Starkissed (5 page)

“So you hit him twice? How the hell does that lead to him kissing you in front of a million people?”

“It wasn’t a million people...it was like twelve photographers and some passersby, Summer Stone, the cab driver...”

Caroline rolls her eyes and I shut up, getting what she means. The picture is out there for every eye on the planet to see. I go on with my story.

“Then he sat down beside me and started talking to me.”

“And you didn’t recognize him at all?”

“No.” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture his face. Now that I know who he is, I can see it, totally. But at the time, I had no idea. At all. He was just some hot guy who was talking to me. Although looking back now, there were signs. The weird look on his face when I asked him what he did for a living, that panic in his eyes when that woman screamed out after spilling on her dress...he must have thought he’d been recognized.

“How is that possible? I mean between me and Angelina you’ve seen
Dead of Night
a million times.

Dead of Night
, right. Wait. Oh my God. “I’m so stupid!”

“What?”

“I told him I hated
Dead of Night
. I went on and on about how gross it is.”

“You’re kidding me?”

I shake my head, recalling the brief moment in our conversation when I told him his movie sucked. Unknowingly, of course. But what does it matter now?

“So let me get this straight. You hit him with your chair, smacked him with your forehead, and told him the movie he’s most famous for is crap?”

“It sounds really bad when you lay it all out like that.”

“And he still kissed you?” Disbelief fills her face.

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Join the club.”

***

Under Caroline’s forceful orders, we spend the rest of first period locked in the senior lounge, dissecting my meeting with Grant. She’s so busy marveling in the events of Saturday night that she barely notices how freaked out I am. Things like this don’t happen to me. My picture isn’t supposed to be featured on every website on the internet, my face isn’t supposed to be anywhere near recognizable. Maybe I was shoved into my corner of obscurity by my sisters and their flashy reputations, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t gotten comfortable there. Unpopularity is my thing. I revel in it.

The closer the clock ticks toward the end of the hour, the more anxious I get. Caroline wants to know what Grant’s lips tasted like, I want to know if I can start home schooling tomorrow.

“Snap out of it,” Caroline exhales loudly.

“Everyone knows what happened; everyone’s seen the pictures. It’s a disaster.”

Caroline scoffs. “A disaster? Sydney this is a miracle. You’re famous.”

“I’m not famous, I’m a freak show. Someone people can point at and talk about.”

“In the bathroom earlier I overhead Shawna Sands saying how you and her are practically best friends.”

“Who?”

“She’s on the squad with your sister. Bright red hair?”

“Her? We’re not friends. Last week she was over visiting Angelina and I’m pretty sure she thought I was the maid or something. She kept asking me to get her things.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Whatever. Just keep an open mind Sydney.” Her eyes get all sparkly and it’s almost like I can see the cogs working in her brain. The smile that spreads across her face practically reaches from earlobe to earlobe. “This is the start of something big, and that’s a promise.

Chapter Six

Somebody, well my father, once told me that life is a series of tests and it doesn’t matter whether you pass or fail, only that you tried. My dad is full of crap like that. Sage wisdom he feels must be passed down to his daughters. I think he absorbed all his parenting skills from old episodes of
The Brady Bunch
, because if there’s ever been another dad so full of mushy crap, it’s Mr. Brady.

Still, I can’t help remember his words as I traverse down the first floor hallway between first and second periods. Everyone is looking at me. I can feel their eyes boring into every surface of my body. Looks of interest, curiosity, confusion, and in a few cases, open disdain follow my every move. If this isn’t a test I’m meant to fail, I don’t know what is.

I have history second period, and I’d skip it if my essay weren’t due and if Mr. Hughes wasn’t a complete jackass when it comes to handing in late assignments. I take my seat near the front of the room and attempt, in vain, to ignore the looks that people keep throwing my way as they file in through the classroom door.

