Pride and Princesses The Fall Fling chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Fall Fling

    We decided to get ready at Mouche’s place. That night, my mom had arranged to have dinner with Mouche’s mom and their next door neighbours on either side; a ‘younger man’ theology student and a builder who has recently separated from his wife and ‘needed some cheering up.’ All the adults planned to play word and card games for dessert.

   ‘Well, I hope you don’t get the wrong idea and start playing strip poker or something,’ Mouche warned her mother, ‘and if you do, make sure Wednesday is safely tucked up in bed.’             

   ‘Yes, darling.’ Mrs Mouche replied wearily.

    Since her mother had taken to socializing, Mouche had taken to answering the phone at midnight (when Mrs Mouche’s recently separated friends would ring for ‘desperation chats’) and say, ‘hello, this is Mrs Mouche’s brothel,’ which Mrs Mouche did not think was funny at all.

    Trey was at college during the semester and only came home to visit on weekends. Thankfully, he seemed to have forgotten all about my retrospectively juvenile attempt to chat him up. He’d taken to ignoring me or being jokey in an offhand way. I must admit the fact that I asked where he was and Mouche gave me a knowing glance made me realize I might actually have feelings for Trey...as well as Mark and maybe, help me, even Joel? I was becoming a hussy in my own mind.

    Mouche was formulating another plan as she pulled out the diary notes which were now stowed under her canopied bed, when they weren’t with me for updates.

    ‘Teegan is totally onto us. I’ve managed to distract her for the evening but only because I suggested we all form a group table so the Princesses can get some attention from Mark and Jet.’

   ‘Oh, please, I thought this was supposed to be our date.’

   ‘Well, it was, but a group date is by its very nature, open for negotiation. I really don’t want her to tell everyone we’ve formed a secret dating society that has a list of rules for manipulating boys. That would totally wreck the plan. Maybe we should start pretending we actually like the Princesses tonight – it might be a better strategy.’

    ‘Uh, okay,’ I said pulling out an issue of Teen Vogue and flicking through an article on the latest reality TV drama.

    ‘I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next season.’

    ‘Me either, I so don’t think it’s set up.’

    ‘No way...at least I hope not. I think they should definitely do a spin off...’

     ‘Totally.’ 

     ‘I hope they keep filming until they all finish college and get married...’

     ‘That’d be good.’

      I’m trying on shoes when Mrs Mouche brings us in snacks on a tray.

     ‘ That show seems so addictive, girls...’ Mrs Mouche commented with a raised eyebrow. ‘Here you are...’

    Mrs Mouche makes the most delicious party food. It’s like food her mom used to make. She’s brought in an orange with toothpicks stuck all over it and on the end of the toothpicks are delicious cheeses and sausage and pickles – very grown up - and a bowl of chips and another of carrot sticks (‘for vitamins, girls’). To top it all off she brought in her famous banana smoothies with nutmeg and vanilla, ‘just because I don’t like you girls going out without food in your stomachs. It’s not a good idea...’

    Mrs Mouche is subtly warning us about the perils of social drinking and roofies. We are all like, ‘you so don’t have to worry about us...’

    ‘Good’, Mrs Mouche says, looking slightly worried.

    I have chosen the blue satin dress that ends just above my knees and blue satin strappy sandals. Mouche is wearing a pink vintage dress with delicate lace sleeves. Oh, plus ankle boots.

  ‘You look weely nice,’ Wednesday says. ‘I want to come too.’ She’s wearing her fairy wings and gold antennae.

   ‘No,’ Mouche says, ‘you get to stay here with mom.’

   ‘C’mon, darling, time for bed,’ Mrs Mouche says, as the doorbell rings and Wednesday starts having a tantrum until Mrs Mouche promises to read her her favourite bedtime story again.

   Mouche opens the door and it’s Trey, home early, who introduces Martin.

   ‘Hi girls, this is Martin. He’s studying to be a priest...’

   It’s the theologian from next door. Perhaps he’s coming over to make an honest woman of Mrs Mouche.  Don’t you just hate that phrase? ‘How about making an honest man out of the bastard who knocked her up and left her?’ Mouche once stated matter-of-factly.

    ‘Hello girls,’ Martin says, as we open the door. Mrs Mouche is tucking Wednesday in upstairs.

    ‘So’, Mouche says, ‘are you training to be one of those priests who can’t get married?’

    Martin (that was his name) laughed heartily. He seemed to glow with the genuine joy of one who has found God.

    ‘Oh, your mother said you were a character.’

    Mouche looked at me and rolled her eyes as if to say, you see what I have to put up with?

    ‘And where are you both off to tonight?’ Martin asked politely.

