Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 8

  I watched his jaw move as he chewed until he suddenly swallowed abruptly and shook his head in disgust.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He snorted and motioned behind me. “Get a load of Hannah and the Hannettes over there with Fred Gordon.”

  I turned around to see for myself. Jonathan was right. Fred was sitting among Hannah and her groupies—the Hannettes. (I made a mental note to share Jonathan’s nickname with Bridget. She’d get a kick.)

  “What is he—their sacrificial lamb or something?”

  Having seen enough (and much preferring to cast my gaze on Jonathan’s cute mug), I faced him again. “More like their prince,” I muttered to myself with a chuckle.

  “The bimbos seem to be as confused as we are. Check out their faces.”

  Reluctantly rotating my body in the direction of Hannah’s table again, I watched as Marla, Shannon, and Holly alternated between exchanging confused glances at each other and back at Hannah, who was laughing with—not at—Fred, and not at all aware of her surroundings. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was genuinely enjoying his company. But she couldn’t be. Could she?

  “And that explains the significance of bread to the March on Versailles.” I released a deep exhalation and smiled proudly at Jonathan, relieved to be finished with the presentation. He was right; I did fine. “Any questions?”

  It was rare for anyone to have questions—asking was usually a formality—so I was surprised when a hand shot up at the back of the room. “You have a question?”

  “Yes,” answered Steven Steckleberger, a scrawny kid with chicken legs and an overwhelmingly prominent Adam’s apple.

  “Go on.”

  He cleared his throat. “Is Bridget really gay?”

  Against a backdrop of my classmates’ giggles, I repeated, “Is Bridget really … wait, what?” My heart beat in double-time.

  “Are the rumors true? Bad news for us guys.”

  A few guys murmured their agreement as my knees began to wobble. “The rumors are not true.” I scanned the room. “Any other questions?”

  Another hand shot up. This time, a girl in the front row.

  I smiled at her. “Yes?”

  “Are you two girlfriend and girlfriend?”

  Laughing, Hannah said, “Were you not in class the day of my report? Kim wants to have sex with Jonathan, not Bridget. Although she might be kinky enough for a three-way.”

  “We are best friends,” I said, speaking loud enough to disguise my shaking voice as I swallowed back a tear. Finally paying attention, Mrs. Lieberman said, “I think we’ve had about enough.”

  “I have a question,” Jonathan said loudly.

  “Y … yes?” My yellow cardigan clung to my skin, and a bead of sweat trickled between my breasts. The blown-up poster of medieval Europe hanging on the back wall of the classroom called to me, and I wished I could disappear into one of the large stone castles.

  “When the crowd chanted in Versailles, did they say, ‘Bring back the baker, the baker’s wife, and the baker’s little helper?’ ”

  Tears welled up behind my eyelids, but this time out of relief. I smiled. “Close. They said, ‘Bringing back the baker, the baker’s wife, and the little baker’s apprentice.’ ”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Kim.”

  “No, thank you,” I whispered. If I lusted after him before, I was officially in love now.

  “I rest my case,” Hannah said.

  HANNAH

  My parents were fighting. On the plus side, it meant my father was a physical presence in my house for a change, but after eavesdropping on their argument for the last twenty minutes, I was beginning to wish he was “working late” again.

  “For the love of God, Liza. Not now!”

  “Don’t Liza me! Since you never take my calls at the office, and you’re so rarely home, if not now, when?”

  My dad only referred to my mom by her full name when he was angry. For the first twelve years of my life, I thought her proper name was Lizzy. Over the last three years, I’d become unwelcomingly familiar with the name Liza.

  “Did it ever occur to you that your incessant nagging might be the reason I don’t like coming home?”

  I screamed, “Shut up!” before opening my bedroom door and slamming it as hard as I could. I vaulted onto my bed and threw a pillow over my face until my phone rang. Not bothering to use my happy voice, I grunted, “Hello.”

  “Nice to hear from you, too.”

