Want to Go Private? Read online

  BlueSkyBoi: Like, what’s ur fave ice cream?

  AbyAngel99: Butter pecan.

  BlueSkyBoi: ur kidding!

  AbyAngel99: no!

  BlueSkyBoi: Wow. We srsly *r* soul mates. That’s my fave flave 2!

  AbyAngel99:

  BlueSkyBoi: What’s ur fave color?

  AbyAngel99: Purple.

  BlueSkyBoi: Mine’s blue.

  AbyAngel99: Duh! BLUEskyboi?

  BlueSkyBoi: Hahahaha!

  BlueSkyBoi: That’s what I like about u. Ur quick. And funny.

  “Abby?” My dad is standing in the doorway.

  AbyAngel99: GTG P911!

  BlueSkyBoi: K

  I close my laptop and spin my desk chair around.

  “Yeah?”

  Dad sits on the edge of my bed.

  “So, have you thought about what extracurricular activities you’re going to do, honey?” he says. “Because now is when everything starts to count for college.”

  OMG! I haven’t even been in high school for twenty-four hours and my dad’s ready to send me off to fricking college?!

  “Um … Dad? It’s my FIRST DAY. I haven’t thought about a whole lot besides trying to find my locker and getting to all my classes on time.”

  A normal dad might take this as a clue to back off, but no one, least of all me, would ever accuse my dad of being normal.

  “Still, angel, you need to start thinking about this stuff. Time flies, and before you know it you’ll be filling out college applications. You don’t want to be someone who gets turned down even though she has good grades because there are no extracurricular activities on her transcript.”

  I wish, for once, my dad would care about my now instead of my future. Like, in my fantasy dad convo, I’d be talking to him about feeling like social plankton instead of my currently nonexistent extracurricular activities.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll think about it. But can I at least have like a day or two to get used to the place first?”

  “Sure, honey. Just keep what I said in mind.”

  That’s pretty much the end of our heart-to-heart. He says good night and kisses me on the top of the head. And I’m left sitting at my desk wanting … something, I don’t know what. Something more.

  CHAPTER 3

  OCTOBER 3

  We’re on the bus about a month later and Faith is desperately trying to persuade me to audition with her for the drama club’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  “Try out with me,” she urges. “Grace is doing it, too. It’ll be fun.”

  Hearing that Faith’s friend Grace is going to the auditions doesn’t give me much incentive. I am so sick of hearing about Grace this and Grace that. All Faith ever talks about is Grace — who’s in all of Faith’s classes. I only get to see Faith in PE and we hardly get to talk there because we’re training for the stupid physical fitness test so we have to run laps around the football field. The enormously large football field.

  But Grace is only part of the reason I’m not exactly falling over myself to do this.

  “Faith, you know I hate getting up in front of people. I freak out when I have to do a class presentation. Like I’m really going to be able to speak a part in front of an entire audience?”

  “C’mon, Abby! Just try. Even if you don’t get a part, there are lots of other things you can do, like costumes and sets and lighting and stuff. And we need extracurricular things for college.”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  “Well, it’s true,” she says. “Plus, it’s a great way to meet people. And you’ve been kinda grumpy about the whole making-new-friends thing.”

  Huh?

  “What do you mean, grumpy? I’m not grumpy!”

  Faith gives me a sidewise glance.

  “No? So why do you get all quiet and distant every time I mention Grace’s name?”

  I look out of the bus window. Am I that obvious?

  “See! You’re doing it right now.”

  Faith puts her hand on my arm and I’m forced to meet her gaze.

  “Look, Abs, just because I’m becoming friends with Gracie doesn’t mean that things have changed with us.”

  Yes, it does. It feels like you’re leaving me behind.

  “I wish you’d get to know her better. If you did, you’d really like her. Come on. Promise me you’ll stay after school tomorrow and audition with me.”

  She surreptitiously lifts the pinkie on the hand that rested on my arm and wiggles it, and she bats her eyelids while mouthing, “Pretty please?”

  Even though the idea of being on a stage in front of people makes me want to throw up, I move my hand next to Faith’s and link pinkies.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But only because you begged so nicely.”

  Faith laughs.

  “I’ll get my mom to pick us up so we don’t have to take the late bus. See you tomorrow!”

