Difficult Girls

Chapter One

Saturday, June 14

10:23 p.m.

Tonight, I’m going to make out with Grey Larsen.

If everything goes according to my plan, his hands will run across my bare shoul-ders. He’ll tell me that the color black is perfect for me and that the eyeliner I re-did three times is flawlessly balanced on both sides. He’ll tell me how good it is to see me out of my work polo shirt, how he knew immediately that we were meant for each other, how he only hopes I’m into him, too. He’ll say he doesn’t care that I’m an usher and he’s a performer--what he feels for me can’t be contained.

I first met Grey Larsen exactly thirty-four hours ago. Well, not exactly thirty-four. I don’t know what the minutes are. If I did, that would probably be cause for con-cern. But no, I only know the hours, which is totally reasonable given who Grey Larsen is. What he looks like. What he stands for.

Also, I guess that “met” might be a bit of a stretch. I should say that Grey Larsen first breezed into my life yesterday a little bit after twelve-thirty p.m. I had spent the morning training at Rocket Theater--the “4D” theater at Hyper Kid Magic Land, where I am now employed--before heading with my fellow usher to the patio tables outside the Caf.

That’s when I saw him.

He was part of a group of people who approached from the road, people who walked with ease and confidence. They were dressed in street clothes, not polos like the rest of Hyper Kid’s employees. Sweatpants. T-shirts. Plain but cool sneak-ers. As they came closer, I saw that their faces were overly done in comparison with what they wore, each one dusted and painted to give them perfect complex-ions, their eyes framed by liner and false lashes.

Performers, I realized. And in the middle of them, there was a laugh, something like a bark, a wild howl tearing through the air, finding its way to me.

It makes sense then that, tonight, he’s dressed like a wolf with ears he probably constructed himself and a tail pinned to his black spandex shorts. It’s not strictly a costume party, but I’ve been told that everyone in the Entertainment department sees any and all parties as opportunities to break out costumes. It’s part of their theatrical nature, or so people say.

But Grey. Grey is beyond. Can I describe him? He’s tall. Tonight he’s in a sleeveless black tank that makes his pale skin seem milky in the kitchen light. His hair is a mane of long golden strands that graze his cheek when he talks. There’s a mole beneath his chin and a tattoo of a snake on his bicep, plus others that I can’t quite make out on the underside of his arm. His nose is pointed, his lips are smooth, his eyes are blue, blue like the river that runs between our hearts.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s exactly what I need tonight. I thought that the Hy-per Kid Magic Land job alone was the answer, the fix that I needed to adjust the path of my life, but I was wrong. That was only a stepping stone. Being with Grey would erase everything that’s gone wrong in my life. After all, rebranding myself after what happened is the first step of my plan, and what better way to rebrand than as the girlfriend of a soon-to-be star? According to Google, if I’m to move on from the “incident,” as Assistant Principal Taggert called it, I need a clean slate. I need to prove that the mistake I made was just that--a mistake, a deviation, an outlier to be ignored based on the rest of my sixteen-year-old life.

This party is also a gift. It’s the Beginning of Summer Party, an annual tradition that I lucked into by getting hired three days ago. It’s a sign of how well I’m al-ready fitting in that someone invited me tonight. People can clearly see that I am dedicated and trustworthy, so much so that my fellow usher Ivy asked me at the end of my shift yesterday, “So are you coming to the Beginning of Summer Party?”

And now I’m here. Here and ready to win Grey’s heart. True, the night has had a few . . . bumps, but they’re nothing I can’t overcome. After last year, I’m deter-mined to obliterate any and all obstacles. I refuse to be kept down again. I will not focus on the negative. Not tonight. Not after everything I’ve fought past to get here.

It would be easier if I weren’t alone. Technically, I know a handful of people here, but not well enough to just walk up and join their conversations. For a moment, I wish Caroline were here, until I remember why, exactly, she’s not. Caroline was my best friend, the person who knew all my secrets . . . the person who knew me better than anyone.

Until she didn’t.

