We Are Party People Page 7

  It’s hard to simply fit in. The whole thing is a delicate balance, putting together outfits that are neither super-trendy nor completely unfashionable. That’s why I usually stick with jeans that aren’t too tight and aren’t too baggy. Also, soft T-shirts in solid colors, and maybe stripes if I’m feeling daring.

  It seems so much easier for guys. They don’t need to put as much thought into what they wear because it doesn’t matter. They can wear baggy shorts or jeans or sweats or track pants or whatever and any old T-shirt. Their clothes are baggy enough to hide in and their styles don’t change that drastically. It doesn’t seem fair.

  I know some people like standing out and some people just have their own style and they don’t care about what everyone else is wearing, like with Lola and her hair ribbons. It’s not the coolest thing in the world but it’s so her. It flies under the radar. I wonder if people would be shocked if she showed up to school with no hair ribbons one day. Or maybe no one would notice because we are not the type of girls kids pay any attention to. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I like it.

  Sophie goes over to a rack of dresses, all on sale for 20 percent off according to the sign, and flips through them. Some have flowers, some have stripes, and some are plain. One is ripped on the shoulder. Sophie pulls it out to show me, asking, “Do you think they did that on purpose?”

  “No, I think it’s an accident. Look at how the edges are unevenly frayed.”

  “Good point.” She nods and puts it back. Then she pulls another one out. It looks like a long shirt but it’s dress length. It’s royal blue and instead of an alligator in the corner where the alligator would be if it were an Izod shirt-dress, there’s a little gold trophy.

  “This is cute, right?” Sophie asks. “And look at the trophy. It’s kind of perfect.”

  I grin. It’s like the dress has appeared magically on the rack, the exact thing she needs. “I love it,” I say.

  “Let me go try it on. I hope it fits,” she says, pulling it off the rack. “Oh, and I think I should get some leggings, too. You know, for underneath it?”

  “Does it need leggings?”

  She holds the dress up to her body and gazes down at it. “I guess it won’t be that short, but I’m going to be on stage, and what if people can see under my dress? That would be mortifying.”

  “Good point.”

  Leggings are in a whole different section of the store. Luckily, they seem to come in every single color. Sophie selects four pairs: blue to match the dress, a red pair, a silver pair, and a gold pair.

  Then, on the way to the dressing room, we find another rack of dresses on sale, which are 25 percent off. Sophie picks a few out and we continue on our way.

  Sophie tries on the four dresses. After each one she comes out and turns around. She looks at herself in the mirror. She holds a pretend microphone and says, “My name is Sophie and I am running for seventh grade class president.”

  Or, “Please vote for me.”

  Or, “You’ve gotta vote for me,” each time throwing her voice so she sounds like a completely different person.

  She saves the original trophy dress for last and as soon as she puts it on, we both know it’s the right one.

  “I love it,” I blurt out and Sophie beams.

  “Victory!” She holds both of her arms up and smiles. “It’s perfect.”

  I nod, grinning. “Totally.”

  “You have awesome taste. I’m so happy you came along,” she says, before spinning around and heading back into the dressing room.

  Two minutes later we head to the cash register, where there’s a lady in black pants and one of those black ripped-up T-shirts ready to wait on us. She’s got a red tank top underneath it, so we can’t see her bra or anything, but I still don’t like it. Her hair is shaved on the bottom and short and sticky-uppy at the top. She’s wearing lots of black eyeliner and a slash of bright red lipstick.

  “You girls find everything you need?” she asks.

  “We did,” says Sophie.

  The woman rings up the leggings and the dress and tells Sophie the total.

  Sophie frowns for a moment. “I don’t think that’s right. The dress is supposed to be 20 percent off because I got it over there.” She points to the rack where it came from.

  The woman frowns down at the cash register and looks at the tag on the dress. “Oh, hold on a moment,” she says as she goes to speak to someone else working there—a manager, I guess. Then a minute later she comes back. “You are absolutely right. I’m so sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” says Sophie.

  Once the lady gives us the new total, Sophie hands her a credit card. Yes, a credit card. “You have your own credit card?” I ask.

  Sophie nods. “My dad works a lot, so he can’t take me shopping. He figured giving me this was safer than sending me around with a lot of cash.”

  I’m impressed yet again. I know that Sophie would be an awesome class president. I vow to wear the VOTE FOR SOPHIE T-shirt the very next day. What’s the worst that can happen? People will talk about me behind my back? Laugh in my face? Lola is probably right that no one will even notice.

  “That’s so cool,” I say.

  “I can’t use it for whatever I want, though. Before I go shopping I tell my dad what I need and he tells me what I’m allowed to spend. If I think I need to spend more, I can always call him and then he’ll tell me yes or no.”

  I nod. “That makes sense.”

  I don’t say what’s obvious. I guess Sophie shops by herself because she doesn’t have a mom to take her shopping.

  I don’t have a mom either, right now. Not one I ever see, anyway. Last night, when I talked to her on the phone, all she could do was complain about how complicated things are, and all the paperwork involved in getting the house on the market and how she’s looking for a caregiver in case the nursing home doesn’t work out but how difficult it is to find the right person for the job.

