The Education Of Hailey Kendrick Part 11

"Do I have to do nothing but create poems in his honor? He's a guy. He's got great qualities and he has flaws. Why does everyone a.s.sume I don't want to be with Tristan?"

"Oh, I don't know. Hmm, let me think." Kelsie placed her finger on the side of her chin in an exaggerated gesture. "It could be because you were caught kissing some other guy. Or it might be that you make fun of him, or it could be because suddenly you're acting all strange, sneaking off campus, breaking stuff, hanging out with some townie instead of your friends."

I cut her off before she could say any more. "Maybe I'm not hanging out with my usual crowd because just about everyone in it is making me into the campus pariah. Everyone is acting like the fact that they can't get off campus is some great hardship. No one from student council has had anything to do with me, and even you only hang out with me when it works for you."

Kelsie stood up, her face flushing red. "Do you know how many times in the past week I've stood up for you? You act like everyone is blowing you off, but you're blowing them off just as much. You don't come to any of your regular activities. You isolate yourself and then blame us. I gave a hundred bucks to a drug dealer to get you these magazines. What do you want?"

"You're supposed to stand up for me. We're best friends." I reached a hand forward to touch her arm. I couldn't understand how I kept s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up with the people that mattered. My dad was mad, my best friend was mad, my boyfriend didn't even know if he wanted to be with me. My best guy friend wanted to be with me, but I didn't know if I wanted to be with him, and someone on campus, possibly the only friend I felt like I had left, was selling out my secrets for a few extra bucks. "I don't want to fight with you, too. I don't want you to be mad. All I was trying to do was explain what's going on for me."

"Whatever. I have to go." Kelsie crossed my room and flung the door open. "You can keep the magazines, and you might want to give some thought to the idea that while stuff is going on for you, the rest of us also have a life."

The door swung shut softly, separating us with a click.

23.

I didn't wait for Drew. By now I was becoming a seasoned pro. I didn't need him to hold my hand. I dragged the cart out from the closet and started on the first cla.s.sroom. If I didn't get into Yale, I could always apply to work as a janitor. Someone had written notes on the white board with a regular marker. I rubbed it harder, but it didn't make a dent. I pulled out the oily cleanser I'd seen Drew use. didn't wait for Drew. By now I was becoming a seasoned pro. I didn't need him to hold my hand. I dragged the cart out from the closet and started on the first cla.s.sroom. If I didn't get into Yale, I could always apply to work as a janitor. Someone had written notes on the white board with a regular marker. I rubbed it harder, but it didn't make a dent. I pulled out the oily cleanser I'd seen Drew use.

"Hey, Prima Donna. I was waiting for you outside," Drew said.

I didn't look behind me and kept my focus on the board. "I want to finish up early if we can. I have a lot of homework."

"That's a shame. I was going to suggest sneaking you out of here after work and doing something fun."

I made a noncommittal noise. My elbow was starting to hurt from the rubbing. I wasn't built for manual labor. I wouldn't make it long term as a janitor. Yet another future opportunity lost to me. "You know what I would consider fun? If you stopped calling me Prima Donna."

"What? It's Italian for 'first lady.'"

"It means 'stuck up,' and you know it." I glared at him over my shoulder.

"Wow. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the mop and bucket today. Better not let anyone see that expression. They're going to start calling you Cruella De Vil on top of America's least favorite heartbreaker."

I dropped the cleanser. "What do you know about that?"

"Just what I read online. You didn't mention that the boyfriend in question was some famous Hollywood star."

"He's not a star. His parents are."

"I don't know. I figure if the people on Entertainment Tonight Entertainment Tonight have you on a first name basis, you count as a star." have you on a first name basis, you count as a star."

"What journalists do you know on a first name basis?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Drew raised an eyebrow. "Is this a trick question?"

