Drew In High School
By: P.L. Jones
Drew is now attending a public high school, just like a normal teenager.
But Drew wonders if she'll ever fit in with "normal" teenagers...
Drew is now attending a public high school, just like a normal teenager.
But Drew wonders if she'll ever fit in with "normal" teenagers...
High School
On TV, High School is always the same.
There’s always this gorgeous blonde (usually a Mandi or a Tiffani) who runs the school. She’s head cheerleader, captain of the dance team, smart, rich, and mean. Her nemesis, a short and spunky brunette (think Tina Fey as a teenager) reigns as queen of the nerds and will one day grow up to be much cooler than the now-popular Mandi (whose "i" is perpetually dotted with a heart...even when she's 40, and yes, that's exactly what makes Mandi's legacy so sad).
Well, that’s what happens on television.
In real life, I’m the one who is rich, cute (not vain, just honest. I mean, come on… I have a nice head of hair, perfectly straight teeth, flawless skin, and check bones that any supermodel would kill for), and I may not be a member of some cheesy high school dance team but I’ve been known to strut my stuff on Broadway a time or two : )
‘Yet’, I thought as I stared into the beige, peeling paint of South Louisiana High’s walls, ‘When I'm here, I'm a nobody.’
“Hey Lanie, wait up!” A voice that I recognized called from a few feet behind me.
Turning to the owner of the voice, Randall Hawke, I watched him, grinning, sprint towards the girl he spent most of his time with, Lanie Russell.
As I watched them awkwardly pretend that they didn't have feelings for each other, I felt my lips curl into a snarl.
"So disgusting." I mumbled.
Lanie seems like a nice girl, but let's be honest for a minute.
The chica in question is, without a doubt, on the shorter side of short, and the not-so-proud owner of a perpetual look that says, "Whoa! I almost fell flat on my face a second ago!!", and while I know that people are hot for Zooey Deschanael right now, I mean.... seriously?! How long can the “look at me, I’m so cute and nerdy” trend last?
In the end, what we all want is beauty and strength.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.
We're programmed to be attracted to things and people who look a certain way.
That explains why Lanie has a "secret" crush on her best friend Ran (everyone calls Randall, "Ran" Oh, what's that? You're wondering why they don't just call him Randy? Well, because Louisiana apparently hasn't quite grasped a little knack we like to call "speaking the English language"! Instead of using past tense verbs as a part of everyday speech, they use past tense verbs as nicknames for hot guys. So there you have it, welcome to Louisiana), who happens to be going out with some cheerleader at our school. Lanie is attracted to his hotness and he, in turn, is attracted to....to.... (is it just me or is that the sound of a cricket chirping?)
You see, this is where my problem surfaces.
This is precisely what I find so disgusting about their whole "secret crush" thing: I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE SEE'S IN HER!!
Yeah she's probably sweet in that cutesy way most clumsy nerd-girls are sweet, but who cares?! She's so average!
That's the thing about "real life" according to South Louisiana's rules, it's average, boring, and it makes no sense!
‘If I was Lanie,’ I mused as I gave South Louisiana's Queen of Average, a quick once-over, ‘I’d introduce my hair to a little something called a flat-iron.’
Each and every one of the bunchy curls sitting on top of her head were close to the size of a small child …no, correction: each one of her curls was the size of an adult male rhino.
"What are we- living in the 80's? Get a flat iron." Shaking my head, I again mumbled my sentiments, not even caring who heard me.
Ran grinned at her and I couldn’t watch.
Not only did she have no right to be the “it girl” of South Louisiana High but her unofficial boy-toy was the hottest guy in school and it literally hurt to watch him act all googly eyed over her.
Now, don’t get me wrong, as cute as Ran is, I'm not into him so the situation didn’t hurt my heart, it hurt my head.
Like I said earlier, the two of them just didn't compute.
But then, nothing in Louisiana seems to compute...
“Hey Lanie, Ran…” Some kid called to the happy couple and, realizing that I was beginning to stare, I turned away.
For most of my life, I've been the one fending off stares, pretending not to notice the brazen strangers who snap pictures in my face, the shy ones who whisper timid requests for my autograph, and the obnoxious ones who loudly "treat me" to their opinion of my mother's latest headline...
Used to be, I thought I'd hated all of that.
But now that I'm in a place where no one seems to even notice I'm alive, it’s a little unsettling to switch roles and become the stranger who stares.
Acting as though I’d stopped not to stare at Lanie and Ran, but to adjust the straps on my backpack, I loosened the straps and practiced my theatrical skills by mumbling,
“Stupid backpack!” under my breath, before heading off towards my next class.
I wasn’t nominated for a Kids Choice award in 2007 for no reason.
I’m a natural born actor.
The gene runs in my family.
Mom says that the gift we have is a blessing and a curse.
It’s a blessing in that it opens you up to exciting experiences that anyone with an ounce of cowardice would never in a million years submit to.
But having theatrics in your blood is also a woeful curse because that screaming thing inside of you, the thing that crouches down, hidden behind your heart, not only pushes you far beyond the bounds of empathy and into the land of pretend, but it also bullies you into doing crazy things only for the reward of .... attention.
Walking along through the tattered halls of the school that I so hated, I wondered what it was like to be Lanie Russell.
What did she have that people seemed to like so much? (well, other than a cute and slightly mysterious boy-toy)
Anytime I happened to see Lanie walking through the halls, she'd have this faraway look in her eyes.
The look was somewhere in between a smile at a private joke and the expression a person has when they’ve just been awoken, by the aroma of homemade waffles, from a really nice dream.
Relaxing my forehead, like mom always tells me to do (so as to avoid premature wrinkles because according to her, “there are some things that even Botox can’t fix, look at Joan Rivers") I thought back to what I’d dreamed about last night.
I couldn’t help but frown again as I remembered that my dream involved Billy Crystal chasing me with a giant Academy Award which, by the end of my dream, turned out to be a gun.
No, that probably wasn’t the sort of thing Lanie would dream about.
Taking a deep breath, I imagined what Lanie would dream about…and that’s when it hit me.
Ran.
He was what made her so happy.
Of course he was the subject of her dreams!
Why hadn't I realized that her boy-toy was the secret behind the weird half-smile she wore with the gusto of a Jonas brother wearing his favorite neck-scarf ? And not only that, why hadn't I realized that Ran was the secret to her overnight popularity?
Although Ran and Lanie were seniors and I was only a freshman who hadn’t the privilege (that was sarcastic) of witnessing their budding yet forbidden romance (gag!) during previous years, I realized that it was only when Lanie began getting daggers from Ran's girlfriend that she’d suddenly become the Belle of South Louisiana High.
The school had divided itself into Team Lanie and Team Cheerleader Whose Name I Keep Forgetting.
Of course, people feel better about themselves when they root for the underdog- and so there you have it, Lanie became an overnight success.
I bit my bottom lip thoughtfully, and then stopped because Mom used to hate it when I did that as a little kid.
Well…if a nerd could get herself a cute boy and become popular in less than ten nanoseconds then surely, I (the girl who nearly won a Kid’s Choice Award) could score a seat on the golden throne they call “Popular”.
“Drew?”
At the sound of my name, I literally jumped.
“Whoa! Sorry.” A girl I know named Megan (but everyone calls her Megs. That's right not "Meg"...because that would be too normal and easy to say. They have to say "Megs" with an over-pronounced "S". Once again, thank you Louisiana ) smiled apologetically, “What’s going on? You look like-I don’t know…you look happy. What’s wrong?”
I grinned.
Told you I’m a good actor.
“Nothing’s wrong, I was just doing a little improv. So, are you coming this weekend?” A few days ago I’d sent out invitations to a party at my mom's place and out of the eighty that I’d sent, exactly seven people responded.
Seven.
I live in a house that’s probably bigger than any of the losers in my school would even dream about…yet, they stand up an invitation to come over.
I know I’m just a freshman and I’m relatively new in town, but what freshman whose new in town has also been on the cover of “Fifteen Rocks!” magazine?
“Um…” Megs hesitated and gave me another apologetic look.
“Oh, come on! Seriously?! You too? I thought I could at least count on you to come!” As I made a face at her I felt kind of bad because she looked sincerely sad.
“It’s just that when I said something about it to my mom, she told me that my Dad really wants to hang out with me this weekend. I hardly ever see him since he moved and …you know.” She shrugged.
Actually, I didn’t know.
My parents were split like Megs, but the difference between her parents and mine was that Megs crazy father (and yes, he is literally crazy, he’s a radio Disc Jockey, need I say more?) actually cared about her.
A light bulb went off near my cerebellum as I recalled that her half-insane dad had the perfect job to suit his mental state…
“If you tell your Dad that your reason for not going this weekend is because I invited you over, then I’m sure he’d understand. I could even do an interview with him on his show to make it up to him.” Mirroring the kind expression on her face, I did all but bat my eyelashes.
Thinking this over, she gave me a quick look and I could tell that she was calculating more than just my suggestion.
A good actor’s innate sense lets her know when she’s being sized up.
“Um…yeah. He probably would but…” She paused and fidgeted with the strap on her backpack, “I could just tell him I don’t feel like going this weekend because I’m hanging out with my friend. I have a feeling he’d understand that too.”
The word “friend” rang in my ears, standing out from the rest of her sentence the same way a potential star’s head shot stands out against the backdrop of a mountainous pile of overweight brunettes whose toothy grins will send them straight to the "Rejected" pile.
“Oh.” I didn’t quite know how to react, “Really?”
“Yeah!” Her face broke into a grin, “Look, I'll come to the party, I'm sure my Dad will understand. He's crazy on the radio, but in real life he’s a pretty reasonable guy.”
Glad to be considered a friend but embarrassed by my needy reaction, I stifled the feeling with a laugh,
“Right? Like the time he prank called the Lindsey Lohan and pretended to be the President. That wasn’t crazy? Who does that?”
Megs laughed, "To be honest, I think it was kind of ingenious.”
“No it’s kind of a cry for help. Mental help.”
Laughing again, she shook her head,
“But, it got Lindsey’s attention didn’t it?”
“Yeah! If the President of the United States of America called my cell to fuss at me about getting my act together, it would get more than just my attention, it would get me a heart attack.”
The bell rang.
“Oops.” We both said in unison.
“Oh well.” I shrugged.
But, Megs grimaced,
“Great! If I’m late one more time I have to go to TOR.”
“It’s so dumb that they have a Time out Room in high school. What’s up with that? I thought time out was a discipline-technique they used in Pre-K!”
“Same principal as jail. Jail is the same thing as Time Out, but it's for adults.” Beginning to pick up the pace, she navigated her way through the halls of South Louisiana High and I followed, still a bit uncertain as to where everything was.
I’d been in the school for about three months but it was a big place and I only knew one route to get to each of my classes.
“Except it's the more violent, scarier version of Time Out.” I pointed out.
“Exactly.” We approached the classroom and she paused right in front of the door, causing me to nearly run right into the back of her head.
Fortunately, I have amazing reflexes.
“You know my dad was in jail for a while, I mean it was a while ago but...anyway, that’s why he called Lindsey. He knows what it's like and I think he was just trying to help.” She spoke quietly, apparently afraid that her voice would somehow carry through the door and into the classroom.
I didn’t even pretend to agree,
“No, I think he did it for the joke.”
She gave me a funny look and I shrugged,
“It’s his job, to make people laugh. That’s what he does, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
After thoughtfully glancing at me, she returned my shrug and nodded,
“OK.”
With that, she opened the door and we were on our way to another fun-filled English class hosted by Mrs. Lenora, the teacher who is probably old enough to be able to tell us with certainty if George Washington did, in fact, wear wooden dentures (which she, I’m pretty sure, does wear).
“Girls, come in and take your seats. I’ll let you slip by without being tardy this time. But next time I might not be so nice.” Said Mrs. Lenora’s dentures, in between bits of noise that sounded like a voice as opposed to the sound of something clicking around the insides of her mouth.
"Relieved" was the one word I'd use to describe Meg’s face.
“Thank you!” She practically sang.
Briefly mirroring her joy, I enthusiastically added my own,
“Yeah thanks so much! We won’t be late again!”and Mrs. Lenora, a fan of theater and film, smiled as she basked in the warm glow of my approval.
To be honest, I had in good with the teachers, it was just the students who weren’t taking to me so well.
Sometimes I have to agree with my mother, teenagers are crazy.
Theater
“You’re my problem! If it wasn’t for you chugging tequilas like Gatorade, popping pills to help you sleep or get you through another failed audition, and coming out of your drunken stupors only long enough to push me into filling in the holes in your shredded life then maybe I wouldn’t be such a narcissistic screw up who only has one friend!”
In my head, I was shouting but according to my ears I was speaking pretty normally.
The victim of my speech, eyeless and incompetent, simply stared back at me with an enviable air of nonchalance.
In between the tears that stuck to my eyelashes, he was nothing more than a blurry fuzz of black and white.
“Keep going.” Brenan’s voice, a whisper coming from somewhere to my right, cut into my moment and I felt the pump that fueled my tears turn off.
With a sigh, shaky but still a little sad, I tried to hang onto the last moments of truth before they slipped away.
“I guess you expect me to thank you for making my life so…full. But I won’t thank you now, not because I’m angry, even though I am, but because I know you don’t really want to hear me say thank you until everyone else can hear it. You want me to wait until some big moment when I’m on stage clutching an award in my shaky hand, trembling with nerves, and then in front of everyone you’ll want me to mention your name while you pretend to cry and try to look pretty for the camera that will no doubt be pointed in your direction. So, I’ll save my thank you for then, since that’s what you want.”
One last deep breath, I closed my eyes, and a moment later I heard Brenan quietly say,
“And…scene.”
When I opened my eyes, I took in the sight of my helpless victim.
Wilson was the most beat up soccer ball who had ever been used by an acting coach.
Brenan knew that I was going to audition for a mostly CGI film in the fall and he’d suggested that I practice with a soccer ball “friend” of his that he affectionately called Wilson (if you’re thinking Castaway, the answer is "yes, so was Brenan").
“Drew, that was great.” Turning to face the ruddy acting coach who I adored for not reacting when my mom embarrassed herself by practically throwing herself at him on a weekly basis, I grinned.
“Really? I kind of thought so, but I almost lost it there at the end.” I hesitated and then shrugged as I figured he was man enough to take a bit of criticism, “I wish you hadn’t interrupted me, it threw me off.”
“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow, “Sorry about that babe.”
“It’s OK.” I threw him an evil glance, “But do it again and I’m telling my mother you asked about her.”
“It won’t happen again.” He replied a little too quickly.
We both laughed and I remembered why I liked Brenan.
He didn’t pretend about anything, he knew that I hated my mom because she was an alcoholic mess, so he brought it up every now and then, not to be gossipy, only because he could see that it was on my mind a lot.
I’ve seen a lot of therapists in my life, but I’ve never felt as comfortable with any of them as I felt with Brenan (even though he’s just an acting coach).
He picked up the soccer ball and kicked it towards me, knowing that I'd catch it with my feet.
Of course, I caught it.
“Poor Wilson, he's so abused.” I gave the soccer ball a kiss before kicking it right back to him.
“Yeah he is…” Brenan’s voice trailed off and I could see that he wanted to say something else.
For once, he was hesitating.
Brenan wasn't one to hesitate.
His candor was why I was one of his very few students, most actors don’t enjoy paying a coach who uses their own mouth as a giant foot with which to stomp the ego out of his young pupils.
He wasn’t horrible…just honest. That’s why I liked him.
“What?” I watched him tuck the ball under his arm and sort of tilt his head to the side as he decided whether or not he wanted to talk about whatever it was that currently occupied the space in his head.
“Your mom.” He paused again.
“Yeah? Do you want me to tell her you asked about her because-” I started.
“No, not exactly.” He interrupted and smiled briefly, “Why don’t you quit abusing Wilson and try talking to your Mom about some of this? I bet she’d listen.”
Oh.
I shrugged, wondering why he’d been so worried about asking me a simple question like that,
“Yeah, if she’s drunk enough maybe I will.”
“She’s not always drinking.”
“That’s true. Sometimes she’s high.” I agreed.
“Drew, that’s not what I mean. Just yesterday, your mom had an appointment with her agent, right? How much you want to bet she wasn’t on anything when she met up with him?” Brennan offered, looking at me with that same hesitant expression, “She’s not so bad, she’s just made a few mistakes and I think if you confronted her about them, she’d be real with you. I think that would be a - a healthy conversation for both of you.”
I watched him gulp and something suddenly sent chills up the back of my arms.
“Brenan.” I watched him gently bite down on his bottom lip, a nervous habit that quite a few people have.
It’s a habit that I tend to imitate when I’m pretending to be nervous.
“How did you know my mom had a meeting with her agent yesterday?” I finally asked.
But from the overly nonchalant expression on his face, I already had my answer.
He may have been a good actor, but so was I and a faker knows a faker.
He dropped the ball on the floor and made himself look me square in the eyes as he replied,
“I talked to her yesterday.”
“Why?” I softly demanded, “Why were you talking to my mom?”
