The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing Page 3

  Genevieve Richardson, last year’s student council treasurer, crouches down next to me. She extends her hand to Nicole, who takes it and pulls herself up. “God, that looks sore,” Genevieve declares, her eyes on Nicole’s injured bare right leg, which is both scraped raw and covered in runny mud and itty bitty pebbles.

  I groan inside as I stare at it. There’s a cigarette butt on the ground between us which could easily have wound up fused to her skin too. “It’s too bad you weren’t wearing pants,” I say sympathetically.

  Nicole nods at me. Her eyes have filled with tears.

  “Are you all right besides that, do you think?” Genevieve asks, her long red hair falling over her shoulders as she scrutinizes the wound. “Does it feel like anything’s broken?”

  Nicole places her weight solidly on her right leg and shakes her head. At that moment Jacob and Orlando strut right by us. Jacob eyes Nicole’s leg and I’m sure he notices that she’s crying too, but he doesn’t say anything. Suddenly I want to run after him and thump him hard on the back. He’d either laugh at me or act like I was being hysterical and the thought eggs me on. I have the crazy feeling that I’d do it, if only Genevieve and Nicole weren’t next to me.

  “You’ll have to clean that out really well,” Genevieve continues. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

  Nicole winces as she peers down at her leg. “I hope it doesn’t scar.”

  “It doesn’t look deep,” Genevieve tells her. I nod in agreement, still visualizing smacking Jacob.

  “Do you have a ride home?” Genevieve asks, throwing her hair back over her shoulders. “I can give you a lift.”

  Nicole sighs and stares off at a speck in the distance. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  I follow Nicole’s eyes to the disappearing guy, who is now only a dot on the horizon. “Maybe you guys can run him over on your way home,” I offer. On a normal day I’d pretend not to have noticed what happened between them, out of politeness, but it doesn’t feel like an ordinary day anymore.

  Nicole smiles thinly. “You promise?”

  The fact that he seemed to be watching some sexy footage of her that she wasn’t happy about is good enough for me. Like I needed another demonstration of how much high school guys suck. “If I can add someone to the list too,” I quip.

  Nicole smirks and wipes her damp cheek with the back of her hand. “Since Genevieve’s driving I guess that’s up to her.”

  The three of us are getting soaked standing there, but Genevieve, with her perfect features and A average, still looks like a cross between young Gwyneth Paltrow and teenaged Nicole Kidman. “Come on,” Genevieve says impatiently, digging her hands into the pockets of her brown leather jacket. “I’m freezing.” She cocks her head at me. “Do you need a ride too?”

  “I’d love one.” Genevieve has never bothered to suck up to me because of Morgan. I can’t imagine her sucking up to anyone, and maybe it’s dumb of me to feel mildly excited about catching a ride with her, but if I don’t tell anyone it doesn’t count.

  I let Nicole take the front seat in Genevieve’s not new but not ancient Honda Civic. Genevieve asks us where we live and begins driving in the direction of Nicole’s house. It’s quiet in the car and Genevieve explains that her speakers are blown. “I meant to buy new ones,” she says, “but I started to get used to the silence.”

  Then we’re back to a semi-awkward quiet that lasts until we pull into Nicole’s driveway. “Thanks for the ride,” she tells Genevieve before turning to glance over her shoulder at me. “Thanks, Serena. I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

  “See you, Nicole,” I say back. We just finished Lord of the Flies in English this morning and I’m never going to pick up the book again if I can help it. Who wants to read a novel about how we’re all basically savages at the core? If that’s true, I don’t want to know it.

  I hop in the front so Genevieve won’t feel like my chauffeur, and as soon as I shut my door she says, “So have you seen the video? I didn’t want to mention it to Nicole because she seemed pretty upset, but really, she should’ve known better. You can’t let them film stuff like that.” Genevieve clucks in disapproval. “But I feel sorry for her anyway. It’s not like she can undo the damage, is it?”

