Epic Fail (2 page)

Her wire-rimmed glasses were slightly askew. My fingers itched with the urge to straighten them as she stopped at a table near us and asked the kids sitting there if they had any suggestions for improving the cafeteria.

“Serve Frappuccinos,” said one girl.

“And Pinkberry!” said another.

“Free booze,” shouted a boy at the far end of the table.

“Who said that?” asked the principal sharply, swiveling to look in the direction the voice had come from. A lot of boys were sitting there. They all grinned at her innocently. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Chelsea said. “The woman can’t take a joke. Despite quite clearly
being
one.” She picked up her empty cup and climbed over the bench. “Anyone else need something from the caf?”

I was about to ask her to grab me a fork and napkin when the principal turned and called out, “Excuse me. You there! What’s your name?”

As Chelsea reluctantly told her, Juliana and I sank down lower in our seats.

“Well, Chelsea, it’s nice to meet you.” The principal held out her hand, and Chelsea shook it, with her lip curling so high, I thought it was going to enter her right nostril. “I’m Dr. Gardiner.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Dr. Gardiner tilted her head sideways, which made her glasses look almost straight. “Let’s talk about the dress code, Chelsea.”

“You mean like uniforms?” Chelsea said. “We don’t have uniforms here. Haven’t you noticed?”

“But we do have a dress code.” Dr. Gardiner gestured toward Chelsea’s legs. “And I’m afraid that skirt doesn’t conform to it.”

Chelsea put her hands on her hips. “This is a Dolce and Gabbana, and our tailor
just
hemmed it.”

“He hemmed it too much: skirts can’t be more than four inches above the knee.” The new principal reached into her pocket and pulled out a tape measure. “Let’s check.”

Chelsea took a step back. “No way.”

Dr. Gardiner shrugged. “Fine, but I’m going to have to ask you to change.”

“Change into
what
? It’s not like I keep an extra wardrobe in my locker.”

“You can wear your PE shorts.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me! Do you know how dorky those are?”

The principal slipped the measuring tape back into her pocket. “If I see you still wearing that skirt later today, I’ll have to notify your parents and send you home.”

Chelsea’s mouth opened so wide in horror that I could see the wisdom teeth budding in the back, but the principal’s attention had moved on. “How is everyone enjoying his or her lunch?” she asked, gazing along our table. That’s when she spotted Juliana. “Hello!” she said delightedly. “How’s your first day going, sweetie?”

Juliana managed a weak smile. “Fine?” she said.

“Good, good. Oh, there you are, Elise! Everything going well?”

“Yeah, fine,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”
Please go away,
I thought.
Please, please go away.

Dr. Gardiner said, “Well, I’m happy to hear that.” She turned. My muscles relaxed: she was leaving. Wait, no—she was just picking up a protein bar wrapper that was lying on the ground. She carefully balled it up in her hand as she stood back up. Then she beamed at us like the proud mother she was and opened her mouth to effectively kill our short-lived anonymity. “Won’t you girls introduce me to your new friends?”

“She’s your
mother
?” Chelsea said a few minutes later, after Dr. Gardiner had finally moved on. “How can you stand going home at night?”

“Chels,” said her brother warningly. “That’s not—”

“Seriously,” she said. “Is she always that bad? And why don’t you guys give her some fashion tips?” Her eyes fell on my T-shirt. “Or not.”

The insult hardly registered: I was still trying to process the awkwardness of my mother’s appearance, the shock of discovering that Chase’s friend Derek was the son of Melinda Anton and Kyle Edwards, the most famous celebrity couple in the country, and the embarrassing realization that everyone at the table, including my mother, had already known this except me and Juliana.

Melinda was
the
leading female action star in the U.S. She’d starred in an endless series of blockbuster movies. Kyle was more of the indie film type, but he’d won an Oscar or two, so he was no slouch.

They were on the cover of half the tabloids on the newsstands any given week of the year.

But okay, fine—I guess if I’d thought about it, I’d have expected a private school in L.A. to boast a celebrity brat or two. No big deal, right?

