Kim vs the Mean Girl Read online

  “You’re coming too, right, Dad?”

  My dad glanced from his opened Newsweek to me as if he just noticed I was there, which he probably had. I guessed the only reason he was even clued into my mom’s presence was because she was the one spooning food onto his plate. I vaguely remembered being embarrassed when they would kiss in front of me, but these days, if they weren’t my parents, I might mistake them as strangers instead of husband and wife, considering how little they spoke to each other unless they were arguing. “Coming where?” my dad asked.

  “Parents’ Night at school. It’s next week. They’re going to talk about the SATs and other college prep.” The presentations were about as exciting as a Sunday nap, but it was fun to see what everyone’s folks looked like. Mine always put on a good show.

  Frowning, my dad said, “I can’t. I’ll be in Denver for meetings regarding a new start-up.”

  My stomach sank. My father had already missed several school events in a row because of his job as a venture capitalist. If it were one of my friends, I would assume her parents were getting a divorce or her dad was cheating. None of my friends knew my parents were fighting, and if I wanted to keep it that way, I needed to come up with a better reason for his absence than he was working. Maybe I’d tell them he was closing on a beach house in Palm Springs for the family.

  “I’ll call Stacey. Maybe we can make a night of it. Go out for sushi after,” my mom said.

  Going out with Marla and her single mother would definitely give the illusion my parents’ marriage was on the skids.

  “Quit sulking. You know I’d be there if I could,” my dad said, his nose back in the magazine.

  To myself, I asked: “Do I, Dad? Do I know that?” To him, I said nothing. Silence spoke volumes.

  After a momentary pause, he put his magazine down and said, “I have something I promise will make you feel better.”

  I cautiously perked up. “What is it?”

  He reached for his briefcase on the empty chair next to him and pulled out a brown box. Handing it to me, he said, “I bet you’ll be practically the only kid in school with one of these.”

  I read the box. “A Nokia 8210. Is this a cell phone?”

  “Indeed it is,” he said cheerily.

  Placing the box back on the table, I calmly asked, “For me?” I rooted my feet firmly on the ground even though I was tempted to jump up and down. None of my friends had their own cell phone.

  Smiling, my mom got up from the table and squeezed my shoulder. “We figured you’d like it.”

  “It’s cool, I guess,” I said, being sure to keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. I already had my own private line and a beeper, and now I was the first of my friends to get a cell phone. They were going to be so jealous. Too bad we didn’t do show and tell in high school. Unable to play it cool a second longer, I bounced on my toes. “Thanks, Daddy!”

  “So, I’m forgiven for missing Parents’ Night?” my dad asked with a knowing expression.

  Shrugging, I said, “I guess.” I didn’t want to be too easy on him. Who knew what else he had in his briefcase?

  I examined my new phone, lifting and lowering the antenna until I got bored. Then I reached under my pillow for Kim’s diary. I scrolled through a few pages. This book was great. Nick Lachey has the best voice. Is killing your sister against the law if she’s annoying?

  Shoot me now. I skimmed a few more pages and stopped in my tracks until I hit it. Pay dirt.

  KIM

  “What in the name of all that glitters are you doing?” Bridget asked from my bed, where she sat on the edge with her feet dangling.

  I sifted through all of the items I had dumped from my school bag onto my pink carpeting. Where was it? I turned to Bridget with a panicked expression. “I can’t find my diary.”

  Bridget jumped off the bed and joined me on the floor. “When did you see it last?”

  “I don’t know.” I yelled for my little sister. “Erin!”

  She instantly appeared at my door, twiddling a loose strand of wavy brown hair from her sloppily tied-back ponytail. She placed her hands on hips that hadn’t yet lost their baby fat. “What?”

  “Have you seen my diary?” I dared her with my eyes to lie to me even as I secretly hoped she had it. Committing Erin to secrecy was as easy as threatening to tell her friends she still didn’t have her period or simply swearing to disown her as my sister. My in-the-moment thoughts and private dreams—ones I never even shared with Bridget—in the hands of someone less submissive could potentially ruin my life.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because if you confess now, I’ll go easy on you. But if I find out later you were lying, you will regret the day you were born.”

