Notable (Smith High) (3 page)

“W
e’re going to miss you
sooo
much!”

Steffani wrapped her arms around me and squeezed, choking off all oxygen. Her cloying perfume was making me feel light-headed, and her death grip didn’t help matters either. Still, it was nice of her to show up at the airport with Ashley in time to say good-bye.

It would have been even nicer if they had invited Jane to share a ride with them, but that thought probably never even occurred to them. Not that it really mattered, since Jane had successfully talked her boyfriend, Scott, into seeing me off at the airport with her, probably by luring him with the promise of a fun date in Portland afterward. Although it looked like she was having second thoughts as soon as she spotted the other two girls—at least judging by the way she began edging toward the exit. She only stopped moving when Scott pulled out his trusty Nikon camera and began snapping photos of her, probably because she was too distracted by her own muffled threats to make a run for it.

Right then, I envied my redheaded friend more than anyone else—except maybe Mackenzie—because every aspect of Jane’s life was so . . .
stable
.

Pretty much the last word that could ever be used to describe mine.

Ashley glanced down at her watch and twirled her dyed blond hair around her finger. “We’d love to stay and chat, Chelsea, but I think it’s time to go.”

“Really? My flight doesn’t leave for a while, so I was thinking—”

“Yeah, the thing is, there is, like, this
huge
sale at Urban Outfitters, and we don’t want to miss it.”

Ashley giggled. “It’s not like there’s anything to do here!”

Except wish me good-bye. But I kept that to myself.

“Of course,” I said slowly. “Have fun shopping. I’ll just talk to you both . . . later.”

“Later!” Steffani paused only to blow me an air kiss before the two of them trotted toward the exit. Ashley didn’t bother to say a word, as if I had already become irrelevant—especially since she was quickly approaching a dark-haired guy with a rumpled plaid shirt wheeling his bags to the checkout counter. Her lower lip jutted out when her sashay failed to capture his attention, while I took way too much pleasure in watching my so-called friend strike out.

“I hate those girls,” Scott said without any real heat. Then again, he probably hated me too, but didn’t want to say it with his girlfriend right there. “What do you call them again, Jane? Fake and Shake?”

Jane reddened, but she forced herself to meet my eyes. “Kenzie and I may have nicknamed them . . . Fake and Bake. Ashley, uh, might want to lay off the fake tanners?”

“Around Halloween she definitely fits in with the pumpkins.”

It was a bitchy thing for me to say, but at least it was honest. Considering the way those particular friends had just blown me off for a sale, I felt barely a twinge of guilt for badmouthing them behind their backs.

“So how did you pick Steffani’s nickname?” I asked Jane.

“Fake? The obvious hair dye, the fake nails, the questionable nose job . . . Give her thirty years, and I bet even her chin will be plastic.”

I smiled as if none of it made the slightest difference to me, even as I braced myself for the inevitable. “So what am I? Cake? Lake?”

Jane shrugged. “Kenzie and I never came up with anything for you. You’re not one of them. Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, everyone fears the Notables. But somehow you’ve always been . . . separate.”

A crazy-accurate social assessment, especially coming from two of Smith High School’s biggest self-identified geeks.

“Calling her Lake makes sense to me. With a name like Chel
sea,
it’s only fitting that her nickname continue in the same watery vein,” Scott observed. “Plus isn’t it a saying that still waters run deep? That fits too.”

I eyed Scott speculatively, waiting to hear a catch. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m not sure I do. I said that still waters run deep, not that there is anything nice lurking in the depths.”

I poked Jane’s arm to get her attention. “I think he might be a keeper. Any chance I can take him with me?”

She mock glared at me. “Nope. He’s not up for grabs. Don’t even try your hair tossing or flashing your megawatt smile. I
will
shut you down, Chelsea.”

The steel underlining her tone had me fighting back a grin. Jane wasn’t the same wallflower I had taken pity on during her
Romeo and Juliet
audition. And I liked to think that I’d played a small role in her recent transformation.

