Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 7

  I was tempted to confess the whole thing to Hannah in order to protect Fred from imminent pain and embarrassment but could practically hear Bridget shouting, “Don’t you dare” in my ear. And then the bell rang, and the moment was gone—at least for the time being.

  Hannah was much more subtle in her pursuit of Fred than she was in her quest for a role in an imaginary television show and was surprisingly quiet during class. I couldn’t say the same for mostly everyone else. I spent the entire period half-trying to drown out my classmates’ whispers and half-trying to figure out what they were saying. I could swear I heard Bridget’s name a few times.

  “I had no idea Bridget was …”

  “… never seen her with a guy.”

  “… spends all her time with Kim.”

  “Maybe Kim would know.”

  I shifted my eyes in the direction of the last mumbled sentence. Maybe Kim would know what?

  “Ask her.”

  I’d had enough. “Ask me what?” I whispered through my teeth to the two girls sharing the lab desk to my right.

  My classmates’ heads shot up, and I watched the color drain from their faces. “Bridget,” one said plainly, as if the one-word-answer explained all.

  My muscles tensed as my body prepared itself for potentially unkind words about my best friend.

  “Is she?”

  My eyes bugged out in annoyance. “Is she what?”

  The girls exchanged a glance.

  “What?” As I instinctively raised the volume of my voice, I snuck a quick glimpse at Mr. Riley to make sure he wasn’t watching us.

  “Is she a lesbian?”

  My head jerked back, and when I opened my mouth to respond, nothing came out. After a brief hesitation during which I shook out my ears to make sure I’d heard her correctly, I said, “No! Not even a little bit.” Bridget was shy around boys, but she definitely did not play for the other team. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Someone walked in on her making out with another girl in the locker room.” The girl’s eyes opened wide, and she leaned forward, clearly interested in what I’d say next.

  “Nonsense,” I said, waving them away. “Stupid rumor. Bridget is straight.” I wanted to add that even if Bridget were gay, (a) so what? and (b) it was none of their business, but I was afraid both of those statements would be construed as me confirming the rumor. “And who was this someone?”

  The girls shrugged collectively as if it were part of a choreographed dance move and then darted their eyes around the room.

  I snorted. “So we’re gleaning truth from what some mythological girl claims to have seen in the locker room?” From the blank stares on their faces, it was obvious they had no idea what “glean” meant. Either that or “mythological.” It wasn’t as if I was even one of the smart kids in my grade. I had a decent vocabulary because I relied on the thesaurus for my writing. I only hoped it would help when I took the SATs the following year. Rolling my eyes, I clarified, “We don’t even know if this girl exists, and we’re taking her at her word?”

  “We know she exists. It was—”

  Looking behind me, the other girl interrupted. “Don’t! What if Hannah wants to keep her identity a secret?” As her friend shoved her in the side, both of them turned white.

  My teeth clenched as I whipped my head in Hannah’s direction. I gripped the edge of my desk with both hands to restrain myself from interrupting her lovefest with Prince Frederik and kicking her ass. How dare she spread lies about Bridget? My need to avenge Hannah now overshadowed any guilt I had over dragging innocent Fred into the matter. This was war.

  When the bell rang, I weaved my way through the crowded hallways as if I were playing Frogger. By the time I collapsed into my chair in English class, I was breathless. I was, not surprisingly, one of the first people to arrive, and I took the time to catch my breath and prepare myself to tell Bridget what people were saying about her. When she walked into the classroom, her long curly locks held back by a floral garland headband, I ached with the knowledge I would soon wipe the smile off her face.

  “Hey,” she said, draping her purse on the edge of her chair before sitting down. “Give me the skinny quickly before the bell rings. How’d things go in homeroom with phase two?”

  “Fine. It went fine. She clearly fell for it,” I said, biting my lip and pulling on the strand of hair I had wrapped around my finger.

  Bridget did a fist pump and grinned at me. “Awesome.” After studying me for a moment, she said, “Why aren’t you happy?”

  I made a split-second decision to pull the bandage off. “Hannah’s at it again. And this time, you’re her target. She told everyone she saw you making out with another girl in gym.” I held my breath.

  Bridget shrugged. “It was the bathroom, not the locker room.”

  My eyes bugged out.

  Clearly noting my shock, Bridget raised her hand in the air and laughed. “I was comforting a freshman girl whose grandma had died when Hannah walked in. We weren’t making out. We were hugging. And for the record, I like boys.”

  “I know. I didn’t say I believed the rumor. And for the record, I’d still be your best friend even if it were true, but I might kill you for keeping it from me.” Cocking my head to the side, I said, “You’re surprisingly calm about this. I was afraid to tell you.”

  Removing her headband and examining the fabric daisies, she said, “I couldn’t care less whether Hannah’s sheep think I’m a lesbian. Who cares? There’s no sense in denying it. People will believe what they want to believe.”

  “That’s so mature of you,” I said softly. But even as my heart swelled with pride, I knew Bridget was more affected than she was letting on. I also wondered if Kyle Moore had gotten wind of the rumor. It would explain why he’d seemingly lost interest in her out of nowhere. Unless he was hoping for a three-way.

