Mission (Un)Popular (20 page)

“Yes it does.”

“Oh my God. Guys. My face feels weird.”

“It looks okay.”

“No. It feels
really
weird.” Sarah ran into the bathroom. I glanced over at Em, but she was calmly tying her shoes.

“Ready to go?” she asked, and we both picked up our bags. We stopped outside the locker room for a minute to give this girl Amber directions to Em's house, and were just starting up the stairs to French class when Sarah J. came shoving her way through the crowd behind us. “Move,” she was ordering. “Get out of my way! Move!” she snapped at a group of eighth graders who were talking at the bottom of the stairs. It was overthe-top pushy, even for her. “You're dead, Margot,” she said. “I can't believe you did this. Just because I made fun of your ugly eyebrows this morning.” My heart started beating frantically. Obviously she knew what we'd done with her cell.

But Em didn't seem at all worried. “Ignore her,” she said, pulling at my sleeve.

I glanced over my shoulder at Sarah J., feeling almost bad for her. Her face was splotchy and red. At first I thought she must have been crying about her canceled date, but then I noticed that something else about her looked different.

“Oh my God,” I said. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

And that was about the last thing I remembered before I was suddenly falling backward. It was the same lurching, tidal-waves-in-your-stomach feeling you get on a roller coaster, but in slow motion. I remember looking for something to grab, but there were people between me and the banister. I remember the sharp edges of the stairs scraping against my thighs; noticing that somebody's shoelace was untied. And then, next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, looking straight up and listening to somebody scream.

A minute later, Em was standing over me, plus Ken and Gorgeous George and a bunch of eighth graders. And then Andrew appeared out of nowhere, squatting down beside me. And the next thing I knew after that, I was in his arms, watching the fluorescent lights of the hallway pass over my head.

I
KNOW IT'S DUMB, BUT WHEN
I was younger (okay, like six months ago), I used to have daydreams where I was in a forest. Oh, okay, what have I got to lose? It was an
enchanted
forest. Go ahead: laugh. Got it out of your system now?

Good.

I'd be wearing this tattered dress—because I was a poor peasant, out gathering berries or looking for pixies. That part didn't really matter. And then this werewolf, or bear, or magical lion (that part also didn't matter) suddenly leaped out and attacked me. And I passed out. And the next thing I knew, my eyes were fluttering open and this handsome prince (who looked exactly like Gorgeous George), would be brushing my straight, tangle-free hair back from my face. He'd pick me up carefully in his very strong arms and lift me onto the back of his shiny, black horse.

After that, the fantasy would usually jump to this incredible canopy bed all covered in satin blankets, where I'd be waking up. And after that it would somehow work out that the prince would kiss me and we'd fall in love. But I didn't get that far very often. I was mostly obsessed with the horse part.

I know there's feminism now, and women are strong and can take care of themselves, and it's really great. But you've got to admit, there's something romantic about being rescued by a guy with strong arms.

In theory, anyway. In real life, it wasn't romantic because, first of all, it was the wrong guy. Not to be picky, but in the fantasy the prince never smelled like BO. And then there was the fact that Manning is no enchanted forest. Oh, and they don't have satin canopy beds in the emergency room at Darling General.

I do have to admit riding in an ambulance was cool. And after they called my mom and we waited eons to get an X-ray, I got a cast—which was another thing I'd always wanted, except it was made of fiberglass and you can't get people to sign it (which is the whole point of wanting a cast in the first place). This one was shiny and blue, and itched like crazy. Also, my shinbone was broken. The doctor said it wasn't a bad break, but it felt like somebody was zapping an electric shock from my heel to my knee. Constantly. Still, even though I was in agony, and pretty zoned out on painkillers, I didn't lose sight of what was important.

“Can I still sleep over at Em's house on Saturday night?” I asked my mom as she backed the van out of a parking space at the hospital.

Her response was so annoyingly momlike: “Absolutely not, Margot. You've only got one leg, and there will be other sleepover parties.”

“Actually,” I corrected her, “I've got two legs.”

“Margot, don't be smart with me,” she answered, signaling left. She was obviously shaken up about the whole broken leg thing. “I just don't understand. Why do you think Sarah would have pushed you down the stairs on purpose?”

“Because something happened to her eyebrows.”

