Kiss & Sell (11 page)

If I weren’t already so freaked out about the phone call with my mom, I might’ve been embarrassed. or annoyed. Possibly both. But even Mr. Haan’s usual bullying tactics couldn’t take my mind off the fact that in less than 24 hours, I was going to be on live TV.

And yeah, it may only be local news, but it was still TV.

Suddenly, I felt a headache coming on, and lay my head in my hands, allowing my forehead to touch my desk. A few moments later, I heard a noise. More specifically, a coughing sound, like someone clearing his throat.

I looked up, to see Mr. Haan standing over me again.

What now? I grimaced as I looked at the frown on his face.

“Hi, Mr. Haan…”

“Miss sawyer, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you,” He started, “You may want to wake up long enough to go home.”

I looked around and noticed that everyone had already left the room. The bell must’ve sounded and I hadn’t even heard it.

“Let me try this again: the period’s over, Miss sawyer,” He said, sighing. “Do us all a favor and try to get more sleep before class tomorrow, or don’t bother coming at all.”

“But,” I started and then let my voice trail off. There was no point in arguing with the guy, when he was already halfway out the door.

I pulled my bag from the floor and packed up my stuff slowly. All I wanted to do was go home and take a nap.

Maybe if I was asleep I wouldn’t stress about being seen by hundreds of strangers on TV. I placed my bag over my shoulder headed home.

I WAS HOPING
that my after-school plans would consist solely of sleeping and dreaming of anything other than embarrassing myself on live TV, but I realized too late that I was mistaken. Instead, my mom ambushed me as I walked in the door. And from the look on her face, it was clear I wasn’t getting out of whatever she had planned.

“I thought we could go through your closet and find an outfit that would be appropriate for your television debut,” Mom said. She already had her “Serious therapist” glasses on, and was using the soft tone she usually reserved for her patients.

I groaned and tried to make my way toward the stairs, hoping that if I acted like I hadn’t heard her, I could make it to the safety of my bed. Or maybe if I stalled long enough, she’d forget about it completely.

No such luck. As I passed by, she grabbed the bag from my shoulder and set it down near the stairs, steering me toward the couch. Gently pushing me down onto its comfy cushions, Mom squinted her eyes and studied me. I began to squirm as she stared, wishing, for once, that I wasn’t an only child.

“Now, given the topic of the segment, you should dress nicely, but still look your age,” Mom said, putting her fingers to her mouth thoughtfully. “A nice pair of slacks and a cardigan should do nicely.”

I made a face. No kid my age wore slacks and a cardigan. Outside of private school at least. And that look certainly wasn’t going to earn me any bidders, despite whatever my mom thought.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but was interrupted as the front door burst open, and McCartney and Phin charged inside. Our living room was a descent size,
yet almost immediately I began to feel claustrophobic. Like the walls were closing in on me. My heart started to race, and my breath caught in my throat, causing what I could only describe as sheer panic.

Looking around at everyone, I realized that it wasn’t the walls that were closing in on me—it was them.

“She’s gonna be talking about
kissing
, Mrs. Sawyer,” McCartney argued with my mom as respectfully as she could. “We can’t have her dressing like a nun. She needs to wear something that’s gonna make the guys
want
to bid on her. Like a jean skirt and a halter.”

“What’s a halter?” Phin asked, confused.

“A top that goes like this,” McCartney said, gesturing in a V-motion around her neck and chest.

“Oh, yeah, we
like
those,” Phin said, nodding enthusiastically.

I scrunched up my face as he agreed. I
so
didn’t need Phin looking at me that way. It was just too…weird. And kind of gross. The halter was officially out.

“Any other ideas?” I asked, crossing my arms and sighing.

“The important thing is to feel confident in whatever you wear,” McCartney said, pushing forward. “Confidence is
sexy
.”

“Kids, I’m not sure if ‘sexy’ is the vibe I want my daughter to put out there on national television, given the slightly scandalous topic,” Mom said, frowning.

“My mom just said ‘vibe’ and ‘scandalous’ in the same sentence,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Do you even know what those words mean?”

“You know what guys
really
like to see girls wearing?” Phin interrupted and moved over to my side. He placed his hands in the air with a flourish. “Sweats and a T-shirt.”

Phin smiled as he pictured whatever girl he was currently crushing on, lounging around in bummy housewear.

“You know, I’ve never really understood that,” McCartney said, curiously.

“I’m not going on TV in sweats!” I exploded, throwing my hands up in exasperation. None of this was helping. In fact, it was just making me more stressed out. Part of me didn’t even want to go anymore.

Willing myself to calm down, I took a few deep breaths with my eyes closed. When I finally opened them, I looked from one surprised face to another. I rarely had outbursts, so this had caught them all off-guard.

“Listen, guys,” I tried again, more calmly. “I really appreciate all your suggestions, and I know you’re just trying to help…but I think I’m going to figure out what I’m wearing on my own.”

“Just remember that this outfit is even
more
important than the first-day-of-school look,” McCartney said solemnly. “And you didn’t exactly ace that one. Just saying.”

I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming. When I was sure I could move without freaking out on her or the others, I slowly turned away and walked over to the stairs. Without looking behind me, I climbed the steps. Once in my room, I shut the door and let out a sigh.

