Not That Kind Of Girl

A burst of energy flew through me. Ms. Bee was right. Mike could only resort to low blows because I outmatched him in every legitimate way.

Ms. Bee pulled open a desk drawer and rooted around. “I wish I could say that you won’t meet a million more Mike Domskis in the course of your lifetime, but I’m afraid that simply isn’t true.” She handed me a glossy pamphlet. “There’s a leadership conference for young women in Boston during our spring break. It’s going to address exactly these sorts of challenges. The woman who runs it was my roommate during my master’s program, and I might be able to work out some kind of discount for you. Or at least the opportunity to network directly with some incredibly inspiring women at the very top of their fields. If you haven’t already packed your bikinis for Cancun” — she grinned — “I think it could be a formative experience for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. But really, those two words didn’t even come close.

I walked back to my locker with my head held high. The hallway was starting to get thick with students, the height of the morning rush. I found an empty trash can I could flip over and climb on, to be tall enough to rip the poster down. But I didn’t need to. Someone had beaten me to it.

CHAPTER FIVE

On election day, I sat between Mike and Kevin in the front of the library. Kevin was a couple of inches away, but Mike was so painfully close that the arms of our chairs were touching.

His left leg bounced up and down in a khaki blur, and the floorboards creaked sharp sounds that stabbed straight into my forehead. He did it on purpose, of course. Anything to rattle me. My pleated skirt crinkled up underneath my thighs, itching me like crazy, but I wouldn’t move. Not an inch. I didn’t want to risk touching Mike by accident. I didn’t even want our uniforms to touch.

What seemed like the entire school had gathered to hear the results. Connor Hughes sat in the front row, his tie loose around his neck, turning when someone behind him started chanting, “Dom-ski Dom-ski Dom-ski.” A bunch of other voices joined in the chorus. The whole room got loud, and I suddenly had trouble swallowing the syrupy dissolve from my peppermint Life Saver.

In a perfect world, this would be no contest. The most qualified candidate would win. But Mike Domski had a lot more friends than I did. A lot more.

I quickly tried to prepare myself, in case things didn’t go my way. I envisioned myself having to smile, to shake Mike’s hand, because that’s what a gracious loser does. I wiped my palms against my bare legs. They felt clammy. Cold.

As tough as that would be, I refused to give Mike the satisfaction of humiliating me on top of everything else. I forbade myself to cry if I lost. I’d drown my insides before I let a single tear roll down my cheek. That’s exactly what he’d want. Natalie Sterling, crying over a student council election.

Losing wouldn’t even be the worst part. The worst part would be quitting student council. I didn’t want to, of course, but what else could I do? I decided it was best to write a resignation letter to Ms. Bee instead of telling her in person, so she wouldn’t try to convince me to stick it out. I couldn’t do that to myself. And as much as I knew Ms. Bee would be disappointed, she wouldn’t want my participation to come at the price of my dignity. I knew what would happen — Mike would get bored with all the responsibility and work, and push everything on my lap. He’d try to make me into his personal secretary, someone he could boss around. And there was absolutely no way I could deal with that.

Ms. Bee sat inside the library office. I watched her through the glass, her head down as she counted ballots. Her forehead seemed more wrinkled than usual, which worried me for obvious reasons. I sat up tall and tried to make eye contact.

“Nervous?”

Mike smugly stared me down, thick-as-caterpillar eyebrows touching over his nose. I pressed my lips together tight and ignored him. A smirk spread across his face, and he rubbed the dusty black of his stubbly chin. Of course Mike didn’t bother to shave for election day. “I have to say, Natalie, your level of intensity is pretty hot.” He gently patted his lap. “I’m actually getting a chubby.”

I glanced over at Kevin Stroop, his eyes burning holes through the floor. It could have been a campaign strategy. Let Mike and me duke it out, while Kevin cleaned house. Though I doubted it. More likely, Kevin feared Mike Domski, or he just didn’t care if a guy said such disgusting things to a girl.

Not that I needed Kevin to stand up for me. I could handle this myself. “Stop talking to me,” I declared, which fell far short of the sharp retort I’d hoped to conjure up.

