Want to Go Private? (2 page)

Mom smiles approvingly.

“Good. I can see you’re starting to think about your appearance.”

She goes over to my dresser, where my earrings are mixed in a box with my string bracelets, bangles, and necklaces.

“Darling, I bought you this earring tree,” Mom says, starting to hang earrings on the Lucite stand with rows of empty holes. “Why don’t you use it? Then you can actually see what you’ve got so you can accessorize properly.”

What Mom fails to understand is that accessorizing properly is pretty low on my list of priorities.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll do that. You’ve helped me enough for one night.”

Mom picks up a pair of pearl earrings that my grandmother gave me as a confirmation present. They practically scream Goody Two-shoes.

“Why don’t you wear these tomorrow, honey?”

“Uh … maybe. Okay.”

At this point I’d agree to wear a freaking nun’s habit to get Mom out of my room.

“Well, I’ll go start dinner. Make sure you’ve got all your supplies packed.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

I’m barely listening to her because I’ve already opened my laptop and started logging on to ChezTeen.com. It’s this new site that’s kind of like Second Life but for teens. Faith and I have been on it for a few months now and I like it a lot better than Facebook because you get to design your own avatar and you can use a screen name instead of your real name. And it’s like your avatars are actually hanging out together in a real place instead of you just chatting. They even have real musicians give concerts in the Hippodrome. Last month Faith and I saw the
American Idols
tour — or at least our avatars did. Plus, like everyone and their
grandmother
is on Facebook now. My mom made me friend her as a condition of getting an account. At
least on ChezTeen.com I have some space to breathe without parental supervision.

I log in and see that Faith’s already there. Her screen name is Faithfull205. I’m AbyAngel99.

I groan and my fingers hit the keyboard harder than usual.

What? That’s not Faith. It’s this boy avatar with spiky hair and sunglasses called BlueSkyBoi.

All of a sudden, an MSN chat window opens up. It’s Faith.

We chat with BlueSkyBoi for a little longer. He asks us what are the top ten songs on our iPods. I can’t believe when his are almost identical to mine.

Mom calls me for dinner.

No one’s ever called me a soul mate before, and the thought of it being someone I don’t even know, some avatar with spiky hair and a leather jacket called BlueSkyBoi is just … well, funny.

I’m smiling as I head down to dinner.

CHAPTER 2
SEPTEMBER 1

My stomach is turning over as Faith and I walk up the steps to Roosevelt High. Everything seems so much bigger here than it did at Western.

“I hope we have the same lunch period,” I tell Faith.

“I know,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “Otherwise, how will we share cookies?”

I feel weird walking arm in arm, even though last year I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Maybe it’s too middle school. We head to the gym, where we’re supposed to pick up our schedules, and I manage to extract my arm as we go through the doors.
Whew
!

“I guess we have to go to separate lines,” I say. “Looks like I’m in H to P and you’re in Q to Z. Does anyone’s last name actually begin with Q?”

“Anna Quintana,” Faith says.

“Okay, but what about Z?”

“Uh … I know, Emilio Zapata!”

“Okay, know-it-all. Go stand in line, and I’ll meet you after to compare schedules. We
better
have classes together.”

“Don’t worry, Abs, we will,” Faith says as she heads off to the Q to Z line.

It’s sweltering in the gym. I don’t know why I let Faith talk me into wearing this stupid hairstyle, with my hair half down my back. I try holding it up in a ponytail to let my neck cool.

“It is so fricking hot in here!”

I turn and find myself looking up into a pair of bright blue eyes, set in a deeply tanned face that’s framed by close-cut, dark hair. I swallow, suddenly glad that I bothered to experiment with Mom’s extensive makeup selection this morning.

“Uh … yeah. You’d think they’d turn up the A/C.”

“You didn’t go to Eastern, did you?”

“No, Western.”

“Thought I didn’t recognize you. I’m Nick. Nick Peters.”

“Um. Hi. I’m Abby. Abby Johnston.”

“Yeah, well, figured it had to be something between H and P, right?” He smiles, and his teeth are blindingly white against his tan.

Maybe Faith’s right. Maybe high school won’t be so bad after all
.

“Nick! Hey, Nicky!”

Amanda Armitage, queen of all Clique Queens and bane of my middle school existence, is coming across the gym, smiling and waving, and I’ll bet you my favorite Viggo Mortensen poster that it’s not aimed at me. Sure enough, Nick raises an arm and waves back.

“You know Amanda?” I ask him.

“Sure, Mandy and I go way back. Our parents belong to the same country club. She’s great.”

