Me, My Elf & I (7 page)

“But you guys care,” I say, totally confused.

“Only because it’s so funny to see what they’re bitching about and then make fun of them for being such jerks,” Mercedes snaps.

Now I read Bella’s entry in the secret blog.

Below that are comments from her friends. It’s easy to see who said what because each comment has a picture of the girl who wrote it. I recognize them from the cafeteria. One has short black hair, a hoop through her eyebrow, and bright red lips. That’s ZoEzOe. LadyBug has straight blond hair that brushes her bare shoulders. CH3L-C has red hair, a nose ring, and a scowl on her face. And BELLA is the girl with those mean cat eyes.

“You know they’re talking about you, right?” Mercedes asks me.

“Really?” I try to read it again, but I’m completely confused by all the unfamiliar words and weird abbreviations. “What’s it mean?”

“It’s hard to understand at first because they use a lot of their own slang,” Ari explains.

“‘Yatch’ is their word for bitch, from bee-yatch. And a ‘nancy’ is a nice girl,” Mercedes explains.

“Are you a nancy, too?” I ask her.

“Hell no. ‘Nancy’ means a dorky nice girl, which I’m not.”

“But how can someone be a
yatch
and a
nancy
at the same time?” I ask, confused.

“Good question,” Ari says. “But then again, we’re not dealing with the brightest bulbs in the pack.”

Mercedes points to the screen. “Zoe calls you Velveeta which is their word for cheesy.”

“What’s cheesy?” I ask.

“You know, tacky, nasty, cheap, tasteless,” Ari explains.

“And, dang girl!” Mercedes says. “Bella calls you a ‘grubworm with no fraz.’ Translation, a lowlife with no style. Mmm, that’s gotta hurt.”

She’s right, it does hurt and my eyes sting from holding back the tears. “Why are they being so mean to me? They don’t even know me. Just because I put my tray down in the wrong place yesterday? That’s so unfair.”

“But, Zephyr, don’t you see? ” Ari asks. He and Mercedes stare at me with little smirks. “Right here they talk about Timber.”

“TLC,” Mercedes says, pointing to Chelsea’s comment.

“Chelsea knows that it bugged Bella when Timber laughed about what happened in the cafeteria,” Ari says. “Chelsea’s always rubbing it in when something annoys Bella. Sometimes I wonder if Chelsea even actually likes Bella.”

“Right,” says Mercedes. “And then Zoe says she thought Bella would kick Timber’s ass for laughing, but Bella acts like it didn’t bother her.”

“Only it did,” says Ari. “Because if it truly didn’t bother her, then she wouldn’t bother to write about you, but she did, so you got under her skin.”

He and Mercedes laugh meanly, but I don’t think any of this is funny.

“Now let’s check out BellaHater!” Mercedes says.

“This is awesome.” Ari makes a new screen appear. “A few months ago, somebody started this I-Hate-Bella blog, only nobody knows who does it.”

“But everybody has a theory,” says Mercedes.

“Every time Bella posts on her blog, BellaHater puts up some hilarious response,” says Ari.

“I think it’s the fairy girls,” says Mercedes.

“No way,” says Ari. “They’re clueless.”

“Jilly—she’s the head fairy girl, you know, those girls who always wear wings?—hates Bella,” Mercedes points out.

“So do a lot of people,” says Ari.

The new screen is filled with awful pictures of Bella that have been changed. Her teeth are blacked out of her smile. In some she has horns on her head or a mustache. I giggle, because it is funny to see her looking so ridiculous, but then I feel bad for laughing at something that’s so unkind.

“I don’t know how she does it, but sometimes BellaHater gets pictures of Bella when she’s messed up,” says Mercedes.

“What do you mean, messed up?” I ask. “Like her hair is messy?”

“No, as in she’s had a few too many,” says Ari.

“A few too many what?” I ask.

Ari and Mercedes look at each other and sigh.

“Moving on!” says Mercedes.

She reads the day’s entry aloud to us:

“That’s going to be you, Zephyr,” Ari says.

