoping that I wouldn’t grab a hold of anything too nasty since I couldn’t see what he had up there. I felt his keys, a tennis ball, and what I desperately hoped was not a jockstrap even though that’s what it felt like, and then—BINGO—his phone. I snatched it off the shelf and fought the urge to do a celebration dance. I snapped it open and dialed my own cell number, waited for the call to connect, and then hung up. I slid it back onto the shelf and shut the door.

I made it one step before I snapped back, nearly falling to the floor. It felt like someone had grabbed me around the neck. Shit. My scarf was shut in the locker.

I gave my scarf a tug, but it was caught. I could hear someone walking down the other hall. They were going to round the corner any second. I turned around the best that I could, given that the locker had me in a choke hold, and gave the scarf a yank. It didn’t budge an inch. I tried to figure out if I could lean against the door and look casual. Nope. My fingers flew over the lock, spinning in Justin’s birth date. It clicked open and I yanked my scarf out, shutting the door an instant before the janitor came around the corner. He looked at me with my hand on the lock and sweat pouring down my face.

“Wrong locker,” I said with a nervous laugh. “They all look alike from the outside. How’s a person supposed to tell which one is theirs?”

“They’re numbered.”

I looked at the lockers like I had never seen them before. “Well, look at that, they
are
numbered. That’s handy.”

The janitor gave me a look and kept going, pushing the AV trolley. I went back to Justin’s locker during biology, English, and study hall, and did the same thing, minus the whole getting-my-scarf-caught part. Karma was clearly on my side, because not once did anyone ever see me in his locker and the timing was perfect. When I went back to my locker at the end of the day there was a text message from Lauren letting me know they were meeting up at Bean There Done That after school. I also had a long list of calls from Justin’s phone. Perfect.

Chapter Twelve

Bean There was a classic Starbucks knockoff—squishy brown sofas pulled up close to a gas fireplace and clusters of scarred wooden tables with tiny bistro chairs scattered around. There were stacks of papers folded open to the entertainment and sports sections on all the windowsills, and the smell of coffee and high-calorie muffins floated through the air. The barista had his black hair tied back and a row of silver hoops marched in lockstep up the side of his ears. He called out the drinks in a singsong voice.

“One large capp-uchiiiiiiiiiii-no.” He slid the cup across the counter, confident that it wouldn’t go hurling off the edge, and I saw a harried-looking junior girl lunge to grab it before it could slide too far.

I found Lauren and the others at the back of the café. The tables in the back were up a small riser, just slightly higher than the rest of the café. Leave it to Lauren to find a stage wherever she
went. Lauren had her feet up on a chair to hold a space for me. Although other people were standing around waiting for tables, I noticed no one even tried to take the chair away from her. I watched them while I waited for my drink. The student body of Lincoln High wandered in and out of Bean There, acting as if it were a privilege to be able to see the great Lauren Wood sip her coffee. And Lauren knew it too. She laughed just a bit too loud and had all these exaggerated hand gestures so that even the folks at the far side of the café wouldn’t miss her performance.

“Medium, no foam, skinny, chai laaaaaaaaaaa-te!” I grabbed my drink and after a quick sip, gave the barista a salute with the cup. Always acknowledge perfection. I wove my way through the tables. When Lauren saw me she paused for a second before taking her feet off my chair, just long enough to emphasize what a favor she was bestowing on me. I flopped down and gave everyone a smile. Lauren looked over at my drink.

“Dairy?”

“Chai tea. Want some?” I pushed the drink in her direction, and she pulled back as if I were offering her a nice steaming cup of hemlock.

“I don’t touch dairy. It clogs up my vocal cords.” She shrugged as if this were a hardship she was used to enduring. “I’ve still got voice lessons tonight. I’m practicing my song for tryouts.”

“So you stick with plain black coffee then?”

“Hot water with lemon.”

I nodded and took a long sip of my throat-coating milky tea, fighting the urge to gargle it in front of her.

“Where did you get those boots?” Kyla asked, nearly falling to her knees when she noticed them.

I turned my foot from side to side so everyone could get a good look.

“I think I got them at one of the Manolo sample sales. All the designers in New York do these trunk sales and you can get amazing deals.” I bought them at a thrift store, but whatever. Lauren’s eyes looked down at them.

“I never liked Manolos. I think they’re a bit flashy,” Lauren said.

I shrugged. The only thing she didn’t like about Manolo shoes was that she didn’t own any.

“You can order some great shoes on Zappos online,” Kyla said.

“Yeah, but I hate to buy shoes without trying them on, especially when they’re expensive, you know?” I said, and we all nodded, acknowledging how it was less than ideal. I pulled my phone out and placed it on the table.

“Waiting for a call?” Bailey asked.

“Someone has been calling all day and hanging up, or worse, sort of breathing heavy. I swear to God, it’s driving me nuts. I want to catch it next time it goes off. It’s the same number so I know it’s the same guy.”