Except that it seemed to be one for my mother—hence the awkwardness, above and beyond the fact she was our principal, which would have been bad enough. For someone who never wanted to take us to the movies, she got awfully excited when she realized who Derek was: she kept telling him over and over again how “empowering” his mother’s movies were to young girls and how his father was “not just an actor—he’s an
artist
.” The true horror came when she informed Derek that I—her second oldest daughter—was also very creative and liked to make my own “little movies.” (I had taken one stupid summer class in filmmaking two years ago.)

Derek nodded briefly as she chattered away, but showed no interest in discussing his parents, just chewed steadily and unenthusiastically on the little brown bits of earth or whatever it was in his lunch rocket. Eventually my mother ran out of things to say and left with a satisfied wave.

But she’d stayed long enough, judging by the expressions on the faces around us. Chase looked sympathetic, Chelsea looked horrified, and Derek looked like he smelled something bad—although, admittedly, that could have just been his revolting lunch. Gifford, at least, looked indifferent.

“Go change your skirt, Chelsea,” Chase said. “Mom will flip if you get a suspension.”

“I’m going to call Linda”—she pronounced the name with a Spanish accent,
Leenda
—“and tell her to bring me something decent to wear. No way am I wearing those disgusting PE shorts in public.”

“You’d better hurry,” Chase said. “Lunch will be over in ten minutes.”

“I have a free period next.” She pulled a bejeweled iPhone out of her Prada bag and started punching furiously at it before putting it to her ear. Pretty soon she was chattering away in fluent and pissy Spanish.

“Wow,” Chase said after an awkward moment of silence. “I had no idea Dr. Gardiner was your mom. But isn’t your last name—?”

“Benton,” Juliana said with a slightly nervous laugh. “She kept her maiden name.”

“Wait,” he said. “Isn’t there a new math teacher named Benton? Don’t tell me that’s your father.”

“Sort of.”

He pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure we’re not related to any of the lunch ladies,” I said.

“Too bad.” Chase turned to me with his ready smile. “I could use an in at the sandwich bar.”

“Well, the sandwich lady does owe me a huge favor.”

That actually caught Derek’s interest. He looked up. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “But it’s a long story—involves this knife fight in Brussels back during the war. She was smuggling, I was a double agent for the resistance. . . . The usual.”

“Is she always this nuts?” Chase asked Juliana.

“Pretty much.”

“I’m hurt you don’t believe me,” I said.

“Get her to stop putting mayonnaise on my sandwich when I ask for ‘no mayo,’ and I’ll believe you,” Chase said.

“For God’s sake, man, I’m not a miracle worker!”

“Just to be clear,” Derek said, “this war you’re talking about—” But he was interrupted by Chelsea, who suddenly interposed her body between us to poke at Gifford’s empty sushi container. “Did you eat it
all
? I thought we were sharing.”

“I totally offered you some.” Gifford stood up. “Jesus, Chels, don’t keep changing your mind and blaming me.” She stepped over the bench.

“Whatever. I’ll tell Linda to pick me up a sandwich since she’s coming anyway.” She took out her phone again. “Oh, that reminds me—I need a ride home today, Chase.”

“You mind going out for pizza with me and Derek first?”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “That’s even better. I’ll just wait to eat until then.”

“Can I come, too?” Gifford asked eagerly.

Chelsea twisted her mouth. “Oh God, Gifford, I don’t think that’ll work. Sorry, but I have a
lot
of homework. Let’s do it another time.” She touched Derek’s shoulder. “So I’ll see you after school? I am
so
glad you’re back.” Her hand lingered on his arm as she smiled prettily down at him, letting her pretty hair bounce prettily along her pretty collarbone and pretty shoulders.

Man,
I thought.
She really likes him
. I’d always wondered what it would be like to have an older brother who could bring friends home for me to date—guess it would be like this.

Did Derek like her as much as she liked him? Hard to tell. All he said now was, “See you,” and since he didn’t even turn around, he totally missed all that prettiness on display for him.

Chelsea and Gifford said a general good-bye and moved across the courtyard together.