“Hey! Come on, Natalie. I’m only kidding with you.” His smile lengthened to a sneer. “You could never give me a hard-on. You’re like . . . dick repellant.”

Anger burned hot through my body, and I gripped the sides of my chair. Mike Domski wanted to hurt me, and the best way he knew was to call me ugly. I hated that, despite the fact that I would rather eat vomit than touch a hair on Mike’s head, it worked. It took all my self-control not to hock the biggest, wettest ball of spit right between Mike’s eyes. And I would have, too, if not for Ms. Bee weaving through the thick crowd, waving a slip of paper over her head. “Okay! Thank you for your patience! Here we go!”

Spencer lurked near the doorway, huddled with a couple of other girls. When our eyes met, she gave a big wave and blew me a kiss, which was a gesture more baffling than comforting. I tried to find Autumn’s face in the crowd, but when I couldn’t, I settled on the wall to my left, where the senior portraits of former Ross Academy student council presidents hung. Most were boys in blazers, wearing grins dripping with unabashed, unapologetic ambition. There were only a handful of girls, all stern-faced with set jaws. I felt the kinship straight away.

Ms. Bee joined us in the front of the library. The smell of her peppery perfume comforted me, just a little. “It’s wonderful to see so many of you interested in student council this year,” she said. “Our first meeting will be on Monday, and I hope you’ll parlay this enthusiasm and sign up for one of our many committees.”

I waited, a hollow smile frozen on my face, and listened to the names of the winners. David Goss won secretary. Dipak Shah won treasurer. Martin Gedge took vice president. I smiled at Martin to congratulate him, and he gave a worried look that cut right through me.

The stuffy library air fluttered with the tepid applause of people waiting for the main event. Ms. Bee cleared her throat and the room went quiet. All except for my heart, which pounded rapid and crazy.

“And in the election for your new student council president, we may have had our closest results in my history as an adviser. The winner, by just a handful of votes, is . . . Na —”

Somebody in Mike’s crowd booed, and I never heard the rest of my name. Not that it mattered.

From somewhere in the back of the room, Autumn barreled through the crowd toward me, knocking people aside with her huge book bag. Her hair flopped all in her face, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. I rose to my feet, smiling so hard it hurt. Autumn wrapped her arms around me tight, and we swayed with such force that we almost fell on the floor. We jumped up and down, over and over, both of us screaming and laughing.

I noticed Mike standing with his friends. Connor grinned at me. He thought my celebration was funny, I guess. But Mike could barely conceal his disgust.

I broke free from Autumn and pushed myself in front of him. I knew I had huge damp spots in the armpits of my white shirt, but I didn’t care. After pulling up my hair into a quick ponytail, I stuck out my hand and waited for Mike to shake it. “Don’t you want to congratulate me?” I said in my most sarcastic voice. His friends were all listening. Connor Hughes. Everyone. And I loved every second of it.

Mike looked down at my hand and scoffed. “Congratulations on being the kind of loser this stuff actually matters to.”

Before I could say anything back, Autumn pulled me away. “You okay, Miss President?” she asked, and massaged my shoulders like a boxer and his trainer after a long fight. The library had begun to empty out, but there were still lots of students who stuck around to congratulate me. The moment felt so right, so beautiful. Like destiny. Like all those life-changing moments should feel. Easy.

CHAPTER SIX

I picked up Autumn later that night. It was supposed to be, at least to her knowledge, our typical Friday — renting whatever movie was next on our list (we’d been working our way through the AFI Top 100 Films list, which I’d cut from the newspaper and dutifully laminated at my mom’s office), followed by snacks, followed by either face masks or new nail polish, followed by whatever lame show was on television until we fell asleep.

Except I had heard on NPR during breakfast that A Streetcar Named Desire was playing at a little independent movie theater a few towns over. It wasn’t actually the next film on our list, but the chance to see one on the big screen was too exciting to pass up. Plus, it would make for a more special night, considering I’d won the election a few hours before.

Even though my air-conditioning was on, everything still felt sticky. September weather always left you guessing, with some days hot like summer and others chilly like fall.

