Kiss And Blog (3 page)

And now, leaning so close to the mirror the tip of my nose is practically pressed against it, I start applying my new makeup, beginning with a light dusting of powder to hopefully even out my skin tone (and soak up some of that pesky
midday shine), followed by some goldeny-beigey-taupey- colored eye shadow, a smudgy line of brown pencil along my upper and lower lashes, two coats of mascara, a pop of peach blush, a light coat of peachy-gold lip gloss, and like a pound of concealer to cover the zit on my chin that somehow manifested itself during my sleep. And when I’m done with all that, I tackle my hair with a blow-dryer, some product, a big round brush, and my new ceramic flat iron, until it’s sleek, smooth, straight, and virtually unrecognizable. Then I tiptoe back to my room, hoping I can get dressed and out of there without waking Autumn.

And just as I’m grabbing my backpack and preparing to sneak out the door, she rolls over and mumbles, “Winter?”

“Shhh! Go back to sleep,” I whisper, anxious to escape, sight unseen, knowing that my extreme makeover will only spawn a ton of questions that I’m just not willing to deal with yet.

“But, what’re you doing? What time is it?” She squints at the clock between our beds, and then back at me.

“I’m meeting Sloane. So just go back to sleep. You have another half hour ‘til you have to be up.”

“But-”

“Autumn, jeez, get a life already!” I say, in my totally annoyed older sister voice. Though I gotta admit, I feel pretty guilty just seconds after it’s out.

I mean, for the most part Autumn’s a pretty sweet kid. But that doesn’t mean she’s not annoying. It’s like, I’ve always wanted a sister who was more like a friend and an ally, someone who would unite with me against our parents. But the reality is, I ended up with a twelve-year-old version of my mom—an art-loving, bead-stringing, vegetarian baby hippie. And most of the time it feels like a losing battle of me against them.

I walk out the door and head straight for Dietrich’s, just as Sloane and I planned, figuring we could meet before school, sip some java, and strategize for the day ahead.

“Hey,” I say, walking inside and finding Sloane already
waiting with two coffees and a scone for us to share. “How’d you get past your mom?” I toss my bag onto the table and take the seat across from hers.

Sloane’s mom is always in her business. It’s like, now that she’s traded in her friendship with my mom so that she can hang with all the wealthy alpha moms who live in their new neighborhood, it seems like she’s been pushing pretty hard for her daughter to do the same. And even though part of me thinks it’s cool the way her mom pitches in, helping her with her hair and clothes, I mean, that’s something my mom would
never
do, I also know it’s part of the reason why she’s not all that crazy about me. She acts like I’m holding Sloane back or something, keeping her from reaching her full social potential. And even though I have to admit how that really hurts my feelings (especially when I remember how she used to be like a second mom to me), I also feel pretty lucky that Sloane just kind of rolls her eyes, and does her best to ignore all that.

“Last night when Blair was having her usual bedtime meltdown, I told her we had an early-morning orientation.” She smiles.

“Why would sophomores have an orientation?” I ask, breaking off a piece of chocolate chip scone, and popping it into my mouth.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “By the way, you look great. I like your hair like that.”

“It’s not too straight?” I ask, grabbing a handful and inspecting the flat-ironed ends. I mean, I’d read all about how curls and waves were supposedly back, but since that was my hair’s natural state to begin with it felt kind of wrong, like it shouldn’t be that easy. Like I should work a little harder, and make it do the opposite.

“No, it’s good, kind of edgy.” She nods.

“Edgy’s not good,” I say, suddenly feeling completely panicked. “Edgy’s like,
alternative.
And in case you haven’t noticed, there are no alternative cheerleaders, prom queens, or class
presidents at Ocean High, or any other high.” I shake my head and glare at my coffee, feeling like the world’s biggest loser, with the world’s worst odds. I mean, here I am, just entering the starting gate, and I’d already scratched.

“Relax, it looks cool,” Sloane says, smiling encouragingly. “Really.”

I gaze at her sitting across from me, with her big blue eyes, long blond hair, shiny pink lips, Mystic tanned skin, overpriced jeans, hundred-dollar T-shirt, and three-inch designer wedge heels, and feel a little nauseous when I realize how she totally fits in. She looks like a combination of the Olsen twins, the Simpson sisters, and that spoiled blond chick on
The Real OC.
Seriously, she looks
just like one of them.

