Notable (Smith High) (2 page)

M
y dad tried to break it to me gently.

“Now, Chelsea,” he began in his dry professor voice, which I suspected made most of his students at Lewis & Clark College struggle to stay awake during his two-hour lectures. “You know your mother and I have been having some problems for a while now.”

That was the understatement of the century, skating brilliantly over the fighting, the squabbling, the incessant bickering, the “trial separations,” the therapy, the self-help books, and the return for even more therapy and positive visualization exercises. For as long as I could remember, they’d been unhappy together. Possibly because my mom’s pregnancy wasn’t exactly planned and she felt pressured into doing the “right” thing, according to her very Catholic upbringing. And then I was born and they were even more determined to hold their farce of a marriage together.

Probably because their therapists kept urging them to consider what was best for the child before making any hasty decisions.

If anyone had ever bothered to ask
me
, I would’ve set the record straight: One quick break would have been a lot easier to deal with than their constant on-again off-again emotional warfare.

That kind of stuff makes for good television but a really crappy home life.

“You don’t have to treat her like a
child,
Paul!” my mom squawked indignantly. “It’s not like she’s too young to understand this!”

She was right about one thing: I could handle the truth. But my mom wasn’t
actually
telling my dad to treat me like an adult; she only wanted to use this as yet another example of how he coddled me too much. Yet another one of my dad’s habits that rubbed my mom the wrong way. Not that there had ever been a shortage of those. My mom was practically born with an ability to multitask, to set specific goals and not back down until she achieved each and every one of them (according to her exact specifications), which is probably what makes her such an incredible businesswoman. She has standards that she expects everyone to meet and preferably exceed, and a deep-rooted conviction that my dad’s inability to employ her brand of “tough love” was what kept me from reaching my true potential.

“This is a very sensitive situation, Suzanne!” my dad countered. “You know what the books said about possible . . . reactions.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t spoil her all the time. For god’s sake, she’s not made out of glass. If you spent a little less time with your nose in a book you’d know that!”

“And if you spent less time at your corporate retreats—”

I couldn’t take any more.

“So about that divorce,” I interrupted. “Good plan.”

About freaking time
.

I kept that part to myself. No need to give them anything else to squabble over. They already debated my upbringing enough. I was too wild. Too prone to hanging out with the “wrong crowd.” Too many boyfriends, not enough IQ points. Too skinny. Too fat. Too much of
something
, they usually decided. And that,
missy
, was usually only the beginning of an epic lecture.

“We want you to know that we considered all of this very carefully,” my dad assured me, running a hand through his graying hair. Back when I was a little kid, I spent hours in my dad’s office, drawing stick-figure ballerinas while he graded papers until his hair stood up in tufts just as it did now. At the time, I thought he resembled a very handsome duck with his feathers ruffled. I wanted to look just like him, but my coloring favored my mom: pale skin, thick blond hair, undeniably blue eyes, and a thin frame. My mom still loudly mourns the fact that I inherited her looks but not her ability to ace standardized tests.

I nodded and delivered the solemn response I knew he wanted to hear. “I understand. I know you guys examined all the possible alternatives.”

My mom somehow managed to snort elegantly in disdain. “There were no alternatives.”

“Suzanne!”

My mom propped her hands on her hips and mimicked his outrage. “Paul!”

“Well, thanks for the update. I’m going to my room. I have dance rehearsal first thing tomorrow morning, so—”

My mom’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Great.

“Chelsea, your mother and I discussed this and . . . we really think it’s for the best if . . . you should consider the benefits to—”

“Just spit it out, Paul!”

For once, I was in total agreement with my mom. I couldn’t stand waiting for the other shoe to drop. And since I’d already been dumped, kicked aside, and informed of the dissolution of my family unit (such as it was) that night, I figured there was still plenty of time for it to get worse.

A lot worse, as it turned out.

“We think you should leave,” he blurted out.

