Kiss & Blog by Alyson Noel
3. The Talent Show. Well, what I really wanted was to get out of performing in it, and obviously I did. Though I think we can all see how that turned out.
4. Mom. Okay, that was just sort of a general wish, as in “I want her to be happy and healthy, but maybe shave her legs once in a while, and perhaps learn to let me be when I want to be let be and hug me when I want to be hugged (which really isn’t as often as she thinks).” And so far, I admit, there doesn’t seem to be any major consequences to that, but that still doesn’t mean I can relax.
5. Blog. The blog. Well, that’s the most unbelievable part of all.
Just the other day when I ran home from school, straight from the talent show fiasco and into my room, I tossed my purse on my bed and headed straight for my computer, where I signed into my blog, feeling this desperate need to connect with this anonymous group of people, who happen to read all this stuff about my life, and therefore think they know me. I mean, at that moment, the urge to make contact felt so powerful, so overwhelming, and so all-consuming, that I was like a junkie craving a fix.
So I started typing, fast, furious, crazy-lady typing. I mean, it was as though my fingers just couldn’t hit those keys quick enough. And I was spilling all kinds of secrets, Sloane’s secrets, my secrets, seriously, I was just venting about all this stuff, like how Rey sang for me, and how Sloane’s acting all nice to me because my dad’s on TV, and how I really, really miss hanging at the lunch table with Hayden, Evan, Elijah, and Clark. And I was using real names, and writing about real scenarios, but when it came time to post, I suddenly realized how I couldn’t use a single word of it. Because absolutely none of it was in code. And left like that, without some major editing, it was just way too revealing, and would totally compromise my anonymity.
But even while I was deleting it, I was still feeling that same, lonely need to connect. So I pacified myself by reading through all of my latest comments, until I finally came across one from some guy claiming to be an agent, and who wrote something about how he was interested in developing my blog into a book.
Well, obviously, it didn’t take long for me to realize that it was a total scam. So I just scrolled right past it and moved on to the next comment.
But still, even after I’d finished reading through all of them, there was something about that fake agent message that kept nagging at me. So, against my better judgment, I scrolled back up to reread it.
Then I wrote down his name and went Google-fishing.
And I spent the next two hours studying every single relevant hit that I could possibly find.
As I continued to research, I started to realize that this guy was entirely legit. Because from what I’d read, he really was a literary agent, and really had handled quite a few other blog-to-book deals, including some stuff I’d actually seen and/or heard of. And I started to get really, really excited when I realized how I was quite possibly being offered the opportunity of a lifetime.
Yet I also knew I had no choice but to decline.
I mean, I think we can all agree that yes, Sloane has been and probably will continue to be a total bitch. And that I, for one, have suffered greatly at the claws of her French-manicured hands. And even though this offer should have everything to do with me, and nothing to do with her, I still can’t get comfortable with the idea of exposing her like that. And it’s not because I’d actually fallen for her stupid, phony, pseudo-friendship attempts, because believe me, that stuff was as blatantly transparent as ever.
It was more the fact of how very recently I’ve come to the conclusion of just how wrong it is to divulge other people’s secrets. Never mind sell them. I mean, honestly, when someone tells you a secret, they really are expecting you to keep it. And even though I might have betrayed that confidence by blurting them out in my blog, the fact is, I did everything I could not to reveal just exactly who those secrets belong to, and yet all of them were still 100 percent true. And since pretty much everyone knows how intrusive and in your business the whole publishing world is, I knew that if I accepted a deal like that then I’d totally risk outing Sloane. And really, as mad and betrayed as I am, when it comes right down to it, I just don’t know if I have the stomach for it.
I mean, originally, all I was after was some good old- fashioned revenge. But now it’s all starting to feel so heavy, like such a growing burden, that I’m just not sure how much longer I can keep at it.
And that’s when I took to my bed. Where I spent the next several days agonizing over the mess I’d made, and wondering what, if anything, I should do about it.
