The Art of Getting Stared At (30 page)

My knees start to tremble. The redness and swelling is gone. But my right brow is starting to scab. “Kim promised she could do something about that,” I say into the silence. “She promised.”

And she does. Before I leave, she performs magic with concealer and suggests wearing the ball cap with the fringe, which I'd planned to wear anyway. Pulled low on my forehead, my brows are barely noticeable.

I get to the Embarcadero early. I buy a coffee, walk the perimeter of the Ferry Terminal Plaza dodging the pigeons and mentally rehearsing what I need to do. This has to go well. It has to! After my coffee's done, I stop pacing and calm myself by staring out across the water to the Bay Bridge and the rolling hills of East Bay. Lexi and Miles arrive just as the Sausalito ferry is pulling into the dock. Isaac and the others appear a few minutes later.

“So three minutes before the clock in the tower strikes eleven-thirty, Lexi and I will walk over to the centre of the plaza, whip out our phones, and start laughing,” I tell Isaac. He's leaning on the railing staring across the Bay at a cluster of navy ships anchored offshore for Fleet Week. Two seagulls soar above the water; they look like tiny white tissues floating in the blue sky.

“We've programmed in a short laugh track to help us get started,” I add. “You remember, right?”

“Yep, for sure.” But he doesn't turn, doesn't move, doesn't reach down and take the camera out of its bag. He seems mesmerized by the birds, the sun turning the tips of the waves silver.

My palms are sweating; I rub them against my jeans. This shoot is critical. The footage we've gathered so far is fine but fine doesn't get scholarships. And I want this scholarship almost as much as I want my hair back.

“As soon as we start laughing, that's your cue to start your camera. And Miles will start his. Everybody else will join in after that.” I've managed to waylay most people as they've arrived to give them instructions.

“Sounds good.” His dreadlocks bounce as he taps out a beat on the railing.

Nerves thrumming, I add, “Don't you think it's time to get the camera set up?” I check my phone. I synchronized it to the clock tower when I arrived. Three minutes and fiftyfour seconds until we start.

He turns, rests back on his elbows. “Relax. We have hours yet.” The glint in his eye tells me everything I need to know.

“Quit messing with me.”

He spreads his hands in fake innocence. “Who, me?”

“Don't.”

He smiles. “But you're fun to mess with.”

My girl parts clench.
Don't go there
. “Everything rests on this shoot,” I remind him. For Isaac, it's about getting his two arts credits. For me, it's no longer only a dream, it's also an escape. Film school would be my “get out of jail free” card—a place where nobody knows me, where I can hide behind the mask I've created and work at an art form I love.

I glance around the plaza. My fear that people wouldn't show up was unfounded. A dozen kids from the strings class are sprawled on the concrete benches framing the perimeter. Eight or nine rugby players circle a ring of cheerleaders. On the other side of the plaza, the drama geeks are listening to a bluegrass fiddler. My gaze lands on a familiar group. My stomach knots. Breanne. Matt. Kohl Girl. And their friends. Quickly I avert my gaze. The hair fringe on the ball cap gently slaps my neck, a reassuring reminder that I'm faked up, made up, and ready to go. Between the eyebrows, the hat, and the new clothes, I hardly recognize myself.

“I've told everybody not to go past those doors over there.” I point to the musician. “And to stay this side of that green umbrella.” I gesture to the vendor selling fruit and nuts a dozen feet away, down from the ticket booth for the ferry. “It'll make shooting easier if everybody stays in this general area.”

A bead of sweat trickles down my back. The sun is hot; it's a perfect day for a flash mob. But I'm sweating in the jacket Lexi loaned me. Hell, I'd be sweating if it was snowing. “I hope people remember to stagger their start. I want the laughter to go in waves.”

“You're going to have to go with whatever happens,”
Isaac says. “We can mess around with it later. Let it flow organically.”

Organically?
Does he think we're talking apples here? I bite my tongue. The miniscule part of me that's not a control freak knows he's right. “Yeah, I know.”

“It'll be great,” he says. “A couple of the guys told me they brought clown noses and Mike said he'll walk on his hands to get the crowd laughing.”

