Nice and Mean (17 page)

* Most Annoying Silent Treatment: Rachel Winter

Grabbing people and whispering every time I walk by is not that interesting. I'm just saying.

* Least Convincing I-Didn't-See-You Look: Addie Ling

When you sit across from me and refuse to look at me, you might as well be looking at me.

* Most Prissy: Elizabeth Ellis

Argh. You are even too annoying to write about.

* Biggest Worry: Sachi Parikh

Amazing? Pathetic? True.

If I'd hated school before the whole Rachel thing, it was even worse with no one talking to me. It was like they
thought I cared.

After Saturday, I'd unfriended all my frenemies and starting messaging the Marlowe kids between classes, so I was really not in need of the kids in Plebeland. There was just one thing that was bothering me, though, and instead of going down to lunch on Tuesday for day two of texting under the table, I waited for her at her locker.

And waited.

And waited.

Mrs. Ramirez, locking her classroom door, asked me what I was doing there. “You're not supposed to be upstairs during lunch without permission.”

What was I going to do, steal computer mice? “I'm just getting something from my purse.”

“Make it quick, then.”

I nodded.

As soon as she was gone, I hid out in the bathroom, cracking the door open to peek when I thought I heard footsteps. Had I just missed Sachi? I swear, she hadn't gone to her locker. I'd seen her in homeroom, but had she gone home sick?

I was just about to head down to lunch, hoping that there was more left than a few slimy vegetables, when I heard someone walking, and peeked. Medium-dark jeans, turquoise shirt, black hair—it was her! It was Sachi, carrying
a lunch tray. I pulled the door all the way open and stepped into the hall. Seeing me, she stopped, then moved closer to the lockers, her eyes on the floor.

“Hi.” I said it quietly. “Can I talk to you?”

Sachi looked around like she wanted someone to save her. “I guess so. I'm supposed to be in Ms. Avery's room, so . . .”

“Sure.” We walked down the hall. Ms. Avery's room was unlocked, and the room was empty, but I guessed if you were Head of House, you could break a few rules, especially if Sachi was the one you were breaking them for. We sat at desks across the aisle from each other. I waited until she put her napkin on her lap to talk. At least she had something to eat today—pizza and corn. I tried to ignore the rumbles in my stomach.

“So,” I said, “I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about this weekend. I shouldn't have just thought it would be okay for me to come over. And I'm sorry I didn't say I was sorry yesterday. That was . . . dumb. And . . .” I took a deep breath. “I'm really sorry you're not in Video anymore because of me.” Oh God—I wasn't going to cry again, was I? “That stinks.”

She looked into her lap. “Thanks.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment. She picked up
her fork. “I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday,” she said, and took a bite of pizza.

“Oh God, no,” I said, “I totally deserved it.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. You didn't.”

“Oh.” I could see why people had voted her Nicest Girl. “Thanks.”

She took another bite of pizza. Oh. I kind of liked the school's pizza. . . .

“So are you, like, helping Ms. Avery with something?” I asked. It was weird to be in a classroom with only one other person. Especially the way the sun was coming through the windows, all hot and roasty—I felt like I was in one of those movies where the world had ended and there was only one survivor. Or two.

“I'm . . . yeah, I'm sort of helping her,” Sachi said, wiping her mouth.

“Something fun?” Not that I wanted to help a teacher, and especially not Ms. Avery, yuck—but at that moment I didn't feel like going down to the lunchroom. It was nice to have a break from people.

Sachi sighed. “Okay, I'm doing what you suggested. I'm working on my video.”

“Wow!” I hadn't expected that. “You got your disc from Mr. Phillips?”

She nodded, taking a sip of milk.

“Cool,” I said. “Can I see?”

She gave me a suspicious look. “Why?”

That one word seriously felt like a stab in the heart. What did she think I was going to do? “Just to see it,” I said. “I mean, we were supposed to be partners, and you saw my video, but I never saw yours, so . . . I'm curious.”

