My Soap Opera Life

I fell for Joel, funnily enough, on the very day I first watched an episode of Dawson’s Creek. Reruns were playing on ABC; it wasn’t the kind of thing I would normally watch – being more of an Inuyasha kind of girl – but I’d been up all night studying for a trig test and my grandmother, Elizabeth, had insomnia and often watched sappy teen dramas on TV at five in the morning. Watching Joey in a paroxysm of jealousy as Dawson danced around with Jen, I resolved that I would never, ever want Joel as more than a friend and then lose him to some blond nymphomaniac with a penchant for indecision.

Cut to lunch at school that day.

“I’m screwed,” Joel announced, dropping down at my feet at our regular lunch spot on the school field.

“You finally let one of your groupies do you?” I yawned, scrunching my nose at the Economics worksheet I was attempting to finish.

“Not like that, you dork,” Joel said sleepily. “I mean – Economics. I didn’t do it.”

I studied him. Stretched out at my feet, his long lanky body looked like a mass of darkness against the green field in the black jeans and dark blue T-shirt he was wearing. “What a surprise,” I said drily.

“Lexus,” Joel said, sitting up. “Lexus, babe, you’ve got to let me copy your work. Or I’ll flunk out of high school, and –”

“And there’s nothing you’d like better,” I finished for him, “because then you’d get to tour the country with our band.”

Joel sighed. His sigh was as hoarse and velvety as his voice, which I’d always thought was the voice of a born musician. “I hate it when you get all logical and see through me. It’s so unnatural.”

“I love it when you underestimate me,” I said fondly.

We’d been sitting together during Lunch since the start of high school. The lunch system at Charlottebrooke High School – nicknamed Hellhole High by, well, me – was as intricately organized as the KGB; the stars of the school (read: brainless jocks and slutty cheerleaders) went out to the nearest sushi place. The A-minus-list sat together at a table in the middle of the caff, surrounded by wannabes; the skaters and punks went to the Duck Pond for burgers and skating; the Goths, emos, nerds and geeks, sat near the exits; and a few individuals, like Joel and I, snuck out to the field to eat far away from the relentless cliquing inside.

We were clique-less. We were independent. We were happy.

“Please let me copy, Lexus?” Joel begged, screwing his face into an adorable pout that was completely at odds with his rockstar image.

I couldn’t help smiling. “You really need to stop being so lazy.”

“I’ll stop,” Joel said, grinning at me. “Starting tomorrow.”

I grinned back. “Or today.”

“We’re fast! We’re sure! We’re always right on track!

You may have got the ball for now, but

We know we’ll get it back!

Go-o-o-o, SNIPERS!”

The cheer made me wince as it assaulted my ears. I looked around. It was a perfect Californian spring afternoon – cloudless blue sky, shining sun, light breeze, the works. To anyone else, maybe the sight of the ten gorgeous girls flipping and spinning on the field with impossible flexibility would have added to the beauty of the scene. But to me, well...

Let’s just say I would have preferred a bunch of vampires with blood dripping down their chins.

Because that, under the tanned skin and the sculpted bodies and the glossy hair, was exactly what CBHS’s cheerleading squad was.

“Lisa!” The slender blond girl standing slightly apart from the rest of the squad in short shorts and a barely-there T-shirt barked. “Call that an Arabesque? April, babe, squeeze in those boobs – the Pam Anderson look is tacky as hell. Tamara Johnson! Arms wider or you’re out!”

I shivered slightly. I never liked seeing Alyssa in her element. Once upon a time we’d been identical twins – blond hair, blue eyes, matching smiles. Now...

“Cheerleaders, eh?” Joel said, almost affectionately. He moved his chin to rest it on my knee. “How can they be so flexible? It’s not even – human.”

“They’re not human,” I pointed out. “I was thinking more like the Paris-Hilton-worshipping-zombie cult.”

“They’re not that bad,” Joel said. Was it my imagination or did he look kind of uncomfortable?

“Not that bad?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re right. They’re worse.”

Now Alyssa had long shimmery sweet-smelling golden hair and mine was dyed black, her favourite article of clothing was a Chanel sweater set and mine was my frayed old black leather jacket, she liked preps and malls and the colour pink, I was perma-attached to my guitar and to Joel, she wanted to be a model and I wanted to be a lawyer... she was school royalty and I, apparently, had social leprosy

You know that saying about blood being thicker than water? Yeah, not in my family.