  “Ready?” asks Sophie, pulling her bag off the counter.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  We walk around the mall, stopping to look at Pink and Green, our favorite accessories store, and the Hello Kitty shop, and then we get ice-cream cones—soft serve, vanilla-and-chocolate swirl with rainbow sprinkles.

  “This day has already been awesome, and adding ice cream to it makes me so happy,” Sophie says once we have our cones.

  I nod in agreement. “I know—that dress is amazing. It’s like it was made for you to wear at this very moment. You’re all ready now, yes? Oh, except for the speech.”

  Sophie nods. “Yeah, I’m almost done with that.”

  “Already? That’s impressive.”

  Sophie shrugs. “It’s not that hard. I’m going to talk about everything I want to change about Beachwood Middle School. For instance, we should be making more of an effort to recycle. You know, after lunch most days there are tons of cans in the trash can when the recycling bins are right next to them. And there’s this place called the Harrison Animal Shelter. My dad and I are thinking of getting a dog, so we went to visit last weekend.”

  “That’s awesome!” I say.

  “Yeah, except we couldn’t decide. My dad doesn’t want a Chihuahua and that’s what they had—tons of Chihuahuas. But I was talking to a lady who works at the shelter and I asked if I could volunteer. She said I had to be fourteen, but I could help in other ways if I wanted to. They need dog beds and I could do a fund-raiser to raise money to buy them. Or we could get everyone to donate their old pillows and blankets and sheets and then the shelter can turn them into dog beds.”

  “That’s a cool idea,” I say.

  “Yup.” She licks her cone.

  I lick my hand because the ice cream has melted down. And, as is so typical, as I’m in the middle of licking I happen to see India and June out of the corner of my eye.

  My instinct is to turn around and head the other way, maybe even duck into a store, not to hide from them, exactl
y, but merely to avoid them. Except Sophie seems to have a different idea.

  “Oh, they go to Beachwood, right?” she asks. “And they must be in our grade because I’m pretty sure they’re both in my homeroom.”

  “Yeah,” I say, before I realize what Sophie is about to do. “Wait, what’s going on?” I ask as she grabs my arm and pulls me toward them.

  “We need to talk to them,” Sophie says.

  India and June are always together, and they kind of look alike as well, even though June is white, with long and straight pale yellow hair and blue eyes, while India is black, with long dark hair and brown eyes. The thing is, they are both really tall and both really skinny, and when they are standing next to each other they seem like sisters. They walk the same way and they usually dress alike. Not exactly the same, in a babyish way. I mean they have the same style. Today they’re wearing sundresses with flip-flops. India’s dress is yellow and her shoes are blue. June’s dress is orange and her shoes are green. They are both chewing gum and their jaws seem to be working in sync. It’s kind of impressive.

  Anyway, they’re about to walk into a shoe store when Sophie says, “Hey.”

  I cannot believe it, and they can’t, either.

  Both girls stop and turn around and blink at Sophie, seemingly surprised. They are not sure what to make of her, I can tell. They are not used to regular kids speaking to them.

  But Sophie remains completely unfazed.

  “You guys go to Beachwood, right?” she asks.

  India looks to June, as if she needs to check first. Like she doesn’t even know where she goes to school, but I know the real issue. She doesn’t know if she’s allowed to talk to us nerds. It’s weird that Sophie is being so direct. Not bad, necessarily. More like oblivious.

  Since the girls aren’t answering, Sophie does it for them. “Sure you do. We’re all in the same homeroom.”

  “Are we?” June asks. She chews her gum a little faster and looks at the ground. “Oh yeah,” she adds, finally realizing that she can’t act completely clueless.

  “Yeah. I’m Sophie Meyers and I’m running for seventh grade president.”

  Just then India giggles.

  “What’s so funny?” asks Sophie.

  “Nothing.” India looks to June again.

  June giggles, too. “You sound like a commercial,” she says with a shrug. “That’s all.”

  “Oh,” says Sophie. “Well, I guess that makes sense, since I am advertising myself. Right?”

  “Right,” June agrees nervously, like she’s waiting for the punch line, although of course there is none.

  “Anyway, you guys should think about voting for me. I’m going to try to make our recycling program better. Also, I was just telling Pixie about how it would be great if we could help the Harrison Animal Shelter.”

  “My cats are from that place!” says June.

  Suddenly she seems excited, more animated than her usual cool self. Except then she casts a nervous glance at India, who smirks. And June stops talking. Stops smiling. Looks away.

  I’m feeling itchy in my skin. Clearly Sophie has crossed some invisible line, and perhaps I have, too, simply by standing next to her. But what have we done wrong, precisely?

  Talk to cool kids?

  Act too familiar with them?

  Ask for their vote?

  Or all of the above?

  The worst part is that Sophie is the only one who seems not to notice. She is still smiling, still talking, still so hopeful. I can’t tell if she’s missed this subtle shift, or if she’s ignoring it on purpose.

  “Cool,” says Sophie. “Then you should definitely vote for me.”

  There’s a brief, painful silence, and I’m not going to be the one to fill it.

  Finally, India speaks. “Oh, except our friend Jenna is running for class president and we already promised to vote for her,” she says.