She chased the corn around on her tray. “I don't know,” she said.

I stood up. “I should get some lunch,” I said, and pushed in my chair and headed toward the door.

“Wait,” she said. As I turned around, the sun hit me in the eye. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”

I shrugged. “If you don't want to, you don't want to.”

“No, it's just . . . the interviews aren't so great right now. I want to film some other ones. I'm not sure when or anything, but . . .”

I stepped toward her so I could stand in the shade. “It's fine,” I said. “I get it.” Remembering how nervous I'd felt before showing Addie my video, I really did understand.

“It's not because I'm mad,” she protested, and I realized she thought
I get it
meant
Thanks a lot
. “Really . . . it's just—the interviews I did turned out kind of weird.”

“What were you interviewing people about again?” I
knew it had something to do with
Victim/Victorious
, but I couldn't remember what.

She squinched up her face. “Um . . . how people know what to wear? Like, how they know what's cool, or different, or . . .”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “That sounds cool.”

She hunched her shoulders, like she thought I was making fun of her.

“Seriously,” I said. “That's, like, really interesting.”

She shook her head. “I wish it was. I just—no one really had an answer.”

I leaned against a desk. “It's not like there's one answer. I mean, people just go into stores and look at magazines and wear what other people are wearing, but it's not like there's one way. You sort of just . . . know. You figure it out.”

“But there are so many things in stores and magazines,” Sachi protested. “Nobody is wearing those pants with the big pockets in the window of the Gap, but everybody is wearing those scarves.”

“That's because those pants are butt-ugly!” I laughed.

“Yeah, but why does everybody agree?” Sachi leaned her elbows on the desk. “Or, okay, there are some things that are—unusual, but people act like they're cool, and then there are some things that maybe only one person wears,
and everybody agrees it's not cool, and then they kind of make fun of that person.”

Wait, was she making a video about Rachel? What the heck? “Look,” I said, “some people just use clothes to get attention, and it's really annoying, so sometimes other people get mad.”

Sachi ran her finger along the edge of her tray. “But maybe it hurts their feelings. And maybe they never did anything, and they didn't mean to try to get attention, or at least, not a bad kind of attention—”

I stood up. “Okay, I'm not trying to be mean, but you don't know what happened with me and Rachel, so I kind of wish you would just—”

“Rachel?” Sachi looked puzzled. “I wasn't talking about Rachel.”

“Oh.” I felt stupid. “Who were you talking about?”

“Oh . . .” She poked her corn with a fork. “Kind of, my sister. She's got this koala bear key chain, and people sort of laugh at her . . . and kind of, I was talking about my friend Lainey.” She looked up at me hesitantly, like she was expecting me to get mad.

“What?” I asked. Then I got it. “Did I, um, say something to Lainey?”

“Just that you didn't like her shirt.” Sachi's voice was soft.

“Oh.” I tried to think of what I had said, but honestly, I didn't even remember talking to her friend. “Well, I'm sorry. That was probably . . . not that nice.”

Sachi picked up her fork. “Thanks.”

The shade flapped against the window as the ideas from Sachi's video raced through my head. “So what did people say in the interviews?” I asked. “They didn't say anything good?”

She broke off a piece of crust. “I don't know. Some of them, sort of.”

I looked at her hopefully. “Are you sure I can't see it?”

“Aagh!” She buried her face in her hand, but she was laughing. “You're going to think it's boring. Yours was, like, really fun and cute, and mine is just people talking.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn't know you thought mine was . . .”
Fun and cute,
I thought, but I didn't want to sound braggy.

She nodded. “Oh, yeah. I make up videos in my head all the time and they're not even as good as yours. I mean, I could practically hear a soundtrack to yours and everything. You know that song ‘Beautiful People'?”

“I love that song!” I said. “Yeah, that would be great for the red carpet scene. Oh my gosh, I should have played it while we were shooting.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn't have been able to
hear it. Remember, Mr. Phillips said you had to lay that kind of soundtrack over afterward?”

