Best
Friends and Sisters
When we arrived at school the next
morning, Mark and Jet were nowhere to be seen. The boys were hanging out in
packs. The girls had already formed
their own little cliques: the usual stuff - sporty, indie, nerdy, skeezie,
emo-wearing black. Study an ancient DVD of an eighties teen film and you’ll get
the idea. The Sunrise High general studies stream was a fusion of select public
school purgatory. Only the fittest would survive.
Mouche and I had first walked the halls of
Sunrise in sophomore year. We were transfer students and dance majors from the
academy we attended in Bel Air: The Los Angeles High School for Young Ladies.
Back then, we wore uniforms that made us look like little nuns. Public school
was a big contrast. Huge. We barely had a dress code but were well acquainted with the Princesses
when they appeared in the hall: a mirage, as if like magic.
‘Magic? They are clearly bad girls in
disguise,’ Mouche stated.
‘Just bad,
bad, bad,’ I reiterated. ‘I think boys like bad girls though, don’t you?’
‘Probably,’ Mouche conceded. ‘But who
knows what the boys in this place are looking for?’ Mouche said as we observed
a Harry Potter obsessive adjusting his fake glasses and etching a lightning
scar on his forehead with charcoal in preparation for an acting class. Mouche and I had lain low as transfer
students and couldn’t believe how unlucky we were when Teegan, Tory, Brooke and
Freya were expelled soon after we were politely shown the door at the Los
Angeles High School for Young Ladies. Oh, did I say ladies? It’s not the most
appropriate word. The Princesses were
fairly considered to be the most evil teenage girls Sunrise had ever produced;
two sets of non-identical twins with plans to take over their new school, safe
in the belief that since their fathers owned
half of Sunrise, the school was theirs for the taking.
‘This place is wild,’ Mouche said as we
rounded the corner that led to a row of lockers.
‘At least it’s cheap,’ Brooke chimed in
with mock consolation.
‘I can’t believe the Princesses have ended
up at the same school as us....I heard they were expelled from HSYL....big surprise...’
Then Teegan morphed into our world, like
dry ice, her red hair as shiny as her lip gloss.
‘It’s less shameful than not being able to
afford the fees,’ Teegan sniggered.
‘Oops,’ Mouche said, placing her newly
painted fingernails across her mouth as if she wasn’t sorry she’d been
overheard. ‘I’d forgotten her extreme sensitivity during lunar eclipses.’
Peter Williamson, meandering behind us,
laughed out loud. He considered Teegan a hormonal witch on a good day.
I ignored the Princesses and began
searching my locker for the greatest scene study text ever written, An Actors Guide to Method Acting.
Then,
out of the dank and dull drudgery of morning classes, the boys from the airport
appeared.
They looked stunning.
Mark had his sunglasses in hand, his dark
hair freshly washed and he smelled like Boycandy
aftershave. Endearingly, he also looked lost as he tried to establish class
locations. When he paused near my locker, looked up flustered, then looked back
down again, I was totally lost for words. Mark managed to find six.
‘Hello,’ he said hesitantly, looking at
Mouche. ‘I’m looking for room...three...’
He was at least a foot taller than me (so
was Jet) and I thought I had more right to be shy since they were total man
models in disguise. I thought Mark was hotter, though, simply because I had
been reading Austen and decided I liked dark haired men. But really, both of
the boys were super hot.
Also, Mark was smart. Perhaps I was
already a little intimidated by his grey matter. He was carrying a physics text
after all. Mouche and I were clearly missing out on something (‘some higher
level of boredom,’ Mouche observed), because we did not understand physics, nor
did we wish to.
Jet was quite garrulous for a boy and
politely interrupted Mark. ‘I’m sorry, we’re new, obviously, and we’d like to
know where room 308 is located...’
I looked down at my folder then inched
another glance beyond the paper towards a confused Mark Knightly. He looked so
adorable in his black jacket and retro
jeans. He definitely resembled a young James Franco. (Thereafter, pre-men like
Mark will be known through the famed halls of Sunrise High, as ‘Francos’.)
But
it was Mouche who led the way, ‘You can follow us if you like,’ she said.
‘Most men would never admit they couldn’t
follow directions,’ Mouche whispered later.
‘Oh...thanks,’ Jet said, giving Mouche a
genuine smile, which she returned in full, ‘We might even have some subjects
together, if you’re lucky,’ Mouche said mischievously.
‘Mmm...doubt it,’ Jet replied, ‘I don’t
take...acting.’
Mouche was slightly put out by Jet’s
comment and Mark was silent on the subject.
‘Actually,’ Mouche added, ‘the mainstream
academic students are combining with the performing arts majors this year for
English class.’
‘Well good,’ Jet said, ‘then we’re sure
to see each other again...’
They talked on. It was obvious Jet liked
Mouche and he was trying to make up for putting his foot in his mouth.
‘I just realized,’ I told Mouche as we
walked to class, ‘I forgot my schedule.’
