What's Your Status? (30 page)

I headed out of the classroom behind Jimmy, thrilled to be free of Mr. Underwood for the weekend.

“Seriously, what is going on?” Jimmy asked, apparently not wanting to drop the subject of my mysterious status updates. “I can’t understand what tons of people are saying these days. Who is in this crew?”

“It’s nothing,” I demurred as we navigated our way down the hall. “It’s just a prom thing. I might actually need your help with it—you and Liz. I’ll let you know.”

“Sure,” he said. “But give me a hint. Is it something to do with that website everyone’s talking about?”

“Oh,” I said, figuring that he meant Save the Last Dance. “Not really. I mean, Mark got his date there, but—”

“Got his date there?” Jimmy repeated, frowning.

“Save the Last Dance,” I said. “The prom date website. Isn’t that what you meant?”

“No,” he said, still looking perplexed. “I meant Race to the Crown.”

“What’s that?” I asked. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “Everyone’s talking about it. And my money’s on Kittson.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, completely confused, as the final bell rang.

“See you tomorrow!” Jimmy yelled, dashing to his class and leaving me wondering what he was talking
about, and why nobody seemed to want to tell me about the new websites these days.

Thankfully, I had an open last period, so I headed to the prom committee classroom. Tanner was sitting outside it, playing drums on the door. “Hey,” I said. Tanner continued to play on, unawares, until I nudged him with my foot and he pulled his headphones off.

“Hey, Mad,” he said. “Did you hear that?” He twirled his sticks with a flourish, causing one to fly in the air and strike the top of his head on its way down.

“Yes,” I said. “And it was really…loud.”

“Thank you,” Tanner said, smiling and rubbing the top of his head.

“Did you get those song lists my boyfriend sent you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, stopping his roll on the door. “But I have to tell you, Mad, all these songs are lame. They’re, like, songs you hear on the radio.”

I felt immediately grateful to Nate, since that had been exactly what I’d wanted. “Good,” I said. “Tanner, that’s the point.”

“What?” he asked. “To have a lame prom?”

“No,” I said. “To have music that a lot of people will like. Not just Demon Puppets.”

“Murderous Marionettes,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“God,”
he muttered.

“In fact,” I said, “I think that a good rule of thumb is if you hate it, you should play it. That’s how you’ll know it’s a prom song.”

“Fine,” Tanner said. “Whatevs. I’m going to have to wear earplugs if you want me to play this stuff.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Just so long as the music keeps playing.”

“I don’t know if I’d call any of this music,” he said. “But if you change your mind, I still have the good playlist—the one with
real
music on it—on my iPod. Just in case, come Saturday, we need to get the party started.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

“And I was thinking,” he said, drumming again, “that if things get really lame, I can always bring my drum kit. Again, just in case. And then, when it’s necessary, I can just bust out a drumroll like so….” Tanner demonstrated on the carpeted hallway, which, thankfully, killed some of the effect.

“That’s great, Tanner,” I said, pulling open the prom classroom door. “Thanks. See you tomorrow!” I headed into the room, where Kittson was already waiting. I wasn’t sure if she also had an open, or had simply stopped going to classes so that she could devote all her attention to the prom. I thought it might be best if I didn’t ask.

We stuffed the favor bags for an hour. It was mindless work: Each gift bag got a light-up pen, a sparkly silver flash drive, a small photo frame, and a handful of confetti. As I assembled bag after bag, I couldn’t help wishing we’d just gone with candles and hired a real DJ instead.

When we finally finished, I followed Kittson out of the classroom, hitting the lights behind me on the way
out. I waved goodbye to Kittson as she got into Turtell’s car, which was waiting for her at the front entrance. Turtell honked and waved at me, and the two sped off. I headed to the junior parking lot, looking forward to my Nate date, feeling lighter than I had in days.

As I got closer to Judy, though, I saw someone standing next to it, waiting. Someone with a perfect ponytail. Someone who’d once been my best friend.

I forced myself to keep walking to my car, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what Ruth could be doing there. Had Dave called her or something?

She spotted me and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey,” she called. She sounded nervous, and she was playing with her gold
R
necklace, sliding the letter back and forth on the chain.

“Hi,” I said, walking over to the driver’s door and dropping my bag at my feet. I raised my eyebrows, hating once again how awkward things were between us. “What’s up?”

Ruth stuck her hands in her pockets and looked over her shoulder quickly. I followed her gaze, but there was nothing there—just the empty lacrosse field. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, her voice strained. Ruth looked tired, like she hadn’t slept in a while. I’d seen her during her worst phases of insomnia, but she’d never looked quite this worn-out.

“Okay,” I said cautiously.

“It’s about the prom,” she said.

Immediately, I felt my defenses go up. “Oh?” I asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m worried that there might be…something going on during it.”

I wondered who had talked to her. Or if she’d just been reading our status updates and had been able to guess this herself. “Why would you think that?” I asked, still trying to sound neutral. Beige. Switzerland.

“I’ve just heard some things,” she said. She looked at me. “Mad…I’m worried.”

I wondered if Jimmy had been talking. “It’s just rumor,” I said, trying for a breezy tone. “Nothing at all out of the ordinary is going to be happening at the prom.”

She stared at me and seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to say something. “I think there
is,
” she said finally. “And I think you need to be ready.”

“I’m fine,” I said firmly. “But, um, thanks for the heads-up.”

She nodded, and her shoulders slumped a little. “Okay,” she said. “Sure.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the tension between us palpable. I stared down at the keys in my hand. Dave’s comments kept replaying themselves in my head. If I’d been willing to forgive Schuyler,
should
I think about forgiving Ruth? But would it even make a difference? Would things between us ever go back to how they had been? I guessed there was only one way to find out. “Listen, Rue…” I started.

