The Aristobrats (13 page)

It was late and the studio was quiet. Everyone but Parker and James had gone home. James put away the last of the equipment. The sound of the locks closing on his camera case sounded so final. All that was left now was to turn it in to Hotchkiss and wait to get dragged into her office and get fired. By tomorrow this horrible chapter of eighth grade would be over—Parker just had to keep reminding herself that.

“Here you go.” James handed Parker the copy of the webcast.

The DVD seemed so small for something that took so long. Parker grabbed her tote and slung it around her shoulder. She tried to smile.

James gathered his heavy backpack, his personal camera, and a flat box of photography paper. He slipped the box into his backpack and heaved the whole thing up over his shoulder.

As he shut off the last of the lights and Parker locked the door behind them, she couldn't help but shiver. The school was dark and empty. The sound of Arthur's enormous floor-shine machine whirring somewhere above them was all they heard.

“It's so creepy in here when it's late,” she muttered. She didn't want to walk up to Hotchkiss's door all by herself. Every horror movie that ever took place in a school filled her mind. Blood-thirsty vampires (
not
the cute ones) could be lurking just about anywhere.

James lifted his hood up and nodded. “I was going that way anyway,” he said. Parker was über-relieved.

Together they walked back down the hallway, past the dark row of Orion Super-Screens, past the bomb shelter entrance and the two old phone booths, past the nurse's office and the lower level of the Hunt Memorial Library, toward the stairwell that led up to the empty office and the door that the DVD would slide under.

James stopped in front of the door to the stairwell.

“Parker, I know you and your friends really hated doing this…” he said, “but I'm really happy we got the chance to work together. I thought it was really fun.” James gave her a warm, boyish smile, one she remembered from their dance together around the maypole. “But I know you'll be pretty glad after tomorrow. Hey, you're
Parker Bell
.” He pushed open the door. “You have better things to do with your life.”

“I don't have a dad, you know,” Parker heard herself admit. She wasn't sure why she told him—she just felt like she needed to say the words, like she wanted James to know. “Sometimes it just doesn't feel like I really deserve any of this….being popular, having a lot of people looking up to me,” she said. “I'm really just a nobody who pretends to be a somebody.”

Parker took a deep breath. She smiled even though she felt like crying. James just listened. There was something about saying the words out loud to James that made it feel like it wasn't as big of a deal as it was.

James set down his heavy backpack on the landing.

“And I don't only know how to take pictures of the lunch ladies serving up macaroni and cheese, by the way,” he told her. Parker shook her head. She'd almost forgotten that question she asked him on the first day they were in the studio.

James pulled out his box of photography paper, slid out a print at the top of the pile and handed it to her. Parker held the print carefully. Even in the darkness of the stairwell she could see.

“That's me!” Parker stared.

Parker studied her own face. It must have been the split second after she noticed James standing beside the tree at the Big Game but before he'd disappeared. Her hair was swept across her forehead and framed her eyes like long tendrils. Her body was turned in a way where you couldn't tell if she was leaving or she'd just arrived. She didn't look perfect, like the cover of the magazine pose she'd practiced or the Academy Award acceptance speech—but it just seemed like James captured something private about her through his lens.

Something not so terrible.

“I've been meaning to give it to you,” James told her. “I like the way you look…” His eyes met hers. “I mean in the photo,” he corrected. “The composition and stuff.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Parker laughed. “The composition is great.” She tucked the print into her tote. It fit neatly into the side.
It was good that totes were still so in,
she thought. “Thanks.”

James lifted his backpack back up and they walked the rest of the way up toward Hotchkiss's office door.

“Are you going to Fall Social on Saturday?” Parker asked without thinking.
Dumb. Dumb. It was a dumb question, Parker!
James would think she was asking him to go with her and that's so not what she meant—

“Sure,” James said. “I'm the AV guy, remember? Can't have a party without me.” He smiled. “Who'd work the sound?”

He pushed open the door to the first floor. The sound of Arthur's machine drowned everything else out. Parker was instantly embarrassed in the light. Her face felt hot—she knew she must have been bright red.

