The next week didn’t get any better, for me at least. Kennedy was having a back-to-school dance and I was supposed to be part of the entertainment committee, along with Haley, Vanessa, and their minions. But no one ever called me about volunteering. No one called me to ask me to the dance, either.
I knew it sounded paranoid, but I felt like everyone was avoiding me. Especially Vanessa and Haley. When the signs advertising the big dance were finally hung, I knew that I’d been officially replaced. The signs were written in an unfamiliar hand—large, loopy writing that I’d bet money was Angie Vogel’s.
I ran into Vanessa coming out of her fifth-period class. I gestured toward the poster hanging on a nearby wall. “Nice artwork,” I said mildly.
Vanessa looked like she wanted to be anywhere except standing next to me, but she managed to work up a feeble smile. “Hi, Sophie, how have you been?”
I raised an eyebrow. “With time on my hands, it seems.”
“W-w-we wanted to call you,” she stuttered, “but Haley and I thought with the breakup and all, having you work on the dance when you won’t even be going to it seemed insensitive.”
“Who said I’m not going?”
“I just assumed—” She faltered under my gaze.
“Well, you assumed wrong,” I replied.
Vanessa smiled brightly. “Sophie, that’s great news. I’m so relieved. It will make things much easier.”
“Easier?”
“You know, we’ve been spending time with Connor and…and Angie.” She hesitated for a moment at my expression, but then continued. “But it’ll be much tidier if you have someone new, too.”
“Tidier?” I sounded like a fool, repeating her every word, but my brain couldn’t quite grasp what she was trying to tell me.
“Maybe we can all get together afterward. Connor is hosting the after party. It’s exclusive. Just six of the top couples. And of course, you and your date.”
“Date? I don’t have a date.” I blurted it out and knew I’d made a mistake even before I saw the pity on her face.
People didn’t go solo to dances at Kennedy. Social functions were couples only, although some guys would show up without dates and try to hit on the freshman girls who didn’t know any better than to show up with a group of their friends.
But top-tier girls didn’t go to the dance alone. It was the rule—I didn’t make it. And while I was with Connor, I hadn’t even thought about it. But now I was stuck with it.
“You’re going to the dance alone?” Olivia Kaplan’s voice broke into our conversation.
I squared my chin and gave her my best icy stare. “Was I speaking to you?” Inside, I was squirming, though. It would be all over school by sixth period, with Olivia’s special spin. I could hear it now. Sophie Donnelly couldn’t get a date for the dance. Poor thing. She’s just so over since Connor dumped her.
Maybe I was so over. Maybe whatever Connor saw in me didn’t really exist. Maybe my popularity was a fluke and I belonged with the rest of the no-names who populated the campus.
I’d have to figure out something quickly. I said good-bye to Vanessa and pointedly ignored Olivia, who could barely conceal her impatience to spread the word that Sophie Donnelly was going stag to the dance.
I caught up with Monet at rehearsal. She was busy bullying Hortensio, who was played by Simon.
“For God’s sake,” Monet yelled at him. “Don’t you know any of your lines yet?”
Simon made the mistake of muttering something under his breath. I didn’t hear it, but Monet obviously did.
“No, you can’t use CliffsNotes, you moron,” she said. She spotted me and rolled her eyes. “Fanelli picks ‘em pretty, but dumb.”
She ignored Simon’s “Hey, I’m standing right here.”
It was the perfect time to ask her for a favor. Nothing put her in a better mood than yelling at cast members about their lines.
“I need to talk to you,” I said.
“Why do those words send a shiver down my spine?” she said.
“I want you to go to the dance with me,” I said. I’d never missed a school dance and I’d never not had a date. I was in unfamiliar territory.
“No way,” she replied. “Besides, you always told me that popular girls never went alone. And also, I’d rather chew off my own arm than go to a high school dance.”
“That can be arranged,” I said. She looked at me.
When she showed no signs of budging, I resorted to pleading. “Please, please, please.”
She sighed. “What happened now?”
“I admit it. My mouth got me into trouble.”
“Again,” she said. But she was smiling, which meant there was a chance of convincing her. I could be very convincing.
Word definitely got around, though. On Wednesday, a lanky boy with stoner eyes and great hair walked up to me. “I hear you need a date for the dance,” he said. His friends, who were hovering in the background, snickered.
“Aren’t you a freshman?” I said.
“You’ve seen me around, then?”
“I think my cousin used to babysit you,” I said. “Your face cleared up nicely.”
He made a hasty retreat as his friends burst into gales of laughter.
“Since when do freshmen have the nerve to ask me out?” I muttered to Monet, who was barely refraining from laughing.
“Since they heard you were going with me,” she replied. She was going with me with the agreement that we would put in a brief appearance and leave. She also demanded that, in exchange, I would attend no fewer than three art films and a poetry reading.
“Maybe Scott will be there,” I said.
She blushed. Scott Caruso was this guy in her art class, and I could tell from the way she talked about him that she liked him.
“Cheer up. It’ll be fun,” I said. “I promise.”
It turned out to be the farthest thing from fun imaginable.