“I have to go,” she interrupted. I looked up and saw a coldness in her eyes that hadn’t been there moments before. “I have some stuff to do before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said, a little jarred by this change. But I supposed it was just par for the course with us these days. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

“You will.” She nodded. “Talk to you later.” The words lingered in the air for a moment, and it was almost like I could see them in a cartoon bubble. Two months ago, I would have replied, “Talk to you soon,” our habitual BFF goodbye. But we hadn’t said that to each other in a long time now. Ruth flushed slightly, as though she’d just realized what she’d said. “I mean, bye,” she added quickly, turning and walking across the parking lot.

“Bye,” I called to her retreating form. I unlocked Judy and got in, putting on the most upbeat Stockholm Syndrome song I could find for the drive home. I was determined not to let the encounter drag me down. Sure, it had been strange, and maybe there were rumors going around that something out of the ordinary was going to be happening at the prom. But with a crew of ten, somebody was bound to talk to someone. All would be fine. Probably. But in the meantime, I had a date with my boyfriend to get ready for.

As I walked through the kitchen, I saw that my mother was in full-on preparation mode, getting ready to leave for South Carolina in the morning. “Hey, Mom,” I said. I didn’t have time for small talk, but I also wanted to appear responsible and trustworthy, so that she wouldn’t change her mind at the last moment and hire a sitter.

“Hi, hon,” she said, looking up from the to-do list on her BlackBerry while simultaneously cleaning out the fridge. “How was school?”

I decided that honesty was not the best response to this question. “Oh, fine,” I said casually. “You know,” I added, very glad that she didn’t.

“Are you going out with Nate tonight?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. I looked at the microwave clock. “And I should actually get ready for that. He’ll be here before too long, so…”

“Well, then, go primp,” my mother said, smiling at me.

I smiled back at her. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Oh, and one more thing,” my mother called to me. I paused, foot hovering over the bottom step. “I stopped by Caitlin’s Closet to pick up your dress, but they didn’t have it. They said that your friend Isabel had picked it up earlier.”

CHAPTER 18

Song: Everything You Ever/Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

Quote: “It’s only words…unless they’re true.”

—David Mamet

mad_mac
wait, what? WHAT?!?!

I walked upstairs in a daze. I’d nodded dumbly when my mother had gone on about how she wanted to meet this new friend of mine, and how nice it was that I was making new friends, since it seemed like I hadn’t been spending much time with Ruth lately.

I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to process this. Isabel had stolen my dress? My phone, sitting next to me on the bed, began to ring. I picked it up and looked at the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the number, but it had a local area code.

“Hello,” I said numbly.

“Well, Madison,” the voice on the other end said, sounding very pleased with itself. After a second, I
recognized it as Isabel and felt my hand tighten on the phone. “How
are
you?”

“How did you get this number?” I asked.

“Oh, I have ways of getting lots of things,” she said airily. “Like your dress, for example. I gather that you found out about that. It’s just lovely.”

“How did you know I’d found out about that?” I asked, stunned. I wasn’t asking the questions I really wanted to ask—like why the hell she had done this—but I also wanted to know how she knew these things.

“Madison,” she said, her voice condescending, “you just updated your status.”

“And how do you know that?” I blurted. A second later, the answer hit me. “Are you following me on Status Q?”

“Of course I am,” she said. I blinked, stunned. It was one thing for Travis to follow me. But the thought that Isabel was reading my status updates made me feel…spied upon, almost. I tried to remember what I’d posted recently, and if any of my updates would give our plan away if she read them. “After all,” she continued, her voice losing its mocking edge and becoming harder. “I make it my business to keep track of the people who are trying to sabotage me.”

“Where’s my dress, Isabel?” I asked, slowly growing more furious.

“Where’s my prom date, Madison?” she snapped. “I know that you had a hand in that.”

“How?” I asked, wondering—on top of everything else—why she was talking to me. “Why are you even doing this to me? Isn’t it Schuyler that you have a problem with?”

“We both know Schuyler didn’t contrive to have my prom date dump me
two days
before the prom,” she said, and I could hear the anger in her voice now. “From everything I’ve heard, you’re the brains of the operation.”

“Heard from who?” I asked, genuinely baffled. Isabel didn’t respond right away, and I could have sworn I heard some muffled whispering in the background. I strained to hear. Was I on speakerphone?

“That’s irrelevant,” she said, but she sounded a little less sure than she had a moment earlier. “The point is, you can’t do something like that and not expect retaliation. I’m thinking I might cut up your dress and make…oh, a wrap out of it. Think that would work?”

“The only reason we did that to you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “is because you blackmailed Schuyler into giving you our crown. You can’t do something like
that
and not expect retaliation.”

“Fair enough,” Isabel said. “But anyway,” she added, smugness returning to her voice, “your little ploy to have me go dateless didn’t exactly work. I have another date already. And he’s
really
cute. He’s
British.
”

“Wow,” I said, trying to keep my voice expressionless. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “So just give up, Madison. I’ve got your crown. I’ve got your dress. I’ve got a date. I
won.
I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, she hung up. I closed my eyes, trying to think. Isabel had just stolen my prom dress. She was status-stalking me. I needed to talk to someone about this
immediately. I turned on my computer and waited for it to boot up, praying that Schuyler would be online. I knew that calling her was never the best way to achieve instant connection. But Schuyler was online, I saw with relief, and I iChatted her. A moment later, she was staring back at me, looking confused.