Kiss & Sell (18 page)

“I can’t do that,” I answered bluntly. “Phin, please tell McCartney why calling a guy I only met once is
so
not a good idea.”

I waited for Phin to answer, but he just raised his eyebrows at me. “Actually, it’s not…totally bad. Guys love it when girls pursue them. It lets us off the hook for a change,” He said. “But flext him instead. That way you can figure out what you’re going to say first. Let’s be honest here. You don’t exactly give good phone.”

“Ooooh, yeah! Flext him! in fact, do it right now. We’ve still got a few minutes until the bell rings.”

They mean flirting by text, a term we’d made up back in middle school when everyone in our class had begun to get cell phones. Flexting. I hadn’t done a lot of it myself, but it seemed to work for McCartney. And for Phin. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to send Ryder a little message, after all.

“Are you guys serious about this? He won’t think I’m a freak for texting him first?”

“No way.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Where’s your cell? Start off by saying something like, ‘Hey, stranger, miss me?’”

“I am
not
saying that, McCartney. Ryder knows I’m not the kind of girl to mac on a relative stranger with some totally lame pick-up line.”

“But you
are
the kind of girl who sells kisses over the internet?” Phin asked pointedly.

“It’s not the same thing,” I argued, annoyed that he was trying to throw his plan back in my face.

“Fine, don’t say that, but for hottie’s sake, say something!” McCartney begged.

Exasperated, I pulled out my cell and started a new text, muttering multiple four-letter words under my breath. As I typed, McCartney and Phin both shut up, allowing me to focus on what I was doing. Only, I had trouble finding the right words, because I wasn’t totally convinced I should be texting Ryder.

Was I the kind of girl who made the first move? Could I let a guy know what I wanted and then go after it (or him)? Would Ryder think I was a boy-crazy, celebrity whore for reaching out to him? It was clear that the answers weren’t going to come as I stood in an empty classroom with my friends hovering over me, so I hurriedly pressed send and listened to the wooshing sound as the message left my outbox.

“What did you say?” McCartney asked, as she bounced around excitedly.

“Whatcha up to?” I said.

Silence.

“
That’s
your idea of flexting? no wonder you’re kissably challenged…”

“Thanks, Phin. But I think I’ve been doing fine on my own so far—he asked for my number, right?”

“You could’ve at least said ‘Whatcha up to,
hot stuff
?’ What you said makes you sound like you’re his sister. Or worse…his
friend
!” McCartney exclaimed, horrified at the notion.

“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked.

“There’s nothing worse than finding yourself in the
friend zone
. It’s the quickest way to ensure that nothing sexy will happen between the two of you in the future,” Phin said. “Ever.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t listen to this crazy talk anymore or my brain is going to start leaking out of my ears.”

McCartney began to argue with me, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. We all turned to see a blond standing in the open doorway, looking apologetic but eager. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her name or what grade she was in. By the look of her outfit though—she was wearing a fitted black jumper with pink and gray gingham tights and platform Mary Jane’s—she was a prepster. My guess was she was on the student council or the debate team. Either way, I was curious to see what she wanted.

“Arielle?” she asked timidly.

I blinked at her, surprised to hear that she was there to talk to me. Not because I was too cool for school, but because I wasn’t exactly the girl people went looking for. I glanced over at my friends questioningly. McCartney just shrugged before turning her focus back on Preppy Patty.

“Um, yeah. That’s me. Can I help you?” I asked slowly, dragging out the words as I spoke them.

The thought briefly crossed my mind that the girl might’ve been sent by satan’s spawn to deliver my punishment for the unfortunate incident at lunch. But as I continued to study her, I couldn’t help but get the impression that wasn’t the case.

“I hope so!” Preppy Patty answered excitedly.

Her shoes click-clacked their way across the floor as she closed the distance between us, stopping just a few feet away from me. She pulled herself up onto one of the desks and crossed her legs daintily.

“You probably have no idea who I am. My name’s Bree!” she said, waving her hand at me. “And you’re Arielle, right?”

I smiled and nodded politely, still confused over what was happening here.

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. “I’m so excited to
finally
meet you! you have no idea how much I admire you!”

“For what?” Phin asked loudly.

I turned and glared at him before focusing back on Bree. Although I was wondering the same thing myself, there was such a thing as tact, and Phin was severely lacking in it.

“Duh. She’s like the bravest person I know in real life,” Bree answered. Then she lowered her voice and looked at me seriously. “I would’ve been too scared to put myself out there like that. You wanted a kiss and you did something about it. You’re totally badass… like angelina Jolie, only younger and less freaky.”

“Um, thanks?” I answered, letting what she was saying sink in. I was surprised that she was focusing on what I was doing to get my kiss, instead of the fact that I was so lame that I needed to put my kiss up on eBay in the first place. The truth was, nobody had wanted to kiss me before. Nothing cool about that.

“So, why were you looking for me exactly?” I asked, still confused.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m just so excited, that I’m not making any sense. Okay, so I was looking for you, because I was hoping you could help me out with something,” Bree said. “See, I’m on the Homecoming dance committee and we’re in desperate need of a few more members to pull off the greatest party in ronald Henry history. And of course… I thought of you! Please say you’ll do it!”

What the frack was going on here? This girl I barely knew was practically
begging
me to join her club. Me. Arielle sawyer. The girl who, up until a few weeks ago, was non-existent. I couldn’t get over the fact that, for some reason, this girl thought I was way cooler than I actually was.

“No offense, but
why
did you think of me? I’ve never even been to a dance before, let alone helped plan one,” I said honestly. “I’m not saying no—but what makes you think I’d be any help to you anyway?”

