Screened Out
By my third day at Thoney, I was finally getting the hang of things. English was scaring me less and less, and I could navigate the hallways without the use of Camille’s rumpled napkin map. Even the social “rules” of the first day of school were starting to feel a little bit more natural, mostly because I realized that I didn’t have to let them stop me from being myself. After all, I had to remind myself, being myself was fun.
It was only lunchtime and I’d already succeeded in helping a sophomore girl pick up her dropped books in the stairwell, complimented Olivia on her awesome feather headband when I passed her in the courtyard, and made a girl named Faiden’s day when I told her in social studies that I’d always wanted to name my daughter Faiden.
Not that I was tallying my niceness points or anything, but maybe SBB was right. Maybe there was something to just being a good person. Maybe I could use my personality to my advantage and secure this Virgil Host thing. Hmm …
When I got to the cafeteria, I took a quick glimpse at the menu offerings and remembered right away that the mac and cheese and the fries had been preapproved by Camille.
I grabbed a bottle of green tea and an order of the mac and cheese and decided to take a last-minute gamble on the split pea soup. At the register, a girl behind me with giant plastic earrings shaped like rosebuds was eyeing my tray.
“Sometimes I think if I have to eat another fry,” she said, “I’ll turn into a potato.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s stupid, but I’m scared to branch out—is that soup any good?”
“I haven’t tried it yet,” I told her, counting out change from my Lancel wallet. “I’ll let you know, though. The mac and cheese is always a safe bet, too.”
The girl nodded emphatically, like I’d said something really insightful. “Thanks,” she said, lifting a serving of the cheesy pasta off the lineup of mostly scary-looking foods.
“No problem.” I smiled and made my way to the third table where my friends were waiting, wondering: What Would Willa Have Done? Probably tripped Plastic Earrings and laughed.
“Hey, Flan,” a voice called out as I walked to my table. I looked over and was kind of excited to find that the speaker was one of Shira Riley’s senior friends.
“Hi, Anna,” I said, noticing that she was sporting the same Comptoir des Cotonniers satchel that Jade Moodswing had had with her last night. “Cool bag,” I said, feeling a little impressed with myself that I recognized the French designer. “I love their new line.”
“Me, too,” Anna said, nudging Shira, who was sitting behind her. “Looks like Patch’s little sister has some taste.”
As I walked past them, I started thinking about how long it had been since someone referred to me as “Patch’s little sister.” There was a time when it used to bug me, like I wasn’t my own person. In fact, I think Patch’s shadow was a big part of the reason why I wanted to try out Stuyvesant. But now that I had that experience under my belt, I’d learned a couple of key things. For starters, I knew I was my own person—and I also knew that whatever fashion sense I did have definitely did not come from my wrinkled T-shirt-wearing brother.
Finally, I spotted Camille, Harper, Morgan, and Amory and gave them all a big smile. Even though the cafeteria was a flurry of activity—Bill Blass heels clicking, cell phones ringing, and one very insane-looking janitor gathering all the soda cans out of the trash bins and muttering to himself about who knows what—the third table felt like a total mecca of serenity. It was so great to know that I had thirty-five blissful minutes to just relax with my friends and chow down.
“How’s it going, girls?” I said, plopping down in an empty seat next to Camille. Harper was dusting her eyes with gold shimmer, Morgan was tapping a beat with her fork on the table, and Amory was memorizing her monologue for the upcoming play tryouts.
“Well, I’m basically in awe watching you, Flan,” Camille said, shaking her head. “Here you were, all nervous about coming back to private school, and within three days, it’s like you already know everyone.”
“I guess I’m just starting to feel more comfortable.” I shrugged.
Morgan put her fork down and laughed. “And is this newfound comfort making you bold enough to try the cafeteria soup? You just might be the bravest girl in this room.”
To show off my alleged bravery, I dunked my spoon into the mysteriously green soup and brought it to my lips.
“Actually,” I said, “it’s pretty good. Anyone want to try?”
The soup was passed around the table and voted unanimously acceptable.
“She’s in with the senior girls,” Camille listed on her hand. “She’s expanding our horizons at the lunch line. What’s next, Flan?”
Harper looked up from her Stila compact mirror and said, “You should buy a lottery ticket. This seems like your lucky week.”
