Kiss And Blog (23 page)

And that’s when they broke up.

Over and out,

Eleanor Rigby

Twenty-four

Talk about a social exile. By my fifth day of hanging in my room refusing to come out, my mom barges in, and believe me, from the look on her face, it’s clear she means business.

“Okay, so what the heck is going on? It’s been almost a week, and I’m through playing games with you. I know you’re going through a rough time, and I’ve done my best to try and make things easier for you, but, Winter, I’m just about at the end of my rope here,” she says, plopping herself hard on the edge of my bed and gazing at me with so much worry, despair, and concern, it makes me feel completely guilty and awful.

But that doesn’t mean that I tell her.

“I’m fine, seriously,” I say, trying to look as though I really do mean it by sitting up straighter, and running my hands through my tangled, messy, greasy hair.

“Listen, Dave, Autumn, and I are heading out to the Winter Fantasy Art Festival. And I know how much you always enjoy that. So how about you take a quick shower, get dressed,
and come along with us, and then we’ll grab dinner somewhere later.”

But even though she thinks I “always enjoy that,” I’m sorry to say that these days enjoyment falls pretty low on my list of priorities. It’s somewhere down there with sunshine, showers, and smiling. So I just look at her and shake my head. I mean, I feel bad about being such a big disappointment, and I feel even worse knowing how bad I’m making her feel, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to budge. “No, thanks.” I stretch, making a big show of lifting my arms high above my head. “I think I’m just gonna take a hot shower, and then maybe head outside and take a walk,” I say, filling her with false hope, while knowing full well how there’s no way I’m doing any of those things.

But she just looks at me, staring at me for so long I squirm. Then finally she sighs, hoists herself off my bed, and heads for the door. And then almost as an afterthought, she turns and goes, “So, maybe during your walk, you can head on over to the café and fill in for Rey.”

“Rey’s not coming in today?” I ask, immediately wondering why, since he’s got like the best work ethic of anyone I know, and has never been late, never gets sick, and wouldn’t even contemplate pulling a no-show.

But she just shrugs and goes, “Can you cover for him?”

Do I
want
to cover for him? Not exactly. But I no longer feel I have much of a choice. So I just nod, climb out of bed, and for the first time in a long time, head for the shower.

Okay, so here’s the deal. I know you probably think that all this high drama, fainting lady stuff is all about the talent show and that surprising song dedication and my pathetic inability to finally get real with the guy I’ve been not so secretly in love with this whole entire time, right?

Well, yeah. But that’s only part of it. The other part is that my whole life feels like it’s just seconds away from completely imploding, right before my very eyes, and I don’t know what, or even
if,
I should do anything to stop it.

And even though I know this probably sounds completely crazy, I still have to say that it’s almost like I can trace all of this crazy chaos right back to the very second when I blew out those sixteen sinking birthday pie candles. And how immediately afterward I feared I hadn’t been quite specific enough.

And believe me, I’m not making this up, because if you’ll just follow along and review all the evidence with me, I think you’ll begin to see how it’s all starting to come true:

1.   Rey and Shay. Shay is out of the band and out of Rey’s life. Or at least that’s what Hayden wrote in an e-mail she sent and that I’ve still yet to answer.

2.   Sloane. Sloane is making no attempt to curb her incessant, insane, insistent efforts to reach me. And as far as I’m concerned that pretty much covers the “Sloane” part of the wish. Even though, quite frankly, I was actually thinking more in terms of revenge than reunion, but then again, I forgot to be specific, so this is what I got.

3.   The Talent Show. Well, what I really wanted was to get out of performing in it, and obviously I did. Though I think we can all see how that turned out.

4.   Mom. Okay, that was just sort of a general wish, as in “I want her to be happy and healthy, but maybe shave her legs once in a while, and perhaps learn to let me be when I want to be let be and hug me when I want to be hugged (which really isn’t as often
as she thinks).” And so far, I admit, there doesn’t seem to be any major consequences to that, but that still doesn’t mean I can relax.

