Awkward (20 page)

After noting the foolish smile and the half glaze to my eyes that had more to do with exhaustion than tequila, I read the article.

Seventeen-year-old Mackenzie Wellesley may have only recently hit fame through her two wildly popular YouTube videos, but her notoriety shows no sign of waning. Instead, she has fueled controversy with her recent behavior, which includes partying, drinking, and rumored drug use. Her love life appears to be even more muddled. Despite reports that she and Timothy Goff are “crazy about each other” and that “they talk all the time,” Ms. Wellesley attended a high school party instead of seeing her alleged boyfriend, Timothy Goff, in nearby Portland. In fact, an intoxicated Ms. Wellesley left the party with an unknown boy. Given her meteoric rise to public attention, this type of poor judgment begs the question: can fame turn a good girl bad?

“Drug use!”
I spluttered. “I’ve never used drugs in my life!” I held out an arm toward Logan’s parents. “I swear! You can run a panel on me. It’ll come back clean.”

Logan’s mom laid a gentle hand over mine. “We don’t doubt it.”

“I don’t know,” his dad said jokingly. “Looks like a junkie to me.”

I turned to Logan. “You’ve got your dad’s sense of humor.”

“Ouch.”

“I have to get home.” I flipped the paper over so I couldn’t keep looking at my stupid face. “I have to explain this to my mom.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Beckett agreed instantly. “Logan can take you back.”

“Great.” I turned back to him. “And, um, can I borrow your clothes? I’d rather not wear the dress.”

“No problem,” he said as we headed for the car.

But he was wrong. There were about to be several.

F
ive minutes later Logan and I were alone in his car … and I was having a very fuzzy set of flashbacks.

“Pull over,” I ordered when we reached the elementary school. I was relieved that he obeyed without saying a word. “I—I have to apologize. This is one big blanket apology for last night. I’m not entirely sure what I did or said, but I know I threw up and was generally annoying. And you really didn’t need a drunk girl messing up your Friday night. So thanks for putting up with me. Now if you could somehow manage to forget everything, that’d be great.”

“I don’t know … your striptease was pretty memorable.”

I choked. “My what!?”

“Kidding.”

“So not funny. So very not funny.”

“Look, nothing happened.” Logan unclicked his seat belt and swiveled so he could look me straight in the eyes. “You cut loose for a night. If you ever want to do that again, you should arrange a designated driver beforehand.”

“I know,” I groaned. “And I shouldn’t have gone home with you. That was stupid. The majority of rape victims know their assailants. Plus, given the amount of alcohol I consumed, I doubt I could’ve managed a decent defense. I’m lucky last night wasn’t worse.”

That realization sent cold spears down my spine. When I downed my first shot last night I was just thinking,
Patrick hates me and my life sucks. What do I have to lose?

The answer to that was: a lot.

“Wait a second, it was not stupid to get in the car. You were drunk. You needed someone to make sure you drank water and didn’t choke on your own vomit.” I winced at the visual. “So a friend helped you out.”

“Is that what you are?” I wondered aloud. “A friend.”

“Sure. We talk, we’ve hung out, and we’ve got mutual friends. I know you’re good for a loan, and I’ve helped you out of a scrape. Seems like we’re friends to me.”

I was about to agree. Really. I very nearly said, “Well, look at that. I’ve got a Notable friend.” But, oh, no … I had to stomp all over it.

“So … what scrape did you help me out of?”

Logan instantly shut his mouth, which only made me more curious.

“Come on, Logan,” I wheedled.

“It was no big deal,” he said at last. “Spencer and I had a little chat with Alex after he shoved you in the cafeteria. So we made it clear he has to leave you alone. Problem solved.”

I stared at him. “Are you insane?! Problem
NOT
solved! I handled it, okay.
I
told him to leave me alone. I don’t need you warning people off for me. You think because you’re, what, some big shot hockey captain you have the right to interfere?!”

“No, I was obligated to interfere. He knocked you to the ground, Mack, and he threatened to do it again. You needed help.”