“What’s going to be me?” I ask.

“The person who kicks Bella’s butt,” says Mercedes.

I gasp. “I can’t do that! I can’t fight someone.” They have no idea how gentle elves are. I couldn’t kick someone if I wanted to.

“No, no, no,” says Ari. “Kick her butt means beat her at the audition. That’s what you’re going to do.”

“With our help,” Mercedes adds.

I squirm, uncomfortably. I should tell them that I’m having misgivings about the whole thing, but before I can figure out how to say it, Ari says, “Listen
hombres
, sorry I can’t stick around for more dastardly plotting to end the evil reign of Bella.” He clicks the BlackBerry off and stashes it inside his bag. “But I have rehearsal.”

“For what?” I ask.

“My band,” he says with a small shrug.

“Yeah, I should get out of here, too,” Mercedes says. “My
abuela
hates it when I come home past five.” She gathers her things.

“Yeah, I guess I have some homework and stuff to do,” I mumble, trying to seem as busy as they are.

As they walk out of my room, I see them grin at each other. “This is going to be fun,” Ari says.

“Oh yeah.” Mercedes rubs her hands together. “Total blast.”

chapter 4

THE NEXT DAY
the fairy girls eye me when I walk through the green BAPAHS doors and I get the sneaking suspicion that I’ve been duped into wearing my Alverland clothes to school. Why oh why did I trust Ari and Mercedes when they said that a long, handmade tunic and deerskin boots would be cool in a place like New York City? Even the weird girls who wear fake wings over their strappy tank tops and flouncy skirts are looking at me like I’m the freak! I wish I could be like my dad—proud and confident when he’s onstage in his elf clothes. Then again, this isn’t a stage and I’m not playing to my adoring fans. I’m back at BAPAHS, where evil lurks in the form of Bella Dartagnan, who already called me a “nancy with no fraz.”

The fairies are in a huddle, gossamer wings flittering as they whisper together and glance over their slender shoulders at me. I know I’m going to have to make a move, either back outside past all the kids on the steps leading up to the school or forward, deeper into the jaws of the BAPAHS beast. Before I can make up my mind which way to go, the big green doors open behind me. A warm breeze ruffles my tunic, reminding me how ridiculous I must look next to everyone in their soft worn jeans, funky tops, and little flat slipper shoes. A guy and a girl pass me, holding hands. “Hey, cool dress,” the guy says nonchalantly over his shoulder. The girl glances at me and nods. “Nice,” she says, and they go along their way, leaving me in a puddle of gratitude and relief.

Okay, I think, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe Ari and Mercedes were being honest. Plus, there are no clothes in the world that I’m more comfortable in than my tunic and boots. This is me. If Ari is goth, then this is who I am. I take a big breath and begin walking down the hall. But . . .

The fairies again. They’ve spread out, three in a row, and are heading toward me, wings shimmering on their backs. Maybe that couple was being sarcastic, which I’ve noticed is very popular around here. Every other sentence out of Ari’s and Mercedes’s mouths is like someone cast an opposite spell on them. So when that couple said “cool dress” and “nice” did they really mean “dorky dress” and “bad”? Are they huddled in a corner, laughing at me, fingers flying over the keys on their blueberries or blackberries or whatever they’re called as they post comments about my stupid clothes on their glogs or bogs?

“Hey,” says the fairy leader. That must be Jilly. The three of them stand in front of me now. The queen fairy is shorter than I am and as slender as a sapling. “Can we ask you a question?” The other two girls (in pink wings and yellow) stand slightly behind their fearless leader, peering out as if they’re hiding behind a tree.

“Sure.” I brace myself for something totally embarrassing.

“Where’d you get that awesome dress?” the fairy queen asks me.

“It’s hot,” adds Pink Wings.

“Smoking,” says Miss Yellow.

“Really?” I ask. “Does that mean you like it?”

“Duh,” says Pink.

“Can I touch it?” The queen reaches out and strokes the fabric. “So soft,” she tells the others. They reach out, too, and I blush at their attention.

