Infinite in Between (4 page)

MIA WATCHED EVERYONE
texting and talking as they left the gym. She crouched over, tugged open the laces on both her sneakers, and then slowly tied them again. She was trying not to make it look obvious that she was stalling for time. Not like it mattered. Everyone probably already thought she was weird. She knew that in middle school people said she did drugs, which was nuts. She'd never even
seen
drugs before.

When the gym was empty, Mia slipped out to the hallway and walked toward the basement stairs. The thought of starting school tomorrow in this huge building filled with twelve hundred people made Mia want to throw up.

Mia was tall, almost five-eight, and she hated the way she looked. Nothing was happening in the boob department, her eyes bulged, and her short hair was greenish from swimming in Sophie's pool. It didn't help that Mia's mom kept saying she should
do something
about her appearance. Like she had any clue what to
do
.

When she finally reached the basement, she checked her watch. Her dad wasn't coming for another half hour. Maybe it was dorky to wear a watch, but it was something to fixate on when she was
nervous, like when Whitney's sister made her introduce herself. She'd practically regurgitated the strawberry Pop-Tart she'd eaten for breakfast.

Mia paused at the bottom of the stairs. There it was, the fire extinguisher cabinet. Just looking at it made her heart race. She opened the glass door, angled her hand behind the shiny red fire extinguisher, and then pinched her fingers into the hole, pulling out the curled-up envelope.

On the front, Alicia had written
Group Eighteen Freshman Orientation Project. Do not open until graduation!

The first letter Mia pulled out was her own.

Dear Mia,

To future you: I want to do well and get good grades and travel. Maybe leave the country? But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson for college. In four years I'd better have a clear escape plan.

Mia

It wasn't like Mia was going to write something profound. Not if she thought people were going to see it. She set her letter on the floor and pulled out the next one.

Dear Gregor,

My hope and dream for high school involves a girl. I don't even need to write her name. In four years I'll remember who she is. I hope I make first chair cello, and I think maybe I'll start drums. I hope I like high school. I can't believe I'll be eighteen the next time I read this. I'll be driving. I'd better be going to college. If I'm not,
then get your (our) act together, okay? Like, now!

Gregor

He probably liked someone with sun-streaked blond hair and a real bra size. Guys always fall for the obvious girls. Mia reached for the next letter.

Jake,

I want to buy a new phone with the money I made mowing lawns this summer, but that's short-term. Hopes and dreams for high school: student council? Get back into sports? In four years . . . maybe I'll go to art school like my dad. Honestly, I can't picture what life will be like in four years. Will people still have iPads? Will all cars drive themselves? Well, this was kind of dumb. I can't think of anything else to say.

Take care,

Jake

Jake was cute in an all-American way. Definitely out of Mia's reach. Like she even
had
a reach.

The next letter was from Sierra Laybourne's daughter. Mia couldn't wait to tell Sophie about Zoe. Sophie went to Immaculate Conception, an all-girls Catholic school where despite the reference to egg meeting sperm,
nothing
exciting ever happened.

Dear Zoe,

I don't know what to say. If you're reading this someday, Whitney and Jake and the others, thanks for not making me feel
like a freak today. I doubt I'll be at graduation when you open these letters. I'll probably be back in LA. Look me up if you come out there!

Z

Mia folded up Zoe's letter. A few weeks ago she'd seen that clip of Sierra Laybourne screaming like a crazy woman and calling her daughter a brat. Even when she saw the video, before she
ever
imagined she would meet her, she felt so bad for Zoe. Mia would die if her mom were famous and did something like that. Mia would also die if people stared at her the way they did at Zoe today.

The last letter was from Whitney.

Dear Whit,

Hey, future me! I want to do well and be in school plays and travel and have fun. But most of all I want to get out of Hankinson. When I'm reading this in four years, I'd better have an escape plan.

Love,

Whit

Mia spread her letter out next to Whitney's. Mia had gone to middle school with Whitney. She was gorgeous and talented and the only popular kid who'd never made fun of her, never asked if she was on drugs.

But then
this
! Back at Weston Middle, no one would have believed that Whitney Montaine and Mia Flint had the same goals,
that they both wanted an “escape plan.” And yet here it was. In writing.

Mia fitted the envelope back into the hole. If she had a girl crush, it would totally be on Whitney. Not that she'd ever tell
that
to Sophie.

Jake: Truth or dare?

Mona Lisa: Hey, summer friend! Haven't heard from you since July. And . . . truth.

Jake: Hey to you, too. Okay, truth. How many boys have you kissed?

Mona Lisa: Eight. Yes, that's three more since I got back home to Atlanta after I saw you this summer. Do you think I'm a slut?

Jake: Ask me the same question.