“Actually,” I said, “I was sort of thinking about what you guys were saying the other day about the Virgil Host thing—”
“Ugh,” Amory interjected. She looked gorgeous as usual in a cobalt blue Marc Jacobs sweater with adorable square buttons. “This morning, I was in the bathroom rehearsing my lines for auditions and I totally heard Willa proclaiming her victory. She was talking about how she wants to implement a VIP Host’s table where the Host and her guests of choice will sit at—get this—an elevated table so they can reign over the whole event. I can just see Willa and Kennedy sitting there glowering at everyone, making judgmental comments about what people are wearing, and hoarding all the boys.”
“Gag me,” Harper said, rolling her eyes before adding another coat of MAC mascara. “There’s got to be a logical way to thwart Willa’s evil dominion.”
“Well, I started thinking about it last night,” I told the girls. “You know, about how brutal she was at practice—so not my style, by the way—and how she thinks she owns the school. And I don’t know, I guess I started thinking that maybe there are benefits to having such a different way of being in the world. If Willa thinks she can scare people into voting for her so she can lord over us at Virgil, I figure I can try the opposite approach.”
“Kill them with kindness?” Camille said, digging her spoon back into my soup for another bite. A little dropped on the table, which she wiped up with her napkin.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Well, I know who I’m voting for,” Morgan said, sipping her Mango Kombucha tea and making a gagging face as she swallowed. “Please tell me—does anyone on earth actually like the way this stuff tastes? First and last time I’m buying it.”
Harper put her makeup away. “What you need now is a campaign slogan,” she said, pulling out a pen and a notebook to take notes. She was definitely proving to be the organized one of the bunch.
“And maybe some really hot ‘Flan Rocks’ T-shirts?” Amory added. “Costume always makes the character.”
“And a theme song,” Morgan said, forgetting the gross Kombucha and bobbing up and down in her seat like a little kid on her way to the Bronx Zoo. “Can I please, please, please be your music coordinator?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling a grin spread across my face. “I can use all the help I can get.”
“Ooh,” Camille said, “project! Way to step up the team effort, girls. Not that it’ll be that hard to convince the school to love Flan even more by Monday, but it sounds like we have a busy week ahead of us.”
As we finished lunch and made our way to the exit, I could tell the girls were just as excited about this campaign as I was. Sure, it sounded like it might be a lot of work—on top of keeping up with my English work and field hockey practice, and was I really going to do this modeling thing for Jade Moodswing?—but everyone works best under pressure, right?
“I really hope you’re not busy tonight,” I heard a voice say behind me just as I reached the hallway.
For a second I thought the person was talking to me, so I turned to say that I actually did have plans—skating with Alex and then meeting SBB for a shopping date in SoHo.
But when I realized that the voice belonged to Willa—and that she wasn’t talking to me—I quickly shut my mouth and turned back around.
“What’s she up to?” Camille asked suspiciously as a small crowd gathered around Willa. Something about it made my stomach cramp up. I’d been feeling so confident during lunch, but seeing the student body hold court around Willa was a grim reminder that she definitely had some major sway at Thoney. After all, they had voted her class president.
“My father’s screening a brand-new movie tonight at the Aphrodite,” she announced prissily. “Everyone from our class is invited.” Willa placed invitations one by one in the hands of her admirers. When she turned to me and my friends, she paused. “Whoops, well, almost everyone. Sorry, Flan. Coincidentally, I just ran out of invitations.”
It was all so pathetically staged, but the weirdest thing was that it seemed to work. All around me, freshmen girls were opening their invitations with universal oohs and aahs. Sure, I was curious about the screening, but I wasn’t going to let Willa see it get to me.
“No biggie,” I told her, looking at her perfect blue eyes and trying to play it off. “I wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.”
Willa leaned forward, both arms crossed over her chest. “Wow, lying about having other plans comes so naturally to you. You must be used to being excluded. Sad.” She put her finger on her chin in deep mock-thought. “Don’t worry, you and your little friends can always Netflix my father’s movies any Saturday night when you have nothing better to do.”
I opened my mouth to come back at her, but Harper grabbed my arm. “Don’t waste your breath on rebuttal right now,” she said. “You’ll get Willa back when it counts.”
I wanted to believe she was right, but in the face of Willa’s icy stare, I started to wonder whether I was really up for this. Harper might be able to teach me every trick in the debating book, but Willa was out for blood.