Plastic Polly (9 page)

“Nobody move,” Mr. Pritchard says. “I'll check the coin.”

“I'll check it with you,” Mr. Fish says. Before Mr. Pritchard can move, Mr. Fish has turned aside the desk so they can both stare at it.

“It's tails!” Mr. Fish hollers.

“Are you sure it's tails, because it looks like it could be—”

“It's tails,” Mr. Fish says. “Tails, definitely.”

Once we're seated again, Mr. Fish says, “We're happy
to host Groove It Up. I think you'll find that Winston's auditorium is quite sizeable and can easily accommodate both schools.”

Mr. Pritchard smiles, although it looks like the effort might kill him. And I'm pretty sure I hear him mutter something about “snobby private school kids” before he says, “Thank you.”

A girl from American River—Montana, I think—who has beady black eyes, slicked-back brown hair, and really chubby cheeks says, “We have a list of things we'll need from you as the host school.” She looks expectantly at Justin, who's staring at the fire alarm, looking like he wishes someone would give it a good pull. Then, with a disgusted grunt, she picks up Justin's clipboard and says, “Each act from our Talent Team has a list of needs.”

“You had tryouts already?” I ask.

“We had them last month. Our students have been perfecting their acts for the last several weeks. You'd better prepare yourself.” Montana regards our team coolly. “We're through accepting second place. The concert and the spot on
Good Morning, Maple Oaks
are ours.”

“Oh yeah?” Melinda says. “Well, that's just too bad, because our school has quite a nice collection of trophies. And we'd like another one.” She wrinkles her nose at
Montana like she smells something rotten. “Those are nice cheeks you have there. Shouldn't you be somewhere else right now, storing up nuts for the winter?”

Mr. Fish tells Melinda she's out of line, but no one listens to him. Montana's cheeks swell even larger, and she says something equally nasty to Melinda, which is followed by a cutting remark from Jenna. Then both teams are standing up and yelling, except for me. And for Justin, who's leaning forward trying to get my attention.

“All right, that's enough!” Mr. Fish hollers. “This meeting is now over!”

I ignore Justin and leave the classroom, barely hearing Melinda's and Montana's voices as they continue trading insults. I pull out my phone and send Kelsey a text.

I'm on my way. I NEED to talk to you. Right now!

Fifteen minutes later I'm standing in front of Kelsey—who's lying on her bed, propped up on a sea of hot-pink throw pillows—feeling like a chastened general giving a bad report to her queen.

“Let me get this straight,” Kelsey says, settling back under her red quilt. “Justin, the guy you were going on and on about last night, is American River's PlanMaster?”

I nod, and blink several times. Every time I walk into Kelsey's room, I feel like I need sunglasses. Last year she decided to decorate her room in bright shades of red and hot pink, saying they were her power colors. I've never told her this, but personally I think it looks like a valentine upchucked all over the place.

“It gets worse.” I tell her all about the meeting and how her brilliant plan to feature the cheerleading squad has been crushed.

When I've finished, Kelsey throws a pillow at me, which I catch. “That's just great, Polly. The next time you decide to blab your business to a random guy at the mall, do me a favor? Make sure he's not your competition.”

“Did you know?” I toss the pillow back at Kelsey, which she catches.

“Did I know what?”

“That giving the cheerleaders multiple slots in the show was against the rules?”

Kelsey shrugs. “Have you seen how thick that PlanMaster guide thingy is?”

Which is basically her way of saying no.

My cell rings—it's a number I don't recognize—and I answer it.

“Polly? Don't hang up. It's Justin.”

“Justin?” I look at Kelsey and mouth,
It's him!
I punch the speakerphone button so she can hear.

Kelsey hurls the pillow at me. I duck, and it sails into a bunch of get-well cards on her desk. “You tell that lying, spying little—”

I motion for her to be quiet. To Justin I say, “That was my friend. Don't mind her. What do you want? And how did you get this number, anyway?”

“It's on the list of contact numbers Mr. Fish passed out after you left. You ran out of there really fast, and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why? So you could spy on me some more? Did you tell your whole team about me?”

“Hang up!” Kelsey yells. “He's probably spying on you right now!” Kelsey throws another pillow at me, and it hits me in the head.

“Don't hang up!” Justin sounds panicky. “I'm not spying on you, and I wasn't last night either. I tried to tell you not to talk about Groove It Up, but—”

“Tried!” Kelsey shouts. “Of all the idiotic, stupid, and—”

“Kelsey!” I yell. “If you don't stop talking, I swear I'm going to tell your mom about the time you borrowed her diamond earrings without asking.”

Kelsey lies back in bed, grumbling. “Fine, but if you need me to beat him up with my cast, you just let me know.”

“Polly, I didn't mean to spy on you,” Justin says. “And I didn't tell Mr. Pritchard I met you. I just said I'd heard somewhere that Winston Academy was giving all their slots to their cheerleading squad.”

“So basically you just blew our whole strategy.”

“Polly, it was against the rules. It wasn't fair.”

“Whatever,” I say, even though I agree with him. “I've got to go. Thanks to you I have to come up with a whole new plan.”

I punch the disconnect button and then collapse onto the bed next to Kelsey. The phone rings—it's Justin again—but I let it go to voice mail.

“What an idiot,” Kelsey says.

“Justin's not an idiot,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

“I wasn't talking about
Justin
.” Kelsey nudges me, to let me know she's just kidding.

I turn and look at her. “You're not going to tell anyone about this, right? I mean, if Melinda and everyone else found out, I'd probably get banished from the Court.”

“What are you talking about? You're not going to get kicked out of the Court.” Kelsey looks offended. “
I'm
the one who kicks people out of the Court, and I say you're
staying. Although, you do something like this again, and I might reconsider.”

