Author's Note: I have to say that I am definitely enjoying reading my reviewers' theories. It's intriguing to see how far I am twisting your brains all in circles, and to contemplate the fact that things are just going to get more twisted around before things start to unravel. Your opinions on John Alto are particularly fascinating!
But anyway, thanks to the following people who reviewed: awesometastic9, CaseyBug14, Sonny days, highfivingjesus, Tokiooo, Konnichiwa Minna, Kerropiyvonne, lolz3 (anon), luckme123, leoshunny1985, pleasedontforget, eromdaer451QI, Maiqu, and kaylinwriter14!
This chapter won't give away too many answers, but John Alto plays a huge part...
Chapter Four
The rest of the weekend passed by in a blur.
I didn't go to John Alto's party, although Lilian called me and talked to me for ages, trying to convince me to go. I refused because I was definitely not in the party mood. Even if I hadn't been forbidden to go by my mother, I still wouldn't have gone. My mind whirled with too many thoughts and questions that I couldn't possibly smother down for a night of wickedness and debauchery. Not to mention, I didn't want to see the arrogant ass that was John Alto.
On Sunday, one of my other friends, Haylie, came over. If I was to be honest, sometimes I enjoyed her company more than Lilian's, if only because she was calm and quiet. She never wanted to make a scene. She would rather stay at home and write instead of go to a huge party, so whenever I needed someone to just relax and watch a movie with, she was my girl. We spent the whole day watching reruns of Greek, my favorite TV show from back when my mother was a teen.
Then Monday rolled around. I entered Pendell Prep that morning to the sound of whispers breaking out all around me.
"Did you hear?"
"She didn't go to the party Saturday."
"Apparently she thinks she's better than everyone else—"
"—self-invitation from John Alto himself, who does she think she is, turning him down—"
"—complete social outcast, don't fraternize with her."
"Oh my God, I can't believe she'd actually show her face around here again."
That last comment came from March Banks, who didn't even bother keeping her voice down. She stared at me from her locker, surrounded by her typical lackeys without brains. Her long red hair was curled just so that it fell down her back in soft waves and was pinned away from her face by two bright green clips. She stood straight, black pumps raising her up to a fake five feet, seven inches.
She noticed my gaze.
"Jackie Lee Munroe," March said, taking a few steps toward me. Just like that, everything in the room froze, as everyone turned to face the drama soon to be unfolding. An unnatural hush fell across the hallway. "Well, well, well. I have to say, I didn't expect to see you show your face around here. Missing John Alto's party for a night in PJs? I never thought anyone could sink that low."
"I never thought I'd see the day when the supposed Queen Bee at Pendell's wore last-season Prada, but apparently that day is today," I said calmly.
March shot a look at the people in the crowd as they gasped in unison. Almost immediately, everyone took a step back or inclined their heads downward.
"Last-season Prada?" March let out a false laugh. "My dear, dear Jackie. You have so much to learn. This is not last-season Prada. Au contraire, ma copine. This is next season's Prada. My mother has connections, so she managed to get me this stunning outfit."
"Well, maybe your mother could put those connections to better use," I said, pausing for dramatic effect. After a while, this whole song and dance thing got old. I mean, honestly. Everyone knew that the Queen Bee would eventually be taken down by the young upstart who didn't know what the hell she was doing. She might as well back off now. I paused just the right amount of time for her to shift anxiously on the balls of her feet. "Maybe she could check you into a psych ward?"
More gasps.
March opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, a loud masculine voice broke out from behind me. I froze in place.
No. Way.
"Is that your go-to comeback now?" John Alto said, coming to stand beside me. "I seem to recall you said that to me before you refused to come to my party."
"I did," I said, drawing myself up to my full height. "Does that bother you?"
"Only because it meant that I didn't have a second body to warm me up when I got cold Saturday night," John drawled.
"You're despicable," I said.
"Proud of it, babe."
March let out a trilling laugh. What a perfect cliché.