I wish Caroline was in this class. But no, she had to take Biology second period and leave me here all alone. Well okay, I’m not completely alone, Paul sits like two seats behind me, and Shanae is in the back corner (we sit in alphabetical order, otherwise we’d all be sitting together). But what use are your friends when one: they aren’t immediately within reach, and two: you can barely look them in the eye because, like everyone else, they’re staring at you. I want to whip around and tell Paul to cut it out, but I don’t.

When the final bell buzzes, Mr. Hughes starts swooping about the room, snagging essays from students. He approaches me and slides my paper off my desk. When I look up, he winks.

“Nice work on that test before the break Sydney.”

He’s winking at me? Teachers never wink at me. Nobody ever winks at me. This is really awkward. What do I do?

He leans down. Why is he leaning down? Mr. Hughes, when not teaching history, serves as assistant Basketball coach. Unless you can shoot a three pointer, or you wear a little skirt cheering on those who shoot three pointers, he doesn’t usually give a crap who you are.

“My daughter, Stacey, absolutely loves your boyfriend.”

Okay what? I don’t have a boyfriend. Who is my boyfri--?

Oh.

Crap. They think he’s my boyfriend now? Yeah right. He didn’t even ask for my number, granted I never gave him a chance as I kind of ran away. But before that? Nope. What if they all think I can introduce them to him?

Mr. Hughes moves to my left and takes Wendy Hillbrook’s paper off her desk. When he’s gone she leans over and smiles. “That essay was killer, huh?”

I’ve been in the same class as Wendy since kindergarten. She’s never willingly spoken to me. Until now. Now she’s staring at me with bright, happy eyes. The kind of eyes that say, “hey, let’s be friends.”

I look away, thankful Mr. Hughes is starting his lecture.

***

According to Caroline, who’s spent the morning consulting her phone beneath her desk while teachers weren’t looking, the story – my story – has been picked up by everyone from
People Magazine
to
CNN
. No seriously, my face is there, right beside President Obama’s, on the front page of
CNN
’s website. Apparently my arrival in Grant’s life is bigger news than the economy.

Each article is a little different, but mostly the same. All are based on speculation, because let’s face it, only two people – well three including Caroline – really know what happened on that sidewalk. And even I’m a little fuzzy on the details.

All are in agreement, though, that I’m big news. Apparently Grant is known for being fiercely strict about letting his private life seep into the press. Therefore everyone is sure that he and I must be pretty serious for him to allow us to be seen together in public, let alone seen kissing.

Also, apparently, some famous blogger thinks I’m absolutely adorable and has dubbed me America’s New Girl Next Door.
TMZ
thinks I look a bit like Anne Hathaway in her teen years and
Entertainment Weekly
is dying to know who designed my green dress. Imagine when they figure out it’s off the rack at JC Penny for $79.99.

“Everyone thinks he’s my boyfriend,” I hiss at Caroline across our usual table in the cafeteria. We’re alone, but not for long. Paul is second in line to pay for his lunch and Zane is making his way toward us from the other side of the room.

“I know!” Caroline giggles. “It’s awesome.”

“No it’s not! It’s a lie.”

“So what?”

“So I can’t just walk around here pretending to be Grant West’s girlfriend. It’s pathetic.”

“No it’s not. You’re simply seizing an opportunity here. This whole thing is going to blow over eventually, take advantage while you can.”

“For all we know he’s going to release a statement to the press tonight that he doesn’t even know my last name. Then everyone would know I’m a liar.”

“Well I guess...”

“This is a nightmare.” I fold my arms on the table and bury my head in them.

“Can I sit here?” I hear a male voice ask. Paul probably, but the voice is a little too deep. Did he finally hit puberty? I’m kidding, I’m kidding.

“Um...”Caroline stutters. “Yeah, definitely...”

Something hits my leg. I jolt and glare at Caroline. “Why are you kicking me?”

“I think that was me actually.” I look over and stare aghast at Liam who has planted himself down right beside Caroline.

