Everybody Bugs Out (9 page)

chapter fourteen

the anti-fashion show

N
ormally anything related to Claire and clothes is tons of fun. But when we got to her house after school on Thursday, all I felt was dread.

Claire—completely oblivious to my misery—opened up her closet and began pulling out clothes. Here's what ended up on the floor within the first thirty seconds:

silver leggings

purple miniskirt

ballet flats with red rhinestones

black puffy vest with a faux-fur collar.

At least I assumed it was faux fur, since I couldn't imagine Claire—or any of my friends—ever wearing the real thing.

“I found it,” Claire yelled, putting on a blue wrap dress with a purple sash. “What do you think?” She turned around and did her best imitation of a runway model, kicking her clothes aside as she strutted across the room, with one hand on her hip.

“I like it,” I said.

“Think it would look better with boots or ballet flats?”

Did it really matter? I wanted to ask her, but I stopped myself because of course it mattered. She was going to the dance with Oliver. Everything mattered. But if I said that I'd reveal too much so I simply replied, “Either way.”

Claire sighed. “My favorite boots have heels but that would make me so much taller than him.”

“You're already taller than him,” I couldn't help but point out.

“Right. So why make myself more so? That's the problem with sixth grade boys!”

“They're not all short.” I took a deep breath. “But if Oliver's height bothers you, then maybe you should go with someone else. Like what about Sanjay? He's tall. Cute, too.”

Claire wrinkled her nose. “He's one of those guys who drums on his desk with his fingers.”

“Because he plays the drums.”

Claire shrugged. “Still annoying.” She took off the dress and continued tearing through her closet.

I sat down on her bed right in time for her to throw a beaded jean jacket on me, without even noticing. I pulled it off my head. “Um, Claire?”

She spun around. “Oops, sorry!”

I held up the jacket. “This is cute. How come you never wear it?”

“I wore it all the time last year and I got sick of it. Want to take it?”

“Really?” I slipped into the jacket and admired myself in front of Claire's full-length mirror. The jacket was faded and perfectly broken in, with a hand-embroidered row of ladybugs marching out of one pocket.

“Not to keep, but you can borrow it for a while.”

“Thanks. It's perfect. I'll wear it tomorrow and Oliver is going to love it.”

Claire looked up suddenly. “What?”

“Nothing!” I said. “It's just fitting, since our science fair project involves bugs and last week the gardener released a whole slew of ladybugs in his backyard in order to save the rosebushes from aphids. Apparently ladybugs eat them. So we were overrun. It was hilarious and we considered focusing on just ladybugs but—”

Claire interrupted me. “Oliver has rosebushes? Maybe I should ask him to make me a corsage for the dance.”

I shook my head. “Rachel said corsages are a high school thing.”

“Oh.” Claire twisted up her hair and then let it fall. “Hey, think I should wear skinny jeans with boots and a sparkly top?” she asked, trying on that exact outfit.

“Looks great,” I said.

She walked over to the mirror and turned from left to right. Then she checked herself out from behind. Annoyingly, she looked amazing from every angle.

“Did you know that Oliver's mom used to model in Europe?” said Claire. “That's how she met his dad.”

I didn't know this. And it bothered me that Claire did.

“He ran an advertising company and she was the face of one of his campaigns,” she went on, like she was some Oliver expert. “They met at a party in Italy and fell in love.”

“How do you even know that?” I asked.

“My mom told me. She and Oliver's mom do yoga together and sometimes they go out for coffee after.”

I wished my mom did yoga. Then maybe she'd be friends with Oliver's mom, too.

Claire paused and looked at me thoughtfully. Eyes narrowed slightly, staring like she saw through me to the core of my inner lousy-friend being.

I was about to open my mouth to confess and apologize when she said, “Know what would look really cute with that jacket? My striped boatneck shirt.”

She strode across the room to her overflowing dresser and opened up the bottom drawer. “I could've sworn it was here somewhere. Ha! I almost forgot about this.” Instead of the shirt, she held up a yellow and red striped, sequined miniskirt. “Olivia took me vintage clothes shopping for my birthday last year, and we both decided to buy the craziest, most outrageous outfits we could find, and then we wore them to the mall and split up and kept track of how many weird looks we got.”

“Who won?” I asked.

“We kind of tied.” Claire tossed me the skirt and said, “Try it on.”

