Mission (Un)Popular (28 page)

So
that
explained it, I thought miserably as I paid the cashier. Erika had a new friend. There was no reason for her to return my phone call, or the e-mail I'd sent her. She'd replaced me with trail-mix girl as easily as she'd replace a pair of too-tight pants, a pen that had run out of ink, or that ruffly thing on the bottom of her bed when her mom got her a new coordinating sheet set. Well fine, I thought as I pushed the shop door open angrily with one shoulder, accidentally bashing the bag with the spider plant into the glass and nearly dropping one crutch as I stumbled sideways. Fine. I didn't need her anymore anyway.

When we got home, my mom was coming into the kitchen, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. I set the bag with the plant down in the corner, where she wouldn't notice it right away. “Mom,” I said. “Can I talk to you?” She started gathering dishes and piling them in the sink.

“Sorry, Margot,” she said. “Connie McMaster will be here in five minutes, and you know how she always comes in through the kitchen. I need to get these dishes done.” Mrs. McMaster, the mayor's wife, was one of my mom's most high-profile clients. She always snuck in the kitchen door so no voters would spot her and think the new location of the landfill site was being partly decided by the Wheel of Fortune card.

“I just—”

“Is that jacket warm enough?” Mom interrupted, glancing at me critically as she started to run the water.

“Yes,” I lied. Obviously it was way too thin now that it was nearly October, but I wasn't going to switch to my puffy winter jacket until I had to.

She shook some water off her hands and pinched the fabric on my arm, leaving wet fingerprints behind. “Where's your Gore-Tex jacket?”

“I lost it.” I bit my lip, waiting.

“You lost it?”

“Well, not exactly. But I can't find it.” It was technically true. The last time I'd seen it was when Em threw it in the trash can. For all I knew, a homeless person might be wearing it.

“Well look for it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Margot.”

“I know,” I said, not looking her in the eye. Everything I said or did just seemed to make her mad, but I had to tell her one last thing. “By the way,” I said, bracing myself, “I have to do a group project for French tomorrow after school at a friend's house. So I can't babysit.”

“Tomorrow, Margot? You couldn't have given me a little more notice?” She was totally annoyed now.

“I only found out today!” I said.

“That's all right,” Grandma Betty called soothingly, overhearing our argument from the living room, where she was busy measuring the triplets for Halloween costumes. Through the door I could see my grandma wrapping the measuring tape around Aleene, just underneath her armpits, then trying to hold it steady while Aleene giggled and wiggled uncontrollably. “Let me babysit tomorrow. Grandma loves her girls.” She tickled Aleene on purpose now. “That way Margot can focus on her schoolwork.”

My mom sighed but didn't argue. “Leave the phone number where you'll be on the table,” she said. “And how are you going to get home?”

“I'll wait at my friend's house until Bryan's done with class,” I said.

Mom glanced at her watch. It looked like I'd lucked out again. She was definitely on the verge of a lecture, but Connie McMaster would be there any second to ask the cards whether she and the mayor should buy a new car or plan a ski vacation.

“Well, work it out with him, then.”

“I will.” I picked up the bag with the spider plant and went to hide it in my room. By the time I got back, my mom had gone into the front room and closed the door. Grandma was folding up her measuring tape.

“How's your leg, dear? Are you in much pain?” She pointed to the sofa. “Sit. I'll fix you some dinner.”

“My leg is okay. I can make dinner, Grandma.”

She waved the suggestion away like she was shooing a fly. “I've half a mind to speak to your mother.” She bent down stiffly, tidying up some books and toys on the floor. “Babysitting every day is too much for you right now. You need to focus on your recovery and your schoolwork.” She dumped an armload of toys into the bin and looked up. “Now, if you'll work that VCR, I'll go see about dinner.”

I didn't bother pointing out that it was actually a DVD player, and I also didn't protest about her making dinner. She was right. I wasn't even thirteen yet. Nobody else my age had to come home every single day after school to babysit for free.