  “Actually, I didn’t see the video. The guy Nicole was fighting with was watching it so I just heard a bit from his cell.” I have that Lord of the Flies dread in my stomach and wonder if I really want to know more. “What is it? Like a sex tape?”

  Genevieve shoots me a sideways look. “It was going around school today. I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough. Basically she’s doing a striptease for Liam Powers. Lots of shaking her naked booty and so on. You can imagine.”

  “That sucks.” I frown and look out the window. Nicole and Liam Powers have been hooking up since last spring. He’s a junior like Genevieve but not quite as popular. Whenever I saw Nicole and Liam together in the hall or cafeteria they were smiling. Now I’ll probably never see them together again. It occurs to me that things could’ve been so much worse with Jacob. “I can’t believe Liam would do that to her.”

  “Word is it wasn’t him that spread the video — someone else stumbled across it on his cell and forwarded it around.”

  I groan. “Everyone’s going to see it. That’s so unfair.” I have no idea what I’d do if it was me.

  “Ridiculously unfair,” Genevieve agrees. “Now Liam Powers is some kind of hero and she’s a slut.” She combs her fingers through her wet hair. “That’s what people think.”

  I know it and I grumble, “I’m so off guys that it isn’t funny.” I don’t know that I’d call them savages like in Lord of the Flies but they’re not far off.

  “Tell me about it.” Genevieve tosses her head back. “None of them at Laurier are worth spending more than five minutes with, and with some of them five minutes is five minutes too long.”

  A grin curves onto my cheeks as I look at her. I had no idea Genevieve Richardson and I were part of the same bitter club. “That’s way too true. I’ve actually sworn off high school guys entirely.”

  “You really think they’ll be any better once they’ve graduated?” she asks with a dry smile. “Nope, I think we’re out of luck until at they’re at least thirty, Serena.”

  It’s funny to hear Genevieve Richardson say my name. We’ve never spoken, but because of Morgan everyone knows who I am. At least seven different people have asked me whether my brother’s having a secret fling with Ariel, Much’s most popular VJ, because they have such terrific on-air chemistry and the entire country’s aware that he’s bisexual.

  “Why thirty?” I ask.

  Genevieve shrugs. “I’m being generous, it could be forty or fifty before male adolescence ends. The jury’s still out on that.”

  I laugh lightly as we hang a left onto my street. “You sound as jaded as I am. Maybe we can form a club and apply for school funding.” It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who plans to avoid entanglements with guys for as long as I can. Izzy and Marguerite don’t count because as much as they’d deny it, I know they’d secretly love for someone to flash them the hot girl look. Believe me, I know how that goes; I was an Izzy or Marguerite until August 22.

  Genevieve smiles at my suggestion. The last I heard she was with Costas Gavril, who is a senior with a face like a WWE wrestler but a nice guy reputation. Since I don’t want to sound like I’ve been following her life story I don’t ask what Costas did to her. “It’s the one with the green garage,” I say, pointing to my house. “Right here.”

  Genevieve hugs the curb and shifts into park. “Trust me, no one’s more jaded than me, dear.” She arches an eyebrow and beams me a look streaked with weariness, boredom, and a side order of superiority. I have to admit she wears cynicism better than I do. Even the new, improved Serena can’t compete with Genevieve Richardson, but inside I know I’m every bit a
s fed up with the male half of the Wilfrid Laurier student population.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say as I open the door, “but thanks.”

  Genevieve nods, her eyes already back on the road. “Bye, Serena.”

  ***

  By English class the next day I know what Nicole Lapatas’s nipples look like. Technically no one’s supposed to use their phones on school premises, but it’s hard to enforce that rule in the cafeteria and the hallways. Not to mention the bathrooms, where a couple of guys in our class tell Nicole they’ve been jerking off to her image.

  Nicole tries to ignore them, but she looks like she wants to neuter somebody. As we’re leaving class I slow down to ask how her leg is. She’s wearing pinstriped pants and we both gaze down at them as she says, “My mom cleaned it out for me last night. It hurt like a son of a bitch but Genevieve was right, it wasn’t really that deep.”

  “That’s good.” I clear my throat.

