Frenemy of the People Read online

  Synopsis

  Clarissa and Lexie couldn't be more different. Clarissa is a chirpy, optimistic do-gooder and a top rider on the school's equestrian team. Lexie is an angry, punk rock activist and the only out lesbian at their school.

  When Clarissa declares she's bi and starts a Gay-Straight Alliance, she unwittingly presses all of Lexie's buttons, so Lexie makes it her job to cut Clarissa down to size. But Lexie goes too far and finds herself an unwitting participant in Clarissa's latest crusade. Both are surprised to find their mutual loathing turning to love.

  A change in her family's fortunes begins to unravel Clarissa's seemingly perfect life, and the girls' fledgling love is put to the test. Clarissa and Lexie each have what the other needs to save their relationship and the people they love from forces that could tear them all apart.

  Frenemy of the People

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  Frenemy of the People

  © 2014 By Nora Olsen. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-106-2

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: May 2014

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

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Swans & Klons

  Frenemy of the People

  Acknowledgments

  Heartfelt thanks to:

  My late mother, Sondra Spatt Olsen, without whom nothing is possible, and yet here we are. I’m glad you got a chance to read this book in manuscript form.

  Lev Olsen, for reading the whole manuscript and giving me wonderful feedback and support.

  My old writing group—Kelly Kingman, Cate Fricke, and Jeanne Demers—for your excellent feedback. Kelly, thanks for “helping” me with my back cover copy (i.e., writing it for me).

  Maureen Neary, Crystal Malarsky Laffan, and Katrina Charman for giving me such helpful feedback on the opening section of the book.

  Juliana Houstoun Potts, for teaching me about horses. Of course, everything that’s wrong is my own fault.

  Ruth Sternglantz, most terrific editor! This is one case where an exclamation point is needed.

  Sandy Lowe and Cindy Cresap, for taking care of, oh, everything. Radclyffe, for being the boss. Sheri, for the awesome cover. And everyone else at Bold Strokes Books.

  All the WriMos in the Poughkeepsie region in 2011, especially Jess Streck, L. Josephine Bach, Susan Walsh, Shana Sturtz Brodsky, Rebecca Dingler, Thomas, Maria, Tanya, and everyone else who came to the write-ins. Thanks once again to Chris Baty for inventing NaNoWriMo, and the Office of Letters and Light for transforming ordinary people into writing superheroes.

  Nan of Widening Circle blog (dsbutterfly.blogspot.com). I’m sorry I filched your story about greeting every person as if they were Jesus, but I just had to.

  Paul O’Hanlon, for explaining what “red line” means, twice.

  David Rees and Sam Anderson, for your funny skit about Sassy the horse at the comedy show in Beacon. It was inspiring.

  Buddy and Katy Behney, Kendra Wheeler, Doreen Noble, Alex Campone, Harry Manning, Rosie Edreira, James Giordano, Zoe, and everyone else at Bank Square—the best coffee shop in the Hudson Valley and beyond.

  Above all, Áine Ní Cheallaigh. I’m so lucky I have the best girlfriend in the world.

  To my brother, Lev Olsen

  Prologue

  Lexie

  We didn’t meet cute. That’s the Hollywood phrase for how a couple meets for the first time in a romantic comedy. You know the kind of thing. He’s walking out of the library with a pile of books; she’s walking in with a pile of books; they bump into each other and the books go everywhere. You know, cute.

  It wasn’t like that with me and Clarissa.

  We just always hated each other.

  Clarissa

  Did we even meet at all?

  Okay, obviously we must have met for the first time at some point. But I can’t remember it. It must have been a long time ago. Probably middle school. My first memory of Lexie is from way back in seventh grade. I remember looking across the classroom at Lexie sticking a wad of gum under her desk and thinking, I really can’t stand that girl.

  Chapter One

  Clarissa

  I should have been worrying about who was going to win the trophy for Best Overall Rider, but instead I was worrying about whether I would be allowed to take home the centerpiece on our table. I hoped my three besties—Jenna, Pacey, and Harney—didn’t want it. I didn’t want it for myself, but for my sister. The centerpiece was a teal metallic spray depicting a herd of frolicking horses. Tacky, but my sister Desi would absolutely love it.

  My parents and my sister usually came to the equestrian team awards banquet, but my parents had claimed they couldn’t come because they had some kind of meeting at the bank. A likely story. Who has an important meeting on the Friday of Labor Day weekend? They were probably just sick of showing up at my equestrian events. There were a lot of other empty spaces in the large room scattered with white-clothed tables. Most sports teams hold their awards banquets at the end of the school year, but it’s the equestrian team’s time-honored custom to have ours just a few days before school begins, so a lot of people don’t show up.

  We had already gotten through the boring part where every single member of the team gets a plaque. I really had to pee, but it was time for Best Overall Rider. I knew it was going to be one of us four who would win it. It always was, every year. Jenna won it last year. I could tell Jenna was nervous because she kept fiddling with her long black hair, pulling it back and then dropping it again. I honestly didn’t care which one of us won.

