Page 3 of The Ugly Stepsister Strikes Back

"I will do my best," I promised. There, that was honest. "So, if we're done…" I grabbed my backpack.

Ms. Rathbone held up her left hand, her eyes still trained on my file. "Not yet."

What now? I hadn't done anything else. As she'd so helpfully pointed out, it was only the second day of school. I hadn't had time to mess up.

"I see that you failed to fulfill your volunteer requirements from last semester." I wanted to groan. We were required by the school to do four hours of community service per month each semester. Last semester I'd been a tad depressed. That was when Ella and Jake had become a couple. How could I have concentrated on doing things for other people when my heart was breaking?

Not to mention that I had never really understood this concept. How was I "volunteering" when they were forcing me to do it? It was more like involunteering at that point. Or unpaid child labor. If they were going to make us volunteer, they could've at least given us school credit for it.

"Because from your file I see that you want to go to Wellesley." I didn't correct her. There was no point in trying to explain the whole complicated family mess in the space of a few minutes.

I didn't want to go to Wellesley. My mother wanted me to go to Wellesley. That was where she had gone.

My dad wanted me to go to UCLA. That was where he had gone.

My mother wanted me to study sculpting. My father wanted me to study painting.

I was not interested in any of the above.

Ms. Rathbone was still talking. I forced myself to pay attention. "These schools look at the whole person, not just your grades. You have no extracurriculars. What about hobbies?"

I couldn't tell her about the manga. I could already hear myself explaining it. "Well, Ms. Rathbone, manga is the word for Japanese comics. Anime is the animated version of manga…" It would have been a long conversation. Plus, I would run the risk of not only potentially boring her to death (I'd never met anyone else who liked manga as much as I did and I could get a little excited about it), but she might tell my dad. I knew my dad loved me and would tell me my work was good (even if it wasn't), but he was such a serious artist that I would feel embarrassed if he found out. Plus, he might feel obligated to tell my mother, and then things would get very bad very quickly.

So instead I just shook my head no.

"Then it would be my recommendation that you get more involved here at the school. Not only will it look good on your applications, but you need to make certain you're current on your volunteering hours. Do you have any immediate plans for becoming more involved both here at school and in the community? "

I knew she was right, unfortunately. I didn't intend to attend an Ivy League school, but the school I wanted to go to, UC Santa Ana, would want more than good SAT scores, decent grades and an awesome portfolio. I had to show them that I could make the ultimate sacrifice and find some club at school that would deign to have me.

She stared at me, unblinking, and I wondered how long she could go without blinking. Oh, she wanted me to say something. Immediate plans for volunteering. Right. "I'm, um, helping Ella out with her charity ball." Total white lie, of course, but I knew I only had to ask Ella what I could do to pitch in and she would immediately include me.

"Ah. Ella." Ms. Rathbone said her name the way all adults did—with this mixture of admiration and approval. So irksome. "That will help with your volunteering hours, but I think you should still find a way to be even more involved here at school."

She grabbed a bunch of fliers from the table behind her chair and handed them to me. "These are some clubs and groups you might consider joining."

As I took the fliers, she added, "This might also be a chance for you to make some new friends."

She said it lightly, but I got the implication. My cheeks flushed. It was really embarrassing that even the headmistress knew that I was a social misfit.

I started to flip through them. Chess club. Um, no. I wasn't up for social suicide, thanks.

Football boosters? Again, no. Bunch of wannabes that couldn't make the cheer squad.

Student government. Hmm. I'd never been much of a joiner, but this one had actual merit. Jake was running for president. I was suddenly struck by the amazing idea of running for a lesser office. Treasurer or secretary or something throwaway like that. Then we'd have another class together and he wouldhaveto talk to me and spend time with me because we'd be running the student government together.

Brilliant.

All I had to do was get elected.

Chapter 3

We had an unscheduled fire drill during third period that bled into fourth, and they finally dismissed us to go have lunch.

Trent had saved me a place in line. He wasn't hard to spot. He looked a little like a cross between a zombie and an Abercrombie model. Over the summer the school board had decided to make some changes. The first was the introduction of the horrendously awful polyester-blend uniforms we now had to wear. So Trent wore his piercings and guyliner and his hair spiked up in thirty different directions in true emo fashion, but from the neck down he looked pure preppy with a blue polo shirt and tan Dockers.

I couldn't even tease him about it, because I knew I looked no better.

"Hey," I said when I got in line. He had his earbuds in and couldn't hear me. I grabbed a tray and tried to figure out which of the things in front of me was the least disgusting. I adjusted my black horn-rimmed glasses, as if they would help me in my selection. They weren't prescription or anything; I just liked the way they looked.

---