5.   Blog. The blog. Well, that’s the most unbelievable part of all.

Just the other day when I ran home from school, straight from the talent show fiasco and into my room, I tossed my purse on my bed and headed straight for my computer, where I signed into my blog, feeling this desperate need to connect with this anonymous group of people, who happen to read all this stuff about my life, and therefore think they know me. I mean, at that moment, the urge to make contact felt so powerful, so overwhelming, and so all-consuming, that I was like a junkie craving a fix.

So I started typing, fast, furious, crazy-lady typing. I mean, it was as though my fingers just couldn’t hit those keys quick enough. And I was spilling all kinds of secrets, Sloane’s secrets, my secrets, seriously, I was just venting about all this stuff, like how Rey sang for me, and how Sloane’s acting all nice to me because my dad’s on TV, and how I really, really miss hanging at the lunch table with Hayden, Evan, Elijah, and Clark. And I was using real names, and writing about real scenarios, but when it came time to post, I suddenly realized how I couldn’t use a single word of it. Because absolutely none of it was in code. And left like that, without some major editing, it was just way too revealing, and would totally compromise my anonymity.

But even while I was deleting it, I was still feeling that same, lonely need to connect. So I pacified myself by reading through all of my latest comments, until I finally came across one from some guy claiming to be an agent, and who wrote something about how he was interested in developing my blog into a book.

Well, obviously, it didn’t take long for me to realize that it was a total scam. So I just scrolled right past it and moved on to the next comment.

But still, even after I’d finished reading through all of them, there was something about that fake agent message that kept nagging at me. So, against my better judgment, I scrolled back up to reread it.

Then I wrote down his name and went Google-fishing.

And I spent the next two hours studying every single relevant hit that I could possibly find.

As I continued to research, I started to realize that this guy was entirely legit. Because from what I’d read, he really was a literary agent, and really had handled quite a few other blog-to-book deals, including some stuff I’d actually seen and/or heard of. And I started to get really, really excited when I realized how I was quite possibly being offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

Yet I also knew I had no choice but to decline.

I mean, I think we can all agree that yes, Sloane has been and probably will continue to be a total bitch. And that I, for one, have suffered greatly at the claws of her French-manicured hands. And even though this offer should have everything to do with
me,
and nothing to do with
her,
I still can’t get comfortable with the idea of exposing her like that. And it’s not because I’d actually fallen for her stupid, phony, pseudo-friendship attempts, because believe me, that stuff was as blatantly transparent as ever.

It was more the fact of how very recently I’ve come to the conclusion of just how wrong it is to divulge other people’s secrets. Never mind sell them. I mean, honestly, when someone tells you a secret, they really are expecting you to keep it. And even though I might have betrayed that confidence by blurting them out in my blog, the fact is, I did everything I could not to reveal just exactly who those secrets belong to, and yet all of them were still 100 percent true. And since pretty much everyone
knows how intrusive and in your business the whole publishing world is, I knew that if I accepted a deal like that then I’d totally risk outing Sloane. And really, as mad and betrayed as I am, when it comes right down to it, I just don’t know if I have the stomach for it.

I mean, originally, all I was after was some good old- fashioned revenge. But now it’s all starting to feel so heavy, like such a growing burden, that I’m just not sure how much longer I can keep at it.

And that’s when I took to my bed. Where I spent the next several days agonizing over the mess I’d made, and wondering what, if anything, I should do about it.

The second I walk in the café I know my mom has completely played me.

“Hey,” I say, heading into the back room to grab an apron, as Rey stops cleaning the counter in mid-wipe just so he can stand there and stare at me in a way that tells me he definitely isn’t in on this game.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, dropping the sponge and following me.

“My mom asked me to come in and help cover today,” I say, reaching back to tie my apron, unwilling to tell him the truth of what she
actually
said, and how she totally tricked me into coming here.

“Well, you can bail if you want. Everything’s under control,” he says, shrugging and looking pretty uncomfortable to be all alone in a room with me.

