P.S. I Loathe You, page 5
“. . . The rest of the cast list will be posted outside the auditorium after lunch,” Alicia continued. “Now on to sports. Tomahawks captain Derringt—I mean, Derrick Harrington—” She giggled. “—injured his foot in an unfortunate incident that involved a tree and gravity. He’s been benched until he’s made a full recovery. Soccer tryouts to fill his position will take place Friday after school. Now on to parents night . . .”
“Dempsey!” Kristen turned around and blurt-smacked his hand. “You should totally do it.”
“Me?” Dempsey chuckled.
“Him?” Massie leaned forward, smacked the table, and gasped.
Kristen leaned toward her. “He’s ah-mazing,” she explained. “I saw him play last night and—”
“I was just messing around. I can’t—”
“That’s right—he can’t.” Layne nudged Kristen. “Rehearsals for Wizard of Claus start tonight. Re-mem-beeeer?”
“Yeah, but he’s really good and our school needs—”
“But Dempsey’s not into soccer,” Massie insisted. “And we’re over watching soccer games after school, re-mem-ber? We’re into the arts.” She looked beside her, hoping Claire might back her up, but she was giggle-texting Cam, which was even more annoying than this conversation.
“Dude, if you’re that good, maybe you should try out.” Derrington adjusted the green brim on his visor. “Maybe that’s what the angel’s try’na tell you.”
“Ya think?” Dempsey cocked his head, considering this.
“What about the play?” Layne whined.
“It’s not like I’m going to make it,” he assured her. “I’m just gonna try out. You know, for fun.”
“But you will make it.” Kristen’s pale cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I know it.”
“If you’re that good, you have to do it,” Derrington urged. “The team needs you.”
“Okay.” Dempsey shrugged. “I guess I could try soccer for a few weeks. To honor the African orphans.” He beamed.
“Madonna will be so proud,” Dylan blurted from across the table.
“Seriously?” Layne stomped her metallic gold Converse high-top. “You’re quitting the show?”
“Why not?” Dempsey shrugged. “I’ll do the play next semester.”
“Sellout!” Layne crumpled up her chip bag, whipped it at his neck, then took off in a huff, bashing into unsuspecting students as she zigzagged through the maze of bamboo tables.
“Wait!” Dempsey called after her.
“Don’t let her bring you down.” Massie stood and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “This new opportunity is too exciting.”
Claire finally stopped texting. “I thought you hated soccer?”
“Me?” Massie gripped her heart in shock and fell back into her chair at the head of the table, like someone close to fainting. “Puh-lease! I toe-da-lly support sports.” She beamed invisible “shut up”rays from her eyes. Gawd! Claire of all people should have understood the sacrifices one must make for love. She rode to school every day on Cam’s bike! She had given up heated leather luxury SUV seats for the back half of a hard triangular stump.
“You do?” Kristen pushed her plate of sweet-potato fries aside. “How?”
Dylan reached over and helped herself to a handful. Derrington, who was now standing behind her, grabbed them out of her hand and stuffed them in his own mouth. Dylan giggled, reaching for more.
“Whaddaya mean how?” Massie’s cheeks reddened. “My, you know, dream of starting a cheerleading squad.”
Claire burst out laughing.
“What?” Massie leaned to the right and smacked Claire’s thigh when Dempsey wasn’t looking.
“Seriously?” Kristen cackled. “Cheerleading for soccer?”
“Why nawt?” Dylan chewed. “You know how many calories we’ll burn?”
“I say we have our first meeting Friday night,” Massie announced. “At Kristen’s house.”
“I thought it was a condo.” Kristen shot her a side glance.
Massie pouted in an “I feel sad for you right now” sort of way. “K, why are you always putting your cute little apartment down? I think it’s cozy.”
“That’s what I think.” Dempsey leaned across the table and high-fived Massie. A fiery-hot crush-bolt shot up her arm the instant they made contact.
“Ehmagawd, that’s right! You live there. I totally forgot.”
Kristen rolled her eyes.
Claire smile-bit her pinky nail, half listening and half texting Cam.