I stared at them blankly. “Leave where?”

“Here. Forest Grove. Oregon.”

He still wasn’t making any sense.

“Wait, do you mean leave my
home,
my school district, or my state? What’s going on? You and Mom split and I have to join the witness protection program or something?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Chelsea.” My mom buffed her shiny nails casually on the sleeve of her sweater.

“We just think some time out of town will be good for you, honey. Clear your head.”

“My head is plenty clear,
thank you very much!
”

“It’s so clear, it’s empty,” my mom added snidely, before she shrugged off our disbelieving stares. “What? You saw her SAT scores, Paul. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing. Her grades are abysmal, her extracurriculars are a joke, she completely ignored her curfew, she reeks of alcohol, and her chances of getting into a good school are slim to none. Someone has to be the firm, responsible adult here—and it sure isn’t going to be you!”

“Thanks,
Mom
. That’s
exactly
what I needed to hear right now!”

“But she’s right, princess. You need a totally fresh start if you’re ever going to get your life together. You need accountability, intellectual stimulation, a whole new social environment, and right now . . . you mother and I aren’t in a place where we can provide you with those things. Trust me, princess. We are just doing what’s best for you.”

“You picked one hell of a time to finally start caring,” I snapped bitterly, as pain splintered across my father’s face.

“We’ve always cared, Chelsea. You know we would do anything for—”

“You’re only encouraging her to act out, Paul. She needs to accept that her actions have consequences and that this decision of ours is final.”

There was a sickening silence that followed her pronouncement while I felt the last dregs of anger and outrage seep right out of me. It hurt too much to care. About Logan. About my parents. About leaving. About anything, really.

All of me ached and throbbed as if I’d just spent hours dancing in brand-new ballet shoes.

Except my heart was blistering instead of my toes.

“
My
decisions have consequences? What about
yours?
You guys want to split up, fine. That doesn’t mean I should be forced to leave my friends and my school and my
life!
”

“It’s only for a semester, Chelsea. You’ll still be walking at graduation with your friends. And it’s exactly what you need,” my mom said staunchly. “Besides, international travel will spice up your transcript.”

“So how long have I got?” Even to my own ears, it sounded like I was preparing to face an executioner. Not far off from the truth, actually, since this would effectively destroy my current life at Smith High School. It would rip away my every accomplishment, leaving nothing behind. A week had been long enough to turn Mackenzie Wellesley into the underdog story of the year; six months would leave me completely forgotten.

H
ERE
LIES
C
HELSEA
H
ALLOWAY
:
DANCE
CAPTAIN
,
MOST
POPULAR
GIRL AT SCHOOL
. F
EARED BY ALL, MISSED BY FEW
. T
AKEN TOO SOON
.

“It’s going to take some time to make all the arrangements, passport, travel visas, shots, you know, all those sorts of things. But you’ll be ready to leave with the program in just under two months.”

“The program?” I repeated. I hoped they weren’t trying to ship me off to some religious boarding school where I’d have to say the Lord’s Prayer with every meal and watch out for angry nuns. The way I saw it, if there even was a god . . . then he was behaving like a total jerk by dumping all this on me.

And for stuff like allowing children to go hungry, be sold into slavery, and battle terminal illnesses.

But mainly because booting me out of Oregon
now
was just straight-up vindictive.

“We aren’t throwing you out on the street, Chelsea,” my mother scoffed. “There’s no need to be so dramatic all the time!”

I gritted my teeth. “What program?”

My dad hastened to explain everything. “I asked around at work, and there’s an opening on one of the study-abroad programs. At first it wasn’t clear whether it would even happen because so few students signed up for it. But that’s how I was able to convince them to take you along.”

They both looked at me expectantly, as if I was supposed to be
grateful
for all the effort they had taken to ship me off.

Not so much.

“Let me get this straight: You convinced someone from your fancy liberal arts college to take me overseas?”

