Sweeter than Fiction: A Taylor Swift Fic

Chapter 8: There's Nothing I Do Better Than Revenge

 I pulled up to Selena’s house to find her waiting out front, dressed in leather boots, black skinny jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. As she opened the door of my borrowed convertible, I said, “Did Catwoman hire you to help her rob a bank?”

Selena smiled and buckled her seatbelt. “Hey, don’t make fun just because I’m taking pranking seriously. It was your idea after all.”

I pulled away from the curb, heading towards the Nokia Theatre, home to the People’s Choice Awards and our target.

“Well I’m not sure your outfit exactly goes with the disguise I brought you— you’re going to look like some sort of hipster goth cowgirl. But I doubt anyone will be paying attention to us.”

The plan had come rather quickly. We’d just been hanging out one morning, eating waffles (I figured my New Year’s resolution should be more waffles and not less) and giggling as Ellen scared Julia Louis-Dreyfus, her latest unsuspecting guest. Even though we’d both had near heart attacks on that show, it was funny to watch other people.

 “Your Ellen scare is still the best one of all time,” said Selena, topping her waffles with a dollop of Cool Whip. “Seriously no one has topped yours.”

“Well, I’m not sure anyone else actually fell over like a baby giraffe.” I laughed and remembered telling Selena at dinner the night after it had happened — she’d laughed so hard she’d teared up. “And you say it like there was only one — I think I’m at five scares now? Plus the time she made me go down that awful haunted hallway.”

“Awful . . . or awesome?” replied Selena. I’d never understand her love of scary movies. The only reason I even like Halloween is because you can just stick with candy and costumes.

“Awful. The oooooh-oooooh music and the creepy, dangly things, and all the people jumping out . . .” I shuddered.

I looked over at Selena, who was poking listlessly at her waffles. I was a little worried about her: she seemed totally burnt out, and I know canceling her Australian tour had been difficult for her. She needed to do something really fun. I looked at the TV, where they were replaying the scare after the commercial break. I had an idea. “It might be time someone scared Ellen.”

Selena looked up from her waffle and gave me a sly smile. “Yes. But when?”

 “She just said she’s going to the People’s Choice, right? She might expect this kind of thing on her show, but she’d never expect to be scared somewhere like that.” Selena and I had both RSVPed no to the award show this year, but just because we weren’t sitting in the audience didn’t mean we couldn’t pop by . . .

Over the next couple days I sent a few key texts: one to James, the cute sound guy I’d bonded with last year, and one to Brad Paisley, who was performing that night and agreed to help us get in unnoticed. After my first tour with him, I knew Brad loved a good prank: he’d broken into laughter onstage when Kellie Pickler and I had burst onto the stage in tick costumes during his song “Tick.”

I parked at the side of the theater, then grabbed a cowboy hat from the backseat and piled my hair underneath. (Nothing gave me away like that hair, and no one would look twice at two cowboy-hatted ladies with Brad.) I slipped on my sunglasses with all the CSI Miami drama I could muster. Now I just needed some kind of witty one liner.  But all I came up with was “Ready?”

Selena grabbed another giant hat out of the backseat and adjusted her own sunglasses. “Ready.”

We approached a side door, which Brad had open for us. “Hello, ladies,” he said. “Follow me.”

The ceremony was starting in an hour, and backstage was at it busiest. People with iPads rushed around murmuring into headsets and barking orders, make-up people chatted as they powdered noses, tech people made last minute adjustments to lights, and some of the stars who’d be presenting that evening chatted in corners, just trying to stay out of the way. I kept my head down as I walked, hoping I wouldn’t attract attention from anyone I knew. These award shows were always a bit like class reunions: you saw great friends, people you hadn’t seen in forever, and there were still cool kids you were a little afraid of.

Brad held open the door of a dressing room. “You ladies can take your position in here.”

We hustled by and I whispered, “Thanks, Brad.”

He winked and touched the brim of his white Stetson. “Pleased to be of service, ma’am.”

Now, Brad just had to find James, who would find Ellen. And we had to hide. I climbed behind a L-shaped leather couch that faced the door. Perfect. I pointed to the other side and Selena crouched there. I took off the hat and glasses. Time to wait.

There’s nothing I do better than revenge. The line popped into my head with its accompanying melody — still a catchy tune I was proud of, though not one I’d write anymore, even for a boyfriend stealer. I’d been so angry, had been hurt so much at that time: by Joe, then by John, even Kanye for crying out loud. The high of revenge and writing a catchy song had obscured what my mom had told me all along: that the best revenge was just to let it go and be happy. But getting revenge tonight was different: I made an exception with revenge that would probably end with everyone laughing.

Then I heard James’s voice outside the door: “If you’ll just step in here, Ms. DeGeneres, I’ll adjust that mic for you. I don’t know why it’s giving us so much trouble today.”

My heart beat a little faster as I heard Ellen step into the room and, barely holding back my giggles, I jumped out, yelling, “AHHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHH!” Ellen screamed as her body flailed. But seasoned scarer that she is, she recovered quickly, and, one hand to her chest, she started laughing. “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. Okay, I deserved that, I did.”

Right then Selena jumped out from behind her part of the couch with her own scream: “AHHHHHHH!” Ellen yelped and grabbed the couch to stop her from full on falling. I started laughing even harder this time, and I knew that my face would be hurting from smiling by the time this was over.

I looked over at Selena, who was bent over with laughter. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright — she looked more alive than she had in weeks. And seeing that reaction in my worn-out bestie? It was better than revenge.

Next week it’s almost Grammy time. Should Taylor

a)    Go to rehearsals for this year’s show

b)   Remember her first Grammys performance

Comment with your vote below!