“I went to a concert on Friday night and made out with the lead singer from the Lolitas and their tour manager hid in the bushes and made a video of us and then sold it to the tabloids and now the principal wants to meet with me in his office.” Like he wasn’t going to find out in about three minutes, anyway.
James’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard when I said “made out.” “Oh,” he said. “That’s, um, yeah. That sucks.”
“I know. Where have you been?” Oh, God, I’m a moron. “I mean, like, not that I was like, looking for you, but I was just … I saw that you weren’t here for a couple of days and … I mean, I just noticed, that’s all.” Jesus, Audrey, stop talking.
He blushed crimson as I kept trying to explain myself. “I was sick,” he said. “Food poisoning.”
“Oh. Gross.”
“Yeah.” He shifted his bag awkwardly onto his back. “Are you still working this afternoon?”
“Yeah, I think so. Unless the paparazzi stop me from getting into the mall.”
James smiled at my lame joke. How polite of him. “Cool.”
“Cool.”
“So I’ll see you there.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t leave right away. “The Lolitas are way overrated,” he finally said, almost as an afterthought. “They just don’t know it yet.”
I tried to say something in response, but there were too many words for me to sort out in my head. And by the time I got it together, James was already walking away. “See you later,” he said with a wave.
I was about to say goodbye back, but then the principal’s door opened and when he walked out to get me, I saw my parents sitting in his office, both of them wearing their work clothes.
Definitely a nine out of ten on the “oh, shit” scale.
“Audrey, why don’t you come on in?” Mr. Rice was smiling, but it wasn’t one of those friendly smiles.
I went in and sat down next to my dad, who gave my arm a squeeze and said, “Hey, kiddo,” which was like the worst thing he could have done, since it made me totally want to start crying all over the place, but the day had been bad enough without me losing it in Mr. Rice’s office. I vowed to keep it together until I was safe at home with my stereo, Bendomolena, and the saddest, most dramatic mix CD I could come up with. The Smiths were already going to figure in heavily, I could tell. Sixteen, clumsy, and shy, that’s the story of my life. Word, Morrissey. Total word.
“So,” Mr. Rice said as he sank back down, “there have been some developments recently, Audrey, and I’ve called your parents in so we could discuss the appropriate course of action in order to ensure the best educational experience for you.”
If you don’t speak Adult, allow me to translate that sentence: “You’re fucking up and making us all look bad. Stop doing that so I can have an easier day at work.”
But I just nodded and then glanced at the copies of the magazine on his desk. “I didn’t know about those,” I said quickly. “I just saw them today.”
“Audrey.” My mother leaned past my father to look at me. “No one’s blaming you.”
But my dad had other ideas.
“Are you sleeping in class?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the photo on page 67. “Because to the untrained eye, my dear, it looks like you’re sleeping in class.”
Cue the arched eyebrows from both parents. “Why are you sleeping in class?” my dad asked as my mom peered down at the magazine.
“Uh, Dad?” I said. “Here’s a better question: Why are people taking pictures of me sleeping in class?!”
And then Mr. Rice interrupted so he could detail everything that had happened over the past several days: the video leaking online; girls sneaking onto campus to see me; all the kids who had been asking me for autographs or talking to me in the halls, making me late for class again and again; the graffiti in the bathroom stall. Let me tell you, you haven’t yet plumbed the depths of embarrassment until your principal tells your parents about crude drawings of you performing sexual favors. That was a moment I could’ve lived the rest of my life without experiencing, and Mr. Rice can definitely expect to find my future therapy bills in his mailbox.
But then he kept talking, and it turned out there was more. Promoters were sending concert tickets to the school with my name on them, and the mailman was delivering twice as many letters because people were starting to send fan mail. And then, halfway through Mr. Rice’s speech, his secretary knocked on the door and said, “These were just delivered for Audrey,” and brought in a vase of a dozen pink roses.
“Wow,” I said. My parents, who had been listening and nodding and saying, “Uh-hmm,” and glancing at me like I was a ticking time bomb, looked like their heads were gonna explode when the roses made their appearance. I picked at my well-worn cuticles and tried to look like a model student. “So,” Mr. Rice told them, “as you can see, we need to figure out a future plan going forward.”
“Well, she still needs to go to school,” my mother said. She was holding the vase with the roses and finally just set them on the floor. “That can’t change, and homeschooling will not be an option.” I could tell from her voice that she was going all Mama Bear on him, which made me feel a little better.
Mr. Rice nodded. “Well, for the time being, we were thinking about having her—”