The Wrong Girl Page 4

  He was gone. I stared at my phone screen for a long moment, enjoying the silence. Poor guy. He was going to take this hard. And I knew it was in the cards. I’d seen the gushy look on Poppy’s freckled face whenever Jack was in view.

  Jack was the bad boy. The troublemaker. The wild one.

  How could Keith stand a chance?

  I drove to Poppy’s house. I really did need help with my new phone. But I stopped when I saw the pickup truck in her driveway. Jack’s truck. Jack dropping in on Poppy at ten-thirty at night.

  I decided to drive on.

  Poppy and Jack. Was this big news? A life-changing thing?

  As it turned out, it changed all our lives. And not in a good way. Not at all.

  8

  Poppy Narrates

  Heather and I walked to school together. It was a gray April morning, the clouds low in the sky, threatening rain. Perfect for my mood.

  I guess I felt depressed because Mr. G was scheduled to announce who’d won parts in the play, and I just dreaded having to look at the smirk on Rose Groban’s face when she was announced as Becka.

  I knew Mr. G would find a good part for me, maybe as Becka’s sister Traci, or maybe even as the crazy old lady, Gretchen. And eventually, I’d have fun being part of the production. But it would be nice to be a winner. I could put a smirk on my face as good as Rose’s if I was only given the chance.

  As we walked, Heather was talking about some guy in her class she had a crush on but didn’t have the nerve to talk to. I should have listened. She seldom confided in me, and I think she was really making an attempt to be close. But I tuned her out and thought about Jack.

  I knew things were going too fast with him. I knew he’d been in some kind of trouble at his last school, and I knew people had issues with him, the way he roared around in that dust-covered pickup truck, and the way he sort of strutted through the halls at school, as if he was above it all. The way he kept his jaw stuck out, like he was looking for trouble. Yeah, sure. He acted tough, and that wasn’t exactly the way kids rolled at Shadyside High.

  But that’s what attracted me, I knew.

  For some reason, I kept remembering Rose’s warning, the words she’d whispered in my ear just before I went onstage for my audition. Why did Rose tell me to stay away from Jack? Why did she care? What did she know about him?

  Or was she just being mean? Trying to throw me off balance for my audition?

  If that was the case, it had definitely worked.

  “I don’t think you heard a word I said,” Heather snapped, shaking her head, her eyes angry behind her round glasses.

  “Of course I did,” I lied.

  But she took off, running ahead, backpack bouncing on her shoulders, her sneakers pounding the sidewalk loudly, and I realized our walks to school often ended this way, with her angry or disappointed in me, or whatever. I watched her charge across the street like an angry bull, without even looking to see if there were any cars coming, and I made a note to myself. I really did. Memo to self: Be nicer to Heather.

  I ran into Manny in the hall near my locker. He was bouncing a tennis ball off the metal lockers, catching it in one hand. Ka-chang. Ka-chang. “Kellog isn’t in homeroom today,” he said. “Some strange teacher is in there. Kellog is probably hungover again.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I said, struggling with the combination on my locker. “What makes you think Miss Kellog is a drunk?”

  Manny grinned his toothy grin, all his gums showing. “What makes you think she isn’t?” Ka-chang. Ka-chang. Having delivered his punchline, he moved on down the hall, bouncing the tennis ball off the lockers, the sound echoing down the long hall.

  Before Manny was out of sight, Rose appeared beside me, and sure enough, she had that superior smirk on her face. Her hair was pulled to one side in a single braid, perfect, not a hair out of place, and she wore a green-and-yellow summery sundress with a very short skirt, a necklace of red plastic beads around her neck. She looked awesome, and of course, she knew it.

  “Just wanted to share my good news with you,” she said.

  I had stooped to pick up a notebook from the floor of my locker. I had the sudden urge to dive headfirst into the locker and hide in there until she left. “Good news?” I straightened up to face her. She uses some kind of citrus-type cologne so she always smells lemony.

  “A scholarship.” Her smile grew wider. “I got a drama scholarship for the summer at Wellesley. Do you believe it?”