“Because she’s worried about you.” He moved to lean back on the edge of his desk and tried to look relaxed.
Actually, he looked very relaxed…relaxed enough to be a guy who’d recently had his ego stroked by a drunken cougar.
“That didn’t answer my question, why did she talk to you when she was worried about me. You’re not friends.” I felt my lips twitch.
I almost wished they were friends, instead of what my mom was obviously trying to turn him into.
Gulping again, Brenan dropped the facade and looked at me with sincerity, his voice was soft as he spoke,
“Drew babe-“
“Its not 1950 and I’m not a Disney pig, don’t call me babe.”
He blinked as if blinking would help him clear his thoughts- which, mind you, must have been wildly insane for them to have led him into the drunken arms of my mother. Of all the women this guy could have gotten to know- he’d chosen my mom?! What was wrong with him?!
“Drew- I know this is kind of a shock. It was to me too. Your mom and I haven’t wanted to say anything because we didn’t want to upset you but the truth is that we are friends.”
He paused.
I felt like the roof was going to crash down on top of me.
Or maybe the sun would suddenly go black and a freak tornado would rip through the entire state of Louisiana as volcanoes erupted one after another in some kind of world wide catastrophe.
With this sort of news, surely the world was ending.
My world was ending.
“You’re friends?” Was the only squeaky sound my voice managed to eek out.
He nodded,
“I care a lot about your mom and…about you. So, I think you should talk to her.”
We stared at each other.
There were so many options for a good reaction just waiting at my fingertips.
I could angrily storm out, slamming the door behind me and alarming everyone in his office building.
I could yell at him, scream at the top of my lungs that he was a freak for dating someone nearly three times his senior.
The later option sounded more like my forte, and as I opened my mouth to verbally assault him in the loudest version of my voice, a sound resembling an asthmatic gasp mixed with a sneeze escaped.
I don’t know exactly why it happened.
“Acheeeoooo.”
The strange sound surprised me just as much as it did my would-be victim.
He stood, moving away from the desk upon which he’d been leaning,
“You alright?”
Shaking my head, I suddenly felt wetness on my checks.
Great.
I was crying.
Just like a little girl.
Perfect.
“No. I need to go.”
“Drew-“ He reached for me and I couldn’t see his face through all of my girly tears, but the tone of his voice was nice.
I guess that’s because he was a nice guy, one of the few left…and despite the fact that earth seems to be chalk full of cute twenty-something's who want a nice guy- this nice guy chose to date my crazy mother.
Once again shaking my head, I backed out of the room,
“I really need to go.”
I left his office and there I stood in the parking lot, staring at the neon yellow car my dad had bought for me when I’d turned fifteen, I finally allowed myself to think a clear thought, which somehow went straight from a synapse in my head to my lips.
My words tumbled into the world and were carried away with the wind,
“Life is insane.”
Home
“Mom!” I called, slamming the door behind me, “Mom! Mommmm!”
“What? What’s wrong with you?!” She shouted from somewhere upstairs.
Tracking her by the direction from where her voice seemed to be coming from, I hurried upstairs and barged into her room.
As I threw open the door I automatically looked for her in her usual spot, laying on her huge white bed with a her hand lazily hidden in a large bag of potato chips or sometimes…a bowl of popcorn. Her other hand would lie gingerly over the remote as she stared unblinkingly at her gargantuan television.
But this time, the bed was empty.
Her closet door opened and out she stepped, with a look of alarm on her face.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
She looked different.
She looked like she’d used to when I was a kid.
Her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, not the lazy kind of ponytail that leaves those few quirky hair stragglers sticking up on top of your head and hanging out by your ears as if they’d like to whisper a secret into one of them… but her hair was pulled back into the cute, bouncy sort of ponytail that only an expert ponytailer can craft.
She wore a blue and black jogging outfit.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re scaring me to death with all that noise.”
My mom looked at me with concern and finally coming out of my shock, I replied,
“Me? No. Nothing’s wrong with me- it’s you! Are you insane? Why are you trying to go out with my acting coach?”
“Drew-“ She held up both of her hands and I remembered my older sister telling me, when we were kids, “talk to the hand” in a funny voice as she'd hold up one of her hands and frown at me. I’d used to think that was so funny.
But the gesture wasn’t funny anymore, I needed for her to listen to me.
“I am so sick of hearing my name! Everytime I start to say something or tell someone how I feel, they interrupt me, “Drew, wait,” “Drew listen”, “Drew, blah blah…” Don’t you think I know my own name?! The fact that you’re repeating the stupid name that I was born with won’t stop me from talking or thinking or feeling what I have a right to say or feel or think!”
“Dr- hon, calm down-“ Her hands were still up, but her face had lost some of it’s innocence…whatever that means. I guess it means she was beginning to look sort of angry.
“No, I can’t calm down mom! You’re dating my acting coach! He’s twenty-five, you’re what? Like, fifty-five?! Your oldest daughter is almost his age! What’s wrong with you?!”
“OK, that is enough!” she shouted.
I shut up.
My mom, contrary to popular opinion, is trained in the theater, and let’s just say that her voice carries.
Lowering her voice and making a concerted effort to calm down, she went on,
“I am not fifty-five, I’m forty-eight and yes Brenan and I have been seeing each other. We’re both adults. That’s our choice-“
“Yeah well, your choices affect me.” I muttered.
“I know that, I carried you in my womb for nine months, don’t you think I know my choices affect you?! That’s what being a mother means-"
“This isn’t Dr. Phil, there’s no studio audience here for you to manipulate with some cheesy line that makes good use of the word “womb”. To answer your stupid question, NO, I don’t think you realize your choices affect me! If you did, you wouldn’t be a drunken embarrassment whose only career goal is to score a mention in TMZ. So, either you don’t even realize you have a daughter or maybe you do and you don’t care how your actions affect me! You-you’re just terrible and selfish and you’re…terrible! I hate you. ”
Her face fell.
Not quickly, like the time three weeks ago when she’d thrown a vase at the wall and a picture frame (with her picture in it) had fallen to the floor.
So maybe “fell” isn’t the right word…my mom’s face faded.
In literally ten seconds, she looked older.
There was no frown in between her eyebrows, no pouting of the lips, as she so often resorted to…instead she looked as calm as a saint in pain.
It worked.
I swallowed hard and unexpectedly felt like I’d done something wrong.
“You deserved that, because it’s true.” I halfheartedly spat, but mostly, I was talking to myself.
“OK.” She tried to pull herself together and did pretty well for someone who’d been trying and failing at pulling their life together for the past fifteen years, “You’re right. I’m sorry Drew. I really am.”
The silence between us was so thick it filled the room and if I’d stretched out my arms and willed myself to float, I probably could have swam laps in it.
Instead of being a weirdo and doing something like that, I just watched her.
Her blond hair, dyed to match the color that I’d been born with was washed.
Maybe that’s why the ponytail looked so nice.
And the green eyes that were perfectly set above her high cheekbones, a face, which even her worse critics praised for it's beauty, were sad enough to tug at my heartstrings.
I felt terrible.
Maybe I was just like her.
Maybe I was selfish and terrible and hurting…maybe that’s what hurting too much does to a woman. It makes her totally consumed with her own pain and blind to how her actions affect the people around her.
Looking at her, standing there half-lifeless and hurt, I felt I might have been gazing into a mirror that showed my future.
At this sudden thought, I gulped and heard myself say,
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
She met my eyes, her’s dry and mine beginning to water. She shrugged and some hint of a smile lingered on her lips,
“You did baby.”
“No.” I shook my head, determined not to be as terrible as she was, “It might be true that you’re a little …self focused but I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“OK.”
Her words hung out in the air between us, they seemed to be looking at us and asking, “OK- we said that part, now…what are you two going to do next?”
Fortunately, she had sense enough to do something.
Otherwise the two of us would’ve been standing in her bedroom forever, me staring, teary-eyed, like a deer in headlights, and she trying to be brave and not cry.
My mom moved to the bed and sitting, she beckoned for me to do the same.
I agreed, and my legs, moving like stiff wooden blocks, somehow carried me to where she sat.
“I have a problem and …I think we both know that.” She laughed a little and then seemed nervous as she looked at me for some sort of approval.
“Yeah.” I quietly replied, unsure of how I was supposed to respond.
“Well, the good news is that I’m getting help. Brenan,” Mom paused and glanced at me, watching for my reaction before going on, “Brenan has a friend who owns a sort of retreat for um, for people with my problem. I’ll be there for about a month and I know, we both know- Brenan and I…we know it’ll help me a lot.”
My mom was checking herself into rehab and the only way she’d been able to afford it was by going out with a guy who could pull some strings for her.
I digested this subtext and nodded,
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.” She replied.
I didn’t know what to think.
She went on, but my thoughts drifted.
Maybe the kids at school somehow knew just how much of a freak show my DNA was. Maybe the scent of my mom’s insanity was somehow embedded into my skin, my own aroma, and without even realizing it they could smell how crazy I was. Maybe that was why, despite my looks, my success, and the bit of money that had come with it didn’t matter to them.
No one likes crazy.
“…Drew?” My mom looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“I said, is it okay with you if I ask your sister to come stay with you while I’m away or would you rather be alone?”
She asked the question as if it was a logical one.
My mind drifted back to the time, when I’d been about eleven and my mom was having a party with some of her “friends”, she’d called me to her side and asked in front of everyone,
“Honey, we ran out of liqueur, would you be a sweetie and ask the neighbors if we can borrow a bottle? They won’t mind.”
Even her drunken “friends” had laughed at that.
My mom couldn’t figure out why they were laughing.
Someone had to explain it to her.
For some reason, I wondered if Megs' Mom would ever ask her something dumb like that.
Megs…
“Actually, I can stay with my friend from school. She won’t mind and on the nights that she’s busy or whatever, I can just come back here. I’ll be fine.”
My sister wouldn’t want to come, she was in another country doing who knows what…actually, according to the last I’d read in the tabloids, I didn’t want to know.
I’d thrown the magazine down in a huff and even left the store as soon as I’d seen the title.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
Nodding, I looked into her green eyes, the same exact color as my sisters and felt like I ought to say something encouraging and so I did,
“This is a good idea, I hope you get better soon.”
She brightened,
“Me too. Thanks baby.”
I stood and as I turned to the door, I heard her move to get up too, but I still didn’t understand the whole Brenan thing,
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me about Brennan earlier?”
I turned to watch her reaction as she replied.
“I was scared.”
As I nodded at her, something Brenan always told me went through my head, ‘the best actors take control of their fear. They lead it straight into what their heart tells them is dangerous and that’s what makes them the best.’
“OK.” I nodded once more and made my way to the door.
Fear was something I’d need to erase from my DNA.
Being Fearless
Even though my mom would be away, I figured I’d still have the party at home.
It would be even better without her around, accidentally drinking too much and embarrassing me in front of the few people who would actually show up.
I thought I’d better wait until after the day of my party to let Megs know that my mom was out of town and ask to stay with her. I was pretty sure that if her mom (who was more of the traditional, normal type of parent/human being) knew there wouldn’t be any adults at my party then she wouldn’t let Megs come.
So, during History, and then Gym, and then Drama I found myself worrying about every little thing my brain could think of:
What if Megs mom wouldn’t want me to stay with them? After all, a month was a very long time...
What if her mom found out that I illegally drove myself to school every morning? Would I be forced to ride the bus to school with Megs…the thought of getting on that disgusting yellow bus was enough to make me gag.
And lastly…
What if my mom never got better?
As these thoughts ran around the insides of my head, I must have expressed my displeasure with a rather loud sigh or some sort of noise because the Drama teacher, a pretty nice lady named Karin Greenich glanced up at me and smiled,
“"Are we boring you?”
The entire class turned around to look at me.
Sitting up and quickly composing myself, I gave her an easy smile,
“No more than usual.”
The class laughed and I felt my heart skip a beat.
And then it skipped another beat when I saw Ms. Karin’s face.
She looked hurt, just like my mom had been yesterday when I’d finally screamed my frustrations at her.
I didn’t want to go around hurting people.
That would make me no better than my mother.
“I’m just joking.” I quickly said, “Sorry, no. I'm ADD and something we read must have triggered a memory and it made me think about something that really annoyed me and so I-”
Ms. Karin laughing, held up her hand, and I relaxed as she continued to chuckle,
“Whoa, we don’t need the whole explanation honey, I believe you. Now, if you’d be so kind as to please pick up where I left off in the second paragraph, starting with the sentence that says “Anton Chekov’s view of female characters…” .”
A handful of the kids laughed again and I felt a little victorious.
Eliciting even the slightest of a hesitant giggle from a couple of my classmates was a near miracle.
I just hoped my new found kinship with the Louisianians would last long enough for at least some of them to agree to come to my party.
The bell rang as soon as I opened my mouth to finish the last sentence of the paragraph Ms. Karin had asked me to read aloud.
Usually, when the bell rings we all sound like a herd of cattle stampeding towards water or …lunch or whatever it is that cattle make a run for. But in Ms. Karin’s class, everything's a little different. She’s one of the coolest teachers in our school and I can tell I’m not the only one who’s less than thrilled when her class is over.
So, everyone lingered in their seats, reaching for their backpacks and listening to her as she announced,
“Alrighty folks I don’t feel like grading anything for the next couple of days so you’re not going to have any homework. I know…I’m so sorry, I’m just an awful, selfish teacher right?” She smiled and laughed at her own joke, which was way funnier than her attempt at humor and that’s what made us all laugh with her, “OK, see you crazy kids later!”
When she said that, I heard feet begin to move and I knew what I’d have to do…quickly, if I wanted to get anyone at all to come to my party.
The thought of doing this scared me.
That fear is what made me stand up and tap Elizabeth Little, the most popular ninth grader in our school, on her shoulder as she turned to leave the classroom.
“Yeah?” She gave me a brief once over and I watched her assess my clothes, hair, shoes, and jewelry all in fifteen seconds.
I did the same to her wardrobe, in six seconds and where I come from, she would’ve have barely scored a low C.
Comforting myself with this rather cruel thought, I gave her my sincerest smile and put on my best perky-Drew voice,
“Hey Elizabeth! I’m having a party at my place in The New Club Highland…” I paused and let that sink in.
New Club Highland is the most exclusive neighborhood in Louisiana.
It’s where anyone who is a part of the claimed “Hollywood South” division lives, I'm pretty sure the only way my mom got her foot in the door at this place is because of the tiny band of fans my film work has somehow managed to accumulate over the years.
I might not be a huge star or even make one third as much as the Biebs, but I do get a lot of free stuff from nerdy fans.
This is something that my mother is well known for taking advantage of.
When I was only six, TMZ had footage of her, drunk, standing on a corner yelling at passersby to give her some money for more ‘drink because her baby’s famous and doesn’t that mean anything anymore…’
During the long dramatic pause that followed my name-drop, Elizabeth continued to look as though she was being cornered by some annoying lunatic.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” She asked, her voice bland.
Unfortunately, as she was speaking, I’d begun to speak as well,
“So if you want to come-“
I paused again,
“What did you say?”
“I said,” She spoke slowly, as if she were addressing an idiot, “Am I supposed to be impressed? Because I’m not and no, I’m not going to your party.”
Stunned, but quickly coming to, I glanced around to see who else had heard what she’d just said.
People are sheep and since they’d known Elizabeth a lot longer than they’d known me, I figured that the few people who’d heard what she’d said would side with her and also not come to my party.
Unfortunately, more than just a few people were watching.
Their eyes bore into my now-throbbing temples.
My palms felt sweaty and I willed my next words to be something that would make this girl stop and realize that I was just as good as she was!
Who did she think she was anyway…? In a couple of years when I was getting my star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, she’d be sitting somewhere, fat and lonely, eating a tub of ice cream watching a TMZ special all about me and how awesome my life was.
With this thought in my head, I managed to concoct a sort of pity for her as I replied,
“Right. Who would want to spend their Saturday night at a party with Taren Cane.”
The name Tarren Cane slipped out before I could catch it and take it back.
Elizabeth took a step back, nearly falling over herself with surprise.
I had her.
Deciding to play it cool and go on with the lie, I shrugged and shook my head as my face practically dripped with pity,
“Its probably not something you and your friends are interested in. All that Hollywood fluff, it’s so fake. Sorry I even mentioned-"
“Did you say Taren Cane?” One of her friends, a girl named Rose, asked as she nearly pushed Elizabeth out of her way to get to me.
“I did.” I haughtily replied, “Why? Are you interested in coming?”
“Wait a minute- you seriously know Taren Cane and he’s coming to a party at your house?” Elizabeth sputtered.
“Yeah but if you guys think that stupid, I’m not going to stand here while you make fun of me and my friends. So, forget I even asked –“ I started and slowly backed away from the small crowd.
In the background, I could see that even Ms. Karin was curiously listening to our conversation.
“No, we’ll come.” Elizabeth quickly interrupted, “Just give me your address. And, like, what should we wear?”
I might be a fantastic actor, but even I couldn’t suppress the smile that made it’s way to my lip-glossed mouth.
