Getting REVENGE on Lauren Wood (18 page)

2.
So many people have come that someone thought it would be a good idea to start parking on the lawn.

3.
A minimum of three couples are having sex somewhere in the house—at least one of them in the parents’ bed.

4.
Doritos, chips, and other salty snacks have been crumbled into a fine powder and ground into the living room rug.

5.
At least one priceless breakable has been broken. Someone will make an attempt to fix it with superglue or toothpaste. It will not work.

6.
The kitchen floor will be sticky from spilled liquids, making it possible for a small freshman to become completely stuck to the floor like to a giant piece of flypaper.

7.
Music is playing at a level loud enough to cause ears to bleed. Occasionally someone will yell to turn it down before the neighbors call the cops. This person will then be called a pussy by the others and the music will go a notch louder.

8.
A group of jocks will be around the dining room table, playing a complicated drinking game to which no one completely understands the rules. It is possible that the rules are completely irrelevant anyway.

In the case of Julie’s party, it was all of the above. Julie didn’t seem to mind. She was wandering through the house wearing her mom’s silk kimono-style bathrobe and drinking a wine cooler. It was possible that she had decided she was going to get the death penalty for the party when her parents got home so she might as well enjoy her final night on earth.

Lauren was already at the party. When Christopher and I arrived it was clear she’d had quite a few drinks. It looked to me like she’d left drunk behind a few beers ago and had moved into that stage where your brain starts to float free in all the alcohol.
Lauren lunged at Kyla declaring her to be her “very best friend in the world!” Kyla met my eyes across the room and shook her head in disgust. It didn’t look like Bailey was there. I wondered who Lauren was counting on to hold her hair out of the toilet when she started puking, because it was clear to me that Kyla was not going to volunteer.

Christopher and I wove our way through the crowd of people until we found the cooler in the kitchen. He grabbed a beer for himself and then looked over at me.

“Is there any Diet Coke left?” I asked.

Christopher fished through the melting ice water and pulled out a can, taking the time to pop the top for me. And people say there are no gentlemen left.

We clinked our drinks together and wandered out onto the back porch where at least it was quiet enough to hear yourself think. The porch was screened in so it wasn’t quite as cold as being outside, but it was still way colder than the house. You could see your breath in the air.

“You cold?”

I started to shake my head no and then realized there was no point in being polite; my shivering was most likely giving things away. Christopher pulled off his military jacket and wrapped it around me. It was a deep olive green wool and still warm from his body.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.”

We sat on the bench, watching people come and go through the kitchen. I knew I should talk about something, but I was at a complete loss to come up with a topic. The longer I didn’t talk, the louder the silence was between the two of us. What if we had nothing to talk about but movies? Did that mean our relationship was doomed? Would it be easier to talk to him if I was being myself, or was he only interested in me because I was Claire? Maybe it didn’t matter who I was because I was doomed in any relationship due to my lack of communication skills. There was a constant loop in my head,
say something, say something, say something, say something
.

“So did you know Katharine Hepburn did all her own stunts? She thought the stunt women didn’t stand up straight enough,” I blurted out. I then wished for a meteor to suddenly fall from the sky and take me out for saying something so completely random. That’s the problem with space debris. It never causes a cataclysmic event when you want it to.

“I can honestly say that no, I didn’t know that,” Christopher said, no doubt taking pity on my poor social skills. “I would have thought it was part of the job requirement for stunt people to have good posture.”

“Yeah. It could have just been her take on stuff. She was sort of a control freak about things. I mean, the guy I used to date who was into movies told me she was,” I tried to explain while still waiting for the earth to swallow me whole.

“I always had the impression she wasn’t the kind of person to be wishy-washy on issues.” Christopher took a drink of his beer.

“What’s wrong with knowing exactly where you stand on things?”

“Life isn’t a vintage film,” Christopher said. When he saw my confused face he explained, “Things aren’t black-and-white.”

“Some things are.”

Christopher gave a vague one shoulder shrug. “Don’t get me wrong. I like Katharine Hepburn. She was honest. You knew where she stood.”

I swallowed. I wondered what he would think of my less-than-honest take on key issues like my real identity.

“I have no idea why I brought up Katharine Hepburn,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry. Random isn’t a bad thing.”

“The thing is, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

“Just so we’re on the same page, what kind of thing are we talking about?” Christopher asked, taking a long drink of his beer.

“Being with people.”

“I thought it came second nature to the elite crowd,” Christopher said.

“Sometimes it only looks like it comes easy. It can be a lot of work.”

For some reason I had the urge to tell him about Lauren. About what she did and how it made me afraid to get too close to anybody. I don’t know why, but I was sure he would know what to say, that he would have some kind of advice. I wanted to explain that I had been sure things were black-and-white, but
lately there was all this gray everywhere. I opened my mouth to tell him when the door to the patio flew open and Julie spilled out. She spotted us and swayed back and forth while her mouth waited to catch up to whatever her brain was thinking.

“You guys have to come inside, we’re playing a game,” Julie said, though it came out more like,
“You’ll gooz, come inziiid, waa plainning a guum.”

It was possible that an out of control party was not the place to spill your guts. Unless you counted Lauren, who dashed past all of us to spill her guts in the bushes in a nonmetaphorical sense.

Christopher stood up and took a step toward Lauren and then stopped. There wasn’t anything he or anyone else could do to help.

“Splashdown!” one of the jocks yelled out the living room windows. I glanced over my shoulder. It looked like everyone was getting a good view of Lauren.

“Those are my mom’s azaleas,” Julie slurred.

“Not her finest hour,” I said.

