Nice and Mean (6 page)

She and Addie grabbed hands and jumped up and down together, like when my sister, Angelica, used to make me play ring-around-the-rosy.

I think Elizabeth said something like, “Rachel, that's awesome,” but Rachel and Addie's giggling was damaging my ears.
Captain?
Julian was going to have an actual reason to listen to her now? So unfair!

Rachel's big scrawny hand clomped on my desk and pulled me out of my thoughts. “I have to get back to
homeroom,” she said, “but I'll see you girls later!” And she and Addie were off, click-clacking toward the door in—ew—matching zebra-striped flats.

I knew I should say something to Elizabeth so I didn't look like I cared about Rachel's news. When I turned to her, though, she was resting her chin in her palm and tracing her other hand over some graffiti on the desk.

“Hey,” I said, “what's going on?”

She kept tracing. “Oh, nothing.”

“Lizza-Bird.” I moved my desk closer to hers. “What?”

She shrugged. “I mean, not to be petty, but I've been dancing longer than Rachel. I know I've got a speaking part and everything, and I'm sure Ms. M. just wanted to make things fair, but . . . whatever. I just thought she was going to ask who wanted to do it, instead of picking randomly like that.”

I looked down at the words she was tracing—“Jasmine luvs Danny”
—
and felt a boil of anger that Rachel could get something Elizabeth deserved, probably just because Rachel was loud. “Bird, hold on,” I said. “You don't want the words “Dance Captain” next to your name on the program, do you? Seriously, what is that—like, you drive the ship?”

Elizabeth laughed a little, but she was still looking down at the desk.

“Please,” I said, “dance captain is no big woo. You've got an actual part in the play. You get to sing on your own. People are going to remember that. If they remember the dance captain, it's only because she yelled at them for eight weeks straight.”

Elizabeth tilted her head from one side to the other. “True,” she said. “Actually, you're right. I would be too afraid of those eighth graders to boss them around, anyway. Some of them are scary.”

I laughed. “Bird, you're so much cooler than any of them, any day of the week.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Reener.” Then she looked up with this kind of waiting expression on her face, and I turned and saw that girl Sachi on the other side of me. Oh, groan. I had already had enough interruptions for one day.

“Hi,” she said, weaving her skinny fingers together. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I shrugged. “It's a free country.” If she was going to make my day any worse, she was going to feel it.

“Um.” She took a step closer. “I was thinking about it, and I decided we can make
Victim/Victorious
for our video after all.”

“What? No way! That's great.” Especially since I wanted more than ever to make fun of Rachel. Yes!

“I did want to say,” Sachi added, “maybe I could—”

The bell rang, and everyone groaned and scraped back their chairs. “Hey, let's talk about it later,” I told Sachi. I wanted to walk out with Elizabeth and think of more funny things to say about dance captains.

Even though Rachel had dominated Spanish with her super-cheese accent, I left class in the best mood. I had written almost half the script for the first scene of
Victim/Victorious
! There would be red-carpet shout-outs, Esmé winks, and everything else that was really on the show. Hot, hot, hot.

The best part, though, was that I had figured out how to make fun of Rachel's clothes. If I told everyone to dress up for the red carpet, there was no doubt that Rachel would bring in her most over-the-top, I'm-trying-to-be-cool outfits. A few shots of those, a few scenes of her in barfarrific everyday outfits, and I wouldn't have to get someone to play a fashion victim—I'd have one right in front of me.

The plan was coming together, and if I got everyone organized, I could start filming the very next day. I'd need that, because Video only went until Thanksgiving, and I had a lot of scenes to film. Maybe for once I could be one of those people who finished a project early. Ooh, and right down the hall stood the person who could help me make it happen.

“Hey, Sachi!” I called.

Ahead of me, Sachi froze, her books hugged to her chest.

I nodded in her direction as if to say, “Yeah, you.” Was there some other Sachi I didn't know about? “Come here.”

Sachi said something to her friend and walked slowly toward me.