    ‘The Fall Fling,’ I say helpfully.

    ‘And what is that, exactly?’

    ‘Well, it’s like a dance held part-way through the year to prepare us for the actual prom...’

    ‘Oh, that sounds like fun...’ Martin smiled enthusiastically. 

    Suddenly a Mercedes pulled up outside Mouche’s house and the boys got out.

    ‘Jet is dressed in a very funky suit - maybe it’s European. Mark looks more formal. He’s even wearing a tie,’ Mouche said.

     There was a knock and after we raced down the stairs, Mouche opened the door. Mark looked straight at me then at my mother. Mrs Mouche walked down the stairs in her ‘dinner party’ dress – a floor length cotton sundress with billowy sleeves and Indian print that her mother wore to ‘entertain guests’ in the 1980s.

   ‘Wow’, Martin said, ‘you look really hot.’

    Raising an eyebrow, Trey excused himself to go upstairs and study. Meanwhile, Mouche looked a little apprehensive as Mark and Jet hovered at the door.

   ‘Hello boys,’ Mrs Mouche said. At this point Trish, my mom, arrived with her dinner ‘date’ and Mouche and I realized this was the right time to make a getaway. Mark had barely looked at me, again, but Jet said appreciatively, ‘you both look really nice.’ He’s going to be the mother’s favourite - I could just tell.

    Mark was behaving like the ‘strong, silent and socially uncomfortable type’ in family situations. He’d give me something to write up in the dating guide, that’s for sure.

   Mrs Mouche pulled me aside, ‘sweetie, I thought this was a group event.’

  ‘Oh, it is Mrs Mouche. We are all sharing a table with some other juniors.’ I think Mrs Mouche can sense Mark is dangerous.

   ‘Mmm...well, he certainly is good-looking,’ she whispered disapprovingly. ‘Now make sure you are both home by 10.30pm.’

   ‘Can we make it 11pm, just this once?’

   ‘No, I remain firm on that.’

    My mother was very particular about curfews whereas Mrs Mouche usually trusted that Mouche would come home when she was ready and text her if she was not. But not tonight.

    Mark still hadn’t said a word.

    He didn’t look very impressed by the surroundings. He was actually fidgeting when we moved to the door. 

    Mouche stated the obvious and said, ‘you both look like gangsters.’

    I forgot to mention the post-prom party at Jet’s has a gangster theme; gangsters as in 1920’s gangsters. I thought it was cool that the boys bothered to pick us up, even though Mouche insisted upon it and it was in the dating rules. 

   ‘It’s really the kind of thing a girl should expect, not be thankful for,’ Mouche stated, quoting Mrs Jones again.

   You could tell they’d taken the gangster thing seriously because there were sawn off toy shotguns on the back seat and when Mrs Mouche saw them she must have looked alarmed because Jet said, ‘oh don’t worry, they’re fake.’

   Then Trish came over and said, ‘boys, you just can’t go around like that. Anyone might think you were packing a - what do they call it in those crime shows?’

  ‘Packing a piece?’ Jet said, helpfully.

   ‘Yes, packing a piece.’

   The boys loaded the toys into the trunk of the car.

   ‘That’s better,’ my mother said.

   Martin came out and took photographs which made Mouche and I want to cringe and Mark was looking seriously uncomfortable when he leaned on the porch and a piece of panelling fell off the surrounding fence.

    Then the dog from a neighbour’s backyard escaped, ran wild, started barking and nearly savaged Jet. Suddenly Wednesday felt it timely to attempt cartwheels on the front porch even though she was supposed to be in bed – she didn’t seem to be bothered about showing off her cartoon character underwear but I didn’t think it was at all appropriate. And then Ella and Katie arrived with their mothers and their dates. The cousins started giggling and chewing gum. It was wildly embarrassing as they all waved goodbye to us when we walked to the car. Mark glared at me as if I was pure trailer trash.

    Jet was smiling and still his good-natured self. And I may have imagined it, especially since both our moms were treating Jet and Mark like princes, but Mark actually looked bored when we got into the car. Or was it worried? Either way, this really annoyed me. I thought even Joel might have had a sense of humor about the whole thing and I wished he’d invited me instead.

     Mark saving my life in the alley, was no reason to feel indebted, forever. Besides, he’d hardly spoken to me tonight and I wasn’t responding well to being ignored. I wondered if, realistically, I was at all suited to the strong and silent type. Still, I was pleased to see he’d made an effort. His hair was extra shiny and his shirt freshly ironed. I wondered if he had a housekeeper because I couldn’t imagine him doing menial tasks himself.

