The Ugly Stepsister Strikes Back (2 page)

Instead of drawing, I started running my tongue over my teeth. It was my new favorite pastime. I couldn't help it. Only a few days ago I had been freed from the prison of my braces and it was a revelation to feel these nice, smooth teeth. I had worn braces for so long that it was like I had to relearn my mouth.

"You said that Mark Twain was a, wait, let me make sure I'm reading this right." Ms. Rathbone put her finger under the writing and read each word slowly. "'A racist, sexist pig.'"

True. I had also said that I didn't think he was witty at all, but as that wasn't in her report, I wasn't about to admit to it.

It probably didn't help matters that Ms. Aprils had done her master's thesis on the works of Twain and that half the English room was decorated like some sort of Mark Twain shrine.

Ms. Rathbone peered at me over her reading glasses, waiting for my response. Her eyes bored into me, and I recognized that look. She was trying to shake me; to read my face to see if I had left things out.

Unfortunately for her, she was unaware of my secret superpower. I had a killer poker face. My dad said he would have been a professional poker player if the artist thing hadn't worked out, and thanks to all his training, I was sort of a card shark and in total control of my outward reactions. I didn't have a tell.

I held my features steady. She wouldn't get anything out of me that I didn't want to admit to.

"Yes, I said that."

Ms. Rathbone took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She looked tired. "Mattie, it's only the second day of school."

It all felt unfair. It wasn't my fault that Ms. Aprils was singularly obsessed with the idea that Mark Twain was some sort of literary superhero who could do no wrong. She couldn't fathom that other people didn't worship him. I disliked him just for what he'd said about digging Jane Austen up and beating her to death with her own shinbone. Because Jane Austen was all sorts of awesome.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Rathbone." I started to say it wouldn't happen again, but I just couldn't. Sometimes stuff just came out of my mouth even when I didn't want it to. I had a low threshold for stupidity.

"You will be serving detention today for your belligerence in class, and I expect you to apologize to Ms. Aprils."

I grimaced at the idea of apologizing to Ms. Aprils. Malibu Prep had zero tolerance for disrespect to the staff. I had more leeway than some of the other students thanks to my quasi-minority status, but I knew there would still be an apology to my teacher in my immediate future. As far as sentences went, so far mine was pretty light.

I wanted to say I wouldn't do it again, but we both knew it would be a lie.

"You will try to refrain next time?"

"I will do my best," I promised. There, that was honest. "So, if we're done…" I grabbed my backpack.

Ms. Rathbone held up her left hand, her eyes still trained on my file. "Not yet."

What now? I hadn't done anything else. As she'd so helpfully pointed out, it was only the second day of school. I hadn't had time to mess up.

"I see that you failed to fulfill your volunteer requirements from last semester." I wanted to groan. We were required by the school to do four hours of community service per month each semester. Last semester I'd been a tad depressed. That was when Ella and Jake had become a couple. How could I have concentrated on doing things for other people when my heart was breaking?

Not to mention that I had never really understood this concept. How was I "volunteering" when they were forcing me to do it? It was more like involunteering at that point. Or unpaid child labor. If they were going to make us volunteer, they could've at least given us school credit for it.

"Because from your file I see that you want to go to Wellesley." I didn't correct her. There was no point in trying to explain the whole complicated family mess in the space of a few minutes.

I didn't want to go to Wellesley. My mother wanted me to go to Wellesley. That was where she had gone.

My dad wanted me to go to UCLA. That was where he had gone.

My mother wanted me to study sculpting. My father wanted me to study painting.

I was not interested in any of the above.

Ms. Rathbone was still talking. I forced myself to pay attention. "These schools look at the whole person, not just your grades. You have no extracurriculars. What about hobbies?"