But I just shake my head and grab a rubber band out of the desk drawer, so that I can pull my hair back into a tight, neat, food server’s ponytail.

And just as I’m smoothing the wispy parts back, the bell on the front door rings. And I’m just about to say, “I got it,” at
the exact same moment I hear Sloane’s voice go, “No, her mom doesn’t just work here, she totally owns this place. Duh.”

And then I look at Rey with my eyes all panicked and wide. But he just shakes his head, and in a calm, sure voice says, “No worries.” Then he heads out front, while I hover by the door so that I can hide and eavesdrop simultaneously.

“I usually get that Purple Berry thingy,” I hear Jaci say, tacking her adorable giggle onto the end of that.

“Whatever. Um, what’s the My Cherry Amore?” Sloane asks, in her cutest little-girl voice.

And I just stand there listening as Rey recites the long list of healthy, wholesome, organic ingredients that can be found in my mom’s newest cherry smoothie creation, until Sloane finally cuts him off somewhere in the middle and goes, “Okay, you talked me into it.”

So then of course the rest of them all order it, too, including Jaci, who apparently bears no loyalty to her “usual” now that Sloane’s in charge. And as Rey is probably busy making them (and I say “probably” since as I can’t actually see him, I’m pretty much forced to rely on my imagination here), Sloane says in her flirtiest voice, “Omigod, you’re that lead singer of, oh, I forget, what’s the name of your band?”

And then Rey mumbles, “Social Exile.”

And Sloane goes, “Yeah, that’s it. Social Exile.” Like he needs her to confirm it.

And then she pauses, which in my imagination means that she’s leaning on the counter, flashing maximum, Miracle Bra—enhanced cleavage while gazing at Rey, and trying to think of something else to say. And when she finally decides, she goes, “You guys were
sooo
amazing. I never even heard that song before, but you totally deserved to win. I can’t believe how lame Principal Meyer is, what a dickwad.”

And then Rey mumbles, “Um, thanks.”

And then the phone rings.

And since they don’t know that I’m hiding back here, and since I can’t under any circumstances blow my cover and risk having them hear my voice, I just stand there, counting the rings, until Rey finally goes, “Uh, just a sec. I’ll be right back.”

And as he runs off to get the phone I hear Jaci say, “Omigod,
what
are you doing? You’re totally flirting with him and I thought you said he liked Winter?”

Then Sloane goes, “Please. How could he like her? She’s a fat loser.”

And even though Sloane has done nothing to make me think she’d say anything other than that, still, I have to admit that hearing her actually say that out loud hurts so bad I can hardly believe it.

I slump down to the floor, dropping my head in my hands, as my eyes swell with tears, as I hear Jaci say, “Well, for someone who’s supposedly such a fat loser you sure call her a lot.”

And then Holly goes, “Yeah, I mean, what’s up with that?”

And then Sloane goes, “Uh, hello? Her dad’s like totally famous again. Not to mention how they’re filming some family episodes next season. And believe me, I plan to be right there when the cameras start rolling, because no way is she getting all the attention. She’s like, a no-talent dork with a really bad TV personality. Trust me, she’ll thank me when she realizes she’s too big of a social retard to handle the spotlight.”

And even though part of me feels even worse when I hear her say that, the other part is thinking, What family episode? And how does she even know this stuff? I mean, even I didn’t know about that.

“Listen, Rey is totally smoking hot,” she continues. “And it’s just a matter of time ‘til he’s mine. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t know it yet.”

And then they all start laughing. Because, well, obviously you can see how hilarious that is.

And then, apparently all pumped up on princess power and an overwhelming sense of her own importance, Sloane goes,
”Listen, Winter’s a zero, a nobody. So it’s not like he’ll even miss her.”

Then Claire whispers, “You guys, shhh! He’s totally coming back!”

And as Rey continues making their smoothies, I wipe my face, raise my butt off the floor, grab my purse, and run out the back door, where I go home and write.

T
O
: C
ALVIN
B
URKE

F
ROM
: E
LEANOR
R
IGBY