Before Cruella De Vil's thugs had kidnapped their first puppy, Grandma Betty was back, balancing a tray with bowls on it. “Careful, girls, it's a little warm.” She handed them each a spoon.

“Thanks, Grandma. This is really good,” I said as I took my first bite. I recognized it as VTV Three-Bean Casserole, but I didn't complain.

She just gave me a quick smile. “Now, tell me. Why haven't I seen Erika these past few weeks?” she asked. “I guess she's busy.”

Grandma lowered her spoon. “Why don't you tell me what's really happening?”

I blew on a navy bean to cool it down. “She sort of hates me now.”

“Why would she hate you?” Grandma Betty turned, giving me her full attention.

“I told her I'd meet her somewhere and then I forgot to go.” It didn't sound so bad when I said it like that. “But then my new friend, Em, she kind of slammed the door in Erika's face. By accident.”

“Well, that's just a misunderstanding,” Grandma Betty said reasonably. “Why don't you call her up and explain that it slipped your mind and that Em didn't mean to slam the door?”

“I tried. She doesn't want to talk to me,” I answered. “I even saw her at the store today. She pretended I was invisible.”

My grandma looked deep in thought for a second. “I'm going to tell you a little story,” she said. “Do you remember your great-aunt Clara?” I nodded, even though I wasn't exactly certain. Was she was the one who lived in the Maritimes and sewed tea cozies shaped like boats? “Well, she was my sister.” Grandma explained. “We were close.” She put a hand on my knee. “Then just after Grandpa Button and I moved to Darling, our father died of lung cancer. A terrible disease. Clara was devastated. We both were. It happened so fast. But I was the oldest, so I had to be the strong one.” I understood completely. I always had to be the strong, responsible one with my sisters too.

“I went home and ordered the flowers, wrote the obituary, planned the service, made the finger sandwiches for the reception. And meanwhile, Clara just cried. At first I didn't mind.

She'd always been sensitive. But after a while I got impatient with her. I'd just lost my father too, but I was still putting one foot in front of the other.” I nodded, remembering again how she'd been so busy looking after me and my mom that she'd barely even cried when Grandpa Button died.

“And then the day of the burial…that was the last straw. The funeral home arranged two cars for the family. Clara and her husband rode in one, and Grandpa Button, your mother, and I were in the other. Well, when we got to the cemetery, Clara didn't get out of the car. Can you imagine? She was so caught up in her own drama that she didn't even bother. She had the driver let her husband out at the grave site and then drive her away. After all the arrangements I'd made, she didn't even have the decency to pay her last respects to the man who'd raised us.”

She slapped me lightly on the arm to make her point. I waited for the rest of the story, but she didn't go on. We watched the Dalmatians in silence for a few minutes. Finally, I had to ask.

“But you forgave her, right?”

“I'm glad you asked.” She paused to smile before she went on. “The next day when she called, she didn't apologize. Didn't even mention it.”

“So how did you finally make up?”

“We didn't. Not for a long time. I refused to take her calls. Before long, she gave up. They moved out east on account of Great-uncle Todd's business, and things being as they were, we lost touch for nearly twenty years.”

She paused as if to emphasize just how long twenty years was. “It wasn't until your aunty Corinne's wedding that I finally saw Clara again and told her what I thought of her insulting our father's memory. I asked her straight out, ‘What would make a person behave that way?' And do you know what she said?”

“What?” I asked.

“Bad egg salad.”

“Bad egg salad?”

“On the way to the cemetery, she'd developed a case of the runs.
Diarrhea
,” Grandma Betty whispered, in case I hadn't understood. “Well, you know how it is. She had to use the washroom right away. That was why she drove off. And when it was all said and done, she was too embarrassed to mention it. Then when I didn't return her phone calls, she assumed I was angry with her over something else. She couldn't even exactly remember what anymore.”

I laughed out loud, and Grandma did too.

