Playing Nice Read online

  Praise for Rebekah Crane's

  PLAYING NICE

  "I love this book as an adult but as a teenager I would have been obsessed. Rebekah Crane captures perfectly and poignantly the thousands of feelings, thoughts, dreams and desires of that wonderful creature called a teenager." —Lili Taylor, Actress

  "Hilarious, heartfelt, and edgy... From the first page you'll root for Marty even as she makes the obligatory mistakes that all teens must commit. At its core, Playing Nice shows that fighting for true friendship, even through major challenges, is well worth it." —Rory O'Malley, Tony Award Nominee for The Book of Mormon

  "This book is a must read for anyone who is or has experienced any form of bullying or has ever been a teenager girl... Smashing." —Meagen Howard Fox, Page Turners Blog

  "I think the mark of a truly excellent young adult novel is when you stop and think, wow, I knew that badass chick in high school; I had a crush on that hot, mysterious musician; I was that girl who always tried to be good even though I just wanted to scream sometimes. It's tough to create teenage characters that are believable, but Playing Nice hits it spot on." —Lindsay Feneis, age 23

  "Quirky, real, emotional and funny." —Virginia Ryan, age 29

  "I want to read this book from cover to cover over and over again." —Maggie Tugend, age 14

  "Playing Nice shows how strong teenage girls can be— through the fun times, the sad times, and the times you fall madly, deeply in love." —Allison Williams, age 32

  "I loved Playing Nice so much; I never wanted to put it down!" —Kaylie Taips, age 13

  PLAYING NICE

  Rebekah Crane

  In This Together Media

  New York

  In This Together Media Edition, January 2013

  Copyright @ 2013 by Rebekah Crane

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States by In This Together Media, New York, 2013

  www.inthistogethermedia.com

  BISAC:

  1. Girls & Women-Juvenile Fiction. 2. Humorous stories-Juvenile Fiction. 3. Friendship (Social Issues)-Juvenile Fiction. 4. Emotions & Feelings (Social Issues)-Juvenile Fiction. 5. Bullying (Social Issues)-Juvenile Fiction

  ISBN-10:0985895659, ISBN-13: 978-0-9858956-5-5

  eBook ISBN-10: 0985895640, ISBN-13: 978-0-9858956-4-8

  Cover photograph by Tyler Maroney

  Cover and Interior Design by Steven W. Booth, Genius Book Services

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  Lil's Playlist

  Together Book Clubs: Questions for Discussion

  About Rebekah Crane

  Other Books by In This Together Media

  For Anna and Emmy, who share their greatest gift with me— Laughter.

  CHAPTER 1

  My mom likes to tell everyone that from the day I was born she knew I would be a nice person. According to her story, I emerged from the womb with a smile on my face.

  "You didn't even make a peep. I thought you were dead," she always says. The doctor told her I came out shaking his hand, like I was trying to introduce myself.

  "How nice!" he announced at my arrival. At least, that's what my mom claims.

  Last year, I was voted The Nicest Person in Minster High School. I got an entire page dedicated to me in the yearbook. I waited until I had a copy in my hands to tell my parents. I wanted them to see what all their hard work had accomplished. All the years of practicing manners at the dining room table and forced conversation with old ladies at church about their bridge games. It all paid off with a full-page spread of their daughter, describing all the nice things she does.

  I came home and placed the yearbook on our kitchen counter, open to that page, across which were splattered in glossy color pictures of me starring in the school's production of Guys and Dolls. I played Sarah Brown. It was my dream roll: the do-gooder Salvation Army girl who helps a bad-boy gangster become a better person. And I got to have my first stage kiss.

  There were also pictures of me tutoring after school and picking up garbage on the weekends with the Clean Air Club. All the things that make people like me.

  When my mom went to make dinner, she saw it and screeched, "My daughter, the nicest person in Minster High School! I knew you could do it!"

  I smiled from the couch as I watched TV, knowing I'd made them proud once again, that I had lived up to the expectations, set at my birth, that I would be a nice person.

  When the photographer came to school to take pictures for my page, he sat me down in a seat and said, "Smile and don't move." I pulled my shoulders back, the way my mom always taught me, and posed, chin up, chest out. Posture shows people how you view yourself. The pictures came out great. My teeth look as white as snow next to my mahogany hair and hazel eyes. I look pretty, but not overdone. A lovely lady a man will want to marry one day, my father said.

  Smile and don't move. Whenever someone makes me mad or a bubble rises in my gut that makes me think everything I've been working for, everything I think I am, is a lie, I remind myself: smile and don't move. Doing that got me an entire page in my high school's yearbook and it's going to get me into a great college and find me a wonderful man to marry. And when it becomes my turn to have a baby, that girl is going to come out smiling, just like I did. The nicest baby that doctor has ever seen.

  ***

  I signed up for the Welcoming Committee at the beginning of the year because I needed more things to put on my applications for college.