    Jet kept trying to touch Mouche’s knees in the car and was attempting to play footsie with me which I found pretty immature. Mark sat still, making little effort to converse and staring out the window. Meanwhile, I was adjusting my corsage, an old fashioned touch which Mouche and I had been presented with upon the boys’ arrival. The corsage was a timeless romantic teen motif and we were secretly thrilled at the complimentary colour scheme of our peonies. Jet swigged something out of his flask and Mouche looked at me as if to say, ‘this is going to be a long evening.’

    When we arrived at the school gym, the Princesses were taking turns to hand out punch. We knew we all had to put in an appearance for at least an hour at the dance, then we could head to the post dance party at Jet’s mansion.

   Now it was true that Mark looked quite cute in repose, wearing his gangster’s suit, but he hadn’t said a word to me all evening. The silence was beginning to seriously annoy me since half the night was already over. Playing cool certainly wasn’t getting the desired response. Then Jet spiked his own punch and pulled his jacket off and dragged Mouche with him onto the stage. The band played hits from previous decades. My toe started to tap on the dance floor. My date appeared to be unaware of my presence.

   Meanwhile, Teegan, who was wearing the latest designer rip-off from the famous Sunrise store, Fake, put down her glass of punch and walked boldly up to Mark, who seemed busy ignoring me and texting on his cell, and said, ‘hi Mark. Do you want to dance?’

   ‘Um...I don’t really dance,’ he replied in a very uptight, distracted way. One of the decorations fell from the imagined sky as he spoke and a little piece of tin foil streamer played in Teegan’s hair, irritating her more than the rebuff.

    Teegan blew the foil off her face and fronted Mark squarely. She looked defeated but tried once again, ‘uh, okay, but why don’t we make an exception to that rule? I could teach you.’

    ‘No thank you,’ he said, and walked off, brushing past me in the process. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted a drink, although the queue was long and I was totally parched. And though men were few, men who were taller than girls were even fewer, so when Teegan mimed to me, ‘we-eird-o!’ I found myself grudgingly in agreement.

    ‘Mark was standing about a metre in front of me texting someone, I’m not sure who. Probably his girlfriend back in England or wherever,’ I told Mouche later.

     ‘Ru-ude,’ Mouche agreed.

      I danced with Joel who’d arrived with two girls, dressed as gangster’s molls wearing drop-waisted dresses with tassels on the hems. Joel walked up to me and took my hand. We had about five minutes on the dance floor until the music became so wild that Joel and his girlfriends (whom I happen to know also ‘tutor’ him, that is, do his homework on alternate days) kind of joined in until there was very little space left on the dance floor for me anyway, so I walked off.

   Brooke was standing on the sidelines, looking uncharacteristically alone at the punch bowl. She had her curls tied in a bow at the side of her face and her nails freshly painted a fluorescent shade of pink. I wandered over to finally get something to drink.

   ‘Mmm...’ Brooke sighed, ‘Mark is so cute. I wonder if he likes spiked punch...’

   Mark had finished texting at this point but was still busy ignoring me.

   Jet had stopped dancing with Mouche and was walking towards the punch table to get his flappers a drink. It looked for the entire world like an old-fashioned 1920’s dance, piquing my imagination.

    However, what happened next really was unexpected.

   ‘Mark,’ Jet said, ‘what are you doing?’

   ‘I’m texting Petra. I’m worried about her. We shouldn’t have left her home alone.’

   ‘Petra will be fine. Your aunt came home before we left. Besides, how could we bring her? She doesn’t even go to this school. You know we had to check our IDs at the door. Besides, we’ll be home in half an hour and Petra can join in when we get there.’

   ‘So Petra is either the sister or the girlfriend,’ I said to no one in particular.

   ‘She’s the sister,’ Mouche replied. ‘What’s with Mark?’

   ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t spoken to me all night.’

   ‘This is so not in the rules,’ Mouche said, raising an eyebrow.

    ‘Not everything goes by the rules. Besides, I don’t even know what to say to him.’

   ‘Shh,’ she said. ‘did you hear that?’

   Beneath the drone of the music, a quite audible conversation could be heard.

   Jet started it.

   ‘I think this is the best school dance I’ve ever been to,’ he observed.

   ‘As far as I can tell, it’s the only school dance you’ve ever been to...’ Mark replied.

   ‘Well, I’ll do anything to impress Mouche - she’s totally hot. But I don’t understand why you’re not dancing.’

   ‘Perhaps it has something to do with you monopolizing the only hot girl in the entire room.’

   ‘Are you serious? The women of Sunrise High are known for their...special qualities. Why don’t you get together with her friend?