While I, with my stupid, edgy hair, cheap knockoff clothes, and junior-high pop star fragrance with a name so embarrassing I’ll lie if anyone asks what it is, am like some pathetic outsider on the wrong side of the velvet rope. It’s like, I was aiming for cool and stylish, but somehow I ended up looking like the world’s biggest wanna-be. I shake my head and wonder which is worse, being invisible, or being visible in the
wrong way?

“Besides, you have to find your own unique look,” Sloane says, using perfectly manicured nails to flick at a stray scone crumb.

“Unique is bad. Edgy is bad. I’m so not cut out for this,” I say, filled with a massive amount of despair and self-loathing.

But Sloane just shakes her head, grabs her bag, and pushes away from the table. “Come on, time for us to get noticed,” she says, as I reluctantly follow behind.

As usual, Sloane and I don’t have any classes together, so I’m pretty much living for the ten-minute break between second and third period when we’ll meet at my locker as planned, so we can swap stories of our social conquests, even though I really don’t have anything to share. I mean, maybe I haven’t had my toe stepped on or my books knocked out of my arms, but it’s not
like Cash Davis has asked me to go to the prom, either.

Hurrying out of my AP English class, I head for my locker, keeping an eye out for Sloane as I toss my copy of
Catcher in the Rye
inside, knowing it’ll probably live there for the next three weeks since I’ve already read it twice before, and yes, both times by choice. And even though I realize I’ve just revealed what a major dork I truly am, the truth is, I love to read. And even worse than that, I like most of the books they make us read in school.

“Winter!” I look up to see Sloane coming toward me, with a huge, fake smile spread across her face.

“Sloane!” I say, all overanimated, making a big show of hugging her even though we just saw each other less than two hours ago. But let’s face it, if you wanna be popular, then you have to do as they do. And I’ve seen Jaci and her posse go through this same lame routine like twice a day for as long as I can remember.

“Omigod,” Sloane whispers, leaning in and glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “You won’t even believe this. But in Algebra, Mr. Jansen goes by this alphabetical seating chart, which puts me like smack in the middle of Jaci and Claire. So when he was at the chalkboard writing all kinds of crap on it, Jaci turned to say something to Claire, but since I’m sitting right between them she looked at me and went, ‘Oh, hey.’ So I said, ‘Yeah, hey.’ And then she looked me over and went, ‘Nice shoes.’ So I just smiled and said, ‘Thanks.’ And then like, two more times after that she turned in her seat to smile at me. And then, when class was over, she looked at me and went, ‘Bye’!”

I just stare at Sloane, standing before me, and she’s so excited and happy, and even though I’m happy and excited for her, I suddenly feel pressured to report something too. So I smile and go, “Get this, when I passed Cole Sawyer on the way to English, he kinda bumped into me, and then he looked back and went, ‘Oh, sorry bro.’ ”

But Sloane just stares at me with her nose all scrunched- up. “He called you ‘bro’?”

“Well, yeah. But remember how last year he didn’t even say sorry?” I remind her, knowing deep down inside that was hardly what you’d call progress.

But she just shrugs, and then the bell rings and she goes, “Okay, well, see you at lunch.”

And as I watch her walk away, I can’t help but notice how easily she blends into the crowd, and I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing I’m going to have to work a lot harder to match that, yet doubting I ever will.

But then I remind myself of our promise, and how we swore that if one of us got there first, she would hold the door open for the other. And knowing that Sloane would never leave me behind, I pick up the pace and head to class, determined to get there on time.

Okay, so maybe lunch wasn’t as great as we’d hoped, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t moving forward. It’s like, just last year we were brown bagging it in no-man’s-land, sitting so far from the action we were practically off campus. But today, we sat right next to Table B, which I guess means we were at Table C, but hey, it was closer to Table A than we’d ever been before. I mean, let’s face it, the high school cafeteria is just another form of real estate, and it all amounts to the same exact thing—location, location, location.

And when the bell finally rings at 3:35, I’m rushing out of class, speeding around the corner so I can get to my locker before meeting up with Sloane, when I crash head-on into Cash Davis.

