Reel Life Starring Us (26 page)

“You have a favorite president?” he says, like I just told him I had a favorite brand of garbage bags, something no one would care about.

“Yeah. Don't you?”

“No. Never thought about it.” He laughs.

He keeps quizzing me on history, and I'm surprising myself with how much I know. I haven't even really started studying yet. I figured I'd officially start this weekend. If the
Acceptables haven't started yet, then I didn't need to, either. That's what I told myself.

We finish the end of the study sheet, and we pretty much covered everything.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” he asks me.

I wonder if I should lie. Saying I'm hanging out with Maura, Katherine, and Trisha probably seems kind of sad to someone like Ross.

“Just hanging out,” I say.

“Cool. Do you need any more interviews for the video, by the way?”

“Maybe. I mean, we need as much footage as we can get. And what we have—well, we can't use all of it.”

He gives me a confused look. “Why not?”

“It's a lot of whining,” I say. “I don't really love the school or anything, but we can't just show people complaining. No one likes that.”

“Well, did you get different opinions and angles and stuff?”

“I guess. The cool part is that we had each kid say something interesting about themselves at the beginning. Everyone does really unique and cool stuff that no one even knows about.”

“So show that,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the pages in the textbook.

That's an idea, actually. That shows our differences, our
unique qualities. It shows we're all different and all have something to offer and should all be accepted.

“I think you just solved the problem! And if I know what we're doing, I can get started on what I'm most excited about—the editing. That's my specialty.”

“Really.” He says it like a statement, like he doesn't believe me.

“What?” I smile. “I'm telling the truth.”

“iMovie or Final Cut?” he asks, like he still doesn't believe me.

“Final Cut,” I tell him.

“I'm amazing at iMovie,” he says. “But I'd love to learn Final Cut. Maybe I could help?”

“Really?” I smile. “You're, like, into this stuff?”

“Totally.” He pats his bed to get me to come sit next to him. It's a little embarrassing—that's how you'd get a dog to come over to you. But I don't think about it too much. He opens his laptop and starts playing some clips.

“You shot these?” I ask. I'm sitting so close to him now, too close. I finally understand that expression
too close for comfort
. I want to inch away, but then I won't be able to see the clips.

He nods. They're just random shots of places around Rockwood Hills, but they have a cool, artsy look to them. They zoom in on simple details, and the shots of people are all
really emotional and expressive. And he put all this music in the background that fits with the shots perfectly.

“You just do this for fun?”

“Yup.”

“Why didn't you say anything sooner? I mean, we have so much in common, and you knew Chelsea and I were working on this film project …”

“Chelsea and I …” His voice sort of trails off. “We don't really get along that great anymore.”

“Yeah. What's up with that?” I ask. I know I'm being nosy. I know it's not really my business. But I
am
sitting with Ross Grunner, on his bed, on his green-and-beige plaid comforter with his Yankee prints all over the wall. When you get that close to someone—like, in their space—maybe things like that do become your business.

“She thought I liked her.” He keeps fiddling with his computer. It's like he can't look at me.

“And?”

“I do like her. Just not like that.”

“Oh.” Now I can't look at him, either.

“Dina,” he says.

“Yeah.” I still can't look at him.

“It's because I like you.”

I feel his eyes on me, and I finally look up and every bit of
excitement I felt about Ross before is now suddenly gone. All I feel is scared. More scared than I've been in my entire life.

“That's cool,” I say, and laugh. I shouldn't laugh. It seems like I'm laughing at him, which I'm not. But it seems that way anyway, and I can't stop.

“That's cool?” he repeats, like he's shocked at my response.

“No one likes me here, so it's cool.” I laugh again. I'm not the kind of person who always makes fun of herself. But for some reason it seems like it's the only normal way for me to act right now.

“Riiiiggghhht. Now you're the one whining.” He raises his eyebrows, and then closes his computer. “Actually, I'm supposed to meet some of my boys for basketball, so I kind of have to go.”

That can't be true. It has to be a lie to get me out of his house. Otherwise, he would have told me about the basketball sooner. I know I did something wrong. I should have said I liked him, too. But I'm not sure. I like that he likes me, though. Isn't that enough?

“Okay. Well, I can walk home from here,” I tell him.

“Cool.”

He walks me out, and I say thanks, and he tells me he thinks I'll do great on the test.

“I'll see you before the test,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but, whatever. Just a vote of confidence.”

I walk outside, and he closes the door behind me. I call Ali on my walk home, but she doesn't answer.

I feel like I messed up. But I don't even know what I wanted to happen. Or what I want to happen now.

But I really do want to work on the editing with him. I hope that offer still stands.

Sasha Preston piece of advice: To ease brain
freeze, hold your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

Kendall and Molly e-mailed
me that we should meet at Starbucks and talk, face-to-face, about everything that's happened.

I'm just glad to be talking to them again. I've still been sitting with them at lunch, but at the end of the table, and I haven't been talking that much.