“I thought you kids just about disappeared down there.” Arthur the janitor yelled. His voice vibrated as he worked his oversized machine. Like magic, he left a trail in his wake: the floor behind him was shinier than the floor in front.

“Nah,” Parker shouted above the noise. She held up the DVD in the blank jewel case. “Just finishing things up,” she said.
Finishing things up,
she thought again. Why did she feel so bad when the news was so good?

“I'll be watching tomorrow.” Arthur held up his iPhone. The oldest man in the world…with the same phone as Parker had. How weird was that? “I subscribe to the show,” he said as he moved on to the rest of the hall.

“Thanks, Arthur.” Parker smiled. “Our one subscriber,” she whispered to James.

James adjusted his heavy backpack on his shoulder. “I gotta run, Parker. My mom's waiting outside.”

“Oh. Sure. Me too.” Parker stood at Ms. Hotchkiss's door holding the jewel case. This was it, she thought. She'd push it under the door and it would all be over. Simple as that.

“You okay?” James asked as he shuffled toward the front.

“Yeah.” Parker smiled at him as he opened the front door and disappeared into the night. “Totally okay,” she repeated.

Parker knelt down to the narrow crack beneath the door and put the side of her face on the floor. The space was just tall enough to let the case slip through to the other side of the door. She tried to look through to the office but her face couldn't get close enough with her nose in the way.

She felt the vibration of the building like it was alive.

With just one flick of her index finger, it was done.

The very front row of the Freeman Auditorium was a whole different place than the very back row, or even the second-to-back row, of the eighth grade section. They truly were the very worst seats in the whole room, but they were the only seats that were left. The eighth grade section was completely full. Unless Parker turned around, she couldn't see anyone (as in Tribb) and anyone (as in Tribb) couldn't see her. (Well, except for the back of her head, which meant, if she had any plans for staying there more than this single Matin, she would need to contemplate a whole new hairstyle. But she didn't. So she wouldn't.)

She tried not to let her embarrassment show but she thought some of it was probably leaking out. She was embarrassed for all four of them.

I will never have to sit here again
.
We will never have to sit here again
.

She repeated the words in her head.

“Could this be any more humilifying?” Kiki asked with an audible puff of air. “I can't
believe
that it's Fall Sosh tomorrow, only the first black tie event of the school year, and we're sitting
here!
” she complained. “And why doesn't anyone have my haircut yet?”

Parker kept turning around toward the back of the auditorium. She was sure she'd see Hotchkiss at any moment, storming through the foyer and down the aisle like Miss Gulch in a Kansas tornado, pointing a finger at Parker and signaling that she wanted to see her immediately.

But there was no sign of the headmistress.

Parker couldn't understand why Hotchkiss hadn't summoned them to her office already. She was sure Alexander would have gathered the production staff all together in the waiting room before first bell, but he hadn't. And if Alexander wasn't going to find them
before
first bell, he would have definitely sent a note into Latin Studies requesting their immediate presence—he knew all their schedules. They weren't hard to find. If not Latin Studies, she thought, then biology. If not biology, then French. Alexander even
saw
Parker doing her Virtual Humanities homework in the library before Matin. He could have quietly come over to her and whispered in her ear:
“Ms. Hotchkiss's office. Now.”

But it was Matin and they hadn't been fired yet. It made no sense. Parker chomped on about a dozen cinnamint Tic-Tacs as they waited. Ikea had tamed her new Afrofabulous hair into two pouffy ponytails on either side of her head. Parker thought they looked like ice skate pom-poms with grosgrain ribbons around them.

Ikea bit her fingernails. “My dad's in court today,” she said nervously looking around. “He won't be here.” She craned her neck again. “Like pretty much for sure.”

Parker nodded. “Like
no way
he's coming.”

“I thought we'd already be dead by now,” Plum said.

“I'm sure Hotchkiss has something worse than death planned,” Kiki suggested.

