The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad Page 2

  “What’s up, Sadie?”

  It was Kyle’s voice, but I couldn’t speak. I felt like the rug had just been snatched from underneath me.

  “Ah, it can’t be that bad,” Colton said. Taking the phone from my numb fingers, he began reading out loud, “‘Dear Miss Day, We have received and viewed your video submission to be featured on Dancer’s Edge media. Though we appreciate your efforts, there is something missing, an edge if you will, to be included on our channel. Your videos are too nice, your choreography somewhat dull, and your point of view lacks real life experience. For these reasons, we unfortunately will be unable to accept your work at this time…’ Shit.”

  That last part wasn’t in the letter, but if I cursed, I’d agree with him.

  “Don’t let it get to you, Sadie,” Kyle said.

  “What a bunch of pretentious assholes,” Colton said.

  “You can always try again.”

  I shook my head, not in disagreement, but like someone coming out of a dream. Or returning from battle.

  “Come on,” Kyle said. “This is like what, your third rejection?”

  “Seventh,” I said.

  Kyle winced.

  “This is the seventh time they’ve rejected me, but it’s no big deal.” Rolling my shoulders back, I lifted my chin, tried to believe my own words. “Rejection is a normal part of life. There’s no way I’m giving up, but…it’s always the same. Too nice, lacks experience, no edge.”

  “You’ve gotta admit they have a point,” Colton said. I looked up, and even if he was the bane of my existence, his look of pity spoke volumes. “Come on, Sadie, you’re like Miss Nice Girl.”

  “Shut up, Colt.” Kyle shot him a glare. “She doesn’t need that right now.”

  Colton cocked an eyebrow. “What she needs is the truth. I would’ve thought being her best friend you’d be honest enough to give her that.”

  Turning, I asked Kyle, “You agree with him?”

  “Not really,” Kyle muttered.

  “Not really?”

  “Well…you are nice, Sadie,” he said. “If what they want is an edgy, mean girl type, that’s not really you.”

  “I’m not that nice,” I said finally coming to my own defense. “I’m kinda edgy.”

  I mean, sure I was an honor roll student who stayed out of trouble--much to my parents’ delight. And yeah, the dances I’d sent in to Dancer’s Edge were mostly happy, fun pieces and not the dark and/or sexy stuff they usually featured. And okay, yes, I preferred weekends spent in my room binge watching TV, playing video games, or reading instead of partying. Besides my gay best friend, books were my first love. So sue me. That didn’t mean I wasn’t edgy…did it?

  A second later, Colton, who was born without a filter, answered that one as only he could.

  “You’re about the least edgy person I know.” I started to argue, but Colton held up a finger. “You wear the clothes of a prissy librarian.” Another finger. “You don’t hook up.” A third. “Shit, you don’t even swear.” A fourth. “You don’t drink.” A fifth. “I haven’t seen you at a party… well ever.”

  I tried to think of a cutting retort, something to really knock him down a peg.

  “You…you’re…such a jerk,” I said in my most menacing voice. It wasn’t good enough. That was clear by the answering grin on Colton’s face. I was just starting to realize, that when you didn’t swear, your options in the insult department were severely limited.

  “Face it, Sadie,” Colton said. “You’re a classic good girl. If those idiots want edgy, you ain’t it.”

  It was so close to what Kyle had said I had to grit my teeth. While I silently fumed, setting his brother on fire with my eyes—seriously, would a good girl do that? Ha!—Kyle tried to change the subject.

  “So Sadie,” Kyle said, “you coming over to study tonight? And by the way, who the hell puts a Physics test on a Monday? So wrong.”

  “No, I can’t tonight,” I said, still staring straight at Colton. “As a matter of fact, I have a party to go to.”

  Colton laughed. “Oh really? You can’t be talking about Eric Greene’s kegger.”

  “It’s a different party.” Lifting my chin, in my coolest, ice-queen voice I said, “The guest list is pretty exclusive. I guess you didn’t make the cut.”