“Hey, guess what?” I asked. I knew I sounded off-the-charts perky, but I didn't care; I just went ahead and told her the good news about the script. “Rachel and Elizabeth already told me that they could film tomorrow during lunch, so that's two people, and I'm going to ask the others later.” Like Julian, and two extremely cool eighth graders. “Dance captain” would be old news before the day was through.

“And hey,” I said, thinking aloud, “maybe today, when everyone goes to lunch, we can ask Ms. Avery if we can shoot in her room. You'd help me with that, right?” Teachers didn't like me, but any fool knew they loooved Sachi.

“Um,” she said, “okay. And hey, I wanted to tell you this morning,” she said, “I was thinking that maybe I could interview people about fashion and put them between your scenes.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why?” She would not bore up my video if I could help it.

“That video from last year had interviews. . . . I think
people liked them.”

“But that's not part of
Victim/Victorious
,” I said, trying not to show how crazy she was making me. What was the problem with doing
V/V
? It was the woo of the century.

“People, the bell is about to ring!” Down the hall, Ms. Avery was sticking her head out of her room, her usual attempt to get us all into class. I didn't know why it mattered so much if we lost thirty seconds of English, but I didn't want any more trouble with Ms. Avery, so I told Sachi, “Look, just meet me in homeroom tomorrow during lunch. We can talk more then.”

I seriously could not wait.

I glanced at the clock for the nine millionth time that lunch period, then slipped my cell out of my pocket and checked that, too. The school clocks were a minute and a half behind real time, but right now it didn't matter. Julian was officially more than fifteen minutes late.

“Marina?” Sitting on the desk next to me, Elizabeth said my name quietly, but even above Rachel's screeches, I could hear her. “Do you think we should just start?”

Her hair was starting to lose its wave. Next to her, Sachi's face had a pinched look, like she had chewed off the sides of her cheeks. “I've rehearsed it enough times with his lines,”
Elizabeth added. “I think I can do both parts.”

I had so, so wanted for Julian to see the script I'd written, and to see that a
real
captain was more than someone who clutched your arm and laughed at you when you messed up. But if he wasn't going to show, I was just wasting time. “Yeah,” I told Elizabeth, “I guess we should get started.”

Elizabeth and Sachi hopped off the desks as I bellowed, “Okay, people! Let's do this thing!”

Everyone over in the Chatty Corner—my eighth-grade rock stars, Crystal and Natasha, and my plebes, played by Addie, Madison, and Chelsea—stood up. But Rachel put a hand on Crystal's arm. “Wait,” she said, “finish the story.”

Excuse me?

“Guys,” I said. Was I going to have to go over there? “We only have fifteen minutes. Places!”

The plebes scrambled. But Rachel giggled, and I could have sworn I heard her say, “Well, if we have to get into
places
.”

Crystal and Natasha headed toward the carpet, but I could tell they were snickering at Rachel's joke.

Whoa. Rachel had
not
just scored two new BFFs. I was the one who had crossed into eighth-grade lunchroom territory to recruit them. They were mine!

As Rachel walked to, yes, her place, I blocked her path,
even if it meant coming face-to-face with her fake-pearl necklace. “What is your problem?” I said in a low voice. “You're totally throwing yourself at those girls. It's embarrassing.”

Rachel pushed past me and said, “Oh, get over yourself, Marina.” Then she glanced over toward Crystal and Natasha, like they were the ones she was really saying it for. Thank God they were fastening Natasha's bracelet and didn't seem to notice, but hello! This was my set!

I walked back over to my filming spot, flats clacking, to sit next to Sachi, who looked like she wanted to say something. “What?” I snapped, checking the camera battery.

“Should I fix the carpet?” she asked. “It's gotten kind of messed up.”

“Oh . . .” She did have a good eye for that stuff, I noticed—she'd pinned my curtains to the window shade all artistically—so I needed to keep her in a good mood. “That's okay,” I said. “I think people are about to stand on the carpet, anyway.” That seemed to relax her a little, and phew. Her stressiness was stressing
me
out.

When everyone stood in their spots and had finished checking each other's makeup, I picked up the camera. Everybody was in focus. “
Victim/Victorious
,” I announced, “scene one, take one.” Hey, that sounded good. “And—
action!”