It's unseasonably warm for December, and we're sitting at one of the outside tables drinking lemonade iced tea.

“I guess I was just really upset that you didn't tell us,” Kendall says, starting the conversation. I believe her—that she really was upset, and probably for the right reasons. Kendall sometimes makes me nervous, but underneath all of that, she does care.

“I felt like I couldn't,” I say, shifting in my chair. “I knew it would make things weird between us, and it did.”

“Because you didn't tell us,” Molly jumps in, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.

“I'm sorry if I hurt you by keeping it from you,” I admit. “That wasn't my plan. I was just feeling really bad about a million things.”

They nod. “We hope you know we're here for you now,” Molly says, and as the words are coming out of her mouth, I'm still not sure if I believe her. I guess I should try to, at least this time.

“But you guys acted so mean about the Dina thing,” I say, and I'm proud of myself for being so honest. “I was just assigned to work with her, and I admit I wasn't happy about it at first, but you didn't need to be mean. You didn't need to accuse me of having a new friend and then leaving you guys, and you didn't need to post that video.”

“We're sorry,” Kendall says. “Honestly.”

Molly nods as she's sipping her drink. “But we did take down the video.”

“And for the record: I don't like Ross. I'm sorry to say that, but I don't. I wanted to, because it seemed like it would be the best thing, and you guys wanted me to like him. But I just don't.”

I feel like I'm on some kind of reality show where the camera's on me and I have to make all these confessions, but it feels good to be doing this, to open up and be honest about everything for the first time.

They nod like they understand, but don't really know what to say to that.

I get a text, and since it's obviously not from Kendall or Molly, I look at my phone, excited to see who it's from.

Dina.

I wonder what she means.

“Well, I guess the new girl doesn't like him, either. Did you hear about what happened between her and Ross?” Molly asks. She was probably reading the text over my shoulder. Either that or she just read my mind. But she knows her name is Dina—obviously she does, because she was instrumental in posting that video. Why can't she just say her name? After that whole conversation we just had, she should be able to say her name.

“No. What happened?” I ask after a brain-freeze-causing sip of my half-lemonade-half-iced-tea.

“She rejected him.”

“Huh?” I ask. I find myself chewing on the end of my
straw. It grosses me out when I do that, but sometimes I can't help it.

“Apparently, he was all, like, I like you and stuff, and then she was, like, cool.”

Kendall takes over the story. “And Ross is actually bummed. Or whatever. I mean, that's what Marcus said. So weird, right?”

“Maybe she didn't hear what he said,” I tell them.

“Is she hard of hearing?” Kendall laughs. “Maybe she just doesn't like him. Maybe he can finally know what it's like to have someone not like him.”

“She's not hard of hearing.” I roll my eyes. “But she's, I don't know, like, innocent in that way. But really kind of cool.”

“Cool how?” Molly asks. “Maybe if you'd just tell us, we'd understand, and we wouldn't feel so rejected. You hang out with her a lot. So just tell us what's so cool about her.”

I try to think of the best way to explain this. “I don't know. Like, alternative? But not in like the hippie way. Like, a free-thinker? I can't explain it.”

I hate when I can't explain things. And I hate when I say “like” a million times. Even I think I sound stupid.

“Well, it's gotta be something. Otherwise, Ross wouldn't like her.” No one says anything after that, and I don't, either. We slurp our drinks, and I try not to think about Dina
anymore. I want to call her right away and hear about the solution for the project, but I feel like it would be rude to just get up and call her and leave Molly and Kendall after our little heart-to-heart.

Molly says, “Maybe we should ask her to hang out tonight? She could tell us about the Ross thing. We can convince her to give him a chance.”

“You're such a gossip, and an obvious one,” Kendall says.

“So?” Molly looks at me like she thinks I'm going to agree with her. “Do you have her number, Chelsea? You must—you're working on the project together.” Molly smiles and keeps chewing on the end of her straw. “Come on, it'll be fun. Like a new girl in the group. Not forever. Just for now. And I think Ross really does like her—maybe she just needs to be convinced by us a little that she should give him a chance.”

She has that sneaky grin in her eyes, and I worry that I still can't trust her. I could never trust Molly. She has that sweet, innocent face, but her way of telling the truth can sound so mean.

“I'll call Dina,” I say, relieved that I have an excuse to hear about the solution she's come up with. “But I don't know why in the world she'd want to hang out with you guys. You didn't even apologize for posting that terrible video.”

“We'll say we're sorry tonight. But make sure she knows she's not sleeping over,” Molly says. “That'd be too much. We
don't know her well enough for that. Just invite her over for dinner and to hang out.”

“Fine.” I get up from the table and walk around the Starbucks a little. I don't want them overhearing my conversation.

Dina's cell phone rings three times and then goes straight to voice mail. I leave her a message to call me back because I'm dying to hear about her idea, and I also add that I'm wondering what she's up to tonight.

In a way I feel like a fairy godmother, since she's been wanting to hang out with me and my friends so badly. I wish I had been doing it all along.