  At the sound of Kyle’s voice, the chocolate milk I drank with dinner curdled in my stomach as I flashed back to him showering me with compliments in this very room. I longed to rip him a new one, but I had to play along to protect my reputation. He no longer deserved to orbit my universe, but to state it outright would be social suicide. “Sorry, Kyle. I was rehearsing for the play, and I’m angry in this scene.”

  “Can I help you rehearse? We can role-play.”

  I visualized him winking at me as he said it, and I stuck a finger partway down my throat in a gagging gesture. I was a very good judge of character, so if someone as savvy as me fell for Kyle’s lines, it meant he was one smooth operator. But underneath his hot exterior, he was a jerk—a stupid jerk to be precise—who had the limited intelligence and poor taste to think Bridget was a better catch than me. Obviously, his infatuation with Bridget was temporary, and here he was, predictably, coming back to me, but it was too late. He had his one shot with me and blew it. Hannah Marshak didn’t give second chances.

  I wiggled my newly polished toes and in my most apologetic voice, replied, “I wish. But I’m so close to a breakthrough and can’t have distractions, even a cute one like you. Especially a cute one like you. You mad? Don’t be mad.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I could never be mad at you, Hannah. Call me later, okay?”

  “I promise.” I promise not to call you—ever. “Bye!” I hung up before he could say goodbye, and I covered my ears with my hands as the volume of my parents’ voices increased.

  “And who is Roselyn? I found her business card in the pocket of your pants.”

  “She’s a business colleague, hence the business card. Seriously, Liza?”

  I lied to Kyle—a distraction was definitely in order. I dialed Plum’s number. Thinking better of it, I hung up before the first ring and dialed another number instead.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Fred. It’s Hannah. Can you talk?”

  KIM

  “Argh!” I paced the length of my plush pink carpeting and pulled at my hair until my scalp hurt. “It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not,” Bridget said from her spot on my polka-dot beanbag chair without even looking up from her Deliah’s catalog. “Which is precisely why we can’t give up now.”

  I plopped down on my bed with a loud sigh. “What’s the point? Phase one was a fail. Instead of Hannah sporting a ridiculously ugly haircut and making a laughingstock of herself auditioning to substitute teachers, she’s started a trend of copper highlights throughout the entire school, discovered a long-dormant passion for acting, and landed a supporting role in the school play.” I walked over to Bridget and stood before her with my hands on my hips. “And can we discuss phase two? We thought she’d make a fool of herself by kissing up to Fred and hinting about his royal status, which, of course, didn’t happen. No, our Hannah found a new best friend in Fred, and now the whole school thinks she’s the kindest girl ever. I overheard someone say Hannah is living proof that shiny, beautiful people can also have hearts of platinum.”

  Tossing the catalog to the side, Bridget finally gave me her full attention. “No way.”

  “Yes way. And it’s all because of us. She should pay us a commission.” I threw my hands up in an “I give up” gesture.

  Bridget raised her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. “I hate her,” she whispered.

  “Me, too.”

  She opened her eyes. “We need to come up with something really g
ood for phase three.”

  My heart thudded dully in my chest. Resuming my pacing, I asked, “Why bother? Even when Hannah acts like a she-devil, she manages to come out looking like Maria from The Sound of Music. What makes you think phase three will be any different?”

  “It will if we come up with something fail proof. Something even Hannah can’t turn to gold.”

  “For instance?”

  Bridget shrugged. “No clue. But we’ll think of something.”

  I stopped walking and joined Bridget on the floor.

  She shifted enough to give me room to lean against the beanbag chair and said, “Okay. Let’s concentrate for five minutes and see what we each come up with.” Reaching into my pink argyle pencil holder, she grabbed a pen and a small notepad for each of us. “The time on the clock says three eighteen. We’ll stop when it says three twenty-four, so we’ll have five minutes and change to rack our brains. On your mark, get set, go.”

  Bridget was right; we just needed to focus. I closed my eyes, shutting down all thoughts aside from our trickery. I pictured Jonathan at lunch today, specifically the errant flakes on his lips from the bag of potato sticks he’d eaten. If we’d been dating for real, I’d have leaned over and licked them off. But even though he’d now joined me twice for lunch, we were technically still only “friends.” Was he ever going to ask me out for real?