For everybody else, this is fun. For me, this is big-time serious. All eyes will be watching me. And if there's an art to getting stared at, I've never mastered it. “When the clock rings out eleven thirty, Lexi and I will hold up our fingers in the
shush
signal and everybody will stop laughing,” I remind him. “I want that sudden stop. We talked about it, remember?”

“Yep, I remember. And I coordinated the time on our phones so we'll be in synch.”

Special emphasis on “in synch.” A tiny smile just for me. Flirty eyes. I look away.

He slings the camera bag over his shoulder. “I'll go get set up.”

Finally.
My breath slows. I check the time. Two minutes, nineteen seconds.

As Isaac wanders off, Ella, Beth, and a girl I assume is Felicity run up. “Sloane, Sloane! We're here and we're ready to go!” I spot Kim a dozen feet behind them. “What do you want us to do?” Excitedly she claps her hands. “Tell us. Just tell us.”

“Go stand by those two people over there.” I point to Mandee who is hanging out with a chubby guy in baggy checkered shorts. Apparently Isaac's known him since grade nine and promised him a sack of beer if he'd stick with Mandee
at the flash mob. “That's my friend, Mandee. She's nice.” If Sack Boy bales, the three of them can keep her company.

Giggling, they bounce away.

“You okay?” Kim asks. She's wearing a white sun hat the size of a small car and leopard sandals that are practically stilts.

“Fine.”

“Anything I can do?”

Move on. Stay out of sight
. But I can't be mean. Kim spent almost an hour doing my makeup this morning, and she didn't make one single comment about how I looked. Not one. “I'm good.” Breanne is staring at us. Sweat beads the top of my lip.
Oh crap.

“I can hold your jacket if you want to take it off,” Kim offers.

“It's okay.” I survey the crowd. People are too spread out. I need to get them in closer. Plus, Miles isn't in position. “I have to go.”

Before I can move, Kim grabs me. “Blot.” She presses a tissue into my hand. “Never let them see you sweat.”

I shove it into my pocket and check my phone. My heart stutters. One minute, twelve seconds.

I sprint-walk to Lexi. “We're at the one-minute mark. Get Miles to stand by the trash bin. Tell the strings guys to get off the benches and have the jocks move in closer. I'll round up the drama geeks and then we need to get into position.”

Breathe,
I remind myself as I hurry through the crowd, asking people to move in closer.
Breathe.

“Where are
we
supposed to stand?”

Crap
. The noxious fume of rancid perfume almost chokes me.
Not now.
I turn, and come face to face with a sequined pink tank and an acre of boobage. Breanne.

“Everybody else has been told where to stand but we haven't.” She frowns. “Are you ignoring us?”

Yes, you and the Bathroom Brigade.
“Nope. Just been kinda busy.” I flash a crocodile smile and wave in the direction of the green umbrella where Matt and Kohl Girl are hanging out. “Where you are is great.”

Her frown turns into a scowl. “I don't want to be that far away. I want to be
on
-camera, not behind it.”

Perspiration pools under my armpits. I glance at my phone; my stomach does a backflip. Forty-nine seconds. “Don't worry. People will be recording it on their phones and stuff.”

“I didn't come here to be on somebody's
phone
. I came here to be on the actual camera.”

Bite me
. Thirty-seven. My scalp prickles under my ball cap.
Damn,
it's hot. Kim was right. I probably should have taken off my jacket. “You'll be in it, I promise.”

Breanne's eyes narrow to nasty little slits. “And your promises mean so much.”

Wha—?
My promises?
“Stand wherever you want. But pick a spot. We're starting in—” I glance at my phone.
Oh God, oh God.
“About thirty seconds.”

Her lip curls. “This whole thing is dumb. It's never gonna work.” Breanne stalks off.

I don't need her vote of confidence.
Breathe.
I check to see that Isaac is in place. He gives me the thumbs-up sign.
Breathe.

Lexi is back. “You good?” Her voice seems to be coming from the far end of a tunnel yet other sounds seem crushingly loud: a barking dog, a ferry whistle, a crying child. My senses are razor sharp; my body is wired. I smell the vinegar on someone's fries. Sea spray off the ocean.

“Fifteen seconds,” Lexi murmurs. She reaches into her pocket for her phone. “Get ready.”

