When I get into the living room, though, it’s my temper that flares when I realize Lara is still on the computer, giggling and typing and so obviously not doing homework.
“Lara, get off! It’s my turn.”
“Just give me two more minutes,” she says.
“I’m calling Mom,” I say, pressing her number in Favorites.
Lara’s still typing.
My mom picks up and she’s not happy.
“Sydney, I’m in the middle of a council meeting. What is it?”
“Lara won’t get off the computer, and I need it to do my homework. She’s not even doing work, she’s chatting.”
“You interrupted me at a meeting —”
“Mom, I need to do my homework!”
“Put her on.”
I hand Lara my phone. “Mom wants to talk to you.”
I can hear Mom yelling at Lara, furious that we interrupted her while she’s busy doing oh-so-important city council business at her meeting. Lara’s typing as she’s listening, but she finally says, “Okay, FINE!,” hangs up, logs off, throws my phone onto the table, and storms upstairs.
I’m fuming with anger and frustration as I start my homework.
But then I think about hanging out with Liam earlier and how that was the best part of the day. At least Lara can’t ruin that.
THERE ARE pros and cons to having told Marci about Christian. In the pro column, she’s been giving me ideas on how to keep my flirtation with Lara going. I guess it helps that she’s got a lot more experience with flirting than I have. Marci’s way more advanced than I am on the guy front. She’s done stuff that I only think about — and even then I feel guilty.
When we were all talking one night at a sleepover, Marci, Jenny, and me, I lied and said I’d done stuff I hadn’t.
Afterward, I wondered why. Why couldn’t I have just said, I haven’t done that yet? What would have been the big deal?
I guess I was worried if I did, they might have made fun of me for not having done stuff, or they might think I was judging them for the stuff they’d done. What would have happened if I’d just told the truth?
Marci’s totally into the Christian deception. She checks out Lara’s dress list every day, and she judges up a storm. Marci makes the team on the show Fashion Firing Squad look like Girl Scouts. She texts me as soon as Lara posts something new, along with her biting review.
ZOMG, the latest one looks like a red velvet cupcake with chicken pox! Hideous!!!
The funny thing is, Lara’s getting more and more excited about a dance that I haven’t even asked her to yet. Or more accurately, Christian hasn’t. He’s been hinting that he’s going to ask her, but he hasn’t pulled the trigger. It’s kind of fun to watch Lara squirming like a worm on a fishing hook, wondering if and when he’s going to do it.
So Lara keeps herself busy picking out new dresses, and Marci gets to play Fashion Firing Squad. It’s a total win-win-win.
One evening, I’m so busy multitasking, chatting to Lara as Christian in one window on Facebook, laughing with Marci about Lara’s dress choices in another, and trying to actually get homework done in a third, that between all that and the music I’m blasting, I don’t notice that my mom is standing behind me, reading the screen over my shoulder.
“Why are you flirting with Lara Kelley?” she asks.
I jump and quickly minimize all my windows.
“MOM! Did you consider knocking?” I complain, but my heart is beating furiously because I am so busted.
She sits on my bed.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Breanna?” she asks. “I know being a teenager can be … confusing, and especially with all … well, those shows on TV and … well, all I’m saying is, do you need to tell me something about your … uh … preferences?”
It takes me a second to realize what my mom’s saying, or not saying. And when I do I groan. Because, seriously? It’s like she doesn’t know me at all.
“I like boys, Mom, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t understand. Then why are you talking about going to a dance with Lara Kelley?” My mom glances between me and the now-blank computer screen, her brow wrinkling in confusion. Well, wrinkling as much as it can after the Botox she had done before she had the photos taken for those awful “Everything I touch turns to sold” bus shelter posters.
If I’d had some warning, I could have come up with an excuse, but I’m blanking, so I go with the truth. Well, truth-ish.
“It’s a joke I’m playing on Lara, ’cause I was pissed she made cheerleading and I didn’t,” I explain, fully expecting the grounding guillotine to be lowered the minute I’m done. “I’ve been pretending to be this guy Christian for a month or so, and she’s developed a major crush on me. Well, I mean on him …”
I trail off, expecting Mom to start her tirade about how I’m irresponsible and such a disappointment and how I should be more like her — all the usual complaints she has about how I don’t measure up. But to my amazement, she smiles. And then she starts laughing.
“That’s priceless,” she says. “Lara actually believes you’re this guy?”
“Uh … yeah. She’s been, like, flirting with me. Well, him. She even thinks I’m going to invite her to my school dance, and she’s picking out all these really fugly dresses just in case. I’ve kind of been stringing her along and …”
“Now this I have to see. Kathy Kelley’s daughter flirting with a fake boyfriend. C’mon, show me!”
I’m totally glad she’s not mad and grounding me, but … Suddenly, I have this crazy feeling that maybe I wish that she was. Because this feels kind of weird.
Reluctantly, I maximize the Facebook chat window. Lara’s asking, Christian? Are you still there?
Yeah sorry. Had to step away for a sec.
Oh. Thought I said the wrong thing. : )
Lara is so insecure it’s pathetic. Every time Christian shows the slightest bit of coolness to her, she thinks it’s because she did something wrong. It makes it so easy to play her.
“Oh dear. Poor Lara. She’s so needy and gullible,” Mom says. “Tell her, ‘You could never say the wrong thing, baby.’ ”
“What?”
“Go on. Type it.”
You could never say the wrong thing, baby, I type slowly on the keyboard. Just a few moments ago I felt powerful, like Lara was my puppet on a string. Now, all of a sudden, the tables are turned. Now it’s like I’m the puppet and Mom’s the one pulling the strings.
“Type how cute that picture of her is, and how just looking at it gives you the warm fuzzies,” Mom says.
“Christian wouldn’t say ‘warm fuzzies,’ Mom. That’s totally lame.”
“Just type it,” she orders.
My fingers pound the keys angrily.
Aw, you’re so sweet. : ) Lara types back. I seriously want to puke.
“Let me have a turn,” Mom says.
I stare at her. “What?”
“Come on, move over. I want to be Christian for a while.”
Okay, this has now officially moved into Beyond Weird territory.
“No. Mom …”
“Oh, come on, Bree. It’s just a little fun.”
I slide out of my chair. Mom sits down and immediately starts typing.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s one thing for me to do this. It was bad enough when Marci got involved. But now my mother is doing it.