  She was probably expecting me to be sarcastic or to sigh in disappointment that I hadn’t won it, so I decided to gush. “Oh, wow, Rose! That’s awesome!” I high-fived her. Yes, I actually touched her. It was the most enthusiasm I could muster, and I think it caught her by surprise.

  “Yeah, uh, I’m pumped,” she said. “Now I have to find a place to live up there. Maybe an apartment of my own.”

  “Sweet,” I murmured.

  Her grin faded. It was like her lips collapsed. No, not just her lips—her whole face. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I am so, so sorry, Poppy, that you and your sister didn’t get parts in the play. I’m devastated. Seriously.”

  My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t hide my shock. I didn’t get any part at all?

  I could feel my muscles tighten. My stomach suddenly churned. I didn’t want to give Rose the satisfaction of seeing my dismay and how upset I was. But I couldn’t help it.

  Rose narrowed her eyes at me. She saw my surprise. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said. “You hadn’t heard?”

  I shook my head.

  She formed a pouty look on her face, puckering out her lips. “Wow. There I go again. Shooting off my big mouth. I thought you already got the word from Mr. G. I’m so sorry, Poppy.”

  Anger. Anger. Anger.

  In that moment, I could write whole books of poems about anger. Was my face red? Was I trembling? I didn’t care.

  I lifted my backpack and dug my hand to the bottom. You’re going to be very sorry, Rose. I found the knife I keep in there. I wrapped my fingers around the handle, raised it quickly—and plunged the blade into Rose’s stomach.

  She gasped and drew back in pain.

  “Oh, now I’m the one who’s sorry,” I said. “I’m so, so sorry, Rose. I thought that was the stage knife. The fake. But it isn’t. Whoa. My mistake. I’m so, so sorry.”

  9

  Poppy Continues

  Of course, that was a fantasy.

  Can’t blame a girl for her thoughts.

  I had dinner at Ivy’s house that night. Her parents had decided not to cook. We had a big bucket of fried chicken and a bunch of sides, and what could be better than that?

  Didn’t get me out of my funk, though.

  After dinner, Jeremy and Manny joined us, and we went to my house. Heather wasn’t home. No idea where she was.

  Mom left a note saying she had to work late at her lab. Mom is an entomologist and studies insect control. She’s doing some kind of experiments with hornets.

  She explained it all to Heather and me a week or so ago. And she has to work fast because hornets don’t have the world’s greatest lifespan.

  I grabbed tortilla chips and Cokes, and we huddled together in the den, all heavy green leather chairs and facing couches and a long dark wood coffee table cluttered with stacks of old magazines, and a fireplace we never use. The one room of the house designed by my dad before he and Mom split.

  I was in the middle of describing my morning encounter with the lovely and talented Rose Groban. “She just let it slip that I didn’t get a part in the play,” I said.

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “No part at all?”

  I nodded. “Sari Bakshi got Traci. And Kathy Taylor got Gretchen, the old lady. And Rose was gloating and grinning like her face would fall off.”

  I sighed. “I was so angry, I imagined a whole scene where I stabbed Rose in the stomach with a kitchen knife.” I laughed. Not a ha-ha laugh, a bitter, inhaling laugh. “Be
lieve it? I pictured myself pulling out a knife from my backpack and shoving it right into her gut.”

  “Are you sure you imagined it?” Manny said, grinning.

  I rolled my eyes. “No. She’s lying dead in a pool of blood in the hall outside the home ec room.”

  “You’ve always had a good imagination,” Ivy said. She smoothed a hand over her hair. Her eyes flashed. “Hey—maybe that could be our next prank. Murdering Rose!”

  Manny laughed. “Our next prank? Who said we’re going to do another prank?”

  “Why not?” Jeremy chimed in. “Everyone loved the pet-store prank online. All those dogs going berserk. We are already up to fifty thousand views. We’re famous!”

  “So what can we do to Rose?” I said. “I’m serious about this. It’s payback time. I want revenge. We’ve got to think of something.” I shifted the navy-blue scarf around my neck. “Maybe I could just strangle her with this. You know. Keep it simple.”

