Awkward Page 5

  I didn’t want to move. Ever. I didn’t want to eat, or sleep, or breathe. But I knew that I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever—certainly not without freaking out my mom, and she had enough to deal with already. So I joined Dylan and my mom for dinner, choked down some noodles, and pretended to be fine. Then I trudged up to my room, kicked off my shoes, and climbed under the covers fully clothed.

  I didn’t scream the next morning when it all came crashing back. I decided to pretend like nothing had happened. I dressed normally in my jeans, black Converse, and plain brown shirt. I was going to keep everything nice and normal. That lasted until I boarded the bus and found Corey waiting for me. I instantly felt guilty about not answering my cell phone the night before, which was the only reason Corey would come within five feet of the bus. Ever since he had learned to drive, he didn’t deal with public transportation.

  “Why didn’t you call me?!” Corey demanded. “Were you too busy giving interviews and becoming FAMOUS?”

  I really wish he hadn’t yelled that last bit.

  “What interview?” I asked him.

  “Mackenzie, you’re all over AOL. Something about not being like Susan Boyle. I just skimmed it. You’re also all over Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube. Everyone in the U.S. has now seen that video. My grandma thought it was hilarious.”

  I slunk down lower in my seat. “Great.”

  “The fame is not the point,” Corey said, his voice filled with exasperation. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because I really wish none of this was happening.”

  Corey let that sink in, and nodded. “Right. I guess it does screw up the whole low-profile thing.”

  Jane boarded the bus and handed me a baseball cap. “Here.” She thrust it at me. “No one notices people in a UCLA hat and jeans. It should help.”

  “Help with what?” asked Corey.

  “Staying invisible.” I could tell she wanted to add, “Duh!” but checked herself. Because who really says that anymore?

  “Why should Mackenzie stay hidden?”

  Jane and I just stared at Corey in confusion.

  “Okay, just hear me out,” he continued. “I know that Mackenzie is used to being invisible, but what if she weren’t. What if she used this instead?”

  “Used it how?” asked Jane skeptically.

  Corey smiled his I’ve-got-a-plan smile. “Okay, so ideally Mackenzie would remain invisible, but since this video is the hottest thing on YouTube, things won’t just return to normal. The media are going to pursue you, Mackenzie. So you need to hide in plain sight. Blend in with the Notables, for real this time, and people will stop paying attention. Otherwise, let’s face it, you’re going to end up on national Worst Dressed lists.”

  I looked down at my jeans, which were sort of worn and relaxed. “What’s wrong with what I wear?”

  Corey grinned. “Nothing. The baggy sexless jeans and plain shirt combo is all the rage in Milan.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Look, the point is,” Corey continued, pointedly ignoring me, “that you need to change. If you stay ordinary it’s going to get bad, Mackenzie. Remember when we watched She’s All That? After the popular guy expressed interest in the geeky artist, she had to improve her style to blend in.”

  “You cannot seriously be taking your advice from a Freddie Prinze Jr. movie made in the nineties,” Jane protested. “Think Devil Wears Prada. Nice girl becomes materialistic and awful and tosses aside the people most important to her.”

  “Yeah, but how awesome did Anne Hathaway look once she started wearing cute clothes? That could be Mackenzie!”

  “I’ll think about it,” I told Corey noncommittally, because it was the only way to shut him up.

  The bus pulled up to the high school, and it was there that I got my first shock of the morning. The place was swarming with reporters holding microphones and examining the student body for one particular face—mine.

  “Yeah, I think you should do that,” said Corey as the three of us disembarked. “I don’t think the baseball hat is going to get you out of this.”

  Okay, wading through reporters isn’t easy. Now I understand why celebrities are always scowling and flipping off the paparazzi. It’s distracting when people are all over you snapping photos and asking stuff like, “Mackenzie, will you take a CPR class?” “Mackenzie, how does it feel to be famous?” and even “Mackenzie, what’s your favorite television show?”