  Focus, Kim!

  I shook the vision of Jonathan and his full salty lips out of my head like an Etch-A-Sketch.

  Jonathan had one hair that had a life of its own. I wondered if his grandma licked her palm and smoothed it down whenever she saw him like my nana sometimes did to Erin’s rebellious curls. Wait? What was Erin doing in my daydream about Jonathan? Get out of my head, Erin! And Nana, too. Seriously.

  “Time’s up.”

  I opened my eyes and looked guiltily at Bridget. How had five minutes gone by already? Hopefully, she spent the time more productively.

  “Whatcha got?”

  I pursed my lips. “Nothing. Except a hankering for potato sticks.”

  Bridget jerked her head back. “Huh?”

  I shrugged. “Sorry. What about you?”

  She frowned and slid her notepad toward me. It was opened to a drawing of Joshua Jackson. “Not bad, eh?”

  I chuckled. “The picture is awesome. We, on the other hand, suck.”

  Bridget leaned her head on my shoulder. “Yes, we do.” She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “I’d better get back and do my homework before dinner. It’s pizza and Scrabble night.”

  “Fun.”

  Bridget grunted. “It was fun before my folks went all Latin on my ass. It’s all SAT prep all the time in the Donahue house.”

  “When your verbal score is off the charts, you’ll thank them.”

  “Perhaps. But until then, I plan to complain early and often, and as my BFF, you have to sit there and take it as only best friends can. Capiche?”

  I nodded. “How do you say that in Latin?”

  Without blinking, Bridget said, “Intelligere.”

  “Color me impressed.”

  PART FOUR

  HANNAH

  “If you hear anything, I implore you to please say something. My fiancé and I would be so grateful.” Desperation blanketing her face, Ms. Clarke’s eyes roamed the group of students as they cooled down on the gym mats after an energetic jump rope elimination contest.

  Blah, blah, blah. I tuned out Jaimie’s sob story, reached the tips of my fingers across my Lululemon yoga pants, and pulled my toes closer to me in a stretch. It wasn’t that I didn’t sympathize with Jaimie, known to most of the students at Liberty as Miss Clarke. Losing your engagement ring must suck, but the tiny rock couldn’t have been more than one carat. How much could it possibly have cost? Couldn’t he just buy her a new one?

  Jaimie was the assistant PE coach and the all-around favorite teacher in the school—for girls and boys. One of the only staff members under twenty-five, she was blond, blue-eyed, thin, nice, and was probably in the popular crowd back in high school, too. Ordinarily, I would make it my business to solve the mystery of the missing ring or at least cheer her up, but I had more pressing problems at the moment. Like how to get out of sushi with Plum and her parents on Friday night. It turned out Fred was a poet, and I had signed him up for amateur night at Café Beanery on Main. I wanted to go for moral support and play wing woman for him afterward. When all was said and done, he wasn’t my type—prince or not—but I didn’t trust him to pick a suitable mate and future princess on his own. He still hadn’t opened up to me about his family. It must have been a huge no-no. Maybe he’d only inherit the crown if he kept silent. Far be it from me to ruin it for him, but I’d be damned if I let him end up with any old girl. I even thought of setting him up with Marla, but she hadn’t quite come to terms with our friendship yet. She was jealous—obviously—but there was more than enough Hannah to be shared—figuratively speaking, of course. And I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with Marla being royalty. I was the queen bee in our friendship. Anyway, when I told Fred I’d signed him up, he nearly lost his temper. His ears turned purple, and he glared at me like I had kicked his dog. I didn’t think he had it in him to be so angry. Eventually, he agreed to go, but only if I’d read the self-help book he bought me on how to deal with fighting parents. I couldn’t figure out how to go to dinner with the Sheridans and be there for Fred at the same time. Until I did, Miss Clarke would need to rely on someone else to locate her lost, or more likely, stolen engagement ring.