  She grabs her backpack and gets off at her stop, leaving me to worry about what I’ve just gotten myself into.

  After I finish my homework, I log on to ChezTeen.com and go hang out at the ChezNous Café, because this band I like, The Domestix, is giving a live concert there tonight. I check my friends list to see if Faith’s online yet, but she isn’t. I’m not sure if I want to talk to her right now anyway. The last thing I need is to hear more about Amazing Grace and how awesome it’s going to be at the auditions tomorrow, while I’m busy freaking out over making a complete idiot out of myself.

  Then a familiar spiky-haired avatar appears. It’s that guy, BlueSkyBoi, that I talked to a while back. My “soul mate,” Luke.

  BlueSkyBoi: Wazzup, Abby?

  BlueSkyBoi: Howz the High Skool O’Hell?

  AbyAngel99: LOL.

  AbyAngel99: Still pretty hellish.

  BlueSkyBoi: Did Nick the Prick remember ur name yet?

  AbyAngel99: Ha! NO!

  AbyAngel99: Yesterday he called me Angelina.

  BlueSkyBoi: *snorts*

  AbyAngel99: And that was AFTER he copied my homework!

  BlueSkyBoi: Wait — ur telling me you let that dickwad who doesn’t even remember ur name copy ur homework?!!

  AbyAngel99: *hangs head in shame* Yeah.

  BlueSkyBoi: Come on, sweetie! Ur too good 4 that!

  BlueSkyBoi: Nick the Prick’s just using u.

  If I think about it, I know he’s right. But BlueSkyBoi’s never seen Nick Peters. He’s never felt his heart start to beat faster the minute Nick walks into math class. Or his face start a slow flush when he feels Nick’s hand brush his as he hands over his homework for Nick to copy. I have.

  AbyAngel99: I know, I know. But …

  AbyAngel99: He might be a prick but he’s just so gorgeous.

  BlueSkyBoi: K, now ur makin’ me jealous!

  AbyAngel99: LOL.

  AbyAngel99: K no more talking about N the P.

  I think of something to change the subject and then start typing.

  AbyAngel99: My BFF Faith wants me to try out for a play w/ her.

  BlueSkyBoi: RU gonna do it?

  AbyAngel99: Said yes, but I don’t want 2.

  BlueSkyBoi: Uh … So why do it?

  Why do it? Because Dad keeps hassling me about extracurriculars? Because Grace is doing it and I’m afraid if I don’t, I’m going to be left out? Because maybe Faith won’t be my BFF anymore? How pathetically lame does that sound?

  AbyAngel99: Cause she’s my BFF, duh!

  BlueSkyBoi: Yeah, but doesn’t mean u have to do EVERYTHING 2gether.

  AbyAngel99: Well, it’s complicated.

  BlueSkyBoi: Complicated, huh?

  BlueSkyBoi: WTGP?

  Go private? Like a private chat room? I don’t usually do private chats with people I don’t know in real life. I’ve had all those Internet Safety talks at school. For all I know, BlueSkyBoi isn’t a “boi” at all. He could be some fifty-year-old dude living in his parents’ basement in California, or something. But then I figure it’s not like I’m ever going t
o meet the guy.

  AbyAngel99: K

  Chat room name: BlueSkyBoi

  BlueSkyBoi: So when’s the big audition?

  AbyAngel99: Tomorrow. I’m scared.

  BlueSkyBoi: Why?

  AbyAngel99: Cause I hate to get up in front of peeps.

  BlueSkyBoi: And ur trying out for a play?!!! ROTFLMAO!

  AbyAngel99: Yeah, go figure.

  BlueSkyBoi: Srsly, why u doing it then?

  I hesitate between truth and excuses, watching the blinking cursor, before typing slowly.

  AbyAngel99: Cause … if I don’t, maybe she’ll be BFFs with someone else. This girl Grace.

  BlueSkyBoi: She can’t be a good BFF if she’d dump u like that.

  I feel weird that he’s criticizing Faith when he’s never met her. It’s one thing for me to feel upset with her, but I don’t want anyone else saying bad things about her. She’s still my best friend … I think.

  AbyAngel99: She is, really. It’s just …

  BlueSkyBoi: ????