  I know in the movies when the president is being hassled by the press he always keeps walking with his head down, saying, “No comment. No comment,” but that looked stupid to me. Why not just answer the questions and get it over with? Except I was learning quickly that the press aren’t easy to deal with. So I tried to get through the mass of reporters and answer at the same time.

  “Um, no CPR class,” I mumbled, which just got them more riled up.

  “What about your love life?” someone shouted.

  “What love life?” I asked.

  “NO COMMENT!” screeched Jane, and she promptly put the entire football team to shame with the way she ran interference. Bookended by my friends, we were able to scurry into the high school, leaving a royal mess in our wake. Everyone was staring and snapping photos of my encounter with the paparazzi on their cell phones. Great.

  I turned to Corey, who was panting next to me. “How am I going to survive this?”

  He grinned. “Come on, that was fun!”

  “Yeah,” I grumbled. “I’ve always wanted to be mobbed into buildings.”

  Jane elbowed me. “Um, Mackenzie. Mr. Taylor is coming toward us.”

  Mr. Taylor, the school principal, is something of a joke. He’s large, thick-necked, and has a booming laugh that reverberates around the hall. His pride for the school sports teams knows no bounds, which is why guys like Spencer can stay on the hockey team despite their grades. I’d never needed to form an opinion of him before, since he had completely ignored me.

  He turned to Jane. “Mackenzie, we need to have a talk.”

  Corey snickered. “Then you should probably be talking to Mackenzie.” He pointed at me. “You know, the famous one.”

  “Mackenzie, of course,” he blustered. “Come with me.”

  Corey saluted. He’s never been good at dealing with authority figures, especially ones that valued the football team over the debate team. “Yes, sir,” he said sarcastically. Then he whispered, “Good luck,” in my ear before dragging Jane away.

  Yeah, this was not how I wanted my day to go.

  Mr. Taylor walked me to his office in silence while the whole student body watched. People kept snapping photos on their cell phones while I flinched. Mr. Taylor boomed at his secretary, “Hold all my calls.”

  “Well, Mackenzie. It appears we have an, ahem, situation here.”

  I wanted to say, “No shit, Sherlock,” but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Frankly I’m a little concerned about your safety.” He dropped a copy of The Oregonian in my lap. The headline read: Can You Say Awkward, Mackenzie Wellesley? I started reading the article.

  Seventeen-year old Mackenzie Wellesley had no idea that when she tried to resuscitate a fellow high school student she’d be infusing life back into news cycles. The video of her accident has received millions of hits online ever since it first appeared on YouTube. Ms. Wellesley’s climb into the national spotlight was helped along by Twitter postings from celebrities that range from Ashton Kutcher to The Office comedian Rainn Wilson. And don’t expect this girl to disappear anytime soon. “I’m not Susan freaking Boyle,” says Ms. Wellesley, asserting her individuality. Sounds like we’ll be hearing about her and her video for a long time to come.

  Most of this information wasn’t all that new. Still, reading about myself in the newspaper made me feel lightheaded. I tried not to freak out, I really did. I reminded myself to breathe and sucked in a lung full of air.

  “So what do you want to do about it?” I asked Mr. Taylor. I expected him to say, “
Well, in cases like these we have a procedure set in place to minimize the disruption of your daily life.” But he didn’t, because there is no procedure. There is no plan in place, no just-in-case scenario for a student becoming ridiculously famous over a single weekend. That stuff just doesn’t happen.

  Until it happened to me, I suppose.

  Mr. Taylor leaned back in his chair importantly. Which was ludicrous because he obviously had absolutely no control over the situation. “Your mother is going to be here soon so the three of us can chat.”

  I instantly felt guilty. My mom works at this cute little restaurant and puts in long hours to make ends meet. I always feel guilty when she’s interrupted at work.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I told him. “I’m going to be fine. We’ll just work something out and I’ll fill her in later.”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than my mom burst into the office in her black suit and heels.