"Do you even care about this whore, John?" March simpered. "She's not worth your time, you know." She trailed her eyes up and down my body, from the tips of my silver flats to the very top of my high ponytail. "Hell, she was barely worth the effort to torture. She's so far down the totem pole I could use her to shine my shoes."
"That made no sense," I said.
"When you're queen, things don't have to make sense," March said. When she strode by me, she breathed, "You're going to pay for that Prada comment," her alcohol-laden breath infiltrating my nose. She swept by me, her posse shooting me angry glares as they went by.
God, I was so over them. I didn't care what the hell they thought about me. I had better things to do than go to a stupid party.
I shrugged my shoulders at the group of people still staring at me, John included. "Show's over, folks," I said, ushering them away with my hands. "You can go back to your boring as hell lives now."
Hitching my designer book bag over my one shoulder, I made my way to my locker. I had only made it a few steps before I felt something warm and heavy settle itself over my shoulders, and when I turned, a pair of deep brown eyes met mine.
"John, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, trying to shrug his arm off my shoulders.
"What do you think I'm doing?" John asked. "I'm escorting you to your locker."
"Why?" I asked, reaching my locker. John dropped his arm from my shoulders—finally—and leaned casually against the one next to me, ignoring the fact that the owner, a shy freshman girl, was hovering anxiously in front of him, too terrified to ask him to move. "I would have thought that you'd be ignoring me religiously since I didn't end up going to your party."
"Well, I've never subscribed to much religion," John said.
"That explains the sluttiness," I muttered under my breath as I dropped my bag from my shoulders and settled it on the side of my locker unoccupied by more than a hundred pounds of pure arrogance. I began to enter my combination into the locker.
John let out a wounded gasp. "I'm hurt, Jackie," he said, putting a hand over his heart.
"Please," I said, taking out my Biology and Geometry books. "You can't be hurt, because you don't have feelings. You're just a bottomless pit of horniness."
"That's me," John said brightly.
"And that's not something to feel proud of." I tried to fit my books into my bag, but no matter how hard I pushed, my Biology book wouldn't quite fit. "Damn it."
"Here."
And John grabbed the book out of my hands.
"What the hell?" I asked incredulously, straightening up. "Give it back, John."
"No, I won't," John said smugly, easily fitting the book into his own book bag. "I'm going to be a gentleman and escort you to class."
"I don't need an escort."
"Too bad."
John started walking in the direction of the Biology classroom, although I wasn't sure how he knew that was my very first class of the day. I was forced to do nothing other than hurry after him, winding my way through the crowds of students milling around the halls. If I didn't look like enough of a freak already, having not gone to John's party, I probably looked like an idiot running after him like some lost puppy who just wanted to get forgiveness for some wrongdoing.
"Slow down!" I whined as we neared the Biology classroom. "I can't keep up!"
John slowed down slightly so that I could catch up—but just then, we reached the Biology classroom. He winked at me and, before I could catch my breath, shoved the book in my hands, walking off. Before he even got halfway down the hall, March Banks latched himself onto his arm, probably simpering to him about how he shouldn't talk to me.
I plopped down in my seat at the very back of the classroom and closed my eyes. If the five minutes before class even started was any indication of how the day would end up going, I just wanted to go home, curl up under my plush comforter, and never come out.
Thankfully, things weren't terrible for the rest of the day.
During English, Lilian dropped into the seat next to me, running a hand through her thick hair. She didn't say a word, but halfway through the class, my phone vibrated in my pocket with a text message: I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but I want to know all the deets this afternoon. I actually managed to smile; maybe she would be able to be seen with me after all.
March Banks didn't deliberately bait me except during lunch, when she had one of her lackeys bump into me, sending me sprawling into John Alto by accident.
"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me," he teased.
"Keep dreaming, Alto," I retorted, brushing past him with a smirk.
"Oh, you can be sure of it!" he called after me.
"Perv!"
"Prude!"
"STD-ridden prig!"