I take it back. High school sucks. Big-time
.

I fake a smile and manage to lie, “Yeah, great,” between gritted teeth.

Great at being a total beeyotch. Great at making other people feel like crap
.

Fortunately, I’m up next to get my schedule, so I’m saved from any further discussion of the Evil Witch’s greatness.

“See you around,” I mutter to Nick as I slink away to find Faith.

“Later!” he says, but he barely looks at me. His eyes are on
Mandy
.

Apparently, there’s room for more suckage in my life. When Faith and I compare schedules, we find that we’re only in one class together, PE, and we don’t have the same lunch period.

“How could this happen?” Faith says, sounding like she’s about to cry. “We’re
always
together. We’re like peanut butter and jelly. Ice cream and hot fudge sauce. Hot dogs and mustard —”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.”

Faith gets all quiet like she does whenever I upset her.

“Sorry, Faith.” I sigh. “I’m just really freaking out, okay?”

“Me, too, Abs. But we’ll meet at the end of the day and tell each other everything, okay? PP?”

Now that we’re in high school, we agreed not to pinkie promise in public. But old habits die hard, so Faith said we’d just say “PP” instead.

“Yeah. PP.”

“And, Abs?”

“What?”

“You look really pretty today.”

I smile, and even though I’m worried about the PDA thing, I can’t help hugging her.

“Well, you know, someone whose name begins with F gave me all these lectures about first impressions counting.”

Faith laughs and for the first time since second grade, we head our separate ways.

I feel like the ball in an Extreme Pinball game as I try to make my way from science class on one side of the building to math class on the other in the three minutes allowed between classes. Whoever dreamed up these schedules obviously never walked in the hallways when there were actually
people
in them.

I’m a little out of breath when I get to math, but my breathing quickens even more when I see that Nick Peters is sitting at a desk near the back and there are two seats left, one next to him and one in front of him.
It’s my lucky day
.

He smiles at me as I put my books down on the one in front of him. I’m afraid if I sit next to him, I’ll just gaze at him longingly for the entire class.

“Hey … uh … Alison, right?”

“Um … close. Abby.”

“Right, Abby. How’s it going so far?”

“Okay. It’s a little crazy finding my way around.”

“Yeah, I know how that is. But we’ll get it, for sure.”

“I know. I’m just going to have to improve my sprint times to make it to class before the bell.”

Nick laughs and once again, I feel like high school has potential. Until I look up and see Amanda Armitage has just entered the room and is heading for the seat right next to Nick.

“Hey, Nicky! I’m sitting next to you so I can copy all your
answers,” she says, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder as she arranges her books on the desk.

Nick grins. “Not so sure you’d want to do that, Mandy. Math isn’t my best subject.”

“Um … it’s one of mine,” I say, “You know … I mean … if you ever need help with homework … or anything.”

Nick glances at me briefly. “Thanks, Ally,” he says. “I’ll remember that.”

He turns back to Mandy.

He could at least remember my freaking name
.

I feel like plankton. No, I feel lower than plankton, if there
is
anything lower than plankton, which I can’t remember because I feel so miserable. What was the point of putting on all this facecrap and messing with my hair? It hasn’t made any difference. People like Amanda Armitage are still going to be on top in high school, and people like me are doomed to a life as pond scum.

Faith and I sit together on the bus home. I just want to forget about my day, but she wants to compare notes.

“There’s a really nice girl, Grace, in a few of my classes. I can’t wait till you meet her — I think you guys will get along. How about you? Did you meet anyone new?”

I have a dull headache, and I really don’t want to relive my day from hell, but there’s no way I’m going to get out of it.

“Well, there’s this really cute guy, Nick Peters, who’s in my math class, but unfortunately he only has eyes for
Mandy
Armitage. Apparently, she’s an
old family friend
from the country club and he thinks she’s
great
.”

Faith rolls her eyes. “Wow. He must be
seriously
gullible.”

“And despite this whole making-an-effort thing, he couldn’t even remember my name for more than three minutes. He kept calling me Alison.”

Faith manages to look sympathetic for all of three seconds before she bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry, Alison, I mean Abs. That sucks. But he isn’t the only guy at school. This is just Day One. You shouldn’t give up on the hair and makeup thing because one idiot didn’t remember your name.”

I sigh and lean my aching head against the bus window.

“Maybe you’re right. But it felt like middle school all over again. Seriously, Faith, do you really think putting this stuff on my face and doing my hair differently is going to turn me into someone new, someone who people like Mandy won’t look down on? Someone whose name Nick might actually
remember
?”