“Someone has a secret admirer,” Bailey said, and everyone laughed. “Do you know who it is?”

“No idea. On one message there was this ‘um … um,’ like he was trying to say something, but in the end he still hung up.”

“You should call him back and ask him if he’s worked up the balls to ask you out yet,” Kyla suggested.

“Here, give me your phone and I’ll call him,” Lauren said, snatching my phone off the table. “He might be cute, you never know. I’ll tell him you never talk dirty to someone who doesn’t speak up.”

“Woo!” cheered one of the sophomore boys sitting near us. “You can talk dirty to me anytime.” His friends high-fived him.

“In your dreams, Sutherland—you’re just a baby. I don’t do kiddie porn,” Lauren fired back, making everyone laugh.

Lauren flipped her hair and smiled. She looked down at the phone and I watched the blood drain out of her face when she recognized the number. Bailey and Kyla were still swapping comments with the sophomores and didn’t notice. Lauren started jabbing at my phone. Kyla yanked her chair closer to the table as if story hour were about to begin and she wanted to be right in the first row.

“So call him. We’re ready.”

“Don’t be a child, Kyla.” Lauren tossed the phone back down on the table. “I wouldn’t really call him. I don’t play games with people. God. Sometimes you act like you’re still in junior high.”

Kyla pulled back as if she had been slapped. Bailey looked
back and forth between Kyla and Lauren like a small kid watching her parents fight. I picked up the phone and looked at it.

“You deleted the number,” I said.

“What, you were going to call him?” Lauren asked.

I shrugged as if I couldn’t care less.

“We were just joking around,” Kyla said.

“Whatever. If you want to act like that, maybe you should start trolling the junior high so you can find a guy with your sense of humor.” Lauren’s chair legs squealed on the floor as she pushed away from the table too fast. “I gotta go. I’ve got to get to my voice lessons.” Lauren tossed her tote bag over her shoulder and left without another word.

“Whoa. Who peed in her cornflakes?” Kyla asked.

“She’s probably just getting nerves over the whole play thing,” Bailey said, looking out the window to watch Lauren walk away. “Tryouts always freak her out and this is her senior year, so the lead means the world to her.”

“It doesn’t mean she has to take my head off.” Kyla took a deep drink of her coffee and then winced from the heat. Her foot bounced up and down.

“Oh, you know she doesn’t mean it. Don’t be mad. Look, anyone want to share a muffin? I’m starving.” Bailey didn’t wait for us to answer and instead popped up and headed to the bakery case.

“For what it’s worth, you totally didn’t deserve that,” I said, once Bailey was out of range. Step two: divide and conquer.

“Oh, Bailey’s right. Lauren doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just sometimes, she’s … you know …”

“I know. A bunch of my friends in New York acted just like Lauren. I mean, they don’t call them drama queens for nothing.”

Kyla met my eyes with surprise, and then we both burst out laughing.

“Hey, what size shoe do you wear?” I asked, pointing at her feet.

“They’re huge aren’t they? They’re eight-and-a-halfs.”

“I have flipper feet too—curse of being tall. Do you want to borrow these boots? You can have them for the weekend if you want.”

“Are you serious? You would lend them to me?”

“Of course. They’re just boots. It’s not like I’m giving you a kidney or anything.”

I bent over to slide one off and passed it over. “Try it on and see if it fits.”

Kyla gave a squeal, kicking off her shoe and pulling on the boot. She held her foot out in front of her, turning it this way and that. Bailey came back with a muffin cut in three equal pieces. I had a suspicion Bailey would end up working as a nursery school teacher in the future.

“Check it out—Claire’s lending me her boots!”

“Oh my God, that’s so nice.”

I gave them both a smile. That was me. Nice.

Chapter Thirteen

Brenda called the next night. She’d used her buddy status to weasel my phone number out of the secretary. So much for privacy. She said she wanted to check in on me and make sure I was settling in okay. I admire tenacity in other people. However, I had my own project that required my focus. On the other hand, being nice to Brenda (at least when no one was watching) would balance out my own karma just in case my parents were right on that angle. I would destroy Lauren, but maybe if I built up Brenda, then in some way the whole thing evened out. I went ahead and accepted her invitation to come over.

Brenda’s room was painted an icy blue. Her bed was shoved off in the corner, and the bulk of the room was taken up with a large desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I stood in front of her closet, sliding the hangers back and forth, hoping for her sake that she was hiding the good stuff in the back.

“I dress more for comfort than style,” Brenda said, picking at her cuticle. I took a swipe at her hand.

“You don’t say. Did you buy every item of clothing you own from Eddie Bauer?”

“What’s wrong with Eddie Bauer?”

“Do you ever look at their catalogs?” I asked, and Brenda nodded. “When you look at the pictures do you notice a lot of hot people our age cavorting about?”