He didn’t seem to like the way I phrased the question, but he nodded slowly.

“Okay, well, here’s a problem:
I’m in high school!
”

“I called in a few favors, and they were willing to overlook that for me.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You should at least give it a chance before you write it off, Chelsea,” my mom snapped. “This is going to be a great opportunity for you to spend some time figuring out what you want in life.”

“I know what I
don’t
want. And that’s being stuck with a group of geeks in a foreign country.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about where you’re going?” my dad wheedled.

“It’s a gorgeous country known for ancient relics.”

Okay, well, when he put it that way, maybe their plan wasn’t entirely without potential. I pictured myself zipping around Rome on the back of some hot guy’s Vespa, eating gelato and pizza, and strolling along by the Trevi Fountain. Spending time sightseeing and shopping might be just the distraction I needed after Logan’s rejection.

Still, I rolled my eyes before I capitulated. “Fine. Where am I going?”

“Cambodia.”

T
hey were joking.

They were staring at me expectantly instead of laughing simply because they wanted to give me a little scare. Just to make Italy sound even better by comparison, because there was no way my parents were planning on sending their only child to
Cambodia
.

No. Freaking. Way.

I tossed my hair behind my shoulder and managed to paste a wry smile on my face.

“You’re both hilarious. So where is the program
really
going?”

They traded looks while I felt the jagged bits of my heart ripping my intestines to shreds. Maybe if I got an ulcer they wouldn’t make me go. I doubted that I could get the proper medical care for that in Cambodia.

Which was a nonissue, because I wasn’t going.

“It’s a beautiful country, Chelsea.” My dad awkwardly broke the silence. “I’ve wanted to go there myself for years.”

“Then why don’t
you
go instead? Knock yourself out.”

My parents both started squawking simultaneously at me.

“Don’t get pissy with us, young lady!”

“This is difficult already, princess. There’s no need to make it even harder!”

Right, because at the bottom of every problem there’s always me.

“You do understand that I won’t be able to do ballet, right? That successful dancers have to train every single day? What you’re talking about could jeopardize my whole career!”

“It’s not a
career,
Chelsea! It’s a
hobby.
One you should’ve outgrown by now.”

I couldn’t stay in that room a second longer. Not without covering my ears and screaming.

“All right, well, if the two of you are done screwing up my life for one night, I’m going to bed. Unless, of course, you plan on kicking me out of that too. Oh
wait!
I forgot! You’ve already done that!”

A few years ago, I probably would’ve flounced right out of the house and conned someone into picking me up. A few well-placed calls and I could get a party started in minutes. I could make everyone think that I was simply too popular to call it a night, which sounded much better than admitting I didn’t have much of a home in the first place.

But I couldn’t go down that road again . . . not after what happened the last time. I shuddered as the nasty memory dragged its claws across my flesh. I refused to go back to being the girl at parties desperately seeking attention. The last time I had felt the sting of Logan’s waning interest had been in middle school, and I hadn’t exactly handled it well. In fact, I had accidentally conducted my own personal train wreck by latching onto the first guy to give me his undivided attention. And I had continued to cling to Jake Crane even when it became painfully obvious the relationship wasn’t going anywhere good. Even though I knew he was more interested in maintaining the image of himself as a player around his friends than he was in
me.
That wasn’t even the hardest part for my pride to swallow. Oh no, I was still flinching away from the memory two years later because if Jake
hadn’t
dumped me, he would still be treating me like a puppet whose strings he could yank, tug, or twist whenever it suited him . . . and I would be letting him get away with it.

I couldn’t afford to let this new round of extreme parental crappiness pull me back into being that girl again. Which is why I also couldn’t pretend it had never happened or could somehow be erased. Not even my dad could patch me up now that I was past the age where Scooby-Doo Band-Aids and ice cream cones were the solution for everything. Jake the Mistake couldn’t be forgotten, Cambodia couldn’t help me outrun Logan’s rejection, and hiding out at Mrs. P’s dance studio couldn’t give me any lasting escape from my problems—just a wicked set of blisters from practicing in my toe shoes.