“And it's funny. But it's also sad, isn't it? I lost out on twenty years of friendship with my sister for no good reason.” Grandma shook her head. “It's my biggest regret.”

She finished her casserole and slid her bowl onto the coffee table. “Margot, learn from an old lady's mistakes. Don't let a little bad egg salad come between you and Erika. Give her a call. Tell her what's in your heart.”

I nodded, but I knew I wasn't going to. It just wasn't that simple. Even if Erika—or Andrew, for that matter—would agree to talk to me, things could never be the same. Like Mike said, I'd screwed up. Big-time.

It wasn't until Grandma finally left for her apartment and I'd put the triplets to bed that I remembered the spider plant, still in its bag on my bedside table.

Maybe I couldn't fix my friendships with Erika and Andrew, but I could at least try to fix things with my mom. It was true that she expected a lot from me—probably too much. And I wished she hadn't called Sarah J.'s mother like that, but on the other hand, maybe she couldn't help herself. She might not be your typical lamp-shade-dusting, pot-roast-cooking, or business-suit-wearing mother, but deep down she was
still
a mother in the ways that counted. And maybe—I hated to admit this—sometimes she did the annoying things that she did because she loved me. I took a deep breath, peeled the cellophane off the bird card, and wrote the first words that came into my heart.

The Top Three Worst Things I've Ever Done (until I did what I did yesterday, which tops them all):

1. Stole a glazed ham
   
2. Ditched my former best friend Erika in a cemetery, and lied to my other friend, Andrew
   
3. Told my mother I hated her
   

Before I go any further, though—and before you judge me—I just want to say that I didn't wake up yesterday morning planning to do something terrible. It just happened. Like dominoes. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, the whole situation had come crashing down, out of control.

At lunch hour, probably because of the little talk she'd had during gym with Mrs. Martine, Em suddenly had “something to take care of” again. She disappeared when the bell rang, leaving me alone on the concrete ledge with Maggie and Joyce, who were discussing extremely important stuff.

“Whatever.”

“Oh, please. Whatever.”

“Okay. Margot will settle it for us. What do you like better? Watermelon or honey vanilla?”

“Honey vanilla, I guess,” I answered.

“Totally. Me too,” Maggie said, like it was amazing we had so much in common. “See?” She turned to Joyce.

“You guys are so clueless.” Joyce shook her head. “Watermelon lip gloss rocks.”

“Sucks,” Maggie said.

“Rocks,” Joyce corrected.

“Sucks,” Maggie said again. They probably would have been able to keep that fascinating argument going for ages, if Ken hadn't showed up and interrupted.

“Girls, girls, girls,” he said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Let me settle this for you.” He looked deep in thought for a second. “It rocks.”

Maggie cocked her head to one side. “You don't even know what we're talking about.”

Ken shrugged. “You guys seen George?” he asked.

We all shook our heads.

“How about Em?” When we shook our heads again, he nodded. “Oh,” he said, giving Maggie and Joyce a meaningful look. “Right.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I said, my heart skipping a beat. “Em's probably—” I was about to say “in the Student Support Office,” but caught myself just in time. “She's probably talking to her dad. She usually calls him at lunch.” I glanced at my watch. It was 12:45. Em was always back by then. I stood up. “I'm going to go look for her. Be right back.”

“Margot, I don't think you should,” Maggie said.

“Yeah, why don't you just wait here?” said Joyce.

There was something in their tones that made me know what was going on even before I stood up, ignoring their suggestions to just stay and hang out; even before I walked across the yard; even before I turned the corner and reached the little nook in the wall beside the stairs (where kids sometimes went for privacy); even before I saw it with my own eyes.

George was sitting with his back to the wall, his legs bent in front of him. Em was kneeling beside him, her fingers laced through his, leaning across his body to reach his lips. She was kissing him gently, tilting her head to one side. I felt my stomach drop. I don't know how long I stood there watching, frozen in place, but I do know I felt hot and dizzy and sick. And then I just turned on my crutches and started walking away as fast as I could. That was when she must have seen me.

