Authors: Natalie Standiford
“But I saw you with David, and he had his shoes off,” Rebecca cried. “You were ogling his feet! At least, I think you were.
And I’m pretty sure I saw a whole bunch of pictures of shoes in your room one day.”
Lina glanced at Ramona and suppressed a giggle. Thanks to the power of suggestion, Rebecca was actually imagining she’d seen
the things Lina had put into her mind.
“They were women’s shoes, and my mother put them there as suggestions for what she wanted me to wear to her wedding,” Autumn
said. “I don’t get it—you believe Lina’s blog, but you don’t believe mine? Why aren’t you tearing that wig off her head right
now?”
“Claire tried, and it didn’t come off,” Rebecca said. “Because it’s not a wig. Your blog is the one that can’t be trusted.”
They swept past Lina and Ramona, so caught up in their fight that they didn’t notice the two girls retreating against the
lockers. Still arguing, Rebecca and Autumn disappeared around a corner.
“This blog thing is finally paying off,” Ramona said, clearly excited. “Let’s get together later to plan your next posting.
The shoe fetish thing was good, but now I’m thinking something along the lines of personal hygiene… .”
“I don’t know,” Lina said. “I think we’ve done enough to hold her for a while.” Lina felt a little dizzy. “I’ve got to go to
the bathroom.”
She left Ramona and pushed open the door of the nearest girls’ bathroom. It was empty except for a pair of feet in one stall.
Lina turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. She heard sniffling. Then more sniffling. She leaned down to see
whose feet were under the
door, and immediately recognized Autumn’s red wedge espadrilles.
Another sob. “Autumn?” Lina asked. “Are you all right?”
“Leave me alone,” Autumn croaked.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Autumn said. She started crying in earnest now.
Lina dried her face with a paper towel. She didn’t know what to do next. How could she just walk out when Autumn was crying?
“Autumn, listen,” Lina said. “I’m really sorry about everything. This blog war has gone crazy.”
“How could you write such nasty things about me?” Autumn said. “What did I do to deserve it?”
Lina could think of several things Autumn had done, but it seemed mean to remind her of them now.
“Now Rebecca hates me, and all my friends think I’m creepy, because of the lies YOU wrote,” Autumn said. She sobbed some more.
Lina felt terrible. She didn’t like to hurt people.
“Listen, Autumn,” Lina said. “I’m sick of this, too. It’s all going to stop. I won’t write about you anymore. Unless you want
me to. I’ll even write on my blog that I made up all those stories about Summer—if you’ll do the same for me on your blog.
Okay? Is it a deal?”
“You’ll really do that?” Autumn said. “You promise?”
“I promise,” Lina said. “Feel better now?”
“Yes,” Autumn said. “Thanks, Una. I’m so relieved that it’s all over at last.”
“So am I,” Lina said.
To: mad4u
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: Other people may say you’re okay, but you know in your gut you’re a screwup. And as they
say on
Oprah:
Always go with your gut.
W
hat’s his dog’s name again?” Quintana asked. “Nietzsche,” Mads said. “NEE-cheh. After a German philosopher.”
It was drizzly outside, so Mads and Quintana were spending a free period in the school library, reading magazines in the low
reading chairs at the round magazine table. Mads was telling Quintana about her Stephen-kissing problem.
“So Stephen’s into that stuff?” Quintana asked. “German philosophy?”
Mads nodded. “He’s very smart and kind of serious, but also fun, you know?”
“He’s still a boy,” Quintana said. “Just remember that. No matter how intellectual they seem, deep down, they’re all alike.” She
tossed a magazine on the table and reached for another one, stretching lazily like a cat.
“Hi, Quintana.” The bulky form of Barton Mitchell loomed over them. “I tried to call you last night. Did your mother tell you?”
“Yes, she did.” Quintana beamed up at him. He took this as an invitation to sit down in the chair next to her. “Sorry I didn’t
call you back. I was out.”
“That’s cool,” Barton said. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for Friday night. We are, right?”
“Friday night? I thought it was Saturday,” Quintana said. Mads watched and listened, fascinated. This was the third boy to
come talk to Quintana since she’d sat down half an hour ago. She’d toyed with every single one of them. She could make their
emotions go up and down like a yo-yo.
