Getting the Boot (6 page)

“Did you do this?” Lisa demanded, pointing to the gaping crater in the peanut butter.

Kelly nodded. “I missed breakfast this morning and—”

“What kind of person digs their filthy fingers into someone else's food?” Lisa shouted, cutting her off. “Now you've ruined it, and I'll never find another jar here!”

Kelly blinked, taken aback. “At home my friends and I share food all the time. My hands were perfectly clean. And it's not like I double-dipped.” Kelly smiled ingratiat ingly. “It's one hundred percent spit-free, I promise.”

Lisa snorted in exasperation and stormed out of the room, her face as red as a vine-ripened tomato. “And get your dirty towel off the common-room floor!” she shouted. Kelly hung her head guiltily. Caught sticky-handed. She'd just have to avoid Lisa until she cooled off. It was the only way they would both survive the summer in one piece.

Kelly was about to settle in for a catnap when opera music began swelling in the commom room. Minnie had been playing the stuff nonstop, and it sounded to Kelly like a hissy fit set to music. She sighed and stood up. Making friends with Lisa was not going to be an option, but there was still a chance with Minnie. She certainly wouldn't be napping anytime soon; maybe she'd try a little bonding session. She walked into the common room, picking up the towel from her morning rush. Minnie was sitting on the couch with her eyes shut, a blissful smile on her face.

Kelly cleared her throat and Minnie jumped. “Sorry. Mind if I turn it down for a few minutes? I've been wanting to chat with you.”

Minnie looked suspicious, but nodded.

Kelly sat down and grabbed a couple of her fashion magazines off the coffee table. “You know, Min, I was thinking you might want to update your wardrobe a bit. Guys like girls who look sophisticated, a little mysterious, even.” She started fluffing Minnie's ponytail. “Maybe we could do something to give this hair some body. And I have some mascara that would be perfect for your pale lashes. Those glasses really hide your eyes.”

Minnie's lip trembled and she jumped to her feet. “As it happens, I have a boyfriend at home who likes me just the way I am. And I'm very opposed to mascara. It irritates my eyes.” She ran into her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “And don't call me Min!”

The door slammed. So much for trying to be helpful!

 

 

Kelly had never felt this way before. When she went to sleepaway camp, it hadn't taken her more than a week to attract a tight group of friends whom she still kept in touch with. Here, everybody was as eccentric as the plumbing. Her heavy-duty flirting sessions with Joe were fun, but she hadn't really bonded with any girls in the program. This was not acceptable, or understandable. Other than Sheela, she couldn't think of one girl she wanted as a friend.

Kelly headed down to the lounge, hoping to find Joe. He wasn't around, but a few of the jet-set kids were still hanging out. They seemed nice enough—maybe this was her chance to make some new friends.

She turned on her president-of-the-student-council smile, walked over to the group, and sat down. A few of the kids moved over to make room for her on the couch, but otherwise, they were too absorbed in their conversation to pay attention to her. Within two minutes, Kelly realized that they all spoke at least three different languages, interchanging them throughout the conversation. After two minutes more, she realized that even when they spoke English, she didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

“Things haven't been the same since the EU was formed,” one girl said.

“C'est vrai,”
agreed a guy. “It's sucking away every aspect of our national identities. I hope we get to discuss this in Modern International Politics.”

“You're taking that?” another girl said. “My friend from Kuala Lumpur took that when she was in the program last year. She said Dr. Wainwright's discussion about the narcissistic culture of American capitalism was fascinating.”

Kelly smiled and nodded, feeling like an unsophisticated dolt. Finally she admitted defeat and quietly slunk out of the lounge.

Out in the hall, Kelly took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and marched out to the terrace like a centurion heading into battle. She was setting herself a goal, right then and there. Kelly was going to find herself a new friend, even if it took the entire week.

Kelly wasn't a morning person to begin with, and she'd stayed up late again with Joe and overslept, as usual. She was positive she'd never learn to speak Italian at the rate she was going. Communicating in a strange language was hard enough when you weren't half-asleep. And Marco, while adorable, was a total hard-ass.

Kelly arrived one measly minute after the clock struck eight. To Marco, she might as well have shown up at eight-thirty.

“Miss Brandt, late again, I see,” he said, singling her out before she could make it to her seat.

By now she knew the drill. Sighing, she joined him at the front of the room. Marco paced in front of the blackboard, tossing his black locks and waving a piece of chalk. “Okay, quick-quick, let's conjugate together—
avere
—‘to have.'
Io ho
—‘I have'. . .”