  AbyAngel99: High school. Things r changing.

  BlueSkyBoi: And not 4 good?

  AbyAngel99: IDK. No. At least not 4 me.

  BlueSkyBoi: Well, I’ll be ur BFF, LOL!

  AbyAngel99: LOL.

  BlueSkyBoi: Srsly. Tell me what u look like.

  AbyAngel99: Brown hair, hazel eyes, abt 5’6”.

  BlueSkyBoi: Bra size?

  I gasp when I read that, because I’m sure he shouldn’t be asking. I mean, it’s not like most of the guys at school don’t ogle my boobs or ping my bra strap whenever they get the chance. It’s been that way ever since fifth grade, when I was one of the “early developers,” lucky me.

  But then, it’s not like I’m going to see this guy in the halls at school or anything. He’s just words on a screen.

  My fingers hesitate for a minute and then I type:

  AbyAngel99: 34C

  BlueSkyBoi: Nice. I bet the boys at school don’t realize how lucky they are.

  AbyAngel99: Ha! 2 right!

  BlueSkyBoi: If I were there, I’d treat u the way u deserve 2 be treated.

  AbyAngel99: How’s that?

  BlueSkyBoi: Like a queen. Special. Because ur better than all the rest.

  My cheeks flush as I read his words, and I can’t stop myself from smiling. But I know it’s ridiculous, right? He doesn’t even know me. He’s never even met me. He doesn’t know what I look like or anything.

  AbyAngel99: Yeah, right.

  BlueSkyBoi: I’m serious. I know these things.

  AbyAngel99: How? U don’t even know me.

  BlueSkyBoi: So tell me about urself.

  BlueSkyBoi: How old are u?

  AbyAngel99: 14. U?

  BlueSkyBoi: 27. Does that freak u out?

  Does it? Kind of. I guess it would more if I ever thought I was going to meet the guy, but I’m not. He’s just someone to talk to online.

  AbyAngel99: A little. But not 2 much.

  BlueSkyBoi: Good. Cause I like u, Abby.

  AbyAngel99: I like u 2.

  BlueSkyBoi:

  I realize the concert’s about to start, and I don’t want to miss it.

  AbyAngel99: Hey, GTG. The Domestix r about 2 start.

  BlueSkyBoi: K. But hope to TTY tomorrow 2 see how auditions go.

  AbyAngel99: K. Bye!

  When I meet Faith outside the auditorium the following afternoon, I’m feeling queasy about what lies ahead.

  “Do I seriously have to go through with this?”

  Faith links her arm through mine and drags me through the doors.

  “Yes, you do. Come on, Gracie’s already inside, saving us seats. It’ll be fun.”

  I stare at the stage, which is bathed in light. I don’t think fun is going to play any part in this.

  Faith’s friend Grace waves at us from the sixth row. She’s tall and slim, with blond hair and blue eyes, and she’s wearing big dangly earrings with the laughing and frowning drama masks.

  Now I know where this whole try-out-for-drama idea came from.

  “Hi, guys! They’re going to start soon. You need to sign up on the form at the front there.”

  Faith drags me down to the front of the auditorium, where a dark-haired boy wearing a DRAMA IS LIFE WITH THE DULL BITS CUT OUT T-shirt sits holding a clipboard and a pen.

  “Love your T-shirt,” Faith says, smiling at him. “Is this where we sign up to audition?”

  “Alfred Hitchcock,” the guy says. “The quote, that is, not me. And yes, this is Sign-up Central. Just put your name, grade, e-mail, and phone number down here on this list.”

  He hands her the clipboard, and Faith lets go of my arm. If I didn’t know Faith would kill me for doing it, I’d be sorely tempted to sprint up the aisle and get myself as far away from this whole scene as possible.

  “I’m Ted, by the way. Ted Barringer.”

  “I’m Faith Wilson. And this is Abby Johnston.”

  Ted nods in my direction and I notice he has green eyes. In fact, if he had round glasses and a scar, he’d be Harry Potter’s twin brother.

  “Well, ladies, break a leg, as they say. Looks like Mr. Hankins wants to get things rolling.”

  It doesn’t take much for Mr. Hankins to bring the noisy auditorium to quiet. He has a deep voice that projects without a microphone and he explains that everyone is going to be paired up to read the same scene from the play, a girl with a boy.