  One of the guys from our English class leers at Nicole as he ambles by.

  “This is getting really, really old,” she says in a sharp voice. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do?”

  If it were me I’d probably stay home and pretend to have bronchitis until someone else topped my drama. Nicole’s holding up pretty well, all things considered. “None of them have anything better to do,” I say, acidity swimming up my throat. “We go to Loserville High, Nicole.”

  Nicole plays with her hair and chews the inside of her lip. For a second I think I spot yesterday’s ache in her eyes. “Listen, do you want to come over to my house after school?” I ask on impulse. “We can go over the English homework or whatever.”

  Nicole releases her hair. It flops against her shoulder. “I’m not in the mood for English homework.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell her. “We don’t have to do English homework.”

  “Okay then.” Nicole twirls a chunk of her hair around her finger again. “Where’s your locker?”

  I tell her, and we arrange to meet there after last class. It’s funny how you quickly can click with someone you’ve never had a meaningful conversation with before. Once we start talking it’s like we knew each other in another life, and we end up hanging out the next day and the day after that. I give her the behind-the-scenes tour of my relationship with Jacob, and she badmouths Liam Powers and everyone who’s tried to mess with her over the video.

  We get really good at tearing down certain people, especially when we’re together. Not every guy has something nasty to say about her. Some of them are cool and act like the video doesn’t make any difference, but we let ourselves get vicious with the rest of them, talking about how microscopic certain parts of their anatomy must be and how they probably couldn’t last any longer than thirteen seconds. It feels good to be mean like that, way better than attacking a punching bag.

  About a week after Genevieve drove us home I run into her leaving the library and she asks how Nicole’s doing. “As bitter as us,” I say with a half smile, “but she’s cool.”

  “I told you — no one’s as jaded as me.” Genevieve gives a pointy grin. “I’m glad to hear she’s okay though. At least she’ll be wiser next time.”

  “I don’t think there’s going to be a next time any time soon.” I explain that both of us have decided we don’t want to waste our time. It’s what I decided before Nicole’s video anyway, but having two of us in it together seems less lonely.

  “A one hundred per cent celibacy club?” Genevieve adjusts the paperback copy of The Communist Manifesto nestled under her arm. “You really think you two can stick with that?”

  Excuse me? I know she’s Genevieve Richardson, but it’s not like I’m some tragically self-esteem-challenged girl who has to super-glue herself to a series of random guys to feel like life has meaning. I’ve only kissed three guys since high school started. I just got wrapped up in the newness of being skinny for a while. Maybe you can’t imagine how that works when you’ve been as pretty as Genevieve Richardson all through high school.

  “Just as well as you can,” I snap.

  Genevieve tilts her head to the right. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. Just — you know — we all have a way of being our own worst enemies at times.” Her fingers stroke The Communist Manifesto. I bet Devin, with his near photographic memory, could sum it up for me in five minutes or less. “Listen, if either of you need a ride home you can meet me in the parking lot,” she continues. “I pretty much always park in the same space. It’s the silver Honda Civic.”

  I remember. “Cool. Thanks.”

  One minute I felt like there was no one at Laurier who could really understand me and the next there are three of us united in a common cause. Maybe I’m wrong about people always disappointing you. Maybe it’s truer to say that people will always surprise you. When you think you can rely on them, they’ll happily prove you wrong, and when you expect absolutely nothing from them, they become the people you can share your true thoughts with. All I know is that after that Genevieve, Nicole, and I tell each other everything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~

  TOTAL DRUG MART HIRES me as a part-time cashier, which brings me one step closer to baby blue scooter ownership. I see a gorgeous, fully restored 1967 Vespa advertised online for $3499.99 and save the picture as inspiration. The Vespa looks like something you’d ride through the clouds on your way to heaven with classic R.E.M. songs playing as a soundtrack. If I had that scooter it would never rain again. It’s like guaranteed sunshine and good luck.

  Genevieve tells me that she rode on the back of one when she was in France last summer but that it was red and not nearly as cool as the one I want. “The back of one with who?” Nicole asks. “Some French guy? Was he hot?”