  KIM

  “It’s just not cool for someone to steal another person’s property, no matter how valuable or sentimental.” Miss Clarke circled the room and paused to look each of us in the eye. “Karma has a way of coming back to you. So, please. If you know anything, say something. And if it was you—and I’m not saying it was—leave it on my desk in an unmarked envelope. I will drop the investigation immediately. I have no desire to press charges. I only want my ring back. That’s all.” She swallowed hard and wiped a tear from her blue eyes. “You’re dismissed.”

  As my classmates headed to the locker room, I approached Miss Clarke as she began folding the gym mats and placing them in piles to be returned to the supply room.

  A lump in my tummy the size of Jupiter, I tapped her on the back. “Miss Clarke?”

  Pivoting to face me, Ms. Clarke leaned in. “Yes, Kim? Do you know something about my ring?” She held her breath.

  My stomach dropped, and I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. I just … is it possible you simply misplaced the ring, or could there really be a kleptomaniac in our midst? Either way, I’m so sorry.”

  Smoothing her ponytail with her hand, Miss Clarke frowned. “You and me both, Kim. I don’t know how I could have misplaced it. I removed it before training a class for the Presidential Fitness Test. I thought it might get in the way of the pull-ups. But unless it found legs and left on its own, someone took it.”

  “How awful.” I couldn’t believe this was happening to Miss Clarke, of all people. She was so nice. She treated the students like peers and even told us the story of how she met her fiancé, Michael—on a singles’ camping trip. He proposed under the stars because they’d had their first conversation discussing the myths of Ursa Major. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Kim. I appreciate it.”

  “I wish there was more I could do.”

  She shrugged. “Me, too. By the way, I heard how Mr. Middleton went all heroic on you during your report. Anything I should know?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one could hear us and whispered, “I think he likes me, but he’s moving at a turtle’s pace.”

  She smiled. “Slow and steady like a turtle is better than aggressive and dangerous like a tiger. Trust me. I have experience with both.”

  “I guess. I’d settle for an enthusiastic and affectionate golden retriever.” I paused as a thought occurred to
me. “Who told you about Jonathan’s heroics, anyway?”

  Miss Clarke winked. “Hannah Marshak. You know how she loves her gossip.”

  ***

  “I wonder if it’s the same person who stole your locket,” I said to Bridget on the phone later. The white gold necklace with a sapphire-encrusted heart-shaped locket her grandparents bought for her thirteenth birthday went missing the previous spring, and Bridget had no idea if it had gotten lost or whether it was stolen.

  “If so, the bitch has the beginnings of a valuable jewelry collection.”

  I relaxed against my pillow with my phone cradled against my neck. “I told Miss Clarke I’d let her know if I heard anything.”

  “Word has spread across the school like wildfire. Quicker than news of my sexual orientation.” She giggled.

  “Ha. Whatever it takes to deflect attention from you, right?” My stomach dipped as I pictured Miss Clarke’s despondent face. “But I feel so bad for her.”

  “Everyone does. God help the poor schmuck who did it. The school will pounce. United in hate.”

  “Yeah, even Hannah Marshak couldn’t talk her way out of that one. Right?” I laughed.

  Silence.

  “Bridge?”

  “I have an idea.”

  HANNAH

  “Short!” I watched Kim’s back as she ignored me and scurried like a yippy dog out of trig class. I shot an annoyed glance at the Hello Kitty journal she left on her desk. Again? She was so careless. If I were her, I’d consider having it surgically attached to my body. But at least I made an effort to return it this time. The last few entries I’d read when she left it behind in her gym locker the previous week were so mind-numbingly boring, I was barely tempted to waste any more time on it. But there was a saying about not looking a gift dog in the mouth. Or was it leaving a gift horse in the mouse? In any event, since it didn’t seem like Kim cared all that much about her privacy, I figured I might as well invade it. I slipped the book in my bag and headed to my locker on the way to lunch. Hiding behind my locker door, I read the last few entries.