  I’m not sure if I want to be first to get it over with, or last so maybe everyone else will be so outstanding that Mr. Hankins will cast all the parts before they get to me. My mouth tastes bitter, like bile. Why did I let Faith talk me into this? I barely survived the last time I had to give a class presentation to twenty-five kids. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get up onstage in front of all these people.

  Faith’s called first. Grace grabs my hand while Faith’s onstage, which feels totally awkward. It’s one thing for Faith to give me PDA, but Grace and I barely know each other. I give Grace’s hand a quick squeeze, then extract mine and put it as far away from her as I can. We sit listening to Faith run through the lines with a guy named Bob. Or at least trying to listen.

  She would be great if you could actually hear her. The problem is Faith’s voice barely carries to the sixth row, where Grace and I are sitting. Mr. Hankins is at least another ten rows back.

  “Thank you,” he says, and calls the next pair. Faith comes back to her seat, flushed with excitement.

  “How was I? Be honest.”

  I open my mouth to be honest, the way we always have been with each other, to tell her that she was really good, but that she needs to project more. But before I can speak, Grace hugs Faith and says, “You were fantastic, really good. I’m sure you’re going to get a part.”

  Faith seems to radiate with an almost supernatural glow of pride, and I don’t want to rain on her parade and have her accuse me of being all negative again, so I’m just like, “Yeah, Grace is right. You’re totally going to get a part.”

  She hugs me, and whispers, “So are you.”

  I shrug and sit there waiting my turn with my stomach churning. Grace is called before me. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s good — really good. You honestly believe she’s the character, and her voice is so loud she can probably be heard in the back row of the balcony.

  “She really knows what she’s doing,” I whisper to Faith, as Grace nears the end of the scene.

  “Yeah, well, she’s really into it — she’s been to summer acting camp and stuff,” Faith says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets a lead part, even though she’s only a freshman.”

  “What did you think?” Grace asks when she comes back. “I don’t think I projected enough.”

  “Are you kidding?” I say. “I think they heard you in New Haven.”

  “She’s right,” Faith agrees. “You were awesome, Gracie. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, I’m glad it’s over,” Grace says, flopping into a chair. “I hat
e waiting around for everyone else to go.”

  Then, as if she didn’t realize that I’m sitting here with my arms folded over my stomach trying not to puke from nerves, she’s like:

  “Oh, I’m soooooo sorry, Abby! I forgot you didn’t go yet.”

  Yeah, right. Sure you did.

  I watch the next pair read, wishing I were anywhere but here. Faith and Grace are whispering comments about the couple onstage. I can’t hear and I don’t want to. I just want to go home.

  “Abby Johnston and Ted Barringer.”

  “Lucky you,” Faith whispers. “You get to read with that cute guy.” She pats me on the back. “Break a leg!”

  Graces echoes her. “Break a leg, Abby!”

  “With my luck, I really will break a leg,” I mutter as I get up and head for the stage.

  I stand facing the darkness of the auditorium. The script is fluttering in my visibly shaking hands, which I’m trying desperately to keep still with zero success.

  “Hey, relax, Abby,” Ted says under his breath. “I only bite on Fridays when there’s a full moon.”

  I manage a grimace of a smile. At least he remembered my name, something that Nick Peters can’t seem to do after three weeks of copying my math homework.

  I can only see the first few rows of faces before the darkness takes over. I know the auditorium isn’t even at a fraction of its total capacity, but it still seems like the whole world is watching me, just waiting for me to mess up. My heart beats an irregular rhythm in my chest and I feel dizzy.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Mr. Hankins says.

  How about never?

  Ted has the opening lines.

  “I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood; And here am I, and wood within this wood, Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence! Get thee gone, and follow me no more.”

  That’s my cue. Speak. Now.

  But the words won’t come out. It’s as if my vocal cords are frozen, my tongue paralyzed. Ted looks at me and nods, encouraging me to start my lines.

  “Y-you d-draw m-me …” I stammer.

  “Take three deep breaths and then Ted will take it from the top,” Mr. Hankins says. He’s being nice, but I know I’ve already blown this.

  I breathe in and out deeply three times, but it just makes me feel dizzier.