Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor (11 page)

Never Show Up Late for a Shopping Date

O
ver
the next few weeks, life goes on with almost the same grey awfulness as November. Only now, instead of agonizing over the concert, I'm agonizing over Maple Ridge and my future with no friends. Things between Rachel and I have been a bit weird, too. Between Christmas and getting ready for the move, I've hardly seen her or talked to her at all. Actually, I might be subconsciously trying to avoid her, maybe because every time I see her I feel so guilty. As if I didn't feel bad enough with the whole interview mess and the radio contest disaster, when she found out I'd be leaving on the night of the concert, she ended her bidding war on eBay. She said she would rather see me off at the airport than go to the concert. How many people would do that? Seriously, how could I be so selfish? I have to call her.

“Hi, Rachel.”

“OMG Hannah, I'm so glad you finally called me back, but crap, I can't talk; Mom's waiting for me out in the car.”

“Rachel, I need to see you.”

“Me too,” she cries. “Hey! I've got a great idea. Feel like spending some cash?”

“Like, yeah! When do I not?”

“True,” she says with a laugh, “I think we need a shopping spree.”

“A shopping spree?” I squeal, wondering why I didn't think of it myself. “When?”

“How about the Boxing Day Bonanza Sale at the mall on the twenty-ninth? Let's spend some mon-aaay!”

“I'm there!” I exclaim just as I hear Rachel's mom yell for her to get her butt out to the car
pronto
!

Our spree couldn't come quickly enough for me, and when it finally does, I'm, like, crazy excited! Everywhere I turn there are Boxing Day sales. I'm supposed to be meeting Rachel in the food court in five minutes, but right now I'm eying an awesome striped scarf on an American Eagle sale table and it's 75 percent off! The problem is some blond chick is now trying it on. I
really
want that scarf. Suddenly, she turns around — it's Eden Payton-Patterson and she's got my scarf.

“Um, do you want something?” She purses her lips, frowning.

“Um, no.”

“Well then, why are you staring at me?”

“I wasn't.”

“Yes you were. Are you a stalker?”

“No … um … I just like the scarf.”

“Ew,” she says pulling it off her neck, “this thing?” She rolls her eyes and tosses it back on the table.

Before she can change her mind, I grab the scarf and race for the cash. There are two people ahead of me; one is returning a huge bag of clothes, and the other is having problems with her MasterCard. It takes ten full minutes for the two in front of me to finish. When it's finally my turn, I throw the scarf down on the counter with a twenty. The girl then slowly scans the bar code, counts out my change, and starts neatly wrapping my scarf in tissue paper. She's taking forever!

“No paper,” I finally yell, “I'll wear it!” I grab the scarf, yank the price tag off, and throw it around my neck as I tear out of the store. I race through the mall and hop on the escalator, squeezing my way up through passengers until I reach the top. When I arrive at the food court, I'm relieved to see Rachel right away. It looks like she is in the middle of a deep discussion with someone. That's good; maybe she won't notice that I'm late … Holy crap! It's Scarlett Hastings. What is she doing here? I try to wave to Rachel to let her know that I'm on my way, but she can't see me. She's totally absorbed in her conversation with Scarlett. When I get a little closer I can hear them.

“You know, you'll be better off without her.”

“What?” Rachel says.

“We could have been really great friends if it weren't for Hannah. You know, she hasn't let you out of her sight since the minute you moved here, don't you? Haven't you noticed that she sticks to you like glue?” Scarlett snipes.

“She doesn't stick to me like glue!” Rachel exclaims.

“Really?” Scarlett says, folding her arms in front of her. “Did you know that Hannah didn't have any friends before you came along?”

“No.”

“Well, she didn't, and do you know why? Because she's selfish!”

“Selfish?” Rachel echoes, confused.

“Look at how late she is, Rachel! She's
so
self-centered, thinking her time is more important than yours!” Scarlett taps her watch. “She makes you wait a lot, doesn't she?”

“Not really … sometimes,” Rachel says, glancing around the food court.

“Wasn't she supposed to be here, like, a half an hour ago?”

“Actually, twenty minutes ago.” Rachel says, looking down at her wrist.

I yank up my sleeve to check the time. Am I really twenty minutes late? I have to get over there!

“Well, hello, Hannah,” Mrs. Harris says, suddenly appearing beside me.
Where the heck did she come from?
“Doing a little last-minute shopping before the big trip?”

“Yeah… yeah a little bit.” I stammer, feeling more desperate than ever to get to Rachel.

