Inside Girl (15 page)

“But don't you get it, Flan? You don't want to be like me, or anybody else. The only way to get along with people is by being yourself. It's a cliché, I know,
but it's also a good way to avoid a lot of bull.” He folded his arms behind his head. “Listen, I don't know what's been going on with you, but I'd hazard a guess that if you just open up to people, let them see who you really are, a lot of these so-called problems'll disappear. Because people like you, sis, they really do—but what they like about you is that you're real.”

I nodded. He was right, and I had so not been doing that. But now I was starting to get an idea of how to fix the situation.

While my parents made omelets and juiced oranges in the new high-tech juicer they'd bought, I went back upstairs to my bedroom. I sat down at my desk and took out my stationery—the pale yellow monogrammed stuff I hardly ever use—and carefully started to write. As I wrote names on the envelopes, I thought about what it was I really wanted. Because I used to think I wanted to be normal, just a regular teenager like everybody else. But now I was beginning to realize it was more complicated than that. I didn't want to blend in—I wanted to stand out. Not for knowing celebrities or all the best clubs, not for who my brother was or for how much money my parents had. No, I wanted to stand out by being me. The real me—Flan Flood.

On Monday, I got to school way early and started combing the halls for Meredith and Judith, and it was a good thing I did, because they were practically impossible to find. They weren't at Meredith's locker, or Judith's; they weren't in the hall outside our first-period class, and they weren't by the cafeteria. Finally I found them hiding out by the sixth-floor escalator. I kind of had a feeling that they were avoiding me, but I tried to tell myself I was just being paranoid.

“Hey,” I said. “I've been looking all over for you guys. What are you doing up here?”

Meredith and Judith stopped their conversation abruptly and turned around. They looked at me warily, like they were trying to decide if I was going to bite them or not. Meredith was wearing a vintage T-shirt with a screen print of Jim Morrison on it, but Judith
was all dressed up in a suit and heels like she was about to go work in an office or something.

“I'm trying out for the debate team,” Judith said finally. “I was supposed to be up here for that. But they pushed back my audition till after school.”

“That's cool.”

“Not really. Now I have to walk around in a suit all day, or change into normal clothes and then change back.” She looked at her watch. “Which I don't have time to do before first period.”

“Well, I think you look nice,” Meredith told her.

“Me too,” I said.

Judith grudgingly smiled. “Did you have a fun weekend?” she asked, but in this way that made me feel like she was suspicious or something. “Worn out from partying?”

“The only party I went to was with you guys.” I looked down at my feet. It was so unfair—how could they think I was out having fun when I was really just sitting around the house, crying and feeling miserable because I thought they hated my guts? Then again, they had no way of knowing how I really felt. “Besides that, I mostly just did homework.”

“Us too,” said Meredith. “It was super boring.”

“Yeah, it was,” I agreed.

“Well, next time you're ‘bored,' you can ask us to
come over and study with you,” said Judith. “But somehow I doubt that'll ever happen.”

It was mean, but I deserved it. We all stood there awkwardly for a second, until finally, I took a deep breath and took out the invitations I'd made that weekend.

“Actually,” I said in a small voice, “I was wondering if you guys had any plans for Friday.”

“This Friday?” asked Judith, the skepticism leaving her voice. She tugged on the sleeves of her suit. “Why do you ask?”

I handed them the invitations that I'd written out so carefully on my stationery. I hoped I wasn't wasting it: my grandma'd had it made for me back when I was twelve, and I'd been rationing it out ever since.

“Yeah. I was thinking about having a little gettogether,” I said. “You know, like a party. At my house. Since I haven't had you guys over yet.”

“A party?” asked Meredith.

“At your house?” asked Judith.

“Yeah. I mean, it's just going to be small—you guys and a couple of my other girlfriends. I was thinking about inviting Bennett, Eric, and Jules too, if that seems like a good idea to you. But you'd get to meet my family—see my real life. Does that sound okay?”