  June nods, seemingly relieved. The issue is settled. I back up, hoping we can move on, but Sophie stands her ground.

  “What’s she going to do for the school?” Sophie wonders, tilting her head to one side.

  June looks to India, not sure of what to make of the question.

  “What do you mean?” India asks after a few moments.

  “How’s she going to make the school better?” Sophie asks. “You know. If she gets elected president.”

  “Don’t know, she never said,” India says. Then she turns to June. “Did she tell you?”

  “No, but she’s our best friend,” June reminds her.

  India nods. “That’s true—we can’t not vote for our best friend. It’s, like, a rule. Common human decency.”

  “She’s right,” says June. “Um, we should go. See you.”

  June and India wave goodbye and take off.

  I’ve been hanging back this whole time, too mortified to even say anything, but now that they are gone, out of earshot, I have to ask, “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Sophie wonders.

  “Talk to total strangers.”

  “They’re not total strangers. I’ve seen them around school.”

  “But still. June and India? They’re not just anyone…”

  Sophie seems annoyed. “Sure they are,” she says. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Not for you, is what I’m thinking. But it is a big deal for me.

  14

  Things get a little awkward with Sophie and me and I’m worried she’s annoyed because I’m acting so weird. But neither of us says anything. Instead, we keep on walking.

  “Oh, is that a Sticker Planet?” she asks eventually.

  I’m so relieved she’s broken the silence, I jump on her question a little too eagerly. “It is. Do you want to go in?”

  Sophie stops in front of the store and puts her hand on the glass window as she peers inside. “I kind of do. They have one of these back in New Jersey, where I used to live. It was my favorite place.”

  “I thought you were from Seattle,” I say.

  “I’m from a lot of places,” Sophie tells me. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  I turn back to the store and peer through the window. “I was way into stickers when I was little.”

  Actually, I was way into stickers last summer, and I still like flipping through my sticker notebook, but I don’t admit this to Sophie.

  “Let’s go in,” says Sophie. “Just to look. I know stickers are a little babyish, so if you don’t want to…”

  “No, I do,” I say.

  Sophie smiles wider than I thought she would at this news, and that makes me happy, too. We wander into the store and through the narrow aisles, checking out the tiny googly-eyed frogs and alligators, the sparkly seals, and puffy rainbows. There’s a section filled with monster trucks and boats and construction equipment stickers, and an entire aisle of temporary tattoos.

  Sophie almost trips on a noisy toddler named Nate, but luckily he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy grabbing stickers and trying to shove them into his mouth, and his mom is too busy trying to get him to stop. “No, Nate. Not that. Put it down! Nate, stop. No, Nate. No. No,” she keeps saying. It’s funny at first and then kind of annoying, but pretty soon they leave, so it’s only me and Sophie in the store, plus the lady working behind the counter.

  “Can I help you girls?” she asks, peering at us over her large, chunky glasses.

  “No, we’re just looking,” Sophie says. Then she turns to me and whispers, “Anything you want to get?”

  I lower my voice, too. “In a way, yes. But it’s also not how I want to spend my allowance.”

  She nods. “I know what you mean. Hey, let’s go somewhere else. I kind of want to get a new necklace. You know, something that will go with the dress for my big speech.”

  “Like maybe something with a giant trophy on it?” I ask.

  Sophie giggles as she glances down into her shopping bag. “Am I going overboard with the trophy theme?”

  “Maybe a tad,” I say. “But I’
ll let you know when it gets really out of control. We should check out Denim and Diamonds. It’s just a few doors down.”

  “What do they sell there?” asks Sophie.

  “What do you think?” I reply. “Jeans and jewelry.”

  “Well, why don’t they call it Jeans and Jewelry?” Sophie asks. “When I grow up I’m going to open a jeans and jewelry place and I’m actually going to call it Jeans and Jewelry.”

  I laugh. “Okay, if that’s what you want to do.”

  Sophie crinkles her nose and shakes her head. “It would be fun for a week, but I don’t think I’m going to, actually.”

  “Whatever you say,” I tell her.

  At Denim and Diamonds the jeans are stacked all along the sides of the store, piled on shelves that start at our feet and extend high over our heads and out of reach. The jewelry is in the middle in a series of glass display cases. That’s where we head right away.

  “This is cute,” I say, holding up a gold necklace with turquoise and red beads on it.

  “Oh yeah,” Sophie says, grabbing it and glancing at the price tag. “But it’s way too expensive. Too bad.”

  We find some other cute necklaces—a silver one with gold beads, and a long leather necklace with a silver arrow attached to the end of it, but those are too much money, too.

  “At least I got the dress,” Sophie says. “That’s the most important thing. Who knows if people would even see jewelry from the audience? And I can probably find something at home to wear with it. Or maybe we can find a store with cheaper stuff.”

  “Like Cotton Rags and Cubic Zirconium?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Exactly. It’s the hottest new chain sweeping the nation. Let’s go.”

  I follow Sophie out. She’s headed toward a familiar end of the mall, near my parents’ shop. I’ve been trying to avoid it, but before I know it we’re standing right in front of the store.