And I slipped through the doors leading out of the cafeteria, Haylie right behind me. She immediately wrapped her arms around me, squealing about how excited she was that I was actually standing up for myself and not letting the pressure get to me. Not that she was one to talk—she was notoriously known for succumbing to peer pressure—but the sentiment was the same.
I couldn't help smiling.
Not such a bad day, all in all, although I couldn't wait to get home. Nothing sounded better to me than curling up in the den with some of my best friends to watch a movie and talk about the party I had missed. Not to mention, complain about John Alto to anyone who would listen.
"So spill."
I looked over my cup at Lilian. "Spill what?"
"The real reason why you didn't want to go to that party," she said. "I mean, I know John is a manwhore—who doesn't know that?—but just because you go to his party doesn't make you one too. And you've disobeyed your mother before."
"It's... complicated."
I frowned, putting my cup down. I twisted my hands together in my lap. Part of me wanted to tell them—it was hard, keeping this secret to myself, not being able to talk to anyone about it—but then, it was private. Finding out who my father was... it was a secret that I felt I only had the right to know, and a secret that no one else should find out about until I was completely ready.
And was I ready to tell someone now?
"Come on," Macy, one of my other friends, wheedled. "It can't be that bad."
"It's not... bad, exactly," I hedged.
"Then what is it?" Even Haylie was curious now. "We're your friends. You can tell us."
Haylie scooted closer to me, putting a comforting arm around my shoulders. Lilian and Macy were sprawled out at my feet, staring up at me with hopeful expressions on their faces. They seemed so earnest that I couldn't see turning them down—but I couldn't tell them.
I just couldn't.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just can't tell you."
"Why not?" Lilian whined.
"Because it's personal," I said. "Look, it wasn't easy for me to discover this—" Macy opened her mouth—"and no, I'm not going to tell you what I discovered. It's just... I just barely discovered something about my past, and I need to come to terms with it before I'll be able to tell anyone else. I don't even have the whole story yet, and I need that before anything else."
"But—"
Haylie interrupted Lilian. "Let her be, Lils," Haylie scolded. "If she doesn't want to tell us, she doesn't have to."
"Oh, fine," Lilian huffed.
"But you will tell us eventually, won't you?"
I paused for a minute, staring at the faces of my friends whom I had known for years, ever since we were in diapers and could barely speak. I knew I could trust them, knew they would guard my secret with their lives, but I just knew that Lilian would squeak and demand to know what I knew, Maci would stare at me utterly shocked, and Haylie would immediately hug me as tightly as possible.
None of them would have anything useful to say, at least not at the moment. And who knew if they ever could? What if I told them and it turned out to be a false lead or my father was nowhere to be found? What then? I could never look at them the same.
I sighed.
"I don't know," I mumbled. "I want to tell you guys, but I just don't know. Maybe I'll tell you eventually and maybe I won't. It all depends, okay?"
"Okay," Macy said, immediately understanding. "I hope that you can eventually tell us."
Lilian, although she looked disappointed, nodded in agreement. Haylie mumbled out a quick agreement, and we all agreed unanimously to change the subject and put in a movie. They all knew that they would have to leave soon, as homework did not do itself, but I knew their logic: they were going to be there for me, even though I couldn't tell them what they were there for.
I just smiled at all of them and put my head on Haylie's shoulder as the movie began.
That night, I stared up at the ceiling, my entire body curled up in a ball under my thick comforters. My eyes were open, but my mother's words were still imprinted in my brain. They swam in front of my eyes, my mother's messy scrawl etching itself in the dark air in front of me. I hadn't read very far, but the relationship she had with her fellow castmates—and Chad—would not leave my mind.
We won the musical chairs contest... beat Chad at his own game... could have sworn he genuinely cared, but he probably didn't... seemed impressed... maybe disappointed that I didn't want to immediately run to his tweenie bopper show...
She seemed to genuinely dislike him. I didn't blame her, of course, but the nagging thought in the back of my brain—how did they get to the point where they could have me?—wouldn't disappear. Not to mention, why my mother didn't want to mention him.