  And with that, I made my grand exit, Colton’s laughter and words echoing in my ears.

  The stereo was blasting Elvis Presley, the room was packed with people…and I was the youngest person in attendance by at least 50 years.

  I hadn’t lied.

  This probably wasn’t Colton’s idea of a party. Actually, strike that, it definitely wasn’t Colton’s idea of a party. 1) There wasn’t a keg in sight. 2) All the women were completely covered up, most of them wearing slippers. 3) It was 7:00 pm, and the party would end at 8:30 pm (bedtime for most of the residents). 4) The only fight that usually went down in this crowd was over who won at Bingo. But who the heck cared what Colton thought, anyway? Certainly not me.

  “Sadie, would you be a dear and get me a slice of cake? I think Edith’s already on her fourth piece—the wretch—and I’d like at least a taste of my birthday cake.”

  “Sure,” I said and got up to cut my oldest friend a slice.

  Birthdays were a big thing here at Shady Grove Assisted Living. On the main table—where Edith was, in fact, sitting, licking the icing off her fork—was a pound cake with a replica of The King (courtesy of yours truly), and it was going fast. Streamers hung from the ceiling, balloons blanketing the floors, and a banner on the wall read: HAPPY 79TH BIRTHDAY MISS BETTY. The residents were migrating around the room, catching up and sharing gossip. As usual, the TV in the corner was turned to the Game Show Network, volume loud enough to compete with the music. The place still smelled like a weird mix of Lysol and baby wipes, but everyone looked happy enough.

  When I came back and handed her the plate, Betty smiled. Her teeth were all crowns, she’d once told me, but they gleamed better than the real things ever could.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Welcome,” I said. As she closed her eyes to savor that first bite, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I knew I’d found the perfect cake. It was blueberry pound cake, Betty’s favorite, infused with real blueberries and vanilla frosting, a blueberry glaze drizzled over top.

  “This is divine,” she breathed. “Just divine.”

  “I had to go all out,” I said. “It’s not every day you turn 79.”

  Betty shot me a look. “You getting fresh with me?”

  “No way.” I held up my hands.

  “Better not be,” she said, pointing with her fork. “I have it on good authority I don’t look a day over 60. It’s my mama’s classic bone structure.” She gestured to her face. “We Lockhart women always look at least ten years younger than we actually are.”

  I eyed her perfectly rounded cheeks, smooth skin enhanced by foundation, eyes brightened by too-much-for-daytime mascara and perfectly applied eye shadow. Her lips were ruby red. Betty never left her room without her face on.

  “You do look rather fabulous,” I agreed.

  She smiled again at that. “As do you…but you could use some lip gloss.”

  I rolled my eyes at that. It was an old argument, but Betty wasn’t done.

  “And mascara! What’s the point in having those amazing blue eyes if you don’t showcase them? You’ve got to use what the Good Lord gave you, Sadie. And he certainly gave us more than most.” She took a breath then jumped right to it. “Did you know that Old John tried to kiss Edith? That old bat wouldn’t even know what to do with a man like him.”

  “Oh, and you do, do you?”

  She sniffed. “I’ll pretend like you didn’t say that, dear. But of course, I would know what to do. Men are easy as apple pie for a woman like me. But really? Edith Duhurst? The man obviously has no sense of decorum.”

  “Apparently not,” I agreed.

  “And that Trask is no better. Just the ot
her day he swatted me on the backside.” Betty widened her eyes in feigned indignation. “I mean, I can’t really blame him for wanting to do it. But where have all the gentlemen gone?”

  “That’s a good question, Betty,” I said, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. “So what did you do?”