Barton’s face fell. “Saturday? I’m sure we said Friday. But I can see you Saturday instead, if that’s better for you. I’ll
just skip my parents’ anniversary dinner—”
Quintana laughed in her low, sexy voice. “Don’t do that. I’m kidding. Friday night’s cool.”
“Yeah. All right.” The clouds broke, and peace was restored to Barton’s face. “See you then. Maybe I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” Quintana said. He got up and left. “I hope my mother didn’t tell him I was out with Mo when he called last night. She
has such a big mouth, and he gets so jealous.”
“I don’t think he knew,” Mads said. She admired Quintana’s power, but she felt sorry for Barton, too. Mads was a veteran of
unrequited crushes. They could be painful.
“I’ve been training her not to blab,” Quintana said.
“How do you do it?” Mads asked. “How do you keep them all so into you?”
Quintana waved the question away. “It’s so not hard. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
“Well, do you have any kissing advice for me?” Mads said. “I can’t figure out what the problem is with Stephen. I check my
breath all the time, and it’s always fine.”
“What kind of gum do you chew?” Quintana asked.
“Gum? I don’t usually chew gum.”
“So how do you keep your breath fresh?” Quintana asked.
Mads shrugged.
“Maybe it’s not as fresh as you think. Try wintergreen gum. If a guy takes me out for something to eat, I always chew some
afterward.”
“I like peppermint,” Mads said.
“No, no! It has to be wintergreen. That’s the strongest flavor. Plus, I read a survey in
Cosmo
that said guys like the taste of wintergreen better than fruit or peppermint flavors. By almost two to one.”
“Really?” Mads pulled her geometry notebook out of her bag and jotted this down in the margin, even though she knew she wouldn’t
forget. “What else?”
“What are you doing with your hands while you’re kissing him?”
“My hands?” Mads tried to think. “Mostly I’m just hoping they won’t get in the way.”
Quintana shook her head. “Put one hand on his back, and one on the back of his head. Then tilt your head slightly to the right.
It’s the best angle for them when they come in for the kill. And run your fingers through his hair while he’s kissing you.
They love that.”
Tilt head right, fingers through hair
… Mads furiously scribbled notes. This was priceless Quintana advice. How could the other girls not like her? She was so helpful!
“You can use both hands on the back of his head, too, if you want,” Quintana added. “And if you get tired of
mouth-kissing, you can kiss other parts of his face, for a kind of rest period. I can’t believe you don’t know this, Mads.
Don’t you ever watch movies?”
Watch movies for tips,
Mads wrote. “Sure, I do,” she said. “I just never realized they could be training films.”
“What kind of gum is that?” Stephen asked. They were settled in his mother’s studio again. Mads had made sure that Nietzsche
had plenty of food and water in the kitchen.
“Wintergreen,” Mads said. “Want some?”
“No thanks,” Stephen said. “It smells good, though.”
Score one for Quintana,
Mads thought. She tilted her head to the right, practicing. To get ready for what she hoped was coming next.
“What are you doing?” Stephen asked, mirroring her head tilt with one of his own.
She straightened her head. “Nothing. I have a crick in my neck.”
“You do?” He put his hand on the back of her neck. “Want me to rub it for you?”
“That would be great,” Mads said.
She relaxed as he rubbed her neck. It felt good even though there really was no crick. She stopped chewing her gum, letting
it rest under her tongue. She glanced around
the immediate vicinity, looking for a good place to stash it when the time came. An ashtray, a cup, anything…
Stephen rubbed her neck more firmly, and soon he had his other arm around her, his face close to hers. She put one arm on
his back and one on his head, as Quintana had instructed. She tilted her head a little to the right. She closed her eyes.
He kissed her very softly. She opened her eyes to see if his were closed. They were. She closed hers again and moved the hand
on his back up to his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed and pressed her down on the couch, kissing her
more deeply now.
Yay, Quintana,
Mads thought. This was more like it.
He eased the pressure on her lips. She remembered what Quintana had said about kissing other parts of his face, so she playfully
nipped at his nose. He smiled. She kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then nibbled a strand of his hair….
