Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters (2 page)

“Hey, I know!” JoJo says, pausing to swallow a mouthful of licorice. “Let’s spend all night talking about Kelsey’s mom. Oooor … we could talk about Tuesday.”

“Seriously. You only get one first day of high school, guys,” adds Cass. “What’s the plan?”

“Um, not get lost?” Em suggests. Em is brilliant, but she has the world’s worst sense of direction.

“Not get expelled?” JoJo offers.

“Wow, we’re really setting our sights on glory here,” I say. “Way to aim high, you guys.”

“Well, what did you have in mind, Kels? Like, streak through the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, Cass. That’s it exactly—I thought we could streak through the caf.”

I roll my eyes at her and she shrugs. “Well, just let me know what day so I can be sure to shave my legs.”

I’ll say this for Cass—she may be a little slow to catch up sometimes, but no matter what any of the three of us wants or needs, she’s behind us one hundred percent. Of course, as our resident drama queen, she’d probably love the attention we’d get if we
did
streak the caf.

Cassidy grabs the Wheat Thins and lies down with her back on the floor and her legs straight up against the wall. It’s part of a theater exercise or something—she’s been doing it since she started taking acting classes in sixth grade. I’m used to it by now, but it’s always fascinating to watch her eat upside down. And gross.

JoJo gives me a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on, Kels? You have some big plan in mind or something?”

“No, not really. Just … well, we’re in high school now. Obviously. And … it’s time to defy expectations! To … change people’s perceptions of us! I mean, I just feel like this year could be—”

“High school is still
school,
you know,” JoJo scoffs. “Lame, unlikely to result in anything useful, and—”

“
Anyway,
I’ve decided to really …
do
something this year. To make a mark. Stand out. Revamp myself for a new era. You know, like Lady Gaga.”

“You want to start wearing wigs and plastic bodysuits?”

“What? No. Okay—better example: Joan of Arc. You know, she wouldn’t settle for the expec—”

“Wasn’t she burned at the stake?!”

I sigh. “You’re killing me, Cass.”

“I’m just trying to understand what you mean!” She frowns.

“We might be here all night, then,” JoJo says.

Cassidy sits up and swats her playfully on the arm. “Seriously, though, what are you going to do to make your big mark?”

“Well … I was thinking I’d start with soccer. I mean, really take it seriously this year, work out on my own time …”

JoJo grins. “Hmm … I think I see where this is going now. Isn’t there a certain star of the guys’ soccer team that would be awfully impressed by that? Who could it be … ?”

Okay. It
is
true that Jordan Rothman, on whom I have had the world’s biggest crush since approximately birth, is an amazing soccer player—he’ll definitely make varsity, even as a freshman. And it’s also true that guys who play soccer tend to hang out with girls who play soccer. But that is
not
the reason I decided to go in this direction. Come on—I’m not
that
pathetic.

Seriously.

Seriously!

“JoJo, playing soccer happens to be very important to me, and it has nothing to do with Jordan. I want to make JV and play left wing. And I’m going to do it!”

“I’m going to get a lead in the spring musical,” Cass announces, upside down again. “I just started with a new vocal coach and she’s
amazing
.”

“See? This is the attitude I’m talking about!”

Em adds, “I think we should all follow your example, Kels. A positive attitude can
make
good things happen! And no,” she continues, cutting off a smirking JoJo, “I’m not just saying that because my mom made me read
The Secret for Teens
. Although … it wasn’t actually that bad.”

Cass and I exchange a look and try not to laugh. Em really is the cutest—especially when she gets all earnest and turns bright red, like she is now.

JoJo starts digging through her bag for the shirt she brought to sleep in. “I think if you want to play soccer, then play soccer. Wear your uniform to school every day and do push-ups in the hall or … whatever. But I think there’s an issue with your big plan. Like, a big one.”

Cass jumps in before I can say anything. “Geez, JoJo! Why don’t you just kick her in the shins while you’re at it?”

“Well, no offense to Kelsey, she’s a good player, but come on.” JoJo turns back to me. “You can’t start as left wing, as much as I want you to, obviously. Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say some
one
?”

I scowl at her. Of course I know exactly who JoJo is talking about, but I’m
trying
to be positive, for crying out loud.