  Having said that, I did squeal with delight when Mr. Fortescue announced, “Clarissa Kirchendorfer.” The team’s faculty advisor, who was sitting at our table, congratulated me, and then I ran up to collect my trophy. Jenna had a glassy smile frozen on her face as she applauded.

  “This is so great I might pee myself,” I said into the microphone. Everyone laughed. The thing about me is I always say whatever comes into my head. My mom raised me to be honest and let the chips fall where they may.

  “Everyone here is so talented I almost wish someone else had won, because I would be proud to see any of you win.”

  I did not say: Except Jessica Morgenstern, who pushed my sister off the school bus when Jessica and I were in fourth grade, and I’ll never ever forgive her. Even I knew better than to say that. The bus wasn’t moving or anything, it was at our stop, but she pushed Desi right down all the steps because she wasn’t fast enough, and then she told the bus matron it was an accident.

  “Thank you so much for giving me this honor,” I said. “I love riding. I love the equestrian team. And now I have to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.”

  I swept out of the room clutching my trophy. It had a figurine of a rearing stallion, which was silly because that’s the last thing you’d want to ride, but I loved it anyway. I won two years ago when I wa
s fourteen, and that trophy was identical except for the date.

  It took me a while to find the hotel bathroom. When I got out of the stall, Jenna had joined me in the bathroom. She was polishing my trophy with a paper towel, which I’m not sure was a good idea because it could scratch the cheap metallic finish. I forced myself not to say anything, though—a real effort for me—because I thought she might be disappointed she didn’t win.

  “The ceremony gets really boring after the Best Overall Rider award,” she said. “I thought I’d hang out in here.” No congratulations from her. That’s not her way.

  “Yeah, they should put it at the end, Oscars-style,” I said.

  Aside from being die-hard members of the equestrian team, the main thing my friends and I had in common was we all had long, straight hair. And we always matched. We couldn’t help dressing the same. If I decided to wear a cami, skinny jeans, and ballet flats, when I got to school it would usually turn out the other three were wearing the same. It was like we had a telepathic bond. Right now we all were wearing some variant of a bubble skirt dress, but we had planned that. It made me mad, though, when people at school said we all looked the same. Not true. How could that be, when Jenna and Pacey are Asian, and Harney and I are white?

  “There are three other events going on in this conference area,” Jenna informed me. “Each one extremely screwy. I can’t decide which one is the most depraved.”

  Jenna is petite and curvy and has a cute heart-shaped face. She’s Korean and has dimples. I always want to run my hands through her hair. I only have bangs because I’m copying her. Probably she’s the prettiest of us four. Relatively speaking, I’m the DUFF (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) in the group, even though I don’t think I’m that bad looking. I’m a brunette and I always have split ends no matter what I do.

  We checked our makeup and then made our way back to the awards banquet.

  I took notice of the signs outside the other conference rooms, and they were a bit surreal. The Morticians Association of America; Shining Medallion Lesbian Writers Organization; the Ancient Order of Deer Hunters. At the banquet, they were deep into the raffle, which is über boring. My friends and I began to text each other under the table. I could type without looking, but every time the phone vibrated in my hand, I had to check to see what they had to say. Jenna filled everyone in on the odd assortment of groups holding events at the hotel.

  Which group is the most depraved? Jenna asked.

  Morticians! Harney replied. EEEWW.

  No the deer hunters. Poor Bambi! Pacey texted.

  My dad is a hunter, Harney objected.

  I vote the lesbos! Don’t let them corner you! Jenna advised.

  My big sister Desi is a member of a class of people who is discriminated against; she has Down syndrome. This has made me very sensitive to the issue of prejudice. So I texted, I don’t think lesbians r depraved. I vote morticians.

  Then I was thinking it over, and I decided someone needs to take care of you when you die, so maybe the morticians weren’t depraved after all. I was just about to change my vote to deer hunters, when all of our phones buzzed several times in a row.

  Our faculty advisor, Señora Modesto, glowered at us. I ignored her because I knew I could get away with it, since she was more like a stuffed doll than a real teacher. She was only our advisor because all school clubs had to have one. But we ran practically everything ourselves. About all Señora Modesto had to do each year was sign the school club form. Even for this event, it was Harney’s mom who booked the room and ordered the plaques and stuff. Personally, I thought this venue, the Hilton right off Route 9 in Fishkill, New York, was a bit of a dump, and Harney’s mom could have chosen better.

  Señora Modesto wouldn’t want the centerpiece, would she? But it was just the sort of thing that might appeal to a demented elderly lady.

  I checked my phone.

  ROTFL, R U a big hairy dyke? Pacey had texted.

  The messages from the other two were along the same lines.

  What if I was? I said. R U prejudiced?

  We know U R not gay, Harney said. Hello, remember Slobberin Robert.

  I dated Slobberin’ Robert for two months last year and will never live it down. What’s funny is I gave him that nickname just between us four girls, and now the entire school calls him Slobberin’ Robert.