   ‘What, you think she’s hot?

   ‘Sure, have you seen her in rehearsal? She’s smokin’...’

   ‘You hooked up with the only girl in the room I would describe as ‘smokin’. To be honest, I just don’t find her friend that attractive...’

    I spluttered into my punch as Mark said this. I was standing right behind him but he didn’t seem to realize and I have to admit, though his comments were hurtful, they were truly compelling...

     He continued, ‘I mean, she’s pretty enough, sure, but I just don’t think I like girls who are that outspoken and rude and she’s such a show off at rehearsals.’

    ‘Well, she does have the leading role.’

    ‘She doesn’t seem like a leading lady to me.’

   ‘I think she’s quietly confident - not really as outgoing as Mouche but I like girls who speak their mind.’

    ‘You might call it confidence, but where I come from ...well, we just call it common...she has shopgirl manners!’

    ‘Shopgirl manners! I’m way proud to have worked part-time at a clothing store since I turned fifteen. I hated that I had to stop after summer to concentrate on my studies. And how could I be labelled ‘pushy’ just because I scored the lead role in the school play? I mean, after all, I am a drama major. He should have been so lucky to dance with me. I could have at least taught him the steps,’ I whispered to Mouche.

    Determined not to let him see me cry, I flounced past him with a slight smile on my face. He’d offended me to the core. Mouche followed me outside.

    ‘A movie rejection, a mugging and being called ‘common’ (I intended to google the term when I got home) plus a date rejection, all in the space of a month, is almost too much for me to bear.’

    I burst into tears on the pavement outside the auditorium.

    ‘Here,’ Mouche said, handing me a clean tissue.

    I think maybe Joel was standing near enough, holding hands with one of his girlfriends, to hear.

    ‘I have certainly been brought low in my own little world and I’d gone to so much trouble to dress up and hold my tongue and do all the rules on our stupid list,’ I told my friend.

    Mouche looked at me. Horror and embarrassment filled her eyes. Although I looked Mark in the eyes as I passed him and he looked embarrassed when he realized I’d heard, he didn’t turn away.

    ‘It’s like he was missing a sensitivity gene,’ I told Mouche.

    ‘C’mon,’ Mouche said. ‘let’s just leave. I don’t want to go to their stupid post-fling bash anyway. Who ever heard of such a lame idea? Some boys think they are so entitled. It’s time girls took a stand.’

   Mr Frames was standing at the school gate as we left, chatting to the future Mrs Frames who was also checking IDs. He was about to ask her to slow dance in the moonlight and I was really glad we were leaving now that we were surrounded by all this lovey-doveyness.

   ‘Something wrong, girls?’ Miss Love asked.

   Mr Frames added, ‘you are both looking extra nice. Why are you leaving so soon?’

   ‘We just need to get home early to...babysit my little sister,’ Mouche replied.

   ‘Couldn’t your mother do that?’

   ‘Probably,’ Mouche added making us both sound slightly stupid.

   ‘We gotta go,’ I said.

   Mrs Mouche always made sure we had enough money for a cab but just as Mouche was dialling the number on her cell, we noticed someone tall and dark-haired walking out from under the entrance street lights. It was Joel.

   ‘Hey, Phoebe,’ he said, ‘where to so soon?’

   ‘Home,’ I said, wiping my cheeks. I was grateful he pretended not to notice.

   ‘This is not exactly our idea of a rockin’ time,’ Mouche added sarcastically. We could see Jet and Mark walking out to the top of the driveway wondering where we’d gone. Jet had been oblivious to the overheard conversation but Mark had noticed me as I fled. He could fill Jet in on all the details.

   ‘You so shouldn’t be smoking, Joel. It’s bad for your lungs.’ Mouche added.

    ‘So is incorrect grammar, apparently,’ Joel replied. ‘Phoebe taught me that.’

   ‘Very funny,’ I said. Then I looked at him with scorn and derision but he didn’t seem at all offended.

   ‘I have younger sisters,’ he said. ‘I know how cruel girls can be.’

   ‘Not just girls,’ Mouche said.

   ‘Sounds like you both had a bad night.’

   ‘You could say that.’

   ‘Well, I’m at your service ladies. Unless you have a better offer,’ Joel said with a vitriolic intonation as Mark and Jet stood atop the hill like statues. 

   ‘We have no plans for the rest of the evening,’ I said.

   ‘Mmm...we can change that. I was thinking of leaving early anyway.’

   ‘Really?’ I said. ‘Well, that’s okay, we were going to take a cab...’

   ‘That’d be great,’ Mouche interrupted.

