Art Geeks and Prom Queens (29 page)

“Mom, no! Please don’t do that,” I beg. “You’ll only make it worse!”

“I won’t stand for this! That principal has no right treating you like that!”

“I know. You’re right. But Mom, please. Just give me a chance to work it out by myself.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I have an idea. And if it fails, then you can step in, okay?”

“Promise?” she says.

“Promise.”

“And one more thing.”

“What?”

“Let’s see if we can get you into my hairdresser’s tomorrow. I think if we even it out, and lighten up the tips, you’ll have a very chic pixie cut.” She smiles.

“Deal.”

Monday morning when my mom drops me off at school she gives me one last chance to chicken out.

“Are you
sure
you don’t want me to march into the principal’s office and strangle him?” she asks, mostly joking, but partly serious.

I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, but no. I can handle this.” Then I grab my backpack and close the door between us.

And right when I turn to leave she says, “Rio, I’m proud of you.”

So I smile and wave good-bye and as I head toward the quad I think about how lucky I am to have her as my mom. Okay, I know, a week ago I would have never said that, but it’s different now I mean, before when she was acting like my “friend” it was no different than hanging out with Kristi, because it was all based on a lot of stuff I don’t really care about, but pretended I did. But now I finally feel like it’s okay to just be myself, and that I actually have her approval. Maybe it’s not always gonna be so great because the truth is she’s
still
a former almost-supermodel, and that’s bound to get on my nerves, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy this moment of truce.

As I walk across the quad I’m totally scanning for Kristi, Kayla, and Jen Jen, but I don’t see them anywhere so I head for my locker. And as I pass this group of girls one of them looks at me and goes, “Oh, my god, did you see her
hair?
”

Oh, I totally forgot about my hair.

I lift my hand and pat my head, running my fingers through the short, spiky strands, and it feels kind of weird since I’ve had long hair my whole entire life (except for maybe when I was born, and then a year or two following that), so it’s like every time I look in the mirror I’m still shocked.

On Saturday when my mom took me to her hip L.A. salon I was feeling pretty nervous and totally dreading the nasty lecture I was sure I would get about the perils of the self-inflicted haircut.

But instead Laurence (pronounced like he’s French, even though he’s from the Valley), just stood behind me, lifted a few pieces and said, “This is fabulous, but we’re going to make it even better. We’re going to make it magnificent!”

So after two and a half hours that involved:

1. Two shampoos

2. One protective conditioner

3. A paintbrush dipped in bleach

4. A pair of scissors

5. A razor (kind of a scary moment for me)

6. A blow-dryer

7. A straight iron

8. Molding wax

9. A complimentary makeup application

My hair was shorter, spikier, platinum blond, and totally cool and edgy-looking. And as I was staring in the mirror I was starting to feel really excited about it, like maybe cutting it all off wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Then Laurence totally wrecked it by saying, “You know, you look just like your mother. Are you a model, too?”

My mom was right beside me and she must have seen my expression, because she quickly said, “No, she likes to be on the other side of the camera. She’s a very talented photographer.”

Kristi wasn’t in English, and I didn’t see her at her locker, so I guess my big moment will have to wait until lunch. And I’m feeling kind of anxious as I head for my art class since I was hoping the whole confrontation would’ve been over by now.

I’m thinking about all this as I walk into the classroom and smack into Jas.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, bending down to retrieve the papers I knocked out of his hand. But when I try to hand them over, he just stands there gaping at me.

“Oh, my god, Rio. Your hair,” he says.

And just like that I’m feeling all nervous and self-conscious about it. Which is like the lamest thing in the world, because if I like it what do I care what
he
thinks? So I thrust the papers at him and make a beeline for my desk. Then I start going through my bag like I’m looking for something, even though I’m not. But it keeps me busy until I calm down. Then I grab my camera, place it on my desk, and sit there wandering what the hell I’m gonna do for a project, since I’ve no idea what happened to the good photos I took all those months ago before I became popular.

I’m walking toward the darkroom, when Mason looks up from her easel and goes, “I like your hair.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Who did it?”

“Me.” I shrug.

“You did it?” She looks totally shocked.

“Well, I did the first cut. Then it took this guy in L.A. about two hours to fix it.”

“You just,
cut it?
”

“Yeah, I was ready for a change, you know?”

“It really suits you.” She smiles.

And I don’t know why, but right when she says that I look over at Jas. But he’s staring at me, so I look away.

I spend the rest of class in the darkroom looking through hundreds of photographs, and negatives, and proof sheets hoping to find my long-lost photos, and secretly wondering why Jas was staring at me. Is it because of my hair? Or is it something else?

