things we’re not allowed to drink yet, and soda. It takes me a full minute to find a Diet Coke buried under all the ice. I can barely feel my hand when I pull it back out.
“Wouldn’t you rather have some Red Bull and vodka, Rose?”
It takes me a second to recognize Robert, probably because he looks happier than I have ever seen him look in four years. It could also be because he let his hair grow long and he seems somehow…cooler. Or maybe it’s just because he has his arm around one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, and she’s smiling. At him. Like he’s a god.
“Holly, this is Rose Zarelli. Rose, meet Holly Taylor. She just moved here from L.A.” I postpone studying the beautiful new girl by noticing two more things about Robert: he is calling me Rose instead of Rosie—which he’s been calling me since the day we first met in sixth grade—and he is sipping his drink in a way that suggests he’s at a cocktail party at a swanky country club, not a kegger in a backyard.
When I can no longer put it off, I turn my attention to Holly. You’d think I’d know better than to shake hands with someone at a high school party, but because I’m a little intimidated by the amount of beauty in front of me, I stick my hand out like a giant dork. Holly graciously does the same, and she doesn’t even wince when my hand—frozen and wet from my arctic Diet Coke expedition—touches hers.
Not only is she pretty, she’s classy. No wonder Robert has that idiotic grin on his face.
“Hi!” she says. Her teeth are shockingly, blindingly white, and they immediately make me sure that I’ve got spinach stuck in mine. “I’m new at Union. My dad’s teaching drama at Yale.”
The reply that immediately comes to mind is: I’m not new at Union. My dad was blown to pieces in Iraq. It’s accompanied by some horror-movie images that I can’t seem to keep out of my head these days.
“Hi,” I say too cheerfully, trying to drive away the carnage in my brain. I know that I should offer Holly some interesting piece of information about myself but I’m unsure of what, exactly, that would be.
Definitely not the thing about Dad. Nothing shuts down a conversation faster than telling someone your father was killed by an IED in Iraq.
Holly, it turns out, has totally perfect, long, dark hair that’s super thick and looks like it’s been flat-ironed by a professional. Her eyes are huge and brown, I can’t even tell if she’s wearing makeup and she smiles like she does it for a living. She has on lots of silver jewelry that clanks and jingles when she moves, and she’s so petite that I actually stop inhaling in order to feel smaller.
“Rose is the…friend I told you about,” Robert adds meaningfully, with a slight hesitation before the word friend. Holly nods, and I wonder what he told her—I used to think I was in love with Rose or Rose treated me like crap last year or Rose is the one with the dead dad. “Holly and I got cast opposite each other in the drama department’s summer show,” Robert says. “Leading man and leading lady hook up—total cliché, right?” He smiles down at her and plants a kiss on the tip of her perfect nose.
If Robert weren’t standing here with his arm around Holly, there is no way I would ever believe that she was his girlfriend. First of all, Robert has some problems with telling the truth—he likes the things he makes up more than he likes reality. Second of all, Holly Taylor seems out of his league. Like, way out of his league. But here they are, all entangled and entwined and so very couple-y.
“Did you see the show, Rose? Robby was the best Joe in the history of Damn Yankees.” Holly is literally beaming up at Robert.
“And Holly was the hottest Lola,” he says, grinning at her like she’s the only girl in the world.
I’m torn between irritation at her calling him “Robby” and embarrassment over all the hours I spent at the beginning of summer daydreaming about getting cast as Lola. Last spring, after my mom took me to see the opera La Bohème, I decided that I want to be a singer. Not an opera singer, though I did learn this summer, when no one else was around, that I can sing really loud. Just…a singer. Of some kind. So I considered auditioning for Union High’s summer musical. I wanted to sing my heart out onstage as Lola—a vixen in a red dress and heels—and make everyone see me in a totally new way. But now, standing here with the person who actually played Lola, I’m suddenly so mortified that I feel like I have to leave the party immediately. I mean, how dumb could I be? Lola is beautiful and sexy, and the whole point of her character is that she can seduce anyone and get anything. Her big number is literally called, “Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets.”
I can’t even get the guy I like to call me back.
Standing here in front of Holly Taylor in an outfit that my best friend put together for me with things from her closet, I’m painfully aware that I ain’t no Lola.
“Holly’s dad is a stage, TV and film actor,” Robert says, obviously proud of himself for using the word film instead of movie. “You’d totally recognize him.”
Holly looks embarrassed and quickly changes the subject. “Do you act, Rose?”
“Rose is a runner. She plays the French horn, too,” Robert answers for me, like I’m a kindergartener who needs positive reinforcement for her cookie choice at snack time.
It pisses me off.
“Actually, I’m not playing French horn this year. I’m trying out for the musical,” I tell Holly.
Robert could win an Academy Award for the series of looks that cross his face in the next five seconds. First startled, then stunned, then irritated, then worried and then falsely happy. I feel like I scored a point or something.
I believe that would qualify as petty.
“You’re auditioning? That’s great!” Holly says. “Maybe we’ll all be in it together. It’s Anything Goes. Do you know it? Maybe you could be Reno Sweeney! Can you tap dance? Reno’s the best part. Although Hope is a great part, too. Ooh, but then there’s the funny one…what’s her name? She has that great number, right, babe?”
It’s then, when Holly turns to Robert, that I see Regina. She’s with Anthony Parrina, the huge hockey player she’s dating just to make Jamie mad. For a second, I’m worried about retaliation. But then I just feel…shame.
After Regina had Jamie arrested, I decided to finally tell Principal Chen that Regina was my graffiti stalker. The principal personally stopped Regina and Anthony at the entrance to the prom. I heard Regina threw a fit in a sequined blue tube dress and four-inch heels, and it actually caused her up-do to fall down. It must have been some fit, considering how much hairspray she uses. She was suspended and banned from cheerleading, and she missed finals and had to go to summer school so that she’d be able to graduate on time this year.
The thought of Regina leaving the prom in disgrace made me smile for a few hours. Then it made me feel pathetic, like I’d just gone running to the principal. Which I had.
When Regina turns toward me, my first instinct is to get a very important phone call. But it actually doesn’t matter what I do because she doesn’t notice me. She’s staring at the freshman who is now pinned against the house by the garden-hose-wielding swim thugs, who claim that they are helping him by rinsing the chlorine off his clothes.
Anthony bursts out laughing