I held it up with two fingers. “This thing looks like a disco ball vomited on a Hot-Dog-on-a-Stick uniform.”

“And you say that like it's a bad thing!” said Claire.

I shrugged and slipped the skirt on over my leggings.

Then Claire handed me an orange stretchy top.

“I think this clashes,” I said.

“That's the point.” Claire wrapped herself in a flowery ruffled apron. Then she stepped into a pair of kelly green platform heels. “I'm sick of looking for something perfect to wear. Let's focus on being anti-fashion for a while. And we need music, too.” She hurried over to her Mac and selected one of her famous '80s playlists.

As Madonna blasted from the computer, Claire handed me a purple feathered boa and wrapped a pink one around her own neck.

Then we both strutted around the room like we were models on a catwalk or something.

When I tripped over one of Claire's stray boots she laughed, which gave me the giggles.

Then we tried on some more outrageous outfits until Claire decided something was missing. “Makeup!” she declared out of nowhere, sitting down at her sister's dressing table and opening the top drawer. It was filled with lipsticks and eye shadows and mascaras, plus mysterious tubs and brushes of all sizes. Also, a metal device that looked like it could be used for torture. “What's this?” I asked, holding it up.

“Eyelash curler. Want to try it?”

“Nope.” I put it away quickly. “You're sure Olivia won't mind us using her stuff?”

Claire puckered her lips at her mirror image and applied some bright purple lipstick. Then she spun around, grinned, and batted her eyelashes. “Olivia won't mind at all. Especially since she'll never know. She's at softball practice for another hour. Come on. Your turn.”

She sat me down in the little chair and brushed on some purple eye shadow.

“Isn't that kind of thick?” I asked.

“It only feels that way because you never wear makeup.” She put it away and grabbed some blush, eyeliner, and lipstick. And five minutes later, she turned me around so I could see myself in the mirror. “Voilà!”

I blinked at myself. “I look like a clown.”

Claire tilted her head at our reflections. “Know what we need?”

“A washcloth?” I guessed.

“Sparkle!” She added some body glitter to her cheeks and then mine. Then she pulled out her digital camera and snapped some shots. I posed with my hip jutted out, my lower lip thrust, and my arms crossed.

“Work it!” said Claire.

Two minutes later I asked to see the shots. Claire passed over the camera and said, “You look amazing!”

Flipping through the images, I shook my head. “This is so not me!”

“It is you, and you look fabulous!”

“Your turn!” I aimed the camera at Claire.

She vamped it up for a while and then we turned on the self-timer, balancing the camera on the bookshelf so we could get some glam shots together.

We were having so much fun that I completely forgot I was helping Claire get ready for a date with my secret crush. At least until the phone rang.

“Claire!” her mom yelled from downstairs. “It's for you.”

Claire turned off the music and rushed to the phone. “Hello? Oh, hey Rach. What's up?”

I went back to the mirror and made funny faces at myself, not eavesdropping, exactly, but since we were in the same room I couldn't help but overhear her end of the conversation.

“He said yes? That's awesome! So we're all set. Great. I can't wait. Omigosh, I have nothing to wear!” She glanced at the pile of clothes on her floor, then turned to me and smiled. “Annabelle will help. Yeah. Great. Okay, see you.”

“Help with what?” I asked after she hung up.

“Help me figure out what to wear on my first date.”

Of course. How could I forget? “I thought we were already doing that.”

“That's for the dance. I'm talking about Saturday night. Oliver and I are going bowling with Rachel and Caleb.”

“Oh, cool,” I replied, thinking this news was anything but. I just hoped my “surprised and horrified” expression would be mistaken for an “I'm so excited for you” face.

But Claire didn't even glance my way as she fixed her bangs in the mirror. “I've never had this much trouble figuring out what to wear.”

I sank down to the edge of her bed, hardly believing that Claire was going bowling with Oliver.

I took another tissue and tried to wipe off the glitter, but instead it spread. “I can't get this stupid stuff off!”

“What's wrong?” asked Claire, finally noticing I was still there.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and coughed. “Nothing. Bowling sounds casual so you need to wear jeans.”

“How about a vintage bowling shirt?” she asked. “Or would that look like I was trying too hard?”

“Trying too hard to do what?”