“Maybe we’ll run into you Friday night.”
“May-be.” Dempsey nodded back.
Massie beamed. Gimme a YAY!
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
The Pinewood Building The Block Estate
Cleats Claus
Cheering coach Acting coach
WESTCHESTER, NY
SYCAMORE ROAD
Tuesday, September 22nd
4:39 P.M.
Dylan had imagined herself riding doubles on the back of a boy’s bike many times before. A silk Hermès scarf tied around her red curls . . . tanned calves glistening in the sunlight . . . cashmere-coated arms hugging a distressed leather jacket . . . But never had she envisioned herself post-detention, wearing pigeon poo–covered sweats, red rain boots, and gripping a hoodie with cracked dishpan hands. Yet there she was, on Derrington’s silver BMX, off to buy his sister a birthday present. And she had never felt more beautiful.
Students lumbering home under the weight of their backpacks envy-glanced as they passed. Dylan made sure they saw her “my life is so perfect I’m bored” expression. Lids heavy . . . mouth relaxed . . . hungry.
After a few blocks, Derrington started to slow down. And then the bike started to wobble.
Am I too fat?
Dylan spit out her wad of Twisted Tornado Bubblicious, hoping to lighten the load. Still, the bike swayed from side to side.
“I should get off,” Dylan managed, despite the lump in her throat.
“Good idea.” Derrington slammed on the brakes.
“What?”
“My ankle.” He began loosening his laces.
“Oh!” The throat lump disintegrated. “Want me to pedal?”
He folded his arms across his chest and shrugged.
“Trade places,” Dylan insisted, feeling revitalized and fabulously in control. She straddled the banana seat and honked his horn. “Clear the road!”
She sucked in her abs when he gripped her waist and managed to hold them in as she power-pedaled for the next eight blocks.
Rosemary mint shampoo wafted off Dylan’s hair and enveloped them in what she pictured to be an invisible scented heart. . . . Then a vision of Massie formed in her head, or rather, what the alpha would do if she saw them right now. And the heart scattered like glitter in the wind.
“You’re strong,” Derrington mused, thumb-drumming on her back as they rounded the corner onto Main Street.
OMG, he thinks I’m a man. Massie would never pedal a boy. Not even for charity!
“He’s injured, okay?” Dylan shouted at a gawking toddler in a pink fleece–lined stroller.
Derrington leaned forward and honked his horn as they weaved through the foot traffic.
Beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Beep beep beep beep beeeeeeeep. Beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Beep beep beep beep beeeeeeeep.
They cut through the middle of the sidewalk, forcing pedestrians to pick a side or perish. Shopping bags, children, and teacup dogs were yanked out of harm’s way with such urgency Dylan couldn’t stop pedal-laughing. Or was the giddiness a side effect directly related to Derrington’s chest being pressed up against her back? Either way, she needed to get off the black bike and show this boy that despite her strong legs and extreme mouth gas, she was all lady. And she would start by calling him Derrick.
“Here we are, Derrick.” She hit the brakes in front of Amazing Lace, a small boutique with big prices. “Shall we go in, Derrick?”
Saying his real name gave her that awkward French-class feeling. Like when Madame Vallon made her speak with the correct accent—It’s not jam-bone; it’s jahhhhhm-bon! It sounded forced and unnatural coming from her mouth. But Dylan wanted Derrick to know that, unlike Massie, she respected him. At the very least it might make up for her manly strength.
Derrington straddle-backed off the bike with the grace of someone who peed his pants. He limped over to the store window.
“What is this place?” he asked, pig-pressing his nose to the glass and fogging it up. Then he winked at the mannequin. “Hey, hottie.”
OMG, does he think she’s cuter than me? Is it her feminine dress? Her fat-free body? Her hard plaster stomach? Her pointy braless—
“Are you sure this place is right for my sister?” he asked, a look of concern in his eyes.
Truth be told, Dylan had no clue whether this store was right for his sister. Until yesterday, she hadn’t even known he had a sister. But she did know their dresses were imported. And that meant their sizing was all over the place. Sixes were often fours, fours were twos, and twos were zeros. What better way to remind him that she was a girl than to try on frilly outfits in petite sizes?