“Just wear whatever you’re comfortable in. It’s a casual sort of thing.” After tossing my hear, I thought I might add, “Taren doesn’t like fancy stuff, he’s a really down to earth guy so…”
As my voice trailed off, Rose exclaimed,
“I’m coming too! And can my sister come?”
I shrugged,
“Maybe, let me see how much room we have left. Give me your number Rose and I’ll get back to you .”
Whipping out the cell phone that I knew we were supposedly banned from bringing into school, I glanced at Ms. Karin and saw that she was looking at me rather oddly.
“Ms. Karin- I mean, Ms. Greenich- you can come too, of course, I was going to invite you. Bring a date.” I called across the classroom and then looked at Rose, who very much like her friend Elizabeth had a dreamy smile on her face, “So what’s your number?”
She gave me her number, as did a few other girls and one guy who wanted me to call them and give them more details about the party.
The classroom emptied and the tardy bell rang.
I could’ve been late for a million of my classes and I wouldn’t have cared.
My heart was full.
For the first time since mom had moved us across the world to the swampy bottom of existence, I’d actually tasted success.
Picking up my backpack, I turned to Ms. Karin.
She still had that funny look on her face and finally I understood why when she folded her arms and said,
“You just lied to those girls, didn’t you?”
I shrugged,
“Maybe. Who knows? I might be able to convince Taren to come. He and my sister were friends for a while. If I can’t get him…” I thought for a moment, there had to be a plan B that would keep me in the good graces of these swamp kids.
“If you can’t get him, then what?” She softly asked.
I glanced up at her and saw that the pity I'd had all over my face as I’d been talking to Elizabeth had somehow made it’s way into her expression.
The difference, though, was her sincerity.
She walked across the classroom and sat on the edge of an empty desk,
“Why did you lie to them Drew?”
“It wasn’t really a lie, I told you, I might be able to get-“
She shook her head and I paused, because we both knew that my argument was pointless.
“They might have come to your party even if you hadn’t told them that.” Her voice was kind.
I felt something break inside my chest.
Maybe it was a wall.
Brenan told me we all have walls that we put up to protect ourselves. These invisible barriers shield our most sensitive parts from a world that's known to bully.
I think one of my walls broke as I bit my lip and replied,
“No they wouldn’t. Did you see the way Elizabeth looked at me? Like everyone else at this school, they think I’m not worth their time. I’m like…trash.”
“That’s not true.” Ms. Karin quickly replied, “You’re an amazing student and a really talented-“
“It is true and maybe they’re right.” I glanced out of the nearby window and watched the sunbeams dance across the green leaves of an oak tree. The light seemed to sparkle and glisten. Somehow, the light made me feel like I needed to be completely honest with this woman, “I’m pretty sure they’re right. I can’t take my mom’s blood out of my veins.”
“Drew-“
Before she could finish her sentence, I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of the classroom.
It didn’t matter how I got those kids to like me, it was just important to make it work.
I had to be better than my mom, I just had to…
"Clara?"
My sister's end of the line was full of static.
"Clara?" I repeated, annoyed.
She was so annoying.
I just knew that somehow, the bad connection from her end of the line, was completely her fault.
"Clara! I'm going to call you back because I can't hear you and you better answer me! This is important!" I ordered.
"Wait- wait!" Suddenly, her voice was as clear as a bell and the static was gone.
She was laughing,
"That was a plastic bag, I was squeezing it and holding it up to the phone you dork!"
See? Her fault.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Where are you?" She retorted, laughing again.
I sighed and leaned against the brick wall outside of the school's cafeteria.
"I'm at a police station."
"W-what?!" Her voice was suddenly serious, quiet.
Good.
"Clara, the police need to know where you've been for the past ten days. Why would they ask me that?"
"I-I don't know, I mean- it-it wasn't anything really bad! We were in another country so I didn't think their laws were so harsh, you know? It's not America..." She blubbered on, sounding more nervous by the second and I almost felt a little bad for the criminal.
The feeling subsided and I moved ahead with my plan,
"Listen, it's okay. Just tell them you were with your friend what's his name? ...Taren? Everyone knows you guys are tight, right? Say you've been with him and then you and him come here on a private jet to mom's place for a party, everyone will see you here, it'll be in the tabloids and they'll be no question about where you've been. We'll just act like you've been here the whole time."
"But Taren's mad at me." She squeaked.
"Anyone mad at you...never." I dryly replied.
"I knooow! Right!" She exclaimed, " Well, I mean it's for a good reason. One time we went to The Edge of The Brick in London and I was supposed to-"
OK. I really didn't care to know.
My sister's weird life consisted of days and nights that I preferred to be in the dark about.
I didn't want to set myself up for the possibility of being accused of withholding incriminating evidence.
So, I interrupted her story,
"Clara, just call Taren-"
"Will you call him and ask him to go? Because I don't-"
Me?! Call Taren Cane?!
I'd only seen him at a party once and I'd nearly passed out.
I know, it was a moment of lameness on my part, but I admit that some stars do make my knees weak.
Especially stars with striking blue eyes, like Taren.
"No." I sighed as I watched Lanie and one of her best friends come out of the cafeteria.
For once, Ran wasn't with her.
It almost seemed like she was walking around with a missing limb, seeing her without him by her side.
"You call him first but I'll talk to him after you do. It's for your own good. He'll help you. Just do it, call him. And give me his number."
"OK..." She tearfully replied, "Hang on a second."
Between my crazy mom and perpetually wasted older sister, I sometimes felt like the level-headed but ragged mother of twin three-year-olds.
She gave me the number and I was quick to end the conversation.
As I stuffed the i-phone into my purse, I glanced at Lanie and her friend.
The other girl, an Italian looking chick with long dark hair smiled as she gave Lanie a light punch on the arm.
Lanie said something that I was too far away to hear and they both broke into laughter.
Turning away from them, I peeked into the window of the cafeteria.
I hated the cafeteria, not because of the excessive noise or the smell of old Spam/Nutria that seemed to permeate the place.
I hated that the room held so much laughter and none of it was meant for me.
"Hey! Drew!" I turned at the sound of my name.
Ran's girlfriend (whose name I still couldn't remember) strolled up to me, her "groupies" by her side.
"Yeah?" I asked, pretending not to care.
I had no reason to be nervous.
I'd once had a cameo on Saturday Night Live.
Standing face to face with a 12th grade cheerleader was really not a big deal at all.
Even so, I freaked out as I realized that now would be a great time for me to finally remember her name...
"So, you're Drew Everett?" She smiled as she gave me an appraising once over.
"That would be me." I replied with a charismatic smile of my own.
"I'm Mia." She stuck out her hand, which I thought was funny because...seriously? Are we at Paramount Studios in a production meeting or are we in high school?
Being that I am a fabulous actor, I covered my sneer and grinned as I shook her hand,
"Great to meet you! What's up?"
"Well, I have a request if you don't mind," She flipped her hair and I watched as a couple of the blonde strands hit one of her friend's right smack in the eyes.
Oblivious to her blinking friend's pain, Mia went on with her request, "I heard you're friends with Taren Cane, right?"
"Yeah." I sighed, trying to look embarrassed.
She paused, narrowed her eyes, and I suddenly got the feeling that I was staring face to face with a fellow actor.
The recently blinded groupie to her left gasped and one other forgettable member of her posse squealed.
"That's so awesome." As opposed to her friends who were overcome with piglet-like squeals, Mia's voice was dry, almost flat.
She watched me closely and I could tell that she had her doubts.
A chill ran down my spine.
She knows. The two words quickly ran through my brain, leaving me cold with fear. How does she know I'm lying?
Stifling a nervous gulp I shrugged and adapted an air of ease,
"I guess it's nice. But he's just a regular guy, you'll see. I mean, you are coming to my party, right? Everyone's invited."
Mia smiled and I almost frowned.
I hated that she was prettier than me.
Clearing my throat, I dismissed any thoughts of frowning and focused on hoping she'd come to my party.
If I thought enough about hoping she'd come to my party then eventually, the only thing she would see on my face was my desperate hope that she'd come to my party....and welcome to a crash course in method acting by yours truly,
Please say you'll come to my party, please say it! Come on, you know you want to come Mia! I thought, as I felt a slight wave of nervous excitement slowly begin to well up in my stomach.
"Sure, thanks for the invite. I'd love to hang out with you and Taren." She breezily replied.
"What time does it start?" Asked one of the groupies.
"Seven. I'm glad you guys are coming." My excellently executed nervous excitement act was beginning to morph back to fear and I recalled my mom's advice: When you need to impress, show up, scream, and then leave.
I didn't say it was good advice, but it's all I could think of, so that's what I did.
"Wh-" Mia opened her mouth to ask me something and I swiftly interrupted her with a rather loud exclamation,
"Wow!! It's sooo hot out here! I'm going inside, I need to make some phone calls anyway. See you guys at the party!!"
Barely glancing back at the cheerleader and her ladies in waiting, I flounced off to the main building with absolutely no idea of where I was going or what I was doing.
I only knew that I needed to get away from those girls before I dug myself any deeper.
Eventually, I found myself in the second most unappealing place in South Louisiana High School.
Second only to the cafeteria in it's ability to repel, is the girl's bathroom on the school's second floor.
I didn't go to the bathroom on the first floor because I figured Mia and her posse might be there.
I figured my best bet at being alone in a place where I could call Taren and beg him to perform a miracle and show up at my party out of the kindness of his heart was to sneak into the second floor's girls bathroom and lock myself in a stall.
Ignoring the horrible smell, I whipped out my i-phone and looked at my contacts.
My most recently added contact was one Taren Cane.
I stared at his number.
Bringing my finger to the phone's screen, I paused waiting for... I don't know, maybe I was waiting for courage.
Why would Taren want to speak to me?
I was the daughter of a renowned loser, sister of a drug-addict and he was Hollywood royalty.
Once he found out who it was that had called him, once he'd heard my name, what could he possibly do other than laugh in my face?
Slowly, I locked my phone and stuffed it back into my purse.
Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I didn't even bother to fluff up my hair as it had suddenly shifted into a wanna-be bed head sort of style since I'd left the Louisiana humidity and run up the stairs to the second floor of the school.
Too drained to care, I forgot that I was standing in a restroom that smelled of sewer stuff and took a deep breath.
Immediately regretting my deep breath, I gagged, choked and hurried to the bathroom door.
Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
Jumping back, my heart skidded into my chest and I half-expected to see Ran's cheerleader girlfriend Mia, with her gang of girl-thugs angry, ready to prove that I was a liar.
But the person staring back at me with a funny smile on her face was the exact opposite of Mia.
"M-Megs?" I stammered, "What are you doing here?"
She chuckled and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind her,
"Getting a pedicure. Duhr, what do you think I'm doing in a bathroom?! Ooof! I've really gotta go, so can you hang on a sec, I need to talk to you!"
She ran to a stall and I mumbled okay as I again, pulled out my phone.
Taren's number stared back at me, taunting me, daring me to call him.
"What's wrong with you Drew?" I softly groaned, "Just call him."
I'd been on countless television shows, movies, and even Broadway...never once had I been frozen by an inward blast of stage fright.
Now, all of a sudden I was too afraid to make a phone call?!
I heard the toilet flush and Megs came out of the stall, headed to the sink.
The phone went discreetly back into my purse and I looked up to find Megs curiously watching me in the mirror as she washed her hands.
"What are you staring at?" I demanded.
Surprised, she arched an eyebrow,
"What's wrong with you?"
I shook my head and wished she'd hurry up so we could leave the stinky bathroom.
Finally, she grabbed a paper towel and I moved out of the way to let her open the door.
No way was I going to touch the germ infested handle with my naked hand.
"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" She asked, opening the door.
I slipped past her but not without muttering,
"Try being born on the wrong side of the bed."
"Is whatever's bothering you really that bad?" She asked once we were back in the realm of semi-breathable air.
I nodded and leaned against the door of an empty classroom,
"Definitely."
"Why? What happened?" Leaning against the wall, a few feet away from where I stood, Megs folded her arms and watched me with more than just piqued curiosity on her face.
I could see that she was sincere.
Sometimes, sincerity gets on my nerves.
Not always, but sometimes it bugs me because it comes from a place of weakness.
There are these people who are so needy for being needed that they take on every burden they can find, trying to fill some gap in their pathetic self-esteem with other people's problems.
I hate that.
But, Megs was the real version of sincerity.
She was my friend and she wanted to listen to my problems, not because listening would somehow help her, only because she was my friend.
This thought nearly put me on the verge of tears.
Sniffing them back, I replied,
"I lied."
She nodded slowly,
"Oh. It must have been a bad one."
"Very."
"Did it involve Taren Cane?"
My head snapped up as I glanced at her, how did she know? Could the lie have really spread so quickly? Did the whole school know?!
"Who told you- d-does everyone know?" I whispered. My voice sounded funny, hoarse.
Her eyes saddened with empathy,
"Yeah."
"Oh no." Involuntarily, my face crumpled and I felt tears leak out of my eyes, "I can't believe I said he was coming. And my sister? I can't depend on my sister. I'm so stupid."
"Drew, it's OK." She soothed, patting my arm, "Hey, maybe you can just make sure everyone has such a great time they don't even care Taren's not there...just make it a really great party a-"
"Make it a really great party?!" I snapped, "How am I supposed to do that?! With what? These swamp rats don't want anything I have! I wear Gucci to school and they treat me like I wear garbage bags on my legs and try to pass them off as jeans! They don't know anything and they don't like me!"
Tears blurred my vision but not so much that I couldn't see the pity in Meg's eyes.
"Drew that's not true-"
"It is and you know it." Sniffing, I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.
"It's just, it's really difficult around here to-you know, to fit in. Believe me, I understand. Most of the kids at this school have known each other forever and when someone new comes along, they barely even give them a chance to try and fit in. It's not you, it's them."
"I know!" I exclaimed, despite my best efforts tears were still flowing out of my eyes and much worse, my nose was running, "But it still hurts."
"Oh...I'll get you some tissue." She quietly said and I saw her run into the bathroom.
Desperately trying to get a hold of myself and praying that no one would happen to walk by, I wiped my eyes and attempted to steady my breathing.
The bathroom door swung open and Megs reappeared holding a wad of paper towels,
"Here you go."
She thrust them my way and I took them with the greed of a fat kid in the "Sample Our Cheese!" section of Whole Foods.
After wiping my eyes and blowing my nose, I held onto the crumpled fragments and took a deep breath,
"So, what do I do? How do I make this party work?"
Megs sighed and again folded her arms as she looked off into the distance,
"Um...it is Louisiana, so as long as there's plenty of food I think you're safe."
Her words gave me hope but her face told the truth,
"No, these people are already overfed, they need something else to hook 'em. They need celebrities. Real ones, not just me."
As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't even a real D-lister.
Despite my impressive resume, for some reason the older I got the more swiftly I fell in rank.
"What about your mom?" Megs brightened, "Everyone knows her. I think she'd do the trick."
"My mother is currently in rehab." I blurted.
"Oh. Wow Drew, that's-um, that must be hard for you... is it?" She timidly asked.
I shrugged,
"I don't know. She just left this morning and I don't know, I guess the house will be quieter without her drunk and throwing things and yelling and you know...all that fun stuff."
"Are you at home by yourself?" Meg quietly asked.
Once again, I felt the urge to cry.
Refusing to give in to my tears, I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
"Why don't you come stay with me and my mom?" She offered, "My mom won't care."
I nodded and a rebel tear slid down my cheek.
"So, that's a yeah?" She asked.
All I could do was, once again, nod mutely.
"And, don't worry. Things will work out. The party, your mom. Everything's going to be OK." She promised.
Looking up, I managed to squeak,
"Megs, you're like an onion."
Pausing, she gave me a funny look,
"Did you say onion?"
Nodding, I pointed at my tears and the puzzled look on her face turned into a smile.
She laughed and for the first time all day, I felt as though I'd accomplished something.
Being Me
My heart was racing.
Closing my eyes, I placed my left hand over the thumping of my heartbeat, willing myself to relax.
But my heart, as rebellious as I typically am, wouldn’t hear of it.
Refusing to cooperate, it thumped away, perfectly matching the timing of the loud drumbeat that set the sexy mood for the melody behind Rhianna's voice.
The music blared through my speakers and I briefly wondered why the neighbors hadn’t called to complain.
“Hey!! We found this, can we open it?” One of Mia’s friends, a girl who’d I’d recently come to know as Kyle was holding a sleek bottle of Brunello.
“No!” I waved my hands, gesturing wildly just in case she couldn’t hear me above the noise of the music, “No drinking! I’m serious, if you drink you’re out of here.”
I know…I know.
I’d given up on any hopes of popularity.
Now, I just wanted at least some of the kids to tolerate me.
So far, I hadn’t done terribly.
The unpopular kids who showed up were obviously in awe of everything, the house, the giant portraits of my mother, the stereo system…every little thing was something for them to gawk at.
It made me feel good, as if I was right back where I belonged.
But of course, Mia, Elizabeth, and the other popular kids eyed my mother’s house as if it were a pig sty and me as if I wore an outfit made of pig slop.
Which, by the way, I definitely was not wearing, when I say that everything on my body was Versace, I am not exaggerating.