The second I walk in the café I know my mom has completely played me.
“Hey,” I say, heading into the back room to grab an apron, as Rey stops cleaning the counter in mid-wipe just so he can stand there and stare at me in a way that tells me he definitely isn’t in on this game.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks, dropping the sponge and following me.
“My mom asked me to come in and help cover today,” I say, reaching back to tie my apron, unwilling to tell him the truth of what she actually said, and how she totally tricked me into coming here.
“Well, you can bail if you want. Everything’s under control,” he says, shrugging and looking pretty uncomfortable to be all alone in a room with me.
But I just shake my head and grab a rubber band out of the desk drawer, so that I can pull my hair back into a tight, neat, food server’s ponytail.
And just as I’m smoothing the wispy parts back, the bell on the front door rings. And I’m just about to say, “I got it,” at the exact same moment I hear Sloane’s voice go, “No, her mom doesn’t just work here, she totally owns this place. Duh.”
And then I look at Rey with my eyes all panicked and wide. But he just shakes his head, and in a calm, sure voice says, “No worries.” Then he heads out front, while I hover by the door so that I can hide and eavesdrop simultaneously.
“I usually get that Purple Berry thingy,” I hear Jaci say, tacking her adorable giggle onto the end of that.
“Whatever. Um, what’s the My Cherry Amore?” Sloane asks, in her cutest little-girl voice.
And I just stand there listening as Rey recites the long list of healthy, wholesome, organic ingredients that can be found in my mom’s newest cherry smoothie creation, until Sloane finally cuts him off somewhere in the middle and goes, “Okay, you talked me into it.”
So then of course the rest of them all order it, too, including Jaci, who apparently bears no loyalty to her “usual” now that Sloane’s in charge. And as Rey is probably busy making them (and I say “probably” since as I can’t actually see him, I’m pretty much forced to rely on my imagination here), Sloane says in her flirtiest voice, “Omigod, you’re that lead singer of, oh, I forget, what’s the name of your band?”
And then Rey mumbles, “Social Exile.”
And Sloane goes, “Yeah, that’s it. Social Exile.” Like he needs her to confirm it.
And then she pauses, which in my imagination means that she’s leaning on the counter, flashing maximum, Miracle Bra—enhanced cleavage while gazing at Rey, and trying to think of something else to say. And when she finally decides, she goes, “You guys were sooo amazing. I never even heard that song before, but you totally deserved to win. I can’t believe how lame Principal Meyer is, what a dickwad.”
And then Rey mumbles, “Um, thanks.”
And then the phone rings.
And since they don’t know that I’m hiding back here, and since I can’t under any circumstances blow my cover and risk having them hear my voice, I just stand there, counting the rings, until Rey finally goes, “Uh, just a sec. I’ll be right back.”
And as he runs off to get the phone I hear Jaci say, “Omigod, what are you doing? You’re totally flirting with him and I thought you said he liked Winter?”
Then Sloane goes, “Please. How could he like her? She’s a fat loser.”
And even though Sloane has done nothing to make me think she’
I slump down to the floor, dropping my head in my hands, as my eyes swell with tears, as I hear Jaci say, “Well, for someone who’s supposedly such a fat loser you sure call her a lot.”
And then Holly goes, “Yeah, I mean, what’s up with that?”
And then Sloane goes, “Uh, hello? Her dad’s like totally famous again. Not to mention how they’re filming some family episodes next season. And believe me, I plan to be right there when the cameras start rolling, because no way is she getting all the attention. She’s like, a no-talent dork with a really bad TV personality. Trust me, she’ll thank me when she realizes she’s too big of a social retard to handle the spotlight.”
And even though part of me feels even worse when I hear her say that, the other part is thinking, What family episode? And how does she even know this stuff? I mean, even I didn’t know about that.
“Listen, Rey is totally smoking hot,” she continues. “And it’s just a matter of time ‘til he’s mine. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t know it yet.”