“I think your sister will love their stuff. Why don’t I try a few things on so you can see how they look?” Dylan held the door open and Derrington limped in.
Hold awn! Wasn’t the girl supposed to wait for the boy to open the door? Or were the rules different if the boy was injured?
It was funny. The person she wanted to ask was the same person she was hoping to avoid. She’d always gone to Massie with her crush questions, but clearly that was no longer an option.
The smell of soap and candles soothed Dylan instantly. “Is Katya here?” she asked the posture-perfect blonde dusting the glass jewelry display case.
“Vacation.” The woman lowered her head and peered out over her glasses. “My name is Camille. Camille Onuoha. Can I hulp you?” she asked like someone swallowing a pill without water.
“Just looking.” Dylan bit her lip, trying not to laugh at her accent.
“Gross!” Derrington pushed a bowl of potpourri aside and then promptly sneezed. Dozens of dried flower buds blew to the floor. “That smelled exactly like Principal Burns.”
“Ew!” Dylan burst out laughing.
“Lets get outta here.” Derrington smashed into a table of silk scarves on his way to the exit.
“Wait!” Dylan’s smile faded quickly. “I’m just gonna grab a few size-four dresses and slip them on. You know, to help you get an idea of what your sister will like.”
“The only thing you’re grabbing is that potpourri.” Camille pinched the bowl and marched it over to the register. “If you can afford it.”
Dylan’s heart began to pound. Had she not been humiliated enough for one day? Pigeon poo–covered sweats? Biking a boy though town? And now mistaken for a vagrant?
“How much is it?” Derrington pulled a crumpled twenty out of his jeans. “I guess my sister could use it in her bathroom.” He fanned the air in front of his nose. “She’s a total bran lover.”
Dylan cracked up.
“It’s sixty dollars.” The woman scowled, folding her thin arms across her flat chest. “You need forty more.”
“I got it.” Dylan slapped down her ultra-exclusive American Express black card.
Camille lifted the card to her face. “You are hardly Merri-Lee Marvil.” She reached for the phone.
“True.” Dylan grinned. “But my mother is.”
“Score!” Derrington wiggled his butt.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Marvil.” The woman managed a smile as she put the phone back down. “It’s just, with credit card fraud being what it is . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Let me help you start a room. We have some lovely things from Brazil. And of course we can forget about the potpourri mishap.”
“Maybe you can”—Dylan fake-sniffled—“but I can’t. And neither will my mother.”
“But—”
“Butts are for kissing!” Dylan shouted back. “So kiss this!” She wiggled her rear while Derrington stuck the mannequin’s bony fingers up her perfect mannequin nose. And with a flip of her rosemary-mint scented hair, Dylan marched out.
They laughed all the way to the dollar store. They laughed while they picked out sixteen “sweet” presents for his sister— a massive jawbreaker, caramel-scented car-freshener, and earmuffs shaped like lambs. They laughed while he bought Pinkberry with the change. And they laughed while they shared it.
So what if her size-four fashion show never got off the ground? The rest of her was soaring.
THE PINEWOOD
KRISTEN’S BEDROOM
Friday, September 25th
6:57 P.M.
“Come awn, Beckham, just wear it!” Kristen finally managed to slip the black satin bow tie over her cat’s joggling head. “There.” She collapsed onto her lime green beanbag after the eighteen-minute struggle. “You look ah-dorable. If cats could see their reflections, I’d show you. You’ll just have to trust me.”
The white Persian leapt up on the bed and burrowed under the green throw pillows.
“I know you’re mad.” Kristen raced to smooth the Beckham- shaped dent in her comforter. “But when everyone says how handsome you look, you’ll thank me.”
Beckham sneezed.
“This is the first time I’ve ever hosted a Friday night sleepover,” Kristen tried. But the significance of this milestone was lost on the fluffy cat. “Don’t you get it? This is the first time anyone’s ever seen our room. The first time you’re going to meet the Pretty Committee. Becks, you could be the new Bean!”