“I know exactly what he did.” My voice was icy. “Like I said, I handled it. I can take care of myself. And you should’ve asked before you and your buddy decided to play white knight with
my life
.”

His eyes became frosty. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure it was! What did you expect me to say? Thanks, Logan, for being my protector!” I scoffed. “I’ve managed to get along just fine without guys defending me from the big bad world.”

“You’re mixing me up with your dad, Mack. That’s just stupid. Stop being pathetic and get over yourself.”

I spluttered, “My dad has nothing to do with this. This is about lines and boundaries and personal space.”

Logan snorted. “Right. So when you pried into my dyslexia and started asking about Chelsea, you were only interested in boundaries.”

“I was drunk!”

“Not for the past week you haven’t been. Not when you first made it your mission to figure me out.”

And that’s when it hit me—the epiphany really couldn’t have come at a worse time: I had a massive crush on Logan Beckett.

He was right. Ever since we went ice skating I’d been trying to figure him out. Not because I wanted to pry into his personal life, I just thought he was interesting. Then he had started calling me Mack, and I liked it. That should have tipped me off instantly, because I
hate
being called Mack … or at least I
had
until he had started doing it. Maybe I even liked him a bit before that. Maybe it started at Starbucks when he said he liked my factoid.

I have to be the slowest teenage girl on the planet.

You’d think that this realization would mean something, right? Instead of fighting over something as small and insignificant as who warned off Alex Thompson, I would say something like, “
Look, Logan. This is just me being horribly stupid and insecure. I’m sorry. I’ll become normal again in just a second. Do you think you might want to go out on a date with me when I don’t have the hangover from hell?”

That’s exactly what I should have said.

But of course I didn’t.

I’d like to point out that this realization had spectacularly poor timing and was also completely unwelcome. I had told myself even before our first tutoring session that this could not happen. I couldn’t be like every other girl at Smith High School and have a crush on Logan Beckett. I had a million reasons for it too—not just the three I vaguely remembered giving Logan last night. It could never work. We would never work—because why would a guy (a Notable guy) want to date a loser like me when he could be with superconfident, übergorgeous Chelsea Halloway? He’d have to be crazy.

So I panicked. After the scene with Patrick the night before, I think I deserve some credit for not just bursting into tears like a kindergartener. I had a crush on Logan Beckett, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours my heart was going to get stomped on.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.” I heard myself saying the words and yet I couldn’t believe they came from me. I had lost control. My fight-or-flight reflexes had kicked in, and every cell in my body shrieked,
You’re a stupid Invisible to him, remember? Get out of here before he realizes just how pathetic you are.

“You don’t want me prying, fine. Makes sense. I didn’t fit into your world anyway. You’re better off with a tutor who isn’t awkward and
pathetic
. Maybe Chelsea can help you out. You two looked pretty cozy in the gazebo last night.” The memory of it twisted my stomach into little knots. “You guys will be a much better fit.”

“You were
spying on me
.” Logan stared at me in disbelief, and I unbuckled my seat belt ready to make a hasty retreat.

“No!” I shouted. I don’t even know when I switched into my “loud voice,” but I was certainly making the most of it. “I wasn’t spying! It’s not
my
fault you were making out with her in public. Just a heads up, if you don’t want people to see you shoving your tongue down someone’s throat, try going somewhere with walls!”

“You were spying on me,” he repeated as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Or you know what? Go right ahead. I was spying on you. You got me. Secretly I’m deeply, madly, passionately in love with you. Oh baby, oh baby.” I said the last bit in a flat monotone with a sharp edge of sarcasm. “Just what kind of an idiot do you take me for?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Because only an idiot would be into a jock like me.”

“Only an idiot would let herself be played by someone who’s more interested in popularity than people.”

I don’t know where that came from. Maybe it was residual Patrick anger, but I was too mad, too scared, and way too hurt to think it through.