I beeped and Autumn came running out in jeans and an oversize hoodie I’d bought her on one of my college tours. I felt a little bad, because I was in a red corduroy skirt, a black scoop neck, and the tiny silver hoops Grammy had given me on my Sweet Sixteen. Not that we needed to dress up, but this particular movie theater was a lot different than the megaplex inside Summit Mall. It served wine and had gourmet snacks, like kettle corn and Italian chocolate bars. A red-velvet curtain hid the screen until just before the film started, and they showed movie trailers in French and Italian.

Autumn knew something was up as soon as she saw me. “What’s going on?” she asked, smiling. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret,” I teased.

“But you look so nice. Should I go change?”

I would have said sure, but Autumn was slow enough getting ready for school, never mind when she actually had a choice of outfits. Anyway, she always looked pretty. I shook my head. “Don’t worry. You look fine.”

I decided to take back roads, to keep Autumn guessing — a wandering maze of rolling hills and twisted streets that made our stomachs drop, so long as I hit the gas at just the right moment. Together we sang whatever song came on, my pathetic radio turned up so loud the speakers crackled. My heart felt buoyant, lifted by my relief over the election and the excitement of surprising Autumn. It seemed less like driving and more like we were floating.

Autumn kept guessing about what I had planned. Then she pointed out the window and looked all excited.

“No way!” she gasped. “We’re going to a party?”

Her words didn’t make sense to me at first. We weren’t anywhere near the theater. I had to come down from the clouds and look around to figure them out.

Cars were crammed along every available inch of curbside, parked in haste, as if the beer supply might run out at any second. I recognized some by their Ross Academy bumper stickers. Music thumped from a small house halfway down the street, bursting with people. Some kids were hanging out on a lawn, blanketed by fall leaves no one had bothered to rake up.

All I could come up with was, “Are you kidding?” What in the world would ever make Autumn think I was bringing her to a party?

“So . . . this isn’t what we’re doing tonight,” she said, the excitement draining from her face.

I shook my head. Even though I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, I explained what I had planned for us. I tried to sound excited about all the fancy snacks and the velvet curtain, but Autumn didn’t look interested. She kept staring out of the passenger window as we passed by the party house.

Finally she turned to face me. “What if we just walked in?”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know. To freak everyone out? Not in a bad way. We’d be like . . . celebrities or special guests or something. Plus, we’ve never been to a party together before, which seems like something we should probably do before we graduate, right? And besides, you look so pretty tonight.”

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. If there was anything in the whole world I didn’t want to do, it was randomly show up at a high school party that I wasn’t invited to, full of people we didn’t like. And Autumn was delusional if she thought we’d be welcomed with open arms. Not to mention that I had made other plans for us. Better plans.

But I didn’t bother saying as much. Instead I pointed out the window at a boy kneeling on the curb, puking into a bush. “Wow. Looks like we’re really missing out on an awesome time.”

“We should pull over and make sure he’s okay, don’t you think?”

I looked at the clock. We still had plenty of time to get to the theater, but I was concerned that if I parked to check on this boy, Autumn would make a run for the house, and then I’d have to go chasing after her. So, after locking the doors, I put the car in park and rolled down my window.

“Hey. Puking boy . . . are you okay?”

The boy didn’t say anything, or even look in our direction. Instead, he waved and gave us a thumbs-up.

I turned to Autumn. “Can we go now?”

“I guess,” she said, all pouty. She turned off my radio, rolled down her window, and strained to make out the music wafting in the air.

I guess was good enough for me. I wasn’t going to wait around and give Autumn a chance to change her mind.

Autumn screamed as I hit the gas.

I pressed the brakes as hard and fast as I could, slamming my car to a sudden stop. My headlights rocked up and down the dark street. Four drunken boys stood frozen at my bumper. Mike Domski, Scott Phillips, Paul Zed, and James Rocker.

“Watch where you’re going!” I screamed, my quivering hand hovering over the car horn. The smell of burnt rubber wafted though my vents.

