Art Geeks and Prom Queens (14 page)

C U 2morrow!!!!!!

Kristi

I don’t respond. Not that night or even the next morning when Kristi picks me up. I just get in her car, ask her about her date with Drew, and for the next twenty minutes that’s all she talks about.

I get to Art pretty late because I was in the office asking (actually, begging would be more accurate), if I could switch to another elective because I don’t want to sit across from Jas anymore. And it’s not as simple as moving to another table, since it’s a small class and he’s a big presence (well, at least in my mind). So I figured I would ask (beg), to switch to just about anything else.

And that’s how I found myself sitting across from Mrs. Rove, the very serious, very conservative, somewhat scary Sea Crest High guidance counselor.

“Are you having some sort of problem with Ms. Tate?” she asked, gripping the edge of her dark wood desk and leaning forward with barely suppressed excitement, like she’d been planning a right-wing coup on the pierced and frizzy-haired art teacher for years now.

“No! No! Not at all! Ms. Tate is great!” I said, which believe me, did not score any points with Mrs. Rove. “I was just, um, curious about other electives.”
Jeez, what a dumbass answer. I should have rehearsed this better.
I cross and uncross my legs, and stare at the thin gold chain hanging up, over, and out of her red turtleneck sweater.

“Well, Rio, I’m sorry, but unless you’re having a legitimate problem—” she stops and peers at me, giving me one last chance to fess up. When I don’t, she sighs and continues, “Well, you can’t just go switching electives out of
sheer curiosity.
Here at Sea Crest, we honor commitment.” She gives me a stern look.

“Okay,” I said, rising from my seat, anxious to get out of there.

“How are you doing in your other classes?” she asked, reaching up to pat her obedient brown bob.

“Fine.” I shrugged.

“Good. And Rio, give it a chance. Art’s not entirely horrible. You might even find the experience will be good for you.”

I nodded like I couldn’t agree more. Then I got the hell out of there.

The first thing I do when I walk in the room is scope for Jas. But in a subtle way, you know, just kind of glancing around. But I don’t see him anywhere. So I go over to our table, grab my notebook, and start doodling in it like I’m thinking about my project, when really I’m just making these crappy, meaningless doodles. And every now and then I look up to check on Ms. Tate, but she’s so immersed in her own abstract painting that she doesn’t really notice that I’m totally wasting class time on nothing.

By the time I’ve filled two entire pages with random markings, Jas walks in, and nods at Ms. Tate. And she just smiles and nods at him.

And I’m thinking:
That’s just the sort of thing that would really irritate Mrs. Rove. That complete lack of order, discipline, and commitment in this classroom. Not to mention the ability to just come and go as you please.

Which are all the things I like best about it.

Jas is walking straight toward me and I start to get all nervous until I realize that he’s actually just walking toward his table, and not necessarily
toward me.
But I close my folder anyway and shove it in my bag, and just as I start to get up, he goes, “Rio. Here. Happy birthday.”

He’s holding this big silver-wrapped package, and I just stand there staring at it like a total retard. And after a few moments of
that,
I get a grip on myself and take it from him.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asks.

“Oh, right now?” I look at him briefly, then back at the gift. I’m starting to sweat.

“Well, I know today’s not your birthday, but I finished it early and I wanted to give it to you,” he says, smiling eagerly.

So I remove the blue ribbon, and I’m guiding my stub of a fingernail very carefully under a strip of tape, when he goes, “Remember when you were a little kid, and your parents gave you your birthday gift, and you couldn’t wait to get at it?”

I look right into his eyes and smile.

“That’s how all presents should be opened.”

So I poke my finger right through the paper, making a big gaping hole, and then I rip it all the way down the front, uncovering the most amazing replica of the Duran Duran
Rio
album cover.

Only the girl is
me.

And I know she’s me because she has honey-blond hair and green eyes, like I do.

Ohmygod!

I just stand there staring at it. And I know I have to say something but I don’t trust my voice because my throat is all tight and awful-feeling. And I don’t trust my heart because it will make me say something stupid and embarrassing.

So when he goes, “Do you like it?”

I go, “Um, yeah. It’s incredible.” And as I’m looking at him the bell rings.

Then he leans toward me like he’s going to hug me, and even though I desperately want him to, I also really wish he wouldn’t since I’m all sweaty, nervous, and pretty much an emotional wreck. Not to mention that the last time he moved toward me like this it didn’t end so well. So I grasp the painting against my chest, and it makes the hug all bumpy and awkward. And when he pulls away, I wrap the torn paper back around it, and head to my next class.

The painting is too big for my locker, but luckily it fits in this black canvas tote that I sometimes use to carry my camera, film, and other art supplies. So at lunch when I sit next to Kayla, I slide the bag off my shoulder and set it on the empty space next to me.

And Jen Jen looks over and goes, “What’s that?”

But before I can even answer, Kristi goes, “That’s her new lunch bag.” Then she starts laughing.

Very funny. You know, it really bugs me how she’s always commenting on how much I supposedly eat. I mean, I always thought I ate like a normal person, but according to her (she who lives solely on coke—both Diet and Colombian), I’m well on my way to being a total heifer.

But I just roll my eyes, and say, “It’s just some art supplies.” Knowing that they’ll immediately lose interest, since they’re not into art.

Sure enough, Kristi starts talking about last night’s date/hookup with Drew and how hot it was, and what he wore, and what she wore, and how cute they were together, and blah blah blah. But I just totally tune her out since I already had to listen to this story on the way to school, and then again in like a zillion text messages she sent during English.