"Do you find it tricky to answer?" I held my breath while I waited for him to respond. I searched his face, looking to see if I would be able to tell if he was lying. His eyes didn't shift away, and he didn't blush or act like I had caught him. It could mean he had nothing to do with it, or that he was a good liar.

"What are you getting at?" Drew asked.

"Did you sell my story to the magazines?"

Drew took a step back, his face registering shock. "You think I would do that?"

"Someone did."

"Someone is also responsible for that ten-car pileup on the highway, but that also wasn't me. Last I checked, I also didn't start the war overseas, or have anything to do with the banking scandal or global warming. On the whole I've kept my nose pretty clean. If you're looking for a full accounting, I'll admit that when I was twelve I stole a Snickers bar from the local grocery. I've been known to speed in a school zone on occasion, and I've had a few underage beers, but never while driving. My mom would be right that I'm the guy who drinks almost the last of the milk from the carton and then sticks it back in the fridge, and she thinks I should make my bed." Drew stopped, as if he was thinking about it. "I also once dissected my kid sister's teddy bear. She considered it a case of murder, but I honestly wondered what was in there. I'd call it scientific curiosity gone awry. I thought I could put it back together. I was only eight, if that makes a difference."

"When I was that age, I once dug up all the tulip bulbs my mom had buried in the garden. I put them in my closet. I think I thought they might grow in there," I confessed.

"There you go. Neither of us is coming to this situation with clean hands." Drew crossed the room so that our faces were mere inches apart, his eyes locked to mine. "I haven't told anyone what you told me, and I wouldn't. Not for money, not even if they asked me nice."

I felt myself slump with relief. "Okay. I didn't mean to accuse you." All I needed was for him to be mad at me too.

"Nothing wrong with asking. Who else do you think could have done it?"

"One of the security guards sold a picture recently. It might have been her."

"Ah, the Mandy Gallaway scandal."

"You know about it?"

"Are you kidding? The whole staff was pulled into a meeting where we got our a.s.ses handed to us. We were all warned that if the administration finds out anyone is selling pictures of the golden children, there will be h.e.l.l to pay. I'd be surprised if it was anyone on staff after that. I can't think anyone would risk their job over you." Drew pulled out the rag to wipe down the desks. "Is the story a problem? I would think people here would be used to that kind of thing."

"People like Mandy might be used to it, but I prefer to keep my private life private. Half the stuff in that story isn't true anyway."

"Do you really have a bunch of homework you have to do tonight?"

"Yes. I'm sure it seems like all we 'golden children' need to do is manage our media events and look good, but some of us have academic goals too."

"I never doubted you were smart." Drew looked over. "Crazy as all get out, but smart."

I tossed a roll of paper towels at his head, and he ducked.

"Careful. Those are the double thickness towels. Nothing but the best. You could make a baby diaper out of those. You waste supplies, and they take it out of your check."

"Seriously?"

"You think they don't watch our Windex usage? You better believe it. Winston is always convinced people are stealing. He caught a secretary a few years ago taking home a pack of Post-it notes, and you would have thought she was embezzling gold bars instead of some office supplies."

"What were you thinking of doing later?" I asked.

"I thought you had all that homework, not to mention those academic goals."

"I'm not saying I want to go. I'm just interested to know what you're doing. That's what friends do, take an interest."

"What if I won't tell you? Then you'll have to come to find out. It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"You're missing out. Surprises are what make life interesting."

"Isn't that supposed to be a Chinese curse, that you live in interesting times?"

"I'd take interesting over dull any day."

"So are you going to tell me what you've got planned?"

"Nope. Either you come or you don't. Your choice."

I bustled around emptying the trash cans as if I were too busy to even consider his plan. Without even glancing over at him, I knew he would be smiling. Smirking, most likely. He was a big smirker. Sneaking off campus was a bad idea. I might have been able to convince Winston once that I was an emotional wreck, but if I got caught again, he wouldn't go so easy on me.