That night at dinner, my mother and I had, once again, been silent. It was as if my question was haunting us; ever since I had asked about Chad, my mother had seemed distant. She smiled and tried to make conversation, but her eyes were far away. While I helped her wash the dishes, she had suddenly stopped, arms elbow deep into a sink of sudsy water.
"Mom?" I had asked. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," my mother had said brightly, renewing her work on the dishes with fervor. "How was your day at school? Did you get into too much trouble for not going to John Alto's party?"
"Not too much," I murmured, rubbing a particularly stubborn piece of dirt still stuck to the plate I was drying. "Just the usual. And apparently John has developed an interest in me. He wouldn't leave me alone all morning."
It might've been an exaggeration, but I didn't care. It had felt like every time I turned around, John was there, leaning casually against the wall just to give me a wink or stare lecherously after me as I walked to my next class, trying to ignore the way its gaze caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up on end.
My mother had gaped at me during this conversation, recommending that I "keep away from that boy" and "don't let him get to you, Jackie."
No worries there.
I sighed and shifted on my bed. It was so weird to imagine my mother as a teenager, only a little older than I was now, being so successful. It was even weirder imagining her relationship with Tawni, Nico, Grady and Zora, since they were so different.
Like Aunt Tawni couldn't be more different now.
Sure, she was still obsessed with her looks and fashion, but she wasn't mean. She had mellowed out, becoming a great friend to my mother. They went almost everywhere together, from vacations to the Cayman Islands to shopping sprees at Barney's and Chanel to get their new looks put together. She was also a great aunt to me, even letting me borrow her special Cocoa Mocha Cocoa discontinued lipstick, even though she had to pay a hundred dollars a tube.
It was hard to imagine Tawni as a "spoiled diva" who "wanted to get her own way constantly," to put it in my teenage mother's words.
Nico and Grady were pretty similar to what they were back then, still getting into mischief, but strangely enough, Grady was with Portlyn (yes, that Portlyn, who also didn't spill anything about my father), and Nico and Tawni had gotten married about five years ago now. Still no children between the two of them, but Tawni wanted to make the most out of her small but distinctive acting career before it was all over.
And Zora.
Dear Zora.
I chuckled under my breath. She was probably the weirdest of them all: she had become an elementary school teacher who probably—no, scratch that: definitely—terrified all of her students into doing the best they could just on virtue of their teacher being Zora Lancaster, math genius and science professor. Not to mention, she had the occasional actress role over the summer, which awed her students.
So much had changed. It was hard to believe.
I closed my eyes. The last paragraphs my mother had written rang through my mind. I had read up to the moment when Chad had offered Sonny a place at Mackenzie Falls, just about a week after the fateful musical chairs contest. I had read the passage so often now that the words had etched themselves into my brain.
For a moment, she had written, I had thought that Chad was actually nice. I mean, he seemed to be, taking me in and letting me stay even when I interrupted the daily meditations of the Mackenzie Falls cast, but I found it was just a joke. A big huge joke on my expense so that I would leave So Random and bring all of my fans over to their show.
It didn't work, but it still... well, "hurt" isn't the right word, exactly, but I had felt disappointed. I wanted Chad to be nice. I wanted him to appear like he had a heart, like he wanted to do something just because he wanted to be nice, not because he wanted to remain the biggest tween show in the United States.
But he doesn't. Want to be nice, I mean.
And that hurts, because I like to think of the best of people. I just don't think I can think the best of Chad Dylan Cooper.
Anyway. See you later. Maybe tomorrow Chad will reveal his heart. I've seen glimpses, but I'd rather like to see more than a glimpse, if you know what I mean, Diary.
Sonny.
With those words still swirling in my brain, I slipped off to sleep.
Author's Note: Well, there you go. You got to see a glimpse of March Banks and John Alto. That might've answered some of your questions, but then again, maybe not. However, next chapter might, because guess what?
Next chapter is from CHAD'S PERSPECTIVE. I know you're probably looking forward to it, so please review? I'm not one of those writers who hold chapters hostage, but reviews are definitely a factor that motivates me into updating faster!
