The New Girl (8 page)

“So… does Calvin remind you of anyone?”
Bridget asked, throwing herself back on the bed and flipping
through my portfolio.

“Like...who?”

Ha
! As if I didn't know the next two
words out of her mouth were going to be—

“Mr. Rivera.”

“I guess.” I shrugged. “I've never really
noticed.”

“
What
?” she asked. “Can’t you see the
resemblance? The skin, the hair, the eyes, the face. Heck, even
their smiles! They could be brothers, Steph.”

I shrugged again. “I guess.”

I hated not telling her the truth, but
Bridget loved to talk, and I'd always been wary of her ability to
keep things on the DL. Still, I needed no reminder of how much
Calvin resembled his younger, sexier brother. In fact, I had
trouble staying in the same room with Calvin most days... the
resemblance was almost too unbearable.

“Calvin’s a chef, right?” Bridget asked.

“Yup.”

“Too bad.”

“Why’s that bad?” I asked. Personally, I was
pretty excited about the idea of some home-cooked meals in my
future.

“It’s not
bad
,” she said. “I just
remember Mr. Rivera talking about his brother once... but I'm
pretty sure it was a
younger
brother who was a
cop
,
not an
older
brother who was a
chef
.”

“You have quite the memory, Bridge,” I said,
astounded that she knew as much about our English teacher as she
did. Because, according to my Mom, Calvin
does
have a
brother on the force. Which meant Bridget wasn’t really that far
off. But obviously she still had some things to learn… and the less
she knew, the better.

“
Future father of my children
,” she
reminded me. “Here it is! This is the dress!”

She passed me the portfolio. “Ah, yes. Color
specifications?”

“Black, just like the picture.”

“Then I'm about to make you one very happy
girl,” I said. “I designed that last year for junior prom at
Carrollton High— no, Wesley— wait, yes, Carrollton High School. I
never got to wear it, so….” I walked to my closet and plucked the
gown from the back. “It's all yours.”

“It's already done?”

“
And
brand new.”

She snatched it from my hands and held it to
her body, examining herself in the full-length mirror.

“Nathaniel Bryan will rue the day he asked
Rachel Canter to homecoming over his best friend,” she said. She
admired the dress for a few long minutes. “
God! I love you,
Steph! I love, love, love you
.”

“Yeah.” I smirked. “You've mentioned that
once or twice.”

Friday, October 21

Bridget and I prepped ourselves for the
infamous homecoming dance. She kept reminding me that practice
makes perfect:
you—can’t—rush—beauty.

“Oh em gee!” Bridget said as she backed away
from the mirror. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in all
your life?”

“Love yourself much?” I teased.

“I can't thank you enough, Steph.”

Bridget was working overtime to rebuild her
confidence. Her self-esteem had taken a pretty hard hit after Nate
asked Rachel to homecoming. The saddest part of the whole thing was
that he never even told her he'd changed his plans. He just stopped
talking to her. Worse, he’d stopped talking to
me
. I still
hadn't figured out why
I
was being banished from his inner
circle. This wasn't my fight, but somehow I got stuck in the
middle.

“I'm gonna get dressed now.”

I pulled a garment bag out of the closet and
carried it down the hall to the bathroom. I unzipped the plastic
and stared at the gown— strapless, sky blue, elegant, and long.
Best of all, it was ready to be worn for the very first time. I
slipped into the self-designed dress and zipped up the side.

I looked at the reflection in the mirror.
Dark curls fell down my shoulders, and my brown eyes shined,
unguarded by the usual glasses. I hardly recognized the person
staring back at me. Abcdef Ghijk was a nerdy, bun-wearing,
glasses-sporting brainiac. As I gazed at myself, I realized I
wasn't seeing Steph at all. The reflection was Baby Levin—my birth
name… with the appearance and demeanor my mother had worked so hard
to manufacture over the years.

I walked out of the bathroom and down the
hall to my room. Bridget's mouth dropped as I came in, twirling
once to show off the dress.

“Wow,” she said. “I guess you’re ready,
then?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Together we strolled through the hallway and
down the steps, watching Mom and Calvin fumble with their
cameras.