  Erin let out a long sigh. “I don’t have it.”

  “Okay,” I said as the uneasy feeling in my belly intensified. “Get out.”

  “Ugh!” she said before slamming my door.

  “What now?” I said to Bridget who was chuckling. She was an only child and thought Erin and I should star in our own television sitcom. I, on the other hand, felt a pang of guilt. I’d let her watch Dawson’s Creek with us later. And I’d make my special snack mix. It was only microwave popcorn combined with Chex Mix, but she always begged me to make it for her. As soon as I found my diary.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably in your locker,” Bridget said, returning to my bed.

  I nodded as my pulse slowed down marginally. I had brought it to school today. I thought of an idea for a short story I wanted to write and planned to jot down notes in study hall but got too caught up on Perks of Being a Wallflower and forgot. Bridget was probably right. It had to be tucked away in my locker. Only, I could have sworn I brought it home.

  “Did you know Jonathan was dating someone?” I looked hesitantly at Bridget who was now leafing through my latest issue of Jane.

  Tossing the magazine on the bed, she widened her green eyes at me. “Of course not. I would never keep such important information to myself. And besides, the bitch is probably lying.”

  I hoped she was right. “Why would she lie?”

  Raising her eyebrows, Bridget said, “Because she’s Hannah?”

  Biting my lip, I said, “But why would she tell me specifically? It’s not like I confided to her about my crush.” I shivered. The thought of entrusting Hannah with anything, even as minor as my blood type, repulsed me.

  “Maybe she figured it out.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  Bridget gave me a pursed-lipped smile and shrugged. “Kinda.”

  I frowned as a wave of dread swept over me.

  Bridget climbed off my bed and sat next to me on the floor again. Bumping my shoulder, she said, “But seriously, maybe you should take your flirting up a notch.”

  It was true. I was not giving it my A-game. I got tongue-tied around Jonathan for some reason. Still. Taking flirting advice from Bridget was like asking a lawyer about a medical procedure. I was about to tease her about her lack of game when she said, “He likes you, too.”

  All plans to give Bridget a hard time were instantly tossed by the wayside. “Are you only saying this to make me feel better? What about the tall girl from West?”

  “Now why would he date a tall girl from Liberty West when he could date a petite girl from his own school?”

  “Cuz she resembles a supermodel and I look like—”

  “Jen from Dawson’s Creek. Speaking of which, can we watch it now? It’s almost nine.”

  I laughed. I looked nothing like Michelle Williams, although it was probably a closer resemblance than Katie Holmes. “Erin!” I called out before standing up and grabbing a hoodie from my closet. It was cold in our family room.

  Erin appeared at my door with a cautious expression on her face. “What now?”

  “Want to watch Dawson’s Creek with Bridget and me?”

  “Is this a trick question?” She glanced from me to Bridget with squinty eyes.

  “
Nope. I’ll make my snack mix, too.”

  Finally flashing me a metal smile, Erin squealed, “Yes!”

  HANNAH

  “Guess where I’m calling you from?” I tapped my Sketchers, impatiently waiting for Plum to answer incorrectly so I could tell her already.

  Plum belted out an enthusiastic, “Your bedroom!”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “And what would be special about that? I always call you from my room.” Plum was the epitome of a dumb blonde sometimes.

  “I dunno. The mall?”

  I removed a top from a rack at Hollister. “Yes, the mall. But how am I calling you?”

  “A pay phone?”

  “Eeehhhh,” I said in my best game-show buzzer impression.

  Plum giggled. “Tell me already.”

  Placing the top back on the rack, I made my way toward the register where my mom was paying for a new pair of flare jeans. For her. Why couldn’t she shop at Nordstrom like the other moms? She was almost forty. “My new, very own cell phone.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. My daddy bought it for me.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, my dad.”

