What If... All the Rumors Were True (13 page)

BUYER'S REMORSE

When in doubt, seek retail therapy.

“B
rrr!
Feel that chill in the air?” Sasha said as Haley climbed into the front seat of Sasha's vintage Mustang. “Sweater weather. Time for some new clothes.”

“Hello, Haley,” Sasha's mother, Pascale, said from the backseat. “How do you like Sasha's new wheels?”

Haley knew “the Stallion” had been a gift from Pascale and that she should therefore be complimentary, but she really meant it when she said, “Sasha's got the coolest car in Hillsdale.”

The first stop on their shopping trip to find a new fall wardrobe: Mimi's Boutique, which had just begun carrying Whitney Klein's new fashion label, WK. (All the labels had hearts around the initials.)

“It's pretty impressive that Mimi's has picked up Whitney's line,” Pascale said supportively as they pulled up in front of the former fast-food chain that Mimi had converted into a groovy fashion mecca.

“Yeah,” Sasha said. “Whitney's living proof that nobody's bad at
everything.
”

“Sasha!” Pascale scolded, even though she too was laughing. “That's not nice.”

“Maybe a little of Johnny's sarcasm is rubbing off on you,” Haley said, only half joking.

“Ha,” Sasha said vaguely. “Like I've seen enough of him lately for
anything
to rub off.”

The trio sauntered into the store. Mimi was busy with a couple of taut, tanned middle-aged women covered in gold jewelry. Haley couldn't help but notice that Pascale put them to shame. Pascale was about their age or even older, but she seemed ageless, while they all looked beyond their years, and worse, foolish for trying so hard to cling to their youth. Pascale's figure was still long and lean. The simple, neat bob of her hair and minimal makeup only enhanced the overall appearance. Sasha, Haley was sure, would age well.

“I'll be with you in a minute,” Mimi said, glancing up at them. She nodded at a rack of clothes along one wall. “Have you girls seen the new WK line? It's doing very well.” The “girls” was meant to include Pascale. Mimi assumed she was Sasha and Haley's age.

The girls headed for the WK rack while Pascale looked at cashmere sweaters. “This stuff isn't too bad,” Sasha said, holding up one of Whitney's pieces, a blue silk top with a loose tie at the front. “Kind of says sassy secretary.”

“What about this, Sash?” Haley pulled out a chemise made from old soccer jerseys that had been ripped apart and resewn into a sporty minidress. “It's so you: it says soccer and rocker at the same time. I bet you're what inspired Whitney to make it.”

“I doubt that,” Sasha said. “Whitney's idea of inspiration was always more Coco and country club than me.”

“I don't know,” Haley said skeptically. “This looks like I pulled it straight out of your closet.”

“Oh, that is adorable.” Pascale came over and held up the minidress. “Try it on,
chérie.
”

“I bet Johnny would love it,” Haley offered.

Haley thought Sasha paled at the second mention of Johnny, but she couldn't be sure. “I dress to please myself, not Johnny,” Sasha said emphatically.

“Of course you do,” Haley said, backtracking.

“French women always dress with a man in mind,” Pascale said. “And I have the overstuffed lingerie drawer to prove it.”

Haley laughed, but Sasha just frowned and took the minidress into the dressing room.

“Haley, I think this green skirt would look just darling on you,” Pascale added. “Why don't you try it on?”

“Thanks.” Haley took the skirt, grateful for any input from Sasha's überfashionable mom. There were only two dressing rooms, and one of them was occupied by a member of the middle-aged lady tribe, so Haley poked her head through the curtain of Sasha's booth and said, “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Sasha pulled the curtain aside, now wearing the minidress.

“That looks awesome,” Haley said, even though there was very little that didn't look amazing on the supertall, naturally thin Sasha.

“I don't know,” Sasha said. “Maybe soccer jerseys are best left on the field.”

Haley stepped into the dressing room and tried on her find, while Sasha changed out of the WK ensemble. The skirt, true to Pascale's fabulous eye, fit Haley perfectly. But somehow she couldn't enjoy the moment. Not with Sasha so obviously preoccupied.

Haley decided to take advantage of the dressing-room privacy to find out what was on Sasha's mind. “So fess up, what's up with Johnny?” she asked. “You two having problems again?” A certain story was currently making the rounds, about Sasha and Johnny's summer camping trip to Virginia.

“It's just junior year,” Sasha said unconvincingly. “You know how it is. It's messing with all of our brains.”

Somehow Haley wouldn't have thought junior-year craziness would affect supercool Johnny. She wasn't even sure he was planning on applying to colleges next year. But before she had a chance to probe further, Sasha changed the subject. “On to more important matters. I heard some gossip about you, Haley. Someone has a crush on you….”