“You okay, Lex?” Joel dug his chin into my knee.

“I’m fine,” I said, a little huskily. “Why is she so popular, Joel? She’s a bitch.”

“Well, the popular crowd. . .” Joel sat up and slung an arm around my shoulders. I snuggled into him, feeling comforted by his familiar smell of old leather and coffee. Joel had, after all, been my best friend longer than my parents had been married. “See, they’re into this thing called looks. And even you’ve got to admit that your sister is pretty perfect-looking.”

Feeling as though he’s doused me with cold water, I pulled away and stared at him incredulously. Was he kidding? Alyssa wasn’t perfect! Hadn’t I ranted to him enough about everything that went on underneath her sweet smile and angelic blue-eyed gaze? The cheating from Dylan Stanley on every chem test she took, the kicking Claude Ripperton off the cheer squad because Claude’s splits were better than hers? The fooling around with swim team captain Scott Jenkins behind basketball and football star Dayne Waters’ back? Alyssa Gerard was about as far from perfect as someone could get!

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Joel frowned, looking confused.

“Alyssa isn’t perfect!” I almost bellowed.

Joel blinked. “When did I say she was?”

“Right now!” I pointed an accusing finger at him.

“I said she was perfect-looking,” Joel enunciated clearly. “As in hot. Gorgeous. Sexy. Beautiful. Which, Lex, she is.” He looked admiringly in the direction of the cheerleaders. “Or did your 20-20 vision suddenly go kaput?”

I endeavored to feel relieved, but. . .

Strangely enough, all I could feel was jealous. After all, Alyssa and I were identical.

Okay, now I was thinking crazy thoughts. Who cared if Joel thought Alyssa was far prettier than me, as he clearly did? He wasn’t Rob Marino, the soulful green-haired poet I’d secretly crushed on for weeks and who’d finally asked me to the Spring Fling just three days ago. He was just – Joel. My best friend. Just. A. Friend.

“Can you at least let go of your worksheet long enough to let me steal it?” Joel questioned.

I shook my head, feeling thrown completely off-balance. “At least you don’t think she is perfect just because she’s so beautiful. I mean, most guys who see her in a towel as often as you do. . .”

I broke off, disconcerted. Was that red on Joel’s pale face – was Joel blushing?

Oh, God. Throughout sophomore year – last year, when Alyssa suddenly became the campus It-Girl after she publicly dethroned Honey Oakley by stealing Honey’s boyfriend Dayne – I’d kept worrying that Joel would wake up to Alyssa’s charms. After all, she did take care of herself pretty well. But as time progressed and, well into our junior year, Joel kept dating the same cute older girls seduced by his singing, I started to relax. I was starting to feel pretty sure that I wouldn’t lose my best friend to my sister, and now. . .

No. I was being stupid. Joel was nice – he never took advantage of his innumerable groupies the way any jock would have. Joel had brains – though he never invested them in anything academic. Joel was kind and humorous and sensible and couldn’t possibly like my boobs-for-brains sister.

It was impossible.

“You know what?” I said, to get rid of my frenzied thoughts. “I’ll do it. Your worksheet.”

“I love you, Lex,” Joel said fervently, his face lighting up.

“On one condition.” I grinned. “You give me that chocolate muffin I know you’ve hidden in your bag.”

Joel grinned back. “For you, a thousand times over,” he said lightly, quoting The Kite Runner, a book we were reading in AP English.

Normally this would have been my cue for a flip comment about how I didn’t want a thousand muffins. Today, however, I couldn’t think of one. For some reason, my mouth felt dry.

I moved closer to Joel, putting my head on his shoulder. I needed to feel that he was there, next to me, my best friend in the world, that he hadn’t already abandoned me for my prettier, better sister. I needed to know that the world wasn’t moving away from me.

Maybe if we’d just sat there together, my head on his shoulder, then nothing would have happened and the world wouldn’t have moved after all. But the same need for reassurance that had made me move close to him prompted me to look at his face, too, to drink in his familiar expression... and when I looked at his face, I looked into his eyes.

His eyes were my undoing.

I’d always known that Joel was handsome, of course. How could I not, when girls swooned when he so much as looked at them? I knew, in theory, that he had nice eyes and a nice body and a nice face. But now, all of a sudden, I was struck by a strange sensation of feeling that he was handsome. How had I never noticed just how handsome he was?