Mona Lisa: How many girls have you kissed? I know that girl Marin with the candy-corn breath and someone from your Dominican heritage camp.

Jake: The SAME question.

Mona Lisa: Oh, you mean how many BOYS you've kissed?

Jake: One. A guy from my new art class. His name is Owen.

Mona Lisa: Does this mean you're over Teddy? I don't think I can spend another summer vacation at the lake with you moping about him.

Jake: It means I finally kissed a guy.

Mona Lisa: Please tell me you're over Teddy.

ZOE DEFINITELY SHOULDN'T
have come to the cafeteria. At least it was just ninth-grade lunch and not the upperclassmen, too. The older kids were nymphos. Every time the bell rang this morning, she'd had to push through packs of them grinding all over each other.

To top it off, people were staring at her in the halls. It was the same at orientation yesterday. They'd known right away who she was. She could hear them whispering about that video of her mom from London. People were saying how Sierra Laybourne had a mental breakdown and that was why Zoe was here. Whenever Zoe heard her mom's name, her throat tightened and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

“Zoe?” shouted a girl from her orientation group. It was Whitney, the bubbly one. She was waving at her. “Hey . . . Zoe!”

Whitney was sitting at a round table with two other girls. One was blond and Barbie-doll pretty. The other had black hair, blue eyeliner, and was in her math class this morning. Kyra, maybe? Zoe could tell right away that these were the popular girls.

Zoe started across the cafeteria. Most kids were wandering
aimlessly with their trays, but Whitney and her friends were totally chill. Zoe sat in the empty chair and set her pizza and fruit cup in front of her.
Of course
she landed at the popular table on day one. That's how it was when your mom was a celebrity. It didn't have anything to do with you.

“I'm Laurel,” said the blond girl.

“You were in math with me,” the girl with the blue eyeliner told Zoe.

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “You're Kyra, right?”

Kyra squealed. “She knows my name! I can't believe she knows my name!” She screamed like she was trying to get people to look over.

A bunch of kids turned and stared at Zoe, checking out the greasy pizza on her tray. She should have gone with the salad bar.

“Shut up!” Whitney hissed. “Talk about her like she's
here
!” Then she turned to Zoe. “How's it going so far?”

“Fine, I guess.” Zoe peeled back the foil on her fruit cup.

“Is everyone being stupid because of your mom?” Whitney asked. “Not like I'm the exception.”

It was cool the way Whitney put it out there. Most people never mentioned Zoe's mom, and yet the entire conversation revolved around her in an unspoken way.

“A little,” Zoe said. “A teacher asked if I could get him my mom's autograph.”

“Damn!” Whitney shook her head. “They're not supposed to do that. Who was it?”

“No big deal,” Zoe said, trying hard to breathe.
Oh god.
Watch one of them post
that
online. Then Max would call and give her
the lecture:
be discreet, you're in the public eye, we have an image to preserve
. She'd gotten that lecture her whole life. She could probably sing it to the tune of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Max was her mom's manager, and he called the shots about everything in their lives.

“If that teacher keeps bothering you,” Kyra said, “tell me, and I'll tell my dad.”

“Kyra's dad is the principal,” Whitney said, sipping her water. “Mr. Bauersmith. She's going to work the favors in high school.”

“Lucky!” Laurel said. “My dad never gets me anything.”

“Not too lucky,” Kyra said. “He's cheesy. Did you see his mustache?” Kyra glanced at her phone and then at Zoe. “Besides, I'm not lucky like Zoe. You must get everything. Do designers send you free clothes? Do you have a chauffeur?”

The canned pear tasted sour on Zoe's tongue. She dropped the plastic spoon onto her tray.

“Stop it,” Whitney said to Kyra.

“Whatever.” Kyra craned her head around the cafeteria. “Did you see Brock? Wasn't he going to join us at lunch?”

“Kyra and Brock are together,” Whitney explained to Zoe.

“We just celebrated three months,” Kyra said.

Zoe pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Was she really going to have to puzzle together the friendships and couples here at Hankinson High School? None of it would matter once she went back to LA.

“Was that clip of your mom calling you a spoiled brat for real?” Kyra asked all of a sudden. “Or was it a publicity thing? I've heard that—”

“Kyr!” Whitney slapped her palm over Kyra's mouth. “Shut up.
Shut up.
”

“Whatever,” Kyra said, pushing Whitney away. “God, high school is so boring.”

To stop the tears from coming, Zoe studied the clock on the wall. She'd only been in lunch for eleven minutes.

THE DOORBELL RANG
, several insistent buzzes.
Sophie.