I shifted over a little, just to fill in some of the space on the bench. Chase and Juliana were talking quietly, which left me and Derek sitting there in silence.

I was still trying to process the fact that the guy sitting two feet away from me had parents who were world-famous. We didn’t have movie stars in Amherst.

I studied the table in front of me, running my fingers over the unblemished surface. It wasn’t wood at all, I realized. It was plastic made to look like wood. No wonder it wasn’t splintering or rotting.

The silence was getting more awkward. I felt like one of us should say something. So I tried. “How’s the raw food thing going?”

“Sucks,” was the helpful response.

“What’s the theory with that diet anyway? Is it supposed to be better for you because it’s not cooked? Nutrients more nutritious? Vitamins more . . . vitamitious?”

That elicited a very small smile. “Something like that, I guess.”

Four more words: I was making progress. Next topic. “So what was the movie your mom was making in Australia? Will it be out soon?”

The edges of his mouth tightened. “I don’t know.” He threw down his fork and started to close the containers. “I give up,” he said to Chase. “I can’t eat any more of this crap. If I don’t see you later, I’ll meet you at Romano’s.” He neatly packed up the steel cylinder while I sat there feeling totally brushed off and annoyed about it: I was just trying to make polite conversation. If he didn’t like my choice of topic, he could have come up with one of his own.

“Hey, you want to come with us?” Chase asked Juliana. “Get some pizza after school? You too, Elise.”

“We can’t,” Jules said. “We have to drive our little sisters home.”

“Bring them along.”

Derek froze halfway to his feet and stared at Chase. He didn’t wave his arms and scream,
No! For the love of God, no!
but the look on his face pretty much got that message across.

I quickly said, “I can drive the girls home, Jules. And that way you could—”

“No, no, I think you should all come,” Chase insisted. “Your sisters will love it—how old are they, anyway?”

“Layla’s fourteen,” Juliana said. “Kaitlyn’s ten. But—”

“Great.” Chase rose to his feet. “Romano’s is on the southwest corner of San Vicente and Montana. But maybe I’ll see you before then. What classes do you have after lunch?”

Juliana thought a moment. “Uh . . . math. And then English. And then Visual Arts One.”

“Who for English?”

“Feinberg.”

“Me too!” His delight seemed genuine. “Save me a seat if you get there first.” He swung his leg over the bench. “Bye, Elise. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” I said.

“Later,” said Derek Edwards without looking at either me or Jules. He grabbed his lunch silo and left the table without another word. Chase followed after him with one last cheery wave.

“Are we really going to go out for pizza with them?” I asked Jules as we picked up our trays and carried them to the trash cans.

“I’m not sure we should.” Her brow was creasing the way it did when she was uneasy. She added her tray to the stack on top of the trash can. “He probably felt like he
had
to invite us since we were sitting right there.”

I emptied my tray in the trash and put it on top of hers. “I think he really wanted
you
to go. But he probably was just being polite about the rest of us.”

“I don’t want to go alone. So either we all go or none of us.”

“Derek looked kind of annoyed when Chase said to bring everyone.”

“I think that’s just the way he always looks.” Jules grinned wickedly at me. “But we shouldn’t judge—maybe the poor guy has a rash in an awkward place.”

I laughed. “That
would
explain why he’s so irritable.” We started walking back toward the building. “Especially about his parents—he acted like no one had the right to talk about them.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.” A beat. “Chase is nice, though, isn’t he?”

I nodded and sneaked a glance at her. Yep. All starry-eyed and hopeful and excited, just like she sounded.

I watched her head off toward her next class with a slightly anxious feeling in my throat. Chase did seem nice. But this school—this city—was like nothing we’d known before, and I had a feeling that someone like Juliana could get chewed up and spat out in a second.

I’d just have to look out for her, that was all. I always had and I always would.

Chapter Three

G
ifford turned out to be in my Honors French class. To my surprise she actually came over and swung her slender body into the chair next to mine.