“Gee, thanks. Your compassion is truly amazing.”

“Don't mention it.” Kelsey settles back on her pillows. “How were things at the Court today?”

I shrug. “Melinda invited Jenna to eat with us.”

The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Melinda has mentioned inviting Jenna to the Court several times this year, and Kelsey has always told her to forget it.

“She what?” Kelsey's voice is low. Dangerous. I figure it's a good thing for Melinda that Kelsey won't be in school tomorrow.

Kelsey grabs her cell phone from her nightstand, and soon her fingers are flying as she taps out one, two, three text messages with her good hand. I assume they're to Melinda, but I don't ask.

“Feel better?” I ask when she's finished.

“Slightly.”

“You know, if you came back to school tomorrow, you could handle this in person.” Kelsey seems to think this over, and I add, “Also, you could help me with tryouts tomorrow night. You could come back and be the PlanMaster.”

Kelsey sighs.” Polly, I told you—”

Just then Kelsey's mom enters the room carrying a tray of steaming mugs of apple cider. “Here you go, Polly.” She holds out my mug and a bottle of butterscotch syrup, because she knows I like to mix some into my cider. I call it butter cider.

“You've got the weirdest eating habits,” Kelsey says.

“Don't knock it till you've tried it.”

After Mrs. Taylor leaves I glance at Kelsey's mug. It's a picture of a girl holding a soccer ball, and the caption reads:
OUTTA MY WAY. I KICK HARD
. I remember Alyssa bought it two years ago for Kelsey's birthday.

I gesture to the mug. “I didn't know you still had that.”

Kelsey shrugs. “Did you think I was going to throw it away?”

“Alyssa's trying out for Groove It Up. At least, her name's on the sign-up sheet.”

“Mmmmm.” Kelsey makes a point of sipping her cider. Which is her way of saying she doesn't want to talk about Alyssa.

“Don't you ever miss her?”

“No.” Kelsey sets her mug on her nightstand. “I never miss people who talk smack about me behind my back. And you shouldn't either.”

“Come on, Kelsey. We don't know that's what she did.”

“Oh yeah? Then how do you think everyone started calling you Plastic Polly?” Kelsey demands. “I'll tell you something, if Alyssa ever came near the Court, I would banish her.”

I decide not to remind Kelsey that Alyssa couldn't care less about the Court. That's a big part of the reason we're not friends with her anymore. Instead, I say, “Whatever. But doesn't it ever bother you?”

“Does
what
ever bother me?”

“Having that kind of power? Don't you think it's weird that you can decide someone can or cannot eat at your table? Just because you're the most popular girl in school?”

“Weird? No. Awesome? Most definitely. And if I didn't do it, someone else would. And besides, I haven't banished anyone this year, have I? I'd say I'm the nicest popular girl Winston Academy's ever seen. Remember Brooklyn?”

Oh, boy, do I ever. After Brooklyn banished Haley, she started banishing people left and right. She reminded me of a paranoid queen who kept firing her advisers to secure her power.

When I say that to Kelsey, she says, “You see? That's
exactly the wrong thing to say. You're popular. You're not supposed to be talking about politics or any other boring things. Think clothes. Fashion. Football games. You have to be mean.” Kelsey makes a funny face, but I wonder if there's a part of her that's also serious.

“I can be mean,” I say, thinking about Alyssa and the choice I made last year. “I can be just as mean as you.”

“Yeah, but the difference is, you're just pretending.”

“And you're not?”

“No,” Kelsey says matter-of-factly. “I'm training for the day when I take over the world.”

Kelsey remains serious for another second before grinning. I grin back. And then we're both laughing, so hard Mrs. Taylor raps on the wall and tells us to keep it down. And I realize that even though I've sometimes wondered if I made the wrong choice, even though I haven't always liked being at the Court, I've always loved being friends with Kelsey. She may be bossy, and sometimes she says the most outrageous and crazy things, but if I had chosen differently, I would have missed her.

Just like I miss Alyssa now.

True Confession: I hate reality TV, but I watch it anyway, just so I know what everyone else at the Court is talking about.

O
N THE NIGHT OF
G
ROOVE
I
T
U
P TRYOUTS
, I'
M STANDING
outside Winston's auditorium, waiting for the delivery guy to show up with the pizzas I ordered for the planning committee.

The sky is swathed in gray and lavender, and there's a chill in the air. A strong breeze kicks up, sending fiery red leaves spinning like sparks from the maple trees. While I wait, several groups of students walk past me heading into the auditorium. A couple of boys are wearing Frankenstein masks and holding bags of candy.

Tryouts for Groove It Up are a big deal at Winston. Many students who have no intention of auditioning show
up just to hang out with their friends in the auditorium. Tonight we'll go through half of the sign-up list, and then we'll finish up on Monday night.

My cell phone rings, and the name Justin Goodwin flashes on the screen. He's called three more times, apologizing profusely on my voice mail (since I refuse to answer and actually speak to him). This time I delete his message without even listening to it.

The pizza guy—a girl, actually—finally arrives with three boxes of pizza. “That's one pepperoni, one sausage, and one pesto cheese pizza,” she says.

After I pay her, she hands me the boxes and says, “Are these for Groove It Up tryouts?”

I nod. “I'm the PlanMaster.”

The girl gets a wistful look on her face. “I tried out for Groove It Up, back in the day. Didn't get one of the slots, though.”

“I'm sorry. Thanks for the pizza.” I turn away, but she stops me.

“You know what you really need to do?”

What I really need to do is get inside so we can start auditions, but instead I say, “What?”