“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t think I’m forgetting anything.”

“Um, Jemma Bradley? The girl who has beaten you out of that position every year since fourth grade?”

“And, also, well … you know. Jordan’s girlfriend for the last three years,” Em adds softly.

I squash a perfectly good mini Three Musketeers in frustration. Even
thinking
about Jemma Bradley—the most popular, prettiest, and nastiest girl in our grade—makes me crazy. But I’m determined not to let her ruin my year.

“This is a whole new ball game, ladies. The days of Jemma lording it over everyone are
over
. I can feel it! I
will
be chosen for left wing this year, and she will be … well, maybe she’ll decide to play field hockey instead. And we are not discussing Jordan, so don’t even start,” I add, sensing JoJo is about to reintroduce the subject of my lifelong obsession with one J. Rothman.

“Fine, fine, you win,” she concedes. “I will try to fight my cynical nature for one evening, okay? So, what’s everyone wearing on—”

Suddenly my bedroom door is flung wide open, and there’s my nine-year-old sister, Travis. She’s clutching the revolting blanky she should’ve been forced to throw away when she was four, and smirking. Very suspicious.

“Um, hello? Adults only. Go back to bed,” I tell her.

She says, “I’m not going to bed—it’s only nine o’clock! Besides, you aren’t an adult. Get real.”

Do you see how the little monster talks to me?!

“Trav, I loooove your pj’s,” Cass coos. She actually thinks Travis is cute, for some reason. “You look
so
adorable! Want a Twizzler?” Oh, lord. My sister is like a spaniel—once you feed her, she’ll never leave. Thanks, Cassidy.

Travis stands there munching on the Twizzler, getting strawberry spit all over her hand.
Blech
. I’m just about to throw up in my own lap when she wipes her mouth with the already filthy blanky and chirps, “Hey, Kelsey?”

“What?”

“Guess what?”

“What?”
This is ridiculous. Doesn’t she understand that I have
company
?

“Remember that time when Mom brought me to visit you at camp?” She snags another Twizzler and a mini Snickers, too. Unbelievable.

“Uh, no? Can you go to bed now, please? Or go bug Mom or something?”

“Remember we watched your soccer game and you tripped over your own foot and your team lost?”

“Travis! Stop eavesdropping! Have you ever heard of privacy?”

“Whatever. You
suck
at soccer!” she yells, sticking out her tongue. I lunge in her direction, but she’s gone, leaving only a crumpled wrapper in her wake.

The girls are unsuccessfully smothering their laughter.

“That isn’t the whole story, you know. You’ve all seen me play! I should not have to defend myself against the ravings of a bratty little … Besides, that was two years ago. And we would’ve lost anyway, because this one girl kept shooting in the wrong goal and—aaaauuuugh!” Now I’m laughing, too.

We spend the rest of the night sifting through my wardrobe, which, as it turns out, is almost completely useless. I’d be lying if I said there aren’t a few prank calls that get made—reining in JoJo Andover is not a task for the faint of heart, or even her best friends. All in all, it’s a great night with my three favorite people in the world … even if I’m not completely sure they totally get my “defying expectations” idea.

I’ll just have to
show
them what a great year this is going to be. Along with everyone else.

2

The next morning, after a breakfast of all the cereals in the house mixed together, my friends head out into the wide world of Park Slope. I am left at the kitchen table with Travis, who is picking all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms I had to trick my dad into buying by enthusiastically pointing out the “Whole Grains!” sticker on the box.

“Travis!” I snap. “Don’t steal all the marshmallows and leave me the cereal part!”

She gives me her wide-eyed little sister look, complete with quivering lower lip. I sense a dramatic performance coming on, and since my parents are in the next room, I swiftly change the subject.

“Hey, Trav,” I say conspiratorially, scooting my chair closer to hers. “Want Mom to take us shopping? I bet there’s some stuff you need to start off the fourth grade in style, right? I mean, it’s very important to look cool.”

Travis looks at me suspiciously. “You just want Mom to take
you
shopping and you want
me
to ask her because I’m cute and adorable. Right?”

I tell you, this kid is impossible to trick. Or live with, for that matter.

