Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (25 page)

“Where are you
from
anyway?” asks a petite brunette named Sally.

Now, this is one of those questions that can easily be taken wrong. Sometimes people ask me where I’m from, as in, “What’s your ethnic background?” Because of my Asian features, some people have even assumed I can’t speak English — which can be either amusing or irritating, depending on my mood. But, under these circumstances, I decide to give Sally the benefit of the doubt.

“We moved here from Boston last summer,” I explain. “I’d been a cheerleader at my old high school since freshman year.” This I
say for Kendra’s benefit, although my eyes are still on Sally. “And I cheered in middle school before that.” I shrug. “Between gymnastics and cheerleading, it seems like I’ve spent most of my life bouncing around.” I sort of laugh.

“Well, you were really good yesterday,” says a skinny blonde as she pokes Kendra in the arm. “I mean, you totally rocked Kendra’s world.”

“Shut
up
, Meredith,” snaps Kendra.

“Hey, it’s your own dumb fault,” says Meredith. “We told you to practice, but you were like all, ‘No, I don’t need to.’”

“Whatever.” Kendra narrows her eyes and adjusts the strap of her Fendi bag. “Like I told Reagan, I’ve decided that cheering is juvenile anyway. This is my senior year and I’ve got better things to do.”

“Yeah, like what?” challenges Meredith.

“Like Logan Worthington,” Kendra says with a sly expression. “I wouldn’t mind doing that boy this year.”

Sally laughs. “He’s about the only one you haven’t done.”

“What is this?” says Kendra with a wounded expression. “Bash Kendra Day? Isn’t it bad enough that I didn’t make the squad, but all my friends have to turn on me too?”

Of course, this plea for mercy changes everything. And suddenly these girls are apologizing, offering condolences, and practically offering to carry her books. Not that she has any. Kendra just smiles, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. “That’s better.” Then it’s time to head back to class.

“Nice meeting you guys,” I say as I head off toward the English department. They call out similar pleasantries, but I can tell that this isn’t over. I know enough about girls to know that it’s never really over. And I suspect Kendra isn’t ready to let this go yet. The
question is, how far will she take it?

It’s times like this when you need a good friend by your side. I remember my best friend, Geneva, back in Boston. Man, do I wish she were here now. Not only was Geneva gorgeous and intelligent and lots of fun, but she could easily hold her own against girls like Kendra. Geneva and I made a pretty daunting pair. I doubt that I’ll ever have anyone quite like her again. That makes me sad. Good friends aren’t easy to come by.

I’ve developed my own classification system when it comes to friends. I rank them as A, B, or C. Naturally, Geneva was an A. Actually, she was an A-plus. My second best friend, Bethany, was a B, but she was better than nothing if Geneva was unavailable. C friends are more a matter of desperate convenience. Like if you’re late to lunch and have to stand in the line by yourself, to keep from looking pathetic you talk to someone that you’d normally just ignore.

Then we moved here last summer, and now I have to start over. I don’t even have a C friend. Oh, I hung with one for a few weeks. My grandma introduced me to a neighbor girl and, for Nana’s sake, I tried to be nice to this somewhat lame girl. Although it did worry me that someone might see me with her and I’d be classified even before school started. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to happen. But the sad truth was that poor Andrea Lynch was definitely a C friend — more like a C-minus. To be fair, she might’ve made it to a plus if I’d stuck with her.

After a couple of weeks, I’d trained her to quit laughing through her nose, which was totally gross sounding, and her complexion actually started to clear up after I introduced her to a proper skincare regime. And I have to admit that she did have this quirky sense of humor and we even had some good laughs. But a few days before school started, I dumped Andrea so fast that I’m sure her head is
still spinning. I’ve been utilizing my caller ID to avoid taking her phone calls, and I even went so far as to block her e-mails. We’re talking cold turkey here. I’m fully aware that was pretty heartless on my part. But when you’re the new girl in town, you have to fend for yourself. And I’m smart enough to know that friends like Andrea Lynch are not an asset.

Even when I saw Andrea in school during those first few days, less than a week ago, I pretended not to know her. And I actually ignored her when she called out my name a couple of times, playing blind, deaf, and dumb. The only alternative would’ve been to set her straight — and that’s pretty harsh. Anyway, I think she got the hint. Does that make me a mean girl? No, I reassure myself as I walk into my lit class, taking a seat in the second row. It simply means I’m a survivor.

MELODY CARLSON has written over a hundred books for all age groups, but she particularly enjoys writing for teens. Perhaps this is because her own teen years remain so vivid in her memory. After claiming to be an atheist at the ripe old age of twelve, she later surrendered her heart to Jesus and has been following him ever since. Her hope and prayer for all her readers is that each one would be touched by God in a special way through her stories. For more information, please visit Melody’s website at www.melodycarlson.com.

color me lonely

melody carlson

TH1NK Books
an imprint of NavPress
^®

J
ORDAN
F
ERGUSON
USED
TO BE MY BEST FRIEND
. N
OW SHE MAKES ME
sick. Just hearing her name called out in first period English or seeing her flitting down the hall with her lame new friends makes me want to hurl. Really!

And comments like, “Oh, Jordan, I totally love your hair today,” or, “Hey, Jordan, that outfit is really hot,” actually make me want to hit something. I mean
puh-leeze
, these are the exact same girls Jordan and I
used
to make fun of. Behind their backs anyway—it’s not like we were ignorant. At least I’m not. I can’t speak for Jordan—not anymore.

Not that I ever did speak for Jordan. No, she’s always been perfectly capable of doing that herself. The sorry truth is, whether I liked it or not, she often spoke for me too. I guess it all started way back in kindergarten. My parents had recently divorced and I thought their problems were all my fault. As a result I think I was feeling pretty insecure and probably scared too. I didn’t want to talk to anyone and made a point of hanging out on the sidelines and keeping my little mouth shut. But one day our kindergarten teacher Miss March asked, “Who wants to play with the puppet theater next?” And even though I was dying to put my hand inside of that plump pink Miss Piggy puppet, I couldn’t utter a single word. I
nearly fell over when this tiny blonde girl wearing a mint-green My Little Pony sweatshirt walked over and took me by the hand.

“Kara Hendricks and I want to do the puppets now,” she said in this great big voice that totally contradicted her size. Jordan was the smallest girl in the class back then. Even now she’s barely five feet tall in her socks. But how she actually knew, at the age of five, not only my first but also my last name was a complete mystery to me. So naturally I didn’t argue with her. I even managed to find my voice once I was safely behind the puppet theater curtain and my hand was tucked into the bright-green Kermit the Frog puppet. Naturally, Jordan wanted Miss Piggy for herself. And who was I to question the girl who helped me step outside of myself for a change? Not having Miss Piggy seemed a pretty small sacrifice.