It took me at least forty-five minutes into the party to finally realize that I didn’t care what they thought.
As long as some of the people who I’d crammed into my mother’s house were satisfied with my hard work, then I was satisfied.
For good measure, I walked up to Kyle, ripped the bottle out of her hands and smiled quite sweetly as I inquired,
“Would you mind NOT digging through my mother’s things?”
She squashed her face into some sort of three year old pout and I was instantly reminded of my mother.
Rolling my eyes, I marched through the large parlor that I’d turned into a dance floor, weaving in and out of dancing bodies, and went straight into the kitchen.
There, I found Mia cozied up next to some tall guy I half-recognized from the Football team.
Hmm…I thought to myself…so I guess the whole Ran, Lanie, Mia thing is more than a love triangle, it’s a square. How nice for them.
I set the bottle on the counter, loudly.
Mia jumped, moving away from the giant.
“Oh! I didn’t see you!” She flipped her hair, which is, apparently, the first step in getting one’s bearings when one is a cheerleader.
“Yeah, I gathered that.” I looked at the tall guy, who smiled dumbly.
Definitely a jock I mused.
“Is Ran coming?” I brazenly asked, continuing to stare at the taller ( and cuter )version of Homer Simpson.
Mia snorted,
“Is Taren Cane coming?”
I opened my mouth, prepared to completely lose it and demand she leave my house when, somehow, the impossible happened.
A girl screamed.
Two girls screamed.
The thumping of Rhianna's song stopped.
Many girls screamed.
My heart took off like a racehorse as I imagined that a fight had broken out amongst the swamp people.
I cursed myself for thinking they were mature enough to be brought into my mother’s home… then again, my mother wasn’t mature enough to be brought into her own home, that's why she was currently in Rehab...
As my legs slowly carried me back to the large parlor, my terror drifted away and was replaced with disbelief.
There, in the middle of the room, surrounded by an embarrassing amount of hormonal, shrieking teenage girls was Taren Cane, hand in hand with none other than my sister.
I gulped, shut my eyes and thought I might pass out.
Being Popular
Slamming my car door, I checked the time on my phone and saw that I’d received a text from Taren.
Grinning, I leisurely opened his text, leaned against my car and listened to the pleasant noise of the tardy bell ringing in the distance.
When one receives a text from Taren Cane, one does not worry about trite such as school.
His exact words were:
*Had a great time yesterday, your sister says hi & sorry we had to leave so soon. Later*
Ignoring the, rather dismissive, tone of his text I continued smiling and quickly replied,
*Sure, glad u both came, later *
With that, I flipped my hair (because you never know, one day I might play a cheerleader) and bounced off to class.
Normally, I open the doors to South Louisiana High with dread.
It slinks into the pit of my stomach and I’m filled with the desire to run away, and I mean run all the way away back to my mother’s house, crawl under my bed and lie in the fetal position, where I’d like to sob myself to sleep.
I’m not exaggerating.
That’s usually how bad it is.
But, not this time.
For the first time in my life, John Williams and the Boston pops filled my head with a triumphant score as I opened the doors to South Louisiana High School.
Grinning broadly, my heart filled to the brim with newfound hope, I entered my realm and I almost reached up to make sure the invisible tiara I could’ve sworn I was wearing, hadn’t fallen off.
And again…I’m not exaggerating.
Other kids who were late like me, hurried off to class, but nearly each and every one of them slowed a bit as I passed.
Some smiled, hoping to catch my eye.
Others, too nervous to smile, simply gave me a second glance and continued their trek to class.
I breathed in a sigh of relief.
Life had returned to it’s normal order.
I was popular.
My relief was rather smug. And understandably so...being popular tends to put me on some kind of a euphoric high.
At lunch, I broke away from Elizabeth’s table to take a call from my mother.
Apparently, it was part of her “therapy” to call me at least once a day.
I didn’t want to later be accused of not being there for her during rehab, so I took the call.
As I was standing outside, you’ll never guess what humbled soul somehow found herself approaching me with a sing songy voice,
“Drewwww! Oh Drewww!”
“Yeah, later Mom.” I ended the call and turned to see Mia Reeves smiling at me, her disdain hidden behind, a rather good imitation of friendliness.
“Mia, hey chica!” I called as I graced her with a pageant winning smile of my own.
“That party was amazing. You’re amazing! I still can’t believe we met Taren Cane!” She grinned broadly and upon closer inspection, I caught that she was blushing.
Quiet, I took a closer look, making sure that I wasn’t mistaking a tan or too much rouge for actual blushing.
Because…if she was blushing that meant she was actually…she was …sincere.
I must have been staring at her with a look of intense shock because she paused and her blush grew deeper,
“Hey, um, I know it’s not like we’re friends or whatever, I mean…” She cleared her throat and made an awkward waving gesture with her left hand. I watched the hand move to and fro, and then I realized that I should probably close my mouth as a fly or mosquito may decide to take a tour. So, closing my mouth, I waited for her to continue, “I’m aware of my behavior. I wasn’t nice to you when you got here, like…I have a hard time trusting people because lately-“
Her speech came to an abrupt halt and for a moment she looked down.
As Mia took a deep breath, it dawned on me that she was trying not to cry.
Frantic, I wondered what the appropriate response was…and realized that I had no idea.
Again, clearing her throat, and wiping her eyes, she laughed, as she said, in a rather shaky voice,
“Excuse me, sorry about that!”
Biting my lip thoughtfully, I thought about what Megs would do if I was Mia and she were me.
Looking Mia right in the eyes, I smiled comfortably, leaned against the brick wall and gave her my full attention,
“It’s OK, no big deal. You should’ve seen me bawling my eyes out last week. You can say anything you want or cry…if it makes you feel better.”
She grinned and a few tears escaped her eyes,
“That’s really sweet of you Drew, I was so mean to you. Sorry. I’ve had a hard time trusting people this year because of stuff with my-my family a-and even Ran and it’s just…I guess I’m trying to apologize and I want you to know I’m not usually like this.”
Slowly nodding, I felt the invisible tiara slip off and fall onto my shoulders.
Wow.
“Believe me, I understand.” I whispered.
“Really?” She sniffed, laughing again.
I nodded and then, for the first time in a very long time, I said exactly what I was thinking,
“Distrust is pretty much my middle name. I don’t even trust my own mother.”
Glancing towards the cell phone that I’d put in my purse, I fleetingly wondered if I’d ever be able to trust anyone, including myself or if I’d end up as tattered and desperate as my mom.
“I think we need to hang out.” Mia quietly announced as she folded her arms and smiled.
I nodded,
“Yeah, it’d probably be good for us. We could have, like, group therapy sessions.”
She giggled and then wrinkled her nose as she sniffed a little too loudly.
Gross.
“Or, we could just gossip about all the people we hate and distrust.”
Smiling, I agreed that this sounded like a great plan,
“Let’s do that.” And then I gave her a quick look of suspicion, “Hey, are you sure you don’t want to hang out with me just so I can introduce you to famous people?”
She shrugged,
“Partly, but not really. I mean, if that’s all I cared about, I’d just ask Megs, her Dad can hook any of us up with that anytime he wants.”
The honesty in her reply was refreshing, suddenly a nearby noise caught my attention and we both turned to see a kid who’d obviously tripped over a crack in the cement laying sprawled out on the ground with his lunchtray and all of it’s contents spilled over into the grass and concrete around him.
I pointed and laughed,
“Look!”
Mia chuckled,
“That’s Howard, he falls, like, everyday at least twice. You’ll get used to it.”
As he stood up, he again stumbled and some girl who was helping him pick up his tray of food nearly tripped over his feet as he regained his balance.
“That…is just pathetic.” I shook my head.
“I know.” She laughed.
Strangely comfortable, I shaded my eyes from the glaring afternoon sun and went on,
“But anyway, about Megs’ Dad, I’m sure he’s great, but I have better contacts and I don’t have a criminal record…well, unless you count that time when my mom was pregnant with me and was arrested for shopl-”
“A criminal record?! Dude does not have a criminal record!” Mia whispered with alarm.
I bit my lip and realized my error.
Oops.
“He might.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal, “Everyone who’s anyone does.”
“No way.” Mia muttered.
An annoying twinge of guilt invaded my happiness.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone, Megs would kill me.”
“Of course.” Mia agreed, but as she turned to watch Hapless Howard readjust his thick and stylish (if you’re about a billion years old and have no taste in eye wear) eyeglasses, I could tell that she was only half-listening and half-agreeing.
Just as I was prepared to reinforce upon Mia the fact that what I’d told her was sensitive and confidential, Elizabeth’s loud voice was in my ear,
“Drew!! There you are! I was looking everywhere for you! Guess who said he wants to ask you to the prom…”
And that was the end of that.
Or so I thought.
Being Normal
Everything was great.
I had friends.
Real friends.
The kind who didn’t gossip about me behind my back.
Instead, they were kind enough to tell me exactly what they thought of my reoccurring moodiness and overly sarcastic ways, directly to my face.
Taking a cue from them, I did the same.
Of course we still gossiped about other people.
We went to the mall and berated every bleached blonde who walked by wearing an uber-mini over her uber-fat legs.
We went to movies and threw popcorn at the backs of people’s heads.
And we were asked, as a big happy group, to leave the movies.
We found a different theater and resumed our antics.
We hung out in coffee shops talking about everything and nothing; my mom’s craziness, the one time my mom and Brittney Spears started hanging out, the time my sister ran away from home, Meg’s parents’ divorce despite the fact that they were obviously still in love, we even discussed Lanie’s strange friendship with Mia’s boyfriend.
For the first time ever, I had friends.
And then I ruined it.
I still remember the exact moment that it all came crashing down.
I was driving mom back home from the airport.
She had her seat back and her eyes closed.
“Um…” I was almost afraid to speak. She’d been so quiet, so oddly reserved since I’d picked her up, “Um, are you alright Mom?”
“Yeah honey.” She briefly replied, “I’m just drained. Rehab is …it’s a little rough.”
I wondered if that was true.
My mom called wiping the crumbs off of the counter after she made a sandwich “rough”.
“Can we have some music dear?” She quietly asked.
“Sure.” I agreed, eager to appease her.
I turned on the radio and Meg’s father became the third passenger in our car.
“And there you have it! Those were the top ten songs of the day! Now, lets see which our callers was caller 10, who’s going to win today’s $1000!!! Say hello Renee!”
I listened eagerly, hoping to hear a thick Cajun accent.
I loved it when a local won.
“Renee? Are you there?” He asked.
There was static in the background as a woman responded,
“Is this Manny The Man?”
“Yes!!! And Renee, do you know what you just won?”
“An interview with an alcoholic who should be behind bars?! Is that what I won? You should go back to jail, you belong BEHIND BARS!” She screamed into the phone and then…she hung up.
My insides froze as if they’d just been subjected to a brain freeze.
Megs’ Dad apparently froze too.
It took a moment for him to stammer,
“L-et’s um, lets- we’re going to a commercial break. Thanks for tuning in.”
“Was that a joke or something? What was that about?” My mom mumbled.
“I think- I think…I…” I shook my head, unable to face the truth, “I don’t know Mom.”
But that Monday, everyone at school knew.
In fact, most of them had known for a while.
I found out from Mia’s best friend Kyle that Mia had let the secret slip to one of her dumb groupie friends, who had accidentally tweeted it!
My first question to Kyle was: Who is this girl and how on earth did she ACCIDENTALLY tweet something?
I’ve accidentally spilled a bottled water.
I’ve accidentally stubbed my toe on the bottom step at my mom’s house.
But I’ve never accidentally tweeted anything!
It turns out that from then on the gossip spread like wildfire.
Someone on Twitter found a five year old news article about Meg’s dad getting behind the wheel after he’d had too much to drink and hitting someone.
The man he hit wasn’t killed, but the accident had left him paralyzed.
Putting two and two together, it became obvious why Meg’s parents had gotten a divorce.
Her Dad never quite forgave himself and it affected his entire life, his marriage, his family.
And here I was…bringing every bit of the ordeal back up, using it to slap in his family’s face.
I felt horrible.
But, even worse, I knew that my pain was nothing compared to the way I'd made Megs feel...and I could only imagine how angry she was with me.
The lunch bell rang and I gripped the pencil that was in my hand.
Ms. Karin had assigned us to write a monologue from the perspective of our future selves, who we would be ten years from now.
So, during the last thirty minutes of class, the only sounds in the room were pens and pencils scraping against paper.
Everyone had been writing, except for me.
But now that the lunch bell had gone off, kids scurried out of their seats, saying goodbye to Ms. Karin as they headed off to lunch.
I gulped, staring down at the blank sheet of paper in front of me.
It wasn't that I wanted to stay and write.
No.
My heart was pounding in my chest because lunch meant facing Megs, it meant facing what I'd done, how I'd betrayed her confidence.
"Drew? Everything alright?" Ms. Karin called.
I looked up and though my eyes were directed at her, I honestly couldn't see a thing.
"Yeah." A voice that didn't sound like my own mumbled.
"Are you sure? You don't look like everything's alright." I heard her footsteps move closer to where I sat.
I heard her sit down in a nearby desk and then I heard her ask me,
"What's wrong?"
I shook my head.
I didn't know where to start...or if I even wanted to start...Ms. Karin would probably hate me too if she knew how I'd betrayed my first real friend.
My first real friend.
Those four words sank into my heart and I suddenly felt weak.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ms. Karin's voice was full of kindness.
Like Brenan's had been.
Now, his voice was kind to my mother and not to me because I rarely saw him.
I hardly ever even saw my mother.
She'd fallen head over heels in love with her new ultra-healthy lifestyle (and with Brenan) and ever since she'd returned from Rehab, they'd been busy filming some Healthy Lifestyle DVD series.
My thoughts shifted through the odds and ends that made up my life...my mother, my sister, Megs, how I hadn't kept her Dad's secret.
The thoughts crashed into each other as they swirled, caught in the tornado that was in my head.
As I closed my eyes and felt my heavy breaths intensify, each passing breath became increasingly difficult to get through, and I thought I might explode.
"Drew, open your eyes." Ms. Karin gently commanded.
I opened my eyes and looked right at her.
She seemed very calm.
I wasn't calm.
"Take a deep breath."
Obediently, I took a deep breath and released it slowly.
I'd been through this with a therapist once, and a couple of times with Brenan.
The deep breaths helped and after a few quiet minutes of breathing, I was finally able to sort through my thoughts.
"Thank you." I mumbled, clearing my throat.
"I find that it helps me, breathing." She smiled, "Sometimes the simplest things that we take for granted are the most effective. Sometimes we just have to remember to keep breathing."
I nodded,
"Easier said than done."
"Why do you say that?" She asked, easing back comfortably into the, rather uncomfortable, desk.
I imagined the look on Megs face when she'd first heard what people were saying about her father,
"I make so many mistakes and spend so much time running around trying to clean them up- you know, I just forget to breathe."
Ms. Karin looked at me carefully,
"Everyone makes mistakes-"
"Yeah but," I shook my head, "I bet they don't make them like I do."
"You're right," She quietly went on, "Everyone makes their own kinds of mistake but Drew, what we all have in common is that when we do something wrong we feel like the whole world is collapsing around us as if we're standing in the middle of an earthquake. Have you ever felt that way?"
"Duh." I smiled weakly.
She grinned,
"Trust me, I've been stuck in a few hundred earthquakes of my own and all I wanted to do was run away. But Drew, listen to me. You don't want to run away from your mistakes. The best thing to do is to apologize and face them. Only after you face them can you realize that you weren't in a destructive earthquake at all, you were in the middle of growth."
I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.
But she didn't, she just smiled at me and leaned back in her uncomfortable desk.
"So, every time I screw up someone's life, I'm in the middle of growth?" I asked.
"If you learn from your mistake, yes. That's the key, facing it and learning from it and then never repeating it. "
I glanced down at my nails.
I'd had them painted a soft pink, not at a regular spa, but at Megs house. She'd insisted on painting each other's nails.
It was stupid but I shrugged and said sure.
She'd done a good job.
The paint was beginning to chip and normally I would've immediately booked an emergency manicure...but after what had happened, after what I'd done...I didn't want to remove the paint just yet.
Clearing my throat, I tore my eyes away from the nails that my best friend had painted and I looked at Ms. Karin,
"Thanks Oprah."
With a good-natured chuckle, she pat my arm and then stood,
"Anytime, and if you ever need to talk, I'm here. You know, I'm just one of many people who care about you Drew."
Nodding, I picked up my purse and backpack before slipping out of her classroom.
As I slowly walked down the hallway, towards the cafeteria, her words reverberated in my head,
"That's they key, facing it, learning from it, and then never repeating it...I'm just one of many people who care about you."
As much as I wasn't looking forward to facing my best friend with the most sincere apology I'd ever uttered, I suddenly didn't feel so bad.
For once, I felt like I wasn't completely alone...I finally felt normal.
"Drew?"
I halted, looked up, and faced the owner of the familiar voice.
Megs, on the other end of the hall, was leaning against the stairwell, her shoulders sagged and her hands were in her pockets.
