Bailey, Kyla, and I took Lauren out for dinner the night before auditions for good luck. Why we picked dinner was a mystery, as the list of things Lauren wouldn’t eat was a mile long. She had to avoid anything that might impact her voice or—God forbid—result in her looking bloated on the big day. It was clear she was nervous.
Unlike Lauren, I was really looking forward to the auditions. I couldn’t wait to see her face when Brenda started singing. I was going to have to fight the urge to break into song myself. “Ding-dong, the witch is dead …” Then there was the added bonus that I would have a chance to talk to Christopher again. I tried to keep the focus on getting closer to Christopher as a means of making sure he didn’t fall under Lauren’s spell. However, I was willing to admit that the idea of spending time with him was the best part of the revenge plan so far.
Lauren sat there picking at a salad that had anything that might be considered tasty left off. It appeared to be nothing more than iceberg lettuce with lemon juice on top. I took a big bite of my cheeseburger and tossed it back with a slurp from my milkshake. Lauren glanced at me, disgusted. It was becoming clear that Lauren didn’t know quite what to do with me. Due to my nonstop scheming and strategic butt kissing, both Bailey and Kyla loved me. Everyone at school thought I was cosmopolitan and cool. Freshman girls copied how I wore my hair. Lauren was stuck with me. I was like a flea on her otherwise perfectly groomed lapdogs.
“So what does your voice coach say about the audition?” Kyla asked, sticking to safe topics, which included anything focused on Lauren.
“She thinks I’m ready. We’ve practiced the song since last spring.” Lauren stabbed another piece of lettuce. I noticed that the skin around her fingernails was ragged, like she had stuck them in a garbage disposal. Plus, despite a heavy smear of concealer, I could see a flock of small red pimples clustered around her forehead. It looked like my daily sabotages were starting to get to her. I took another satisfied slurp on my milkshake.
“You’re going to be great,” Bailey said.
“Grrrrrrreat!” I roared in a Tony the Tiger voice. Lauren’s eyes narrowed. Bailey and Kyla laughed.
“All I can say is nothing better go wrong,” Lauren said, tossing her fork down on her plate to indicate that the five calories she’d consumed had rendered her full.
“Nothing will go wrong,” Bailey soothed.
“What could go wrong?” I asked.
“Lately, everything is going wrong.”
“Everyone has their ups and downs,” I said, as I dragged another fry through my river of ketchup.
“I don’t.”
That pretty much killed the conversation for a few minutes until Bailey resurrected the thrill-a-minute discussion of how great Lauren’s hair looked. I managed to refrain from pointing out that the olive oil had perhaps done some good.
Bailey excused herself to go to the bathroom and Kyla tagged along, leaving Lauren and me sitting across from each other in the booth.
“I don’t know what your story is, but I don’t trust you,” Lauren said.
“What are you talking about?” I managed to meet her eyes, but just barely. After years backing down from Lauren, it was ingrained.
“Ever since you started school here, I’ve had nothing but bad luck.”
“What, you think I have it out for you? Why?” I tried to sound casual, but there was a part of me that almost hoped everything would come to a head, that she would realize who I was and realize just what she had done. I felt a slick of sweat sprout up in my armpits.
Lauren looked around the restaurant, her nostrils flaring in and out. She really needed to do something about that facial tic.
“This is my senior year and I worked really hard to be where I am,” Lauren said, as if that explained anything.
“It’s my senior year too. Come to think of it, it’s also Bailey’s and Kyla’s and, oh, give or take a few hundred other people’s senior year.”
“Whatever.” Lauren managed to avoid saying out loud what I was sure she was thinking, which was that our hopes and dreams for our senior year paled in comparison to her own.
“I’m sorry that you don’t like me, but for what it’s worth, I hope you get the senior year that you deserve,” I said with a smile on my face. I popped another fry dripping bloodred ketchup into my mouth.