  “Are you okay, honey?” she asked, ignoring Mr. Taylor entirely. My mom has always been like that. Her first priority isn’t soothing ruffled egos—it’s keeping Dylan and me safe.

  “Fine, Mom.”

  Mr. Taylor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Wellesley.”

  “Ms. Wellesley, actually,” my mom corrected.

  Mr. Taylor decided to take that in stride. “Well, your daughter is in quite the predicament, Ms. Wellesley.”

  I thought that was the understatement of the century.

  “Yes, she is,” Mom agreed calmly. “What are we going to do about it?”

  Mr. Taylor puffed himself up like a blowfish. “Well, I believe that the most important issue at stake is Mackenzie’s safety. Then we have to consider the quality of her education. Now, I will look into restricting the press from school grounds, but we need to look at our options.”

  My mom nodded in agreement and let Mr. Taylor continue.

  “Due to, ahem, recent events, it might be for the best if Mackenzie altered her schedule a little. She can stay in the same classes but do her work privately in the school library, where she won’t be distracted ... or a distraction.”

  I stared at him. “No way!” I blurted. “Do you have any idea how many AP classes I am taking this year? Three. If you want to pull me out of P.E. that’s fine, but there is no way I can miss my other classes. I’ll never be able to catch up. And then I won’t ace the national exams. And then I won’t be as attractive for college scholarships. And then ...”

  Mr. Taylor interrupted me. “I can see you feel very passionately about this. However, I’m not sure you understand what you are getting into. It’s a lot of attention, Mackenzie. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be in the library?”

  I straightened in my seat. I knew what was in store for me. People sneaking photos of me on their iPhones. People whispering about my love life and my wardrobe. People asking about the stupid video. But college would be worth it, and those AP tests were my way in.

  “I’m sure,” I said firmly. “This ... predicament is not going to stop me from living a normal life. Same friends, same job, and the same classes.” I heard the tardy bell ring and rose from the chair. “I’ll call you after school on my cell, Mom. And thanks for the suggestions, Mr. Taylor, but I have class now.”

  And with that, I left. I marched down the empty hallways determined to act as though nothing had changed. I wasn’t fooling anyone. That much was obvious when every single head in my class swiveled and gaped at me—including one Logan Beckett.

  Chapter 10

  Everything felt off in class that day, mainly because everyone was looking at me instead of Mr. Helm. They seemed to be waiting for something, maybe expecting me to burst into tears. And since my life goal was to fly under the radar, I wasn’t thrilled about being on everyone’s monitor. My every movement was evaluated and analyzed. By the time class was over, I was exhausted. I’d been pretending so hard that all of my energy had leached out of my body. I wanted to tell Principal Taylor that he was right—it was way too much attention—and chow down on some ice cream at home.

  But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to admit defeat. So I didn’t try to evade when I saw Logan waiting outside the classroom for me.

  “Hey,” he said. Not, “Are you all right?” or “So tell me, Mackenzie, how does it feel knowing Ashton Kutcher finds you funny?” Just “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I mumbled. We never talked at school—or rarely. Why would we? I ruled the classroom and he was the reigning king of the hallways. Not much common ground. “What’s going on?”

  “Is our study session still on today?” He asked it casually as we started walking with the herd of students.

  “Of course it is.” I momentarily stopped moving. “I can’t lose this job. And really it’s not going to ... let’s talk about it later.” I cut myself off as we separated for different classrooms.

  “All right. Outside Helm’s room.”

  And with that he was gone. His dark brown hair and jean-clad body were swallowed up among other similarly dressed guys, leaving me to obsess over what he might say at our study session. “Sorry, Mackenzie, it’s not you ... wait, never mind, yes it is. I don’t want my tutor to be the awkward girl on YouTube.”

  I was still thinking about it an hour and a half later during lunch. I poked at my burrito and hoped it would taste better than it looked—not a particularly difficult feat, since it looked inedible. Corey and Jane slid into their customary seats beside me, and it was as if our conversation had been unfrozen as soon as we were together.