“Can you believe Chelsea?” she said by way of a greeting. “I mean, that whole Romano’s thing? Like she has time to have pizza if I’m not there, but not if I am?” She leaned her head close to mine and lowered her voice. “I know why. She totally has a crush on Derek and doesn’t want any competition.” She rolled her eyes. “But hello-o! Everyone knows he only hangs out with her because he’s been friends with her brother since, like, preschool. It has nothing to do with
her
.” She snaked her phone out of her purse and, hiding it on her lap below the desk, stole a glance at it. “I texted her about it, but she’s deliberately ignoring me. I
know
she keeps her phone on vibrate during class.”

“You can come with us, if you want,” I said.

“To Romano’s? What do you mean? Did Chelsea invite you?”

“Chase did.”

“Why?” Maybe not the most tactful question, but it was clear she was just surprised, not trying to be rude.

“I don’t know. He was being nice, I guess. We have room in the car if you want to come.”

“God, Chelsea will be so pissed if I just show up!” She seemed delighted at the thought. “I can’t wait to see the expression on her face! Let me just text my mom.” She tapped quickly before putting the phone away because class was starting, but when she checked at the end of the hour, her mother had reminded her that the tennis coach was coming that afternoon. (“Coming”—that meant she took lessons at her house. That meant she had a tennis court in her backyard. My family barely had a backyard in our backyard.) As we picked up our books, a disappointed Gifford informed me that the coach charged if you canceled less than twenty-four hours in advance so she couldn’t go to Romano’s, but my invitation had clearly won me some points. She even said we should “hang” that weekend. So I guess I’d made a friend. A kind of annoying one, admittedly, but better than nothing.

After French, I had astronomy, my elective for the semester. I realized the class wasn’t limited to juniors when I entered and spotted Derek Edwards sitting in the first row, his long, muscular arms and legs dangling from every side of the too-small desk/chair combo he was sitting in. He was paging through a book.

I moved to the back of the room and took a seat close to the wall where I could watch the floor show: girls hurling themselves into the desks around Derek. I should have guessed that his combination of good looks and Hollywood status would be catnip to the school’s female population. That explained his weary resignation when he’d caught me staring at him in the cafeteria.

The girls surrounded him, tossing their books onto the desks to mark their territory before stripping off their sweaters to show off the tiny, close-fitting tank tops and camisoles they wore underneath. They slid into seats, crossing legs that were either bare from the bottoms of their short skirts to the tops of their tall boots or else outlined and cupped by tight stretch jeans.

A lot of the boys seemed equally eager to get Derek’s attention, calling out to him as they passed, one of them inviting him to a party that weekend, which apparently was going to be “mind-blowingly awesome!”

I don’t know why they were all so into him: he barely responded, just read his book with an occasional glance up, slouching so far down in his seat that his long legs stuck out in the aisle where they tripped a lanky guy who saved himself from falling only by grabbing the edge of a desk.

Derek didn’t apologize. He looked up, scowled like
he
had been injured in some way, and went back to reading.

The guy who’d tripped didn’t seem at all fazed, just continued on to the back of the room. “Mind if I sit here?” His hair was a wavy chestnut color and his eyes were a grayish blue that caught the light as he gestured to the seat on my right.

“It’s all yours,” I said with a smile.

He collapsed into the seat, dropping his book bag onto the desktop with a groan. “Heavy,” he announced. Then he curled his body toward me. “You new here? Or am I falling victim once again to my bad facial recognition skills and you’re going to tell me we’ve been in school together since kindergarten?”

“I’m hurt you don’t remember me,” I said. “What with my being your cousin and all.”

He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course! Mother’s side or father’s?”

“Both.”

“See, that’s the problem,” he said. “You look like a mixture. Made it hard to recognize you.” He held out his hand. “Webster Grant.” We shook.

Chelsea Baldwin entered the classroom. Her face lit up when she saw Derek, but there were no empty chairs left near him.

“That’s a great name,” I said to Webster Grant.

“Sure, if you like being named after a dictionary and a president. But it could have been worse—at least I’m not Random House Obama.” I laughed and he nodded approvingly. “She has a sense of humor. So what’s your name?”

“Elise Benton.”