   So we piled into Joel’s mom’s old station wagon and sped off as Mark and Jet wandered out of the school gate looking for their manners.

      

    We stopped off at the only hangout still open in Sunrise after 9pm – the Sunrise Cafe which was on the corner of Main and West Streets in the centre of the town square. Joel knew the waitress because he worked there and gave her a tip in return for the best booth in the place overlooking Sunrise library. When we ordered she looked around for the manager (he was absent) and said, ‘on the house,’ and Joel gave her a wicked smile.

    When we were seated, Joel told Mouche and me how much he’d taken to reading, ‘all the classics’ lately and, ‘all the stuff on the senior English class list – I couldn’t have done it without Phoebe’s  help,’ he beamed.

   ‘And Tory’s and Brooke’s,’ Mouche added under her breath. It was still only nine-thirty, so we had plenty of time to eat and go home. Mouche texted our moms just in case they were worried. It turned out after a late game of cards the ‘boys’ were going home and ‘could we please be quiet when we arrived so as not to wake Wednesday?’

    We’d have a lot to tell Trish and Mrs Mouche the next day because the night hadn’t exactly gone to plan.

  ‘We had plenty to write about in the dating diary, that’s for sure,’ Mouche whispered optimistically, after we’d ordered. 

   When Mouche got up to ‘play a song on the old-fashioned juke box’ Joel took my hand which I thought was a little bit bold and said, ‘so, what’s with your dates for the evening?’

   I pulled my hand back.

  ‘Oh, Jet and Mark weren’t really our ‘dates.’ We were just together as a group – sort of.’

  ‘That’s good because I’m not really Mark’s hugest fan.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, my mom used to work for his dad’s company and his father ripped her off, then gave her the sack. We were homeless and had to live in our car for a few weeks because his family behaved so badly.’

   ‘That’s terrible, no wonder you’ve had trouble staying in school.’

   ‘Well, my brother, who’s three years older than me, left home and went to live with our father in New York. You know, I could blame my family’s break-up on the whole business fiasco with the Knightlys. They really treated my mom harshly. It was kind of a shame because Mark and I grew up together. My parents ran the office of their company in Bristol for a while. His Dad was my Godfather.’

   ‘Really? That’s amazing...so, you’re from England?’

   ‘Yeah, kind of. I mean, I wasn’t born there, but my family is from Europe so we lived there for a few years. My Dad is Croatian but we’re American citizens now.’

   ‘Wow,’ I said.

  ‘Must be why your accent’s weird sometimes...’ Mouche added.

  ‘Mouche, don’t be rude.’ I whispered.

  ‘No offence intended. Hey, what happened to your dates?’ Mouche asked.

  ‘They got a better offer,’ Joel replied.

  ‘Oh,’ Mouche replied.   

  ‘So how’s Petra?’ Joel asked me, changing the subject.

  ‘Petra?’

  ‘Yeah, Mark’s sister, we all used to be friends until Mark got his head up his...’

   At that point Mouche came back to our booth and the music started playing.

   It was some slow dance of a song that Mouche liked.

   After our food arrived, and since Joel ate quickly and Mouche didn’t eat much at all because the dates had ended so badly, I was really happy when Joel held out his hand to both me and Mouche in a very debonair manner and said, ‘anyone wanna dance?’

   Mouche looked over at me.

   ‘Sure.’

   ‘Okay’, Mouche said, jumping up. The waitress started clearing the tables as the last of the customers left. Even the chef pulled off his chef’s apron and joined us as the juke box played one of my mom’s favourite songs from years ago. We all danced for a few minutes in the half-light and then the chef started closing up the shop for the night.

    ‘Uh, oh,’ the chef said, as he opened the door to let us out only to find a huge bundle of what looked like old clothes in a garbage bag on the doorstep.

   ‘What’s that?’

   ‘It’s for the Sunrise goodwill shelter, right next door. For some reason the stuff is always left at the wrong address.’

    I shivered. It was late and getting cold. Tonight hadn’t been at all what I expected.

    ‘Here,’ the chef said. He was young and smelt like food.

    The chef handed me a black sweater, in good condition, just like the one we wanted; the one on our list.

   ‘Are you sure?’

   ‘Yeah, take it. No one will miss it and it’ll keep you warm.’

   ‘Thanks.’ His hands were freezing cold when he gave it to me. I remembered my grandmother once described a good person as having, ‘cold hands and a warm heart.’