“I never played you, Mack.” He said it quietly and with a fierce finality. “You used me to make a buck—and that’s fine. You wanted the job to buy your precious MacBook. I get it. But no one forced you into anything. You could have said no to the tutoring, and you didn’t have to sing with ReadySet. You also didn’t have to shoot tequila at the party last night, or even show up for that matter. You chose to do all of it. So don’t accuse me of playing you when you’re the one making up the rules.”

He snapped his seat belt back into place and pulled out. I watched the elementary school disappear as I absorbed his words in silence. I had no idea how the conversation and my blanket apology for the night before had gotten so royally screwed up.

“Mackenzie.” My voice was hoarse when I said it, and I knew I had to get out of the car, away from Logan, and back into my normal pre-designer clothes before I turned into a pathetic moron who cries. I stiffened my spine and stared straight ahead while it felt like someone had put my heart into a juicer and was mashing it to a pulp. All I had left was my pride. “Mackenzie, not Mack.”

“Of course.” That was all he said. “Mackenzie, not Mack.”

And somehow that agreement felt like the hardest hit of all.

I
ran upstairs, opened the door to my room, and headed straight for my bed, hoping to pull the covers over my head like I’d done when the stupid video had first hit the Web and everything had changed. I wanted to go back to a simpler time. Back to when I had a crush on Logan Beckett but didn’t know it. Back to before I made awful decisions that put me at risk. Back to when my biggest dilemma was whether to watch an episode of
Glee
or
The Office
as a study break treat.

I wanted desperately to go back to when I wasn’t responsible for turning my life into crap. Because if there was one thing Logan was right about, it was that I had to fess up and take responsibility. Maybe with the initial YouTube video my fame was out of my control, but that didn’t mean my actions hadn’t shaped the following events. If I hadn’t gotten so into it, hadn’t worn the designer clothes, hadn’t convinced myself that maybe I could pull off being some weak imitation of a Notable, none of this mess would have happened.

I needed a little alone time in my room so I could sort everything out. But even that was out of my reach. My bed was currently being occupied.

“Oh, hey. You’re back,” said Melanie as she pushed her long hair out of her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

I didn’t know how to answer.
Well, I don’t feel like puking because of tequila anymore. Now it’s my own idiocy that makes me want to hurl.
Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.

I sat at the foot of my bed and hugged a pillow to my chest. It was oddly comforting. “Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you want to sit with us? I mean, that video of me was all over YouTube, and the whole school was laughing at me. Eating lunch at my table could have been social suicide. So why’d you do it?”

Melanie sat up straighter. “Do you want the truth?”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I watched the video and I thought, ‘This girl is making an idiot out of herself with her
CPR
.’ ” I winced. “But then I thought, ‘That’s really cool of her.’ Everyone knows Alex is a tool, but you were still hollering for a nurse and pounding on his chest.” She shrugged. “So that’s why I sat with you.”

“Not because of the clothes or … any of the rest of it?”

Melanie laughed. “I don’t need friends for clothes. The rest of it is cool but not worth sitting at the table if you guys were boring.”

I may have alienated the boy I used to have a crush on
and
the boy I have a crush on, but somehow I had also made a really great friend.

“Let me ask you something,” said Melanie. “Why did you think I was just doing it for the perks?”

She had me and we both knew it. I hugged the pillow even tighter.

“I don’t know. Patrick was only interested in that.”

Melanie gave me a skeptical look. “So you assumed that everyone was a wannabe? I don’t think so. Come on, Mackenzie. Out with it.”

“Look, it just made the most sense, okay!” I started rocking back and forth. “I’m geeky and I’m lame and I can’t walk without tripping and when I’m nervous I spew out random facts. Even knowing all of that, I can’t seem to change it. So, no, I don’t understand why people would want to hang out with me.”

“Mackenzie,” Melanie said gently. “You’re great. You’re funny and just a little bit unpredictable. Plus I never have to worry that you’ll make fun of me if I say the wrong thing. You guys might joke about it or tease me a little, but nothing vicious. That’s why people like you. You might be intimidating in class, but if someone asked you for help, you’d be there.”

“But that’s just it: I never say no! I’m always just standing there waiting for people to walk out on me.”