  “Whoa, are you in a violent zone!” Ivy said. “You’re scaring me, Poppy. Seriously.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s think of something nonviolent. Nonviolent but really mean and devastating that will ruin her life forever.”

  Manny laughed. “What’s your problem? I think Rose is kind of hot.”

  I scowled at him. “You would.” I heaved the tortilla-chip bag at his head. Missed, and it landed in his lap. “Can we stick to the subject?” I said.

  “What’s the subject?” Jeremy asked. “Revenge against Rose for being Rose?”

  “You got it,” I said.

  Ivy was perched on the wide leather arm of my chair. She jumped to her feet. “I know. We could go to the play and heckle her every time she comes onstage.”

  “That’s not enough,” I said. “And if we do that, if we heckle her, we’ll just be thrown out of the auditorium. We’ll look bad, we’ll probably be suspended, and it’ll make her happy.”

  Silence fell over the room as everyone tried to think of something. Actually, it wasn’t silent. I could practically hear the hum of brains going into overdrive. Jeremy muttered to himself. Ivy had her eyes shut, concentrating. We all tried to come up with something really, really evil.

  “Hey!” Jack’s shout broke the silence. He burst into the room, his eyes going from person to person. Then he smiled—just for me. “Is this a wake? Everyone looks so serious.”

  “We’re thinking,” I said.

  “Hey, Jack, do you have any more stray dogs in your truck?” Jeremy asked. “Maybe when the play starts, we could let them loose . . .”

  Jack shook his head. “No stray dogs. I’m not working for the kennel anymore.”

  “We need something new,” Ivy told Jeremy. “We can’t repeat ourselves. That’s too boring.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Okay, I was just thinking.”

  Jack pulled Ivy off the arm of my chair and took her place. He squeezed my shoulder. A tender squeeze. No one was watching. I pressed my cheek against his hand.

  “What are we thinking about?” he asked.

  Ivy dropped onto the floor and rested her back against the couch. Manny shoved a handful of chips into his mouth and tossed the bag to Jack.

  I had a flash. “Here’s an idea,” I said. “Rose keeps a water bottle on her dressing room table. She always has one. She drinks a lot of water. So—”

  “You want to steal her water bottle?” Manny interrupted.

  “No. What if we sneak in early and pour laxative in her water?”

  “Whoa!” Manny jumped from his seat, clapping his hands.

  Ivy tossed her head back and laughed. Jeremy stared at me as if he’d never seen me before.

  “It’s perfect,” Manny said. “Ohmigod. And then she walks onstage and . . . perfecto!”

  “It’s definitely mean enough,” Jeremy said, still staring at me. I think he was shocked at what a devious mind I had.

  “I love it,” Ivy said. “If we can pull this off . . . awesome idea, Poppy.”

  Jack was the only one who hadn’t reacted. He climbed off the chair and strode to the fireplace. He leaned against the dark-wood mantel, shaking his head.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “You’ll be caught,” he said.

  “Not if no one sees us do it,” I argued.

  “You’ll be caught. Rose will know who did it. Everyone will know who did it. And the police—”

  “Police?” I said, my voice getting shrill. “Why would the police care?”

  “It would be considered an assault,” Jack said. “You’d be arrested. Of course there’d be police.”

  I crossed my arms in front of me. “Fine. You don’t like my idea? Okay, let’s think some more.”

  I know. I sounded like a pouty, whiny five-year-old. But I was in an emotional state by this time. Maybe I was getting carried away. Maybe my idea was too horrible and humiliating.

  I suddenly felt embarrassed.

  We were silent for a long while, everyone thinking. And then . . . I had another idea. A smile slowly spread over my face. “Listen,” I said. “Listen, guys. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s cause a car wreck.”

  10

  Poppy Narrates

  Ivy and Jeremy gasped. Manny’s mouth dropped open and he nearly slid off his chair. “No way!” he cried. “No way! A real car crash?”

  Jack laughed. “Awesome idea, Poppy. Get Rose in a car accident. Brilliant.” I knew he was being sarcastic. He rolled his eyes. “Are you crazy?”

