Diehard Fangirl

Chapter 5

Ever since I caught Leslie stealing that peanut butter and jelly sandwich from Davey Farmer’s lunch box in third grade, we just have’nt gotten along. Her mother is neurotic about Leslie’s ‘peanut’ allergy…to the point that she practically hosed down everyone at Leslie’s third grade birthday party at the Laugh Plex. I caught onto Leslie’s game shortly thereafter and taunted her with my PB&Js in the cafeteria. She’d cry to the lunch aide, but I never got in trouble. 

Not with the school anyway. 

It did create an on-going rift between us. Between the PB&Js and my mom’s crappy birthday present, our relationship was road kill. 

Big deal. 

The line was drawn in the sand over four years ago. It’s Team Leslie vs. Team Cat. The only problem is that her posse is an awful lot bigger than mine. In fact, mine contains exactly two people: Cassie and this Indian girl named Amala Patel. We are school friends but don’t hang out otherwise. She’s been loyal to me ever since two boys made fun of her accent and I punched them. I hate bullies almost as much as I really do not like Leslie Murphy!

So, when I catch Leslie looking over my shoulder at lunch to see what I was looking at on my phone, she simply crossed the line. 

“Hey!” I flip my phone over, annoyed (as always) at Leslie. My small posse puff out their chests as if they are actually going to protect me. Both of them are smaller than I am and, compared to Leslie, I’m a small fry. Her 120 lbs. could take my 99 lbs. any day of the week.  “Nosy!”

“Are you on Vine?” 

I hate the sound of her voice. It’s ‘uncultivated’ as my mom would say. I simply say she has a weird accent that sounds an awful lot like those women on television from Brooklyn. “That is classified information!” I say, lifting my hand in the air as if pushing her away. “And you most definitely have not cleared security!” 

My two friends snicker and I remind myself to comment on their Instagram’s later in appreciation of their support. 

“O. M. G.”

She actually says the letters with long, drawn out pauses in-between each of them, just like my mother does. It’s almost as if they are sounding out the punctuation. How uncool is that? Leslie thinks she’s such a trend setter. She’s not. 

“D. U. H.” I spell back at her. Two can play at that game. And, the last time I looked, I was in all honors’ classes. Leslie was stuck in the B level classes with pee-pee pants Ben! It would take more than her football-star brother to help her out of that image. “Just go away.” I flick my hand at her. “Shoo! Go away! Be gone!”

Leslie flips her hair and stares across the cafeteria. “I saw you looking at Ian’s Vines.”

I do my best not to catch my breath. How dare she, Leslie the Meanest Girl in School, even know about Ian King? He is, after all, my secret discovery and cannot, by any means, be tainted by the likes of Leslie Murphy! I almost feel physically ill at the thought of her watching his videos, laughing at his antics, especially when he pretends to be a dinosaur with his cute little arms tucked up so that only his hands wiggle around.

If I still believed in cooties, this would be a clear cut transmission! I must protect Ian’s health and detract her from the scent of his trail. 

“You saw nada!”  Even I don’t believe my own words. My voice sounds forced and I know that she knows I’m lying. If only I hadn’t gritted my teeth when I said it. 

“Oh puh-lease!” With a wave of her hand as if dismissing me, Leslie drawls out the words in a lame attempt to sound very Southern, something she is clearly not. “I found him months ago, Cat!” Now it’s my turn to know that she’s lying: the app only started a few weeks ago. “You, little feline friend, are sooo yesterday. And so is he!”