A look of guilt crossed Bree’s face as she realized that she’d been caught. Caught doing what exactly, I wasn’t sure. Sheepishly, she looked down at the floor and began to explain.

“Well, I saw you on
Snooze
and you were really cool and funny…and you were just sitting there, chatting with Ryder Diggs, like he wasn’t the hottest thing since twitter, and I just thought, ‘that’s who we need planning our dance.’”

I stared at her, stunned by the admission and completely unsure how to react. I had to appreciate her honesty. Bree could’ve easily made up some kind of BS about how she admired my entrepreneurial skills or something, but she’d respected me enough to lay it all out there. There was something refreshing about that.

Bree stood there in front of me, looking both hopeful and unabashedly grateful at the same time. It dawned on me that this was what it must feel like to be popular. People wanting to be around you just because of who they thought you were. Not because of who you
actually
were.

“It’s really nice of you to think of me, Bree, but I might end up doing more damage to your dance than help. See, I’m a little accident-prone,” I admitted, looking over at my friends for support

“It’s true,” McCartney piped up for the first time since we’d started talking. “Arielle managed to break my iPhone, and its case was supposed to be indestructible.”

“I told you that wasn’t my fault. That fat guy hit it out of my hands, and there was no way for me to catch it before it hit the escalator. So, technically, it was that fat man and the escalator that broke your phone. Not me.”

McCartney rolled her eyes and mouthed, “It was her,” to Bree.

“I’m not blind, McCartney. I can see you.” I was growing irritated.

I turned back to Bree and tried to bring the conversation to a close. “Anyway, I’m just not sure I’m the right girl for the job. You’d be better off getting someone else to help. Someone who’s more of a party girl, maybe. Why don’t you ask Kristi? She probably lives for that stuff.”

“Can I be honest with you? I feel like I can tell you anything.” Bree looked around the room as if there might be a spy hiding under a desk just waiting to hear her dirty little secrets. “When Kristi was on the dance committee last year, she was a total control nazi. She pushed for the polka dots theme when she knew they’d make the rest of us look fat. So this year, we black-listed her.” she paused, thinking over what she’d just divulged. “But Kristi doesn’t know that, so please don’t tell her, okay?”

I was shocked to learn that there were other people at RHHS who weren’t Kristi fans, either. I was even more floored that the list included other popular kids.

“Besides, if you came, I have a feeling it would be the best turnout for a dance ever. And the money we make fully goes to some orphanage in the city, so I just figured you’d want to help out….”

“Okay, Bree,” I said, worrying that if I didn’t agree soon, the girl might pass out from lack of oxygen to her brain due to all the talking. And even though I’d just met her, I didn’t want that on my conscious. “I’ll do it.”

Bree’s face lit up like a 100-watt bulb, and she jumped up and down, clapping her hands like a cheerleader. Then, she scurried over to me and pulled me into a tight hug. I was caught off-guard by the act and my arms remained at my side limply as she squeezed me like a stress doll.

“This is so great! I can’t wait to tell
everyone
!” she exclaimed. “So, our first meeting is tomorrow after school. We meet at 2:15 in the student lounge. Start thinking of themes!”

“Great,” I answered.

I watched as Bree bounced out of the room, wiggling her fingers goodbye as she disappeared.

“Whoa. That girl’s got a
whole
lot of spirit, doesn’t she?” Phin asked, letting out a low whistle. “Think she’d go to Homecoming with me?”

“No,” McCartney answered. “Besides, we’re all going together, remember?”

“I just figured, now that Arielle’s gonna be Queen of the Party People, she could just find us people to go with.”

“I’m not going to force people to go with you to the dance, Phin,” I answered, picking my bag up off the floor. “Not that I have that power anyway. Nobody’s gonna care that I’m helping out with the dance. The only reason I said yes in the first place was because I figure it’ll look good on my college apps later on.”

“You should ask
Ryder
to go with you,” McCartney blurted out. I turned to look at her and saw that she had her trouble-making face on. Whenever she was planning something devious, she got this grin on her face—sort of like the Grinch who stole Christmas—and her eyebrows shot up into the shape of little tiny devil horns.

“You’ve officially gone mental,” I said flatly. “You either need to go on some sort of medication or check yourself into the loony bin, because you’re twelve kinds of crazy right now.”

“You
would
look great in a straight jacket,” Phin agreed.

“Just think about it,” McCartney implored as she followed me out the door.

The scary thing was, I already had.

THE NEXT DAY,
I dragged myself to the student lounge to meet Bree and her crew for our first Dance Committee meeting. I’d been kicking myself ever since I’d agreed to do the thing in the first place. But now that I was actually on my way, it was taking everything I had to keep from turning around and ditching the whole thing.

It also didn’t help that McCartney and Phin had both given me a hard time about heading to the meeting instead of hanging out with them like usual. They even made up a song about it and sang it to me before first period. And again at lunch. And in between every break. As annoying as the lyrics were, I had to admit that the tune was pretty catchy. And now I couldn’t get it out of my head, which meant that I was effectively torturing myself for them.

“We’re hanging alone now, our little Arielle is busy dancing around. She’s making the plans now, she’ll pick the color, theme and a hip-hop sound.” I sang the lyrics softly to the tune of Tiffany’s “I think we’re alone now,” as I neared the lounge. Realizing that I was doing it again, I shook my head to clear it. “Damn you McCartney and Phin!” I cursed under my breath.

I walked into the student lounge, which was everyone’s go-to spot whenever they weren’t in class. It was exactly what you’d think a teachers lounge would be—except way cooler. And only for students. Once two large rooms that had been separated by a flimsy folding wall, the student lounge was now one big open area, filled with couches, bean bags, tables and even a hammock.