Getting REVENGE on Lauren Wood (8 page)

“No.” She lifted her hand toward her mouth and saw me staring so she put it back down on the bedspread.

“Correct. You see pretty middle-aged women with good skin. Eddie Bauer’s target audience is the suburban mom who wants to look nice, but needs pants that don’t have to be ironed and repel stains. Eddie Bauer spends zillions of dollars on advertising. They’re telling you in their ads who they are trying to attract. It’s not the youth market.”

“I’m not the kind of person who wears skintight jeans and crop tops.”

I gave a sigh and sat down on the floor in front of her. “You are aware that there are options other than a khaki collection or slut wear?”

“I’ll keep it in mind if I ever decide to redo my wardrobe.”

“If you’re thinking redo, you should tackle your hair first.”

Both Brenda and I turned so we could see her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. Her hair seemed to come straight out of her head, giving her the overall appearance of a triangle.

“Where do you get your hair cut?”

“Supercuts at the mall.”

“Here’s some free advice. You don’t have to spend a lot of money to be popular, but you have to spend your money wisely. For example, don’t spend wads of cash on underwear. Most people won’t see it, and anyone who does will be trying to get you out of it so they won’t care. You can buy underwear at Target. However, your hair is a different story.”

“What makes you think I need advice on how to be popular?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s not about being popular, it’s about how to play the game.”

“I don’t care about that stuff.”

“Yes you do. Trust me. Everyone cares. Your hair is a giant billboard on your head. Your billboard is saying: ‘I’ve never heard of deep conditioner and I spend seven dollars on haircuts.’”

“They cost fourteen dollars.”

“Still not impressed. Toss me the phonebook and I’ll make you an appointment.”

“I hate fancy salons.”

“Tough. With your type of hair, you’ve got two options: You get a good cut and then use a straightening iron in the mornings and avoid damp weather conditions, or you get your hair cut in layers and let it curl up a little. Trust me, I understand bad hair. You should have seen mine before I did a major intervention on it. How much time do you spend on your hair in the mornings now?”

“I don’t know. I take a shower and stuff.”

“Basic hygiene doesn’t count. I think we should go with curly. It’ll be easier for you to keep up. And we need to lose some of the length, something fun and flirty.”

I made a call to the salon and asked to talk to the stylist directly. I described exactly the look I had in mind, as I could tell this was not the kind of thing to leave in the cuticle-chewed hands of Brenda.

She was looking into the mirror when I got off the phone, pondering her reflection.

“Look, popularity is a science. It’s not as shallow as it looks.”

“Really?” Brenda crossed her arms.

“Popularity is a mathematical formula based on desirability criteria. High schools are a classic anthropological case study, and getting people to respond in the way you want is psychology. All science. It’s just not the type of science that you’re used to.”

“I can’t figure you out. You don’t seem like the other popular girls I know.”

“God, I hope not. I’m shooting to have a bit more depth. Lauren is as shallow as a kid’s wading pool with a leak.”

“I don’t get it. If you don’t like her, why do you want to be her friend?”

“It’s complicated.” I looked at my watch. “I gotta go. You’ll get your hair done on the weekend and then you’ll see: science.”

As I bounced out of the house I felt my karma balance out with what I was going to do tomorrow.

Chapter Fourteen

Your parents sent you something,” my grandma said as I walked in the house. She was in the kitchen drinking a glass of wine and flipping through
Bon Appétit
. “Should we make a cake or something? There’s a recipe in here for turtle brownies.”

“Sure.” I sat down at the counter and opened the box from my folks. The box had large grease stains on it. Inside was a square of some type of baked good. It looked like it had twigs baked into it, and it weighed a zillion pounds. I gave it a sniff. It was hard to describe the smell, but the word “good” wasn’t even close to making the list.

“What is that?”

I looked at the note my parents included. “It’s a sugar-free high-fiber protein bar. It has fish oil in it.” We both looked down at the box.

“Who makes brownies out of salmon?”

“You want to make them out of turtles,” I countered.

My grandma laughed and then looked at the box again. “You going to eat that?”