“Margot!” Em called, but I didn't stop. I kept going until I reached the far end of the concrete ledge, where nobody was sitting, and nobody would see the tears streaming down my face. “Wait, Margot.” Em came across the yard breathlessly and sat down beside me. I focused my eyes straight ahead on a foursquare line drawn on the ground. I honestly had nothing to say to her.

“Okay, so you're pissed at me,” she started. “I get it.” It wasn't much of an apology. Not that it mattered. What I'd just seen was unforgivable. “I was going to tell you. It's not like I wanted you to find out like this.” I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand. The worst part was that I'd known it. I'd known all along I couldn't trust her, and I'd let it happen anyway.

“Margot, look.” She exhaled heavily. “I know you have a thing for him.
Everybody
knows. But he doesn't like you. Not like that. Look, I even asked him outright, that day you weren't here. He said he didn't think of you that way. You have to move on.” Did she actually think she was helping me to “move on”? Did she
honestly
believe she'd done me some kind of a favor by telling him I liked him and completely embarrassing me?

“It's over,” I said finally, in a low voice.

“What's over?”

“Our friendship. Don't talk to me. Don't pass me notes. Don't IM me. Don't even look at me.”

“Margot.” She grabbed my wrist tightly, but I shook my arm to get loose.

“You told me you didn't like him,” I said. “You said he wasn't your type, but you lied. You lied about everything.” There, I'd said it. I didn't even care if she burned my eyebrows off. I couldn't stand holding it in anymore. “I know you don't have a music agent for a dad. You're just making him up. You go to the Student Support Office at lunch because you got in trouble and you need counseling, and it wasn't just for skipping school.” She took all of this in calmly until I added my last accusation. “And I know you're the dog girl.”

“What?” she said. “Who told you about that?”

I didn't answer.

“Margot, who told you that?” she said sharply, but it wasn't working. She could get as mad at me as she wanted. I didn't care. I was
more
mad at her, and I had every right to be. “Okay, look. You can hate me for what you just saw,” she went on. “That's fine, but I'm begging you, please don't tell anyone about the dognapping. It's the whole reason my mom and I left New York. She'll kill me if anyone here finds out.” There was a pleading tone in her voice that I'd never heard before. I looked over, amazed to see actual tears in her eyes.

“I just did it because he's really my father. I
know
he is, but he won't admit to it. He can deny it all he wants, but I have proof. I found papers at home that said he was my mom's agent before I was born, and now he's saying he never even met her? So I had to make him confess. And I took really good care of his stupid dog after I kidnapped it. I even fed it this expensive dog food that was supposed to taste like lobster, even though I tried it, and it didn't.”

“Who's really your father?” I asked, totally confused. “You kidnapped a dog?”

She looked up, brushing away her tears. An expression of horror crossed her face. “You mean you
don't
know?”

“I just heard a teacher call you the dog girl, that's all,” I said.

“Oh great,” Em said, letting her head fall into her hands. “Well, I guess you pretty much know now anyway.” She opened her backpack and pulled out her binder, then slid a piece of newspaper out from a hidden pocket in one of her dividers and handed it to me.

There was a photo of a man in a business suit, holding a fluffy white dog with bows in its hair. I read on:

“Debbie swears my dad was this minor actor who played Dead Guy Number Two in an episode of
Destiny's World
, but I know she's lying and that this guy's blackmailing her, or something. Just look.” Em pointed to the picture at the top of the article. “We're identical.”

They
did
look alike. It was their noses and the shape of their mouths. I wasn't sure why I was supposed to care, though. If anything, it just made me angrier because it proved what I'd been suspecting for a while now: that she'd lied to me—and to everyone else—about everything.

“You're lucky,” Em went on. “At least you know who your dad is, even if you don't live with him. At least he cares about you. All my dad cares about are his rock star clients, his dumb blond wife, and his stupid dog.”