‘Okay, see you in ten...’ The small group
walked on. I ran back to the hall and sorted through my locker, disappointed
that neither of the boys took any of my subjects but hopeful Mark would be in
my English class.
Peter Williamson, my sometime dance
partner, was searching through his locker.
‘Hey, Pheebs,’ he said.
‘Hey, Pete.’
‘Who are the newbies?’
‘Two words,’ Teegan interjected, ‘no
chance. They’re straight.’
‘Mmm...’ Peter said, probably just to
annoy the Princesses, ‘I believe that was more than two words. A boy can
dream...’
I looked at Peter and smiled. He raised
his eyebrow and gave me a knowing glance. On cue Teegan snapped at us.
‘As
if,’ Teegan said trying to retrieve a twisted ballet ribbon that was stuck
in the fold of her civilian shoes, ‘real men don’t dance.’
Peter Williamson looked at Teegan with
distain and curled his lip and flicked through his iPOD playlist.
‘Do you like my skinny jeans, Teegan? I
got them from the girl’s section...’ Peter said, just to freak the Princesses
out.
Teegan looked a bit scared.
‘Easily shocked,’ Peter mouthed. Peter’s
been into Glam Rock forever. I smiled then turned my back on the lead Princess.
I finally found my schedule. Peter made a
victory sign and stuck his tongue through his fingers, muttered, ‘later,’ to me
and made a cat’s claw gesture behind Teegan’s back as he sauntered off to
class.
‘Well, look at you Phoebe. Haven’t you
smartened up your image,’ Tory, (the second in line to Teegan’s throne), noted
as she shut her locker door. The hinge metal was lined with faux pink fur and
pictures of all the narcissistic celebrities Tory idolizes. At the moment her
hair is bleached blonde in homage to her favourite celeb from some random teen
TV show.
‘Our dream, people, is to be famous for
being famous,’ Tory announced to her girl posse that morning. It was hardly
news to those of us who knew her well.
The Princesses were usually too
self-focused to pay any attention to me although they were more wary when
Mouche was around. Alone, I was fair game.
‘Wonder where the sister is?’ Teegan
mused aloud, her thoughts still trailing the newbies.
‘Petra is nowhere in sight. She hasn’t
been seen for days. Rumor
has it she’s being home-schooled.’
Brooke (the third Princess) shuddered in a hushed tone.
‘Why? Tory asked.
‘Because she’s a freak,’ Teegan whispered, already jealous of Petra’s close proximity
to Mark.
‘Ew, she’s his sister,’ Freya remarked
during assembly, a little late to catch the crux of the conversation.
The girls all looked up and rolled their
eyes. I wondered who the real freaks were and it seemed like Teegan and Tory
were sure to fit the bill. What a surprise.
I hurried to class thinking about what
Mouche told me over the summer.
Being practically psychic, Mouche
predicted a month ago that some ‘nasty
girls that we already knew were going to cause trouble’ and ‘two hot boys’ would arrive for junior
year.
I prayed the second part of her prediction
would come true and now it had. The strange thing was, after almost a whole
school year as ‘creative transfer students’, Mouche and I had managed to fly
under the radar, but everyone knew the names of Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya
from the minute their well-manicured feet stepped through the polished halls of
Sunrise Performing Arts High School. They actually wore colour co-ordinated
sweaters that fell below their crotches and were belted tightly above their
waists that first day they arrived - just to get noticed. It worked.
‘Those girls are fashion criminals,’ Mouche
stated when they sauntered down the hall like a posse of Bratz Dolls. The Princesses had been expelled from HSYL
for ‘undisclosed reasons’ but were
passably talented so they ended up here. Their primary focus in life seemed to
be driving a wedge between other females and boasting about their popularity
with the male species. I could’ve told them jealousy and bitterness were wasted
emotions but they’d never have listened.
Instead, I did my best to ignore them.
At lunch, Mouche and I sat apart from the
Princesses, trying to work out some on-paper choreography for dance class. We
overheard them speaking about Mark and Jet in the lunch queue, though.
‘Three words...Mark. Knightly. Franco.’ Teegan over-enunciated loudly,
stealing my pet term. ‘I actually witnessed Mark Knightly’s arrival at LAX when
I touched down from Eye-bee-tha.’
‘She
knows how to pronounce Ibiza,’ Mouche whispered. ‘We can all sleep well tonight
because Teegan has learnt how to pronounce the name of an island off the coast
of Spain,’ Mouche said. Mouche was way smart.
‘Mark Knightly totally wanted me when he arrived in Bel Air,’ Teegan continued,
adding, ‘we locked eyes in The Reader’s
Nook. Oh well, girls, you can’t rape the willing,’
The Princesses laughed.
‘I didn’t know she read,’ I whispered to
Mouche.
‘Teegan’s love of literature is well-known,’
Mouche stated loudly as she gestured towards Teegan’s copy of Teen Vogue.