  “Well, you know, I felt bad for the man, so I let it go. But if he tries to get frisky again, you bet your sweet self I’ll set him straight.” She took a quick breath. “And then, you won’t believe what Verna said to me the other day…”

  I listened as she gave me a rundown of all the Shady Grove gossip, the two of us moving to the rec room next door for board games and Bingo. A lot happened behind these assisted living walls. My parents hosted Senior Night at their ballroom studio on Saturdays—which was how I’d met Betty four years ago; she was the main reason I spent so much time at Shady Grove. We had instantly bonded. Betty and I both loved movies (she’d been a celebrity makeup artist in her younger years—though she preferred the term “Hollywood starlet”), and we shared our favorites. Her first pick for me was Bye, Bye Birdie. Mine was Little Miss Sunshine. She loved to talk, and when she spoke, I loved to listen. Betty was more vivacious at 79 than I’d ever been. But we worked. In a weird, Harold and Maude (another of Betty’s picks) kind of way, we worked.

  Though I guess I’d be the dude in that scenario.

  I sighed.

  Apparently, it was enough to derail Betty’s train of thought because she stopped right in the middle of what she was saying and looked at me. “So…tell me more about these jerks who turned you down.”

  I tried not to wince, still feeling the sting of rejection.

  “Why haven’t they liked your dance videos?” Betty went on. “Are they blind or just stupid?”

  I shrugged. “A little of both?”

  “What exactly did they say?”

  I gave her the whole spiel: too nice, dull, no edge, no life experience, blah blah blah.

  When I was done, her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed, looking me over in a way that made it hard not to squirm.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well…I don’t think you’re dull.”

  “Why thank you, Betty.”

  “I watch your dances every week and greatly enjoy them. And you’re not too nice,” she continued. “You’ve got spunk. I saw you take on Blanche that day for the last cup of chocolate pudding.”

  “She’s diabetic!” I said. “I was trying to help.”

  “Still, Blanche is very serious about her pudding. And you sass me all the time.” Betty nodded as if she’d come to some conclusion. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  I was about to argue the sass comment, possibly proving the truth of that statement, but she kept going.

  “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  I was taken aback. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, let’s think,” Betty said. “You can’t just let these Dancer’s Edge people have the final word.”

  “What can I do?” I sighed. “If they don’t think I’m good enough, that’s it. I’m done. Might as well join the convent tomorrow.”

  “What’s this about a convent?”

  Cora Davies, Betty’s partner in crime, walked slowly up to us, and I rose to help her into a chair. Cora had passed 79 several years back. Five-foot-nothing, silver hair crazier than my own, and wrinkles from a lifetime of laughs, though she had slowed down physically, Cora’s spirit was still as lively as ever.

  “Did you see Deidre just now?” she said. “I think she’s found a way to cheat at Bingo. The woman never loses, I tell you. Never!”

  “Maybe, she’s just lucky,” I offered.

  She waved me off. “Now, what’s this about a convent?”

  Betty pursed her lips. “Sadie got some terrible news today.”

  “Oh no…another rejection?” Cora asked, looking to me. She knew all about my goal to be included on Dancer’s Edge, the world’s biggest online dance community. Yet another person to see me fail. Lovely. “They turn you down again?”

  “Yes,” I said, “and a Career Aptitude Test advised me to become a nun.”

  “Bah.” Cora pursed her lips. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nun but only if you want to be a nun. I’m guessing you haven’t heard the Call?”

  I shook my head.

  “She hasn’t,” Betty confirmed. “And correct me if I’m wrong, Sadie, but I don’t remember ‘Join a convent’ being on your Carpe Diem List.”

  “You’re right. It’s not.” Unintentionally, my hand went to the pocket where I kept my list. They’d done an activity at Shady Grove back in July called “Carpe Diem” where the senior citizens wrote down all the amazing things they’d accomplished in life and all they still hoped to do. It inspired me to do a list of my own with the adventures I’d hoped to have before graduating. Right now, it felt as heavy as a lead ball, none of the items checked off yet. “Plus, I’m not even Catholic.”

  “That’s alright, dear. Nobody’s perfect.” Cora patted my hand. “Sadie, what you need is a man.”

  “A man?” I repeated.

  The little old lady nodded, eyes sparkling. “A man who will sweep you right off your feet. Preferably a handsome devil, someone to show you the ways of the world.”