“Come on in!” Mia shouted, but she didn't get off the couch. She was indulging in her latest obsession: looking up pictures of Zoe. It was wild to type
Zoe Laybourne
and see images from Zoe's toddlerhood when she clutched a panda bear, her zitty period—probably seventh grade?—all the way until the paparazzi had gotten pictures of her and her mom in the airport leaving London after that horrific video went viral. In those pictures Zoe was wearing a black tank top and huge sunglasses and seemed grown-up and glamorous. That was what fascinated Mia. Like, how could that girl be the same Zoe she saw in the halls? At school Zoe seemed small and lost, definitely not a celebrity. Too bad they didn't end up in any classes together, because Mia would
really
like to bond with Zoe and help her adjust to life in Hankinson. Of course, Mia hadn't worked up the nerve even to smile at her yet.

Sophie was knocking hard on the door and turning at the knob. Mia's parents must have locked it when they went to the gym. Mia closed the screen with Zoe's pictures and hopped up to let Sophie in. She'd come over early for their standing Saturday night movie date.

“Finally!” Sophie said, kicking off her sandals and glancing at the tablet in Mia's hands. “What took so long? Were you getting your Zoe Laybourne fix again?”

Mia wished she hadn't told Sophie about her little hobby. Even though Sophie was her closest—or maybe only—friend, Mia sometimes felt like she couldn't trust her, like Sophie wouldn't think twice about slinging dirt if she needed to.

“No,” Mia said. “Just doing homework.”

“They're giving you homework already?” Sophie twisted her long sandy hair into a pile on her head. Classes at Immaculate Conception didn't start until Monday.

Mia nodded. She'd actually done all her homework this morning. It had taken only twenty minutes. So far high school seemed like a cakewalk.

“Did you do it?” Sophie asked. She smoothed her short blue sundress around her thighs. Sophie was much curvier than Mia and already had real hips and woman boobs. Whenever she wasn't in her Catholic school uniform, she wore minidresses. She liked to brag that guys checked out her legs. Personally, Mia thought Sophie's thighs looked like two honey-baked hams. Not that Mia would say that to Sophie, even though Sophie didn't think twice about telling Mia that she was a skeleton.

“Do what?” Mia asked.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Shave your legs. When we texted two hours ago, you said you were finally going to do it.”

“Oh yeah,” Mia said. She was probably the last girl in the world to shave. Sophie said it was time she stopped having hairy Neanderthal legs. “Yeah, I sort of did it.”

Sophie leaned down and swiped her hand across Mia's bare calf. “Nice. Does it itch?”

“A little.”

“Hang on,” Sophie said, touching Mia's other leg. “Why did you only shave one leg?”

“Oh.” Mia adjusted her shorts on her hips. They were size zero and still loose. Size-zero hips and a double-A bra. Puberty was definitely taking its sweet time. “That's what I meant by
sort of
.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Why on earth would you shave one leg?”

Mia shrugged. Back when she was in the shower it had seemed like a good idea. “I wanted to make sure I liked it.”

“
Liked it?
What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know. I guess like how you wear new shoes around inside before you go outside with them.”

“You're weird,” Sophie said. She grabbed a glass from Mia's cupboard and poured herself some milk. Mia hated plain milk—it actually made her gag. Another way that she and Sophie were different. Sometimes Mia wondered if they'd even be friends if they didn't live on the same street.

“Where're your parents?” Sophie asked, setting her empty glass in the sink and wiping off her milk mustache.

“Where do you think? The gym.”

Mia's mom and dad worked out seven days a week. That was
their
obsession, along with their jobs. When they left for the gym every morning or evening, Mia wondered how they could possibly tone another part of their bodies, but in general they were more robot than human.

“I'm bored.” Sophie nodded toward Mia's parents' room. “Want to try on your mom's clothes?”

“Okay . . . I just have to pee.”

When Mia got back from the bathroom, Sophie was standing in front of her mom's closet, tugging her sundress over her head. Since Sophie's face was obscured by blue fabric, Mia stared at her boobs. They swelled out of her beige bra and formed a thin slit where they met in the center. Mia wished she could touch right there, the cleavage, to see if it felt sweaty or squishy or
what
.

“Should I try on your mom's green emerald wraparound or her cocktail dress with the satin?” Sophie asked, dropping her sundress onto the floor.

Mia quickly looked away. The last thing she wanted was for Sophie to know she'd been checking out her boobs. She didn't even know
why
she did that. Did it mean she was gay? Her uncle was, so maybe it ran in the family. But whenever Mia watched a movie, she thought the
guys
were cute, not the girls. And at school there was Brock Sawyer. Mia would give anything to kiss Brock. She couldn't see what he liked about horrible Kyra. Kyra did
not
deserve someone as amazing as Brock.

Maybe it was that Mia wanted to check out other boobs until she got her own.

Or maybe boobs were interesting even if you were straight.

Or maybe Sophie was right. Maybe Mia was just plain weird.