I couldn't tell her about the manga. I could already hear myself explaining it. "Well, Ms. Rathbone, manga is the word for Japanese comics. Anime is the animated version of manga…" It would have been a long conversation. Plus, I would run the risk of not only potentially boring her to death (I'd never met anyone else who liked manga as much as I did and I could get a little excited about it), but she might tell my dad. I knew my dad loved me and would tell me my work was good (even if it wasn't), but he was such a serious artist that I would feel embarrassed if he found out. Plus, he might feel obligated to tell my mother, and then things would get very bad very quickly.

So instead I just shook my head no.

"Then it would be my recommendation that you get more involved here at the school. Not only will it look good on your applications, but you need to make certain you're current on your volunteering hours. Do you have any immediate plans for becoming more involved both here at school and in the community? "

I knew she was right, unfortunately. I didn't intend to attend an Ivy League school, but the school I wanted to go to, UC Santa Ana, would want more than good SAT scores, decent grades and an awesome portfolio. I had to show them that I could make the ultimate sacrifice and find some club at school that would deign to have me.

She stared at me, unblinking, and I wondered how long she could go without blinking. Oh, she wanted me to say something. Immediate plans for volunteering. Right. "I'm, um, helping Ella out with her charity ball." Total white lie, of course, but I knew I only had to ask Ella what I could do to pitch in and she would immediately include me.

"Ah. Ella." Ms. Rathbone said her name the way all adults did—with this mixture of admiration and approval. So irksome. "That will help with your volunteering hours, but I think you should still find a way to be even more involved here at school."

She grabbed a bunch of fliers from the table behind her chair and handed them to me. "These are some clubs and groups you might consider joining."

As I took the fliers, she added, "This might also be a chance for you to make some new friends."

She said it lightly, but I got the implication. My cheeks flushed. It was really embarrassing that even the headmistress knew that I was a social misfit.

I started to flip through them. Chess club. Um, no. I wasn't up for social suicide, thanks.

Football boosters? Again, no. Bunch of wannabes that couldn't make the cheer squad.

Student government. Hmm. I'd never been much of a joiner, but this one had actual merit. Jake was running for president. I was suddenly struck by the amazing idea of running for a lesser office. Treasurer or secretary or something throwaway like that. Then we'd have another class together and he would
have
to talk to me and spend time with me because we'd be running the student government together.

Brilliant.

All I had to do was get elected.

Chapter 3

We had an unscheduled fire drill during third period that bled into fourth, and they finally dismissed us to go have lunch.

Trent had saved me a place in line. He wasn't hard to spot. He looked a little like a cross between a zombie and an Abercrombie model. Over the summer the school board had decided to make some changes. The first was the introduction of the horrendously awful polyester-blend uniforms we now had to wear. So Trent wore his piercings and guyliner and his hair spiked up in thirty different directions in true emo fashion, but from the neck down he looked pure preppy with a blue polo shirt and tan Dockers.

I couldn't even tease him about it, because I knew I looked no better.

"Hey," I said when I got in line. He had his earbuds in and couldn't hear me. I grabbed a tray and tried to figure out which of the things in front of me was the least disgusting. I adjusted my black horn-rimmed glasses, as if they would help me in my selection. They weren't prescription or anything; I just liked the way they looked.

Malibu Prep may have been a great school, but they had run of the mill cafeteria food.

Normally you'd never catch me buying my lunch. But in addition to the uniforms, the board had decided to ban lunches from home. We were now required to buy all of our lunches at school.

They claimed this was to ensure that all the students would eat healthier. I thought it was a way to boost revenue, because nothing in front of me looked edible, let alone healthy.

The school board had wisely made all of these decisions during the summer when everyone from school had been on vacation. Not our family, because my dad's idea of a vacation was to spend twelve hours in the studio instead of sixteen. But everyone else had left, so there had been no one here to protest.

Trent finally noticed me, and raised his eyebrows in greeting. I followed him to a table in Outer Siberia. The A-list kids sat in the middle of the cafeteria, and the fringe groups settled in around them. We sat about as far away from Jake Kingston and his friends as possible.