“Hold still, Baby,” Mom said. “Wait a minute.
Stop moving. I want a picture of you on the stairs—”

“Hurry up! We're already running late—”

“Just stand still—”

“
Smile
!” Calvin chimed in, snapping a
shot of us standing on the fourth step.

“One more and we're outta here, Miss G,”
Bridget said. “I wanna be the first to ask Mr. Riv—”

“Bye guys,” I interrupted Bridget, grabbing
her hand and pulling her out the door.

Moments later, we were standing in line
outside the gymnasium. Ten minutes passed before the group moved
forward. In the matter of time we'd stood waiting, we received
nearly twenty compliments on our dresses—boosting my confidence a
notch. Maybe I actually had a shot of getting into the summer
program with Adriana Holbrook. Obviously Mr. Rivera believed in
me…. Only time would tell.

A chaperone at the door took our tickets as
we filed into the decorated gym. A professional photographer was
set up in the corner, willing to take a bundle of money in exchange
for one tacky memento. Bridget and I weaved through the tables
lined up on the outside of the dance floor until we found a spot
suiting our needs… close enough to the dancing without being too
far from the bathroom doors. As Bridget claimed, bathroom access
was imperative.
You never know when a fashion emergency might
strike.

“Ugh,” Bridget said as she locked her eyes on
a table at the opposite side of the room. “Nate and Rachel are
already here. And
ew
!
What is she wearing
? Steph,
look at her. Isn't her dress
awful
?”

“Terrible,” I said, silently disagreeing.
Rachel looked stunning in a light pink princess gown.

“I'm gonna go say hi.”

“Whoa, Bridge.” I held her back. “Are you
sure that's a good idea?”

“Of course! I have to be the bigger person,
Steph. I can't let Rachel Canter have the upper hand.” She pulled
herself free of my grasp and started to walk away. “If I'm not back
in five minutes, send a chaperone.”

“
Bridge
!” She disappeared on the dance
floor. The music and the dancing started without warning. The
lights were low, and the room was loud. I'd been at homecoming for
two minutes and was already hatching an escape plan. With my will
to flee so much lately, it was hard not to wonder if I had more of
my mother in me than I’d ever cared to admit.

“Flying solo tonight?” Mr. Rivera asked as he
stood near the table. He wore black slacks and a button up shirt
with a tie that perfectly matched my blue dress.

“Taking the new girl to a dance is always a
gamble—”

“Interesting fact,” he said, inching a little
closer. “Do you know that teachers are allowed to participate?”

“In what?”

“Dancing.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.

He nodded. “The thing is... we're not exactly
allowed to ask for a dance. But it would be
incredibly
rude
to turn down a student who proposed the idea.”

“So,” I said, casting a sideways glance. “Are
you asking
me
to ask
you
to dance, Alex?”

“Me?” He smiled. “No. I'd be fired if I did
something like that.” We shared a lingering stare before he quickly
shook his head. “Did you just call me—”

“Oh, well, it’s a shame you weren't asking,”
I said, standing up. I eyed him from head to toe and let out a low
whistle. “Yeah, really. Too bad; because I would’ve
loved
to
have taken a spin with you.” I sent him a quick wink and
disappeared into the crowd, still feeling his eyes watch me as I
moved further and further across the floor. Walking away from him
was the hardest thing I'd ever done. But I'd just flirted with him.
Like…
major flirting
. And if anyone else had noticed,
especially another teacher, I couldn’t imagine the
repercussions.

I found Nate sitting alone at a table in the
back corner, water bottle in hand. I sat down next to him and
glared with disapproval.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just came to find out
how a person can go from being your best friend one day to hating
your guts the next.”

“I don't hate your guts,” he said, taking a
drink of water.

“I wasn't talking about me.”

“Oh,
her
,” he said, twisting his
face.

“Seriously, Nate? What is wrong with
you?”

“
She
came over here and told me that
she
needed to borrow Rachel.
She
said one minute, I
promise. Well, it's been
five
minutes, and there's no sign
of them anywhere.”