Bright, expressive, lush green eyes. That pale, creamy skin. That midnight-black hair falling into that high-cheekboned, mobile face. A sensitive, full, half-smiling mouth. And that long, slender body – I’d never been one for steroid-muscled builds. . .

What the hell was I thinking?

“Lexus,” said that suddenly-desirable mouth, quirking upwards into the most adorable smile I’d ever come across. “You look just like that kid’s mom in the Omen when you give me that horrified look. You’re almost as hot, too.”

I took a deep, ragged breath. It didn’t help. Joel’s familiar smell suddenly smelled wild and exciting.

“You seeing things?” Concerned curiosity in those transparent green eyes.

Yes, I was. Crazy as it sounds, I was seeing Joel. Properly. For the first time ever.

I pulled my head away from his shoulder, desperate to break the spell. I felt disoriented; my stomach was spinning, my heart thumping like an executioner’s axe. Goddamit, what was happening to me?

“I’m fine,” I said – dazedly.

“Hello!” chirped a sweet, familiar voice.

I shoved myself backwards fast enough to break my butt. Alyssa. Did she know? Had that twin telepathy thing that had stopped working for us when Alyssa had traded in caring about me for pompoms suddenly kicked in again, tipping her off that all I wanted to do at that moment was – was –

Kiss Joel. Kiss my best friend. Kiss the guy I’d taken baths with when we were younger, the guy who’d beaten up Scott Jenkins when he’d stolen my cookie in kindergarten, the guy about whom I had nothing left to know. Joel Armstrong.

Fuck.

“Just the guy I was looking for,” Alyssa chirruped, sinking oh-so-gracefully into the grass next to my sudden lust object and not even sparing me a glance. “Hi, Josh. How are you?”

“Uh, it’s Joel,” said Joel. Looking dazed, too. But not, I hated to admit, for the same reason I was. Alyssa just had that effect on guys.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Alyssa leaned forward confidentially, affording him a bird’s-eye view of her ample cleavage. “I don’t know how I could’ve mixed it up – I mean, I’ve seen you so many times around our house, taking showers and all –”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Alyssa looked at me, the warmth in her blue eyes giving way to disdain so fast that she looked like a different person altogether. “Talking. Shouldn’t it be obvious to a geek like you?”

“Well, you’ve never exactly talked to me in public before,” I said hotly.

“I’m not talking to you – I’m talking to your friend.” Alyssa shot Joel a sultry smile. He looked uncomfortable.

“Oh, right, hot guy and not your sister, that makes all the difference,” I said.

“Hot guy?” Joel raised his eyebrows and grinned.

“Theoretically,” I snapped. Except, of course, that part wasn’t remotely true anymore.

“Anyway.” Alyssa made an elaborate show of leaning even closer to Joel, immediately drawing his eyes back to her. I wanted to throttle her. “Listen, Joel, I was thinking. The Spring Fling is this weekend, and I don’t have a date.”

I gasped loudly. “Call God – the world is coming to an end.”

To my astonishment, tears filled Alyssa’s eyes. It didn’t make any sense until Joel looked at me, a hint of surprise in his expression, and hissed reproachfully, “Be nice, Lex.”

I didn’t like that one bit.

“Why should I?” I hissed back. “I can’t believe you don’t have a date,” I added to Alyssa, “after walking in on Scott Jenkins massaging your nipples with his tiny little alter ego in the kitchen last week.”

Silence. A flash of fury appeared and disappeared on Alyssa’s face, which would have been immensely satisfying if it wasn’t for a similarly-timed flash of disappointment on Joel’s.

“Scott Jenkins,” declared Alyssa, her voice wobbling, “is a jerk.”

“What about Chad Bryant?” I said interestedly “His hand seemed pretty fond of your thigh under the table yesterday at lunch.”

Alyssa ignored me. “Joel,” she said, serene and sad, a martyr in a world full of skeptics, “all the guys I know – they just like my body.” She tugged at her shorts, accidentally-on-purpose exposing enough leg to make the founder of Girls Gone Wild videos happy. Beads of sweat popped out on Joel’s forehead. “I want a guy who goes beyond that, you know? Someone sweet and sensitive – and caring – and interesting.”