And just like I had done every day since I was nine years old, I watched for Jake. There. He was laughing at something Scott said to him, and I sighed. So pretty.

The worst thing about Jake was not just that the likelihood that he would ever speak to me was incredibly low, but that he was totally off limits. And I didn't just mean in our social statuses at school, but as I had to keep reminding myself, he was Ella's boyfriend. Not that you'd know it. I almost never saw them together. Even now Ella rode to school with Trent and me, and ate lunch every day with us instead of Jake and his entourage. I couldn't blame her, because Jake's friends did royally suck.

But even if the heavens parted, trumpets sounded and a great miracle occurred with Jake asking me out on a date, I would have to say no. The Girl Code said that I was not allowed to date my stepsister's boyfriend. And I was absolutely forbidden to try and steal him away from her.

Not that I could, but the thought had crossed my mind (although in that particular scenario I was half a foot shorter and blonder and thinner and brimming with self-confidence).

Speaking of stepsisters, I saw Ella out of the corner of my eye. She was one of the few girls at school who could actually carry off the uniform look. I couldn't figure out why it looked so amazing on her and so awful on me. She saw me, waved and then came over to sit with us.

Which meant she wouldn't be sitting with Jake. Again. I didn't get it. Shouldn't one of the perks of dating the hottest guy in school be spending every waking moment with him, basking in his beauty?

They were the weirdest couple I'd ever seen.

"Hey guys!" Did I fail to mention how cheerful Ella was? I mean, I knew it was implied with her being a cheerleader, but she was easily the happiest person I knew.

It made me grouchy.

"Nice salad," I pointed to Ella's tray. The wilted lettuce looked particularly unappetizing.

"I have to eat some food," Ella replied, but she looked as grossed out as I felt.

"Salad isn't food. Salad is what food eats."

I was the only carnivore of the group. Both Trent and Ella were vegetarians. This severely limited our options when we all went out to eat together. They also took different tactics in trying to convert me to the dark side. Trent kept trying to show me pictures of slaughterhouses on his phone. Ella attempted to give me tofu, claiming it tasted just like meat. Only a vegetarian would think tofu and meat tasted even remotely the same. At least it gave Ella and Trent something to bond over—what a savage barbarian I was.

But today they could probably make headway with me given how disgusting the meatloaf looked. I pushed my tray away.

"I forgot to get some milk," Ella said. "Do you guys want anything?"

"I want some processed sugar." Ella gave me a sympathetic smile and then turned to Trent, who was still engrossed with his phone. "Trent?" He looked up and then shook his head no.

"Okay, be back in a second." That was another thing I'd been noticing lately—the way that Trent's eyes followed Ella everywhere. Trent and I had this weird kind of friendship. We sort of fell into it in junior high, as two fellow outcasts. We hung out, we had fun, I made him watch my collection of '80s movies, but to be honest, I didn't know that we had all that much in common other than snarking at each other.

He wasn't someone I could see myself ever interested in, so I wasn't jealous that he had a thing for Ella, but slightly annoyed that she had taken yet another boy I cared about.

I knew I wasn't being fair. Ella wouldn't date Trent and she wasn't trying to make him like her.

But still.

"I know it's only been two days, but can I say how sick I am of living in this fascist state? If I want to have a lunch that consists of a chocolate cupcake and a Diet Coke followed by a Pixy Stix chaser, that's my constitutional right."

"So do something about it."

"What?" Had Trent Holden actually just told me to "do something about it?" He was the original laid-back, mellow, do-nothing sort of guy.

He pulled out one earbud and shrugged his shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe it's time to start doing something. We're both guilty of complaining or wanting something and then we don't do anything to make it better. You want to bring your own lunch again? Then do something." His voice had a tinge of anger in it, which surprised me even more. I'd never heard him mad before.

"Like what?"

He shrugged again.

My next thought was that now two people in one day had suggested I get more involved. Maybe it was a sign from heaven. Or an omen of doom. I didn't know which. My dad had seriously neglected my religious education.