By lunch, I’m on a mission. So I head straight for my former lunch table ‘cause I know if I hesitate for even one second I’ll totally lose my nerve. I walk right up to the edge and stand there. But they just sip their Diet Cokes and talk about the Moondance like I’m invisible or something.

“I
so
didn’t expect to get Moon Princess,” Kristi says, refusing to acknowledge me. “Just being nominated is an honor.”

Is she kidding?

I clear my throat, and go, “Hey.”

They all turn and look at me.

“Nice
hair,
” Kristi says, and they all start laughing.

But I just continue to stand there, so she looks at me all annoyed, and goes, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can,” I say. “I want you to leave me alone.” My voice is a little shaky.

“Uh, hel-
lo
? You’re the one standing at
my
table, it’s not like I’m following you around.” She rolls her eyes and they all start laughing again.

“Look,” I say, anxious to get to the point before I lose my nerve completely. “I don’t know what I did to make you guys hate me so much, but I’m asking you to stop. Stop spreading rumors, stop sending me nasty e-mails and text messages, stop throwing stuff at me, stop
calling me names, and stop writing stuff on my locker and filling it with dog shit.”
There I said it, now I can breathe again.

“Excuse me, but I think we all know that you’re the one dealing in dog crap.”

“Why would I do that?” I set my bag on the edge of the table, and look at her.

“Because you’re pathetic? Because you’re attention-starved? Because you always have to be the center of everything?” She flips her long dark hair behind her shoulder, mocking me.

But I don’t react. Instead, I look at Kayla and Jen Jen, just sitting there as usual, refusing to get involved. But by not saying or doing anything, they are involved, and by laughing at her mean jokes they’re taking sides. And I just don’t get it. I mean, I know Kristi hates me, but what did I ever do to them?

I look right at Kristi and say, “I’m not asking for us to be friends, I’m just asking you to back off, that’s all.”

“Well, guess what, Brazil? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, because I’m not the one bothering you. I can’t help it if the whole school thinks you’re a nasty, stuck-up skank. You brought that on yourself. So why don’t you just crawl back to your loser friends, and quit infecting our lunch table.”

I look at Kayla and Jen Jen staring at their Diet Cokes. And it reminds me of me, and how I used to sit there doing nothing while Kristi tortured some poor, unfortunate dork. But now I have to do something to stop it. And I have nothing to lose. I mean, how much worse can it really get for me?

So I look right at Kristi and go, “I’m so sick of the way you call everyone who’s not part of your little group a loser. Because if anyone’s a loser it’s
you!
People aren’t nice to you because they like you. They’re nice to you because they
fear
you. You intimidate, manipulate, and control everyone around you. But you couldn’t scare Mason so you call her a lesbo. And you were totally into Jas, but he didn’t like you back so you have your jock friends throw stuff at him.”

Okay, I’m going out on a limb here because I have no evidence to back up that Jas part. It’s just an idea that came to me recently, but I know I hit it when Kayla looks at me and goes, “Who told you?”

And Kristi looks at her and yells, “Shut up, Kayla!”

I stand at the edge of the table smiling.

Then Kristi narrows her eyes and goes, “Oh, and you should talk. Like you never say anything bad about anyone. Remember how you said Kayla and Jen are stupid, limited, and stuck on themselves?”

I continue to stand there, but I’m no longer smiling. Because she’s right, I did say something kinda like that.

“And for your information,” she continues. “I was listening the other day when you called Jen, I heard everything!”

Jen Jen looks at her and yells, “Shut up, Kristi!” Then she looks quickly at me and shakes her head, like it’s not true.

But Kristi sees it and jumps up from the table, screaming, “What do you care if she knows? Like what’s Brazil gonna do about it? She’s a total loser!”

People are starting to gather, probably hoping to see a good girl fight. But while I’m not about to fight her, I’m not quite done yet, either, so I say (in kind of a loud voice so everyone can hear), “Your days are numbered, Kristi, because pretty soon people are gonna realize they don’t have to put up with your crap. And without your little helpers, you’re nothing.”

Then I look at Kayla and Jen Jen and go, “Don’t you guys get tired of her stupid rules? Don’t you want to try new things with different people? Don’t you realize that if you walked away
right now
she’d be sitting here
alone?
I mean, why are you trying so hard to please someone who’s mean and nasty and boring and unoriginal?”

When I’m finished I just stand there, and even though I’m feeling kind of shaky, I also feel pretty damn good.

Then Kristi gives me her famous death stare and goes, “Fuck you, freak.” Then she throws her Diet Coke at me.

But it misses, so I just shrug.

And as I start to walk away she’s still screaming at me.

But Kayla and Jen Jen are looking at each other.