I sprayed the windows with Windex, perhaps a bit less than I might have used in the past, now that I knew there was a cleaning supply n.a.z.i keeping track. I wiped the gla.s.s, watching groups of students walking across the quad. I spotted Tristan walking with Kelsie. I raised my arm to wave and catch their attention. Kelsie jabbed Tristan and he pushed her back, and she fell onto her b.u.t.t on the ice. She threw her head back, and I could see she was laughing. Tristan tried to pull her up, but she used her weight to cause him to fall into the s...o...b..nk. I stood frozen, watching them. Tristan got up and tried again to help Kelsie. They were both laughing now. He finally settled for picking Kelsie up like a bag of laundry and throwing her over his shoulder to carry her off. I stepped back slightly so that if they looked at the window they wouldn't see me.

Drew was standing right behind me. He looked past me out the window. "That's Tristan, isn't it?"

I nodded, watching as he and Kelsie headed back toward the dorms.

"Who's with him?" Drew asked.

"Her name's Kelsie. She's my best friend." I pinned Drew in place with my expression, stopping him before he could say anything. "The two of them are friends too. They're always joking around like that. Tristan says Kelsie's the annoying younger sister that he never wanted."

"Fair enough." Drew turned away to go back to the mopping.

I kept an eye out the window, waiting to see if I would spot them again. "I'll go with you after work," I said suddenly. "I feel like a surprise."

24.

I swallowed hard to keep myself from throwing up. I knew I didn't like surprises. I had a.s.sumed Drew would have planned some sort of physical activity. Something that he thought would scare me. Bungee jumping off a bridge, ski jumping, or walking over hot coals. Now I realized there was something worse than putting myself in a life-and-death situation. swallowed hard to keep myself from throwing up. I knew I didn't like surprises. I had a.s.sumed Drew would have planned some sort of physical activity. Something that he thought would scare me. Bungee jumping off a bridge, ski jumping, or walking over hot coals. Now I realized there was something worse than putting myself in a life-and-death situation.

Karaoke.

A woman on the stage was singing some Top 40 song. The sound coming out of her was what I imagined would come out of livestock if you hooked them up to a car battery. More people would have been laughing at her, except she was doing this b.u.mp and grind number that was too hard-core for most p.o.r.n movies, so the men in the audience were distracted. The bar wasn't like anyplace I'd been before. I'd been to a few of the nightclubs in LA with Tristan, but they were all red-rope affairs where you didn't get into the building if you weren't already on the A-list. This place looked to be a bit less discriminating. There were a few people in the back of the room that I suspected didn't even have a pulse. They appeared to be pa.s.sed out in their beers. While the clubs I'd been to spent millions on decor and imported gla.s.s and marble from Europe, this place had a decor that seemed to be themed around plug-in beer signs.

I shifted in the seat. My gla.s.s of Diet c.o.ke was making a puddle of condensation on the table in front of me. Drew jammed another nacho into his mouth. He'd ordered them with triple jalapeno peppers. It was a wonder his mouth didn't start shooting flames. He pushed the laminated pages back over to me.

"You still haven't picked a song," he said with salsa in his teeth.

"I'm not sure there's anything I like." I held the song list between two fingers. There was something sticky on the pages. I had no desire to even think what it might be.

"There's over two hundred songs on there. You can't find anything? I'm all for being discriminating, but at some point it becomes picky."

"I'm not sure I should be singing at all. My throat's been a bit sore. I might be coming down with something." I held my hand to my throat and tried to look wan.

Drew laughed. "Do not go into a life of crime. You suck at lying. You're not sick, and your throat is fine. Either you pick a song or I pick a song for you. If you want to pick a duet, I'll do it with you if you're too nervous to be up there by yourself. Or I could pick something super-embarra.s.sing and sing it to you."

I slouched down in my seat, pouting. I pulled the list over and began looking through it again. Most of the duets were love songs. No way was I going to stand up in that bar and sing "Endless Love" with Drew.