“I'm sure they just went to the bathroom for
some girl talk,” I said, but suddenly felt the urge to run out and
make sure Bridget hadn’t murdered Nate's date. “I'll go check up on
'em and send Rachel back your way.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You look... nice,
Steph.”

I smirked. “Thank you, Nathaniel. You do
too.”

I turned on my heel and rushed to the
bathroom as quickly as possible.

Yelling and screaming echoed in the hallway.
A crowd of girls had gathered around the doors to watch Bridget and
Rachel struggle in a pretzel on the floor. No one tried to stop the
fight, only encouraged the brawl with cat calls and cheers.

“
Someone get a teacher
!” I yelled. I
fought the crowd to reach the two bloodied girls in the center of
the room. “
Bridget! Stop! She's not worth it
!”

With that, Bridget, who was now sitting on
top of her opponent, cocked her fist back and punched Rachel square
in the jaw.

I pulled them apart, kicking and screaming.
Rachel took a running start at Bridget again when another girl
stepped in to hold her back.

Miss Holt tore through the group of
bystanders. The majority of the students cleared out on her
arrival.

“You, you, and you.
Suspended
,” she
yelled.

Mr. Rivera rounded the corner and stopped
next to his co-worker. “Someone said there was a fight?” His gaze
landed on the three of us and he dropped his shoulders.
“
Girls
….” Like Miss Holt, he should’ve been angry. But I saw
more disappointment in his eyes as he stared at me. “What
happened?”

Miss Holt pointed at me. “Why don't you ask
Miss Ghijk.”

“
Me
? I was just trying to—”

“Save it,” she said, holding her hand up.
“You were involved in a fight on school property. You'll be lucky
if you get by with anything less than a five-day suspension. And
all three of you can forget showing up for the fall
production—”

“
No
!” Bridget said. “You can't do
that!”

“I just did,” she said with a definite sense
of finality in her voice. “The show is
canceled
.”

Mr. Rivera shook his head. “Pipe down,
Karen,” he said to Miss Holt. She stared at him in awe at the
demand. He shifted his attention back to us. “Okay, ladies. Let's
talk this out.”

“Mr. R,” Rachel whined. “I came in to touch
up my lipstick and Bridget pounced me—”

“
Bullsh
—”

“Watch your mouth, Miss Wright,” Mr. Rivera
said, raising his voice. “You're already in hot water.” The room
fell quiet. “We'll need to call each of your parents and have you
escorted home.”

“I can just walk—”

“I'm sorry, Miss Ghijk,” he interrupted.
“Someone will need to speak with Caroline as well.” Bridget's face
wrinkled and Miss Holt perked up, both probably wondering how Mr.
Rivera knew my mother by name. He continued, “Report to the office
first thing Monday morning to discuss the consequences of your
actions. Despite Miss Holt's misconception, the punishment doesn’t
rest in our hands.”

I stared at the floor. My experiences at
Webster Grove High School were stacking up to be nothing short of
memorable. First, I land the job of a lifetime working on the fall
production. Second, I get set up on a blind date—or something of
that nature— with the hottest teacher to ever walk the planet. And
now, at the homecoming dance, I'm being kicked out and facing
suspension for... well, nothing within my control.

Wonderful.

Friday, October 28

“Welcome back, Miss Ghijk,” Mr. Rivera said
as I walked into class the following Friday.

Bridget, Rachel, and I had received a
four-day suspension for the homecoming bathroom brawl. The time off
was miserably boring… and Mom
still
hadn't forgiven me for
'rolling with the rough crowd.' I'd be lucky if she ever let
Bridget set foot in our house again. And sadly, I hadn't seen or
spoken to my best friend since her parents picked her up from the
dance.

The classroom was empty with the exception of
the two of us, and I nodded in acknowledgment as I took a seat. I
propped my head into one hand and tapped a pencil on a book with
the other, hoping someone else would walk in soon and ease the
discomfort.

“It's been strange without you here,” he
finally broke the silence, walking over and leaning on the desk in
front of mine, just as he’d done on my first day of school.

“Mmm-hmm.” I pretended to ignore him.