 

I discovered that the next day when I extended my ballet practice long after everyone else headed to the changing rooms to gossip. But at least the pain from my dancing gave me something tangible I could fight as I whipped around the floor.

My eyes stung, my back was soaked with sweat, and every single muscle in my body screamed for me to quit when I incorporated some
adagios
and waited to crumple under the stress of the slow movements. And when I inevitably sank to the floor, gasping for breath, it took a concerted effort to ensure I didn’t hyperventilate my way into a trip to the hospital.

My parents might think of me as a drama queen, but that wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted. The last thing I needed was to run into Logan’s parents while they were on shift at Forest Grove General. Sure, both of them had been perfectly civil after the breakup, but their eyes always looked . . . pitying. As if they had known all along that I’d never be good enough for their son and that the only one who hadn’t figured it out was me.

They had probably done some dancing of their own when Logan and Mackenzie made their relationship official.

I couldn’t stand to be within twenty feet of the happy couple, but nobody at Smith High School seemed to share my sentiment. Mackenzie’s YouTube fame coupled with her Ellen DeGeneres interview meant that even without Logan, she no longer ranked among the losers. In fact, Mackenzie’s newfound celebrity status made her almost as popular as . . . me.

And she hadn’t even
tried
.

Maybe it was a good thing I was leaving since everyone in Forest Grove must have lost their freaking minds to even fleetingly consider
Mackenzie Wellesley
cool. My best friends, Steffani and Ashley, kept hastening to assure me that the geek had nothing on me, but it wasn’t like they could say anything else. They both knew that even given the limited time I had remaining at Smith High School, I could destroy their social lives with one flick of my blond hair and a few whispers in the right places.

Not that I would.

But the knowledge that I
could
kept them in line.

And just to maintain that illusion, I spent the next five weeks pretending that my heart wasn’t trapped in the ballet studio, caught in an endless series of spins, going absolutely nowhere while the minutes sprinted past. I kept up appearances. I auditioned for the school’s musical production of
Romeo and Juliet
—I even landed the part of Juliet—but I’d be in Cambodia before it came time to rehearse . . . making it a hollow victory at best.

That may have been the hardest part to accept: Nothing I did mattered anymore because I wouldn’t be around long enough to reap the benefits.

Even befriending Jane Smith (known to the rest of the school simply as Mackenzie Wellesley’s fellow geek) didn’t matter. Not when I was scheduled to leave so soon after we began to get to know each other. I couldn’t even enjoy how uncomfortable it made Mackenzie to have her best friend turning to
me
for advice, because of my quickly approaching departure date.

A damn shame, if you ask me.

I spent most of my time pretending that I wasn’t about to be banished to some backward country that might be completely unfamiliar with YouTube. Something I would know for sure if I had bothered to research the place the way my parents kept hounding me to do. Maybe denial wasn’t exactly the smartest idea, given that my parents would shove me onto the plane kicking and screaming if necessary, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t even bring myself to Google it because that would make Cambodia a real place with real people where I was
really
going to hate my life.

Unfortunately, I also didn’t want to be the only person on the trip who couldn’t locate Cambodia on a map.

I procrastinated all the way up until two days before my flight, and then found myself casually scanning the shelves of the high school library for anything applicable. The entire time I moved along the shelves of books, I could feel myself being critiqued and judged. Usually, I can dismiss whispers and gossip as an unavoidable nuisance that comes packaged with popularity, but in the library I knew the geeks weren’t discussing the clothes I wore, the parties I attended, or even speculating on the ex-boyfriend I was rumored to be pursuing.