She looks from me to him, then back to me. She’s not talking, but I can read the little twitches on her face that are screaming, “omigodomigodomigod.”

What the hell is Liam doing at our table? And wait, isn’t that Jeff Trafford – quarterback – beside him. And...

“Hey, mind if sit here,” Michelle Trabeck is standing beside me, indicating the open spot on my right. I blink at her. Michelle is a senior and captain on the cheerleading squad. Angelina considers her one of her closest friends, but never once has Michelle spoken to me.

“I guess not.” What the hell is going on here? Seriously, one photo with Grant West and the popular table decides to move to the other side of the room to be near me? No freaking way. But sure enough, they’re all trickling into the cafeteria and filling up all the seats at my table. They don’t even go near their usual spot. It’s like they had some sort of agreement before coming to lunch that they had to sit here.

“Oh hey,” Paul says, appearing on Caroline’s right, he nudges her. “Can you squeeze over a bit?”

Too entranced by Liam’s presence, she barely notices him.

“You know what?” Michelle pipes up. “Maybe you should sit over there,” she points toward a half empty table across the room. “We’re kind of full here.”

Paul looks down at Caroline, his confused smile sagging into a disappointed frown. He starts to retreat.

“Paul wait!” I hear my voice crack above the loud chatter of the table. I’m almost as surprised to hear myself as he is. I shove a little to the right. “There’s room here.”

“Well look at that,” Michelle says with a little snap in her voice.

I stare down at my plate, no longer interested in the hot dog or tater tots before me. I shove it toward Paul whose appetite is only surpassed in impressiveness by his metabolism.

“What the hell is going on here?” he mutters in my ear as we both watch Zane, Shanae, Tara, and Alex try and squeeze in at the end of the table.

“Nothing good.”

***

The idea of popularity is something I’ve considered. Believe me. I’ve often wondered what it might be like if everyone knew my name, if to the rest of the school I wasn’t just somebody’s sister, but Sydney Kane. But it’s never really enticed me, not like it does my sisters. There’s always been something in each and every one of them that craves the spotlight in some way, shape, or form – especially during high school. For Arianna it was heading up the student council and being an honor student. For Alyssa it was starring in the school plays, having her pictures in art shows, and dating hot, misunderstood musicians. Ava led a rampage against the cafeteria for not serving vegetarian friendly meals, and did so in a low cut top and denim mini-skirt. She wasn’t typical popular, but that didn’t stop people from rallying around her. And just look at Angelina. She’s a cookie-cutter cheerleader and natural born bitch. This high school has been ruled time and again by Kane girls. But I’ve always been happy with the sidelines. Sure, sometimes I wish people would get my name right, and that they wouldn’t be so surprised I come from the same gene pool as my sisters...but that doesn’t mean I’m yearning for this kind of attention.

Last week, hell yesterday, these people didn’t even know who I was. Okay, that’s not strictly true. I mean Liam knows me, but only because he and Angelina were so hot and heavy for that brief slice of time and I may have walked in on them making out in the rec-room a few weeks ago. For a guy who appears so confident on the football field, he was quite bashful to be found under my sister with his shirt cast aside on the floor. Just so we’re clear, Caroline does not know, and will never know of this incident.

And yes most of these girls have been to my house, I’ve heard them giggling and bitching through the thin walls that separate my bedroom from Angelina’s. But that doesn’t serve as any basis for the friendships they have deluded themselves into thinking they share with me. These girls don’t want to fold me into their group because they actually like me. They want me because of Grant.

Michelle leans over and smiles. “So Sydney, the girls and I are heading into the city for mani’s and pedi’s after practice. You should come. It’ll be a blast.” She looks at Caroline. “You can come too.”

“Actually I have some stuff to do tonight,” I mimic Michelle’s sweet smile. “But thanks.”

“No problem,” she flips out her hair. “Another time.”