  "Junior year is the most important. Don't get off-track," my mom told me. She has a way of singing the end of her sentences so they don't sound too harsh. She can make a demand seem melodic and uplifting. Clean your room or you're grounded, sounds better chirped out like a Disney character. Once she heard about The Welcoming Committee, my mom insisted I join and run for president. She even made posters with glitter that said, "Vote for Marty. A welcome face."

  In the end, I was the only candidate. Ms. Everley didn't even make a ballot. She just stood up at one of our meetings and said, "Looks like WelCo has its first Margaret Thatcher." I didn't really like that she compared me to an old English lady, but I reminded myself that it didn't matter because I'd won, even if I was running against me.

  The Welcoming Committee was formed to help freshman adapt to high school. We show the new kids around to their classes, make sure no one ends up duct-taped to the football goal posts, stuff like that. It's been easy and I won't complain about another opportunity to show the University of Michigan that I'm a well-rounded person.

  I've had an application to U of M sitting on the desk in my room since I visited Ann Arbor two years ago. I knew from the moment I set foot on the campus that it was where I was meant to go. A prestigious university four hours away from my parents' house in Minster, Ohio. Close enough to go home for the weekend. Far enough away that they can't come knocking on my door at any moment. I've even picked out what dorm I want to live in freshman year and what sorority I'm going to rush. All I have to do is pack my transc
ripts with so many great things that U of M can't possibly turn me down.

  "Thanks for coming in early this morning," Ms. Everley says as I sit down at one of the desks in the Welcoming Committee office. It's really just the Special Ed classroom, but we've decorated with happy posters and motivational signs to make it our own.

  Ms. Everley is the teacher in charge of WelCo, as we like to call it. She's also my English teacher, one of the hot ones who makes teenage boys confused and sweaty, who flip their hair and put on too much perfume and make-up. She usually wears tight black pants that crease at the butt because they're too small and some lacy top, except today her pants are beige and her red silky top has ruffles around the boobs. I don't think she's married, so there must be something wrong with her. My mom says any woman over the age of thirty who isn't married probably pays too much attention to her job and not enough to what's important. And it does seem like Ms. Everley loves teaching.

  "No problem. I like getting here early. It helps me focus." My mom always says I should act appreciative even if I'm not. The truth is that I stayed up late last night watching TV and I'm tired. I had to put on an extra layer of makeup to cover the bags under my eyes. "Is this about what happened last week?"

  When Ms. Everley emailed me late yesterday, I was worried that our meeting had to do with a freshman girl who got busted having sex in the boys' locker room with a senior. Our principal found them with their pants down mid 'thrust,' as he called it. Just thinking the word 'thrust' makes my palms sweaty. Everyone in school knows. The girl's life is totally ruined. I heard her parents are thinking of moving to Finley. You can't do things like that in Minster. You just can't.

  "Actually, we have a new girl coming to school today, and I thought you'd be the perfect person to show her around, being president of WelCo and all."

  "A new student?" I ask, a bubble of anticipation rising in my stomach. No one ever moves to Minster. It's in the middle of nowhere. The last person who did was Phillip Knasel, and he came from Wapakoneta, a town twenty miles away. His parents died in a car accident and the courts said he had to go live with his grandma. Sometimes I think he still has a hard time fitting in. Or maybe he's just sad because he doesn't have any parents. I don't know what I'd do if mine died.

  "We are the Welcoming Committee, after all." Ms. Everley shrugs and her boob-ruffles bounce.

  "Of course, I'd be happy to help." I smile widely at the thought of meeting someone new, of being their first impression of Minster High. They'll always remember the day they met me. I'll be a shining star in their high school career. The nice girl with bright eyes and a strong handshake, who offered them guidance and friendship when they needed it most. I smooth down the front of my dress. I was born for stuff like this.

  "Great. She's a junior, like you, and she's in your English class."

  I nod. I'm in Honors for English, along with every other subject. If the new girl's in my class, she must be smart. I like smart people. They have goals and expectation, just like me.

  Ms. Everley keeps talking for a few minutes, but I tune her out. My eyes hurt right where the bulb meets the socket. I shouldn't have stayed up last night. My dad told me to go to bed, but I was engrossed in an episode on the Discovery Channel about animals who mate for life. Their dedication to each other fascinated me, the way a father penguin will stand in the bitter cold for months holding an egg on its feet, all because he loves the mother and wants the baby to survive. I've never been in love, but if a penguin can find a soul mate, I'm sure I can, too.

  I'm lost in thoughts about penguins and love and how I need to remember to talk slowly and smile when the classroom door opens and a girl walks in. Her heavy boots on the linoleum shock me out of my trance. Each step sounds like her feet are tied together with chains.

  I look up and see a girl so covered in black I think she might be the goddess of night.

  "You must be Lily Hatfield," Ms. Everley says, rising to greet the new girl.