"I don't see why I have to do a song at all. Why can't we just watch other people sing? That's fun." I gestured to the group of guys who had taken the stage and were belting out "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC. One guy was attempting to use his leg as a guitar. He fell over a stool, but popped right back up.

"Don't you want to be a part of things?" Drew's hand tapped the table to the beat of the music.

"Not if being a part of things means humiliating myself."

"There are two kinds of people in this world. People who are a part of what happens and people who sit back and watch other people make it happen. Life isn't supposed to be a spectator sport. It's supposed to be messy." Drew took my hand and leaned closer. His hands were rough with calluses. "Tell me the truth. When you were a kid, did you always color inside the lines?"

I went to pull my hand away, but he held it tighter. His hands were warm. I looked around to see if anyone noticed us touching. With my luck there would be some magazine reporter in the bar who would take a picture. "Coloring in the lines is the whole point. That's why they have lines," I said.

"That's where you're wrong. The lines are there just to hold you in. Like a prison. Think what you might have created if there hadn't been any lines. To quote my friend Th.o.r.eau: 'I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, . . . to put to rout all that was not life . . . and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.' Now, there was a guy who didn't color in the lines." Drew raised his gla.s.s to the ceiling as if to salute Th.o.r.eau, dropping my hand. He was able to quote poets. There was no end of random information he knew.

"I'm not sure we should be taking life advice from him. Th.o.r.eau lived in the woods, like some kind of crazy hermit," I said.

"Call him crazy if you want, but the guy is immortal because of what he did. He took risks. Did you know he was part of the Underground Railroad that helped sneak slaves north toward freedom? This was a guy who marched to the beat of his own drum. How many line followers are immortal?"

"How many people who don't stay in the lines cross into oncoming traffic and end up getting hit by a car?" I countered. This was something I knew from personal experience.

Drew rolled his eyes. "Singing in public isn't going to kill you. It won't even maim you. The only thing that's going to get bruised is your ego." Drew pulled the song list back over to his side of the table. He used the pencil on the table to scribble a song number on a sheet of paper. He pulled me up from my chair. "There you go. Now it's done. Come on. We're up."

"Wait, what song did you pick?"

"It's a surprise. I know how you love surprises." Drew winked. He pulled me by the arm toward the stage, handing our slip of paper over to the DJ running the music.

"What if I don't know the words?" I dragged my feet, trying to slow our process.

"That's why they have them on the TV." Drew motioned to the small screen to the side of the stage. "You haven't been going to that fancy school for this long without learning to read. All you have to do is follow along. Now, once we get going, I expect you to belt it out."

The DJ called our names, and Drew jumped up onto the stage as if he couldn't wait. He handed me a microphone and took one for himself. A few people in the crowd hooted while we waited to start. I prayed that there would be some kind of natural disaster. A small earthquake would work, anything that would stop what was about to happen. All I needed was for the ground to split open and swallow me alive. It would also work if Drew were swallowed alive. Either option was fine with me.

The music started. Drew had picked "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I'd heard the song before, but I had to follow the lyrics on the TV to sing along. At least it wasn't as bad as some things he could have chosen. Looking out at the audience made me feel like I was going to pa.s.s out, so I focused on a flashing Budweiser sign at the back of the room. Drew stood next to me, throwing his arm around me so that we could sway in tandem back and forth for the final verse. Drew motioned to the crowd, and they yelled along with us, "I think to myself, what a wonderful world!"

Everyone cheered for us when we were done. Drew held my hand, and we bowed to the audience. Drew waved to the people in the back. I was starting to think I was going to have to drag him off the stage. I found myself smiling and taking a few extra bows while pulling him toward the stairs.

When we sat back down, some people a few tables over bought us a round of c.o.kes. Drew leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the chair next to me.

"Admit it. You had fun." He shook his finger at me.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be."

"Not bad?" Drew waved off my comments. "Coming from you that's practically a giddy endors.e.m.e.nt."