“What’s your problem with Lauren?” Christopher asked.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You spend a lot of time worrying about something that isn’t a problem.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I didn’t meet his eyes. “Do you want to go inside and play a game?” I tried to make my voice sound flirty.

“You know, unlike most people, I’m not real big on playing games.” He turned around and walked away.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Christopher and I didn’t stay at the party late. Things had started to go downhill rapidly once Lauren started throwing up. It’s been my limited party experience that once people start spewing bile in public the fun is over.

Christopher pulled into my grandma’s driveway but didn’t turn off the car. It looked like our second date was over.

“I had a good time,” I said.

“Really?” Christopher stared out the window.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Honestly? No.” He looked over at me. His face was tinted blue in the dashboard lights. “I don’t know what to believe. Sometimes I get you and other times it seems complicated.”

“Complicated can be interesting.”

“It can also be a lot of work.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Claire would have a flip comment about how some things are worth a bit of work, but I wasn’t sure
the line would work on Christopher. My grandma flicked on the driveway light indicating that she thought enough time had passed out there.

“I guess I should go.”

“Have a good night.”

I paused, wanting to say something else, but the lights flicked on and off again. “You have a good night too.”

I replayed the night as I lay in bed. Public vomiting was a new low for Lauren. It was one thing for a popular girl to get a little wild and wacky at a party. It was a whole other dimension when you started spewing for the world to see. There was no official way to tell, of course—popularity doesn’t have an official ranking list that can be checked—but I was almost certain Lauren’s reign was at an end. She wasn’t unpopular. It would take a lot more hurling for that to happen, but she was definitely less popular. I was one step closer to total victory, but it didn’t feel nearly as good as I had hoped. Instead of the image of Lauren hurling in the bushes for all to see, the picture in my mind was Christopher looking disappointed.

I rolled over and looked at the digital clock—3 a.m. I clicked on the bedside lamp and pulled my revenge binder out from under the bed. I ran my finger down the list. Lauren had lost her boyfriend, the lead in the play, and her friends. Christopher hadn’t been hers, and he wasn’t exactly mine now either, but no way could he find her attractive after what she pulled tonight. The only thing left was cheerleading, and I even had
finally come up with a plan for that. I should feel like celebrating. Something was missing. I ran through the list over and over trying to determine if I had left anything out, some angle on the plan that would click everything into place.

Then I saw it. I looked down at the binder. It was all about Lauren, what she had, what was important to her. Pages and pages all devoted to the great Lauren Wood. Maybe I needed a list about me for a change.

I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and wrote across the top:
life after lauren.

I stared at the paper. There she was, right at the top of my list. I crossed off her name with a thick line. Nope. I scribbled over it. That wasn’t right either. No way was I letting her ruin my list. I crumpled up the paper and tossed it toward my trash can. I grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and started again.
life list
.

Now all I had to do was make a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Things I wanted for myself. I tapped my pen on the edge of the binder, waiting for inspiration. After a few minutes I wrote down a couple of items:

1.
Friend.

It went without adding that I meant a real friend. Someone I could count on, someone like Brenda.

2.
Christopher.

I was willing to admit it. I liked him. I wanted him to like me. The real me.

I stared at the list. Two items? That’s it? How could I have only two things that I wanted out of my life? It has been easier coming up with things to take away from Lauren than it was to come up with what I wanted for myself. The only other item I could think of for the list was too vague. I wanted to be happy.

I added another item to my list:

3.
Get a Life.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I tried to call Brenda on Sunday night, but her cell wasn’t on. I called her home number but her mom said she was studying and couldn’t be disturbed. The thing with Brenda is she’s the type who really could be into studying, all caught up with protoplasm or black holes, and not want to be disturbed, but I had a hunch that wasn’t the issue.

I’d made a decision. I didn’t want to hear a blow-by-blow replay of the party from Lauren’s perspective. I didn’t care what Kyla thought of what everyone was wearing. I had zero interest in spending another lunch pretending to find what they said even remotely interesting. Getting revenge on Lauren didn’t have to mean giving up everything that I wanted for myself. At lunch on Monday, I gave the three of them a nod and then walked right past their table.

I stood at the front of the tables and searched up and down looking for Brenda. I wanted to talk to her about Christopher, and I also owed her an apology for always blowing her off in
public. I looked right past her at least three or four times, not recognizing her. She was sitting at a table with a bunch of other girls from the play. She was wearing one of her new outfits and laughing at what one of the other girls said.

“Hey, there you are,” I said as I walked up to her. Brenda looked up as if she didn’t know who I was.

“Oh, hi.”

I stood there with my tray wondering if she was going to ask me to sit down.

“I tried to give you a call last night.”

“I was studying.” Brenda’s eyes didn’t meet mine.

“Oh.” The whole table sat there watching me. “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

“We’re just finishing up actually,” Brenda said.

I looked down at their trays. Unless they were on the anorexic diet, Brenda was dissing me. They hadn’t even made a dent in their lunches. My jaw tightened. So that was how it was going to be.

“Fine. Now that I think about it, I’ve lost my appetite anyway.” I walked to the end of the row and dumped everything, including the tray into the garbage and walked out. I slammed open the bathroom door, and once I was sure I was alone, I kicked the stall door. It swung open, whacking into the toilet paper dispenser, and then bounced shut again. It was not nearly as satisfying as I had hoped and it made my foot hurt. I gave it another kick anyway.

I heard the door open and before I even turned around I knew it was Brenda.

“I thought you weren’t done with lunch,” I said, hating how my voice sounded snotty.

“You can’t do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re my friend one minute and then not the next moment. Tell me you know exactly what I need to do and then the second I have any advice for you, tell me that I have no business giving it.” Brenda tossed her hands in the air.