  “Whatever. It’s more incentive to keep going with Plan Bad Diary.” As the bell rang, she whispered, “I want an update after class” before opening her textbook and facing the teacher.

  HANNAH

  Fred cleared his throat. “So, I’m surprised you wanted to study with me. You could have any study partner you want.”

  It was after school, and we were sitting in the study center of the school library. I reached across the long wooden table and patted Fred’s pale hand. “True, but if I want to get a good grade, you’re my best bet.” I flipped my hair, inhaling the scent of honey as a strand tickled my nostrils. “I get good grades, of course, but it would be nice to turn my A minus to an A plus. You know?” When Fred eyed me with a blank expression, I added, “For college applications.”

  Fred glanced from side to side. “People are staring.”

  I looked around. Sure enough, students sharing our communal table were giving us curious glances. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d carry a phony Gucci bag before I’d be seen voluntarily socializing with the likes of Fred, but he was a far cry from ordinary, being a prince and all. Since no one else except Kim and maybe her lesbo friend Bridget knew about his heir to the throne, of course they’d wonder what an A-lister like me was doing with a wannabe like Fred. Actually, Fred didn’t even qualify as a wannabe because he didn’t want to be anything except a D-list nerd. I was almost impressed with his disinterest in social status. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous.” I smiled at him. “Of me.” Of you.

  “Whatever you say.” Tapping his Bic pen against the table, he said, “Should we start with today’s notes, or do you want to go back a few weeks?”

  How about we start with the good stuff? Like whether you have to wait for your mom to die before you become king, and if your marriage has already been arranged, or if I have a chance? “We can start with today’s notes,” I said, making a show of flipping through the textbook.

  “Did you understand what Mr. Riley said about sea level rise?”

  “Yeah, the stuff about the sea turtles is sad. So, who do you think is prettier—Princess Diana or Camilla
?”

  Fred furrowed his brow. “Uh … what now?”

  “Who would you rather marry? I mean … if you were a prince?” I almost winked.

  Fred gaped at me. “Considering Princess Diana is dead, and Camilla has to be at least forty, neither option is optimal.”

  He had me there. “Valid point.”

  Fred gave a quick shake of his head and chuckled. “Okay then. So about global warming—”

  “So, you like girls your own age as opposed to older women?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.” Fred slunk down in his seat as a blush crept across his cheeks.

  Leaning forward, I teased, “You don’t give much thought to the age of the girls you like, or you don’t give much thought to girls at all? Do you like boys?” Please don’t let him be gay!

  “I’m no more into guys than Bridget Donahue is into girls.” He gave me a knowing look.

  I frowned. Did that mean he was into guys or not? “Meaning?”

  Fred rolled his eyes. “I’m not gay and neither is Bridget.”

  Shaking my head, I waved him away. “None of my business.”

  Fred raised his eyebrows and muttered, “Could have fooled me” before burying his curly head between the pages of his science book.

  Wondering if I’d heard him wrong, I blinked in rapid succession as every muscle in my body tensed. Who was this guy to think he could disrespect Hannah Marshak? I opened my mouth to give him a much-deserved tongue-lashing, but before I got the chance, he looked up from his book and smiled at me. Not expecting to see the kindness in his eyes, I swallowed hard. This time, it was me who slunk down further in her chair. “So, where were we?”

  “Global warming.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Global warming.”

  KIM

  “What was everyone else doing while Hannah was all over Fred?” Bridget asked as she stretched across the length of her bed.

  From the hammock chair by her window, I blurted out, “They were too busy whispering about you to notice.” I clapped my hand against my mouth as Bridget raised herself to a sitting position and pursed her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Bridge,” I said, sitting up to rub my fingers against the fabric hanging from floor to ceiling at the foot of her bed. Even though her parents had initially insisted she wait until her sixteenth birthday to redecorate her room, Bridget had convinced them to let her do it at fourteen, arguing if she waited until she was almost ready to graduate high school, she’d barely have any time to enjoy the new décor, and the expense wouldn’t go as far. Now, whenever I stepped into her bedroom, it was like jumping into the pages of a fairytale. Her dad even strung LED lights through the fabric to give her bedpost a starry-night effect. Bridget came up with the idea herself. She was super creative and loved spending Saturday afternoons at LONG-ing for Crafts. Since her folks were both English professors at SUNY Stony Brook, we liked to joke we belonged to the wrong parents and were probably switched at birth.

  Reaching underneath her bed, Bridget pulled out a pack of cigarettes. We’d both experimented some with smoking, but while I quickly concluded the disgusting habit made my hair smell like burnt chicken skin, Bridget said she found it calming. She was now smoking about five cigarettes a day. If her parents got wind of it, they’d be anything but calm, but Bridget said as long as she smoked her last cigarette two hours before her parents were expected home from the college, she’d have plenty of time to air out the room.

  She took a drag of the cigarette, waving the smoke away from me, and said, “This too shall pass.”

  “I’m sure everyone knows it’s not true.” I lied in an attempt to make her feel better. She could insist she didn’t care until our sixteenth birthdays (nine days apart), and I’d still know better.