Pride and Princesses Apologies and Whispers chapter 14

Chapter 14

Apologies and Whispers

    The year was half over. Mouche and I had not really been on any successful dates, and the treasure chest prizes all came about in unexpected ways. We didn’t mind. The ‘treasure’ was all part of the game. We stopped being so strict about how we obtained the items, which resulted in multiple sweaters and pens hoarded in a spare locker awaiting transfer to the real chest in Mouche’s room. We could sort out what we needed at a later date. I hand washed, dried and ironed the black sweater and sewed a row of sparkling sequins around the edge. It would be perfect for New York. 

    When we arrived back at school the following Monday it seemed obvious that Jet had hooked up with Teegan after we left. We also noticed Tory had her hand hooked firmly into the pocket of Mark’s jeans as they all walked down the hallway together.

   ‘Men can be dogs,’ Mouche whispered.

    I ignored the foursome, but I felt Mark’s stare in the small of my back as Mouche and I walked past them. 

   ‘Hey, Phoebe...’ Mark said as I passed him, trying to disassociate himself from Tory.

    Mark tried to talk to me again during study hall and then at rehearsals but I ignored him. Later, we had dance rehearsal for the part of the play with the musical interlude. I was huddled in the corner of the theatre.

    ‘Now I’d like Phoebe to hold hands with...Mark, can you stand in for Peter?’

    ‘Help me,’ I said under my breath when Mr Sparks tried to pair us up. I stood about as far away from Mark as possible. I looked in his direction only when I couldn’t avoid it.

    Exasperated, Mr Sparks declared, ‘I have an announcement to make. Since Peter injured his foot on the weekend, Mark will stand in for him at rehearsals. He should be fine in a few days.’

    I groaned inwardly. Mark had gone from hero to zero all in the space of a week, in my opinion. A tiny bit of Mouche’s pragmatism had entered my world. It was like I couldn’t be light-hearted anymore.

    ‘I may have had my pride badly injured but I am determined not to let the seriously haughty Mark Knightly get to me,’ I told Mouche.

    ‘Mark’s behaviour puts them both under the microscope,’ Mouche said, glancing at Jet.

    We rehearsed scene three, then during the dance number, Mr Sparks tried to make us touch hands again.

     ‘Enough already!’ I announced, stealing Mouche’s favourite line. I broke away from Mark. Peter barked, ‘stop’ to Ethan Mandel in his stage manager voice, giving the order from a chair to start again. I sighed and even Mark noticed (how could he miss) that I was so over him.

    ‘There is no way I am dancing with the understudy,’ I said loudly to Mouche after Mr Sparks decided Mark and I should dance together since he was the only one left over (Mark had been hiding out in the lighting box trying to avoid his understudy duties). He towered over me, like I told you, and it was easy to avoid his eyes.

     ‘There is nothing in the world that could inspire me to touch his hand,’ I added in a hoarse whisper. ‘In fact, I’d rather not be in the dance number at all.’

      Besides, I had my soliloquy to practice and there was no way he was going to succeed in putting me off my lines.

     ‘Drama queen,’ Mr Sparks added under his breath, ‘while Miss Phoebe-the-Star has her own personal tantrum we’ll just continue with Act Two and come back to the dance scene tomorrow – oh and you two are definitely partners. The tension will create chemistry. You’ll just have to find a way to stop acting like children, start acting like young adults and make it work. Remember, it’s for extra credit.’

    ‘And Mouche, you have to at least pretend you like Jet in the dance sequence.  The play is the thing, Mouche. What will Julliard say if I write on your transcripts, ‘not a team player?’

    ‘I’m going to NYU or Yale, Mr Sparks.’

     Mr Sparks looked surprised.

     ‘But Mouche, you might waste your talent. You have a God-given gift.’

     ‘I’m going to be a lawyer, Mr Sparks. I want to help people and earn lots of money.’

     ‘Ah the evils of finance!’

      Mr Sparks had a point, though - blackmail. It usually worked.

      Mark was looking very sheepish by now. I wondered when he’d grow up to behave like a man and have something to say for himself. Perhaps my expectations had been too high all along.  

     Then Jet started flirting with Mouche without her realizing it and meanwhile Teegan flirted with Mark without knowing she probably shouldn’t be if she wanted his undying devotion. I stood my ground. When Mr Sparks called ‘ten minutes everybody,’ I left the room to find Joel. I think I needed a distraction. 

 

    Joel was in study hall when we were in rehearsal and we found reasons to meet up more than usual now. Was it possible we’d even started to become friends? He’d started talking to me a lot more ever since the night he dropped Mouche and me home. Suddenly the prospect of dating him seemed tempting. So, when he texted me to meet up with him for ‘a mental health break’, I was kind of glad. I didn’t even mind being texted at the last minute since we weren’t dating and I wanted an excuse to avoid the peeps at rehearsal. Plus, Mouche was working on costumes.