And then they all start laughing. Because, well, obviously you can see how hilarious that is.
And then, apparently all pumped up on princess power and an overwhelming sense of her own importance, Sloane goes, ”Listen, Winter’s a zero, a nobody. So it’s not like he’ll even miss her.”
Then Claire whispers, “You guys, shhh! He’s totally coming back!”
And as Rey continues making their smoothies, I wipe my face, raise my butt off the floor, grab my purse, and run out the back door, where I go home and write.
TO: CALVIN BURKE
FROM: ELEANOR RIGBY
SUBJECT: YOUR OFFER
Dear Mr. Burke,
Thank you for your interest in my blog, as well as your offer of representation. I’m very interested in hearing more about your thoughts and ideas, and just what kind of project you have in mind. Hardcover? Paperback? Podcast?
Please feel free to contact me at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Eleanor Rigby
Twenty-five
It’s been two days. Two days since my mom tricked me into seeing Rey. Two days since Sloane revealed herself to be an even worse person than even I could have imagined. Two days since my dad called and asked if I’d, “Please just take a day or two to think about making a brief appearance in ACT II, season two, before you say no and hang up without giving it any real thought.” Two days since Rey left a message, seconds after discovering I’d fled out the back door, and asked (almost in a begging kind of way) for me to please call him back. Two days since I e-mailed that Calvin Burke guy who’s yet to e-mail me back.
Which also means it’s Christmas.
“Oh, Winter, thank you!” Autumn says, getting up to hug me, and looking truly psyched about the art book and the new set of acrylic paints I bought her the day before yesterday.
I trace my finger over the shiny glass beads on the bracelet she made (that matches the necklace she crafted for my birthday), then I smile at my mom who really outdid herself this year by giving both Autumn and me our very own laptops.
“I thought you might be sick of sharing that tired old secondhand computer.” She shrugged, her eyes showing just how pleased she is that we’re happy.
And then while we’re busy polishing off the remaining bits of our family’s version of a traditional Christmas breakfast, consisting of free-range egg white omelets, tofu scramble, organic strawberries, whole grain muffins, and two pots of shade-grown coffee, my mom looks at us both and drops a bomb. “Winter, Autumn,” she says, eyes fixed and unwavering. “I want you both to know that I’m planning to close the café for several weeks for renovations.” She takes a sip of her coffee and watches us carefully.
Autumn and I both stare at her, our eyes wide. “Are you serious?” we ask.
She takes a sip of fresh-squeezed, organic, heavy-on-the- pulp orange juice, and nods. “Dave has already drawn up the plans. We’re taking over the space next door, so I can expand the number of tables and still have enough room for a small stage for readings, and concerts and such. And if everything goes as planned, we should start knocking down walls the day after New Year’s.”
“But, how different is it going to be?” I ask, feeling kind of put off by all this. I mean, my mom’s always been kind of stuck in the seventies, not to mention stuck in her ideas. And words like makeover and renovation have never been part of her everyday vocabulary (unless of course she’s talking about the government). But looking at her now, I mean really looking at her, I suddenly realize that things have been changing for quite some time, only I’ve been too self-absorbed and wrapped up in my own dramas to really stop and take notice.
But now I can see how her lips are shining with something that looks a little more substantial than her usual, haphazard swipe of Burt’s Bees Balm, and how she no longer smells like a freshly squeezed batch of patchouli oil, but instead of something lighter, more floral, with just the tiniest hint of citrus. And if I’m not mistaken, she might even have added a little product to her hair, because now that I’m looking at it, I can see how her curls are much softer, and way more defined and separated (as opposed to her usual spray of frizz). I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s still my granola-chomping, tree-hugging, hairy-legged mom. She’s just a better groomed, slightly renovated version.
And then I wonder if it’s because of Dave. I mean, it’s like she and Autumn and Dave have become this little family unit, going to the Winter Art Festival, attending First Thursday Art Walk, heck, they even took a trip to L.A. to check out the new Getty Villa Museum. And where was I while all of this family bonding was taking place? I was hunkered down in my room, bed curtain drawn, doing my very best to avoid any and all human contact.
