The Chic Shall Inherit the Earth (8 page)

Rashid

P
OPULARITY IS LIKE
a storm front. A bunch of seemingly unrelated factors like pressure and movement and small changes all come together, and before you know it, the atmosphere is completely different. You either hide from it, fight it, or go with it.

That week, the social weather vane at Spencer swung in one direction after another, looking for somewhere to point. Carly, who had rock-solid status as the girlfriend of our school’s most popular guy, and who, after the Design Your Dreams extravaganza last year, had outshone most of the girls on talent alone, chose to hide. In other words, she told the Cotillion Committee no, thanks. She simply didn’t care about being popular. What mattered to her were her family, her friends, and Brett, in pretty much that order.

DeLayne Geary fought for it. But you know how you can sense desperation in a girl who really wants a boyfriend? It’s in the intensity of her stare, the hilarity of her laugh, and the way she moves. DeLayne was like that—just a little too much of everything. In the end, it netted her zip.

And then there was me. I went to class, did my assignments, and hung out with my friends, avoiding run-ins with Vanessa whenever necessary. Pretty much what I’d been doing for two years, right? But between the time I told the Cotillion Committee I was interested and Thursday at lights-out, when Ashley texted me to say they’d voted for me unanimously, even I could see which way the wind blew.

It was behind my back, pushing me gently but inexorably into the limelight.

“Congratulations.” Gillian gave me a brief, absentminded hug and went to bed. I mean, I know stuff like this doesn’t really register on her personal Richter scale, but she could have been a
little
happier about it.

Carly’s hug the next morning made up for it, though. She squeezed me with delight and practically tap-danced. “I knew they’d vote you in,” she said. “You’re the only person who could do it.”

“Do you know who the others were?”

“DeLayne and Christine.”

“Oh.” Ashley had told me they weren’t considering DeLayne. Somehow I was really glad I hadn’t lost to her.

“I’m glad you beat out DeLayne,” Shani told me. Was the girl psychic or what? “She’d have been unbearable. Your committee needs to be led, not bossed around.”

My committee
. I liked the sound of that.

Ashley had asked me to meet her in the dining room for breakfast and a briefing before the committee meeting at two. Even though we were a little early, Emily still beat us to the window table, where she sat sipping a cappuccino.

She waved me into the middle chair. “I saved you a seat.”

“Thanks.” Shani and Carly took the end seats while I hung my tote over the back of the chair where Vanessa used to sit. “This feels weird. DeLayne is going to have kittens.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that. You don’t want to show fear, or DeLayne will stage a coup with you like she did with Vanessa.”

“Emily, I don’t think—”

“Hi, Lissa.” A group of seniors from my Austen class waved on their way to the juice bar. Derrik Vaughan, who was the soccer team’s star goalie and who had come once with Brett to prayer circle, caught my eye and smiled from across the room. Christine Powell put her stuff down one table away and paused next to ours. “Hi, Lissa. Congratulations on your nomination. Can I get you something from the juice bar while I’m up?”

“No. Um, thanks.” That was generous of her. “I’ll wait.”

“Just let me know.”

“Okay, now I’m really feeling weird,” I murmured.

“Welcome to the new regime.” Emily licked the foam mustache off her upper lip.

“I am not a regime.”

“You will be.”

That definitely had Yoda-like echoes, and not in a good way. “I’m not afraid,” Luke Skywalker had said to him. And then look what happened. Gulp.

Seeing Ashley making her way across the room, arms full of folders and a big white binder, was a relief. Here was something I could touch and see. Something real I could work with. Something concrete and weirdness-free.

We got our yogurt and fruit and I got a tall glass of watermelon juice, icy cold. I bit into a big boysenberry as Ashley opened her binder. “Here’s what we have so far.”

Guest lists, ticket sale projections, table arrangements, caterer. So far, so good. Seating chart, yup. Band. “No band yet?”

“Not yet. The music committee is having a hard time with a booking.”

“With all the great bands in town? Ashley, there’s only, like, a month to go.”

With a glance at Carly and Shani, who were keeping their conversation low so they didn’t interrupt us, she leaned closer. “Vanessa was managing that herself. She didn’t share her progress with us and we took it for granted she had it handled.”

“Oh, boy.” I sighed. “I’ll talk to her and see where she was on it.”

“Good luck with that.” An unspoken
You’ll need it
hung in the air between us.

No point in wasting time. “The committee meeting’s at two, right? In your room?” Ashley nodded. “I’ll find her, get a status, and meet you then.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? We can just start from scratch, you know. Tinker Davis’s dad owns a record label and a bunch of clubs. She’s already said she can call in some favors.”

I shook my head. “Vanessa might already have someone booked and is just holding out to make us come to her. I’m not proud. I’ll do it.”

My yogurt churned uneasily in my stomach as I climbed the stairs a few minutes later, smiling at people and returning greetings. Since when did everyone know my name? And they all said it correctly, too. The days of
Me
lissa seemed to be gone forever. I guess I could be thankful for that.

Outside the door of Vanessa’s room, I took a breath to settle myself, and knocked.

Silence.

Then I heard sounds of someone moving around. The toilet flushed, and then the door opened. Her face as white as an exam sheet, eyes huge and almost bruised-looking, Vanessa swayed in the doorway. The acrid scent of vomit wafted past me. “What?” She bit the end off the word.