     Thoughts of teenage romance were superseded by the possibility of our friendship. I studied Joel as he walked towards me carrying his guitar. Would dating a true man-slut ever really be a good idea? It seemed like our friendship was doomed from the start. I know what Mrs Jones would say: ‘men and women can never be friends; the possibility of romance always gets in the way. Avoid Romeos like the plague. Man-sluts will always play the field and one woman will never be enough to satisfy their lust for female attention and popularity...’

     ‘Hey Joel.’

     ‘Hey, Phoebe,’ he said casually when we met up at the intersection of school hallways.

      Words were unnecessary. Joel was on a break from detention again and I was obviously not enjoying rehearsal.  I was impressed with his musical interests, though. He’d just released a single on his website but was too cool to ever appear in the school play.

      We sat together near the vending machine while Joel tuned his guitar and ninth graders stopped to shyly ask him for his autograph. After they left, we considered silently where the day had taken us. Before Joel finished his drink, he gave me a suggestive little grin and said, ‘okay, gotta motor, see ya later...’

      I put Joel out of my mind and began thinking about Mark as I wandered back to the auditorium. I felt like I needed to lick my wounds and take a break from the game. Even if Mark and I were never meant to be, I was glad to finally be standing up for myself, going with the moment, so to speak. I’d previously stood off stage in my own shadow.  If Mark hadn’t dissed me, I’d never have possessed the courage to disrespect him in public. But then, I’d never have needed to. I was beginning to enjoy annoying him. Just mentioning Joel’s name seemed to make Mark flinch.

     Before I left rehearsals that day, he came up to me and said, ‘I didn’t know you were friends with Joel Goodman.’

   ‘Well, I tutor him,’ I said hesitantly, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’ I was so angry I’d spoken to him directly but he caught me unawares. I thought Mark deserved the silent treatment a little longer but he had forced my hand.

   ‘Oh.’

   ‘Besides, it’s nothing to you how I spend my after-rehearsal hours.’

   ‘I know, I didn’t mean anything by my comments. It’s just that I don’t think he...’

    ‘He’s already told me about you and what your family did to him. You really don’t need to elaborate.’

     I turned and flounced off leaving Mark totally gobsmacked.

  

    So that was the state of our boy-rating plan by November, the month of the play. Teegan and Freya and Brooke and Tory had been hunting around open lockers and portals of blogs and discarded pages of The Sunrise News (ones that they’d even contributed to) searching for the missing parts of a puzzle they felt sure were somehow important to them, but they couldn’t quite put all the pieces together. They’d noticed we dressed sharply and boys talked a lot more to us, boys they’d once envisaged being more interested in them. 

    They had confronted us recently inside the girl’s changing rooms.

    ‘We need to talk,’ Teegan said. ‘Soon.’

    ‘We’ll schedule a meeting,’ Mouche said. ‘How’s next week?’

    ‘Fine.’

    ‘Perfect.’

     Teegan had no idea what we had in mind. 

    ‘Better to keep them wondering for as long as it takes us to decide exactly how to play this,’ Mouche said.

      Our dating diary was filled with all the tiny mishaps and possibilities of the previous months. We didn’t want to let them know more than was necessary. 

     Way back at the beginning, we counted the note from rehearsal week one as a love letter. And we included the diagram of a movie set. Matt sketched it on a script at my audition (I found it discarded in the wastepaper basket) along with the word Star. We included it because the little house made of squares and circles and triangles and a few scribbles was meant to represent the ocean at Venice Beach where he was telling the other casting assistant he once lived. We think that vision is one we aspire to even if dating Matt never really happened.    Star is a word that we love and the beach is a place we both like. So you could say we’ve learnt to take the good from every mishap; and write it all down. We can learn from it.

    Of course it had been a busy time, what with Mouche studying and working on the costumes for Rocco and Julie and her dancing perfection. Meanwhile, Mark noticed neither of us were very friendly towards him. Though he was once on top of our list, he was now at the bottom, especially as he appeared to be letting Teegan (who was all over him like a rash) flirt with him. But we could have told her she’d have problems reeling in the catch. Teegan was pawing his arm, fawning over him and making him ‘special’ lunches, but you could tell it was just making him more uncomfortable.  

     Jet was busy ignoring Mouche after she stopped talking to him because Mark had insulted her friend (me) which was very loyal of her. ‘Besides,’ Mouche said, ‘I’ve totally moved on.’

     And her dancing? It was spectacular! I caught Mark watching us both practice our solos from backstage, with more than a spark of interest.