Now I have to manage by myself. I focus on the room, on the people swirling by in their costumes as the blasting house music echoes off the walls. It’s a strange mix, this party, of people my age and adults who also work at the park. The alcohol and costumes seem to be at war with the fruit and cheese platters spread throughout the different rooms, but maybe that’s what all parties look like. It’s my first one, so I can’t really say. Either way, the location is my favorite part. The house we’re at is tucked away in the forests and hiking trails that make up San Joaquin Hills, the per-fect place for secret rendezvous and new beginnings.

I’ve waited for the right moment with Grey, and the time has come to make my move. He lingers in the kitchen, a red cup in hand as he surveys the food. I’ve fol-lowed him from the living room and am now ready to appear casual and ap-proachable, cool and intriguing.

Breathe, Greta, I tell myself. You’ll never get another moment like this. You just have to pick the right words.

“I’m partial to Gouda,” I say to him. “It’s the nicest cheese. Much better than cheddar.”

He jumps--maybe I should’ve made my presence clearer before speaking. His blue eyes sweep over me, quietly appraising.

“I’m Greta,” I tell him, fluttering my precariously loose false eyelashes. “I’m an usher.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool,” he says, and then looks away toward the window just be-hind us, above the sink, the one that’s cracked open and is allowing the night breeze to infiltrate the smoke and dust and cologne of the party. I know I probably shouldn’t have led with cheese, but I didn’t want to get too personal. Now I can feel opportunity slipping away, and panic starts to set in.

Touch me, I want to scream at him. Touch me and kiss me so we can start and never stop. Please kiss me.

“So,” I say instead. “What’s your favorite cheese?”

He looks at the floor, and I don’t blame him. I’m actually talking to him about dairy. I’m inwardly cursing myself, desperate to right this conversation, when I hear someone screaming.

“It’s time! Oh my god, everyone! It’s time!”

I turn at the sound of the loud, slightly piercing voice, finding its source standing in the living room, bouncing up and down. It’s a girl, unfairly beautiful, with dark red hair that she’s dusted with gold glitter. I think she must be dressed up as some kind of mermaid, because she’s wearing a sort of shell bra and tight blue shorts over her pale, freckled skin.

“What’s going on?” I ask Grey, watching as the crowd coalesces in the direction of the girl. His eyes have locked on her as well, an easy smile cracking on his face. I’m not even sure he heard my question.

“Have a good night, Greta,” he says, then chugs his drink and places the empty cup on the counter. “Enjoy the cheese.”

“But--”

He’s gone before I can finish the sentence, moving toward the crowd. For a mo-ment, I watch him, unsure if I should follow, after my spectacular failure.

But of course, the girl did ask for everyone to go. And I’m part of everyone. Be-sides, I want to see what’s going on. So I edge around the corner until I find where the crowd has ended up, everyone pressing against each other, facing a large TV mounted on the wall above a fireplace. The girl is there, too, standing off to the side, waving at everyone with hands tipped with long, sparkly pink nails.

“All right, everybody,” she says, voice carrying over the noise. “I know this is what you’ve all been waiting for.”

There’s a sharp sort of glint in her eyes, and I wish I knew who she was. I look around for someone to ask, someone who I know, but I only recognize these people in a fuzzy sort of way. I wish I could find Ivy. Since she invited me, she’d be my saf-est bet. A social launching pad who could introduce me to other people. But I don’t spot her anywhere. I don’t even see Grey anymore, though he must be here somewhere since I just saw him. I try to look for him, but I’m blocked on all sides.

“Technically,” the girl says, drawing my eyes back up to the front, “this won’t air until tomorrow. But James himself sent me a copy just for tonight so that we can make the party extra special.”

She picks up a remote, waving it in the air like a wand. “Are we ready?”

Someone shouts, “Get on with it, Lauren!” while other people wolf whistle. I watch the girl’s--Lauren’s--smile grow as she clicks the remote, making the empty screen flare to life.

Immediately, I recognize the anchors from Rancho Paloma Morning News, both of them beaming brightly. Mom watches this show while I get ready for school--or she used to, when I was still going--and she’s always been a big fan. At the sight of them on the screen, the entire crowd seems to swell just a little closer to the front.