“Okay, good point. Now the problem is, my baggy jeans look better with the vintage shirt but my skinny jeans are way more flattering. But if I wear them on Saturday I can't wear them again to the dance unless we have at least two dates in between outfits and there's hardly enough time for—”

Suddenly Claire turned to me and smiled. “Hey you should come,” she said.

“Really?” For a quick second I thought that I was overreacting. Maybe I misheard Claire and she and Oliver weren't planning a date. Maybe it was just, like, an outing. Something all my friends could go to—as a big group. Totally innocent. It made sense. I mean, bowling? What's romantic about bowling? Nothing. In that romance novel, no one went bowling, ever. “I guess I could probably make it,” I said.

“Perfect! So, who are you going to ask?”

“Ask?”

“Yeah—as your date. I mean if it weren't just me and Oliver and Rachel and Caleb, it wouldn't be a big deal. But I don't want you to feel like the fifth wheel. You should find someone, anyway. You know, for the dance.”

“Right!” I swallowed hard. “Of course I'd need to find a date.” I took another tissue from the box and pretended to wipe off the eye shadow. Except really I just needed an excuse to hide my eyes, which were tearing up like crazy.

“You okay?” asked Claire. “It almost looks like you're—”

“I'm not crying.” I shook my head and sniffed. “I think I'm just allergic. You know, to all the makeup.”

“Oh no! Let me get my mom's cold cream. I'll be right back.”

Claire rushed from the room, returning moments later with a blue bottle and some cotton balls. “Even better—I found actual eye-makeup remover and it's for sensitive skin.”

After she helped me clean my face, my skin felt raw and tingly and my eyes were still glassy.

I blinked hard, stood up, and grabbed my backpack. “I should go. I'm not feeling so great.”

“Don't forget the jacket,” Claire said in a sing-songy chipper voice. “And feel better!”

I'm glad Claire bought my excuse. Not that I was making anything up, exactly.

It's true—I did feel completely lousy.

Just not physically so.

chapter fifteen

hannah's nonnews

A
s soon as I got to science the next day Tobias said, “I typed up all our field notes, and I've also been doing extra reading and guess what? It turns out a ladybug isn't a bug at all. It's a beetle.”

“Really?” I asked.

Tobias nodded. “Yup. And technically, it's called a
Coccinella septempuntata
.”

“A what?”

Tobias repeated himself, enunciating carefully like he'd been up practicing all night. “Co-cin-el-la sep-tem-punta-ta.”

It impressed me how into the project Tobias was. If I overlooked all of his teasing, I'd have to admit I was glad he was on our team. And yes, his face got pretty pimply sometimes, but his hair flopped over his eyes in a way that almost looked cute.

I wondered if he liked bowling.

Maybe I should ask him. Then I wouldn't have to sit home alone on Saturday night, stressing over what might be happening at the Bowl-A-Rama. I'd get to see it all firsthand. Although maybe it would be torture, watching Claire and Oliver on a date together. What if they flirted? Or worse. What if they held hands or kissed or something? That wasn't something I could bear to witness.

Unless imagining all that stuff was worse than actually watching it happen.

I couldn't decide. But then I had another thought. Maybe it wasn't so nice, using Tobias like that.

Only asking him so I could go out and spy on my best friend and my crush.

Unless I told him ahead of time that we'd only be going as friends.

Or would that sound too dorky considering how obvious it was that we'd never be more than just friends? Especially when, at the moment, he smelled like modeling clay?

Before I could decide whether or not to ask him, he opened his mouth and let out a hugely loud burp.

“Awesome,” said Jonathan, who sits at the table behind us.

Tobias grinned and burped again.

“You're the master!” Jonathan stuck out his hand, and when Tobias gave him a high five, he burped for a third time.

Ugh! Clearly asking Tobias out on a date would be worse than staying home alone.

I spent the rest of the day trying to find a boy I wouldn't mind going on a triple date with, but no one seemed as good as Oliver. Who, by the way, was wearing a new green T-shirt that really brought out the color in his eyes.

So I gave up searching and made plans to hit the mall with Yumi and Emma instead.

When Saturday night rolled around we found ourselves in line at the multiplex on the top floor.

“Hey, how come you're not bowling with everyone else tonight?” I asked Emma.

“Same reason as you. No date.”

“But you have a boyfriend who lives here,” said Yumi. “If Nathan lived closer, I'm sure we'd be bowling right now—no offense.”