“Are you going to make me?”

“I’m pretty sure that would count as child abuse. I’m too old to do prison time. Do me a favor and don’t put it in the kitchen garbage; take it directly to the garage. That’s the kind of smell that sticks around.” She started pulling things down from the kitchen cupboards. “You look mighty happy with yourself. I take it the whole going to school with Lauren thing is working out okay?”

“So far so good. I’m putting stage two of my revenge plan into place.”

My grandma looked at me over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised. “Revenge plan?”

“Yeah. Basically I’m going to ruin Lauren’s life, like she did mine.”

“Honey, she didn’t ruin your life.”

“She sure tried. High school is supposed to be the best time of my life and look at me. Do I look like I’m having the time of my life?”

“I never trust people who had the best time of their lives in high school. That’s not the point. If you haven’t done what you wanted with your life then it’s up to you to change it.”

“I’m working on changing it.”

“Sounds like you’re working on changing
her
life, not yours.”

I stood up, pushing the box from my parents away from me. The day had gone perfectly and now this.

“You were the one who gave me the idea. You said I should seize the opportunity.”

“I meant come back here and show them who’s boss. Prove to yourself that you’re fine. You’re pretty, you’re smart, and you have more artistic skill in your little finger than most people do in their whole bodies. I didn’t mean that you should go around trying to put some kind of half-baked revenge plan into place.”

“It’s not half-baked!” I yelled, and both my grandma and I took a step back in surprise at my voice.

“Okay.” My grandma wiped the already clean counters. “Look, sit down again for a minute.”

I sat down with my arms crossed.

“Maybe what I said when we talked about you moving out here got lost in translation. That’s the problem with doing all your deep talking on the phone.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Lauren is what my generation used to call ‘a real piece of work.’ She doesn’t deserve to polish your shoes, and I never knew what you saw in her. You can do much better in the friend department. I have no problem with you going back to school with a clean slate and a different name. I think it makes more sense than trying to deal with all that baggage, but the point of a clean slate is that it’s clean. If I knew you were going to drag all this mess with you, I wouldn’t have gone along with the plan of registering you under another name.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a hand and cut me off.

“You don’t have to like her. You don’t have to have anything to do with her, but trust me when I tell you that trying to hurt her isn’t going to do anything but hurt you.”

“You don’t think she deserves it?”

“I can think of few people who would deserve it more than she does, but that’s not the point. The point is whether you should be the avenging angel. People like her usually get what they’ve got coming.”

“What if they don’t?”

“There is usually more going on in people’s lives than we know. Maybe her life isn’t as good as you think.”

“She’s popular; she has friends and a boyfriend. She’s in the drama group and destined to star in the play. She’s captain of the cheerleading team. It’s not fair after what she did to me to get there.”

“You want revenge? Be happy. Live your life. Make some friends, good friends. Push your talents. Make yourself even better.”

“Fine.” I picked at the tape on the box and didn’t meet her eyes.

“One of the benefits of being an old lady is you get some perspective. I’m not trying to rain on your parade. If I thought destroying her would make you happy, then I’d jump right in and help out, but it won’t.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t say anything else, as I was pretty sure
that if I tried, I would start crying. Instead I pulled the long strip of tape off the greasy box and breathed slowly through my mouth.

“All right then. You get rid of that thing, and I’ll get the stuff together, and we’ll make ourselves some proper fish-free brownies. I think
Casablanca
is on TV tonight. Chocolate and Bogart, it doesn’t get better.”

I walked out to the garage and dumped the box into the trash. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate what my grandma was saying; it was just that I thought she was wrong. It could be better than chocolate and Bogart. I wasn’t giving up on the revenge plan. I was just getting started.

Chapter Fifteen

Brenda’s hand kept wandering up to touch her hair as if she expected to find it gone. The salon had done a great job. They cut her hair about six inches shorter, so it hung just below her ears with layers all over. With the length gone, her hair had bounced right up into great curly waves—it was a pixie cut with moxie. They put in a semipermanent color just a shade or two warmer than her own natural brown along with what must have been industrial conditioner designed to tame hair that had survived a nuclear blast. I’d also convinced her that wearing lip gloss and mascara would not put her at risk for looking like a Cover Girl dumping ground.