They were wondering what Chelsea Halloway was doing in a
library.
Especially since it was considered common knowledge that this particular party girl was pretty—not smart. She didn’t need to bother with books anyway. After all, she could easily bribe any geek at school to write a report for her. She wouldn’t even have to pay them, since getting into her good graces provided plenty of incentive.

My mom put it even more bluntly when we first started checking out colleges together. “It’s a good thing you’re attractive. Maybe that’ll get you into one of these big universities on a cheerleading scholarship. Let’s just hope they don’t have high academic standards!”

Still, I couldn’t flee from the library without making people suspect that I was afraid of a few geeks. And while I might not have been staying at Smith High School, I wanted to leave my reputation perfectly intact, giving me no choice but to ignore all the staring faces. I sauntered casually over to a long row of books, acting for all the world like I came into the library on a regular basis.

Until I spotted Logan in the arms of the one girl who somehow made me feel stupider than everybody else at our school combined.

They weren’t just hugging either.

“You’re in my way,” I announced icily, desperate to say anything if it would snap the lovebirds out of their lip-lock.

My words effectively shocked Mackenzie into stumbling back against the bookshelf, but Logan caught her and pulled her against him before she could fall. He grinned as she clutched onto his shirt for balance, but the expression neutralized when he looked at me.

“Hey, Chelsea.”

I forced myself to smile, even though I knew it wouldn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, Logan . . . Mackenzie.”

She scrambled to stand without Logan’s support. “Hey, Chelsea! Are you here for something? Well, you must be, right? Because it’s the library, and you wouldn’t be here unless . . .”

Her voice petered out.

“I’m researching the history of Cambodia,” I announced coolly, as if I didn’t have the time to spare from my intellectual pursuits for her blathering.

“Isn’t it fascinating? I would love to spend some time wandering around the temples of Angkor Wat someday. Mainly because I can’t resist ancient architecture when it is built on such a grand scale!” Mackenzie’s face was practically glowing with enthusiasm. “I would probably geek out over every carving. Did you know—”

“I’m guessing ancient temples aren’t really Chelsea’s thing, Mack.” Logan’s hand slipped into hers, and my heart lodged in my throat. “Working on a paper for World Civ?”

“Actually, I’m going to Cambodia.”

His laughter resounded over the muted hum of voices in the library.

“Good one, Chelsea.”

But I wasn’t being sarcastic. Suddenly, listening to the same laughter I found so comforting back when I believed that we would beat the odds and stay in love forever now only pissed me off.

“I’m not kidding.”

He instantly sobered. “You’re going to Cambodia?”

“My parents have finally decided to pull the plug on their relationship.” I shrugged as if it were no big deal while Mackenzie’s eyes widened.

“I know how hard it can be to watch parents divorce, Chelsea.” Her earnest tone of concern put my teeth on edge. “My parents split when I was younger, but—”

“Oh, you don’t have to remind me what happened. It’s hard to forget your first ballet solo—especially when some gravitationally challenged freak trips into the curtain and reveals that her own dad has been working on moves of his own with the instructor. Nobody was surprised when your parents split, Mackenzie. Nobody.”

She blanched at the reminder, but my satisfaction at wiping the pity from her eyes was short-lived.

“Uh, yeah. Well, if you want to talk about it sometime—”

“Spare me.” I tossed my hair before adding a deliberate eye roll. “It’s a relief. I’d much rather be in Cambodia than stuck here watching the two of you act like lovesick puppies in heat.”

Logan squeezed Mackenzie’s hand comfortingly as she flinched back from me as if she’d been slapped. “Um, okay. Well, safe travels then.”

I refused to acknowledge her with even a nod, choosing instead to head straight out of the library. But I didn’t move quickly enough.

“What’s wrong with looking like lovesick puppies?” I heard Mackenzie ask Logan. “Everyone loves puppies. And I think only grown dogs can be in heat—”

Logan laughed again, and I heard the distinctive sound of kissing.

For a genius, the girl wasn’t very good at picking up on social cues.

But Logan still wanted her more than me.