“Well, thanks for seeing me off,” I interrupted before Jane could make any more ridiculous threats. “Both of you.”

It was more than my parents had managed. They were too busy squabbling over furniture to give me a proper send-off. It should have come as a relief, since my dad would have spent the entire car ride asking if I had everything: toothbrush, deodorant, that sort of thing, while my mom accused him of babying me. Then I’d have been stuck listening to them tell me
again
how lucky I was to get this travel experience.

Classic guilt talk. They had to convince themselves that I was embarking on an incredible journey or they’d feel guilty for shipping me off to a third-world pit.

Jane’s awkward attempt at hugging snapped me back to reality fast. “Are you going to be all right, Chelsea?”

There was no satisfactory answer for me to give. If I said yes, I would be lying. If I said no, I would sound like a drama queen.

No-win situation.

“I guess I’ll have to be okay.” And then, just to stop myself from doing something truly pathetic like crying, I fluttered my eyelashes at Scott. “Unless your big, strong man wants to rescue me from this nightmare. He could whisk me off and—”

“That’s it, I’m out of here.”

Scott headed straight for the doors, while Jane and I both laughed at his hasty departure. For just a second, I felt like the old version of myself. The Chelsea who existed before my parents ever considered shipping me off to
Cambodia
.

There were times when I missed that girl.

“I got you a going-away gift.” Jane handed me a flash drive and grinned. “I don’t know if it’s your type of music, but I made a travel playlist for you anyway.”

“Hipster music?” I guessed.

“Maybe.”

I grinned. “I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

I wanted to say more, but I recognized Professor Hamilton’s paunchy form approaching us. I knew that my trip leader’s presence only meant one thing: My visiting hours were over.

“Take care, geek.”

“You too,
Lake.
I expect to hear regular updates.”

And before I could come up with any excuses about needing better Internet access than
Cambodia
probably supplied, she headed outside after Scott.

Leaving me officially alone.

Well, unless I counted the teacher who was barreling toward me with a foolish grin plastered all over his face. The guy was like an academic version of Tigger—bouncy, flouncy, pouncy, whatever—except his version of fun centered around economic trends in third-world countries.

If you weren’t interested in analyzing that . . . then you were screwed.

“Welcome aboard, Chelsea! Are you ready for the trip of a lifetime?” His friendly punch to my arm instantly had me suppressing the urge to rub where he made contact.

I nodded, but didn’t get the chance to say anything beyond, “Sure, Mr. Ham—”

“No need to start in with formalities! It’s going to be a small group of us in Cambodia, so just call me Neal. First-name basis for everyone. No reason we can’t all be friends, right?”

“Right. Friends,” I repeated unenthusiastically, while Neal began craning his neck to look around the airport.

“So, where are your folks?”

“Not here.”

He looked nervous, like he was waiting for me to start blubbering,
My parents don’t love meee!

Well, he wasn’t going to get any of it.

The less speculation I received the easier it would be to sneak on board a flight to Italy. Although given that the other students were probably just as surprised to find a high school girl suddenly signed up for their trip, I could almost guarantee that I’d been the topic of at least a few conversations. I was willing to bet they were all wondering why my dad hadn’t just shipped me off to military school or to one of those intervention programs where I would be forced to grow crops and live off the land. And then they would want to know what
exactly
I had done to deserve total banishment.

I braced myself to be on the receiving end of sideways looks and furtive glances as a girl with messy dark brown hair, big brown doe eyes, and an enormous
I Heart New York
sweatshirt that dwarfed her curvy frame waved at Neal before approaching me.

“Um, hi! I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet, uh . . .” Her voice began to peter out when I didn’t return her smile. “You.”

Sweet and easily controlled. Excellent.