  “Okay, so the first thing we have to do is update your clothes,” said Corey. He pulled out his notebook. “I sketched a few things during Chemistry. Now in this one I have you wearing jeans that show off that adorable butt of yours, a scoop-necked shirt, note the detail on it, with your hair down.”

  I fingered my ponytail. “What’s wrong with having my hair up?”

  “Messes up the look,” Corey explained, flipping the pages to another sketch. “Now, here I picture the dress in a deep blue.”

  Jane snorted. “Because Mackenzie is really going to wear a dress like that to school ... or anywhere else, for that matter.” She looked at it a little more closely. “Although it would be really pretty.”

  “The Old Mackenzie wouldn’t. But the New Mackenzie might get club invites or something.” Corey gestured broadly at the window. “We live fifteen minutes away from Portland—a city with culture and clubs. Already we’ve missed out on tons of concerts because we’re under twenty-one. Well, now we can get in.” Corey was so excited he was practically squeaking. “Do you think Miley Cyrus has any trouble getting into clubs? No. She can always walk in like it’s no big deal.”

  “And in this equation, I’m Miley Cyrus?” I said in disbelief.

  “It’s a Party in the U.S.A., Mackenzie. My point is that we should be prepared for anything.”

  “Well, I’m prepared to ditch this,” I said after a bite of my burrito. “I’m getting a muffin. Anyone want one?”

  “Yep,” said Jane. “Oatmeal cinnamon for me.”

  “I’ll add it to your tab,” I told her with a sidelong grin. Jane and I had alternated muffin runs for the better part of two years, making it impossible to keep track of a debt.

  I was grinning all the way to the food line and then smiling as I pulled out my money. The cafeteria muffins are ridiculously tasty, and it’s hard to be depressed with a bundle of deliciousness in each hand. Which is why I didn’t notice the spilled soda on the cafeteria floor. I never would have noticed it at all if I hadn’t been jostled out of line—hard—just as I was fumbling to pay the cashier.

  It all happened in slow motion. My feet slipped, my body lurched, and I tumbled to the floor. Instinctively, my hands shot out to catch myself but only succeeded in demolishing the muffins. My wallet exploded on impact and showered the sticky floor around me with pennies, nickels, dimes, and a handful of quarters mixed in for good measure. I didn’t get up right away. My head had smacked the floor hard on my
way down, and the world was spinning. For a moment all I could think about was the pain. God, it hurt. My brain felt like it had been tossed around in a washer on spin cycle. I felt arms tugging me off the ground and slowly became aware of Corey and Jane.

  “What?” I began, but Jane cut me off.

  “Let’s get you to the nurse.”

  But Corey wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.

  “You assholes!” he yelled at the small clump of snickering football players who surrounded Alex Thompson.

  Which is when I realized that I hadn’t just had a random embarrassing cafeteria experience: I’d been set up. And judging by the satisfied smile on Chelsea’s face, she’d seen the whole thing coming and hadn’t said a word. Not so much as an “Oh no! Mackenzie, look out!” For all I knew Alex Thompson and the other Notables plotted it together. My eyes scanned the expressions of the Notables around her while I tried to think past the pain. Most of the table was laughing and probably thinking, There goes that Awkward Girl again. What a loser.

  I rubbed the back of my head tentatively, and for the first time my eyes met Logan’s. He was already halfway across the cafeteria and moving steadily toward me. It registered briefly as weird that Logan didn’t sit at the Notable table. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him sit there, actually. I could feel the migraine pounding with the rhythm of Logan’s feet as he stalked across the cafeteria.

  I panicked ... again. I’ll admit that now. I saw him and I was positive he was going to fire me. Let’s look at the facts, shall we?

  1. He’s a Notable

  2. I humiliated myself in public again.

  3. He had a reputation to maintain.

  4. I didn’t fit into that reputation ... at all.