“What the fu—?” he says, regaining his balance and glaring at me.

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry,” I mumble, my face growing all red and hot as I lean down to pick up the pile of books I just
dropped. And when I come back up to face him, books all askew and haphazard in my arms, I see that he’s squinting at me. And the sight of that immediately makes my heart thump even faster, as my palms get all nervous and soggy and weak. I mean, not to state the obvious but—
Cash Davis is squinting at me!

I just stand there, speechless, mesmerized, a complete bag of sweaty, overexcited nerves. Just taking in every flawless pore on his amazingly beautiful face, watching as his perfect brows merge together as he opens his succulent mouth to say, “Oh, man, you’re that chick who spilled that purple shit all over the place yesterday.” Then he shakes his shiny, beach-bleached hair, and narrows his Pacific blue eyes in disdain. “You’re a fuckin’ hazard, bro.” Then he laughs and walks away, leaving me standing there, still red-faced, still sweaty palmed, still completely mortified, but no longer sure if I like him.

“Omigod! What did he just say to you?” Sloane says, running up and gripping my arm so hard she’ll probably leave a bruise. “When I saw you two together just now I though I was gonna faint!”

I look at Sloane, staring at me with eyes all wide and bugged-out with excitement, and I know there’s no way I can tell her what really just happened. How just seconds after the official end of our very first day of our fresh new start, I may have already blown it. And not just for myself, but possibly for her as well. Since after having just engaged in my second unfortunate episode with Cash in less than twenty-four hours, I think it’s probably safe to assume that it’s better not to be seen in my presence if you’re a card-carrying member of the “I love Cash Davis” fan club.

Yet I also realize that up until now I’ve never actually lied to her before (well, at least not about anything important like this). But I really can’t see another choice. I mean, there’s no way I can risk having her know just how big of a social liability I really am. Not to mention how I can’t bear for her to think that maybe her mom is right, that maybe I really am holding
her back, and keeping her from realizing her full social potential.

So I just take a deep breath, avoid her eyes, and shrug like it was no big deal. “Oh, that? He just ran right into me.” I laugh, hoping I sound both carefree and convincing, which would be the exact opposite of how I really do feel.

“But what did he say?” she asks, still gripping my arm, still gaping at me.

“Well, he said he was sorry, then he tried to help me pick up the books I dropped.” I bite down on my lower lip and look away.
Man, I totally suck at this.

“Okay, but you have to tell me
everything!”
she says, steering me toward the parking lot. “Starting from the very, very beginning, leave nothing out.”

And when I look at her, I see so much admiration and excitement in her eyes that it makes me feel horrible. But that doesn’t mean I confess. “Well, I was turning the corner and he just smacked right into me,” I say, gazing down at the ground as we head toward home.

Three

“And while we totally wish that each and every one of you could make it, the sad fact is, there’s only room for six,” Ginny says, gazing out at her audience and bestowing us with her adorable, sad kitten look, which only results in me elbowing Sloane, as I roll my eyes and laugh under my breath.

But Sloane just sits there, doing her best to ignore me while smiling and nodding at everything Ginny says, like she’s a true believer or something.

So I turn and gaze around the room, wondering if I’m the only one who sees through all this phony-baloney nonsense. But when I notice how they too are all caught up in the rapture of Ginny, it’s clear that I am.

“Pay attention, this is important,” Sloane hisses, glancing at me just long enough to show some major disapproval.

So I face back toward the front, focusing all of my attention on Heidi, Ginny, Krystal, Shelby, Tatiana, and Lori, who are not only famous for being the six hottest seniors who rule the
school, but also for making up the entire varsity cheerleading squad. Then I smile wide and nod like I mean it, trying my best to imitate Sloane, and act like I too am just another member of the recently converted. Like I too am someone who truly believes that these six girls really want nothing more in this entire world than to exalt us all to their rarified status.

Only, the thing is, those plastic smiles that are currently plastered across their perfect photogenic faces really don’t match the cold, judgmental gleam in their eyes. And it’s almost like, if you just look and listen closely enough, you’ll actually start to wonder if maybe, what they really wish is the exact opposite.