I wanted to get up and shout, “And the Oscar goes to – Alyssa Gerard!”

“Joel,” said Alyssa urgently. “I need a guy like that for Spring Fling.”

And I realized exactly what she was getting at.

“Let’s go eat, Joel,” I said loudly, bouncing to my feet.

Joel didn’t move. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of Alyssa’s legs. “I’m afraid I don’t own a dating agency,” he said politely.

Alyssa laughed sugar-sweetly. “I was talking about you, silly. Will you go to the dance with me?”

Joel had to see the potential here: to damage a bitch’s ego, to be the first guy who’d ever turned down Alyssa Gerard, to be truly original and discerning. Besides, didn’t he hate school dances?

“No,” I said.

“Sure,” Joel said.

Saki was wrong when he wrote that hunger and love make the world go round:

It’s irony that does that.

---

When I got home, Elizabeth was sitting on her rocking chair in front of the TV, yakking on the phone. I thought she was talking to one of her bridge club friends until she saw me, her face lit up, and she said brightly, “Richard, she’s home!”

I forgot about the fact that Joel and Alyssa were going to the Spring Fling together. I forgot that I wanted to go to the Spring Fling with Joel. I forgot everything bad because, after so long, my Dad had called.

My parents split up when I was five. Their excuse was that they were way too different – Dad was a dark-haired workaholic who liked classical music and French restaurants, Mom was a struggling actress who wanted nothing more than to breed and dance. Dad had moved back to Manhattan, his hometown, before the divorce was even finalized, and Mom had moved in with her father, who had then been the mayor of River Valley (my hometown, population 14, 053). There was nothing I’d wanted more than to leave with Dad.

I adored my father; I idolized him. Which was probably why Mom ignored me most of the time and lavished all her single-parent affection on Alyssa. Not that I cared. Dad was the one whose approval I craved.

“Dad!” I dropped my backpack on the Persian-carpet-covered floor and dove at the phone. “Dad, hi, it’s so good to hear your voice!”

“You haven’t even heard it yet, Lexibaby,” Dad said amusedly.

“You haven’t called in so long,” I half-whispered.

“I know, baby. I’ve got a really demanding new case,” Dad apologized

“I don’t mind,” I assured him. I loved how in-demand he was – unlike Mom, who was a big failure as an actor.

“How’s school going?”

“Boring as ever, but straight As, don’t worry.” Dad knew I thought school was a waste of time, but he also knew I worked hard at it because I wanted to go to Harvard. Correction: had to go to Harvard. Just like he had. “How’s Lana?” I asked dutifully. Dad had been dating some executive from his law firm for the past four months – the funny thing was that, in her photographs at least, she looked a lot like Mom.

“She’s good. Good. Listen, baby. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead,” I said eagerly, my heart speeding up.

“Not now,” said Dad. “Listen. How would you like to come up to Manhattan this Friday and talk to me then?”

I almost dropped the phone. Oh, my God. He wanted me to move in with him! That had to be it, right? Why else would he need me to go all the way over to New York, right? He wanted me to live with him! Finally!

I hadn’t been to Manhattan for two years. Manhattan. The city of life. Where people didn't stop you in the street to ask you why you were wearing so much black. Where lights didn’t go off at seven in the evening. Where there were skyscrapers and dirt and noise and cafes on huge wide streets and cabs at midnight, and well, so many different kinds of people. Where everybody wasn’t blond and gorgeous and sunny. Where the sun didn’t burn you up on an April morning

And yes, he lived on Upper East Side, where people tended to be a bit trendy, but it was a glamorous hip city kind of trendy, not the squeaky clean All-American preppy suburban trendy I'd come to hate.

My hands shook as I pictured it. I would live in my Dad’s gigantic penthouse apartment, make him coffee in the morning, take some school where nobody would make fun of me because they’d all be like me, make Dad dinner in the evening. On weekends we’d go out for pizza and walk around Central Park – maybe I’d learn to like basketball and baseball and classical music. And then I’d go to Columbia for college instead of Harvard because Dad would love living with me so much, and maybe there I’d meet some famous record exec on the street who’d want to sign on Joel. . .

Joel.

Shit. How could I live without Joel?

Was I really falling for Joel?

“Lexibaby?” Dad sounded impatient on the phone, like he had some client waiting for him, except of course it was too late on the East Coast for him to be working.