“Stop touching your hair,” I said as I paused to look at one of the window displays. Bailey hadn’t been kidding when she said this place was a fashion wasteland. It was one chain store after another.

“It’s pretty short.”

I turned to give her a look. “You cannot tell me that you don’t like it.”

She reached up to touch it again, tucking a small piece behind her ear. The corners of her mouth pulled up slightly. Then I saw it across the hall.

“That’s it, over there.” I dragged her by the arm behind me.

“This is a guy store.”

I pointed at the crisp, white shirt in the window. “One of those.”

“What’s wrong with the white shirt I already own?”

“Wrong style.” I wandered past her and into the store. I held the shirt out in front of her. “We’re going for an Audrey Hepburn–inspired look. You already own about six zillion capri pants, so that’s a start, and we’ll add a nice black skirt. You’ve got a great figure—why not use it? We’ll make some of your Eddie Bauer cardigan collection work until you can afford to replace them. You need a few men’s-style button-down shirts and ballet flats. That should give you enough to mix and match so you have stuff to wear. ”

“I don’t know.” Brenda looked at the shirt doubtfully.

“You’re supposed to trust me. Plus the shirt is half off,” I said, pointing at the hanger tag. “They are practically giving it away. The Hepburn look suits you. You have similar body types.”

“I don’t look anything like Audrey Hepburn.”

“That’s because you’re always hunched over. You have lousy posture. You never saw Audrey all hunched up. That reminds me of something else. We need to stop at Best Buy.”

“I already asked my dad to rent the movies you recommended. I don’t need to buy them.”

“First of all, watching Hepburn movies is not a chore, so stop making it sound like I’m making you do chemistry problems.”

“I like chemistry,” Brenda said.

“You’ll like Hepburn. She exudes charisma—that’s nature’s chemistry,” I said, extending my arms for drama.

“I know what charisma is.”

“Stop sounding so grumpy. What I want is for you to buy a yoga DVD. It will be good for your posture.”

“Yoga?” Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Trust me. Yoga leads to great posture. Now get the shirt.”

Brenda took the shirt and marched over to the cash register. If she decided against a career in the sciences she could consider the military with that gait. However, the hair alone was starting to make a difference. Her shoulders were back just a bit, and she looked into the clerk’s face instead of at the floor. Progress.

Brenda came back swinging her bag slightly, which for her was practically giddy girly behavior.

I linked arms with her and we headed out into the mall as if we were starring in
The Wizard of Oz
and the yellow brick road led to Best Buy. We were laughing when I saw the flying monkeys.

“Shit,” I said, stopping short and ducking into Claire’s behind an earring rack. Brenda took a few more steps forward before she realized I wasn’t next to her. She stood in the middle of the hallway looking around to see where I went. A few steps
away at the Baskin Robbins stood Kyla, Bailey, and Lauren.

“What are you looking at?” Kyla asked.

Brenda pointed to her own chest with a finger.

“Yeah, you,” Kyla said, pinning her in place with her words.

“Nothing. I was, uh …” Brenda looked around again.

“Great. All I need is people staring at me. Call the circus, my life is a freak show,” Lauren cried. A few people in the mall turned around to see the drama.

“Here, have a smoothie,” Bailey said, passing over a giant pink concoction.

“I might as well. What does it matter if I gain a thousand pounds? Then I can be fat and alone instead of just alone.”

“You guys will work it out,” Bailey said, stroking Lauren’s arm as if she were a prized Siamese kitten.

“He’s a dumb fuck if he doesn’t realize what an ass he’s being,” Kyla offered.

“Is everything okay?” Brenda asked.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Kyla said with a hand on her hip.

“She might as well know, because it’s going to be all over school on Monday. Justin and I broke up. It’s over!”

I nearly sucked in a pair of silver hoops. They broke up! Yes! The plan had worked. I would have done a celebration dance except for the fact I was hiding.