Caroline shoots me a seething look that screams: “What are you doing?” I shrug an apology.

“So Sydney,” Sara Fille grins from across the table. “How long have you and Grant been seeing each other?”

And here it comes. I’m mildly surprised – besides Mr. Hughes, no one has had the guts to out right mention Grant to me all day.

Caroline’s eyes are telling me to lie. But I’m sure, due to the fact her right thigh is currently grazing Liam’s left thigh, she’s not thinking clearly.

“The thing is, we’re not actually together, me and Grant. It was just a kiss.”

The girls laugh. Michelle shakes her head.

“I’m serious. It was a one off thing. I don’t even know him.”

A few of the girls blink, but Michelle just shrugs and her voice goes all sing-songy. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“It was just a kiss.” I repeat.

“In front of dozens of reporters?” Michelle laughs. “Come on Sydney, we’re not stupid and neither is Grant. He wouldn’t attach himself to anyone publicly unless he was totally into her. Besides,
People
wouldn’t write about you and Grant it if it weren’t true.”

I attempt once more to argue, but they laugh it off. They’re never going to believe me. The realization sits cold and heavy in my stomach. My life is being taken over by a lie…and cheerleaders.

“I mean,” Michelle continues, “look at Grant and Summer Stone. They were together for months before anyone knew they were dating. And he told Ellen the only reason they came out was because he was in love with her...”

“Summer Stone? He was with her?” I whisper. Michelle looks at me like I’m losing it and Caroline frowns at me from across the table. But I don’t care, because suddenly things are starting to make a lot more sense.

I stand up and nod at Caroline to do the same. She looks devastated by the idea, but dutifully follows. As we’re heading away from the table Michelle calls. “By the way I love your...shirt. It’s so...purple! Call me.”

“How could you not tell me about Summer and Grant?” I whisper-yell at Caroline as I pull her down the first floor hall behind me.

“I thought you knew,” she shrugged. “I mean I think everyone on the planet knew. They were together for over a year!”

I turn and face her. “You’re talking to the girl that didn’t even recognize Grant West while his face was planted against hers.”

“Right. Fine. But why is this such a big deal? Why do you care? Are you jealous? Do you actually like him?” Her face pulsates with giddiness.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t you see it?”

She shrugs at me.

“Summer was there. We walked out of the restaurant and she climbed out of a limo with some soap actor, who she was all over by the way.”

“Okay?”

“Think about it. Grant had no interest in me up until that point. I was just some girl he was talking to. Then suddenly he sees Summer with that guy, and he’s all over me? I don’t know what the point was –maybe to make her jealous – I don’t care, but don’t you see? He didn’t kiss me because he liked me, he used me! That stupid, vain, asshole.”

I stomp my foot against the linoleum floor and slap my hand against a nearby locker, making a metallic ringing sound fill the hall. A nearby ninth grader looks over at us. I don’t have the heart to be nice, and simply glare. She scurries away. For a minute I feel like Angelina and it makes me nauseous. I sort of want to chase after the girl and tell her I’m sorry. But I don’t. Instead I turn to Caroline and continue with my tirade.

“Now people think I’m his girlfriend and won’t believe me when I say I’m not, my face is all over the internet, and Michelle Trabeck wants to go for mani’s and pedi’s!”

“Yeah. Your life is so hard,” Caroline deadpans. “Fame, friends, a gorgeous guy kissed you. Damn the world.”

“Shut up.”

“Calm down. In a few days some pop-star will get pregnant again or get shipped off to rehab. People will realize you can’t get them close to him and you’ll just be regular old Sydney again.”

“You think?”

“Sure,” she smiles what I think is supposed to be reassuringly, but something in it wavers. Maybe hope that I won’t fall by the wayside, or maybe she knows I’ll never be normal again and she doesn’t want to let on. “This country has ADD. You’re today’s news, but tomorrow there will be something bigger and better to talk about. Just wait.”