And I’m relieved to have this little mental break, because I’m completely obsessed with the painting in my bag. It’s like I just can’t stop
thinking about it, and wondering what it means. For Jas to spend his free time making something like that must mean that he likes me, right? But if he
really
liked me wouldn’t he break up with Monique and ask me out? And if by some chance that did happen, would I even go? I mean, I pretty much promised my friends that I wouldn’t like Jas anymore. And I
don’t!
I mean, not really, not like I used to. Anyway, he probably does stuff like that for all of his friends because that’s just the kind of person he is. Which is still kind of weird since it’s not like we’re really friends anymore. But maybe he started it back when we were friends, and just decided to finish it so he could cross it off his list, or whatever. Yeah, that must be it. I’m sure it doesn’t really mean anything to him, so it really shouldn’t mean anything to me.

“Hel-
lo
? Is anyone home?” Kristi’s glaring at me.

“I’m sorry, I spaced,” I say.

“I asked if you’re coming to the mall with us after school?” She does an exaggerated eye roll. Well,
so much for yesterday when I was her new best friend.

“Oh, I can’t,” I lie. “I have to help my mom with something.” I smile at them, hoping they’ll buy it, because the truth is, I’ve got to get this picture home, since I know Kristi will totally flip if she sees it. And even though I shouldn’t care about things like that, we all know that I do.

When I get home from school, my mom’s not there, and since I know Kristi and Company won’t be coming by, I take the painting out of my bag and prop it on my desk against the wall. And then I sit there and stare at it.

For longer than I care to admit.

I must have fallen asleep because later, when I open my eyes my room is much darker, and I can hear my mom banging around in the kitchen. So I change into some sweats, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and go downstairs to join her.

“Oh, good, you’re up.” She turns and smiles. “I just grilled some tuna, are you hungry?”

My head feels foggy with sleep so I just nod and take a seat in the
Venetian room, since the kitchen table is being custom-made in Thailand so it will fit in perfectly with her and Michael’s burgeoning “Asian kitchen” theme. I wonder how many people in Bangkok have Sub-Zero fridges?

She sets down our plates and takes the seat across from me. “Your father called, but you were asleep.”

“When’s he coming home?” I ask.

“He’ll be home for your birthday this weekend.” She cuts into her tuna.

“Cool.” I nod, taking a bite of mine. My mom’s a pretty decent cook.

“You know, Rio, I hate to admit it, but with the move, and the decorating, and all the work involved in getting settled in, I’m afraid your birthday completely slipped my mind.”

Can you believe she just said that?

I mean, she has
one
kid. That’s just
one kid’s
birthday to remember and it
slips her mind.
But I don’t say that, instead I just shrug and take a bite of my salad.

“So while you were sleeping I called your friend Kristi, and we decided to throw a party for you.”

What?

She’s smiling excitedly, and nodding, like I’m supposed to get all excited too. But unfortunately I’m on the opposite end of excitement. I don’t want some stupid party. And I definitely don’t want her calling my friends. So now I’m wishing my birthday had just stayed forgotten.

“You called
Kristi?
” I ask incredulously.

“She thought it was a great idea. She’s putting together a guest list.”

“But why didn’t you just ask me?” I set down my fork and glare at her.

“Because you were sleeping,” she says, taking a sip of chardonnay.

“I took a
nap,
Mom. It wasn’t intended to be some Disney fairy-tale hundred-year snooze. Besides, I don’t want a party.”

‘What are you talking about? Of course, you want a party!”

“Mom, I just said that I
don’t.
”

“Rio.” She shakes her head in exasperation. “It’s perfect timing. Think about it. You’re new in town, you’re making all these wonderful
friends, it will be a chance to get everyone together and sort of seal your place.”

“So this isn’t really about my birthday, then is it?” I say, getting increasingly angry. “This is like some kind of campaign you dreamed up. So I can rise among the social ranks into a position of power.”

“Why do you always have to be so difficult? It’s just a party. It’s supposed to be fun.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, we don’t have much time to plan it, so Kristi’s going to call me back with the guest list later this evening. Would you like to look it over?”

“No thanks,” I say, pushing away from the table and my plate that’s still half-full. “I’m sure you and Kristi can handle it.” Then I go upstairs to my room and e-mail Paige.

Okay, I admit, I haven’t e-mailed Paige in over a week, even though she still e-mails me like every other day. And I feel kind of guilty about it, especially since I’m only e-mailing her now so I can vent. But I can’t help it. I just really need to communicate with someone
normal.
And at the moment she’s the only normal person I have access to.

So when I see she’s online I write:

How R U? Sorry it’s been sooooo long. Blah blah blah.

And after we go back and forth with polite small talk, I spill the beans. I tell her about the picture Jas made, about my mom calling my friends while I’m asleep, and about my new friends being really cool, and really popular, but also kind of controlling. Though I leave out the stuff about the drugs and drinking since you have to be careful with what you put in writing.

And then I wait for her reply.

But when it comes, it totally pisses me off because she writes some crap about being true to myself, and all kinds of touchy-feely nonsense that I don’t really feel like reading right now.

Because who is she to say that to me?

She’s not the one that was forced to move all the way across the
world
and start over in some
foreign place
where practically everyone’s rich, and beautiful, and perfect. And they all play by these insane social rules that you can’t figure out until you break one and are banished forever!

So after reading her sanctimonious little message, I just simply don’t respond. I just sit there and let her message me two more times, before I make up some lie about having a ton of homework to do and having to sign off.

Then I take that pill Kristi gave me the other day. Because if I ever needed help chilling, it’s right now. And right as I’m falling asleep I hear the phone ring. And I know it’s Kristi calling with the guest list, but I don’t care. I just let sleep take me away until morning.