Haley couldn't believe her ears. Someone had a crush?
On her?
“I don't believe you. Who?” Haley asked tentatively.

“Alex Martin,” Sasha blurted out. “He's a senior, but I heard he has a severe case of Haley-itis.”

“Alex Martin? Really?” Haley blushed, totally flattered. Alex was cocaptain of the debate team and brilliant. He was also very cute, in a clean-cut prepster sort of way. “Who told you?”

Sasha shrugged. “It came through the grapevine, a very reliable grapevine. So, do you like him or what?”

“Um, I don't know,” Haley said. “I mean, I guess I'd have to think about it.” She was excited by the idea that Alex liked her, but disturbed to know people were talking about her behind her back and finding out things about her before she did. Who was on this “grapevine,” anyway? And what else were people saying about her?

Haley was smart enough to know that rumors could fly around Hillsdale High like lightning in an electrical storm. The talk was usually bad. And often not true.

“Have you heard anything else about me lately?” she asked Sasha.

“What—that's not enough for you?” Sasha teased. Haley blushed. She hoped if something bad did ever circulate about her, Sasha would tell her.

“Haley, how is the skirt?” Pascale called from outside the dressing room.

“Perfect,” Haley said. “I'm going to get it.” She scooped up the green garment and exited the dressing room, heading toward the register. She still had a feeling that Sasha was hiding something, but Johnny's name didn't come up again for the rest of the afternoon. Haley wondered if maybe she hadn't heard the last of Johnny Lane for a while.

Looks as though Sasha just pulled a fast one on Haley. What is going on with her and Johnny? Are all the rumors true? Did they really go all the way in Virginia, or did Sasha chicken out? And why won't Sasha talk about it?

Haley may soon have boy troubles herself.

What's with the report about Alex Martin's crush? Does he really have a thing for Haley—or was Sasha just making that up to get out of the hot seat? And what will Reese Highland have to say about that?

If you want Haley to stick with Sasha and make sure everything's okay in the rocker-relationship realm, go to
"FREEDOM ROCK"
. If you think Haley should tend to her own relationships instead, send her off on a library date with Reese on
"SOLVING FOR EX"
. Finally, if you think Haley is getting addicted to gossip and needs another quick fix, go to
"RUMOR MILL"
.

Sometimes in life, you don't end up with what you were originally looking for. Just like sometimes you go out shopping for sweaters and come home with a skirt instead. But who's Haley's skirt? Alex or Reese?

SET DESIGN

Behind the curtain, there exists a multitude of worlds.

“T
he forest has to be magical,” Irene said. “It has to look real, yet better than real, know what I mean?”

“Totally,” Garrett “the Troll” Noll said as he jumped over three buckets of paint on his skateboard. “Like when you're a little too high on weed and everything looks kind of shimmery?”

“Um…sort of,” Irene said. “Good try, Troll.”

Haley took a couple of large white shirts from the pile of rags Devon had brought from Jack's, the vintage store where he worked after school, and fashioned them into a smock. She and the others had gathered together to help Irene paint the sets for
A Midsummer Night's Dream,
a new production the high school drama department was putting on. Irene had spread out on tarps in the Hillsdale parking lot to give them enough space to work. She brought cardboard, paper, wood, paint and all the tools necessary to create a really rad forest. Garrett and his friend Chopper zipped around on their skateboards, offering comments if not actual assistance. But all in all, they were making good progress.

“Isn't Shaun going to help?” Haley asked Irene.

“He's coming later,” Irene said. “After he gets done with his postrehearsal rehearsal. Coco kept him late again.”

“I bet she's driving him crazy,” Haley said. “She's trying to make everyone conform to her ‘vision,' even though she can't seem to say what that vision is, exactly. Why did anyone think it would be a good idea to make her assistant director?”

“Um, that would be because good old Maurice De Clerq is paying for the production,” Devon interjected.

“Coco knows as much about the theater as, oh, I don't know, Chopper,” Haley said snarkily, just as Chopper skidded to a showy stop on his board.

“Hey. I resent that,” Chopper said.

“What's the last play you saw?” Devon said to him. Devon lifted the camera he almost always wore around his neck and snapped a shot of Chopper's indignant but utterly confused face.

“You really want to know?” Chopper said suddenly. “It was
The Lion King,
school field trip, sixth grade. Remember that, Troll? With the puppets? That show was wicked sweet.”

“I'd like to see it again in a different state of mind, if you get my drift,” Garrett replied. He dashed across ten parking spots, looking like a black flash in his all-black clothes and black skullcap.

“That's not a bad comparison, actually,” Irene said. “
The Lion King
has a mythical quality that would work well with this play, too.”