  “You’re so lucky. Maybe my parents will buy me one for Christmas.”

  “My dad knew how much I wanted one so …” I let my voice drop off.

  “Bring it to school tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Wait until you see what else I have to show you.” I peeked into my purse where Kim Long’s diary had already settled to the bottom. I didn’t want to forget it in my hurry to get ready for school the next morning.

  “If you say a puppy, I might have to kill you.” Plum sniffled. Her father’s allergy to dogs didn’t mesh well with her desire to be a veterinarian or as she sometimes called it, “vegetarian.” Like I said: dumb blonde.

  “Much better than a dog.” Feeling a flush of loyalty, I added, “And like I’ve said before, if you want me to ask my parents for a dog so you can play with it as much as you want, let me know. You know what’s mine is yours. Boys not included.”

  Plum chuckled. “And here I thought you were my best friend. Share and share alike.”

  “I am. And I don’t see you sharing Frank with me.”

  “He liked you first, remember? And you didn’t want him.”

  “I’m kidding,” I said, as my muscles tensed. I’d never confessed to Plum that when Frank and I made out in the eighth grade, he blew me off and not the other way around. It all worked out in the end, though. They were a perfect couple, and now I had less competition for other boys in the class.

  KIM

  My knees wobbled as I bent down on the floor, removing item after item from my locker. I ran my hands along the empty surface. Where was it? I almost begged my dad to drive me to school the night before when my diary didn’t turn up even after another frantic search of my room, but I decided to trust Bridget’s prediction I’d left it here. One restless sleep and a check of my locker later, Bridget was wrong.

  “Lose something, Kim Short?”

  I sucked in my breath, stood up, and faced Hannah. Tucking a light-brown hair behind my ear, I gulped. “No,” I said, standing up straighter in a show of fake confidence even as my heart beat rapidly. Letting Hannah see me sweat was a no-no.

  Appearing by my side, my friend Denise said, “Is there a problem here?” In the heels she was wearing, Denise was several inches taller than Hannah, and she emphasized her height by leaving very little distance between the two of them.

  Stepping back, Hannah said, “Not at all. I thought Kim here might need some help finding something.” Giving Denise a once-over—from the metallic wedges on her feet, to her short stretchy black skirt, to her form-fitting sweater—she said, “I love your outfit.”

  “Sure you do,” Denise said sarcastically.

  Smiling contentedly, Hannah waved her manicured fingers at us and said, “See you in class, Kim.”

  As I watched her walk down the hallway, I could swear she had an extra bounce in her step, and my blood turned icy.

  “You all right?” Denise asked.

  “Just Hannah being Hannah.” I shrugged.

  Denise tut-tutted. “Exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  I laughed.

  Denise cocked her head at me. “I don’t trust that girl at all. I know I haven’t been around much, but if you need me to …”—she blew on her fingers—“take care of her, let me know. I have friends.” She gave me an evil grin.

  I giggled. It was nice to know Denise had my back even though she’d moved onto a different crowd. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it,” she said, before patting me on the shoulder and walking away.

  I glanced at my turquoise watch bracelet and realized I had less than a minute before the bell rang. After throwing everything back in my locker, I slammed the door shut and hoofed it to my first class—Earth Science.

  Try as I might to focus on the study of nonhuman organisms, I couldn’t shake the feeling Hannah’s stare was burning a hole in the back of my head. Each time I whipped my head around to catch her in the act though, her gaze was directed at Mr. Riley, not me. Eventually, my paranoia dissipated. By the time seventh period rolled around, I headed to class excited to see Jonathan. It was the only class we shared besides lunch, and since Mrs. Lieberman assigned seats based on last names, only one person sat between us. Unfortunately, that person was Hannah. Normally, she didn’t pay any attention to Jonathan, but today as I entered the classroom with the familiar daily buzz of adrenaline, the first thing I noticed was the two of them talking. Hannah was all fat grins as she flipped her hair from shoulder to shoulder. With all the self-control I could muster not to stop in my tracks, I continued the journey to my desk, meeting Jonathan’s eyes in the process. He stopped talking to Hannah and smiled at me. His grin was not one of a guy who already had a girlfriend. My insides melting like butter, I returned his smile with a shy one of my own before darting my eyes toward Hannah, who had also stopped speaking.