“We're just getting
fired
, you guys,” Parker reminded them. “Not executed.”

“What if she actually decides to show it?” Ikea asked hesitantly.

“She's
not
going to show it.” Parker pinky swore. “Can you imagine Hotchkiss
actually
showing your segment?! Or Kiki's lunch menu?! Or Plum's discotheque?”

“Umm yeah,
no way
,” Plum agreed.

“Not happening.”

“Negatory.” They all nodded.

“Do you think we went too far?” Ikea asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Completely.”

Parker allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. “Well, that
was
the point.”

“Hey.” Tribb, Kirby, and Beaver slid in to the seats two rows behind them. Parker turned around but not so much that her neck got all crinkly and made a double-chin (she'd practiced, and rejected, that pose many times). Somehow, Tribb had gotten even more quantumly gorgeous since soccer season started. He'd look so hawt in his tux. Parker's stomach was instantly tied in a knot.

Plum sat back up straight in her chair. Her new 32 B Fantasias really stood out.

“Hey…” Parker completely forgot to have a more clever response to “Hey” than “Hey.” “…
Ho
,”
she added a second syllable just because she couldn't think of anything better at that particular moment. “Hey-
ho
, Tribb.”

Hey-ho? Smooth move. Brilliant.

Courtney and Cricket threw a tiny ball of paper at Tribb's head from their prime spots. “Hey, Tribb!” They giggled.

Tribb flashed a BriteWhite smile at them.

“I've been looking all over for you!” Tribb said to Parker. “We should totally try and coordinize.” He checked his popped collar.
Beaver and Kirby followed.

Parker was so relieved. He was finally going to bring it up. All really
would
be well. Matin would be over and she could focus 100% on Fall Sosh. She could almost forget that her mom might move…

“Right. Yes! Coordinize!” Parker couldn't have agreed more. “So my dress is blue,” she told him. “Kiki calls it
azul
.”

“Your dress
is
azul,” Kiki added. “
Pale
azul.”

“But that's basically just a fancy word for blue.” Parker fluttered her fingers around her neck where the dress came up to. “It has this really great neckline. And I've been thinking
absolutely
no
jewelry
.” She laughed. “The corsage really says it all.”

“Your
dress?
” Tribb asked. His voice was low, like a mallet hitting a big brass gong. “I meant the Ancient Egypt Living Museum project thing. I need to at least get a C.”

“Virtual Humanities? The project thing?” Parker's heart dropped. Tribb had no plans at all to coordinate his tux with her dress. She didn't even know what time he was picking her up. “Sure,” she said. “Living Museum.”

“Sweet.” Tribb nodded back to Parker. “You're the greatest, Park.” He winked.

“Sure.” Parker cleared her throat. “No probs.”

“What color's your dress?” Kirby asked Plum. When he spoke, his cheeks turned red in patches that looked like the shape of Pennsylvania. “It's wicked sick, I bet.”

Plum turned around and flashed Kirby the mini–evil eye (no serious injuries incurred). “Me no speakum guyanese, Kirby,” she notified him. “But it's lavender anyway, if you must know,” she admitted. “With little black polka dots.”

Mrs. Rouse sat down at the piano and the lights dimmed. Parker's brief social moment was immediately replaced with a feeling of dread. It was too late for Hotchkiss to do anything.

“OMGeeze!” Ikea grabbed Parker's arm. “He's here!” Ikea pointed to the back of the auditorium. Mr. Bentley was sitting at the end of the row. He hadn't taken off his overcoat and his limo driver was standing behind him. “He's supposed to be in court!
Please
say she's not going to show it, Parker,” she pleaded. “She can't!”

Parker looked past Mr. Bentley and his driver at the silhouette of James sitting in the AV booth. McDweebs was back there with him, she could see. The familiar clip-clop of the Terminator's chic but sensible high heels approaching the podium was even more nerve splitting from the front row.

“No way Hotchkiss is going to show it,” Parker said confidently, even though her dread had turned to panic. “No way.” She crossed every finger she had as the room went dark.