Chopper lifted his board over his head and victory-danced around Devon. “See, McKnight? You thought I was going to say something dumb but I showed you up good, man.”

Devon shot Chopper's victory dance, and soon Chopper had forgotten about showing him up and was just posing for the camera. That afternoon, Devon was wearing an apron to protect his brown pullover and blue cords from paint. Haley thought she'd never seen an apron look so good. People seemed to perform for Devon without even realizing it. Haley enjoyed taking photos too, but the trick was to get the subjects to forget the camera was there, and Devon was somehow able to do that.

Irene pulled out her sketchbook and all her drawings of forests. “This is the basic layout,” she said, pointing her pencil to a particular scene: summer trees in full bloom, a low yellow moon, flowers and toadstools to serve as fairy furniture and tree branches with bowers as cozy as hammocks for the lovers. Haley was amazed at how Irene could evoke a whole world with just a few quick strokes.

“Use as many different shades of green as you can on the trees,” Irene said. “Lighter tones on the places where the moonlight shines, and darker, richer greens for the deep, spooky underbrush. And plenty of gold and silver, too. The forest should look like a palace.”

“Those are some wicked fine drawings,” Garrett said, peering over Irene's shoulder. “That place would make a perfect hideout, if you were ever, say, running from the cops.”

Everyone looked up at Garrett, wondering if he was having any trouble with the law. “Hey, wait a minute,” the Troll said, realizing all eyes were on him. “I said ‘If.' If a person, any person, found himself running from the cops. Not me personally.”

“It
is
an incredible drawing,” Haley agreed.

“You should have seen how she just whipped it off like it was nothing,” Devon said, snapping a shot of the sketch.

“Big deal,” Irene said. “This and a bucket of paint will get you a gig making sets for a school play. Oh wait—I
am
making sets for a school play. How friggin' glamorous.”

“No, really,” Haley said. “Do your parents understand what a gift you have?”

“My parents think I make a mean egg roll,” Irene said sarcastically.

What a shame,
Haley thought. Irene was so incredibly talented, and her parents' dream for her was that she'd take over the family business. Working at the Golden Dynasty was so limiting, and not what Irene was interested in at all. But sometimes Haley got the feeling Irene didn't have the will to defy her parents—as if she was afraid to disappoint them.

“Heee-hawww. Heeee-hawww.”
Shaun burst out of the building, still wearing his donkey-head costume. “‘What sayst thou, bully Bottom?'”

Irene sighed. “Oh, Shaunster, off with the head. You can't paint with that thing on.”

“‘I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in? I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.'” Shaun recited his lines in an accent that was half English, half Spicoli in
Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

“What was that, man?” Chopper asked. “You talking backwards again?”

“Krej uoy, ton m'I, on,” Shaun said.

“Whatever, man,” Chopper said. “I can't hack that.”

“Talk normal or shut up,” Garrett added.

“It's Shakespeare, you dorks,” Devon said. “Or it was until Shaun got ahold of it.”

“That's what I'm talking about,” Chopper said.

Shaun stuck his papier-mâché donkey's head right in Irene's face and hee-hawed at her again. Then he stood on his hands and did a few donkey kicks for good measure.

“This donkey thing is getting old,” Irene said. “Fast.”

“So old,” Haley agreed. “Ancient.”

“Dudes,
hee
—what about the—
haw
—Method?” Shaun said. “I've got to stay in character until the play's done. I shouldn't even be saying this in normal talk. I should be speaking Shakespeare-Donkeytalk twenty-four/seven.”

“Go ahead and do that,” Devon said. “If you want to spend the next few weeks talking to yourself.”

“Really, Shaun,” Irene said. “It's one thing to practice your lines. But I am not going out in public with you wearing that donkey head. It's bad enough at school.”

“Rini, you're an artist,” Shaun said. “You get me. I'm doing this for my art.”

He tried to nuzzle her, but she shoved him away. “Ew, that thing is starting to smell.”

Shaun sure has a tendency to go off the deep end with his obsessions. Usually, Irene is pretty understanding, but this donkey act seems to be grating on even her nerves. If he's going to be wearing that donkey head everywhere and braying all the time, how will Irene be able to concentrate on the elaborate forest paintings she's creating? Then again, if you're going to go onstage in front of the whole school, you've got to go all out. And no one knows how to let it all hang out better than Shaun.

To keep Haley in the theater groove, wander deeper into the wacky forest on
"OFF-OFF-OFF-BROADWAY"
. If you think Haley needs a break from the weirdness, send her to check up on Annie and Dave on
"SCATTERBRAINED"
. To thine own self be true. But which of Haley's selves deserves to be heard?