“Are you okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does it look like it?”

“Do you have the flu?” I took a step back. The smell was awful, but even worse was the vulnerability in her face. It made an uncomfortable contrast with her tone, like she was forcing herself to keep up the usual attitude.

“What are you, School Nurse Barbie? I’m pregnant, you idiot. It happens.”

“I thought that went away after the first couple of months.”

“I’m a special case. What do you want?”

It took me a minute to remember why I was there, and why it was important. “I came by to check on the status of the band for the Cotillion.”

She leaned on the doorjamb as if she needed something to hold her up. “There is no band. I stopped caring right about the time they voted you in.”

“Uh. Okay.” Another step back. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Without answering, she closed the door in my face, and I heard the sound of retching from inside.

I retreated down the corridor as fast as I could. Why on earth would anyone put herself through this? I mean, Vanessa and I have never been less than despised enemies, but this was enough to make even me feel sorry for her.

You’re probably the only one.

True enough. With Dani gone, she had her room to herself, at least.

Which means there’s no one to look after her.

She looked pretty bad. Probably hadn’t been able to eat. And the baby would need food.

“
Inasmuch as you do it unto the least of these my brethren, you do it unto me.”
That’s what Jesus said. He probably didn’t have this exact situation in mind, but His words still applied.

I glanced at the clock and headed back to the dining room. Fifteen minutes. That should be enough time. I located the kitchen manager and asked her what I would need. She filled a tray and I took it back to the first-floor dorm.

Vanessa opened up a little faster this time, and instead of the awful smell I dreaded, she smelled minty fresh. She’d just brushed her teeth.

“You again.” Her gaze dropped to the tray.

“Consommé,” I said. “Flat ginger ale. Crackers. Small bites at a time, Ms. Guccione says. It will help keep it down.”

“Bite me.” She began to swing the door shut, but I stuck my foot in the gap and forced my way past her. Since I was carrying a tray with an open bowl of hot broth, this was not easy, but all those years of battling waves have made me stronger than I look.

“Say what you want, but I’m leaving this here.”

“Why?”

“Because the baby needs something to eat.”

“Why do you care?”

No way would I tell her that she looked fragile enough to break. That it hurt me to feel the sharp edge of her scorn in a way that it never had before. “You should.”

“Don’t tell me what to do or how to feel.” Eyes narrowed, she looked ready to pick up the bowl and toss its contents in my face.

I wasn’t taking any chances with her throwing arm. I’d seen her overhand serve on the volleyball team and you didn’t mess with that. I closed the door behind me. And through it I heard, not the crash of cutlery on the back of the door, but the clink of the spoon against china.

Relief filled me.

Lissa 1, Vanessa 0.

“
WHAT’S WITH GILLIAN
?” I had caught up with Shani and Carly on their way to third-period Life Sciences, and Shani had spotted Gillian marching down the corridor, seemingly unaware we were there. “She seems kind of out of it.”

They both looked at me. “No idea. This whole college thing is really bugging her.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Carly said. “Is everything okay with her and Jeremy?”

“Just because a girl’s got stuff on her mind doesn’t mean it’s boy related,” I said.

“Ninety percent of the time it does,” Shani told me with the maddening certainty of someone who had a boyfriend talking to someone who didn’t.

“You guys would know,” I said as if it totally didn’t bother me. “But with Gillian, it’s probably related to classes in one way or another.”

“Speaking of boys,” Shani said, “I got an answer from Rashid on a certain question.”

Carly raised her eyebrows. “And the answer was?”

“No. He says their relationship wasn’t like that.”

I snorted. “According to Vanessa, they were Edward and Bella, part two.”

“Edward and Bella never had sex before they were married,” Carly reminded me. “So maybe she was right.”

“I am so not having that picture in my head,” Shani said firmly. “See you later, Lissa.”

We parted ways in the corridor, Carly heading to Fashion Design, where she was a teaching assistant, Shani to Organizational Systems (or Telling People What to Do 101), and me to Cordon Bleu Cookery.

I know. But Org.Sys. was full when I got around to signing up, and cooking was the only choice left. Fortunately, it was kind of fun. I made a chocolate soufflé last week, and before it fell completely flat, it had a brief shining moment as a thing of beauty. While the chef told us about the project of the day—Eggplant Vindaloo—I tried to get past what Shani had said.

Yes, of course I’d try to find out what was on Gillian’s mind, and we’d all help. But did Shani have to bring everything around to boys? Did she have to point out that the “most popular girl in school”—note my finger quotes here—didn’t have a boyfriend?

I measured out yellow turmeric, trying to keep it off my uniform because it stains like crazy, while one partner chopped the slender Japanese eggplant into diagonals and the other two worked on the onions and red peppers.

It had taken me months to get over being publicly humiliated and dumped flat by Callum McCloud, who was—thankfully—taking his last term in Europe, like Dani Lavigne. Sure, I liked to look at the guys as they played soccer or pulled the oars in unison, rocketing the Spencer rowing team to a national championship. Again. But looking was all I ever did.

I wondered if the committee would expect me to come up with a big-name date for the Cotillion now that I was senior consultant and the all-too-visible person who would be emceeing the gig. Not that it would change my mind. I had Kaz, and no matter what anyone said, he was going with me. When he put his mind to it, Kaz cleaned up as nicely as anyone—and a lot nicer than some.