Meredith grinned, and it was like one of those days
when it's cloudy and you can't tell if it's going to rain until the sun finally breaks through. I could tell she'd wanted to trust me all along, and that thought made me feel way, way better.

“See, Judith?” she said. “I told you she wasn't like the others. She does like us.”

“Of course I do,” I put in quickly. “You guys are amazing. I'm just sorry I wasn't more honest with you from the start.”

Judith nodded slowly. I could see there was still a little bit of doubt lurking in her face. “So, should we … bring anything?”

“No, no, just yourselves. But you think you'll be able to make it?”

“Sure.” Meredith nodded. “We wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Now I just had to invite Bennett and the guys. I thought it would be easier after I'd talked to Meredith and Judith, but their reaction hadn't made me feel as confident as I would've liked. Not that I blamed them: you can't just go from being a total phony to winning back someone's trust by handing out an invitation. But I wished they had at least invited me to hang out after school or something. By the end of the day, I just wanted to go home, curl up on the couch, and watch
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. Somehow that movie always cheers me up when I feel lousy.

I knew I couldn't, though, so as soon as the last bell rang, I went looking for Bennett. But finding him after school was almost as hard as finding Judith and Meredith before school had been. After I checked the hallway with his locker and the journalism room, I was about to give up and assume he'd already gone home. But going down the last escalator to the first floor, I saw he was standing over by the entrance, talking to some of his friends.

I felt nervous, especially because he was talking to people I didn't know. But it looked like they were saying good-bye—they were all doing those sort of silly complicated handshakes guys always do, and a couple of them were already out the door—and besides, it was now or never. So I walked over to Bennett and, as casually as I could, reached up and tapped him on the shoulder.

“H-hey, Bennett,” I stammered as he turned around.

“See you guys,” he called to his friends. Then he picked up his backpack and slung it onto his shoulder, and we started walking out of the building together. “Flan,” he said, sort of casual, but also sort of cold. “What's up?”

“Not much. Listen, I just wanted to ask you something.” I stopped walking, and so did he. There we were, on the sidewalk in front of the school, with all these other students milling around us.

“Well, ask me, then.”

For a second, I felt tongue-tied, but I knew that if I just stood there like an idiot, staring at him, I'd just feel even more stupid. So I blurted it out as fast as I could: “I'm having a party on Friday, and I was wondering if you'd like to come.”

“Huh. Well, Friday … yeah, Friday, I think …” Bennett's voice was all hesitant, like he wasn't sure he could be bothered, and it annoyed me a little. Didn't he know how hard this was for me?

I took the invitation out of my backpack and handed it to him. “All the information's on here.”

“Cool.” Bennett folded the invitation and put it into his pocket. But something was still wrong. Maybe he wasn't trying to act cool after all. He had this weird look on his face like he was nervous but didn't want to show it. “Well, I'll see if I can make it. Have a nice afternoon.”

“What's wrong?” I asked, trying to keep up with him. He was walking really fast all of a sudden, as if he was trying to get away from me.

“Listen, I don't want your pity, okay?” he said,
gazing out at the taxis passing us on the street. “If you like me, then like me—but if you feel sorry for me, with my lame-o parties and my dumb comic books—”

“Bennett, what are you talking about?”

“Listen, I'm not stupid, okay?” He kicked a little rock with his sneaker. “If I'd known you were the queen of the scene, I wouldn't have tried to impress you with such a stupid little party.”

I blinked. “You threw that party—to make me like you?”

“Well, you had such a good time at Devon's … I just thought … Oh, forget it.” Bennett jammed his hands in his pockets. He tried to say something, but a bus roaring by drowned out his words, and he waved his hand like it didn't matter anyway. But before he could start walking again, I grabbed on to his sleeve.

“Listen,” I told him, “I loved the party you threw. It was the best.”

“Yeah right.” He snorted. “I've heard about parties at the Flood house. Celebrities, bottles of Cristal, all kinds of awesome crazy stuff. I'm not sure drinking ginger ale on my couch really lives up to all that.”