  Taking another puff of her Virginia Slims Lights, she said, “The only people who’ve even approached me about it were Jules and David.”

  Jules and David were two of the only openly gay guys at school. They were also the best looking. They were good friends and both dating guys from Liberty West who were also gorgeous. “What did they say?”

  Bridget walked over to the window and tapped out her cigarette into a plastic cup before turning to me. “They said either their gaydar was way off or I was most definitely heterosexual, but they’d be proud to have me on their team whether in fact or fiction.”

  I smiled wide. “Aw. How sweet. I love them.”

  “Me, too. We’re eating lunch together tomorrow.” Flashing me a devilish grin, she said, “I’m sure it will give people something to talk about.”

  Shaking my head in awe as a rush of pride flooded my belly, I said, “How is it possible I’m best friends with someone as cool as you?”

  “God loves you,” she said with a shrug.

  “I must have done something right in a previous life.”

  “So, back to this life. Tell me more about Hannah and Fred.”

  “There’s not much to tell. She complimented his taste in eyeglasses.”

  “Doesn’t he wear thick wire frames?”

  “Yup.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes.

  Remembering the delight Fred seemed to take in Hannah’s attention, I let out a deep sigh. “I’m not loving this plan, by the way.”

  “I know you were afraid Hannah wouldn’t buy it, but she clearly has.”

  “I know. I don’t like the idea of using Fred.” Even though I was more intent than ever on enacting revenge on Hannah after her latest stunt, my guilty conscience where Fred was concerned was a thorn in my side.

  “This is about making Hannah jump through hoops for nothing—dyeing her hair red for a pretend casting director, kissing up to Fred because she thinks he’s her ticket to royalty—it’s not about Fred. If anything, he’ll become more popular as a result and be none the wiser.”

  “But—”

  Raising her hand in my face, Bridget said, “If Hannah turns on Fred, I promise we’ll make it right. Okay?”

  I nodded meekly and dropped my gaze to Bridget’s wood floor.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I raised my head. “Always.”

  Bridget smiled softly. “Good. Now let’s start brainstorming phase three.”

  HANNAH

  Noticing Fred sitting pathetically alone at a table in the cafeteria, I stopped on my way to the popular table and patted him on the shoulder.

  He jolted out of his seat, apparently startled by the physical contact, and stared up at me while fidgeting with his glasses. “Oh, Hannah. Hi.”

  “Why are you eating alone?”

  “I … uh …”

  I gestured toward the table where my friends were sitting about twenty feet away and said, “C’mon.” I continued walking without checking to see if he’d followed me. Of course, he had.

  “You guys all know Fred, right?” I stopped myself from saying “Prince Fred” since, so far, my attempts to get him to confess his secret identity had been unsuccessful, and I liked it being “our” secret. I sat down, leaving an empty seat next to me.

  “Yeah. Sure,” Marla said before blinking excessively at me. I was about to ask if she had a bug in her eye when I noticed Fred was still standing. Cocking my head up toward him, I joked, “Were you planning to eat standing up?” I giggled as he turned redder than normal and sat down next to me. “Ouch,” I said, as something jabbed against my ankle. I glared across the table at Marla, who was staring at me and doing a weird dance with her head. I mouthed, “What?” and shifted my feet away from her.

  “So, Hannah, can we see Charlie’s Angels this weekend?” Shannon asked from my other side.

  I took a bite of the turkey on whole wheat sandwich I had brought from home—the food in the cafeteria was either too watered down or too fattening. “We’ll see.”

  “It’s supposed to be great,” Shannon said with a pleading expression.

  “Maybe.” I wanted to see it as well, but it was fun to watch the girls squirm sometimes.

  F
rom my other side, Fred whispered, “Why do they need your permission?”

  From the side of my mouth, I whispered back, “Because I’m their queen,” before giggling.

  “Evidently.”

  I whipped my head toward him and laughed. He was the first guy—person really—to be so frank with me. I liked it. “You are truly something, Prince Fred.”

  Looking baffled, he said, “So honored to be part of your royal cabinet, Your Highness.”

  I winked at him. “Together, we can rule the world.”

  KIM

  “You nervous for today?”

  The one strand of Jonathan’s caramel hair that insisted on flopping in the opposite direction of the rest had me mesmerized, but I willed myself to look away and answer his question eye to eye. “Nervous about what?” Was it that obvious I was a basket case during our current lunch “date,” which really wasn’t a “date” as much as Jonathan interrupting my reading of Love and Other Four-Letter Words?

  “Your social studies report. It’s today, right?”

  My eyes opened wide. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “I thought Mrs. Lieberman mentioned it yesterday.” He blushed and took a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

  I smiled into my plate of macaroni and cheese—one of the more tasty selections in the cafeteria.

  “So, are you?”

  Glancing back up at him, I said, “Of course. I hate speaking in public. And since most people have already given their presentations, they won’t be too nervous about their own performance to pay attention to mine. Like I’ve been the past few weeks.”

  “Precisely why I always volunteer to go first, so I can relax during everyone else’s.” He gave me a wry grin. “You’ll be fine,” he said, before taking another bite.