Stephen lifted his head to look into her eyes. But Mads’ eyes were drawn higher, to his forehead. Dangling from his bangs
was a gooey white lump. Her wintergreen gum.
“What’s wrong?” Stephen pulled away and sat up. The wet gum flapped against his forehead. His hand flew up and touched it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Hold still,” she said. “It’s only gum.” She gave it a little tug, hoping it would peel right off. But there was hair wrapped
around it. Lots of hair.
“Ow! Careful. How stuck is it?” he asked.
She didn’t want to say. But she’d seen gum casualties like this before. Gruesome.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate,” she said.
Stephen stood up and went to a mirror on the studio wall. He stared at the gum in distress. “You mean, cut it out? Right in
the middle of my bangs?”
“It won’t look so bad,” Mads said. “We’ll just snip the bottom part. You’ll still have all your bangs. They’ll just be shorter
in the middle.”
“But that will look extremely stupid,” Stephen complained.
Mads bit her lip. She couldn’t argue with that.
“What if we cut all your bangs shorter, so they’re even,” she suggested. “A Caesar cut.”
“I hate Caesar cuts,” Stephen said. “Only dickweeds have Caesar cuts.”
Mads knew he was upset because she had never heard him use the word “dickweed” before. It wasn’t his style.
She’d screwed up again. Whenever she tried to do something Quintana’s way, it backfired. Now she’d ruined
Stephen’s hair. He was going to look like a dickweed and it was all her fault.
“Maybe, on you, a Caesar cut will look classic, and not dickweedish at all,” she said. “Since you’re not a dickweed, you can’t
look like one.”
He turned away from the mirror. “Aw, Mads, don’t get upset. I bet my mother can fix it. She’s pretty good with scissors.” The
sticky hair stuck straight out from his forehead. Mads tried not to laugh. Laughing at him would only make things worse.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, and she was. Sorry about ruining his hair. Sorry that there probably wouldn’t be any more kissing
that night. Sorry that she was the biggest makeout screwup since the beginning of time.
To: hollygolitely
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Feeling lost? Why are you surprised? You’re taking spiritual advice from a computer!
I
have a date with Eli tonight,” Holly said. She settled on the red velvet couch next to Sebastiano for another episode of
Los Días del Corazón.
The Altman-Pecks lived in a rambling, low-ceilinged, stucco bungalow furnished with an eclectic array of antiques and decorated
with portraits of Sebastiano’s relatives and ancestors. Sebastiano identified a few of the subjects of the larger portraits:
“That’s Great Aunt Millie“—a 1920s flapper covered in furs and bugle beads. “She was married
eight times—once to a Vanderbilt. And, over there, that’s Uncle Harvey, the inventor of Tidy-Blue Toilet Bowl Cleaner.”
“Cool,” Holly said. She’d always wondered what Sebastiano’s house was like. Somehow she’d pictured him in someplace airier,
less cluttered. An ancient Venetian palazzo, maybe, filled with modern Italian furniture and portraits of dukes on the walls.
“Yes, much of this was paid for by the Tidy-Blue bonanza,” Sebastiano said. “That, and a little windfall from Taste-Rite Denture
Cream.”
He brought her an orange seltzer and set a plate of turkey, cheese, and crackers on the coffee table.
“Where are you going on your date tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Eli’s going to tell me later.”
“After he sees what Otavio is up to, you mean,” Sebastiano said.
“I suppose,” Holly said. “I hope Otavio is in the mood for mushroom pizza today. I’m getting a little tired of
mole poblano.”
“Let’s activate our crystal ball and see.” Sebastiano clicked on the TV.
[Translated from Spanish]
“Where are we going?” Marisol shouts over the wind. She and Otavio are speeding down a winding seaside road on a motorcycle
at night. The moon shines on the water. Marisol holds his waist tightly.
Otavio’s square jaw twitches. “We are going to find our destiny,” he says. Marisol looks nervous.
The motorcycle stops at a rocky, deserted beach. Otavio dismounts and helps Marisol. In spite of the moonlight, the water
is churning and dark.
Marisol: Take me home. You know I’m afraid of the ocean.