  "Don't call me Lily. It's Lil." The new girl speaks as if she's correcting a peer, not a teacher. She takes off her gigantic red sunglasses and places them on top of her black hair.

  "Okay, Lil," Ms. Everley says, accenting the new girl's name. The pleasantness that coated her voice seconds ago is gone. Now she sounds strained, like she's swallowing the words she really wants to say. She points to me at my desk. "This is Martina Hart, the girl who'll be showing you around today."

  I blink and stand up. You're being rude, my mother's voice whispers in my ears.

  "Hi Lil. I'm Marty," I say, extending my hand for her to shake.

  "Marty? And I thought Lily was bad." She doesn't take my hand, but shakes off her black leather jacket and slings it over the back of a chair. I stare at her right hand, waiting for her to reach out to me. Every finger is covered in a silver ring; the biggest is a huge skull on her middle finger. I force myself to look at her face and clasp my hands behind my back. I don't want her to feel bad if she doesn't want to shake.

  "It's a family name," I smile.

  My dad named me after my grandmother. Our family is seven generations deep in Minster. My great-great-grandfather has a plaque dedicated to him in the town hall for saving six barns during the great fire of 1903. We live in the same farmhouse my dad was raised in, though my mom insisted on updating everything. We're not farmers. Your father is a dentist, for Pete's sake, she said when she tore up the kitchen and made the entire bottom floor open-plan.

  "Marty can help you find your classes and make sure you're acclimating. I have no doubt she'll do a stellar job," Ms. Everley says as she makes her way to the door, walking backwards and almost tripping. She's probably escaping from any more awkward moments. That, or she's fleeing the uncomfortable tingle in the air from so much black in a room this early in the morning. "Just let me know if you need anything."

  And then we're alone. I wait for Lil to say something or show me her schedule, but she only picks at the dirt under her black-painted nails.

  "Where did you move from?" I ask, remembering the importance of generating conversation through questions. My dad once said that people who only talk about themselves are dicks. It's the only time I've ever heard him use the word, so I knew it was an important life lesson.

  "Florida," Lil says. She twists her aquamarine nose ring, spinning it around before picking something out of the inside of her nostril and flicking it on the ground.

  "Where in Florida?" I gulp. This is not going as planned. I thought Ms. Everley said she was in my English class. People who know how to read and write usually know how to form sentences and talk. I wait a few more seconds, and then decide maybe I need to show Lil we have something in common. "I went to Florida last year with my parents on spring break. We stayed in a condo right on the beach in Siesta Key. It was amazing. I didn't want to leave."

  "Do you smoke?" Lil asks, finally looking at me. The color of her eyes matches the nose ring, and I can't help but think that without so much black eyeliner, Lil might be pretty.

  "I tried it once, but it's not for me."

  "Are you a virgin?"

  "I..." The question throws me. Did she just say virgin? I wring my hands together, wondering what to say. I can't admit I've never had sex, but I don't want to lie and say I have, either. It's an un-winnable question. If I say yes, I'm a prude. If I say no, I'm a slut. And what if Lil tells everyone in school my answer? I think about that poor freshman girl who got caught 'thrusting' a senior and choke. I can't believe she asked me that. She's ruining the way this is supposed to go. I ask the questions and she answers; her somewhat lengthy response leads us to further conversation.

  I play with the front of my dress, running my hands down the smooth cotton. I picked it out specifically for today's warm weather. It's Mod-style and shows off my legs in a non-sexy, non-nun like way. Just how I like it.

  "I'm kidding. Of course you are. No boy could get past those tight thighs," Lil says and points to my crotch. I pull my legs even closer together. She digs into
her black, silver-studded purse, but I can't stop looking at her face and gaping at how casual her eyes are as she asks me such personal questions.

  "Do you need me to show you to your first class?" It's the only thing I can think of. I've never felt more awkward. Not even the time Robby Sumter accidentally grabbed my boob diving for a basketball in gym class and got an erection.

  I remind myself to smile. A smile makes everyone happy.

  "What I need is a cigarette, so if you don't mind, Pollyanna, I'm going to find a tree outside where no one can see me and have an early morning nicotine breakfast. I'd ask you to come, but I'm afraid your virgin stink will rub off on me and, since there's nothing else to do in this town, I plan on getting laid while I'm here. See you in English."

  My mouth falls open. In one sentence, she's admitted to having sex and wanting to have more. Doesn't she know you can't do that here? Was she raised in some sort of hippy commune in Florida where people walk around naked and talk about sex like it's the weather?

  "Wait," I say, not realizing my mouth is moving. My skin tingles with little poking needles and a bubble rises in my gut, screaming to be released. She should need me. Instead, she's blowing me off like I'm not good enough because I'm a virgin and I care about my lungs. This is the only opportunity I have to make my impression. And it's going wrong.

  Lil looks at me, eyebrows raised. Her eyes are so clear, like a summer sky in the middle of the day. The color is so different from the rest of her black-covered self. It's mesmerizing.