Kelly stumbled through the conjugations as the rest of the class looked on. Marco put her through three painful rounds before she was finally allowed to sit down. She tried to ignore the whispers she heard behind her and looked over to Joe for support. He was in his own world, wearing his trademark smirk and doodling in his notebook. Everyone else was diligently parroting away on a new verb, following Marco's chalk like a bouncing ball. It was going to be a major challenge to find anyone friend-worthy in this crew.

Blab, blab, blab. Such a bunch of sheep.
And then, it hit her—
the black sheep!
Goth Girl, a.k.a. Marina, was slouched at a desk in the back corner, staring out the window and looking for all the world like she wanted to climb out. Marina would be a perfect person to explore the city with; she was so scary-looking, guys wouldn't dare mess with them. And she
had
to be cool—it took serious guts to dress like a vampire every day.

Marco moved on to
sapere
—“to know.” Kelly actually did know this one. She recited along with Marco, a big smile on her face, watching the bouncing chalk with everybody else. Just when this place was starting to get her down, everything was going to fall right into place.

 

 

Kelly sat down with Goth Girl at lunchtime. Marina was nose-deep in a book of poems by Allen Ginsberg, which seemed fitting. She was plugged into her iPod and seemed to have no clue Kelly was even there. Finally Kelly worked up the nerve to tap her on the shoulder.

Marina's head popped up and her eyes widened in surprise. She looked Kelly up and down, from her lavender top to her artfully frayed denim miniskirt. Finally, she took off her headphones and spoke. “May I help you?”

She was polite, anyway. Kelly smiled her most electric, appealing smile. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” She was usually the queen of breezy and casual. Where had that slightly desperate edge to her voice come from?

“Suit yourself.” Marina returned to her reading.

So Kelly sat there, every bite of her salami sandwich tasting like dirt, watching the minutes crawl by on the clock and straining to think of something to say. It finally came to her.

“Where did you get that nail polish? I've never seen anything like it.”

Marina laughed, which seemed encouraging. “Yeah, and you're not likely to.” She waved her ragged nails in front of Kelly's face for closer inspection. “My father owns an auto-body shop in Tucson. This is 1974 Buick Electra, Avocado Green.”

“It's cool. Um, are you sure it's okay to use that stuff on your nails? They're pretty porous, you know. The chemicals can get absorbed right into your bloodstream. There's a great store in the mall where I used to work that has like every nail polish color under the sun. I bet you could find something just like that. Or maybe mix one up.”

“Don't worry yourself. I've already got ink running through my veins.” Marina flashed an elaborately tattooed shoulder. Then she shut her book and picked up her spiked leather bag. “See you around, Katie.”

Kelly sighed and scooped up her books. In two minutes flat, Marina had reduced her to a dorky, awkward nobody.

 

 

Kelly sat in the darkened art-history classroom, watching Andrea's slide show. It wasn't fair that someone as stylish and together as Andrea was a teacher. Why weren't there any girls like her in the program? She hoped that Andrea's smooth voice would soothe her jangled nerves and wounded pride.

This was one of the few classes in which she felt competent. Statue after statue, all smooth white marble and rippling lines, flickered across the screen. One statue of a young man, in particular, caught Kelly's eye.

“This sculpture is one of the best known in the world,” Andrea was saying. “Does anyone know its name?”

Kelly raised her hand. “It's Michelangelo's
David
.”

“Exactly,” Andrea said. “Thank you, Kelly.”

“A lot of people recognize the statue,” Andrea continued. “But very few recognize its unusual proportions.” Andrea pointed to the slide. “Look closely at the slide. What do you see?”

Kelly stared at the picture, scanning the statue from head to toe, and then as a whole. She spoke hesitantly. “His head and shoulders are bigger than the rest of his body?”

Andrea smiled. “Good eye, Kelly. Michelangelo designed
David
to be slightly larger at the top. Art historians have several theories about his motives . . .”

As Andrea talked, Kelly began sketching in her drawing pad. She drew a quick outline of
David
's body, then started drawing his face, emphasizing his eyes and the curls of his hair. When the lights came back up, she was still drawing away.

“Nice technique.” Andrea leaned over her work, studying it carefully. “Do you sketch a lot?”

Kelly shrugged. “I guess so. I like to copy pictures out of magazines.”

“Well, keep it up. You have a good grasp of composition and layout. I'd love to see more in studio arts.”

Kelly left the classroom beaming. It was, without a doubt, the best thing that had happened to her all week.