“So, because New Year’s is all about saying good-bye to the old and ringing in the new, I thought we’d start clearing out the space a little early, and just throw ourselves a big old party! Just a big huge bash where we can move away from the past and just really revel in the coming new year, what do you think?” She looks at us excitedly.
Um, since when does she use words like revel and bash? And when did she look forward to “moving away from the past”? I mean, she’s usually hanging on to the past with both hands, and it’s like a brutal game of tug-of-war to get her to let go! But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just go, “Um, sounds okay, I guess.” And even though I’m fully aware of how it actually sounds far better than just “okay,” this is a whole lot of change in a short period of time, and it’s going to take a little longer than five minutes for me to adjust.
But as always, the ever excited, open-to-everything Autumn just starts jumping up and down in her seat, with her usual uninhibited display of energy. “Cool! Can I invite everyone?” she asks hopefully.
And when I look at her, I realize how she means just exactly that. Like she truly believes that everyone in her whole freaking school, staff members and custodians included, is her friend.
So, of course, my mom goes, “Invite anyone you want! The more the merrier! In fact, I forgot to mention this, but Rey and his band have agreed to provide the entertainment. Which, by the way, I hear you’re very much missed on backup these days, young lady,” she says, winking at me and smiling.
Um, since when does my mom wink ? Or make any kind of cutesy facial expressions for that matter?
And then suddenly I realize—this is the Mom part of the birthday wish. And even though I’d originally only hoped for a slightly modified version, once again, my lack of specificity lead me to this—a complete and total overhaul!
And just as I’m about to mumble the same lame excuse for the totally valid and completely logical reason as to why I’ve been an absentee backup singer, the doorbell rings.
And as my mom gets up to answer it, Autumn and I decide to split the last muffin.
The
And when she comes back into the room, she’s wearing a beautiful conflict-free diamond engagement ring.
THE GOSPEL OF ELEANOR RIGBY
December 29, 2006
7:45 P.M.
Current Mood—Used and abused
Current Music—Out-of-tune high-pitched yips from the little Maltese dog next door
Quote of the Day-”Have no friends not equal to yourself.”
—Confucius
Sugar, We’re Going Down
Yesterday I finally answered Princess Pink’s urgent 911 call and allowed her to invite herself to my party. And then, just to keep up the appearance of friendship that never, ever faltered, just to banish any lingering suspicion I might have had about the sketchy intentions behind her sudden renewed interest in me—she told me a secret. Can you even believe it? So I guess it’s safe to assume that’s she’s not exactly a reader of this blog.
But I know the real reason she wants to come. And believe me, it has nothing to do with her getting suddenly sentimental and singing our made-up (slightly dirty) lyrics to “Auld Lang Syne” that we co- wrote in the seventh grade. Nope, the reason she wants to come is because Gift Bag will be there. Remember him? The one I so recklessly, foolishly gave away all those months ago? Well, now, apparently, Princess Pink plans to come to my party so that she can walk away with her very own Gift Bag. And hey, who am I to stop her from trying?
And so, The List:
21. Rumor has it that P. P. exacted revenge on Last Name when she called his ex (who it turns out was not really his ex as they were merely “on a break”) and sent her a photo of his retreating bare ass, captured on her camera phone as he headed for the shower. When Ex, who not only considered herself not single (she was sure they could work it out), but also as a sort of mentor to P. P., received the photo, she went absolutely, totally, and completely berserk. Chaos ensued, breakups occurred, recriminations were yelled, and all the cheerleaders from frosh/soph to varsity were completely divided. But as the holidays approached tempers softened, anger eased, and both original couples decided to forgive and forget as they tentatively, yet happily, reunited. With P. P. staying with Captain World just long enough to unwrap his (much hinted for) present, before dumping him via e-mail sometime during the early morning hours of December 26.