Pretenders (8 page)

Sept. 10.

I didn’t get a lock.

Who’s going to steal a bike from a kid with no parents?

Besides, I scraped the red paint off so it couldn’t be ID’d. The reflectors are in the trash bin behind the pet store.

I tagged the seat with the price gun.

It wouldn’t get a dime on Craigslist but the owner will never recognize it so I was relieved.

Until I saw the girl with blue glasses eyeing it after school.

Was it hers?

– You into bikes or something?

She jumped back like I scared her. Then she giggled.

– Not really.

– We were at the same table for lunch today, right?

She nodded.

– I’m Audri.

– Jagger.

– I know.

– Detention?

– No. I usually get a ride with my friend but she’s got… issues. I saw this crappy bike and thought it had been abandoned so…

– So you were going to swipe it?

She blushed.

– Too late, I already did.

I’m not sure why I told her that but something about her face made me feel safe.

– Want me to double you?

– Sure.

I did. It was cool. Audri’s cool.

Time to feed the animals.

I wonder what she’s doing right now.

9.11.12

INT. SAME SMELLY PLACE AS YESTERDAY.

SHERIDAN’s hair falls in soft waves. Dressed in a white skirt and matching warm-up jacket, she channels a person of great strength, determination, and blondness. A hardened athlete who is also super pretty. Tennis pro Anna Kournikova.

FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY. EXT. NOBLE HIGH.

We had fourteen minutes before first period so Audri and I hung on the lawn and waited for my nemesis—aka the Algebrat. (Algebra + Brat = Algebrat.)

What are you going to say when we see her?
(Audri.)

Nothing. I just want to show you who we’re up against. Once you have a visual we can plot her demise.

TEN MINUTES LATER.

Is it possible you imagined her?
(Audri.)

Maybe she transferred.
(Me, hoping.)

What if she came from the spirit world?
(Audri.)

Like one of those Shakespeare ghosts with a message?
(Me.)

Or a warning.
(Audri.)

Too far.

We were about to give up and head to class when a pink golf cart blasting “Party Rock Anthem” skidded to a stop at the Pick and Flick. Some guys started clapping. The girls squealed with fake embarrassment. I hated them already.

All short shorts and well-defined legs, the driver pinch-opened her hair claw and freed her own Anna K–type blondness while the trio headed down the path. When they got closer I realized it was her… she… whatever… the Algebrat!

I smacked Audri on the arm.

Where?
(Audri.)

(Me, ventriloquisting.)
White tennis skirt, red warm-up jacket, glitter Converse. She’s channeling me channeling Anna Kournikova!

Except she appears to be a celery and you’re a pear.

Uh,
(Me, channeling Anna K.)

What?
(Audri.)

That means “uh, thanks” in Russian.

Instead of laughing or maybe even apologizing, Audri lifted her blue glasses and squinted.
Octavia?

Owdee?
(Algebrat to Audri, only she called her Audi like the car.)

The first bell rang.

Octavia dropped her pink-and-silver Big Cat PUMA bag in the middle of the walkway and raced over to hug MY best friend.

O, that was the bell.
(Her friend with the black ponytail.)

Octavia didn’t answer because she was STILL hugging my best friend.

O!
(Her friend with the brown ponytail.)

Meet ya.

The girls hurried off, sporty ponytails wagging goodbye.

Owdee, what are you doing at Noble?

I go here.
(Audri.)

Lies!

Audri giggled.
Truths.

You? Go to. My? School?

I stepped closer, reminding them I went there too.

Since when is Noble your school?
(Audri sounding like an alpha.)

It’s all mine, you know that.

They started cracking up like crazy.

After their over-the-top bout of hysteria, Audri finally acknowledged my presence and said,
You should see O play doubles. She calls “mine” on every ball. Even when it’s on her partner’s side. It’s seriously the funniest thing ever.

That’s against the rules!
(Me as Anna K.)

You know the rules?
(Audri to me.)

I pointed at my Adidas logo and flashed extreme wide-eyes to remind her who I was channeling.

Oh yeah, sorry.

That’s when Octavia looked at me kind of surprised, like I just showed up, and said,
Oh. Hey. I know you.

Yeah, we kinda met yesterday.
I folded my arms across my chest so she couldn’t hear my heart.

