Reel Life Starring Us (14 page)

Sasha Preston piece of advice: Shower at night.
It makes your life and your mornings much easier.

After I get out of the shower that night
, I see five texts from Kendall.

And more like that. I call her right away.

“Why are you ignoring my texts now?” Kendall asks.

I'm in my bathroom with my face pressed against the cold pink tile of the wall. I don't know if I've ever been this nervous. Molly says what's on her mind even if it's mean, but Kendall
makes me nervous because she always seems like she's up to something—a trick-up-her-sleeve kind of person. I can never tell what she's thinking.

“In the shower.”

“Don't kill me, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” I'm sweating now, cold sweats that start at my forehead.

“Some more people—like, besides us—may know about your dad.”

“Who are ‘some people'?”

I hear Kendall chewing gum. It sounds more obnoxious than ever before, and it always sounds obnoxious. “Marcus … Eric …” She pauses. “Ross. They're your best friends, too. I didn't feel right keeping it from them.”

Ross knows. Even Ross knows.

“You told me in the hallway today that you'd keep it between us and the other girls,” I say. I'm a perfect combination of angry and sad right now. If I were a cartoon character, I'd have fire coming out of my ears and tears streaming down my cheeks. “Remember? What changed since then?”

“I just couldn't keep it between us. So don't hate me. It's probably better it's out in the open.” She stops talking but keeps chewing. “My mom's on the phone with your mom right now. She feels really bad.”

“You weren't supposed to tell your mom that you all know now. Molly said she wasn't telling hers,” I say. “I don't want my parents to know that all of the kids know. They'll feel even worse.”

“They were going to find out, Chelsea. Why are you so concerned with protecting your parents? They're grown-ups.”

I don't respond to that. She obviously doesn't understand any of what I'm going through.

Life will never be the same again, or even close to the same again, not tonight, not ever again. I need to run away somewhere. I'm totally going to end up with no friends. I'm going to end up exactly like Dina, but I'm not confident enough to handle it as well as she does.

My mom calls me down for dinner, so I guess she's off the phone with Kendall's mom. I hang up with Kendall and head downstairs. Oh, joy, this is going to be fabulous.

“Who's this girl you're working with on the project?” my mom asks me as she's getting dinner ready, and by that I mean putting the Chinese food on platters so we're not eating out of the plastic containers. She doesn't even notice that I decided to shower before dinner.

“This girl Dina. She's new.”

“Gwen said you have been spending afternoons working with her in the library.”

“Uh-huh. It's a project, Mom. We have to work on it. Molly and Kendall didn't save me a spot in their project group. Remember?” I pour myself some seltzer and sit down. I don't feel like setting the table, and I hope my mom doesn't ask me to. “And you haven't wondered where I've been all these afternoons after school?”

“I figured you were out with the girls.” She turns around, leans back against the granite counter, and looks at me. “I hoped that's where you were.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Chelsea, please lose the attitude. How many times do I have to ask you to talk to me with some respect?” She brings the chicken and broccoli over to the table. “Things are hard enough.”

“I know. Fine. Sorry.”

“Shhh,” my mom says, even though I haven't even said anything, really. Then I see my dad walking into the kitchen. Today is a new record; it's almost seven and he's still in his workout clothes.

We eat our Chinese food, and Alexa talks to us about the science project they have to do where they collect bugs and save them on Styrofoam. She doesn't even seem grossed out by it. Alexa isn't as girly as I am, I guess.

My mom seems to be really interested. Like
too
interested. She smiles too much, and it's all so fake that I can barely stand it. My dad doesn't say anything. He eats his moo shu chicken and then clears his plate and goes back into the den.

He doesn't even look at his BlackBerry anymore.

Finally, the pain of dinner ends, and I go up to my room to study for my English test. It's on the Shakespeare play
The Tempest.
I wish I could be in Miranda's shoes; at least she doesn't have to worry about her dad having a job.

I can barely focus on studying with my parents downstairs. They're not fighting now, just talking loudly, and I alternate between wanting to hear what they're saying and not wanting to hear what they're saying.

I'm writing a practice essay on the symbolism of magic in the play when I get a text. It's from Ross.

This is insanity. Ross is asking me if I'm okay. Ross who has a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Bentley. Ross has a live-in cook and a live-in housekeeper and the longest driveway on Long Island. No joke. It's been in books and everything. The last thing I need is for Ross to know.

“Yes, I'm okay,” I say as soon as Ross answers the phone. “Do you really care if I'm okay?”

“Chel-seagull, I've known you since kindergarten. Of course I care.”

It is kind of cute when he calls me Chel-seagull.