“I have no jokes for that one. Not yet anyway.” He studied me thoughtfully. “You’re not
really
my cousin, right?”

“Well, if you go back far enough . . .”

“Like Adam and Eve back? Let’s not. I don’t actually like most of my cousins. But you—you have potential.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling oddly pleased by the meaningless compliment.

A voice said, “Psst,” and I twisted to my left. Chelsea was settling into the desk on that side, now wearing a pair of tight jeans and an even tighter tissue-thin cashmere sweater. My mother hadn’t said she needed to change her top, so I assumed Chelsea just wasn’t happy unless she was wearing a complete outfit. Which also explained the unnecessary change from boots to pink spike-heeled shoes.

All right, to be honest, I kind of lusted after the shoes. Mom would never let me wear anything that high or that spiked to school, and they were really cute.

“What?” I asked. Chelsea crooked her finger and beckoned me closer. I leaned toward her with diminishing patience and repeated, “What?”

She folded her hands primly on the desk in front of her. “Even though your mother totally ruined my day, I’m going to be nice and give you some good advice because you shouldn’t punish people for what their parents do.” She jerked her chin in Webster’s direction and lowered her voice. “Don’t get too friendly with him.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He’s a total loser,” she said. “No one likes him. And if you start hanging out with him, you’ll be buying your own one-way ticket to Loserville City.”

“Is that anywhere near Dorktown Village?” I clasped my hands with mock excitement. “I was hoping to see that just once before I die.”

Her nostrils flared. “I’m just trying to help.”

“And I’m just trying to appreciate it,” I said, and turned my back on her.

Webster was now reclining comfortably in his seat, his long legs crossed in front of him, his arms resting across the desk, the picture of laziness. He winked at me. “Princess Chelsea in a royal snit about something?” he asked with more amusement than annoyance.

I grinned, but before I could respond, the teacher strode into the room, calling for us all to “listen up.”

Cantori was one of those youngish teachers who like to dress conservatively—today he wore a fitted sports coat and a narrow tie—and then prove they’re still cool by spending class time slouching against the furniture and chatting with the kids instead of actually teaching them. These are the same ones who, after months of wasting time, suddenly realize report cards are coming due, at which point they’ll mercilessly cram a semester’s worth of homework and tests into a few days and destroy everyone’s life for that week. I’d had teachers like him before and they weren’t the worst, but they weren’t the best either.

His one concession to actually teaching astronomy that first day was to show us how to map the sky using Google Earth on the classroom’s SMART Board.

When he got tired of that, he turned the lights back on and turned to face us. “Okay, class. So all year long we’ll be talking about the stars. I’ll be teaching you what they’re made of, what we know about them, what we
don’t
know about them—but before all that knowledge stuff begins, let’s get a little silly and romantic here and talk about stars metaphorically. What’s the first thing you think of when someone says the word
star
? It’s a very evocative word. So I want to know what it means to each of you, personally.” He looked around the silent classroom. “Chirp, chirp,” he said. “Fine. I’ll start. ‘Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.’” He paused. Silence. “Stars and wishing—always entwined, right?” More silence. “Who’s next?” No one raised a hand. He pointed to a cute, compact, and curvy girl up near the front—one of Derek’s fans. “Sylvie, you.”

“Um,” she said. She flipped her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously. “‘Stars and Stripes Forever’?”

“A patriot! Excellent. Now someone else.”

A girl called out, “The Star of David.”

“No religion in the classroom!” Cantori barked. Then he waved his hand. “Nah, I’m just kidding. Okay, someone else?” He pointed to the raised hand next to me. “You?”

Chelsea purred, “Movie stars, of
course
.” Her eyes settled on Derek’s back as she spoke, but if the back had any interest in what she was saying, it didn’t reveal it.

“Spoken like a true Angeleno,” Cantori said. “Next!”

“Starbursts,” a boy called out, and a girl said, “Yum!” and Sylvie added, “But not the tropical flavor ones—those are gross,” and everyone laughed.

“Good, good, keep it going.” Cantori’s eyes fell on me. “You got one?”