  I shook my head. “No. You don’t get it. No one actually gets in an accident. We fake a car wreck.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Manny said. He grabbed the bag of chips, reached inside. Empty. He crinkled it up and tossed it at me. “Try again, only this time, make sense.”

  “How do you fake a car wreck?” Jeremy asked.

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Ivy said. “Not even Rose.”

  “No one gets hurt,” I said. “Let’s say we do it an hour before the play is supposed to go on. Or maybe half an hour. We stage a big accident on Division Street, say, a block from the school.”

  “What good is that?” Jack demanded. “I really don’t get this, Poppy.”

  I was becoming frustrated. My idea was awesome. I just was having trouble explaining it. “Don’t you see?” I said. “We block all traffic to the school so no one can get to the play.”

  Silence while everyone thought about it.

  Jeremy scratched his head. “You mean we block Division Street and Park Drive? More than one car?”

  I nodded. “As many as it takes.”

  Manny squinted at me.

  “We wreck our own cars?” Ivy asked.

  “We don’t wreck any cars,” I replied. “We push our cars together in the middle of the intersection. We make it look like we had a collision. We all stand around and wait for the police and let the traffic back up for miles. Everyone trying to get to school for the play, only no one can get there.” I gazed from face to face. “Don’t you see? They’ll have no audience. It’s awesome, right?”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” Ivy said.

  “If it works,” Jeremy said.

  “It could work,” I said. “It could definitely work. Can you imagine Rose at school, waiting for the audience to pour in for the play, and no one shows up? Maybe a few people who walked there. But no one else. An empty auditorium. Can you imagine it?”

  Jack laughed. “Yeah. I can imagine it. But it’s dangerous, Poppy. What if the police figure out the accident is a fake?”

  “Jack, I thought you liked danger,” I teased.

  He frowned. “I like danger, but I don’t like getting caught.”

  “It might be genius,” Manny said. “Is it a crime to fake an accident?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “High school kids pull dumb stunts all the time, don’t they?”

  “Right,” Manny agreed. “And when the cops show up and ask why none of the cars are even dented, we just say, ‘Punked you!’”

>   “Yeah. We just say it was a typical high school joke,” I said.

  “Genius.” Manny bumped knuckles with me. “And we can stream the whole thing, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, for later. Maybe later that night. We put the video online after all the excitement dies down, and everyone will know it was another prank by us.”

  “I guess it’s cool,” Ivy said. She pulled her fingers through her long hair.

  Everyone but Jack seemed to be getting on board.

  “We’ll have two pranks for our YouTube channel,” Manny said. “The more pranks we pull, the more famous we’ll get.”

  Ivy laughed. “We need a name for our group. Something to call ourselves, if we’re going to be an outlaw prank group.”

  “How about the Outlaw Prank Group?” Jeremy suggested.

  “That sucks,” I said. “It doesn’t sound cool at all. If we want to be famous—”

  “How about the Prankers?” Ivy said.

  Manny booed. “That’s lame. What’s a pranker? Sounds like a sore you get on your skin.”

  “No. That’s called a Manny,” Jeremy said.

  We all laughed. Jeremy can be funny sometimes.

  “I’ve got it,” I said. “We’ll be the Shadyside Shade. Because we’re throwing shade on everyone.”

  “Love it,” Ivy said. “Love it.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. I like it. The Shadyside Shade.”

  My phone vibrated. I glanced down at it. Keith calling. Keith, the forgotten man. Did I feel bad he wasn’t here with my other friends? He wouldn’t approve of our plan. He wouldn’t approve of our name, our new group, our new YouTube plans. Keith would probably walk out of the house anyway. Or if he stayed, he’d try to discourage us.

  I didn’t take his call. I tucked the phone back into the armchair cushion.

  “Are we at least going to try to make the accident look real?” Jeremy asked. “If we just have our cars touching in the middle of the intersection, it will totally look fake.”

  “But we can’t really smash into each other,” Ivy said. “My dad would slaughter me if I put even a tiny scratch on his new Subaru.”