  Maybe Im bi, I said, not willing to concede the point.

  Then, just like that, I realized—Duh! I am so totally bi. Sometimes I get realizations all of a sudden.

  I am actually totally bi, I texted them immediately.

  It was undeniable once I thought about it. I was drawn to girls exactly the same way I was drawn to guys. I liked pictures of Kimye as much for Kim Kardashian as for Kanye. I had to admit I had probably spent hours thinking about stroking Jenna’s hair. And I had sexual fantasies about girls. I didn’t think much about it, just quickly put them out of my head and figured it was just a phase. But, like, a phase that had lasted for probably seven years at this point? Let’s get real. Was it just a phase that I liked boys?

  LOL, Pacey said.

  NO IM TOTALLY SERIOUS.

  Jenna sucked her teeth, and now Señora Modesto gave her an annoyed look.

  U R grossing me out, Harney said. I am not going bra shopping w you anymore perv girl!

  LOL LOL, Pacey said. Was that all the girl knew how to say? It was ridiculous, because I was sitting two feet away from her and I knew for a fact she was not laughing out loud. Did she not know what out loud meant?

  Another realization struck me all of a sudden. I needed some new friends. People who wouldn’t run me down. I turned my phone off and slipped it into my purse. I tried to focus on the thank-you speech to our sponsor, Pleasant Ridge Pizza. My so-called friends kept texting furiously. I didn’t know if I wanted to spend all my time with them at equestrian club anymore.

  The awards ceremony finally wound down.

  “Do you mind if I take the centerpiece for Desi?” I asked my friends.

  “God, Clarissa, you want everything,” Harney said. “The trophy, and the centerpiece too?”

  “That’s why she’s bisexual,” Pacey said. “Because she’s greedy. She just wants everyone.”

  I thought they were kidding but I wasn’t sure. They didn’t usually say stuff like that to me. I decided not to take the centerpiece. But then no one else did either. I glanced back over my shoulder and it was sitting all sad and lonely on the table. Oh well, Desi would never know about it, so she couldn’t miss it.

  I was getting a ride home with Pacey and her dad. I changed into regular clothes in the bathroom because we were going to stop at the stables. Ordinarily I liked hanging out with Pacey and Mr. Havens because they’re so cute. Pacey’s adopted, so they don’t look alike, but they have the exact same mannerisms. Usually I would tease them about this but today I wasn’t feeling it. Mr. Havens drove us in their seven-seat minivan. I don’t know if it was awkward or just quiet. We stopped at the barn to visit our horses.

  My horse, Sassy, was a chestnut with a white star in the center of her forehead. She made whuffling noises through her nose as she searched me for the apple she knew I had brought her. I took it from the pocket of my hoodie and held it out in my palm, keeping my hand completely flat so she wouldn’t mistake my hand for part of the apple and accidentally bite it off. No kidding, horses are cute but they can be dangerous too. Sort of like my so-called friends. I put my face in Sassy’s glossy neck. She smelled like horse, but in a nice way. There is a horse smell that has nothing to do with poop.

  “You’re my best friend, Sassy,” I told her.

  We groomed our horses, but Mr. Havens was in a rush so we didn’t spend long. Then we headed to my house. I live quite close to the stables; in fact, I can even bike over there if there’s some reason why I can’t use the SUV.

  “Do you mind if I leave you at the foot of Bluebird of Happiness Court?” Mr. Havens asked. “I need to hurry home to file a brief.” He’s a lawyer
. They worked around the clock apparently. Pacey told me he took an Ambien once, and then in the middle of the night she found him trying to send a fax with the toaster.

  “Sure thing, Mr. H.,” I told him. “See you at school on Tuesday, Pacey.” I couldn’t decide if I was mad at her or not and tried to keep my voice neutral.

  She groaned at the mention of school but didn’t say anything.

  I walked along the driveway of Bluebird of Happiness Court. It’s a cul-de-sac, which according to my mom was pronounced cooled sock. It’s a very new development. Our house was the last one, about three-quarters of the way around the cul-de-sac. More houses were planned, but they were never built. In fact, next to our house is a pile of dirt where they broke ground, then changed their mind, then finally filled it in when it kept filling up with rain water. The whole thing drove my mom crazy. A bulldozer had been sitting there for weeks, spoiling her view of the tiny saplings growing along the driveway. There was a second development planned that never even got started. It was going to be called Owl of Wisdom Court. If you type Owl of Wisdom Court, Poughquag NY into Google Maps, it will just show you a bunch of trees.

  All the houses on Bluebird of Happiness Court were almost identical, but not quite. They were all large, stately homes, white with black peaked roofs, but other than that there’s some variety. For example, our house had steps leading up to the front door, and there’s a massive stone arch over the door, with an arch-shaped window cut into it. Only our house had that. And our house was three stories while some of the others were only two. When my parents were looking to buy this house, the Realtor’s flyer said it was “a magnificent manor.” In my head I always called it the Magnificent Manor. It’s way nicer than the dumpy house where we used to live.