Taking a deep breath, I quietly remembered Ms. Karin's advice...and I kept breathing.
The End
A note from Paula: I'd love to hear your thoughts on "Drew In High School"! Click here to send me a message! Thanks!
There’s always this gorgeous blonde (usually a Mandi or a Tiffani) who runs the school. She’s head cheerleader, captain of the dance team, smart, rich, and mean. Her nemesis, a short and spunky brunette (think Tina Fey as a teenager) reigns as queen of the nerds and will one day grow up to be much cooler than the now-popular Mandi (whose "i" is perpetually dotted with a heart...even when she's 40, and yes, that's exactly what makes Mandi's legacy so sad).
Well, that’s what happens on television.
In real life, I’m the one who is rich, cute (not vain, just honest. I mean, come on… I have a nice head of hair, perfectly straight teeth, flawless skin, and check bones that any supermodel would kill for), and I may not be a member of some cheesy high school dance team but I’ve been known to strut my stuff on Broadway a time or two : )
‘Yet’, I thought as I stared into the beige, peeling paint of South Louisiana High’s walls, ‘When I'm here, I'm a nobody.’
“Hey Lanie, wait up!” A voice that I recognized called from a few feet behind me.
Turning to the owner of the voice, Randall Hawke, I watched him, grinning, sprint towards the girl he spent most of his time with, Lanie Russell.
As I watched them awkwardly pretend that they didn't have feelings for each other, I felt my lips curl into a snarl.
"So disgusting." I mumbled.
Lanie seems like a nice girl, but let's be honest for a minute.
The chica in question is, without a doubt, on the shorter side of short, and the not-so-proud owner of a perpetual look that says, "Whoa! I almost fell flat on my face a second ago!!", and while I know that people are hot for Zooey Deschanael right now, I mean.... seriously?! How long can the “look at me, I’m so cute and nerdy” trend last?
In the end, what we all want is beauty and strength.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.
We're programmed to be attracted to things and people who look a certain way.
That explains why Lanie has a "secret" crush on her best friend Ran (everyone calls Randall, "Ran" Oh, what's that? You're wondering why they don't just call him Randy? Well, because Louisiana apparently hasn't quite grasped a little knack we like to call "speaking the English language"! Instead of using past tense verbs as a part of everyday speech, they use past tense verbs as nicknames for hot guys. So there you have it, welcome to Louisiana), who happens to be going out with some cheerleader at our school. Lanie is attracted to his hotness and he, in turn, is attracted to....to.... (is it just me or is that the sound of a cricket chirping?)
You see, this is where my problem surfaces.
This is precisely what I find so disgusting about their whole "secret crush" thing: I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE SEE'S IN HER!!
Yeah she's probably sweet in that cutesy way most clumsy nerd-girls are sweet, but who cares?! She's so average!
That's the thing about "real life" according to South Louisiana's rules, it's average, boring, and it makes no sense!
‘If I was Lanie,’ I mused as I gave South Louisiana's Queen of Average, a quick once-over, ‘I’d introduce my hair to a little something called a flat-iron.’
Each and every one of the bunchy curls sitting on top of her head were close to the size of a small child …no, correction: each one of her curls was the size of an adult male rhino.
"What are we- living in the 80's? Get a flat iron." Shaking my head, I again mumbled my sentiments, not even caring who heard me.
Ran grinned at her and I couldn’t watch.
Not only did she have no right to be the “it girl” of South Louisiana High but her unofficial boy-toy was the hottest guy in school and it literally hurt to watch him act all googly eyed over her.
Now, don’t get me wrong, as cute as Ran is, I'm not into him so the situation didn’t hurt my heart, it hurt my head.
Like I said earlier, the two of them just didn't compute.
But then, nothing in Louisiana seems to compute...
“Hey Lanie, Ran…” Some kid called to the happy couple and, realizing that I was beginning to stare, I turned away.
For most of my life, I've been the one fending off stares, pretending not to notice the brazen strangers who snap pictures in my face, the shy ones who whisper timid requests for my autograph, and the obnoxious ones who loudly "treat me" to their opinion of my mother's latest headline...
Used to be, I thought I'd hated all of that.
But now that I'm in a place where no one seems to even notice I'm alive, it’s a little unsettling to switch roles and become the stranger who stares.
Acting as though I’d stopped not to stare at Lanie and Ran, but to adjust the straps on my backpack, I loosened the straps and practiced my theatrical skills by mumbling,
“Stupid backpack!” under my breath, before heading off towards my next class.
I wasn’t nominated for a Kids Choice award in 2007 for no reason.
I’m a natural born actor.
The gene runs in my family.
Mom says that the gift we have is a blessing and a curse.
It’s a blessing in that it opens you up to exciting experiences that anyone with an ounce of cowardice would never in a million years submit to.
But having theatrics in your blood is also a woeful curse because that screaming thing inside of you, the thing that crouches down, hidden behind your heart, not only pushes you far beyond the bounds of empathy and into the land of pretend, but it also bullies you into doing crazy things only for the reward of .... attention.
Walking along through the tattered halls of the school that I so hated, I wondered what it was like to be Lanie Russell.
What did she have that people seemed to like so much? (well, other than a cute and slightly mysterious boy-toy)
Anytime I happened to see Lanie walking through the halls, she'd have this faraway look in her eyes.
The look was somewhere in between a smile at a private joke and the expression a person has when they’ve just been awoken, by the aroma of homemade waffles, from a really nice dream.
Relaxing my forehead, like mom always tells me to do (so as to avoid premature wrinkles because according to her, “there are some things that even Botox can’t fix, look at Joan Rivers") I thought back to what I’d dreamed about last night.
I couldn’t help but frown again as I remembered that my dream involved Billy Crystal chasing me with a giant Academy Award which, by the end of my dream, turned out to be a gun.
No, that probably wasn’t the sort of thing Lanie would dream about.
Taking a deep breath, I imagined what Lanie would dream about…and that’s when it hit me.
Ran.
He was what made her so happy.
Of course he was the subject of her dreams!
Why hadn't I realized that her boy-toy was the secret behind the weird half-smile she wore with the gusto of a Jonas brother wearing his favorite neck-scarf ? And not only that, why hadn't I realized that Ran was the secret to her overnight popularity?
Although Ran and Lanie were seniors and I was only a freshman who hadn’t the privilege (that was sarcastic) of witnessing their budding yet forbidden romance (gag!) during previous years, I realized that it was only when Lanie began getting daggers from Ran's girlfriend that she’d suddenly become the Belle of South Louisiana High.
The school had divided itself into Team Lanie and Team Cheerleader Whose Name I Keep Forgetting.
Of course, people feel better about themselves when they root for the underdog- and so there you have it, Lanie became an overnight success.
I bit my bottom lip thoughtfully, and then stopped because Mom used to hate it when I did that as a little kid.
Well…if a nerd could get herself a cute boy and become popular in less than ten nanoseconds then surely, I (the girl who nearly won a Kid’s Choice Award) could score a seat on the golden throne they call “Popular”.
“Drew?”
At the sound of my name, I literally jumped.
“Whoa! Sorry.” A girl I know named Megan (but everyone calls her Megs. That's right not "Meg"...because that would be too normal and easy to say. They have to say "Megs" with an over-pronounced "S". Once again, thank you Louisiana ) smiled apologetically, “What’s going on? You look like-I don’t know…you look happy. What’s wrong?”
I grinned.
Told you I’m a good actor.
“Nothing’s wrong, I was just doing a little improv. So, are you coming this weekend?” A few days ago I’d sent out invitations to a party at my mom's place and out of the eighty that I’d sent, exactly seven people responded.
Seven.
I live in a house that’s probably bigger than any of the losers in my school would even dream about…yet, they stand up an invitation to come over.
I know I’m just a freshman and I’m relatively new in town, but what freshman whose new in town has also been on the cover of “Fifteen Rocks!” magazine?
“Um…” Megs hesitated and gave me another apologetic look.
“Oh, come on! Seriously?! You too? I thought I could at least count on you to come!” As I made a face at her I felt kind of bad because she looked sincerely sad.
“It’s just that when I said something about it to my mom, she told me that my Dad really wants to hang out with me this weekend. I hardly ever see him since he moved and …you know.” She shrugged.
Actually, I didn’t know.
My parents were split like Megs, but the difference between her parents and mine was that Megs crazy father (and yes, he is literally crazy, he’s a radio Disc Jockey, need I say more?) actually cared about her.
A light bulb went off near my cerebellum as I recalled that her half-insane dad had the perfect job to suit his mental state…
“If you tell your Dad that your reason for not going this weekend is because I invited you over, then I’m sure he’d understand. I could even do an interview with him on his show to make it up to him.” Mirroring the kind expression on her face, I did all but bat my eyelashes.
Thinking this over, she gave me a quick look and I could tell that she was calculating more than just my suggestion.
A good actor’s innate sense lets her know when she’s being sized up.
“Um…yeah. He probably would but…” She paused and fidgeted with the strap on her backpack, “I could just tell him I don’t feel like going this weekend because I’m hanging out with my friend. I have a feeling he’d understand that too.”
The word “friend” rang in my ears, standing out from the rest of her sentence the same way a potential star’s head shot stands out against the backdrop of a mountainous pile of overweight brunettes whose toothy grins will send them straight to the "Rejected" pile.
“Oh.” I didn’t quite know how to react, “Really?”
“Yeah!” Her face broke into a grin, “Look, I'll come to the party, I'm sure my Dad will understand. He's crazy on the radio, but in real life he’s a pretty reasonable guy.”
Glad to be considered a friend but embarrassed by my needy reaction, I stifled the feeling with a laugh,
“Right? Like the time he prank called the Lindsey Lohan and pretended to be the President. That wasn’t crazy? Who does that?”
Megs laughed, "To be honest, I think it was kind of ingenious.”
“No it’s kind of a cry for help. Mental help.”
Laughing again, she shook her head,
“But, it got Lindsey’s attention didn’t it?”
“Yeah! If the President of the United States of America called my cell to fuss at me about getting my act together, it would get more than just my attention, it would get me a heart attack.”
The bell rang.
“Oops.” We both said in unison.
“Oh well.” I shrugged.
But, Megs grimaced,
“Great! If I’m late one more time I have to go to TOR.”
“It’s so dumb that they have a Time out Room in high school. What’s up with that? I thought time out was a discipline-technique they used in Pre-K!”
“Same principal as jail. Jail is the same thing as Time Out, but it's for adults.” Beginning to pick up the pace, she navigated her way through the halls of South Louisiana High and I followed, still a bit uncertain as to where everything was.
I’d been in the school for about three months but it was a big place and I only knew one route to get to each of my classes.
“Except it's the more violent, scarier version of Time Out.” I pointed out.
“Exactly.” We approached the classroom and she paused right in front of the door, causing me to nearly run right into the back of her head.
Fortunately, I have amazing reflexes.
“You know my dad was in jail for a while, I mean it was a while ago but...anyway, that’s why he called Lindsey. He knows what it's like and I think he was just trying to help.” She spoke quietly, apparently afraid that her voice would somehow carry through the door and into the classroom.
I didn’t even pretend to agree,
“No, I think he did it for the joke.”
She gave me a funny look and I shrugged,
“It’s his job, to make people laugh. That’s what he does, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
After thoughtfully glancing at me, she returned my shrug and nodded,
“OK.”
With that, she opened the door and we were on our way to another fun-filled English class hosted by Mrs. Lenora, the teacher who is probably old enough to be able to tell us with certainty if George Washington did, in fact, wear wooden dentures (which she, I’m pretty sure, does wear).
“Girls, come in and take your seats. I’ll let you slip by without being tardy this time. But next time I might not be so nice.” Said Mrs. Lenora’s dentures, in between bits of noise that sounded like a voice as opposed to the sound of something clicking around the insides of her mouth.
"Relieved" was the one word I'd use to describe Meg’s face.
“Thank you!” She practically sang.
Briefly mirroring her joy, I enthusiastically added my own,
“Yeah thanks so much! We won’t be late again!”and Mrs. Lenora, a fan of theater and film, smiled as she basked in the warm glow of my approval.
To be honest, I had in good with the teachers, it was just the students who weren’t taking to me so well.
Sometimes I have to agree with my mother, teenagers are crazy.
Theater
“You’re my problem! If it wasn’t for you chugging tequilas like Gatorade, popping pills to help you sleep or get you through another failed audition, and coming out of your drunken stupors only long enough to push me into filling in the holes in your shredded life then maybe I wouldn’t be such a narcissistic screw up who only has one friend!”
In my head, I was shouting but according to my ears I was speaking pretty normally.
The victim of my speech, eyeless and incompetent, simply stared back at me with an enviable air of nonchalance.
In between the tears that stuck to my eyelashes, he was nothing more than a blurry fuzz of black and white.
“Keep going.” Brenan’s voice, a whisper coming from somewhere to my right, cut into my moment and I felt the pump that fueled my tears turn off.
With a sigh, shaky but still a little sad, I tried to hang onto the last moments of truth before they slipped away.
“I guess you expect me to thank you for making my life so…full. But I won’t thank you now, not because I’m angry, even though I am, but because I know you don’t really want to hear me say thank you until everyone else can hear it. You want me to wait until some big moment when I’m on stage clutching an award in my shaky hand, trembling with nerves, and then in front of everyone you’ll want me to mention your name while you pretend to cry and try to look pretty for the camera that will no doubt be pointed in your direction. So, I’ll save my thank you for then, since that’s what you want.”
One last deep breath, I closed my eyes, and a moment later I heard Brenan quietly say,
“And…scene.”
When I opened my eyes, I took in the sight of my helpless victim.
Wilson was the most beat up soccer ball who had ever been used by an acting coach.
Brenan knew that I was going to audition for a mostly CGI film in the fall and he’d suggested that I practice with a soccer ball “friend” of his that he affectionately called Wilson (if you’re thinking Castaway, the answer is "yes, so was Brenan").
“Drew, that was great.” Turning to face the ruddy acting coach who I adored for not reacting when my mom embarrassed herself by practically throwing herself at him on a weekly basis, I grinned.
“Really? I kind of thought so, but I almost lost it there at the end.” I hesitated and then shrugged as I figured he was man enough to take a bit of criticism, “I wish you hadn’t interrupted me, it threw me off.”
“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow, “Sorry about that babe.”
“It’s OK.” I threw him an evil glance, “But do it again and I’m telling my mother you asked about her.”
“It won’t happen again.” He replied a little too quickly.
We both laughed and I remembered why I liked Brenan.
He didn’t pretend about anything, he knew that I hated my mom because she was an alcoholic mess, so he brought it up every now and then, not to be gossipy, only because he could see that it was on my mind a lot.
I’ve seen a lot of therapists in my life, but I’ve never felt as comfortable with any of them as I felt with Brenan (even though he’s just an acting coach).
He picked up the soccer ball and kicked it towards me, knowing that I'd catch it with my feet.
Of course, I caught it.
“Poor Wilson, he's so abused.” I gave the soccer ball a kiss before kicking it right back to him.
“Yeah he is…” Brenan’s voice trailed off and I could see that he wanted to say something else.
For once, he was hesitating.
Brenan wasn't one to hesitate.
His candor was why I was one of his very few students, most actors don’t enjoy paying a coach who uses their own mouth as a giant foot with which to stomp the ego out of his young pupils.
He wasn’t horrible…just honest. That’s why I liked him.
“What?” I watched him tuck the ball under his arm and sort of tilt his head to the side as he decided whether or not he wanted to talk about whatever it was that currently occupied the space in his head.
“Your mom.” He paused again.
“Yeah? Do you want me to tell her you asked about her because-” I started.
“No, not exactly.” He interrupted and smiled briefly, “Why don’t you quit abusing Wilson and try talking to your Mom about some of this? I bet she’d listen.”
Oh.
I shrugged, wondering why he’d been so worried about asking me a simple question like that,
“Yeah, if she’s drunk enough maybe I will.”
“She’s not always drinking.”
“That’s true. Sometimes she’s high.” I agreed.
“Drew, that’s not what I mean. Just yesterday, your mom had an appointment with her agent, right? How much you want to bet she wasn’t on anything when she met up with him?” Brennan offered, looking at me with that same hesitant expression, “She’s not so bad, she’s just made a few mistakes and I think if you confronted her about them, she’d be real with you. I think that would be a - a healthy conversation for both of you.”
I watched him gulp and something suddenly sent chills up the back of my arms.
“Brenan.” I watched him gently bite down on his bottom lip, a nervous habit that quite a few people have.
It’s a habit that I tend to imitate when I’m pretending to be nervous.
“How did you know my mom had a meeting with her agent yesterday?” I finally asked.
But from the overly nonchalant expression on his face, I already had my answer.
He may have been a good actor, but so was I and a faker knows a faker.
He dropped the ball on the floor and made himself look me square in the eyes as he replied,
“I talked to her yesterday.”
“Why?” I softly demanded, “Why were you talking to my mom?”
“Because she’s worried about you.” He moved to lean back on the edge of his desk and tried to look relaxed.