  She looked me up and down as I took a seat. “Having a good day, Kim?”

  I bit my lip and turned cautiously to Jonathan. “No complaints,” I said before opening my history book and staring straight ahead.

  “Good to hear,” she said with a snicker.

  My mouth opened in confusion. Since when would Hannah be pleased to hear anything positive about my well-being? Usually, she liked being on the giving end of my misery. I cocked my head in her direction, but she blessedly appeared to have lost interest in both me and Jonathan by then. She was more focused on her cell phone. I did a double take. Her cell phone?

  She turned to me. “It’s a cell phone. My father bought it for me,” she declared proudly and loudly enough for everyone in the class to hear.

  My eyes opened wide. I didn’t know anyone my age who owned their own cell phone. My parents only let me use theirs on the rare occasions I went somewhere alone with Erin—like the mall—or when my grandma took us somewhere. My mom would never admit it, but I knew she was afraid something bad would happen to Grandma and wanted us to be able to call her no matter where we were.

  Before Hannah could go into more details, Mrs. Lieberman called up the first person to present her oral report for the day. I wasn’t due to give mine for several weeks, which was a good thing, since I hadn’t written it yet. I wasn’t too worried. Writing was the one thing I was really good at in school, but I still had to read the reference material and kept putting it off in favor of the many books in my ever-increasing collection instead.

  I half-listened to Shirley Appleby’s report but applauded along with the rest of the class when she finished until Mrs. Lieberman called Hannah to the front of the room.

  HANNAH

  I had to rein in my grin as I calmly walked to the front of the classroom—all eyes on me. I wanted to give the girls an opportunity to admire my outfit, a graphic t-shirt from Urban Outfitters paired with distressed flared blue jeans, and the guys a chance to praise my butt. Suddenly afraid it looked big in the jea
ns, I increased my strides toward the podium and quickly faced my classmates. Without a proper three-way mirror, I could never get a trustworthy view of my butt, and I couldn’t count on my friends for an honest opinion. I supposed it was my fault for putting the fear of God (or in my case, unpopularity) in them, but it would have been nice to have a friend who was capable of brutal honesty like I was. I full-on told Marla getting bangs was a bad idea. Her forehead was way too small. I wished I had a friend like me.

  I honored my fellow students with a radiant smile. “My report is on the French Revolution, specifically, the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, who wasn’t as short as you might think. He stood at five feet six inches, which was average height for his time. The confusion arises from his autopsy, which indicates he was only five feet two—considered tiny by most, yet still several inches taller than Kim Long.” I made a point to beam at a glaring Kim so everyone would know I was only teasing and feel better about laughing along. While I waited for the noise to die down, I pretended I didn’t notice the nostrils of Kim’s button-tip nose flaring before continuing my presentation until its conclusion. “Before I sit down, I just want to say how much I enjoyed writing this report.” An echo of gasps was heard from the back of the room at my first-class brown-nosing of Mrs. Lieberman, something I was usually way too cool to bother with. “Napoleon was a fascinating historical figure and the basis for the psychological condition called the ‘Napoleon Complex,’ which suggests that really short people compensate for their lack of height with overly aggressive or domineering social behavior. I took it upon myself to conduct a case study to see if this theory held any merit. I’ll let you all be the judge. A fellow classmate of … ahem … tiny stature … was kind enough to lend me some of her personal reflections, which I think support this theory. I’ve kept her identity anonymous to protect her reputation.” I cleared my throat. “Example one: I wasn’t kidding when I told Erin I’d cut off her hair in her sleep if she told Mommy and Daddy she caught me and Bridget smoking in the mall.”