Faith takes my hand and squeezes it.

“I don’t know for sure, but I mean, what the heck, it can’t hurt, can it?”

“I’m not so sure,” I mutter.

“Try not to let Amanda get you down, Abs. You know what she’s like. What she’s
always
been like.”

“Yeah. Whatever. I’ll try.”

“So promise you’ll wear makeup again tomorrow?”

“Okay, okay, okay.”

When I get home, I go straight up to my room, drop my backpack on the floor, and throw myself on the bed. I watch the afternoon sunlight dapple patterns of stripes and leaves on
the ceiling, the dust motes swirling in random patterns that seem to mimic the confusing, uncomfortable feelings I have inside.

There’s no homework, so I grab my laptop and log on to ChezTeen.com. Within minutes, I’m surrounded by friends, even though I’ve never met any of them. There, I can pretend that my first day of school was fantastic, because no one is going to know anything different. I can be anyone I want to be when I’m online and I don’t even have to wear makeup.

“So, how was everyone’s first day at school?” Mom asks when we’re all seated around the dinner table.

“Great!” Lily chirps. “Seventh grade is awesome. I don’t know why Abby hated it so much.”

My little sister is
such
a freak.

“Mom, Dad,
now
do you believe me that Lily’s weird? No one
normal
likes middle school.”

“Abby …” Mom warns.

“
I
liked middle school, or junior high as it was known then,” Dad says.

“Yeah, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Lily says, rolling her eyes.

“Watch it, sprite,” Dad tells her. “This dinosaur is the one who pays for your trips to the mall.”

The fact that Dad liked middle school just proves my theory. He’s not exactly a poster child for Normal. He’s obsessed with becoming a millionaire before he’s fifty, and when we go on vacation he reads all these business strategy books for fun.
On the beach
. It’s so embarrassing. And he’s been a serious workaholic ever since he left Strickham and Young, the major
accounting firm where he’d worked even before I was born, and started his own practice. A major league workaholic — barely ever home and always totally stressed out. I can’t believe he’s actually here for dinner tonight. Mom must have read him the riot act about it being the first day of school and ordered him to come spend some face time with Lily and me.

“What about you, Abby?” Mom asks. “How was your first day?”

For a minute, I’m tempted to tell my parents the truth about my first day, how it was basically the same crummy scene as middle school in a bigger building. But I know that if I do, Mom will start listing the thirty zillion ways I need to change in order to be a success, and Lily will join in and that will be the cherry topping on my Cruddy Day Sundae.

So I lie.

“It was fine. Except it sucks because Faith and I aren’t in any classes together except gym.”

“
Omigod
!” Lily shrieks, throwing up her arms in exaggerated horror. “How will you
live
?! You guys are joined at the freaking hip!”

“Lily. That’s enough,” Mom says, giving my sister a stern glance. “Abby, I know that’s tough for you, but maybe this is a good thing. It’ll force you to branch out and make some new friends.”

So now Mom’s not happy with my friends, as well as with me
?

“What if I’m happy with the friends I’ve got?”

“It never hurts to make new ones,” Dad says. “Who knows where some of these kids might end up in the future? One of them could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company for all you know.”

Trust Dad to bring everything back to business
.

“Not everyone has, like, one
special
friend since second grade,” Lily says. She does little air quotes when she says
special
, whatever
that’s
supposed to mean. “Some of us like to be
popular
.”

I can just imagine Lily and Amanda Armitage having lunch together in the cafeteria, plotting ways to make my life miserable. Not for the first time, I wonder how two people could be raised by the same parents and one end up as a future Clique Queen and the other … well, the other end up like me.

“It’s not that I expect Abby to become wildly popular overnight,” Mom says.

“Yeah, as if!” Lily snorts.

“Lily …” Dad warns.

“I just think that you’ve been such close friends with Faith for so long, it would be good for you to spread your wings a bit and meet some new people. Faith’s a wonderful person, but it wouldn’t hurt you to meet some … different … kinds of girls.”

So, what, they want to try and turn me into Lily? They want me to start hanging out with Amanda Armitage? Not. Going. To. Happen.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got the message. You want me to be different. Can we talk about something else?”

Mom and Dad exchange glances.

“It’s not that, Abby. Your father and I just want you to expand your horizons. We don’t want you to … limit yourself unnecessarily.”

I stare at my plate, no longer hungry. Why can’t my parents just love me the way I am?

“Can I be excused?”

“But you’ve hardly eaten anything!” Mom says, all worried.