“So pretty,” says Pink.

“And you look amazing in it,” adds Yellow.

“Very Guinevere,” says the queen.

“Totally Guinevere,” the others agree.

“Who’s Guinevere?” I ask.

“You know, King Arthur’s wife,” the queen says.

“Lancelot’s lover,” Pink adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

“We’re kind of obsessed with the whole Camelot thing,” Yellow Wings explains and all three nod.

“I could never pull off a dress like that, though,” the queen says to her friends. “You have to be tall and willowy, like her.”

“Oh no,” I tell her. “Everyone looks great in these. And they’re so comfortable! You can do anything in them. Climb trees. Hike up a mountain. Sleep.” The fairies look at one another and twitter. “I mean,” I stammer and blush, “if you like to do those sorts of things. Or you can just, you know, wear them to school and hang out or whatever.”

“So where’d you get it?” the queen asks me again.

I’m not sure how to answer. If I tell them that my grandmother made it will they think I’m a weirdo who can’t afford to buy real clothes? But I can’t lie. “Michigan,” I say.

“Michigan?” The queen blinks and frowns. “Where’s that? Lower East Side? Williamsburg? Is it a boutique or a chain?”

“The real Michigan,” I say. “The state. That’s where I’m from. I just moved here.” Before they can ask me anything else about my clothes I quickly add, “My name is Zephyr. What’s yours?”

“I’m Jilly,” says the queen. “This is Rienna and Darby.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say. “I noticed you yesterday in the cafeteria with your wings and everything and I wondered who you were and . . .” I stop because I realize that I’m gushing.

The doors behind me open again. A rush of warm air circulates through the hall, ruffling papers attached to the bulletin boards on the walls. The fairies watch whoever is coming, then they bite their lips and elbow one another. I glance over my shoulder and squint into the streaming sunlight. I can just make out the silhouette of a guy taking off his sunglasses and running his fingers through his hair as he steps into the hallway. My stomach clenches and buzzes as if I swallowed a beehive.

It’s the wolf-boy, Timber. He sees me and flashes that gorgeous smile full of teeth. Bees burst from their hive in my belly. They buzz through my tingling arms and legs then I turn to honey, sweet and gooey, as he walks toward me. I hear the fairies suck in air and giggle behind their hands.

“Hey, Zephyr,” says Timber, slow and easy.

“Erp,” I squeak like a mutant mouse and before I can make something intelligible come out of my stupid mouth, Bella, the queen bee, floats through the open doors. She is followed by her three drones. They walk in step, as if music follows them everywhere.

“Timb,” Bella says without even so much as a glance at me. Her eyes are obscured behind giant white sunglasses and her hair falls softly in waves over her shoulders. She is looking down at her phone, busy punching numbers. “I need a frappucino,” she commands, and he falls in step with her, down the hall and away.

I’m left facing the fairies, who stare at me with eyebrows raised. “What?” I cringe.

“You know him?” Jilly asks.

“We met the other day,” I half explain with an apologetic shrug. “That’s all.”

Rienna rolls her eyes and snorts. “I’ve known Timber since preschool. He came to my tenth birthday party and we held hands at the seventh-grade spring fling dance.” Then a bell rings, making me jump. The fairies gather their bags. “And still,” Rienna says over her shoulder, “he never says hello to me.” The three scurry off into the rush of people flooding through the hallway.

“Bye,” I call hopefully after them. “See you later?” But they don’t turn around.

 

I find my first class, New Music Ensemble, and pick a seat in the back. Two girls and one guy look up briefly from their conversation. I offer them a weak smile, but they ignore me and go back to talking. I’m not looking forward to this class. I wanted to join one of the chamber music quartets, but none of them needed a lute player. The only ensemble that had space in it was this one, where we’ll “explore contemporary vocalization,” whatever that means. I’m already embarrassed by how bad I’m going to be. They’ll probably make me rap and I’ll look like the biggest moron that ever walked the face of the planet! Rapping in an elfin tunic—what would Mercedes say? “Off the hinges!”—sarcastically, of course.