Actually, he looked very relaxed…relaxed enough to be a guy who’d recently had his ego stroked by a drunken cougar.
“That didn’t answer my question, why did she talk to you when she was worried about me. You’re not friends.” I felt my lips twitch.
I almost wished they were friends, instead of what my mom was obviously trying to turn him into.
Gulping again, Brenan dropped the facade and looked at me with sincerity, his voice was soft as he spoke,
“Drew babe-“
“Its not 1950 and I’m not a Disney pig, don’t call me babe.”
He blinked as if blinking would help him clear his thoughts- which, mind you, must have been wildly insane for them to have led him into the drunken arms of my mother. Of all the women this guy could have gotten to know- he’d chosen my mom?! What was wrong with him?!
“Drew- I know this is kind of a shock. It was to me too. Your mom and I haven’t wanted to say anything because we didn’t want to upset you but the truth is that we are friends.”
He paused.
I felt like the roof was going to crash down on top of me.
Or maybe the sun would suddenly go black and a freak tornado would rip through the entire state of Louisiana as volcanoes erupted one after another in some kind of world wide catastrophe.
With this sort of news, surely the world was ending.
My world was ending.
“You’re friends?” Was the only squeaky sound my voice managed to eek out.
He nodded,
“I care a lot about your mom and…about you. So, I think you should talk to her.”
We stared at each other.
There were so many options for a good reaction just waiting at my fingertips.
I could angrily storm out, slamming the door behind me and alarming everyone in his office building.
I could yell at him, scream at the top of my lungs that he was a freak for dating someone nearly three times his senior.
The later option sounded more like my forte, and as I opened my mouth to verbally assault him in the loudest version of my voice, a sound resembling an asthmatic gasp mixed with a sneeze escaped.
I don’t know exactly why it happened.
“Acheeeoooo.”
The strange sound surprised me just as much as it did my would-be victim.
He stood, moving away from the desk upon which he’d been leaning,
“You alright?”
Shaking my head, I suddenly felt wetness on my checks.
Great.
I was crying.
Just like a little girl.
Perfect.
“No. I need to go.”
“Drew-“ He reached for me and I couldn’t see his face through all of my girly tears, but the tone of his voice was nice.
I guess that’s because he was a nice guy, one of the few left…and despite the fact that earth seems to be chalk full of cute twenty-something's who want a nice guy- this nice guy chose to date my crazy mother.
Once again shaking my head, I backed out of the room,
“I really need to go.”
I left his office and there I stood in the parking lot, staring at the neon yellow car my dad had bought for me when I’d turned fifteen, I finally allowed myself to think a clear thought, which somehow went straight from a synapse in my head to my lips.
My words tumbled into the world and were carried away with the wind,
“Life is insane.”
Home
“Mom!” I called, slamming the door behind me, “Mom! Mommmm!”
“What? What’s wrong with you?!” She shouted from somewhere upstairs.
Tracking her by the direction from where her voice seemed to be coming from, I hurried upstairs and barged into her room.
As I threw open the door I automatically looked for her in her usual spot, laying on her huge white bed with a her hand lazily hidden in a large bag of potato chips or sometimes…a bowl of popcorn. Her other hand would lie gingerly over the remote as she stared unblinkingly at her gargantuan television.
But this time, the bed was empty.
Her closet door opened and out she stepped, with a look of alarm on her face.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
She looked different.
She looked like she’d used to when I was a kid.
Her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, not the lazy kind of ponytail that leaves those few quirky hair stragglers sticking up on top of your head and hanging out by your ears as if they’d like to whisper a secret into one of them… but her hair was pulled back into the cute, bouncy sort of ponytail that only an expert ponytailer can craft.
She wore a blue and black jogging outfit.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re scaring me to death with all that noise.”
My mom looked at me with concern and finally coming out of my shock, I replied,
“Me? No. Nothing’s wrong with me- it’s you! Are you insane? Why are you trying to go out with my acting coach?”
“Drew-“ She held up both of her hands and I remembered my older sister telling me, when we were kids, “talk to the hand” in a funny voice as she'd hold up one of her hands and frown at me. I’d used to think that was so funny.
But the gesture wasn’t funny anymore, I needed for her to listen to me.
“I am so sick of hearing my name! Everytime I start to say something or tell someone how I feel, they interrupt me, “Drew, wait,” “Drew listen”, “Drew, blah blah…” Don’t you think I know my own name?! The fact that you’re repeating the stupid name that I was born with won’t stop me from talking or thinking or feeling what I have a right to say or feel or think!”
“Dr- hon, calm down-“ Her hands were still up, but her face had lost some of it’s innocence…whatever that means. I guess it means she was beginning to look sort of angry.
“No, I can’t calm down mom! You’re dating my acting coach! He’s twenty-five, you’re what? Like, fifty-five?! Your oldest daughter is almost his age! What’s wrong with you?!”
“OK, that is enough!” she shouted.
I shut up.
My mom, contrary to popular opinion, is trained in the theater, and let’s just say that her voice carries.
Lowering her voice and making a concerted effort to calm down, she went on,
“I am not fifty-five, I’m forty-eight and yes Brenan and I have been seeing each other. We’re both adults. That’s our choice-“
“Yeah well, your choices affect me.” I muttered.
“I know that, I carried you in my womb for nine months, don’t you think I know my choices affect you?! That’s what being a mother means-"
“This isn’t Dr. Phil, there’s no studio audience here for you to manipulate with some cheesy line that makes good use of the word “womb”. To answer your stupid question, NO, I don’t think you realize your choices affect me! If you did, you wouldn’t be a drunken embarrassment whose only career goal is to score a mention in TMZ. So, either you don’t even realize you have a daughter or maybe you do and you don’t care how your actions affect me! You-you’re just terrible and selfish and you’re…terrible! I hate you. ”
Her face fell.
Not quickly, like the time three weeks ago when she’d thrown a vase at the wall and a picture frame (with her picture in it) had fallen to the floor.
So maybe “fell” isn’t the right word…my mom’s face faded.
In literally ten seconds, she looked older.
There was no frown in between her eyebrows, no pouting of the lips, as she so often resorted to…instead she looked as calm as a saint in pain.
It worked.
I swallowed hard and unexpectedly felt like I’d done something wrong.
“You deserved that, because it’s true.” I halfheartedly spat, but mostly, I was talking to myself.
“OK.” She tried to pull herself together and did pretty well for someone who’d been trying and failing at pulling their life together for the past fifteen years, “You’re right. I’m sorry Drew. I really am.”
The silence between us was so thick it filled the room and if I’d stretched out my arms and willed myself to float, I probably could have swam laps in it.
Instead of being a weirdo and doing something like that, I just watched her.
Her blond hair, dyed to match the color that I’d been born with was washed.
Maybe that’s why the ponytail looked so nice.
And the green eyes that were perfectly set above her high cheekbones, a face, which even her worse critics praised for it's beauty, were sad enough to tug at my heartstrings.
I felt terrible.
Maybe I was just like her.
Maybe I was selfish and terrible and hurting…maybe that’s what hurting too much does to a woman. It makes her totally consumed with her own pain and blind to how her actions affect the people around her.
Looking at her, standing there half-lifeless and hurt, I felt I might have been gazing into a mirror that showed my future.
At this sudden thought, I gulped and heard myself say,
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
She met my eyes, her’s dry and mine beginning to water. She shrugged and some hint of a smile lingered on her lips,
“You did baby.”
“No.” I shook my head, determined not to be as terrible as she was, “It might be true that you’re a little …self focused but I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“OK.”
Her words hung out in the air between us, they seemed to be looking at us and asking, “OK- we said that part, now…what are you two going to do next?”
Fortunately, she had sense enough to do something.
Otherwise the two of us would’ve been standing in her bedroom forever, me staring, teary-eyed, like a deer in headlights, and she trying to be brave and not cry.
My mom moved to the bed and sitting, she beckoned for me to do the same.
I agreed, and my legs, moving like stiff wooden blocks, somehow carried me to where she sat.
“I have a problem and …I think we both know that.” She laughed a little and then seemed nervous as she looked at me for some sort of approval.
“Yeah.” I quietly replied, unsure of how I was supposed to respond.
“Well, the good news is that I’m getting help. Brenan,” Mom paused and glanced at me, watching for my reaction before going on, “Brenan has a friend who owns a sort of retreat for um, for people with my problem. I’ll be there for about a month and I know, we both know- Brenan and I…we know it’ll help me a lot.”
My mom was checking herself into rehab and the only way she’d been able to afford it was by going out with a guy who could pull some strings for her.
I digested this subtext and nodded,
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.” She replied.
I didn’t know what to think.
She went on, but my thoughts drifted.
Maybe the kids at school somehow knew just how much of a freak show my DNA was. Maybe the scent of my mom’s insanity was somehow embedded into my skin, my own aroma, and without even realizing it they could smell how crazy I was. Maybe that was why, despite my looks, my success, and the bit of money that had come with it didn’t matter to them.
No one likes crazy.
“…Drew?” My mom looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“I said, is it okay with you if I ask your sister to come stay with you while I’m away or would you rather be alone?”
She asked the question as if it was a logical one.
My mind drifted back to the time, when I’d been about eleven and my mom was having a party with some of her “friends”, she’d called me to her side and asked in front of everyone,
“Honey, we ran out of liqueur, would you be a sweetie and ask the neighbors if we can borrow a bottle? They won’t mind.”
Even her drunken “friends” had laughed at that.
My mom couldn’t figure out why they were laughing.
Someone had to explain it to her.
For some reason, I wondered if Megs' Mom would ever ask her something dumb like that.
Megs…
“Actually, I can stay with my friend from school. She won’t mind and on the nights that she’s busy or whatever, I can just come back here. I’ll be fine.”
My sister wouldn’t want to come, she was in another country doing who knows what…actually, according to the last I’d read in the tabloids, I didn’t want to know.
I’d thrown the magazine down in a huff and even left the store as soon as I’d seen the title.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
Nodding, I looked into her green eyes, the same exact color as my sisters and felt like I ought to say something encouraging and so I did,
“This is a good idea, I hope you get better soon.”
She brightened,
“Me too. Thanks baby.”
I stood and as I turned to the door, I heard her move to get up too, but I still didn’t understand the whole Brenan thing,
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me about Brennan earlier?”
I turned to watch her reaction as she replied.
“I was scared.”
As I nodded at her, something Brenan always told me went through my head, ‘the best actors take control of their fear. They lead it straight into what their heart tells them is dangerous and that’s what makes them the best.’
“OK.” I nodded once more and made my way to the door.
Fear was something I’d need to erase from my DNA.
Being Fearless
Even though my mom would be away, I figured I’d still have the party at home.
It would be even better without her around, accidentally drinking too much and embarrassing me in front of the few people who would actually show up.
I thought I’d better wait until after the day of my party to let Megs know that my mom was out of town and ask to stay with her. I was pretty sure that if her mom (who was more of the traditional, normal type of parent/human being) knew there wouldn’t be any adults at my party then she wouldn’t let Megs come.
So, during History, and then Gym, and then Drama I found myself worrying about every little thing my brain could think of:
What if Megs mom wouldn’t want me to stay with them? After all, a month was a very long time...
What if her mom found out that I illegally drove myself to school every morning? Would I be forced to ride the bus to school with Megs…the thought of getting on that disgusting yellow bus was enough to make me gag.
And lastly…
What if my mom never got better?
As these thoughts ran around the insides of my head, I must have expressed my displeasure with a rather loud sigh or some sort of noise because the Drama teacher, a pretty nice lady named Karin Greenich glanced up at me and smiled,
“"Are we boring you?”
The entire class turned around to look at me.
Sitting up and quickly composing myself, I gave her an easy smile,
“No more than usual.”
The class laughed and I felt my heart skip a beat.
And then it skipped another beat when I saw Ms. Karin’s face.
She looked hurt, just like my mom had been yesterday when I’d finally screamed my frustrations at her.
I didn’t want to go around hurting people.
That would make me no better than my mother.
“I’m just joking.” I quickly said, “Sorry, no. I'm ADD and something we read must have triggered a memory and it made me think about something that really annoyed me and so I-”
Ms. Karin laughing, held up her hand, and I relaxed as she continued to chuckle,
“Whoa, we don’t need the whole explanation honey, I believe you. Now, if you’d be so kind as to please pick up where I left off in the second paragraph, starting with the sentence that says “Anton Chekov’s view of female characters…” .”
A handful of the kids laughed again and I felt a little victorious.
Eliciting even the slightest of a hesitant giggle from a couple of my classmates was a near miracle.
I just hoped my new found kinship with the Louisianians would last long enough for at least some of them to agree to come to my party.
The bell rang as soon as I opened my mouth to finish the last sentence of the paragraph Ms. Karin had asked me to read aloud.
Usually, when the bell rings we all sound like a herd of cattle stampeding towards water or …lunch or whatever it is that cattle make a run for. But in Ms. Karin’s class, everything's a little different. She’s one of the coolest teachers in our school and I can tell I’m not the only one who’s less than thrilled when her class is over.
So, everyone lingered in their seats, reaching for their backpacks and listening to her as she announced,
“Alrighty folks I don’t feel like grading anything for the next couple of days so you’re not going to have any homework. I know…I’m so sorry, I’m just an awful, selfish teacher right?” She smiled and laughed at her own joke, which was way funnier than her attempt at humor and that’s what made us all laugh with her, “OK, see you crazy kids later!”
When she said that, I heard feet begin to move and I knew what I’d have to do…quickly, if I wanted to get anyone at all to come to my party.
The thought of doing this scared me.
That fear is what made me stand up and tap Elizabeth Little, the most popular ninth grader in our school, on her shoulder as she turned to leave the classroom.
“Yeah?” She gave me a brief once over and I watched her assess my clothes, hair, shoes, and jewelry all in fifteen seconds.
I did the same to her wardrobe, in six seconds and where I come from, she would’ve have barely scored a low C.
Comforting myself with this rather cruel thought, I gave her my sincerest smile and put on my best perky-Drew voice,
“Hey Elizabeth! I’m having a party at my place in The New Club Highland…” I paused and let that sink in.
New Club Highland is the most exclusive neighborhood in Louisiana.
It’s where anyone who is a part of the claimed “Hollywood South” division lives, I'm pretty sure the only way my mom got her foot in the door at this place is because of the tiny band of fans my film work has somehow managed to accumulate over the years.
I might not be a huge star or even make one third as much as the Biebs, but I do get a lot of free stuff from nerdy fans.
This is something that my mother is well known for taking advantage of.
When I was only six, TMZ had footage of her, drunk, standing on a corner yelling at passersby to give her some money for more ‘drink because her baby’s famous and doesn’t that mean anything anymore…’
During the long dramatic pause that followed my name-drop, Elizabeth continued to look as though she was being cornered by some annoying lunatic.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” She asked, her voice bland.
Unfortunately, as she was speaking, I’d begun to speak as well,
“So if you want to come-“
I paused again,
“What did you say?”
“I said,” She spoke slowly, as if she were addressing an idiot, “Am I supposed to be impressed? Because I’m not and no, I’m not going to your party.”
Stunned, but quickly coming to, I glanced around to see who else had heard what she’d just said.
People are sheep and since they’d known Elizabeth a lot longer than they’d known me, I figured that the few people who’d heard what she’d said would side with her and also not come to my party.
Unfortunately, more than just a few people were watching.
Their eyes bore into my now-throbbing temples.
My palms felt sweaty and I willed my next words to be something that would make this girl stop and realize that I was just as good as she was!
Who did she think she was anyway…? In a couple of years when I was getting my star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, she’d be sitting somewhere, fat and lonely, eating a tub of ice cream watching a TMZ special all about me and how awesome my life was.
With this thought in my head, I managed to concoct a sort of pity for her as I replied,
“Right. Who would want to spend their Saturday night at a party with Taren Cane.”
The name Tarren Cane slipped out before I could catch it and take it back.
Elizabeth took a step back, nearly falling over herself with surprise.
I had her.
Deciding to play it cool and go on with the lie, I shrugged and shook my head as my face practically dripped with pity,
“Its probably not something you and your friends are interested in. All that Hollywood fluff, it’s so fake. Sorry I even mentioned-"
“Did you say Taren Cane?” One of her friends, a girl named Rose, asked as she nearly pushed Elizabeth out of her way to get to me.
“I did.” I haughtily replied, “Why? Are you interested in coming?”
“Wait a minute- you seriously know Taren Cane and he’s coming to a party at your house?” Elizabeth sputtered.
“Yeah but if you guys think that stupid, I’m not going to stand here while you make fun of me and my friends. So, forget I even asked –“ I started and slowly backed away from the small crowd.
In the background, I could see that even Ms. Karin was curiously listening to our conversation.
“No, we’ll come.” Elizabeth quickly interrupted, “Just give me your address. And, like, what should we wear?”
I might be a fantastic actor, but even I couldn’t suppress the smile that made it’s way to my lip-glossed mouth.
“Just wear whatever you’re comfortable in. It’s a casual sort of thing.” After tossing my hear, I thought I might add, “Taren doesn’t like fancy stuff, he’s a really down to earth guy so…”
As my voice trailed off, Rose exclaimed,
“I’m coming too! And can my sister come?”
I shrugged,
“Maybe, let me see how much room we have left. Give me your number Rose and I’ll get back to you .”
Whipping out the cell phone that I knew we were supposedly banned from bringing into school, I glanced at Ms. Karin and saw that she was looking at me rather oddly.
“Ms. Karin- I mean, Ms. Greenich- you can come too, of course, I was going to invite you. Bring a date.” I called across the classroom and then looked at Rose, who very much like her friend Elizabeth had a dreamy smile on her face, “So what’s your number?”
She gave me her number, as did a few other girls and one guy who wanted me to call them and give them more details about the party.
The classroom emptied and the tardy bell rang.
I could’ve been late for a million of my classes and I wouldn’t have cared.
My heart was full.
For the first time since mom had moved us across the world to the swampy bottom of existence, I’d actually tasted success.
Picking up my backpack, I turned to Ms. Karin.
She still had that funny look on her face and finally I understood why when she folded her arms and said,
“You just lied to those girls, didn’t you?”
I shrugged,
“Maybe. Who knows? I might be able to convince Taren to come. He and my sister were friends for a while. If I can’t get him…” I thought for a moment, there had to be a plan B that would keep me in the good graces of these swamp kids.
“If you can’t get him, then what?” She softly asked.
I glanced up at her and saw that the pity I'd had all over my face as I’d been talking to Elizabeth had somehow made it’s way into her expression.
The difference, though, was her sincerity.
She walked across the classroom and sat on the edge of an empty desk,
“Why did you lie to them Drew?”
“It wasn’t really a lie, I told you, I might be able to get-“
She shook her head and I paused, because we both knew that my argument was pointless.
“They might have come to your party even if you hadn’t told them that.” Her voice was kind.
I felt something break inside my chest.
Maybe it was a wall.
Brenan told me we all have walls that we put up to protect ourselves. These invisible barriers shield our most sensitive parts from a world that's known to bully.
I think one of my walls broke as I bit my lip and replied,
“No they wouldn’t. Did you see the way Elizabeth looked at me? Like everyone else at this school, they think I’m not worth their time. I’m like…trash.”
“That’s not true.” Ms. Karin quickly replied, “You’re an amazing student and a really talented-“
“It is true and maybe they’re right.” I glanced out of the nearby window and watched the sunbeams dance across the green leaves of an oak tree. The light seemed to sparkle and glisten. Somehow, the light made me feel like I needed to be completely honest with this woman, “I’m pretty sure they’re right. I can’t take my mom’s blood out of my veins.”
“Drew-“
Before she could finish her sentence, I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of the classroom.
It didn’t matter how I got those kids to like me, it was just important to make it work.
I had to be better than my mom, I just had to…
"Clara?"
My sister's end of the line was full of static.
"Clara?" I repeated, annoyed.
She was so annoying.
I just knew that somehow, the bad connection from her end of the line, was completely her fault.
"Clara! I'm going to call you back because I can't hear you and you better answer me! This is important!" I ordered.
"Wait- wait!" Suddenly, her voice was as clear as a bell and the static was gone.
She was laughing,
"That was a plastic bag, I was squeezing it and holding it up to the phone you dork!"
See? Her fault.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Where are you?" She retorted, laughing again.
I sighed and leaned against the brick wall outside of the school's cafeteria.
"I'm at a police station."
"W-what?!" Her voice was suddenly serious, quiet.
Good.
"Clara, the police need to know where you've been for the past ten days. Why would they ask me that?"
"I-I don't know, I mean- it-it wasn't anything really bad! We were in another country so I didn't think their laws were so harsh, you know? It's not America..." She blubbered on, sounding more nervous by the second and I almost felt a little bad for the criminal.
The feeling subsided and I moved ahead with my plan,
"Listen, it's okay. Just tell them you were with your friend what's his name? ...Taren? Everyone knows you guys are tight, right? Say you've been with him and then you and him come here on a private jet to mom's place for a party, everyone will see you here, it'll be in the tabloids and they'll be no question about where you've been. We'll just act like you've been here the whole time."
"But Taren's mad at me." She squeaked.
"Anyone mad at you...never." I dryly replied.
"I knooow! Right!" She exclaimed, " Well, I mean it's for a good reason. One time we went to The Edge of The Brick in London and I was supposed to-"
OK. I really didn't care to know.
My sister's weird life consisted of days and nights that I preferred to be in the dark about.
I didn't want to set myself up for the possibility of being accused of withholding incriminating evidence.
So, I interrupted her story,
"Clara, just call Taren-"
"Will you call him and ask him to go? Because I don't-"
Me?! Call Taren Cane?!
I'd only seen him at a party once and I'd nearly passed out.
I know, it was a moment of lameness on my part, but I admit that some stars do make my knees weak.
Especially stars with striking blue eyes, like Taren.
"No." I sighed as I watched Lanie and one of her best friends come out of the cafeteria.
For once, Ran wasn't with her.
It almost seemed like she was walking around with a missing limb, seeing her without him by her side.
"You call him first but I'll talk to him after you do. It's for your own good. He'll help you. Just do it, call him. And give me his number."
"OK..." She tearfully replied, "Hang on a second."
Between my crazy mom and perpetually wasted older sister, I sometimes felt like the level-headed but ragged mother of twin three-year-olds.
She gave me the number and I was quick to end the conversation.
As I stuffed the i-phone into my purse, I glanced at Lanie and her friend.
The other girl, an Italian looking chick with long dark hair smiled as she gave Lanie a light punch on the arm.
Lanie said something that I was too far away to hear and they both broke into laughter.
Turning away from them, I peeked into the window of the cafeteria.
I hated the cafeteria, not because of the excessive noise or the smell of old Spam/Nutria that seemed to permeate the place.
I hated that the room held so much laughter and none of it was meant for me.
"Hey! Drew!" I turned at the sound of my name.
Ran's girlfriend (whose name I still couldn't remember) strolled up to me, her "groupies" by her side.
"Yeah?" I asked, pretending not to care.
I had no reason to be nervous.
I'd once had a cameo on Saturday Night Live.
Standing face to face with a 12th grade cheerleader was really not a big deal at all.
Even so, I freaked out as I realized that now would be a great time for me to finally remember her name...
"So, you're Drew Everett?" She smiled as she gave me an appraising once over.
"That would be me." I replied with a charismatic smile of my own.
"I'm Mia." She stuck out her hand, which I thought was funny because...seriously? Are we at Paramount Studios in a production meeting or are we in high school?
Being that I am a fabulous actor, I covered my sneer and grinned as I shook her hand,
"Great to meet you! What's up?"
"Well, I have a request if you don't mind," She flipped her hair and I watched as a couple of the blonde strands hit one of her friend's right smack in the eyes.
Oblivious to her blinking friend's pain, Mia went on with her request, "I heard you're friends with Taren Cane, right?"
"Yeah." I sighed, trying to look embarrassed.
She paused, narrowed her eyes, and I suddenly got the feeling that I was staring face to face with a fellow actor.
The recently blinded groupie to her left gasped and one other forgettable member of her posse squealed.
"That's so awesome." As opposed to her friends who were overcome with piglet-like squeals, Mia's voice was dry, almost flat.
She watched me closely and I could tell that she had her doubts.
A chill ran down my spine.
She knows. The two words quickly ran through my brain, leaving me cold with fear. How does she know I'm lying?
Stifling a nervous gulp I shrugged and adapted an air of ease,
"I guess it's nice. But he's just a regular guy, you'll see. I mean, you are coming to my party, right? Everyone's invited."
Mia smiled and I almost frowned.
I hated that she was prettier than me.
Clearing my throat, I dismissed any thoughts of frowning and focused on hoping she'd come to my party.
If I thought enough about hoping she'd come to my party then eventually, the only thing she would see on my face was my desperate hope that she'd come to my party....and welcome to a crash course in method acting by yours truly,
Please say you'll come to my party, please say it! Come on, you know you want to come Mia! I thought, as I felt a slight wave of nervous excitement slowly begin to well up in my stomach.
"Sure, thanks for the invite. I'd love to hang out with you and Taren." She breezily replied.
"What time does it start?" Asked one of the groupies.
"Seven. I'm glad you guys are coming." My excellently executed nervous excitement act was beginning to morph back to fear and I recalled my mom's advice: When you need to impress, show up, scream, and then leave.
I didn't say it was good advice, but it's all I could think of, so that's what I did.
"Wh-" Mia opened her mouth to ask me something and I swiftly interrupted her with a rather loud exclamation,
"Wow!! It's sooo hot out here! I'm going inside, I need to make some phone calls anyway. See you guys at the party!!"
Barely glancing back at the cheerleader and her ladies in waiting, I flounced off to the main building with absolutely no idea of where I was going or what I was doing.
I only knew that I needed to get away from those girls before I dug myself any deeper.
Eventually, I found myself in the second most unappealing place in South Louisiana High School.
Second only to the cafeteria in it's ability to repel, is the girl's bathroom on the school's second floor.
I didn't go to the bathroom on the first floor because I figured Mia and her posse might be there.
I figured my best bet at being alone in a place where I could call Taren and beg him to perform a miracle and show up at my party out of the kindness of his heart was to sneak into the second floor's girls bathroom and lock myself in a stall.
Ignoring the horrible smell, I whipped out my i-phone and looked at my contacts.
My most recently added contact was one Taren Cane.
I stared at his number.
Bringing my finger to the phone's screen, I paused waiting for... I don't know, maybe I was waiting for courage.
Why would Taren want to speak to me?
I was the daughter of a renowned loser, sister of a drug-addict and he was Hollywood royalty.
Once he found out who it was that had called him, once he'd heard my name, what could he possibly do other than laugh in my face?
Slowly, I locked my phone and stuffed it back into my purse.
Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I didn't even bother to fluff up my hair as it had suddenly shifted into a wanna-be bed head sort of style since I'd left the Louisiana humidity and run up the stairs to the second floor of the school.
Too drained to care, I forgot that I was standing in a restroom that smelled of sewer stuff and took a deep breath.
Immediately regretting my deep breath, I gagged, choked and hurried to the bathroom door.
Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
Jumping back, my heart skidded into my chest and I half-expected to see Ran's cheerleader girlfriend Mia, with her gang of girl-thugs angry, ready to prove that I was a liar.
But the person staring back at me with a funny smile on her face was the exact opposite of Mia.
"M-Megs?" I stammered, "What are you doing here?"
She chuckled and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind her,
"Getting a pedicure. Duhr, what do you think I'm doing in a bathroom?! Ooof! I've really gotta go, so can you hang on a sec, I need to talk to you!"
She ran to a stall and I mumbled okay as I again, pulled out my phone.
Taren's number stared back at me, taunting me, daring me to call him.
"What's wrong with you Drew?" I softly groaned, "Just call him."
I'd been on countless television shows, movies, and even Broadway...never once had I been frozen by an inward blast of stage fright.
Now, all of a sudden I was too afraid to make a phone call?!
I heard the toilet flush and Megs came out of the stall, headed to the sink.
The phone went discreetly back into my purse and I looked up to find Megs curiously watching me in the mirror as she washed her hands.
"What are you staring at?" I demanded.
Surprised, she arched an eyebrow,
"What's wrong with you?"
I shook my head and wished she'd hurry up so we could leave the stinky bathroom.
Finally, she grabbed a paper towel and I moved out of the way to let her open the door.
No way was I going to touch the germ infested handle with my naked hand.
"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" She asked, opening the door.
I slipped past her but not without muttering,
"Try being born on the wrong side of the bed."
"Is whatever's bothering you really that bad?" She asked once we were back in the realm of semi-breathable air.
I nodded and leaned against the door of an empty classroom,
"Definitely."
"Why? What happened?" Leaning against the wall, a few feet away from where I stood, Megs folded her arms and watched me with more than just piqued curiosity on her face.
I could see that she was sincere.
Sometimes, sincerity gets on my nerves.
Not always, but sometimes it bugs me because it comes from a place of weakness.
There are these people who are so needy for being needed that they take on every burden they can find, trying to fill some gap in their pathetic self-esteem with other people's problems.
I hate that.
But, Megs was the real version of sincerity.
She was my friend and she wanted to listen to my problems, not because listening would somehow help her, only because she was my friend.
This thought nearly put me on the verge of tears.
Sniffing them back, I replied,
"I lied."
She nodded slowly,
"Oh. It must have been a bad one."
"Very."
"Did it involve Taren Cane?"
My head snapped up as I glanced at her, how did she know? Could the lie have really spread so quickly? Did the whole school know?!
"Who told you- d-does everyone know?" I whispered. My voice sounded funny, hoarse.
Her eyes saddened with empathy,
"Yeah."
"Oh no." Involuntarily, my face crumpled and I felt tears leak out of my eyes, "I can't believe I said he was coming. And my sister? I can't depend on my sister. I'm so stupid."
"Drew, it's OK." She soothed, patting my arm, "Hey, maybe you can just make sure everyone has such a great time they don't even care Taren's not there...just make it a really great party a-"
"Make it a really great party?!" I snapped, "How am I supposed to do that?! With what? These swamp rats don't want anything I have! I wear Gucci to school and they treat me like I wear garbage bags on my legs and try to pass them off as jeans! They don't know anything and they don't like me!"
Tears blurred my vision but not so much that I couldn't see the pity in Meg's eyes.
"Drew that's not true-"
"It is and you know it." Sniffing, I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.
"It's just, it's really difficult around here to-you know, to fit in. Believe me, I understand. Most of the kids at this school have known each other forever and when someone new comes along, they barely even give them a chance to try and fit in. It's not you, it's them."
"I know!" I exclaimed, despite my best efforts tears were still flowing out of my eyes and much worse, my nose was running, "But it still hurts."
"Oh...I'll get you some tissue." She quietly said and I saw her run into the bathroom.
Desperately trying to get a hold of myself and praying that no one would happen to walk by, I wiped my eyes and attempted to steady my breathing.
The bathroom door swung open and Megs reappeared holding a wad of paper towels,
"Here you go."
She thrust them my way and I took them with the greed of a fat kid in the "Sample Our Cheese!" section of Whole Foods.
After wiping my eyes and blowing my nose, I held onto the crumpled fragments and took a deep breath,
"So, what do I do? How do I make this party work?"
Megs sighed and again folded her arms as she looked off into the distance,
"Um...it is Louisiana, so as long as there's plenty of food I think you're safe."
Her words gave me hope but her face told the truth,
"No, these people are already overfed, they need something else to hook 'em. They need celebrities. Real ones, not just me."
As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't even a real D-lister.
Despite my impressive resume, for some reason the older I got the more swiftly I fell in rank.
"What about your mom?" Megs brightened, "Everyone knows her. I think she'd do the trick."
"My mother is currently in rehab." I blurted.
"Oh. Wow Drew, that's-um, that must be hard for you... is it?" She timidly asked.
I shrugged,
"I don't know. She just left this morning and I don't know, I guess the house will be quieter without her drunk and throwing things and yelling and you know...all that fun stuff."
"Are you at home by yourself?" Meg quietly asked.
Once again, I felt the urge to cry.
Refusing to give in to my tears, I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
"Why don't you come stay with me and my mom?" She offered, "My mom won't care."
I nodded and a rebel tear slid down my cheek.
"So, that's a yeah?" She asked.
All I could do was, once again, nod mutely.
"And, don't worry. Things will work out. The party, your mom. Everything's going to be OK." She promised.
Looking up, I managed to squeak,
"Megs, you're like an onion."
Pausing, she gave me a funny look,
"Did you say onion?"
Nodding, I pointed at my tears and the puzzled look on her face turned into a smile.
She laughed and for the first time all day, I felt as though I'd accomplished something.
Being Me
My heart was racing.
Closing my eyes, I placed my left hand over the thumping of my heartbeat, willing myself to relax.
But my heart, as rebellious as I typically am, wouldn’t hear of it.
Refusing to cooperate, it thumped away, perfectly matching the timing of the loud drumbeat that set the sexy mood for the melody behind Rhianna's voice.
The music blared through my speakers and I briefly wondered why the neighbors hadn’t called to complain.
“Hey!! We found this, can we open it?” One of Mia’s friends, a girl who’d I’d recently come to know as Kyle was holding a sleek bottle of Brunello.
“No!” I waved my hands, gesturing wildly just in case she couldn’t hear me above the noise of the music, “No drinking! I’m serious, if you drink you’re out of here.”
I know…I know.
I’d given up on any hopes of popularity.
Now, I just wanted at least some of the kids to tolerate me.
So far, I hadn’t done terribly.
The unpopular kids who showed up were obviously in awe of everything, the house, the giant portraits of my mother, the stereo system…every little thing was something for them to gawk at.
It made me feel good, as if I was right back where I belonged.
But of course, Mia, Elizabeth, and the other popular kids eyed my mother’s house as if it were a pig sty and me as if I wore an outfit made of pig slop.
Which, by the way, I definitely was not wearing, when I say that everything on my body was Versace, I am not exaggerating.
It took me at least forty-five minutes into the party to finally realize that I didn’t care what they thought.
As long as some of the people who I’d crammed into my mother’s house were satisfied with my hard work, then I was satisfied.
For good measure, I walked up to Kyle, ripped the bottle out of her hands and smiled quite sweetly as I inquired,
“Would you mind NOT digging through my mother’s things?”
She squashed her face into some sort of three year old pout and I was instantly reminded of my mother.
Rolling my eyes, I marched through the large parlor that I’d turned into a dance floor, weaving in and out of dancing bodies, and went straight into the kitchen.
There, I found Mia cozied up next to some tall guy I half-recognized from the Football team.
Hmm…I thought to myself…so I guess the whole Ran, Lanie, Mia thing is more than a love triangle, it’s a square. How nice for them.
I set the bottle on the counter, loudly.
Mia jumped, moving away from the giant.
“Oh! I didn’t see you!” She flipped her hair, which is, apparently, the first step in getting one’s bearings when one is a cheerleader.
“Yeah, I gathered that.” I looked at the tall guy, who smiled dumbly.
Definitely a jock I mused.
“Is Ran coming?” I brazenly asked, continuing to stare at the taller ( and cuter )version of Homer Simpson.
Mia snorted,
“Is Taren Cane coming?”
I opened my mouth, prepared to completely lose it and demand she leave my house when, somehow, the impossible happened.
A girl screamed.
Two girls screamed.
The thumping of Rhianna's song stopped.
Many girls screamed.
My heart took off like a racehorse as I imagined that a fight had broken out amongst the swamp people.
I cursed myself for thinking they were mature enough to be brought into my mother’s home… then again, my mother wasn’t mature enough to be brought into her own home, that's why she was currently in Rehab...
As my legs slowly carried me back to the large parlor, my terror drifted away and was replaced with disbelief.
There, in the middle of the room, surrounded by an embarrassing amount of hormonal, shrieking teenage girls was Taren Cane, hand in hand with none other than my sister.
I gulped, shut my eyes and thought I might pass out.
Being Popular
Slamming my car door, I checked the time on my phone and saw that I’d received a text from Taren.
Grinning, I leisurely opened his text, leaned against my car and listened to the pleasant noise of the tardy bell ringing in the distance.
When one receives a text from Taren Cane, one does not worry about trite such as school.
His exact words were:
*Had a great time yesterday, your sister says hi & sorry we had to leave so soon. Later*
Ignoring the, rather dismissive, tone of his text I continued smiling and quickly replied,
*Sure, glad u both came, later *
With that, I flipped my hair (because you never know, one day I might play a cheerleader) and bounced off to class.
Normally, I open the doors to South Louisiana High with dread.
It slinks into the pit of my stomach and I’m filled with the desire to run away, and I mean run all the way away back to my mother’s house, crawl under my bed and lie in the fetal position, where I’d like to sob myself to sleep.
I’m not exaggerating.
That’s usually how bad it is.
But, not this time.
For the first time in my life, John Williams and the Boston pops filled my head with a triumphant score as I opened the doors to South Louisiana High School.
Grinning broadly, my heart filled to the brim with newfound hope, I entered my realm and I almost reached up to make sure the invisible tiara I could’ve sworn I was wearing, hadn’t fallen off.
And again…I’m not exaggerating.
Other kids who were late like me, hurried off to class, but nearly each and every one of them slowed a bit as I passed.
Some smiled, hoping to catch my eye.
Others, too nervous to smile, simply gave me a second glance and continued their trek to class.
I breathed in a sigh of relief.
Life had returned to it’s normal order.
I was popular.
My relief was rather smug. And understandably so...being popular tends to put me on some kind of a euphoric high.
At lunch, I broke away from Elizabeth’s table to take a call from my mother.
Apparently, it was part of her “therapy” to call me at least once a day.
I didn’t want to later be accused of not being there for her during rehab, so I took the call.
As I was standing outside, you’ll never guess what humbled soul somehow found herself approaching me with a sing songy voice,
“Drewwww! Oh Drewww!”
“Yeah, later Mom.” I ended the call and turned to see Mia Reeves smiling at me, her disdain hidden behind, a rather good imitation of friendliness.
“Mia, hey chica!” I called as I graced her with a pageant winning smile of my own.
“That party was amazing. You’re amazing! I still can’t believe we met Taren Cane!” She grinned broadly and upon closer inspection, I caught that she was blushing.
Quiet, I took a closer look, making sure that I wasn’t mistaking a tan or too much rouge for actual blushing.
Because…if she was blushing that meant she was actually…she was …sincere.
I must have been staring at her with a look of intense shock because she paused and her blush grew deeper,
“Hey, um, I know it’s not like we’re friends or whatever, I mean…” She cleared her throat and made an awkward waving gesture with her left hand. I watched the hand move to and fro, and then I realized that I should probably close my mouth as a fly or mosquito may decide to take a tour. So, closing my mouth, I waited for her to continue, “I’m aware of my behavior. I wasn’t nice to you when you got here, like…I have a hard time trusting people because lately-“
Her speech came to an abrupt halt and for a moment she looked down.
As Mia took a deep breath, it dawned on me that she was trying not to cry.
Frantic, I wondered what the appropriate response was…and realized that I had no idea.
Again, clearing her throat, and wiping her eyes, she laughed, as she said, in a rather shaky voice,
“Excuse me, sorry about that!”
Biting my lip thoughtfully, I thought about what Megs would do if I was Mia and she were me.
Looking Mia right in the eyes, I smiled comfortably, leaned against the brick wall and gave her my full attention,
“It’s OK, no big deal. You should’ve seen me bawling my eyes out last week. You can say anything you want or cry…if it makes you feel better.”
She grinned and a few tears escaped her eyes,
“That’s really sweet of you Drew, I was so mean to you. Sorry. I’ve had a hard time trusting people this year because of stuff with my-my family a-and even Ran and it’s just…I guess I’m trying to apologize and I want you to know I’m not usually like this.”
Slowly nodding, I felt the invisible tiara slip off and fall onto my shoulders.
Wow.
“Believe me, I understand.” I whispered.
“Really?” She sniffed, laughing again.
I nodded and then, for the first time in a very long time, I said exactly what I was thinking,
“Distrust is pretty much my middle name. I don’t even trust my own mother.”
Glancing towards the cell phone that I’d put in my purse, I fleetingly wondered if I’d ever be able to trust anyone, including myself or if I’d end up as tattered and desperate as my mom.
“I think we need to hang out.” Mia quietly announced as she folded her arms and smiled.
I nodded,
“Yeah, it’d probably be good for us. We could have, like, group therapy sessions.”
She giggled and then wrinkled her nose as she sniffed a little too loudly.
Gross.
“Or, we could just gossip about all the people we hate and distrust.”
Smiling, I agreed that this sounded like a great plan,
“Let’s do that.” And then I gave her a quick look of suspicion, “Hey, are you sure you don’t want to hang out with me just so I can introduce you to famous people?”
She shrugged,
“Partly, but not really. I mean, if that’s all I cared about, I’d just ask Megs, her Dad can hook any of us up with that anytime he wants.”
The honesty in her reply was refreshing, suddenly a nearby noise caught my attention and we both turned to see a kid who’d obviously tripped over a crack in the cement laying sprawled out on the ground with his lunchtray and all of it’s contents spilled over into the grass and concrete around him.
I pointed and laughed,
“Look!”
Mia chuckled,
“That’s Howard, he falls, like, everyday at least twice. You’ll get used to it.”
As he stood up, he again stumbled and some girl who was helping him pick up his tray of food nearly tripped over his feet as he regained his balance.
“That…is just pathetic.” I shook my head.
“I know.” She laughed.
Strangely comfortable, I shaded my eyes from the glaring afternoon sun and went on,
“But anyway, about Megs’ Dad, I’m sure he’s great, but I have better contacts and I don’t have a criminal record…well, unless you count that time when my mom was pregnant with me and was arrested for shopl-”
“A criminal record?! Dude does not have a criminal record!” Mia whispered with alarm.
I bit my lip and realized my error.
Oops.
“He might.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal, “Everyone who’s anyone does.”
“No way.” Mia muttered.
An annoying twinge of guilt invaded my happiness.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone, Megs would kill me.”
“Of course.” Mia agreed, but as she turned to watch Hapless Howard readjust his thick and stylish (if you’re about a billion years old and have no taste in eye wear) eyeglasses, I could tell that she was only half-listening and half-agreeing.
Just as I was prepared to reinforce upon Mia the fact that what I’d told her was sensitive and confidential, Elizabeth’s loud voice was in my ear,
“Drew!! There you are! I was looking everywhere for you! Guess who said he wants to ask you to the prom…”
And that was the end of that.
Or so I thought.
Being Normal
Everything was great.
I had friends.
Real friends.
The kind who didn’t gossip about me behind my back.
Instead, they were kind enough to tell me exactly what they thought of my reoccurring moodiness and overly sarcastic ways, directly to my face.
Taking a cue from them, I did the same.
Of course we still gossiped about other people.
We went to the mall and berated every bleached blonde who walked by wearing an uber-mini over her uber-fat legs.
We went to movies and threw popcorn at the backs of people’s heads.
And we were asked, as a big happy group, to leave the movies.
We found a different theater and resumed our antics.
We hung out in coffee shops talking about everything and nothing; my mom’s craziness, the one time my mom and Brittney Spears started hanging out, the time my sister ran away from home, Meg’s parents’ divorce despite the fact that they were obviously still in love, we even discussed Lanie’s strange friendship with Mia’s boyfriend.
For the first time ever, I had friends.
And then I ruined it.
I still remember the exact moment that it all came crashing down.
I was driving mom back home from the airport.
She had her seat back and her eyes closed.
“Um…” I was almost afraid to speak. She’d been so quiet, so oddly reserved since I’d picked her up, “Um, are you alright Mom?”
“Yeah honey.” She briefly replied, “I’m just drained. Rehab is …it’s a little rough.”
I wondered if that was true.
My mom called wiping the crumbs off of the counter after she made a sandwich “rough”.
“Can we have some music dear?” She quietly asked.
“Sure.” I agreed, eager to appease her.
I turned on the radio and Meg’s father became the third passenger in our car.
“And there you have it! Those were the top ten songs of the day! Now, lets see which our callers was caller 10, who’s going to win today’s $1000!!! Say hello Renee!”
I listened eagerly, hoping to hear a thick Cajun accent.
I loved it when a local won.
“Renee? Are you there?” He asked.
There was static in the background as a woman responded,
“Is this Manny The Man?”
“Yes!!! And Renee, do you know what you just won?”
“An interview with an alcoholic who should be behind bars?! Is that what I won? You should go back to jail, you belong BEHIND BARS!” She screamed into the phone and then…she hung up.
My insides froze as if they’d just been subjected to a brain freeze.
Megs’ Dad apparently froze too.
It took a moment for him to stammer,
“L-et’s um, lets- we’re going to a commercial break. Thanks for tuning in.”
“Was that a joke or something? What was that about?” My mom mumbled.
“I think- I think…I…” I shook my head, unable to face the truth, “I don’t know Mom.”
But that Monday, everyone at school knew.
In fact, most of them had known for a while.
I found out from Mia’s best friend Kyle that Mia had let the secret slip to one of her dumb groupie friends, who had accidentally tweeted it!
My first question to Kyle was: Who is this girl and how on earth did she ACCIDENTALLY tweet something?
I’ve accidentally spilled a bottled water.
I’ve accidentally stubbed my toe on the bottom step at my mom’s house.
But I’ve never accidentally tweeted anything!
It turns out that from then on the gossip spread like wildfire.
Someone on Twitter found a five year old news article about Meg’s dad getting behind the wheel after he’d had too much to drink and hitting someone.
The man he hit wasn’t killed, but the accident had left him paralyzed.
Putting two and two together, it became obvious why Meg’s parents had gotten a divorce.
Her Dad never quite forgave himself and it affected his entire life, his marriage, his family.
And here I was…bringing every bit of the ordeal back up, using it to slap in his family’s face.
I felt horrible.
But, even worse, I knew that my pain was nothing compared to the way I'd made Megs feel...and I could only imagine how angry she was with me.
The lunch bell rang and I gripped the pencil that was in my hand.
Ms. Karin had assigned us to write a monologue from the perspective of our future selves, who we would be ten years from now.
So, during the last thirty minutes of class, the only sounds in the room were pens and pencils scraping against paper.
Everyone had been writing, except for me.
But now that the lunch bell had gone off, kids scurried out of their seats, saying goodbye to Ms. Karin as they headed off to lunch.
I gulped, staring down at the blank sheet of paper in front of me.
It wasn't that I wanted to stay and write.
No.
My heart was pounding in my chest because lunch meant facing Megs, it meant facing what I'd done, how I'd betrayed her confidence.
"Drew? Everything alright?" Ms. Karin called.
I looked up and though my eyes were directed at her, I honestly couldn't see a thing.
"Yeah." A voice that didn't sound like my own mumbled.
"Are you sure? You don't look like everything's alright." I heard her footsteps move closer to where I sat.
I heard her sit down in a nearby desk and then I heard her ask me,
"What's wrong?"
I shook my head.
I didn't know where to start...or if I even wanted to start...Ms. Karin would probably hate me too if she knew how I'd betrayed my first real friend.
My first real friend.
Those four words sank into my heart and I suddenly felt weak.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ms. Karin's voice was full of kindness.
Like Brenan's had been.
Now, his voice was kind to my mother and not to me because I rarely saw him.
I hardly ever even saw my mother.
She'd fallen head over heels in love with her new ultra-healthy lifestyle (and with Brenan) and ever since she'd returned from Rehab, they'd been busy filming some Healthy Lifestyle DVD series.
My thoughts shifted through the odds and ends that made up my life...my mother, my sister, Megs, how I hadn't kept her Dad's secret.
The thoughts crashed into each other as they swirled, caught in the tornado that was in my head.
As I closed my eyes and felt my heavy breaths intensify, each passing breath became increasingly difficult to get through, and I thought I might explode.
"Drew, open your eyes." Ms. Karin gently commanded.
I opened my eyes and looked right at her.
She seemed very calm.
I wasn't calm.
"Take a deep breath."
Obediently, I took a deep breath and released it slowly.
I'd been through this with a therapist once, and a couple of times with Brenan.
The deep breaths helped and after a few quiet minutes of breathing, I was finally able to sort through my thoughts.
"Thank you." I mumbled, clearing my throat.
"I find that it helps me, breathing." She smiled, "Sometimes the simplest things that we take for granted are the most effective. Sometimes we just have to remember to keep breathing."
I nodded,
"Easier said than done."
"Why do you say that?" She asked, easing back comfortably into the, rather uncomfortable, desk.
I imagined the look on Megs face when she'd first heard what people were saying about her father,
"I make so many mistakes and spend so much time running around trying to clean them up- you know, I just forget to breathe."
Ms. Karin looked at me carefully,
"Everyone makes mistakes-"
"Yeah but," I shook my head, "I bet they don't make them like I do."
"You're right," She quietly went on, "Everyone makes their own kinds of mistake but Drew, what we all have in common is that when we do something wrong we feel like the whole world is collapsing around us as if we're standing in the middle of an earthquake. Have you ever felt that way?"
"Duh." I smiled weakly.
She grinned,
"Trust me, I've been stuck in a few hundred earthquakes of my own and all I wanted to do was run away. But Drew, listen to me. You don't want to run away from your mistakes. The best thing to do is to apologize and face them. Only after you face them can you realize that you weren't in a destructive earthquake at all, you were in the middle of growth."
I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.
But she didn't, she just smiled at me and leaned back in her uncomfortable desk.
"So, every time I screw up someone's life, I'm in the middle of growth?" I asked.
"If you learn from your mistake, yes. That's the key, facing it and learning from it and then never repeating it. "
I glanced down at my nails.
I'd had them painted a soft pink, not at a regular spa, but at Megs house. She'd insisted on painting each other's nails.
It was stupid but I shrugged and said sure.
She'd done a good job.
The paint was beginning to chip and normally I would've immediately booked an emergency manicure...but after what had happened, after what I'd done...I didn't want to remove the paint just yet.
Clearing my throat, I tore my eyes away from the nails that my best friend had painted and I looked at Ms. Karin,
"Thanks Oprah."
With a good-natured chuckle, she pat my arm and then stood,
"Anytime, and if you ever need to talk, I'm here. You know, I'm just one of many people who care about you Drew."
Nodding, I picked up my purse and backpack before slipping out of her classroom.
As I slowly walked down the hallway, towards the cafeteria, her words reverberated in my head,
"That's they key, facing it, learning from it, and then never repeating it...I'm just one of many people who care about you."
As much as I wasn't looking forward to facing my best friend with the most sincere apology I'd ever uttered, I suddenly didn't feel so bad.
For once, I felt like I wasn't completely alone...I finally felt normal.
"Drew?"
I halted, looked up, and faced the owner of the familiar voice.
Megs, on the other end of the hall, was leaning against the stairwell, her shoulders sagged and her hands were in her pockets.
Taking a deep breath, I quietly remembered Ms. Karin's advice...and I kept breathing.
The End
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