“Well, sorry if I thought it would be nice for us to do something sisterly together, like getting ready for the first day of school. Forget it,” I say, taking my empty bowl to the sink to rinse it. I throw in a disappointed sigh-sniff combo as I load it into the dishwasher.

Two can play this game.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in the car. My mom (who hates lugging shopping bags on the subway and always insists on driving) heads into Manhattan, chattering the whole way about how nice it is that her girls are doing something as a team. Travis and I exchange pinches in the backseat. When, oh, when will my parents realize I should just be given a credit card and the autonomy to shop on my own? I’m in high school, for crying out loud. Has no one in this house besides me seen an episode of
Gossip Girl
?

My mom slows as we pass the SoHo Bloomingdale’s and I start to feel a glimmer of hope. But then she keeps driving. When we get to Sixteenth Street, she hollers, “Girls—stop fooling around back there and look for an open meter!” and I suddenly realize where we’re going.

The dreaded Loehmann’s.

If you don’t know, Loehmann’s is this giant department store on Seventh Avenue that sells designer clothes at bargain prices. It is filled with old ladies who pick through the racks like vultures and fight over sequined scarves and scary pants with pleats all over them. If you’re ever interested in seeing a teenager being forced to try on an appalling pom-pom-covered sweater against her will, you should definitely check it out.

The worst thing about Loehmann’s is the communal dressing rooms—what sick person thought of that? I cannot accurately describe the creepiness of huddling in front of wall-to-wall mirrors, being forced to try on dorky jeans that I would
never
wear in public, while random strangers in giant granny panties look at me. Then my mother will inevitably shriek something like, “Oh, Kelsey, this blazer is so hip and in! Reese Witherspoon was wearing one just like it on the cover of
Glamour
! Just try it on to humor me, okay?”

Years from now, when my mother complains because I don’t visit her in the nursing home, I will cite the Loeh-mann’s dressing room as the reason. And she will see that she brought it all on herself.

After three migraine-inducing hours, during which Travis gets seven hundred things (clothes for little kids are pretty much the same no matter where you go), I end up with a pair of weird checked pants and a terrifying red blazer that are apparently “just perfect for the Jewish holidays!”

Obviously I was coerced into buying these items—I’m using what energy I have left to score a trip around the corner to Urban Outfitters, where maybe I can get
something
normal. And in a totally unsurprising turn of events, my request is summarily
denied
. Additionally, my lack of appreciation is pointed out repeatedly all the way home.

So here’s the bottom line: I can either wear jeans and a shirt to the first day of school tomorrow, which I guess is fine but not really in keeping with my whole “taking charge of a new era” thing, or I can wear a shiny red blazer with my mom’s horrifying dragonfly lapel pin on it. Tough choice, I know.

Did I mention I can feel a massive pimple waiting to spring to the surface directly under my nose? I bet it’ll pop up like a crazy Hitler mustache the second I walk through the front doors of school, and I won’t even realize it till someone
Sieg Heils
me.

Oh, God. It’s going to be a disaster. I’m starting to totally freak out.

After dinner and a couple of hours spent trying on everything I own (again) and examining my upper lip area in my mom’s magnifying mirror to see if the zit is any bigger yet, I go to my room and call Em. She says I should put toothpaste on it, which I immediately do. Can’t hurt, right?

Then she asks, “Kels? Is there anything bothering you? Don’t get me wrong—I’m totally behind your soccer stuff and anything else you want to do. I just … well, you don’t have to prove anything to anybody, you know? Everyone likes you the way you are. I just want to make sure you know that.”

Oh, Em. What would I do without her? “You’re so sweet to say that, and no, nothing is bothering me,” I say. “Well, not really. It’s just … I guess I feel like high school is a chance to … I don’t know. I feel like, finally, it’s my turn to … something. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, yeah. That totally clears it up.”

I laugh. “I’m just trying to figure out what my place is going to be. Maybe I watched too much
Oprah
this summer or something, but I feel like it’s my chance to … be … I mean, why should evil Jemma Bradley always get everything she wants, especially when she’s such a … ? Well, anyway, I’m always going to be the same delightful Kelsey you love and adore, and you’ll still have to hang out with me, so don’t get any ideas.”