stupid, vain, asshole.”
I stomp my foot against the linoleum floor and slap my hand against a nearby locker, making a metallic ringing sound fill the hall. A nearby ninth grader looks over at us. I don’t have the heart to be nice, and simply glare. She scurries away. For a minute I feel like Angelina and it makes me nauseous. I sort of want to chase after the girl and tell her I’m sorry. But I don’t. Instead I turn to Caroline and continue with my tirade.
“Now people think I’m his girlfriend and won’t believe me when I say I’m not, my face is all over the internet, and Michelle Trabeck wants to go for mani’s and pedi’s!”
“Yeah. Your life is so hard,” Caroline deadpans. “Fame, friends, a gorgeous guy kissed you. Damn the world.”
“Shut up.”
“Calm down. In a few days some pop-star will get pregnant again or get shipped off to rehab. People will realize you can’t get them close to him and you’ll just be regular old Sydney again.”
“You think?”
“Sure,” she smiles what I think is supposed to be reassuringly, but something in it wavers. Maybe hope that I won’t fall by the wayside, or maybe she knows I’ll never be normal again and she doesn’t want to let on. “This country has ADD. You’re today’s news, but tomorrow there will be something bigger and better to talk about. Just wait.”
Chapter Seven
The problem is that tomorrow is tomorrow, and I’m still stuck in today. I manage to make it through the rest of the school day without incident. Sure, in drama when Mrs. Willis asks us to pick partners, fourteen people try to pair with me, and afterschool some football player tries to give me a ride home, despite the fact I’m unlocking the door to my own car as he asks. But other than that, I make it out okay. And wonder of all wonders, maybe the rest of the school won’t believe me, but Zane, Shanae, Alex, Paul, and Tara do. Sure they’re skeptical at first, but after Caroline reasons with them (“Why on earth would Grant West want to date Sydney?”), they seem to accept the truth.
I leave school feeling relieved to be free from all the stares and questioning looks. It doesn’t even occur to me that what’s waiting at home could be far worse than what I just left behind. When I pull into my driveway I notice two things, well two cars actually. My mom’s and my dad’s. They should be at work, not home. A mild panic starts to worm through my body. I was so busy worrying about everyone at school, I didn’t even stop to consider what my parents might think about this whole debacle.
I slam the door of my Toyota and slowly make my way up the front walk. There are lots of other reasons they could be home. A mid afternoon tryst (ew), or maybe America had another soccer thing (please God).
I open the front door and slip inside. I contemplate just running up to my room and locking myself in, but before I can even complete the thought, my dad steps out of the kitchen and into the front hall – anger blazing in his green eyes. His hair looks particularly unkempt, as if he’s been pulling at it all afternoon.
“You’re home,” he rumbles.
“Um, yes.”
“Clarissa!” he calls out to my mom. “She’s here.”
Seconds later Mom appears at the top of the staircase. She sees me, smiles briefly before painting her face with a grim gaze, and then rushes down to us.
“Follow me,” Dad barks. Mom and I traipse behind him into the living room.
“Sit!” Although I’m rather disinclined to be treated like a dog, the sheer force of his anger makes my legs fold beneath me as I drop down onto the squishy surface of the large, brown couch behind me.
Mom perches on the armrest of a chair across from where I’m sitting, and Dad chooses to pace the length of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“My daughter! All over the television and internet! How did this happen?”
“Tom,” Mom stands and lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. We
I stomp my foot against the linoleum floor and slap my hand against a nearby locker, making a metallic ringing sound fill the hall. A nearby ninth grader looks over at us. I don’t have the heart to be nice, and simply glare. She scurries away. For a minute I feel like Angelina and it makes me nauseous. I sort of want to chase after the girl and tell her I’m sorry. But I don’t. Instead I turn to Caroline and continue with my tirade.
“Now people think I’m his girlfriend and won’t believe me when I say I’m not, my face is all over the internet, and Michelle Trabeck wants to go for mani’s and pedi’s!”
“Yeah. Your life is so hard,” Caroline deadpans. “Fame, friends, a gorgeous guy kissed you. Damn the world.”
“Shut up.”
“Calm down. In a few days some pop-star will get pregnant again or get shipped off to rehab. People will realize you can’t get them close to him and you’ll just be regular old Sydney again.”
“You think?”
“Sure,” she smiles what I think is supposed to be reassuringly, but something in it wavers. Maybe hope that I won’t fall by the wayside, or maybe she knows I’ll never be normal again and she doesn’t want to let on. “This country has ADD. You’re today’s news, but tomorrow there will be something bigger and better to talk about. Just wait.”
Chapter Seven
The problem is that tomorrow is tomorrow, and I’m still stuck in today. I manage to make it through the rest of the school day without incident. Sure, in drama when Mrs. Willis asks us to pick partners, fourteen people try to pair with me, and afterschool some football player tries to give me a ride home, despite the fact I’m unlocking the door to my own car as he asks. But other than that, I make it out okay. And wonder of all wonders, maybe the rest of the school won’t believe me, but Zane, Shanae, Alex, Paul, and Tara do. Sure they’re skeptical at first, but after Caroline reasons with them (“Why on earth would Grant West want to date Sydney?”), they seem to accept the truth.
I leave school feeling relieved to be free from all the stares and questioning looks. It doesn’t even occur to me that what’s waiting at home could be far worse than what I just left behind. When I pull into my driveway I notice two things, well two cars actually. My mom’s and my dad’s. They should be at work, not home. A mild panic starts to worm through my body. I was so busy worrying about everyone at school, I didn’t even stop to consider what my parents might think about this whole debacle.
I slam the door of my Toyota and slowly make my way up the front walk. There are lots of other reasons they could be home. A mid afternoon tryst (ew), or maybe America had another soccer thing (please God).
I open the front door and slip inside. I contemplate just running up to my room and locking myself in, but before I can even complete the thought, my dad steps out of the kitchen and into the front hall – anger blazing in his green eyes. His hair looks particularly unkempt, as if he’s been pulling at it all afternoon.
“You’re home,” he rumbles.
“Um, yes.”
“Clarissa!” he calls out to my mom. “She’s here.”
Seconds later Mom appears at the top of the staircase. She sees me, smiles briefly before painting her face with a grim gaze, and then rushes down to us.
“Follow me,” Dad barks. Mom and I traipse behind him into the living room.
“Sit!” Although I’m rather disinclined to be treated like a dog, the sheer force of his anger makes my legs fold beneath me as I drop down onto the squishy surface of the large, brown couch behind me.
Mom perches on the armrest of a chair across from where I’m sitting, and Dad chooses to pace the length of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“My daughter! All over the television and internet! How did this happen?”
“Tom,” Mom stands and lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. We
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