“What happened to them?” she asked.

“I don't know, they were blotchy. I only saw them for a second.”

“And what did that have to do with you?”

“Nothing, really.”

My mom gave me a concerned look. “I'm going to call Mrs. Vandanhoover as soon as we get home,” she said, pulling up to a stoplight and turning toward me. “I don't like the sound of the way things are going for you at school this year.”

It was almost too ironic for words. It was the first time in my entire educational history that things were actually going right for me, and
now
she was stepping in?

“Mom, please don't,” I said, letting my head fall back against the seat. I closed my eyes for a second and sort of mini fell asleep, jerking back to consciousness a second later. Everything outside the window was moving faster than usual and seemed sort of wavy and far away. It was probably why the pharmacist had strictly forbidden me to operate heavy machinery. Smart pharmacist. I could have done some serious damage with a bulldozer right about then. “I can totally handle this,” I said. “I lawn bowl girls like Sarah now.” It made perfect sense in my mind, but my mom gave me a strange look. And then I just put my head against the window and fell asleep for real. It had been a long day.

And an even longer night followed, filled with weird drug-induced dreams about talking horses doing basketball drills on roller skates. Obviously, on Thursday morning, going to school wasn't even an option. Normally I would have been happy-dancing (at least with my arms), but for once in my life I actually wanted to be there…so I could keep planning the party with Em.

Needless to say, I was pretty excited when she showed up right after school to tell me what I'd missed.

“I'll be in the front room doing Mrs. Scott's reading if you need anything, Margot,” Mom said, hovering in the living room door after showing Em in. Grandma Betty had taken the triplets out to the park so the house would be quiet.

“All right,” I answered, wishing she'd go away. I didn't like the accusing way she was looking at Em. When she'd talked on the phone with Mrs. Vandanhoover the day before, my mom had learned that there was an ongoing fight between me, Em, and Sarah J., involving a sandwich and some posters. She'd asked me for details, and I'd told her none of it was our fault, but still, Mom had made a point of saying, “I'm not too keen about that new friend of yours.”

As soon as she left, Em threw the October issue of
CosmoGirl
down on the table and bounced across the couch toward me. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“A little,” I said. It was the worst pain I'd ever experienced, but I didn't want Em to think I was a wimp.

“George was asking about you.” Em grinned.

Enduring the pain suddenly got easier. “He was?”

“He wanted to know if your leg was broken or just sprained. I think he was really worried.”

That settled it. I should have broken my leg ages ago. “And what's everyone else saying?”

“Well, Sarah's still totally denying that she pushed you. She told Vandanhoover you fell. Which is stupid. About eight people heard her say she wanted to kill you right before.”

“What happened to her eyebrows, exactly, anyway?”

“I put Nair in her face cream,” Em said, her jaw set. “Nobody calls me a liar and gets away with it. Seriously, you should see her. Her whole face is broken out in a rash, plus, most of one eyebrow is missing. She looks hilarious.”

I didn't say anything because I didn't want Em thinking I was going to tattle on her, but it seemed like a crazy thing to do. What if it had gotten in Sarah's eyes? She could have been blinded for life. It also seemed unfair that I was the one Sarah had attacked when I'd actually had nothing to do with the eyebrow thing.

“And did she find out what we wrote to Matt?”

“Yeah. He told her, but it's not like she can prove we sent it. Plus, now it's all true. Sarah's face is really too ugly to go to the movies.” She nudged one of my sisters' sticky sippy cups over on the coffee table to make room for her feet. “So, are you coming back to school tomorrow?”

“My mom says maybe Monday.”

“Well, what about the Anti-Pork Party? You'd better be there.”

“I don't think I can go,” I said, bracing myself for Em's anger. I was just barely holding back tears of disappointment. “My mom said no, so she's not going to drive me. And I can't exactly walk there.”

“Aren't there cabs in this city?” Em asked, like it was that simple. “Yeah.”

“Well, then. Call one.”

“Is it expensive?” I asked.

“I don't know. Ten dollars, maybe,” she answered. “Or fifteen. Just ask them when you call.” She made it sound so easy. A cab. Why hadn't I thought of that? Now all I had to do was find some money.