“None taken,” said Emma, twisting her mouth up unhappily. “I asked Phil but he said no because he needs to work on his science fair project all weekend.”

“How long does it take to build a hamster maze?” I asked.

“Oh, he finished the maze-building part last week. Now he's making Einstein run it ten times a night.”

“He can't take a break on a Saturday night?” asked Yumi.

Emma shook her head. “Einstein's training schedule is very strict.”

“Poor hamster,” I said.

Emma shrugged. “I understand it. He just really wants to win.”

“Me, too.”

“I would if it weren't for Hawaii,” Yumi said.

“You mean if it weren't for Nathan,” I said.

Yumi grinned. “Nathan and Hawaii. Same difference. I won't deny it.”

“Who's gonna take care of Einstein if Phil gets to go to Space Camp?” I wondered.

“He'd probably try to sneak him in,” Emma said. “Phil is crazy about that hamster!”

“Does that mean he's taking him to the dance?” Yumi asked as we both laughed.

“I hope not,” said Emma. “Hey, have you guys figured out what to wear?”

“Last night I tried on six outfits,” I admitted. “But then I felt silly because I don't even have a date. So it's not like it matters.”

“Don't feel bad. It's not like I have one, either,” said Yumi.

“Wait—didn't we decide that you're going with Dante?” asked Emma.

“You guys decided,” said Yumi. “But it's up to me and I don't want to do that to him.”

Not having a date by choice was very different from not having a date because your best friend stole him. But at least I wouldn't be the only one of my friends going solo.

When we got to the front of the line we bought our tickets and went inside. The movie was good but not good enough to distract me from thinking about Oliver's big date with Claire.

Were they bowling right now? How did they split up for teams? Girls versus boys? Or couple versus couple? Who was keeping score? Did Claire go with skinny jeans or baggy? Did they order nachos or hot dogs or both?

Claire told me she stunk at bowling and worried she'd get five gutter balls in a row, which would obviously be humiliating, but I knew Oliver was too nice to make fun of her. But would she really get five in a row? And if so, wouldn't he think that was pretty bad? And, like, maybe wish he were bowling with someone else? Someone with more experience whose grandma lives near one of the biggest bowling alleys in the whole city?

I'm just saying …

After the movie we headed up to the food court for pizza, but before we got there we saw Hannah in the window of a fancy dress shop. The kind where you can get silk shoes custom-dyed to match any outfit.

When she saw me waving she motioned for us to come in the store, so we went. Musak played softly. Two women strolled by with fancy little dogs in their purses.

“What's up?” I asked, stopping short once I noticed Taylor was there as well.

Taylor looked us up and down in her judgey way— not exactly hostile, just very Taylor-esque.

“We're looking for dresses for the dance,” Hannah said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Taylor held up a purple slinky, strapless thing. “Wouldn't this look amazingly fab on Hannah? She's got just the right bone structure to pull it off.”

I'd no idea what that meant but said, “Yeah, I guess,” because I didn't want to fight. If I were honest I'd tell her that the dress looked like something an evil princess would wear. Plus, Hannah and I had already agreed that strapless dresses were too annoying to deal with.

“See, I told you it's gorgeous. Try it on.” Taylor shoved the dress at her.

Hannah took a small step away from it. “That's okay. I don't have enough money on me, anyway.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Just try it, dummy. If you love it, they'll put it on hold for you and your mom can buy it tomorrow.”

“I'm at my dad's this weekend, and I don't think he'll want to go dress shopping. He gets all squirmy whenever I ask him to do stuff like that. He'd probably get my stepmom to take me, and I just know she'd try to talk me into getting something pink or something from the half-off rack. Or something that's pink and half off.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Taylor let out an annoyed huff of breath and put the dress back on the rack. “You're just upset about Erik.”

“Are you guys fighting?” asked Emma.

“No,” said Hannah. “Everything is great.”

“Except he still hasn't asked her to the dance,” said Taylor.

“He still hasn't?” asked Yumi.

“What do you mean ‘still'?” said Hannah. “The dance is two weeks away. He's got plenty of time.”

As Hannah and Taylor went back to dress shopping, Yumi, Emma, and I all looked at each other. No one said anything, but we didn't have to. Obviously, we were all thinking the same thing: something was up.