  “It was a girl,” Genevieve says. “And she was pretty hot, as a matter of fact.”

  “French girls are always hot,” Nicole says knowingly. “They have flair or something.”

  “Confidence,” Genevieve corrects. “It doesn’t even matter if they have flair or not — just that they think they do.”

  “Uh-uh,” I chime in. “That’s like saying it doesn’t matter if you’re fat. Believe me, even if people don’t think of themselves as fat, other people do. Not everything is totally subjective. Real life isn’t like that Hairspray movie where the fat girl gets the cute guy just because she can dance. Guys don’t want the fat girl or the girl who only thinks she has flair but doesn’t.”

  “Some guys like fat girls,” Nicole says, pulling her legs up on the couch with her. Her right leg has healed perfectly, with no scars to give the incident away. “You know, they get off on it.”

  Genevieve reaches over and flicks me in the knee. “You know you were never fat though, right?”

  My face smarts. I didn’t mean to sound like I was talking about me, but that’s Genevieve, she always picks up on things. “I just mean in general, but I was chubby enough that no one really gave me a second look before last August. That still counts.”

  Genevieve wags her finger at me. “I guarantee there were guys ogling you before last August. It’s easy not to notice when you’re not interested in them.”

  “Great, so none of the cute guys are interested in you when you’re fat,” I amend. “Does that sound more accurate?”

  “Probably.” Nicole reaches for the gold nail polish on the coffee table next to her and gives it a shake. “But what can you expect?

  Hot guys like hot girls and vice versa. People pair up with people who are roughly at the same level of hotness as themselves.”

  “But you were never fat,” Genevieve insists, her eyes on mine. “So, no, that doesn’t count.”

  Nicole unscrews the top from her nail polish and slips a coat of gold on her big toe. “She’s right, you know. You were never fat. You were barely bigger than average.”

  I was definitely bigger than a
verage. And I’ve put a few pounds back on over the past few weeks. It’s hard not to eat when you’re hungry, and lately my appetite has come back some. There’s a bag of open pretzels lying between Nicole and me and I slide my hand into it as Morgan’s image flashes onto the TV in front of us.

  “I really like this next one,” Morgan enthuses. “You know we’ve talked about this before, and I think she’s really developed a style of her own with this new —”

  “I know,” Ariel interrupts with her perky smile. “You luuuuv this video. You can’t stop raving about it. I hear she’s going to be in the studio with you this weekend. Maybe you can get her to do a little unplugged for us here.” Ariel knocks her shoulder against Morgan’s. They’re like two peas in a pod, as my grandmother would say.

  “You have to know I’ll try.” Morgan beams us a vision of his orthodontically repaired pearly whites. He had a slight overbite at one time, supposedly, but Devin says that he never remembers Morgan’s teeth being anything less than perfect.

  I crunch on pretzels and listen to Genevieve say, “Attraction isn’t just based on physical attractiveness. You see a lot of people together where one person is clearly better-looking than the other.”

  Genevieve isn’t the only one who picks up on things; what she just said was really about Costas. Before we became friends with Genevieve, Nicole and I both guessed that Costas Gavril had wanted an all-access pass to her body or treated her badly in some equally cliché way. But that wasn’t the case; back in October, Costas confessed to Genevieve that he was obsessed with someone else. Nicole and I are supposed to keep it a secret, even though Genevieve hates his guts and could make his life hell, but the girl — woman, actually — is Ms. Halliwell, his economics teacher. Costas told Genevieve that he’s not going to act on it but that he can’t stop thinking about her and didn’t think it was fair to keep his feelings a secret.

  Genevieve isn’t in his econ class but shares a biology class with him and says she gets a stomach ache before class every day. Ms. Halliwell isn’t sexy like a teacher in movie. She has a good body but her hair is always a mess, like she doesn’t care how it looks. She’s not a flirty teacher either, so Costas having those feelings for her is one of those weird accidental things. I guess I should just accept the fact that I don’t understand guys.