“How was your Christmas?”

“It was good,” I answer, scratching my head nervously.

“And you're leaving in a couple of days?”

“Yes.”

“Hannah? Are you okay?” Mrs. Harris tilts her head.

“Yes, I'm okay, I'm just late.”

“Well, I'm so glad I got to see you before you left.” She leans over and gives me a big squeeze. “Safe travels!”

“Okay, Mrs. Harris, and thanks again for everything,” I say, hugging her good-bye.

When I look back, Rachel and Scarlett are gone. This is not good! Where are they?

After a frantic scan of the food court, I finally spot them sipping iced cappuccinos at a table in front of Starbucks.

As I approach, I hear Rachel's voice.

“You're right. Hannah is the most selfish person I know. I'll totally ditch her and go to the concert with you. I mean after all, I'd be crazy to pass up those V.I.P. tickets right?” I gasp in shock.

Rachel looks up, panic-stricken. “No, no, you don't understand, Hannah!” she cries.

Scarlett looks positively blissful. She crosses her legs and taps Rachel's boot with her foot. Suddenly, I notice the brand new pair of UGGs on Rachel's feet. And at that moment the reality of the situation becomes as clear as the word Prada on Rachel's new bag. I've been replaced.

Go Means Go

I
t
's New Year's Eve. I never could have imagined it, but I just want to get this day over with so I can get on with my life in Maple Ridge.

I haven't spoken to Rachel since the mall. This whole situation seems so unreal. She's tried to call me, but there is really nothing more to say. She's right. I've been the most selfish person on the face of the earth. I'd like to say that I'm glad she's at the concert, but every time I imagine her and Scarlett together, sitting in the V.I.P. section, wearing their designer outfits, with their designer boots and designer bags, I feel a little ill.

We've been standing in line at the airport for what seems like forever.

“What a crappy way to spend New Year's Eve,” a kid in line says to the guy next to him.

“Tell me about it,” I find myself throwing in.

The kid stares at me and then looks away, shaking his head.
Was he scowling?
What a weirdo.

Suddenly, my attention is drawn to some crazy person darting back and forth through the crowd. I'm shocked when I discover who it is.

“Hannah!” Rachel yells, gasping for air, “I'm so glad you haven't left!” She thrusts a Josh Taylor concert T-shirt at me.

“How was the show?” I ask, looking down at the shirt.

“Hannah, I didn't go to the concert with Scarlett,” she says in between pants.

“Whatever.” I shrug.

“Really, I didn't!”

“I heard you at the mall, Rachel; I heard you say you'd be crazy not to go. I heard everything.”

“I was being sarcastic, Hannah.”

“Sarcastic?”

“Couldn't you tell by my voice? I just wanted Scarlett to hear how
stupid
she sounded so I was repeating back every word she said.”

“Really?”

“Oh my gosh, Hannah, yes really!” Rachel says, exasperated. “I mean
come on
, can you seriously imagine me as one of the bookends?”

“What about the UGGs and the Prada bag and all the designer clothes?”

“The UGGs were a Christmas present from my aunt, and the Prada bag, well, after what Scarlett did, I told her to take her tickets and her bag and shove it up her …”

“Rachel,” I say with a gasp, “you didn't!”

“Yes, I did,” she says giggling.

“What about the Bench jacket?”

“Oh, I'm keeping that!” She smirks. “I figure I earned it.”

“Then where did the Josh Taylor T-shirt come from?”

“Well, I went to the concert, but only because of my aunt.”

“Your aunt? The one who gave you the UGGs … the allergy specialist?”

“Yup, that's the one,” Rachel answers. “Well, Aunt Becky was working today, and just happened to be in the emergency room when an ambulance brought in …get this … Josh Taylor's new stage manager!”

“His stage manager?”

“Yeah, with a severe allergic reaction.”

“From what?”

“From a clam or a scallop or something,” Rachel says incredulously. “Apparently, her airway was closed off and she almost died!”

“Really?” My jaw drops.

“Yeah, and my aunt saved her life!” Rachel exclaims. “Well, this lady was so grateful that she gave Aunt Becky tickets and souvenir programs and Josh Taylor glow sticks and T-shirts and even backstage passes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, we got to sit in the skybox with all these big shots in fancy suits, and they served us snacks and drinks and slushies and … oh …” Rachel's smile suddenly falls as she glances down at the Josh Taylor shirt in my hands. “I wish you could've been there, Hannah.”