She was wrong, of course. All my real dad cared about was…well, I didn't even know. Radishes, maybe? Or falcons? He definitely didn't care about me. But that didn't mean I thought I had the right to go out and kidnap somebody's dog, lie about who I was, give out fake autographs, and steal my friend's crush.

Em took the article from me, folded it up carefully, and hid it away in her binder. “So, can I trust you?” she asked.

I stared straight at her without blinking. “Why should I do you any favors?”

More tears sprung to her eyes. “Because you're my best friend,” she said. Her shoulders started to shake. “I always meant to tell you the truth about this. I swear. From that very first time in the bathroom, when you told me about stealing the glazed ham…but I felt like too much of an idiot to say it out loud. I was going to tell you about George, too. I was going to do it today, even. I never wanted you to find out like this.”

I still couldn't look at her.

“Best friends don't let guys come between them, right?” she went on. Obviously untrue. “Right? Look, I told you, he's not even my type.” She could have fooled me, the way she'd been trying to inhale his lips. “I'll go break up with him. I'll do it right now if you want me to.”

Break up?
So they were actually going out? I dug my fingernails into my palms.

“It's just…” She let her hands fall heavily into her lap. “Margot, I don't have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, okay? I don't have a lot of friends. Not a lot of
real
friends. At my last school, my best friend ditched me, and everyone else started spreading rumors and whispering behind my back. I mean, I kidnapped a bichon frise.” She swirled her index finger near her right ear, which, don't quote me on this, I'm pretty sure is the official sign language word for I'm totally nuts.

“When that story came out in the tabloids and people in the industry were talking about it, Debbie was so embarrassed that she made us move here so she could lie low until it blew over. Now I have to have a social worker and a counselor who watch my every move. Plus, they made me go to that stupid self-esteem workshop. I thought I was losing everything. But then I met you, and you actually liked me and looked up to me.…What I'm trying to say is, don't throw our friendship away. Please?” Her voice had gotten so soft I could barely hear her.

“I know what I did with George was wrong,” she started again. “It just happened.…” She studied the ground, then took a deep breath and looked up. “But I'm going to make it right. I'm going to go over there and break up with him right now.” She stood up, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Em, wait,” I said.

I was still mad at her for kissing George, and furious that she'd been lying to me all this time. But I also couldn't help thinking how strange it was that we'd somehow found each other: the Hamburglar and the dognapper. In a way, it made perfect sense. Em wanted to pretend to be somebody she wasn't. So did I. Also, I couldn't help it—part of me felt sorry for her. She'd made a very dumb, idiotic mistake, and now she was paying for it, big-time. If anyone knew what that felt like, wouldn't it be me?

“Don't break up with him,” I said. “You're right. He doesn't like me anyway.” The words caught in my throat, but I knew they were true. “If he makes you happy…” Now it was my turn to trail off. I felt my eyes glaze over with tears. “You should be with him.”

She looked at me like she didn't believe what I was saying. Honestly, after devoting three years of my life to obsessing over him, I didn't believe I was saying it either. “I knew he liked you. He pretty much told me.” I paused, waiting to see if she'd be mad. “You said he wasn't your type, but I should have told you anyway. Maybe I haven't been the world's greatest friend either.”

She sat down on the ledge beside me, and we looked off in different directions. Something was bugging me, and I had to ask.

“If your dad isn't really an agent, how did you get the SubSonic single?”

“He
is
my dad,” Em said sternly, but then her tone softened. “I went to Collin Clarke's office pretending to be a new client. And I stole it when he went to the bathroom. I took an unreleased Punky Fish album too,” she said. “And the posters, and a whole pile of breath mints. I figured it was the least he owed me. He never even bought me a birthday present, or paid my mom child support.” We were both silent again for a minute, until we saw Ken coming toward us.

“You guys seen George?” he shouted. “Over here.” George waved and stood up, being careful to avoid making eye contact with either one of us.