“Good morning! I’m Jade Burns, and this is Kenneth Diego, my cohost,” says Jade Burns. “We’re excited today to take you into the newest attraction at Rancho Paloma’s iconic theme park, Hyper Kid Magic Land.”

This earns a few whoops from the crowd, and several people hold their cups up in salute.

“This new show is being brought to us by Rancho Paloma local legend James K. Murphy,” Kenneth Diego continues. “We’re being promised a musical adventure full of twists, turns, and magical talismans, and lucky for you, we’ve got the inside scoop. Here’s Joe Lynskey with more.”

The news desk is quickly replaced by a sweeping aerial shot of the nearby Rancho Paloma coastline that turns and dives over Hyper Kid Magic Land itself, showing us the famous gondolas overhead before picking up with footage of face characters, close-ups of rides, and a glimpse of one of the theater marquees. Everything’s primary colors and smiling faces before we settle on a new shot that makes my heart flip.

Because there’s Grey, right at the center, hands on his hips and beaming. He’s no longer wearing sweatpants or a wolf tail. Instead, he’s on the screen in head-to-toe khaki and a wide-brimmed hat that he tips toward the news anchor interviewing him. There’s a girl next to him, also in khaki, with her blond hair peeking out from her own adventurer hat in two long braids. She’s wearing bright red lipstick and a bold smile, one hand on her hip as she grins into the camera. More whoops sweep the room at the sight of Grey and the girl.

“All right, parents, try to hold on to your kids,” Joe Lynskey says with a toothy smile. “I’m here with Hyper Kid himself, along with his trusty pal Ranger Quick-dash. And in their new show, Jungle Jam, you’ll see them get into an adventure like never before.”

I gasp. When I did my tour of the park, we stopped to watch each of the shows. Jungle Jam was by far my favorite. And it wasn’t just because I could watch Grey’s rippling muscles, though that was certainly a highlight. No, something about Jungle just . . . moved me when I was there. Sure, Mega Boost has the stunts, the gymnas-tics and flips through the air, the comedy. But Jungle has emotional resonance.

“Emotional resonance?” Ivy snorted when I told her that on the tour. She was ac-companying me so she could point out the “entertainment-specific nuances,” but mostly she used the time to criticize my tour guide and my accompanying excite-ment. “Be so fucking for real.”

I winced at my own lack of cool, but she said it with a laugh, so I didn’t take the comment too hard. But even if it is slightly uncool, I can’t help that Jungle calls to me. There’s something about it that’s, well, magical. It’s the heart. It’s the swell of the musical numbers and the energy of the audience. And yes, I admit it.

It’s the performers. Each of them commanded the stage, fulfilling their different roles with a mesmerizing confidence. Grey was Hyper Kid, an adventurer with a heart of gold. Then there was Ranger Quickdash, a beacon of feminine bravado and charisma. For comic relief, there was Dingle, Hyper Kid’s loyal dalmatian, and the sinister but comically flawed villain, Grimson Gangles.

But if I’m honest, while they were all great, there was one performer who stood out above the rest--even beyond Grey. For as spellbinding as he was, she was be-yond. She was magic unbottled on the stage.

Mercy Goodwin.

She plays Perky the Red Panda, the character on which the entire show spins. She’s the one hidden in the jungle, the one with access to the elusive Golden Panda. She’s the one who, somehow, made a twenty-minute theme park show seem like full-on theater. The one who, beyond a red panda suit and accompanying face paint, stood out from the rest.

They’re panning to her now, actually, showing shots from the show itself, lingering on Perky the Panda as she bursts out of the jungle set, eyes wide and sparkling as she races around Hyper Kid and Ranger. It must be Mercy, I think. Who else could make a hush fall over the entire room?

“Because, parents, there’s something in this show for you as well,” Joe Lynskey is saying now, no longer at the front of the park but walking through Adventure The-ater itself. “James K. Murphy himself has told us that he suspects some of these fi-ne performers might even find their way to Broadway one day, like Mr. Murphy himself once did. Just take a listen to this snippet of Jungle Jam star Mercy Good-win.”