“Whatever, Ross. I don't want to talk about it with you.” That's what I say, but the truth is, Ross is actually easier to talk to than my girlfriends. Ross doesn't gossip like they do or make you feel bad when you don't have the newest stuff. I kind of do want to talk about it with him, but for some reason I can't admit that. And if I do talk to him about this stuff, will he still even like me?

“Fine. We'll talk about other stuff. Did Molly get a nose job?”

I laugh. Is he for real? Or is he just trying to make me laugh?

“Yeah, last summer. You just realized this now? Grunny, it's November.” While I'm talking to him, I open up Google and try to find out more about Sasha Preston and her rude agent. At least it's something else to focus on.

“It looks bad. She should have gone to Dr. Fitzsimmons.”

“You're disgusting.”

“Why? You know I'm right.”

“Yeah. It does look bad.” I don't care that I'm being gossipy. I don't care that I'm spending my time discussing nose jobs. Sometimes, when things are bad, you just can't be as good as you normally try to be.

“So, what about you and that new girl?” he asks. “Huh?” I can't believe people are still bringing this up with me.

“Are you guys tight?” Ross asks.

“We're just working on a project together.”

“Oh. Okay. Calm down, Seagull. I'm just asking.”

“I gotta go, Ross. Thanks for checking in.”

After we're off the phone, I keep going over the conversation in my head. He was nice to check in on me, but he didn't really say much. And he asked about Dina.

But I don't know why I even care. It's not as though he likes Dina. He likes me. That's what everyone says.

Right?

Video tip: Fading in and out of black is
a good way to show that time has passed.

“Do you know Ross Grunner?”
Chelsea asks me after school. We're at our usual table in the library.

I don't know why she's asking me this. There are so many other things we should be discussing. On the top of the list is her secret. Lately, all I can think about is the fact that she has a secret, a big secret, and I'm waiting anxiously for her to tell me about it.

I nod. “Yeah, he was in our video, remember? And I'd know him anyway. Isn't he, like, the king of Rockwood Hills?”

She laughs. “I know what you mean.” And then she just keeps laughing, and I'm not sure why. It wasn't that funny.

She turns around and watches some kid push a cart of library books like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

I go on with the conversation. “I also know who he is because I listen to Maura go on and on about Ross Grunner every single day at lunch.” I probably shouldn't bad-mouth someone at my lunch table, but, oh well, too late.

“Ross Grunner doesn't like Maura Eastly, so she can get over him really fast. Ross and his friends think she's one of the ugliest girls in the grade.”

“That's horrible. Why do you guys discuss that?”

“I don't know. We just do. Eric is always keeping a rank of the girls in the grade.”

That's so mean—but also kind of intriguing. I wonder if I've been here long enough to be on the list. “Why'd you want to know if I know him?”

“Just curious.” Chelsea puts her feet up on the chair across from her.

For some reason I don't believe her, but I don't press it further. It seems like Chelsea keeps a lot of secrets—about her dad, what her friends talk about, and now this.

How can we ever be real friends if she keeps this many secrets? Though I'm not sure we'll ever be real friends. Not at the rate we're going.

“So, found out more stuff about Sasha?” Chelsea asks. She's looking at her phone as she talks to me.

“I did. She's shooting a movie in New York this weekend.”

Chelsea finally looks up. “She is?”

“Yes, and we're going.”

I don't know what is bringing on this boldness. It could be that I really want to meet Sasha and ask her what she thinks about Rockwood Hills Middle School. It could be that I really want to hang out with Chelsea outside of school. That's what will determine if we're real friends or just two people working on a project together. Or maybe I just want to do something crazy. Something the old Dina would've done.

Either way, I really wonder if my parents will let me go into Manhattan by myself. I'm very curious to find that out.

“This weekend? I'm not sure.”

“We have to get this done, Chelsea.” My words come out with attitude; even I can hear it.

“You're right. Whatever. I don't need to go dress shopping with Kendall. I don't care if she gets a new dress for Cami's bat mitzvah. Just because it's at the Ritz-Carlton doesn't mean that everyone has to get a new dress. It's so stupid.”

It's like Chelsea doesn't realize what she's saying as she's talking, and then when she stops, she can hear herself and gets embarrassed.

“Yeah, I'm not getting a new dress. I'm not even invited,” I say, mostly under my breath because I don't want to be one of those people that others feel bad for.

Chelsea's looking at her phone again. When she looks up, I can see she's crying.

I don't know what to do. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I'm fine. I'm just sick of everyone.”

I reach to put my arm around her shoulder, and then I pull it away. I don't think we're that kind of close yet. And maybe she's referring to being sick of me—what do I know?