    Then there were Mouche’s designs for the play which were so gorgeous even Ethan Mandel commented on their gloriousness. Maybe that’s because I’d caught him trying to kiss Mouche behind the stage curtains one afternoon. Love had given him extra incentive to be sweeter and more enthusiastic.

     Mouche got some ideas for the play the day we took Wednesday to the local vintage store for research on the costumes of the punk era. We also went online. There were some amazing photographs of punks and clothes from the 80s all over the web. We also had the Trish and Mrs Mouche family photograph albums for historical reference. Mrs Mouche’s family were from the South originally and full of old Southern traditions. For example, manners were big way back then and being ‘ladylike’ was held in high regard. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ were important words. Perhaps some of the boys could learn that – especially Mark. Our mothers held tea parties when they were our age instead of nasty girl gossip fests. All very civilized.

     Our moms told us, ‘we could never discuss anything with our mothers, we are so lucky we have you girls for advice, to set us straight.’

     Wednesday clapped her hands in approval, ‘wet us wait,’ she repeated in her cute baby voice.

     Someone else who needed to be set straight was Mark, but it seemed the opposite was occurring.

     Although the scheduled meeting with the Princesses had distracted us, it was with sheer disbelief that I discovered a note from Mark one day in my locker.

     ‘What took him so long?’ Mouche asked.

      It was, I suppose, a letter of apology because Mouche had told Tory who’d told Jet who’d told Teegan who’d told Mark that I was ignoring him because I’d heard him dissing me at the Fall Fling. I promptly stuck the note in the glory box guide, after passing it to Mouche to read.

    The letter was surprisingly humble. It read:

   

Dear Phoebe

    I just wanted to write to say I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings at the Fall Fling. I was having a bad evening. I was worried about my sister, Petra, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want people to think I liked you. For what it’s worth, I think you are a really good actress and perhaps it is me who is lacking in social etiquette, not you.

 My apologies

 Mark Knightly

 

      ‘Mmm. Quite the backhanded apology.’ Mouche said, obviously shocked.

      He, ‘didn’t want people to think he liked me?’ What was wrong with liking me? I wondered.

      ‘What an arrogant nightmare. I’m glad to be rid of him.’ I said.

      ‘Still, it was quite unexpected. From another era even,’ Mouche replied.

      ‘Perhaps the Neolithic one,’ I added.

       I stuck the note straight in the Boy-Rating Diary under the heading Phoebe’s love letters. Pleased with my work, I highlighted the headings with glitter glue, ‘I think that almost counts, don’t you?’

     Mouche laughed and said, ‘I think it’s kind of beautiful; an apology, even if it was poorly worded. Maybe we’re too young to have hearts of stone.’

     Meanwhile, the hole in the brick wall between our houses had grown bigger because our locker was one third full and our little treasure chest was filling up with items and secrets.

     For a week or so, the dating game took a back seat as study and school life and the general business that became a game of dodging Princesses (before the meeting) took over.  Mouche and I, after our initial surge in popularity, struggled with how to proceed. 

     We had a page about all the boys on our list, and had put off the ‘secret meeting’ with the Princesses for as long as possible.

     Trish and Mrs Mouche’s first post-break-up dates were successful enough to encourage them to start dating properly again, but nothing memorable had happened for them in the form of love letters, or anything else (except dinners).

    In the meantime, both of our moms were on vacation for a week and during that time they threw themselves into self-care (manicures, hairdressers, deep tissue massages) and mothering which we admired.

    Trish began to cook again using her mother’s recipes. Together we had mother / daughter meals which were both memorable and delicious. Mrs Mouche even invited Martin around to share in the meal as a return for the night he took her bowling and let her win. He had a son named Eli as it turned out who was two years younger than me and very studious. Eli seemed quite interested in being friends which was flattering, but he was too young to date, although quite the reader. In fact most of the boys on our list at Sunrise were such a mismatch for me, that I started wondering what it would be like to properly date Joel or Ethan or even Mark; the guys I’d initially been attracted to but who for obvious reasons, hadn’t really worked out thus far.        

     Meanwhile, Mrs Mouche was dating an accountant from her work whom she’d decided was, ‘boring boring boring, but at least he’s teaching me how to organise my taxes.’

     *Note to self: men who teach you something useful...especially about money and boy stuff (ie. mechanics) are good to know (because a lot of women don’t know as much as they should and being unknowledgeable about money and cars leaves you open to financial abuse....). That is a direct quote from Mrs Mouche.

       In any case, work and socializing were keeping our mommies who drink very busy these days. We were also indulging in a social whirl. Our moms were too pre-occupied to check up on us which was perfect because we hadn’t really refined our dating game properly; and the best was definitely yet to come.