“I know a quote about stars,” I said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.’”

“One of my favorites.” Cantori peered at me. “What’s your name?”

“Elise.”

“Good job, Elise.” He looked around the classroom. “Anyone know who said that?”

“She did,” said the boy who had said the Starbursts thing and was clearly gunning for the title of class comic.

Cantori heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Billy, but someone else said it first—”

“Oscar Wilde,” said Derek Edwards abruptly.

“Score one for the big guy!” said Cantori. “You kids are impressing me more and more. Care to tell us what Wilde meant by that, Derek?”

I couldn’t see Derek’s face, but his shoulders twitched slightly in what looked from the back like an irritated shrug. “Basically it means the world’s a giant shithole, but some of us are capable of imagining something better.”

A lot of kids laughed. I wondered if Derek would get in trouble for swearing—no one at my old school would have dared say “shit” in front of a teacher. You could get suspended for that.

But Cantori beamed delightedly. “Exactly right, Derek.” So this school was more easygoing than my old one—or maybe it was if your mother was Melinda Anton.

Webster tilted sideways toward me. “Don’t be too impressed,” he whispered. “You know why Derek knows that?”

“Why?”

“Because his dad played Oscar Wilde in a movie. Bet you that line was right out of the screenplay.”

“Oh.” I felt slightly disappointed for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I slid down in my chair as a kid near the window called out to Cantori, “StarKist tuna!”

Sylvie, the girl who had said the “Stars and Stripes” thing, lingered by Derek’s side after the bell rang. As I passed them on my way toward the door, I heard her say, “So how many classes do we have together? There’s this one and English, right?”

“That makes two,” he said shortly. Then: “Hold on.” I felt a tap on my arm and realized with surprise that the request was directed at me, not her.

I stopped and said, “Hi.”

Sylvie said, “See you later, Derek?” He grunted noncommittally and she flounced off.

“You guys coming to get pizza with us?” he asked me.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he said, like I was insane to think he’d ever been anything but warm and welcoming.

“I don’t know.” An awkward pause. “You knew the Oscar Wilde quote,” I said.

“You like Wilde?”

I shrugged. “He was tortured, brilliant, funny, gay . . . basically my dream guy.”

“Even the gay part?” he said with the ghost of a smile—which for all I knew was what passed for hysterical mirth with this guy.

“
Especially
the gay part,” I said. “I’m weird that way. “

“How’s that working out for you?”

“I’m beginning to think it’s not a good long-term romantic strategy.” I shifted my messenger bag so the weight fell more comfortably over my shoulders. “Seriously, he’s an amazing writer. I had to read
The
Importance of Being Earnest
for English last year, and then I just kept reading everything he wrote. He’s funny and sad at the same time.”

He leaned his hip against one of the desks, relaxing into it like he was in no hurry to move along. “Funny and sad. That’s exactly it.”

“Webster said your dad played him in a movie?”

His face tightened in a way that made me sorry I’d brought up his father.

On the other hand . . . was it really so awful to mention his parents?

“Yeah, a long time ago.” He glanced at his watch.

You know, it was lucky for him he was so good-looking. Made you want to connect with him despite his lack of response. So I worked to keep the conversation going, steering us back to Wilde. “They did
Earnest
at my old school a few years ago, and people were actually laughing like they were at a Will Ferrell movie or something. It was pretty—”

“Oh, good, you waited!” Webster suddenly materialized at my side. “Sorry I took so long—shoelace cooperation issues. Let me take you to your next class. Don’t want our new girl to get lost,” he said to Derek. He extended his fist for a bump. “How’re you doing, big D? How’s the family?”

Derek stared at Webster’s outstretched hand for a second, breathed in sharply, then, without saying a word, pushed forward right past us, with a brief cold nod in my direction. It almost looked like he miscalculated the space because he knocked his shoulder hard against Webster’s—
almost
looked like that, like it was an accident, but it wasn’t. I could tell he had done it deliberately, had angled his shoulder forward so the hardest, sharpest part knocked Webster right into the desk behind him. Then he just kept going out the door.