“I’d love that!” I said enthusiastically, electing to think about Joel later.

“Great. I’ll see you then, OK? I’ll send the tickets over tomorrow.” He didn’t even mention Alyssa. “Bye, baby. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.” I wanted to talk longer, but I didn’t want to be a nuisance. I clicked the phone off and beamed at Elizabeth. “I’m going to New York!”

“That’s fantastic, baby!” She enfolded me in her arms. She was a tiny fragile-looking woman with an incongruously stern silver bob but she was strong, my grandmother. She was the only reason I didn’t combust living with my mom and sister. “How was your day?”

Let’s see. I’d always loved Joel, and I’d just discovered that I was also attracted to him – clearly, that meant I was in love with Joel. Which was just fucking great because, as of today, he was going out with my perfect twin sister. Joey was starting to look far less like the pathetic slob I’d thought her in the morning.

“Fine,” I said, avoiding my grandma’s gaze. “I’m going to go up and get my guitar for band practice. Joel’s coming to pick me up in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, honey,” Elizabeth said. She looked concerned – I had no idea why.

I spent as little time as possible in my room because I had to share it with Alyssa. That was my mom’s decree; we needed to learn to ‘coexist peacefully’. (Never mind that there were enough rooms in my grandfather’s mansion for us to run a small hotel). After a few weeks of breaking each others’ CDs and ruining each others’ homework or faces (Magic Markers made pretty effective weapons), we’d given up and decided to keep to separate corners of the room. Ostensibly this only meant that one wall was pink with a poster of the Backstreet Boys on it, but what it really meant was that I mostly hung out in Joel’s garage and Alyssa got the room. She got everything she wanted, really.

The phone rang again before I could go up. Thinking Dad had called back, I lunged at it. “Hey!”

“Hello?” It was a male voice but it wasn’t Dad’s.

“The McLaine and Gerard residence,” I said, disappointed.

“May I please speak to Alyssa Gerard?” said the clipped, professional voice.

Of course it was for Alyssa.

“Alyss!” I yelled. “Phone!”

I half expected her not to be home, but she came rushing down the stairs in the same outfit she’d worn to school and snatched the phone out of my hands. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

I turned away and bent to kiss my grandmother’s paper-soft wrinkled skin. “Bye, Grandma,” I said softly.

“Oh, my God,” Alyssa shrieked into the phone. Her eyes were welling up. “Oh, my God, are you kidding?”

I rolled my eyes. Maybe someone had declared her Most Popular Girl in the History of River Valley and wanted to make a statue of her. It could happen.

“Thank you so much!” Alyssa squeaked. She hung up and turned to us, eyes shining. “Guess what!”

I stared stonily at the ground, and Elizabeth said kindly, “What, dear?”

“I’M GOING TO BE A MOVIE STAR!” Alyssa shouted. And then she turned tail and bolted out of the house, frantically pressing numbers on her cell phone as she ran.

Elizabeth and I looked at each other. Back in October Michael Oliberg, an Oscar-winning director, had visited Hellhole High – his old alma mater – for an acting contest. Thousands of kids from all over town had participated. The grand prize: a big part in his new film, Sugary Ditz.

Alyssa and her friends had gone wild practicing for the contest. I hadn’t been so interested, though Mom had tried to get me to participate. It was a great opportunity, sure – for glamour mongrels and the Drama Club. Not me.

Everyone had expected Veronica Ripperton, who was a shoo-in for Yale Drama School, to win. Apparently, we’d grossly underestimated my sister.

Alyssa had won.

Alyssa was going to become an international teen superstar overnight.

Alyssa.My sister.

“Whatever,” I said aloud, unable to muster any enthusiasm.

Okay, it was freaky; okay, it was exciting for her; fine, it was kind of a big deal. But it didn’t matter to me, did it? It wasn’t like I cared about Alyssa. In fact, there weren’t many people I cared about. Except for Dad, and Elizabeth, and Joel –

Joel.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Alyssa Gerard: Queen of the Preps. Dayne Waters: Sports star. Cool couple. I didn’t care much.

Alyssa Gerard: International Teen Movie Star. Joel Armstrong: My best friend. Not a cool couple. I cared very much.

I was falling in love with my best friend, who was dating my teen movie star twin sister. My life was turning into a soap opera.

I suddenly couldn’t wait to move to New York.