Rachel and Chelsea walked by and waved and smiled at the camera. I kept Chelsea's little round face in the frame for about a second and then zoomed in on Rachel, starting at the bottom.

Crazy-tall spiked heels.

V-neck maroon dress with ginormous ballooning sleeves.

Strands of fake pearls, sparkly drop earrings, pounds of pearly eye shadow.

As she posed and blew kisses, I thought,
Rachel Winter, you are making this even easier than you know
.

Once I'd gotten enough victim shots, I panned back to Natasha and Crystal's walk. Right on cue, Elizabeth hobbled down the carpet to attack them for an interview.

“Oh, my!” she said. “It's Miss Crystal and Natasha!”

“Ojé, Mami!”
cried Crystal.

Natasha struck a pose.
“Besos a tu madre!”

Inside, I was cracking up. Sachi made a noise like she was swallowing a cough.

“You ladies get more fabulous every time I see you,” Elizabeth was saying. “Who
ah
you wearing?” She gave a big wink to the camera, just like Esmé did ten times a night. I grinned into the monitor. I could feel Sachi crowding for a better look, and tilted the camera in her
direction.

“I,” said Natasha, “am wearing a very exclusive designer.” She lowered her long, gorgeous eyelashes.

“And you, Miss Thing?” Elizabeth asked Crystal. That was Julian's line, and she sounded great.

“I just wanna say,” Crystal began, “kisses to my man Big Kizzy, who—”

“Hey!” cried a voice. “What's going on here?”

I looked over my shoulder to see Julian Navarro, love of my life, vaulting over the desks and heading toward the back of the classroom. Now? He chose to show up
now
?

“Keep going!” I whispered to my actors, praying that I could edit my voice out of the movie. But Natasha and Crystal were waving to Julian, and Elizabeth was looking right at me with an expression like,
What should I do?
The take was ruined. They had totally lost focus.

“Cut,” I called, and wanted to cry.

“
Julian!” Rachel extended a knobby arm toward him over the desk she was leaning on. “You made it!”

He walked over and ignored her hand—yes! “Yeah, I made it. You guys started without me?”

What was I supposed to say? I didn't want to make him look bad, but I didn't want to make myself look bad either.

“Oh,” I cried, upset like someone else had messed up, “I
can't believe that happened!”

He ran his hands through his long black hair. “I tried to come upstairs earlier, but Mrs. Ramirez was like, ‘Where's your note? Where's your note?' ”

I thought I told you to skip lunch,
I wanted to say, but I didn't want to fight with him in front of Rachel, who was licking her lips like she was about to get a treat. I needed to think of a new approach, and quickly.

“Hey, you know what I could really use?” I asked. “Someone to tell me how things look. Can you sit right here and be my assistant director?” I patted the desk between me and Sachi. Sachi had had her chance to watch the monitor. Now it was somebody else's turn.

A grin moved slowly across his face. “Assistant director? Ho ho ho.” He walked around Sachi and sat next to me. “That, I can do.”

“Great,” I said, doing my best not to burst into a ridiculous smile. Take
that
, victim Rachel. “Let's just start from where Esmé says—”

“Wait a sec,” Rachel interrupted, “I think it's weird.”

Nobody ask, nobody ask—

“What?” asked Natasha.

Grr.

Rachel shrugged. “You know.”

Oh, take your time,
I thought.
We've got all day here.

“That Scotty G wouldn't be at the Grammys,” she continued. “I mean . . .”

“I can be in this scene,” Julian said, looking from one of us to the other. “I mean, maybe I should.”

I gave Rachel a murderous look she pretended not to see.

I turned to Julian and—boldness—put my hand on his shoulder. “I totally want you for the other scenes,” I said in my sincerest voice. “But we've rehearsed this part, and—”

“It's okay.” He hopped off the desk. “If you don't want me, I understand.”

“Wow, Reener,” said Rachel, “Way to take care of the talent.”

“Okay, let's just do it,” I said, ready to blow up. “Julian, take the microphone.” We needed to get something real filmed today, if only so I could go home that night and find the moments where Rachel looked the worst, worst, worst.