Admittedly, we both loved Teen Vogue but Mouche was out to prove a
point.
‘Teegan just loves an audience,’ Mouche
said, as Tory continued.
‘...And Jet was undressing me with his eyes
this morning, in the hallway before homeroom.’
Brooke rolled her eyes, ‘Everyone wants
the pretty,’ she said smugly, ‘I bet I could even turn Peter straight.’
Freya looked doubtful. I turned my head to
glance over at the new boys, hopefully without them realizing it. To my dismay,
they were looking at the Princesses who smiled gleefully right back at them.
‘Wishful thinking,’ Mouche mused as she ate
her sandwich.
‘Oh please, those girls are disgusting,’ I
said, wondering if what they said was true about how much all the boys wanted
them.
‘How they are so secure about their
popularity with guys, I don’t know, since there were no males at all to
practise on in our previous school,’ Mouche added.
‘Maybe they did a summer internship,’ I
added.
Mouche laughed.
‘C’mon,’ Mouche said and we wandered off to
the gym to prepare our shoes for the prospective year. We pulled our pink
ballet slippers, newer than they would ever look again, out of our individual
tote bags.
At the gym, we began rolling the
moistened, darned tips of pink satin shoe in chalk in preparation for class. We
smacked the ends on the gym floor to soften the toes. It was quite a long
process and one we started at the beginning of the school year and repeated
many times. We had to soften the soles, but not too much. There were a few
other dance majors in a huddle with us. They all had good posture and acted
friendlier than they really were.
Although Mouche and I want to go to New
York one day, I’m very focused on high school life and training to become a
triple threat, whilst Mouche concentrates on dance, acting and her academic
majors.
Our
day goes something like this:
Morning
Home room
English
Biology
History
Lunch
Dance class
Singing class
Acting class
Home
room
As you can see, my schedule beats the usual
academia from nine to three plus I managed to drop math and science, which is a
good thing because I am totally driven. Even though I might seem shy, I’m never
shy onstage, when I’m pretending to be someone else – living in the moment, so
to speak.
By the time the Princesses - Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya -
arrived in the gym, it was pretty obvious they thought they were slumming it at
Sunrise High. The girls had an air of superiority which clung to them like
cheap cologne. Their dance ensembles were still colour co-ordinated, but
mercifully their matching black leggings were covered by mini-skirts in various
styles (bubble, pleated, ruched and vintage A-line). They were so psyched about
not having to wear the HSYL uniforms, they kind of went overboard in the
fashion department. The Princesses thought dance class was a beauty pageant.
They thought they were totally it.
‘We’re going to get with so many guys this
year,’ Teegan snarled as she whipped off her skirt and re-tied the satin
ribbons on her ballet shoes. She stuck her foot close to the bar next to my
hand.
‘I was warming up,’ I said.
‘Excuse me!’ Teegan snarled haughtily.
I inched my fingers out of the way as Tory
walked over, claimed her spot on the bar and began to flex her ankles.
It wasn’t that Tory was a bad dancer, but
she was certainly uninspiring. Although the Princesses never planned on careers
in the entertainment business, it didn’t make them any less snarky about women
who did.
Tory found her spot on the wall and began
her mechanical pliĕs. Brooke fumbled around in her tote bag searching for her
hair clip. Teegan abandoned the bar and applied extra gloss to her ample mouth
and Freya pulled her hair into a tight bun, keen to look the part even if she
couldn’t dance it. Wow, now I’m starting to sound like a Princess.
Besides, I’m giving you the wrong
impression.
The Princesses aren’t the main characters
in this story. They are just the featured extras, the minor players. They may
highlight our plot from time to time but I can’t say for sure how big a part
they’ll play as the story progresses.
For now, this tale is really just about me
and Mouche and Mark Knightly and his best friend Jet and all the teenage boys
we determined to transform from geeks to our personal princes in the course of
a year.
This story is also about the plan of action
that became a guide we intended to modify as the year progressed. The plan that
became the Boy-Rating Diary.
‘I’d
give them a 9.9,’ Teegan said as she performed a reasonable arabesque.
‘I’d give them a 9.8’ Mouche replied after
she did a perfect pirouette. ‘There’s always room for improvement.’
‘I think you’re talking about the same
men,’ I said under my breath as I pointed my toes and leant over the bar.
‘Game on,’ Mouche replied with a smile.
‘But we haven’t even worked out the
rules,’ I whispered under my breath.
‘A minor detail,’ Mouche replied.
‘Not necessarily,’ I said.
Everyone stopped talking when Mrs
Stefanovich, the dance teacher, arrived.
Mrs Stefanovich was Russian and very
strict and even the Princesses were careful to tow the line with her.
‘Okay girls, ve are ready now...begin...’
But the whole class, I was thinking about
how we’d devise the plan. And as I
looked across at Mouche’s furrowed brow, I could tell, so was she.