I spared her only the briefest nod, since another girl in our group had captured my attention. At least, I was assuming it was a girl. The bright color clash between the hand-stitched turquoise pig on her shirt, her purple-rimmed glasses, her hot-pink-and-gold-painted nails, and her red-streaked hair . . . made her look like a parrot to me.

“Liz! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” Neal boomed enthusiastically, while I wondered how I would survive months of his nonstop cheerfulness. I had spent less than five minutes with the man and already I wanted to shank him with my nail clippers. Probably not a very good sign.

“Great to see you, Liz! And here come Houston and Ben.
Excellent!
”

Before I could get a good look at the guys, Neal delivered yet another hearty round of backslaps. I winced, Amy nearly toppled over, but it didn’t seem to faze Liz in the slightest. She was definitely tougher than me.

So I’d have to work twice as hard to prove my invulnerability.

That’s when I realized that standing right next to Amy was the plaid-wearing, dark-haired hottie who hadn’t spared Ashley a second glance. Although I was quickly rethinking the “hottie” part of my analysis now that I was close enough to see that beneath the plaid he wore a black shirt with some crazy-looking scientist guy yelling,
“No edge!”
on it.

Geek alert.

Which explained why the guy had ignored Ashley. He probably went exclusively for girls like Mackenzie Wellesley who say stuff like “Math is an
integral
part of my life.”

The reminder of my nemesis instantly twisted my gut. It didn’t help matters that when his green eyes finally met mine, he merely raised one eyebrow skeptically before he continued his conversation with Amy.

Not that I cared about one dork’s opinion, especially when I could be testing the potency of my most charming smile on his very attractive friend. This one was an appealing golden boy, whose hobbies probably included lounging shirtless on pristine white beaches . . . or maybe I was just reading way too much into his lifeguarding shirt. Still, I had no trouble imagining him sitting in a guard tower squinting out at the waves or flirting with bikini-clad girls. His fingers wrapped around mine in a firm handshake that lasted a breath too long for the physical contact to be a purely friendly gesture.

Now
this
was one game I knew how to play.

“So are you Ben or Houston?” I asked flirtatiously.

“That depends on whether you have a preference.” His grin had probably inspired some exceedingly foolish girls to fake drowning, just so that they could receive his CPR.

“Of course I have a preference. I like hearing the truth.”

That got a surprised laugh from him. “I’m Ben.”

“Chelsea.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

I nodded and then leaned forward to adjust the tag on my suitcase, knowing perfectly well that the movement offered a slight glimpse down the neckline of my shirt. Not enough to be scandalous, merely a touch seductive. Ben’s smile widened, but his friend Houston certainly didn’t look impressed. If anything, Houston’s expression twisted into outright derision before he refocused on his conversation with Amy. They kept right on chatting about their experiences with both Neal and the larger history department at Lewis & Clark while the professor under discussion happily discussed our travel plans with a ticket agent.

Not my favorite topics of conversation, but I wasn’t about to let anyone render me irrelevant, especially since I suspected that Houston was doing it intentionally.

I just didn’t know why . . . yet.

“Neal’s pretty funny when you get some wine in him,” I announced casually. “Although he makes a lot of puns about the Visigoths. Not really my scene, but tolerable.”

“
You
have socialized with Neal?”

It wasn’t exactly hard to read the subtext lurking behind Houston’s words:
Yeah, right. Not even outgoing Neal Hamilton would waste his time talking to a pampered ditz like her. At least, not unless he was absolutely smashed.

“He’s only attended our annual Christmas party for, oh, the past five years.” I matched Houston’s disdainful tone to perfection. “He gave me a necklace with ballet slippers on it once. So, yeah, we’ve socialized plenty.”

Houston tensed, as if he were waiting for me to go on the attack or something. Which was weird for a whole host of reasons, the primary one being that I had done nothing to alienate him. And I usually make a
very
good first impression.

“So was he fun?” Amy asked eagerly. “I’ve heard the professor who led the trip last year was super-strict. Do you think Neal will be more laid-back?”