Just after Em left, I heard my mom at the front door finishing up with Mrs. Scott. “I still can't get over the last reading,” she was saying to my mom. “Remember how the judgment card came up and I said it didn't mean anything to me? Then, the next day, bam. A jury-duty notice in my mailbox.”

“Well, the cards work in mysterious ways,” Mom answered, laughing.

“You don't have to tell me twice. I'm heeding the warning of that four of pentacles. I'm going home right now to tell Carl we're donating that extra furniture to the homeless shelter. It's only by giving that we can receive.”

But while Mom and her cards might have been in the mood for doling out that kind of touchy-feely advice, she definitely wasn't practicing what she preached.

“Mom,” I said, as soon as she walked into the living room, “I need to talk to you. Erika's birthday is coming up in three weeks, and I really want to buy her a set of juggling pins. Can I have some money? Twenty dollars or something?”

“We'll see,” she said, in a way that didn't sound promising. She sat down in the wingback chair. “First, I need to talk to
you
. I'm really concerned about this feud between you, Em, and Sarah Jamieson.”

“Don't be. I can handle it.”

“Can you?” She glanced at my cast. “Because I'm not sure that any of you are working through it constructively.”

I sighed. “You don't understand, Mom. There's no ‘working through things constructively' with Sarah Jamieson. She's a horrible person. You know that. She's been making my life miserable since first grade. Remember the time she splashed green paint all over my backpack and I came home crying? That was just the beginning. Now that I'm friends with someone cool, like Em, she can't stand it. So she pushed me down the stairs.”

“Margot, I think we need to be careful about making accusations here. Sarah is saying she didn't do it. Are you certain that she pushed you?”

“Of course I'm certain. She was mad because Em and I actually started standing up for ourselves, by throwing the sandwich and things, and she hates it.”

“Margot, like I said before, I'm not sure how I feel about this new friend of yours. Em seems a little erratic.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm just saying, throwing a sandwich at someone is erratic.” If my mom thought making a few Dijon stains was erratic, she'd definitely be furious about the cell phone and eyebrow stuff, so I was thankful Em hadn't admitted any of it to Vandanhoover.

“It's not erratic,” I said. “It's hilarious.” My mom looked shocked. “It's hilarious because Sarah deserved it. You don't know how much she deserved it.”

Mom just looked sad now. “I don't think anyone deserves to be treated that way.”

“Oh yeah? Well, tell that to Sarah. She's the one who humiliates me, and lots of other kids, almost every day. She put up those posters, Mom, saying that me and Em are lesbian lovers.”

“You know there's nothing wrong with one woman loving another woman, right, Margot?”

I groaned. She was totally missing the point.
I
wasn't the one who was being homophobic.

“Of course I know that, Mom. But we're not actually lesbians. She just put up the posters to be mean, and to try to embarrass us. Plus, it's a lot of other things. She tells me almost every day that my eyebrows look retarded. Her friends make fun of me too, and she loves it. She whispers about fat kids behind their backs, and tall kids; any kids who are different. And she acts like she's so much better than everyone else.”

My mom sighed, then brightened a little. “I know, what if I call up Sarah's mother? I could invite them over for some nice herbal tea and a snack. Maybe we could talk this out. Get to the bottom of things once and for all.”

“Are you crazy?” I could just picture Sarah walking through our house, staring at the Goddess of Fertility painting, the cluttered kitchen and the messy shoe pile, storing up information to use against me at school. “Don't. Don't call her mom. I swear, if you call her, I'm never talking to you again.”

“I'm sorry, Margot. I have to speak with her,” Mom said. “It's what any responsible parent would do.”

Anger bubbled up inside me, and I struggled to push myself upright on my crutches. It was too much. “Since when are you ‘any responsible parent'?” My voice was shaking. “You think you're acting like a good mother by sticking your nose in, but you're not. Just let me deal with it, okay? You don't understand the first thing about what's going on at school. Since the triplets were born, you've been totally clueless about my life.” She just sat quietly, looking at her lap as I glared at her, hard. “If you invite Sarah and her mother over, you're just going to make things so much worse for me. In case you haven't noticed,” I said, my voice getting harsher by the second, “I can take care of myself. I always do. Also, I hate herbal tea. And right now I kind of hate
you
.” She didn't look up, and then I went down the hall, slamming my bedroom door behind me with my crutch.