You’re the new locker room attendant at my racket club.

Audri giggled.

No, we have last period Algebra together.

We do?

I wanted to kick her bony undercarriage but I asked how they knew each other instead.

Camp Wildwood
, they answered at the exact same time.

Only we didn’t meet until the second-to-last day.
(O.)

When we played each other in the Wildwood Wimbledon.
(A.)

Which is such a boo-hoo because we would have been great partners.
(O.)

Like I would ever be your partner.
(A.)

Why?
(O.)

Mine. Mine. Mine.
(A.)

They cracked up again. (Barf. Barf. Barf.)

Lies! I wouldn’t do that with you.

Lies! You would.

Wouldn’t!

Would.

Would not.

Would yot.

Not.

Yot.

Yot?
(O.)

Yot.
(A.)

Laughter.

Audri, when did you get into court sports?
(Me.)

I took a tennis clinic this summer. It’s fun.

Fun?

Who are you, again?
(Octavia.)

I’m Sheridan. Audri’s best friend.

Best friend?
(O.)

Audri put her arm around me. I grinned proudly and reiterated,
BEST.

Octavia stepped closer.
Wouldn’t a BEST friend know she plays tennis?

Her question was a glitter high-top to the gut. But I was Anna K. It was my job to return the ball, not drop it. So I got all up in her tanned citrus-scented face and said,
Wouldn’t a tennis player know not to cross the line?

What line?

Theee line.

The service line or the baseline?

Theeeeeeeeeee line.

I’m sorry, I have no idea what line you’re talking about.

The bell rang.

Game over.

Come on, you guys!
(Audri.)
We should get to class.

Octavia got her Big Cat PUMA from the path and asked Audri if she had early lunch or late. Audri said early. O’course Octavia has early too. Turns out they have the entire morning together so off they ran, leaving me with Zero-Love.

I spent all morning living for Audri’s cafeteria note but got an apology text instead. Turns out she spent lunch listening to music in O’s golf cart. I’m spending mine like a depressed Niblet—crying in the can.

Serves me right for channeling a tennis player who’s never won a professional singles title.

To Be Continued…

END SCENE.

Tuesday

According to Hud and Coops, Mandy looks like Kate Hudson and the guys at Noble think she’s hot. Even though she’s a junior and I’m just a freshman I feel like I have to protect her so I tell them to stop talking about her like a regular girl, but that makes them do it more.

Feeling = Disgusted.

They think her friends are pretty too. I’ve known them for like ever so I don’t get all shy around them like Hud and Coops do, even though their hair smells like Hawaiian Punch and that’s my favorite juice. Sometimes, when they say the space between my teeth is sexy my face goes red. When that happens
I look down at my sneakers and try to name the players on the Knicks.

Carmelo Anthony

Earl Barron

Tyson Chandler

… like that.

Junior guys are the worst. Especially when they don’t know Mandy’s my sister. They don’t get why she’s with a freshman and not them. Sometimes I put my hand on her shoulder. This messes them up even more.

Like today at lunch. She stops by my table to say she’s working an extra shift at Abercrombie so I need to find my own way home. Right when she’s telling me this some sophomore comes over and totally interrupts.

HIM:
These boys giving you trouble?

Coops sneezed “Nehyyyy” because the guy had on one of those preppy polo shirts with the giant, steroided-out horse logo.

Hud laughed. I choked on a curly fry.

Then he started giving her a shoulder massage and telling her how tense she was and how she needed to relax. Hud and Coops looked at me like, are you okay with this? I wasn’t but I wasn’t okay with getting my ass kicked before tryouts either.

Mandy wiggled him off like a spider and said: Stop it Lo-gan!

Then Coops whispered:
Stop it Lo-go!

We died at that.

Then Mandy’s friend Morgan called him “sophomore” the
way Bubbie Libby calls our nameless dogs “animals” and Megan said: Pervert.

“Logo” put his hand on his heart/horse like he was all hurt and stuff, and said: Why d’ya have to take it there? I was just trying to be nice.

ME:
Nice would be you leaving us alone.

The girls laughed—good for my ego, bad for my hoodie. Logo grabbed a handful of my fries, squeezed them between his sausage-fingers, and then smeared the potato guts on my back.

Feeling = Slick guys are the worst.

Three things I’ll never do: