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“Why do you think he
likes her? She’s such a snob.” I
said.
“Probably thinks she’s ‘Oh so sweet and kind’ like the
teachers say. Plus, she is captain of
the cheerleading squad.” Celeste, my best friend, answered. “Although the only
reason anyone thinks that is because she puts on an act that says she’s a lovely
person that likes to help others, but that practically—“
I cut her off, “—screams to anyone who really knows her that
she’s nasty and hateful, I know, I know.” I knew exactly what she meant.
I mean, that could have just been the result of having what
she was talking about happen to me, but I knew it was because she’d been saying
it for more than half a year now. She’d put on a mask of a girl who was really
a very nice girl who wanted to be friends with you, that she only happened to
be a part of ‘the cheerleading clique’. But then as soon as she found you
alone, she’d march up to you, trailed by two overdressed, dyed-blonde girls,
who always seemed to look like raccoons, and in three seconds have you wailing
because you’d just heard that ‘the popular girls’ thought you were ugly, or
that you needed to lose a few pounds to fit in, or maybe twenty.
Joli recruited only girls that would fawn over her. She
especially liked ugly ones that would add to her beauty. She was the meanest girl in school, but all the
teachers thought she was benevolent, bright, and the cheerleading
captain. They were so wrong. Joli acted sweet around the teachers, but
as soon as they were out of eyesight and earshot, she’d strut around and if
anyone got in her way, she’d reduce them to tears before you could say “But
you’re so nice.” If you were anywhere near her without a teacher, you needed to
run.
I had been talking about Ragazzo, the totally cute guy here
at high school, although he was hooked up with Joli, the ultra mean captain of
the cheerleaders, or as we called them ‘the stuck-up sycophants.’ He was an
olive-skinned Italian named ‘boy’, but we felt bad about that, and she was a
slightly tanned French girl who, we will admit, is kind of cute, but needs some
serious attitude checks along with a change of name. They’d both been named in
their native languages, but she was named ’pretty’
for crying out loud. At least I’d
been named something sensible: Annie. Or at least that’s what my aunt named me,
because I’m sure my mom named me something different.
All of the girls here at school were crushing on Ragazzo. It
was, like, a rule. We all thought he was so cute with his wavy blonde hair, and
a dazzling smile that went perfectly with his striking green eyes. I myself
could not match it with my pixie-cut brown hair and ocean blue eyes. Celeste
might have been able to go out with him, but she wasn’t interested. She totally
wasted her good looks. She had lush, curly hair, and a soft face that hid a
busy mind. In fact, the only strange thing about her was her pretty milk-white
eyes, and most people thought it made her look like she wasn’t there. Celeste
said that Ragazzo would only go out with cheerleader stereotypes. I hoped not.
That would make him a stereotype jock.
We were sitting at a plexi-glass table in the cafeteria of
MWFS, or the Model Washington Finishing School, and we SO did not want to be
there. Both of Celeste’s parents had decided that she needed to be taught how
to act like a lady after on unfortunate event involving a state dinner, a
naughty poodle that ran through a science lab, and … wait for it, a tincture
made out of substances that caused it to exude a vile smell, not unlike rotten
eggs, when activated. I was almost lucky. Almost. My dad was some guy I didn’t
even know, and my mom had died before I could remember. I thought I could
remember what she looked like, but it all happened in a dream. Sometimes, I’d
wake up and remember what I thought she’d said before she died, but then I’d
forget and remember that it was all a dream. I now lived, or used to live, with
my Auntie Coral. She honestly tried to be a good mother to me, but she never
succeeded. I’d been by a creek, hiding from her, when I’d met Celeste on my
almost painfully boring 6th birthday. We’d bonded almost
immediately. She was the governor’s daughter and almost dying to be free.
For nine years, we played together, ate together, even
traveled together when Celeste’s dad went on a business trip out-of-state. We
practically lived together. We celebrated our birthday’s together because my
Aunt Coral could not do birthdays, nor did she like them, and Celeste’s parents
didn’t know enough about her to know she didn’t like dolls on her eleventh
birthday when her parents decided to try actually paying attention to their
daughter for once. So we went to our special hideout by the creek twice
a year: September 22 (Celeste) and December 21 (Me). Every year we’d go on at
least one trip to somewhere new.
Then, one tragic day, when I was fifteen, Celeste came
running to our secluded spot by the creek, streaming tears. When she’d told her
tale of how her poodle, Maximus, had knocked over her science experiment that
released a foul odor during a state dinner, causing a major embarrassment to
Celeste’s family. Then, her dad had blamed it all on her and told her he was
shipping her off to MWFS to get educated on proper manners. We both wept
buckets of salty drops, wishing it could have been her annoying younger brother’s
science experiment, which released an even worse odor. When we finally dried
up, we decided that we’d stay together no matter what. And so I ran home as
fast as I could to ask Coral if I could go with Celeste. Glad of an excuse to
have a break and not have to take care of me, she agreed. And so we got shipped
off to an unknown school to go through four years of high school, but we were
happy, because we were together.
Now we were sixteen and really wishing we could be out of
there. The administrative office had decided that MWFS needed a change last
year, so when we arrived, the first thing we saw were some purple walls with
spots of goldenrod strewn across them: our school colors. We had not been
thrilled about it when we found out.
Boy, did we, or I,
as I should say, not expect what was coming next.
likes her? She’s such a snob.” I
said.
“Probably thinks she’s ‘Oh so sweet and kind’ like the
teachers say. Plus, she is captain of
the cheerleading squad.” Celeste, my best friend, answered. “Although the only
reason anyone thinks that is because she puts on an act that says she’s a lovely
person that likes to help others, but that practically—“
I cut her off, “—screams to anyone who really knows her that
she’s nasty and hateful, I know, I know.” I knew exactly what she meant.
I mean, that could have just been the result of having what
she was talking about happen to me, but I knew it was because she’d been saying
it for more than half a year now. She’d put on a mask of a girl who was really
a very nice girl who wanted to be friends with you, that she only happened to
be a part of ‘the cheerleading clique’. But then as soon as she found you
alone, she’d march up to you, trailed by two overdressed, dyed-blonde girls,
who always seemed to look like raccoons, and in three seconds have you wailing
because you’d just heard that ‘the popular girls’ thought you were ugly, or
that you needed to lose a few pounds to fit in, or maybe twenty.
Joli recruited only girls that would fawn over her. She
especially liked ugly ones that would add to her beauty. She was the meanest girl in school, but all the
teachers thought she was benevolent, bright, and the cheerleading
captain. They were so wrong. Joli acted sweet around the teachers, but
as soon as they were out of eyesight and earshot, she’d strut around and if
anyone got in her way, she’d reduce them to tears before you could say “But
you’re so nice.” If you were anywhere near her without a teacher, you needed to
run.
I had been talking about Ragazzo, the totally cute guy here
at high school, although he was hooked up with Joli, the ultra mean captain of
the cheerleaders, or as we called them ‘the stuck-up sycophants.’ He was an
olive-skinned Italian named ‘boy’, but we felt bad about that, and she was a
slightly tanned French girl who, we will admit, is kind of cute, but needs some
serious attitude checks along with a change of name. They’d both been named in
their native languages, but she was named ’pretty’
for crying out loud. At least I’d
been named something sensible: Annie. Or at least that’s what my aunt named me,
because I’m sure my mom named me something different.
All of the girls here at school were crushing on Ragazzo. It
was, like, a rule. We all thought he was so cute with his wavy blonde hair, and
a dazzling smile that went perfectly with his striking green eyes. I myself
could not match it with my pixie-cut brown hair and ocean blue eyes. Celeste
might have been able to go out with him, but she wasn’t interested. She totally
wasted her good looks. She had lush, curly hair, and a soft face that hid a
busy mind. In fact, the only strange thing about her was her pretty milk-white
eyes, and most people thought it made her look like she wasn’t there. Celeste
said that Ragazzo would only go out with cheerleader stereotypes. I hoped not.
That would make him a stereotype jock.
We were sitting at a plexi-glass table in the cafeteria of
MWFS, or the Model Washington Finishing School, and we SO did not want to be
there. Both of Celeste’s parents had decided that she needed to be taught how
to act like a lady after on unfortunate event involving a state dinner, a
naughty poodle that ran through a science lab, and … wait for it, a tincture
made out of substances that caused it to exude a vile smell, not unlike rotten
eggs, when activated. I was almost lucky. Almost. My dad was some guy I didn’t
even know, and my mom had died before I could remember. I thought I could
remember what she looked like, but it all happened in a dream. Sometimes, I’d
wake up and remember what I thought she’d said before she died, but then I’d
forget and remember that it was all a dream. I now lived, or used to live, with
my Auntie Coral. She honestly tried to be a good mother to me, but she never
succeeded. I’d been by a creek, hiding from her, when I’d met Celeste on my
almost painfully boring 6th birthday. We’d bonded almost
immediately. She was the governor’s daughter and almost dying to be free.
For nine years, we played together, ate together, even
traveled together when Celeste’s dad went on a business trip out-of-state. We
practically lived together. We celebrated our birthday’s together because my
Aunt Coral could not do birthdays, nor did she like them, and Celeste’s parents
didn’t know enough about her to know she didn’t like dolls on her eleventh
birthday when her parents decided to try actually paying attention to their
daughter for once. So we went to our special hideout by the creek twice
a year: September 22 (Celeste) and December 21 (Me). Every year we’d go on at
least one trip to somewhere new.
Then, one tragic day, when I was fifteen, Celeste came
running to our secluded spot by the creek, streaming tears. When she’d told her
tale of how her poodle, Maximus, had knocked over her science experiment that
released a foul odor during a state dinner, causing a major embarrassment to
Celeste’s family. Then, her dad had blamed it all on her and told her he was
shipping her off to MWFS to get educated on proper manners. We both wept
buckets of salty drops, wishing it could have been her annoying younger brother’s
science experiment, which released an even worse odor. When we finally dried
up, we decided that we’d stay together no matter what. And so I ran home as
fast as I could to ask Coral if I could go with Celeste. Glad of an excuse to
have a break and not have to take care of me, she agreed. And so we got shipped
off to an unknown school to go through four years of high school, but we were
happy, because we were together.
Now we were sixteen and really wishing we could be out of
there. The administrative office had decided that MWFS needed a change last
year, so when we arrived, the first thing we saw were some purple walls with
spots of goldenrod strewn across them: our school colors. We had not been
thrilled about it when we found out.
Boy, did we, or I,
as I should say, not expect what was coming next.