The boys’ movements kickstarted with uproarious laughter, as they realized imminent death had, just barely, missed its mark. I tried to inch my car forward, but we were pinned by the human roadblock, forced to witness their drunken celebration. They leaped into each other’s burly arms and sang a chorus of holy shit, dude! Mike Domski tossed aside a beer can and started humping my hood ornament.

“Get off my car!” I shouted.

“I’m trying!” he moaned. “Oh, God, I’m trying!” After Mike pretended to bring my Honda to orgasm, the laughing boys made their way up the front lawn of the party.

“Looks like Mike’s over losing the election,” Autumn said, trying to sound lighthearted. Then she added, “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“Why don’t I just drop you off?” It came out bitchy, but I couldn’t help it.

“Forget it,” Autumn said, though she sounded like she was doing anything but.

A shaggy straggler shuffled a few quiet steps behind the pack. Connor Hughes. He stooped to peer inside my window with this curious look on his face. I could smell the beer all over him, warm and sour. “There’s a spot down the street,” he offered, pointing off into the blackness. His thumbs were threaded through holes in the cuffs of his thermal.

We locked eyes for the briefest of seconds. His were blue and watery, because he’d been drinking and doing who knows what else.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said sarcastically, then pressed my foot down on the gas.

Autumn spun around in her seat. “That could be interpreted as an invitation.”

I glanced in my rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anything. Only night. My heartbeat started to slow. “We’re going to be late for the movie.”

Autumn turned back around and huffed. “You know, there’s something to be said for spontaneity.”

I didn’t even bother responding. I just drove as fast as I could away from that house.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The rest of my weekend pretty much sucked. Autumn didn’t sleep over on Friday or Saturday, but she came over on Sunday to do a few SAT practice exams together. I could tell she wasn’t feeling it. I’d look up and she’d be staring out our kitchen window, even though the timer was ticking away and she was at least five test pages behind me. Obviously, practice exams aren’t the most fun thing to do, but the SATs were in just over a month, and I wanted us to be as ready as we could possibly be.

Not that it always worked that way. Because even though I’d practiced my speech countless times, I was way more nervous than I’d thought I’d be for the first student council meeting on Monday. I kept trying to remind myself that the stresses of the election had passed. I’d beaten Mike Domski, and now I could finally get down to business.

Before heading to the meeting, I wanted to freshen up and collect myself. The perfect place to go was the girls’ bathroom near the teachers’ lounge. Other girls avoided it for the risks of getting caught talking on their cell phones or smoking a cigarette, but the lack of use meant that it was always clean. The dispensers stayed full of syrupy pink soap, and there was always toilet paper and paper towels to be found. It was my favorite place to pee. It was like an executive girls’ bathroom.

But I wasn’t alone. I opened the door to find Spencer kneeling on the radiator. Her back was arched, and she stretched her head toward the ceiling, like she was in some strange yoga pose.

I flashed her a quick smile and dropped my book bag in the well of a dry sink.

“Shhhh!”

Spencer took her finger off her lips and pointed above her head at the vents in the ceiling. A layer of fuzzy dust sat on each slit. She whispered, “Mrs. Dockey was just bitching about Principal Hurley not approving her costume budget for the school musical. She actually said that she ‘can’t put on The Wizard of Oz with fucking bedsheets and a burlap sack!’ ”

We both tried to hold in our laugher, but it was practically impossible. Mrs. Dockey was about eighty years old and completely soft-spoken. I didn’t think it was possible for her to curse like that. Then again, she did take the musical theater productions very seriously.

I rifled through my bag for my hairbrush, forcing it through the knots in my hair. I made sure my headband was perched right at the top of my head. I slicked my lips with my tube of Burt’s Bees. I looked as ready as I could be, but inside, my stomach was churning. I’d never had the chance to stand out like this before. To be a leader.

“I took your advice,” Spencer said to me. “See?” She jumped off the radiator and lifted up her skirt, flashing a pair of pink satiny petticoat underwear with layers of frills across the butt. “These were actually part of my dance costume for this can-can routine I did in a Moulin Rouge show.”