  “Don’t you dare settle for someone plain,” Betty said. “You need someone who won’t be intimidated by your beauty.”

  “Betty. Cora.”

  “Yes, dear?” they said in unison.

  “I do not need a man,” I said. “It’s the twenty-first century. Who needs men when you have birthday cake?”

  I’d thought it was funny, but the joke sailed right over their heads.

  “A man might help you get over that crush you have on Kyle,” Betty said.

  “Who says I have a crush?”

  The two women just shook their heads, and I felt my cheeks warm. I’d never actually told them I loved Kyle. But I talked about him all the time, couldn’t help it. They were my girls after all. It hadn’t taken long for Betty and Cora, who seemed to know everything and were possibly the biggest gossips ever, to catch on even if I never spoke my feelings.

  “Anyone who hears you talk about Kyle would know you have a crush,” this from Cora. “And from what you say, he sounds wonderful. But…”

  “But you need someone who can love you, too,” Betty said gently.

  Gentle or not, that one still hurt.

  “I think men are overrated,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. When you were unlucky enough to be afflicted with unrequited love that you knew, for a fact, would never be requited, sarcasm was the only defense available.

  “Your problem is you’ve never had one before.” Betty looked wistful for a moment, running the pearls of her necklace along her fingers. “Men can be lovely distractions.”

  “They most certainly can,” Cora said then shot me a lascivious wink.

  I couldn’t help it. The laugh bubbled up and out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Back to business.” Betty cleared her throat while I pulled myself together. “We were discussing Sadie’s love life.”

  Cora smiled. “Does our Sadie have any prospects?”

  I sobered immediately. “Right now, my only options seem to be the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

  “But you haven’t even lived yet!” Cora declared.

  “That’s what I was saying,” Betty said, meeting my eyes. “Sadie, you need to be a little wild, live your life. Show those stupid people at Dancer’s Edge that you have what it takes. Life is too short to live quietly.”

  “Amen,” Cora said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my ninety-two years, it’s that there are no guarantees. You’ve got to make your own opportunities. I could die tomorrow and have no regrets. How many people can say that?”

  Not many, I thought.

  “Alright, alright,” I said, “I hear you.”

  “Do you really?” Betty as
ked as she and Cora gave me the squinty eye.

  “I do.” When they continued to stare, I added, “I’ll try and live louder…even if I have no idea what that means.”

  They looked satisfied with that. Thank goodness.

  “Are you girls ready for story time?” I asked mostly to change the subject. Besides just hanging with Betty and Cora, this was actually one of my favorite parts of volunteering. “I can’t wait to see what book you picked out.”

  There was a twinkle in Betty’s eyes that I didn’t trust for one second. “Oh, I’m very excited. Since I’m the birthday girl, I got to choose our reading material for the evening.”

  “And?”

  Cora chuckled. “She picked another naughty one.”

  I closed my eyes. Not again.

  “Oh come on,” Betty said, “it’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

  “What’s the title?” I asked.

  “Falling Hard for the Highlander. It’s about a savage Scottish Highland warrior and how he seduces and falls for an innocent yet feisty English lass. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

  “And it’s exactly as bad as you think it is,” Cora added as she handed me the book.

  I’d have to check, but I was pretty sure nuns didn’t read books with half-naked highlanders on the cover.

  “Story time, everyone,” Betty announced, and for the first time today the Game Show Network was placed on mute. The residents crowded around me, and it wasn’t just the women. The men loved these stories, too. I enjoyed reading to them—some were unable to read by themselves, their eyesight long gone. But these books they liked…

  There was sure to be plenty of bodice ripping.

  And racy scenes.

  And overall naughtiness.

  No big, I thought, shaking it off and popping open the cover. I’d done this before. I was edgy. I was cool. I could read naughty romance aloud to a bunch of senior citizens. Like Betty said, life was too short to live quietly. I wouldn’t even so much as blush.

  Take that, Dancer’s Edge.

  Okay, so that whole no-blushing thing?