KissnTell

Chapter 17

WINTER FORMAL

Vaughn

By Thanksgiving break, I felt like a different person. Everyone in band looked up to me.

Everyone else just looked at me, trying to see what Baron Caldwell saw, like I had never been Francis or Mancis or Vag. Everyone was talking about me like I was someone special. Even though I knew it wasn't entirely positive, and even though I knew it was based on practically nothing-that Baron never really liked me, that he was in fact a total asshole-it felt great just to be noticed. And I became obsessed with living up to their new expectations.

I got into the habit of spending all four of my free periods each week scanning images of the beautiful girls on Perez, Just Jared, and PopSugar, hoping to inherit their effortless good looks by cyber-osmosis or something. There was Kate Moss with her skinnier than skinny jeans, wayfarers, and shaggy fur coats. Miranda Kerr with her rosy cheeks and legs for days. Rachel Bilson with her tousled, wavy hair and boots made for walkin'. Kate Bosworth and Zoe Saldana in breezy Calvin Klein. And, of course, my favorite: Sienna Miller looking cool as a cucumber, sporting the hottest trends before they were even trends. I'd just stare and sigh, studying their outfits, how they carried themselves, how they did their hair, what shade of lipstick they were wearing. I imagined I was just like them and tried to exude that kind of confidence as I stalked the halls of Cranbrook.

I knew, though, deep down, that this visualization crap wasn't going to get me there. I knew I was no better than every other idiot in L.A. who had read The Secret. I knew it would take a lot more than my usual morning makeup and hair routine-and the budget accessories I wore to jazz up the hideous Cranbrook uniform-to even exist in the same ballpark as Sienna Miller and Kate Moss. I started fantasizing about our first paycheck for KissnTell and how I would spend those first 1,500 big ones. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to crunch the numbers and realize that after deducting Austin's ten percent share for the photos, then Anais's half, I'd be left with $675 per month before taxes, which wouldn't even buy me a pair of last season's Louboutins marked down on Bluefly.com.

"Francis, dear? Francis?" My grandmother's voice jolted me back to reality. "Pass the yams, dear," she croaked, lifting a shaky hand toward the tray of gooey canned yams dotted with mini marshmallows. "And welcome back to earth," she added, a smile slinking onto her face.

I grudgingly held the tray out for her as she shook a glob from the orange plastic serving spoon onto her plate. "It's Vaughn now, Grandma," I corrected. "I no longer respond to Francis." My entire family rolled their eyes as they chewed my mom's mediocre cooking, except for my brother Matty, who shoveled forkfuls of greasy turkey into his mouth, oblivious.

Every Thanksgiving, we all gathered in the wood-paneled dining room. The entire house used to belong to my dad's parents, who now sat to my left, until we moved in and put them in an assisted living facility in Encino.

"What kind of parents let their child change her God-given name?" Grandpa muttered gruffly.

My mom dropped her fork. "She hasn't changed it legally, Fred," she assured him. "It's just a phase. She's a teenager," she offered.

I balled my paper napkin, clenching it in a tight fist. "I'd appreciate if you didn't talk about me like I wasn't here," I snapped.

"Watch that tone, Franny," my dad seethed, pinning me with a look.

I inhaled. "It's Vaughn," I said quietly. My family was so annoying. It was like they refused to see the epic and major changes in me. Everyone else did. Why were they acting like I was still Francis Vaughn, awkward loser who played the flute, when I was so obviously so much more? I tossed my napkin onto my half-eaten meal.