I know from the sadness in her eyes that she really means it.

“Wow, did you see Scarlett there?” I blurt out, trying to lighten the mood (not to mention, I'm really curious).

“Yeah, I saw her … through my binoculars.”

“In the V.I.P. section?” I can't help but sneer.

“No,” she says with a snort of laughter, “in the nosebleed section!”

“
Nosebleed
section?”

“Yeah, like the worst seats in the whole place!”

“Really? What happened?”

“Well, from what I hear, at the last minute her dad's
connection
fell through, so she had to buy her tickets on ebay at triple the price.”

“Karma,” I say.

“Total karma,” she agrees, nodding.

“Wait … how did you even get here?” I ask suddenly.

Rachel points behind her. “My mom is waiting outside with the car. She didn't want to pay for parking and told me to be quick.” She shrugs, grinning. “But whatever. I won't be seeing you again for, like … I don't even know how long!”

“I know!” I look down at the floor, avoiding her eyes. I don't want to cry.

“So, what was it like backstage?” I ask. “Did you meet him?”

“No …” Rachel shakes her head with a smile. “We left before the last song.”

“But why?” I look at her, confused.

“That's a stupid question,” she says, yanking my hair playfully. “We had to beat the traffic so we could make it to the airport in time.”

“What?” I half whisper, shaking my head, “but you could have met him … Josh Taylor.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, “but Josh Taylor hasn't been my very best friend in the entire world for the past five years, has he?”

“It's time to go, Hannah,” Mom says, softly.

Rachel looks down at her feet, rocking back and forth. “See ya later, Movie Star,” she says, glancing up at me.

“See ya, Brainiac,” I whisper back. I really want to hug her but know if I do, I'll lose it and start bawling, and I've already done enough of that.

“Hannah, it's time to go.” Mom motions with her hand.

Rachel looks back down at her feet, and I know she's feeling the exact same thing as me. I don't know when I'll see her again, or if I'll
ever
see her again. What am I going to do without her? Suddenly, I can't help myself and wrap my arms around her. “I'm gonna miss you, Rachel … so, so much.”

“You're gonna miss your plane, loser,” Rachel says, grinning, knowing I always laugh when she calls me that.

“Whatever,” I say, managing a little chuckle.

That's
why
I'm going to miss her so much. She knows me. Thank god, too, because I was on the verge of bursting into tears, and a big embarrassing scene is something I definitely don't need right now.

“Message me when you get there,” Rachel says, wiping away a tear. With one final wave, she turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

“
So, wasn't that nice of Rachel to come and see you off?” Mom dabs her eye with a tissue as we pass through security.

“Yeah, it
was
great,” I say, trying to muster a smile.

“So, I know this is your first time flying and you're a bit nervous about the flight …” Mom says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So, I don't want you to panic when I tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” I yank my shoulder away, wondering why on earth she would tell me not to panic when she knows that's exactly what I am going to do.

“Well …” she says, hesitating.

“Well what!” I almost yell.

“We're not going to be sitting together,” she quickly blurts out.

“We're not going to be sitting together?” I say, grabbing her sleeve, “but at least you'll be in the same row. Right?”

Mom grimaces. “Not exactly.”

“Well, how far apart are we going to be? I mean, I've never been on a plane before, and what if there's turbulence and I need oxygen?” I snap. “Isn't it the mother's job to put on their child's oxygen mask? Who's going to put on my oxygen mask?”

Suddenly, I notice people are looking at me. One of them is the boy who was scowling at me earlier. And he's laughing! How
RUDE
!

“Hannah, you'll be just fine,” Mom assures me. “You won't need extra oxygen, and if you're worried, just review the safety instructions in the seat pocket in front of you. Okay?”

“Fine,” I huff, casting my worst glare at that stupid, smirking boy.

As I make my way slowly down the ramp toward the plane, my heart starts racing. By the time I reach the entrance, it's almost beating out of my chest.

“Okay, here we are,” the flight attendant says. “Just put your carry-on up here.” She taps the overhead bin to open it.

Great! How am I supposed to fit my bag up there? It's already full! I shove it in as hard as I can, but I'm trembling so much, I don't have any strength. I try to manoeuvre the other bags filling the bin to make room for mine, but they won't budge. In desperation, I look down the aisle for the flight attendant. The line of passengers is beginning to back up and everyone is staring at me … again. I start shoving my bag in harder, trying frantically to make it fit, when it finally decides to fight back, and lands on my seat with a thud.