“Oh, right, of course.” I totally knew that. But good thing to have a partner who actually listened in class. Well, not a partner, really. Except . . .

“Hey,” I said, “I know you basically have no reason to want to work with me, like, at all, but if you wanted to work on your video together, that would be kind of fun. I wouldn't make you use my stuff—I mean, not that I could get it, anyway—but I don't know. I really like making videos, and your interviews—well. I bet they're not as stupid as you think.”

“Girls!”

Sachi and I turned to see Ms. Avery standing in the doorway, a grocery bag in her hand and a frown on her face. “I don't remember giving permission for this meeting.”

“Sorry!” said Sachi, her voice high. “We were just talking.”

Ms. Avery walked over to her desk and plunked her bag down. “
You
have permission to be up here. Marina?” She took out one of those takeout salad containers. “I hardly think someone in your position would want to be caught somewhere she shouldn't be.”

“We just ran into each other, and I needed to talk to her about my video,” Sachi explained, twisting her ring. “She
needed to, um, fill me in on a few things. From when we were partners.”

I crossed my fingers, hoping Ms. Avery would believe it. I didn't know how I could get in worse trouble, but I didn't want to find out.

Ms. Avery pulled off her jacket. “All right,” she said, folding it over the chair, “but you probably need to get down to—uh-oh.” She looked at her watch. “They're not serving lunch anymore.” She didn't seem happy about this.

“I'm fine,” I told her. “And I can go downstairs if you need me to.” As long as I wasn't going to get in more trouble, I'd go anywhere she told me to go.

“Well, that doesn't make a lot of sense.” She rooted inside her plastic bag and pulled out a couple of plastic packets. “Here, at least eat something.”

“Oh. Thanks.” It had taken me a second to realize she was offering them to me. I walked over to her desk to take them—tiny, hard pieces of pumpernickel. Was she giving me stale bread?

“You've never had melba toast?” Ms. Avery asked.

I shook my head.

“Melba toast is great,” she declared, and sank into her chair.

Sachi giggled. I looked at her, puzzled. Was this some
kind of joke? In a squeegee language I didn't understand?

“Do you want it back?” I asked. I wasn't sure why she'd give me the melba toast if it was her favorite.

“No, it's for you.” She waved a hand at me as she pulled out a fork.

I opened one of the packets and took a bite. Pretty dry, but better than nothing. “Thanks,” I said.

She nodded and popped open her salad box.

“Ms. Avery?” said Sachi. “We were wondering . . . maybe Marina could help me with my video.”

My eyes widened. Was Sachi saying yes to me?

Ms. Avery's fork, halfway to her salad, stopped in midair. “That is a very risky idea,” she said. “I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

“What if we only worked on it in here, when you were in the room?” I asked. “Then you could make sure that it didn't become . . . you know . . .” I scuffed at the floor. “Bad.”

Ms. Avery stabbed one, two, three times at her salad before answering.
Come on,
I thought.
I can't do anything bad if you're watching, right? And I really . . . kind of . . . need something right now.

Ms. Avery chewed and swallowed, then said finally, “Is this something you both want?”

Sachi had twisted in her chair to look at Ms. Avery, so I couldn't see her face. All I could think was,
Please say yes.

“I think it would be good,” Sachi told Ms. Avery. “Marina's video is really fun. Well—at least it was when she filmed it,” she added in a smaller voice.

Ms. Avery gave me a knowing look over Sachi's head. “Oh, I know all about Marina's video skills,” she said, and I felt a slight chill. “Sachi, you're sure about this?”

Sachi nodded.

Ms. Avery took a deep breath. “Well, if you both know what you're in for,” she said.

Woo! It was a yes. It was two yesses! “We do,” I said, feeling happy for the first time in days.

If only everything else weren't a complete disaster.

SACHI'S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #16.0


INTERIOR. MS. AVERY'S HOMEROOM—DAY


Sachi watches her video.


SACHI


Hunh. This is still just people talking about . . . clothes.