I'd never felt more exasperated in my life. “Bennett, those are my brother's parties you've heard about. I've never even had a party with boys at it before.”

He squinted at me like he wasn't sure whether to trust me or not. “Really?”

“Yeah. And I'm sorry if it's disappointing or whatever, but I'm only inviting, like, ten people to the one on Friday.”

A pair of girls in dance leotards walked toward us, and Bennett stepped to my side of the sidewalk to let them pass. When they were gone, he asked, “Why?”

“Because I don't like all that over-the-top stuff. I just want to spend time with … with the people I really care about.”

Bennett half-smiled, showing his chipped front tooth, and we started walking together again.

“How's everything with the school paper?” I asked.

“Oh, that's not very exciting. You don't want to hear about that.”

“Of course I do.”

“Huh.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I guess there was a big stink about the gossip column this week. We printed something about how Principal Leland's been going out with the girls' volleyball coach.”

“Principal Leland?” I laughed. “But that guy's so old and creepy!”

“That's what the volleyball coach said too. She was pretty mad—called it slander. And Principal Leland was like, ‘Oh, give them some allowances, they're just
children,' but you could tell he loved reading that he was hooking up with this athletic younger chick.” Bennett shook his head. “Man, oh man.”

“That's so funny, Bennett,” I told him.

“Yeah, I guess the paper can be pretty entertaining. I dunno, for us dorks who work on it anyway.”

“Stop saying that. You're not a dork.”

And then something wonderful happened. We were stepping off the curb, over a puddle, when out of nowhere, a taxi went whizzing by. Bennett grabbed my hand to pull me back, without even thinking about it, and all of a sudden, there we were—holding hands right there in the street, where anyone could see us. Just like boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt terrific, like jumping and skipping and running around in circles, like nothing could make my day get any better. But then it did get even better, because Bennett went on holding my hand all the rest of the way home.

As soon as I was back inside the house, I called Liesel. Things had gone better with Bennett than I ever could have expected, so I didn't see any reason to quit while I was ahead. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Liesel? It's Flan.”

“Who?” she shouted.

“Flan Flood!” I yelled back. It sounded like she was in a wind tunnel or something. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I'm really rather busy, Flan.”

“Please? It's important.”

There was a long pause like she didn't know if she wanted to hang up on me or not. But she finally said, “Meet me at Serendipity in half an hour—I don't have time to go all the way downtown!”

And so, five minutes after coming home from
school feeling content and optimistic, I was in a cab on my way to the Upper East Side, feeling worried and nervous again. I just hoped Liesel wouldn't hold a grudge.

Serendipity is one of the cutest places in New York, with Tiffany lamps, pink walls, and little white twotop tables that look like something from a doll's house. The food is even cute, with entrees like the Shake, Batter, and Bowl and the Madame Butterfly, and they sell all kinds of stuff in the front of the store—lunch boxes and windup toys and packages of chocolate—so it almost looks like a toy shop from the street. It's every little girl's favorite restaurant (and probably a lot of little boys' too, even though they'd never admit it).

It's also a great place for celebrity spotting—the last time I was there, Gwyneth Paltrow was eating lunch with her two kids—which is probably how Liesel knew about it in the first place. Also, it's on Sixtieth near Bloomingdale's, her parents' part of town, where the streets are wide and clean, the dogs have beauty shops, and the old women start wearing their fur coats with the first cool breeze of autumn.

As soon as we walked in, I spotted Liesel sitting at a table in the corner, wearing Dolce sunglasses and a
dove-gray strapless dress made of some luxurious material. She was talking to the waiter. As soon as she saw me, she waved me over to the table and ordered me a frozen hot chocolate, this really delicious drink they have there. Then she looked across the table intently. Her hair was up in this twist that looked very chic but also kind of severe, and for a second I thought she was about to yell at me. Then she sighed and shook her head.