Whip It by Shauna Cross

trying to brag.
    The primal competitiveness simmering beneath Brooke and Val’s sugary exchanges turns up a notch.
    “Oh. Y’all are still doin’ Clara’s—that’s so . . . adorable. We just got back from Houston. For Corbi’s gown.”
    A silent malfunction happens in Brooke’s mind. I’m sure it never occurred to her to go to the big city.
    “What? Y’all aren’t havin’ Clara do Corbi’s gown?”
    “Oh, Brooke. Clara’s is fine—for Bodeen. But we’re thinkin’ bigger than just pageants. Modelin’, movies, music, TV. I mean, a big talent agent saw Corbi in Houston, and he said there’s no reason why she couldn’t have her very own Laguna Beach. ” She’s a star in the makin’.”
    “Wow. Well, that sounds excitin’.”
    “Sure is,” Val gloats. “Well, happy shoppin’, y’all!”
    “Happy shoppin’!” Brooke smiles through her bitterness.
    When Val and Corbi disappear down the cereal aisle, Brooke turns to me, her eyes flickering with competitive concern. “Bliss! What is Laguna Beach ?” she demands like a squealy preteen on the hunt for the newest, coolest brand of jeans before anyone else discovers them.
    Is this what my life has come to? Telling my mom about a shallow MTV show chronicling a bunch of spoiled bitches who steal each other’s boyfriends? As much as I’d prefer not to be my mother’s pop-culture crutch, I know if I don’t produce an answer fast, she’ll never shut up about it.
    So, I shrug my shoulders and say with utmost seriousness, “ Laguna Beach is this reality show about a bunch of super-interesting teenagers who are really deep and smart and just doing their best to make the world a better place.”
    “Well. If Corbi could be on one of those shows, you could too. You better step it up, Bliss,” Brooke says. Her sarcasm detector is clearly malfunctioning today.

The Big O
     
     
     
     
    I t feels like a million years later when I finally get to see Oliver again. Okay, so it’s only been forty-eight hours, but I’m already addicted and jonesing for a fix.
    I’m at Pash’s when he and I start a massive IM-a-thon before Pash so selfishly boots me off her PC. (Something about having to do actual homework. Craziness.)
    Before the smart-girl interruption, Oliver and I make plans to meet tomorrow. He’s gonna pick me up from the Oink Joint at noon so we can go to Austin to hang. There’s no delicate way for me to leave school at eleven A.M . without arousing major administrative suspicion (I’d have to have my mom sign me out). So, I decide to just skip the whole day to make the rendezvous worthwhile. All I have to do is bring a sick note the day after (I’ve always wanted to put my forgery skills to good use), and we don’t have to bring parent / office face time into this transaction. We’ve had enough of that lately.
    When I tell Pash I’m ditching, she gives me THAT look—her signature stare that starts with disapproval and dissolves into complete approval. She’s good at that one.
    “Does Oliver have a friend?” she asks, only half meaning it, but that half really means it.
    “Um, maybe,” I grunt. I don’t want to be selfish, but I sort of want to spend my ditch-day with Oliver alone. At least this one time. But I’m not about to tell her that. I’m hoping she’ll back away quietly.
    “Oh, forget it,” she says. “I’m not gonna be your tag-along. Just . . . if you meet someone you think is right for me—”
    “Totally.”
    To kill time before the Oliver chariot squires me away, I hang out at the Oink Joint, flipping through mags and listening to my iPod. Bird-man gives me this “what are you doing out of school?” look. And I greet him with a silent “it’s none of your business—go back to managing” look.
    I do kind of have a soft spot for the B-man, but I totally resent how he promotes any and all rebelliousness, but then turns on you if he’s not included. Sorry, Bird-man, but you can’t come on my date. Deal with it,