I smiled. Not the toothy kind, but the lips pressed together kind. It was . . . a marginal improvement. But I had to give Spencer credit. If she danced in outfits like that, she probably wouldn’t get nervous giving a student council speech.

“So, congratulations on winning the election. A few girls in my homeroom were planning to vote for Mike because he was cute, but I forced them to vote for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, and tucked my shirt into my skirt.

“I saw what Mike did to your poster.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Though I guess you can’t really blame him.”

Had Spencer been the one to take it down? I turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

She scrunched her curls in the mirror. “Sexual tension makes guys act like complete idiots.”

I raised an eyebrow. There was certainly tension between me and Mike Domski, but it was hardly sexual. Not even close.

Spencer gave me wink, as if I were acting coy. “Mike totally wants to bone you. It’s so obvious.”

I shook my head emphatically. “Umm, no, he doesn’t. We hate each other.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, maybe on the surface he hates you,” Spencer conceded. “But I bet it goes deeper than that.” She tapped a finger on her lips a few times, thinking. “He could never get a girl like you. You are so out of his league, it kills him. And all that frustration bubbles up and makes him act the way he does. Honestly, it’s textbook boy.”

It was nice to hear Spencer say such complimentary things about me, even though she had no idea what she was talking about. But it was also sort of unnerving, listening to her analyze me and Mike like that. What could she possibly know about sexual tension? She was only fourteen.

I zipped up my bag and hoisted it onto my shoulders. I didn’t want to be the last one in the library and appear irresponsible. But Spencer leaned against the sink next to mine, blocking my way to the door. She clearly wanted to talk. And maybe it would be cool to be the girl everyone was waiting for. To make a dramatic entrance. I guessed I could spare a couple more minutes.

“So, Spencer. How are your classes going?” I asked.

“Pretty good. I like everything, except for History of Modern Civilization.”

“I took that freshman year. It’s not actually that hard, so long as you keep up with the reading.”

“It’s not so much the work as it is the teacher,” Spencer groaned.

“What? Are you kidding? Ms. Bee is awesome. She’s the best teacher in our entire school.”

Spencer looked doubtful. “She doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sure she does,” I said. But really, there was a part of me that wondered if Spencer might be right. Ms. Bee was a tough teacher, and she was hardest on the girls. I liked that about her, but she definitely wasn’t going to pander to Spencer’s underwear-flashing antics. “You just have to show her that you care about learning. If she thinks that you aren’t interested, then she won’t be interested in you.” I was afraid that was Spencer’s biggest problem. She was concentrating on the wrong things. “Have you joined any clubs?”

“Not yet. I’m still evaluating my options.” It was a weird thing to say, because what did Spencer need to evaluate? If you wanted to join a club, you did. There were no limits on that kind of thing. “I really wish our school had a dance team.”

“Well, if you join student council, you could propose that to the school board.”

“Really? Students have the power to do that?” she asked, and I nodded. “That’s awesome. Maybe I’ll come to the first meeting. It’s tomorrow, right?”

“It’s today. In about five minutes, actually.” How did she not know this? Spencer had been in the library on Friday, when Ms. Bee announced the meeting. And there were signs posted all over the hallways. I’d hung them up myself.

She pouted. “Shoot. My mom’s supposed to take me to the dance studio on Main to sign up for some classes.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You can still be involved in student council, even if you miss today’s meeting.” I smiled. “And you know me, so you’ve got the inside track.”

“Ooh! Then you’re the perfect person to ask. Is it true that we get to wear normal clothes on pep rally day? I heard someone say that in the hallway.”

“Yes, so long as you’ve got on school colors.”

“Cool. A few of my friends and I were thinking about designing our own T-shirts. You know, to show school spirit.”

Her enthusiasm was a pleasant surprise. “You should definitely meet up with your class rep. We’re going to be deciding them today at the meeting, so I don’t know who it is yet, but find me tomorrow and I’ll tell you. He or she will be in charge of organizing the hall decorations for the freshman class. I’m sure your help would be appreciated. Pep rallies are sort of a big deal here.” I felt for the note cards in my chest pocket. “And I have something pretty exciting planned for this year’s festivities. Seriously. It’s going to be epic.”