My breath stalls. What the
hell
am I doing? I stare unseeing into the crowd. I'm vaguely aware that Matt and Kohl Girl aren't by the umbrella anymore, but I can't see them. I can't see anyone. I'm blind with panic and fear and adrenalin. Why did I think this was a good idea?

My phone hits eleven twenty-seven.

Blood rushes into my head.
It's time
. Silver stars swim across my line of sight.
Don't faint.
I blink them away, take a breath. And then I see him. Isaac. He is gazing at me, steady and true. He nods, and lifts the camera to his shoulder. “Now,” I tell Lexi, kicking into autopilot. I hit play on my phone. The laugh track spills out.

Lexi freezes. She stares at me like I've turned into a five-headed monster. I know exactly what she's thinking because I'm thinking it too: What if this doesn't work? What if we fall flat on our collective asses in front of everybody?

Then an unmistakable girlish shriek rings out behind us.
Ella
.

I start to giggle. So does Lexi. Two women walking by arm-in-arm give us snotty “are you for real” looks, which makes us laugh harder.

Seconds later, the drama geeks burst into obviously fake, over-the-top laughter. A couple kids make stupid, exaggerated faces. One girl titters. Another whoops. A guy with a wispy goatee doubles over like someone has rammed his gut with a pitchfork. Then he starts snort-honking like a maimed giraffe. The jocks laugh at
him.
Then the cheerleaders start. And the drama geeks. Kim.

And like the wave I wanted, laughter ripples through the
crowd. Confused passersby stop to watch. One guy pulls out his phone to take a picture.

Thank you, God.
My relief is a physical thing, flowing through my body like blood flowing through my veins. I'm euphoric, light-headed with joy.

More students materialize, moving in from the periphery, crowding the plaza. Dozens of people surround me, laughing, holding up their phones, recording every minute. And Isaac is there too. The camera follows me as I move through the crowd with Lexi, but I'm okay with it.

Anything for the video.

A kid in a green T-shirt pulls out a red clown nose and puts it on. One of his buddies yanks it away. The hand walker lifts his legs in the air and does his thing. A little boy laughs. His younger sister clutches her mother's leg and turns away, unsure.

Perfect, just perfect.
I hope Isaac got it.

I spin away, glimpse Mandee and Sack Boy. Breanne and Matt. Ella and Kim. Two drama geeks. They're laughing. Everybody is. And so am I. For real this time. Because I'm stoked. The flash mob has worked. A little longer and I'll have the footage I need.

The jocks start to play-punch. A few kids throw themselves on the ground and roar with laughter. The clown nose goes flying. There's a scramble of bodies. A lunge for control.

Laughing. Pushing. Shoving.

Behind me, someone pulls the hat from my head.

And the bottom drops out of my world.

Nineteen

N
o.

Heart hammering.

Sweat dripping.

I cannot breathe.

Eyes staring. Mouths gaping. Laughter dies.

And something breaks open inside of me.
Everybody knows
.

Ella freezes. Lexi looks aghast. Breanne smirks.
Look
, she says to Kohl Girl. I can read her mouth.
Gross.

And Isaac is there, getting it all on-camera.

Isaac.

Stabs of laughter. Pockets of silence. Familiar faces. Phones in the air. A hot, tight band squeezes my chest. There's a minute till the end.
What do I do now?

Appalled, I whirl around, thinking of escape, looking for my hat. It's on the ground. I lean down to grab it at the same time Lexi does. I want to run, but I have no legs. No courage. Nowhere to go. The band in my chest tightens. Besides, running won't change this.

“Laugh,” Lexi hisses. She slaps the hat back on my head.
I can tell it's crooked and I want to straighten it, but even though Lexi is laughing, her eyes issue a warning. “Laugh like it was planned,” she mutters. “Like you don't care.”

But I do care. Right now, I care more about my looks than a million stupid videos combined. The realization hollows me out. I've tried to pretend otherwise, but I can't pretend anymore.

I've always wanted to be pretty. Always. But I never thought I could be so I didn't try. Because I am my mother's daughter. Because I didn't think I had a choice. Because I didn't like Kim.

I search for her in the crowd. Her hat is sideways, at a ridiculous angle. Holding my gaze, she flips Ella's hat backwards in a crazy tilt. Her eyes bore into me.
Keep going.
I know what she is thinking.
Never let them see you sweat.