Beckham emerged cautiously. “That’s better.” Kristen kissed the top of his head, then ran through her checklist—ah-gain—to make sure her twenty-dollar catering budget (jeez, thanks, Mom ) read more like fifty.
FRIDAY NIGHT SLEEPOVER CHECKLIST
1) Five red Crate and Barrel plates placed exactly three inches apart on my desk, just like at Massie’s house. Each piled high with a different snack and labeled accordingly.
2) Edamame (frozen kind)
3) Hummus platter (hummus, pita, and four black olives left over from Mom’s Wednesday night book club)
4) Sweet ’n’ Salty Surprise (three Hershey’s bars melted over two bags of Rold Golds from the vending machine near Mom’s desk at Mercy Me—aka Mercy Memorial Hospital)
5) “Gourmet Italian popcorn” (Pop Secret doused in Kraft grated parmesan cheese)
6) Gummy in My Tummy (a sweaty heap of worms and feet from 7-Eleven)
7) Crème brûlée–scented room spray
8) Lavender-scented sheet spray (for sleeping bags— a stocking stuffer from Massie last Christmas)
9) SOS (Sleep Over Songs)
• “A Little Bit Longer” —Jonas Brothers
• “Tell Me Something I Don’t Know” —Selena Gomez
• “Wake Up Call” —Hayden Panettiere
• “I’m Yours” —Jason Mraz
• “First Love” —Karina
• “One Love” —Jordan Pruitt
• “Footballer’s Wife” —Amy MacDonald
• “Losing Grip” —Avril Lavigne
• “You Think” —Clique Girlz
“Heyyyyyy,” a familiar voice bellowed from the hallway.
Before Kristen could check the thermostat to confirm that the apartment was Massie-warm at a balmy seventy-six degrees, her bedroom door burst open.
Massie appeared, her amber eyes scanning the room like teeth on a corncob.
“I didn’t even hear—”
“Your mom let us in,” she offered, practically reading Kristen’s mind. “Is it cold in here?” She shuddered.
“Opposite.” Alicia rested her chin on Massie’s shoulder and fanned her flushed cheeks. “I think the coziness of this place makes it feel kind of warm. Don’t you?”
“I like it.” Claire poked her head out from behind Alicia. Her smile was genuine and helped Kristen relax . . . a little.
“Cozzzzzyyyyyyy,” Dylan burped from the hallway. “Ugh, green pepper.”
“Ewwww!” Everyone giggle-rushed into Kristen’s bedroom to avoid the fumes.
So far so good. Kristen sighed happily. They were laughing. That meant they were having fun and making memories. And memories, when fermented, become inside jokes, which by the way are the highest form of flattery. Kristen could hear it all now. They’d be walking to class on Monday and Massie would say, “Remember Kristen’s sleepover when Dylan burped and we all ran away from her green pepper breath?”
Everyone would lose themselves laughing and associate Kristen and her house with ah-mazing times. And this was just the beginning. The night had yet to realize its “ah-mazing time” potential. Dozens of inside jokes were out there, floating around, just waiting to be discovered.
“Snacks?” Kristen pressed play on her bedside iPod.
“Jonas Brothers!” Dylan clapped with unexpected delight.
The girls stepped onto the blue shag area rug and dropped their sleeping bags. Something about the way they looked in her room—cloaked in fine silk sleepwear (except Claire, who was in cotton thermals), their long layers held back with color-coordinated sleep masks—reminded Kristen of the time she’d visited her old kindergarten teacher. She had felt gigantic next to the mini-chairs and knee-high snack tables. Was that how the PC felt right now?
“This is Beckham.” She scooped up her cat and swung him back and forth like he was on an invisible ship in a raging storm.
“I didn’t know you had one of those.” Massie hooked her black quilted Marc Jacobs tote over her shoulder, even though it was already hooked.
“What about all those pictures on my phone and in my wallet and in my binders and—”
“I thought they came with the frames.” Massie adjusted her lilac In Your Dreams sleep mask.
“I always thought Beckham was your imaginary boyfriend.” Alicia flopped down on Kristen’s bed.