I’d never wanted to be alone so much in my life.

I dragged my tired butt over to the bed and collapsed face-first on top of its covers. Burying my head in my pillow, I let my whirring mind go still, until the only sound I could hear was the steady beat of my own heart. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

It was a little bit after six in the morning and I was fully primped and standing just offstage on the news station set. I watched as the two morning anchors bantered back and forth, trading jokes every few minutes. The man seemed older than my mom, the woman younger, though they were both so done up that it was hard to pinpoint their exact ages.

“You’re on after the next break,” a man whispered, appearing next to me from behind the stage. Before I could thank him he was gone, off to carry a cheese platter over to a table set up with snacks in the corner.

I watched as the lights dimmed slightly on set, signaling that we’d gone to commercial, and then snuck a peek around the curtain. Glancing at the audience, I tried to locate my mom and friends. Every face was unfamiliar though.

I
so
wasn’t prepared to do this alone.

My stomach started to twist into knots, but then the lights were bursting back on, forcing me to turn away from the action on the set. A familiar voice began to talk again, this time with heightened enthusiasm. It was the female anchor and we were back on the air.

“We mentioned earlier that we had a special guest for you today, and boy, is this one
special
,” the woman said, chuckling to herself.

“Boy, is she,” the man next to her answered, and let out his own fake laugh.

My stomach lurched and I frantically searched for the nearest bucket in case I threw up.

“Lets all welcome to the show,
Arielle Sawyer
!” the orange-faced anchorwoman called out like a game show host on a sugar rush.

Both reporters turned to face me, cartoonish smiles plastered across their faces, expectations wafting off them in waves. Only, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to go out there. Suddenly I was having trouble breathing.

As I struggled to catch my breath, someone shoved me hard from behind and before I knew it, I was staggering onstage, tripping over my own feet. Then I froze. Right in the middle of the walk to the set. I thought about how everyone was watching me back at home, waiting to see my segment, and here I was failing
epically
. But hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to get myself to move toward the guest chair.

“Arielle sawyer, everyone,” the female anchor repeated, clapping her hands politely but raising her eyebrows at me. The audience applauded a second time, assuming I just needed more encouragement. But that wasn’t it.

Confused by the noise and the bright lights, I remained where I stood, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Arielle,” the man said, smiling stiffly. “Why don’t you come over
here
and sit down?”

He motioned to the chair next to the big desk they shared.

Smiling uncomfortably, I took one hesitant step and then another, until I was finally sitting in the chair next to them.

“Well, now,” the woman said, looking relieved that I wasn’t going to be a problem after all. “Why don’t we start off the interview by talking about this
outrageous
outfit you’re wearing? What kind of
statement
are you trying to make today?”

I looked down to remind myself what I’d actually put on that morning. “Uh, I don’t know, I just…”

My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw that my top, which had been tied tightly behind my neck just a few minutes before, was now hanging loosely around my waist, the thin strap ripped at its seams. The strapless nude bra that I could barely fill out, was fully exposed for everyone to see.

I let out a strangled scream as I frantically attempted to cover up my “Girls Gone Wild” moment. But it was too late. I could hear some of the audience members start to snicker while others gasped in disgust. Like I had
planned
it or something.

I wanted to yell out, “Hello?! I’m not Miley Cyrus, people!”

“Oops, sorry there folks,” the female anchor said with a light chuckle. “If I’d known it was going to be a ‘wardrobe malfunction’ kind of morning, I would have warned ya.”

She said it as if it wasn’t a big deal. The way you’d apologize for pronouncing a guests’ name wrong. Not the way you should respond when your guest
flashes the entire country
! I was pretty sure that underage nudity was a big television no-no. Maybe they were just planning on editing it out later.

But wait—the show was live, wasn’t it?

“I’m
so, so
sorry,” I gushed as I fumbled to hold my shirt together. My upper half was flushed with embarrassment by now, which just brought more attention to my miniscule chest. “I don’t understand how this happened. Can I just get another shirt and maybe come back to do it again?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all the time we have for today,” the male anchor replied, gesturing in my direction. “And remember, you saw Arielle here first.
All of her
.”

“What?” I asked, stunned. “No! But I didn’t even get to say anything yet. We can’t be finished!”

The lights dimmed seconds later and I was once again left in the dark, feeling sick to my stomach. I was horrified, shocked, and confused, and I just wanted to die. Didn’t matter how it happened—it could be because of blood loss due to thousands of little paper cuts and I wouldn’t care.

I just wanted
out.

Exhausted and gasping for air, I shot up in bed, my hair stuck to my face and neck. I’d been having a nightmare. As my chest heaved up and down, I realized I’d sweat completely through the shirt I’d been wearing when I passed out after school. I pulled the damp top over my head and tossed it onto the floor beside me. Glancing at the glowing clock across my room, I saw that it was 3:30 in the morning.

Still groggy, I tugged at my shoes and yanked off my jeans and then laid back down onto my bed in a heap, my heart still beating a mile a minute. I groaned as
I recalled my dream and pressed my fingers to my eye scokets, willing myself to forget where my head had gone to.