7 Clues to Winning You (8 page)

“It’s not a gazillion, anyway,” Mom said from under the sink. “And it’s tied up in long-term investments. It’s more of an emergency fund, and a dirty house is not an emergency.”

I plopped down in a chair. “Where’s Dad?”

“At a school board meeting” Mom said. “Ugh, this isn’t working either. I’ll just have to put something on top of the stain.” She sat up again and blinked away the chlorine fumes. “He told me that you had kind of a rough first day. Are you holding up okay?”

Kind of rough?

“I’m fine,” I told her. I didn’t want to be a liar, so in my head, I said,
Fine: as in thin, fragile, and about to break
.

Mom knew me too well, though. “Want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Do you have homework?”

“Not really.” I had to translate a paragraph, which would take about three minutes since Ash Grove was also about two semesters behind Meriton in Intermediate French.

“Well then, would you mind folding the laundry in the dryer and putting it away? There’s a showing first thing tomorrow.” She crossed her fingers in the air.

Without thinking, I said, “I can’t believe you’re so eager to sell the house. Doesn’t it bother you at all?” It had slipped out and produced an immediate effect on Mom. She hauled herself up to her feet. There was no lady look on her face. She didn’t try to hide her displeasure a bit.

“Of course it bothers me, Blythe. This is my home too. My life is changing too. But you know what? These are the sacrifices we make for the people we love.”

“Person,” I corrected her.

“Pardon me?”

“The
person
you love. Not
people
. Person. Dad.”

Her eyes saucered. “No, Blythe. I mean people. For Dad, yes, but also for you and Zach. Everything your father and I do, or choose, is to benefit you kids. You may not see it when you don’t look past the end of your nose, but it’s a fact.”

Ouch.

“And even if it wasn’t, your father has given so much to this family. We can give him this. His happiness counts too,
Blythe. It matters. And what’s good for your father is good for the family. So before you start another diatribe about how unfair your life is, like you apparently did at school today, maybe you should think about things more carefully.” She picked up the bucket and walked out of the room.

“Don’t sweat it,” Zach said as he finished his algebra and shoved the paper in his backpack. “She gave me the same speech yesterday.”

“It’s not just about happiness, anyway,” I said. “It’s about money. God, I do not understand what their hang-up is about using Mom’s trust fund to help out the family.”

“It’s a guy thing,” said Zach. “Men are hunter-gatherers. They want to provide for their tribe.”

“Yeah, but we’re the ones paying the price,” I said.

“What are you complaining for? You’ve got another year and a half, tops. I’m stuck here for half a decade.” He tossed his backpack by the kitchen door and headed outside. “Later. I’m going to Jack’s.”

“What about dinner?” I asked. It was nearly five thirty.

“It’s fend for yourself. I’ll get something at Jack’s.” The storm door slammed behind him like it always did. Such a familiar sound. Even that would be gone soon.

I opened the fridge. Fend for yourself was when you had to grab something to eat on your own because neither Mom nor Dad had the time or energy to cook. I was thrilled that I didn’t have to sit at a table and make small talk with my parents tonight. I grabbed a leftover ham and cheese sandwich and took it to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the night. I forgot all about folding the laundry.

* * *

The next morning, Dad was gone by the time I came downstairs. He must’ve needed to get to school early. I grabbed a giant mug of steaming coffee and trudged back up to my room. I selected an adorable polka-dot jumper to wear and then remembered that Ash Grove wasn’t as fashion forward as Meriton. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I opted for leggings and a cream chiffon tunic. I remembered to make my bed before I left.

Walking into school, I kept my chin high and my profile low. I resolved to be dignified but non-confrontational. I hoped that people would be finished laughing at me for the yearbook caption contest, and thankfully, they seemed to be. The obvious way they looked straight through me didn’t exactly give me the warm fuzzies, but I’d take that over ridicule any day.

I made it to homeroom. Made it to first period. By second period, though, I began to notice whispering. I saw pairs of girls hunched over the invisible space between them, heads inclined toward each other, mouths moving. A group of guys stood stock still except for the one doing the talking. I was desperately curious, but who could I ask about it? Nobody. Maybe Cy and Jenna.

In the hallways between classes, I kept an eye out for Jenna’s bright hair, but I didn’t see it anywhere. I finally caught up with her and Cy at lunch. They were back at the same table in the corner, but they were sitting on the opposite side. I’d have to sit facing the room today. I got my yogurt and pretzels and made my way over.

“Can I sit here again?” I asked. They turned in unison
to face me. For a few seconds, neither one said a word. It almost felt like I’d barged in on them or interrupted their privacy. Jenna shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

I inched my way around the table to give them time to change their minds if they wanted to. Neither one did, so I sat and tore open my pretzels. “Tear, not pull,” I said to Cy, trying to break the ice. He gave me one solitary nod. He was wearing the same army jacket as yesterday. Jenna had on a Betty Boop tee. They seemed to be somehow guarded.

“Is something wrong?” As soon as the question left my lips, I immediately felt like I’d asked something too personal. Like we were old friends who cared enough to ask that kind of thing. Which we weren’t. So I segued right into, “Everyone’s whispering and talking about something. Do you guys know what it is?”

Cy crinkled his forehead and frowned. “Yeah.” That was all.

I blinked a few times. “Well, can you tell me?” I’d tried not to sound sarcastic, but I wasn’t very successful.

Jenna and Cy locked eyes. Silence passed between them. Jenna turned to me and said, “There’s a rumor going around that Principal Mac is canceling the Senior Scramble.”

He was actually considering it? I took a moment to make sure my expression had enough surprise in it. “What?” I said. “He is?”

I hadn’t seen Dad since yesterday. So what had made his mind up?

“Apparently, yes,” Jenna said. She added, “Rumor has it, you’re behind it.”

Cy asked me, “So are you?”

I waffled. I didn’t want to confirm the rumors, but I didn’t want to lie either. If there was one thing I never wanted to be, it was a liar. I also didn’t want to jeopardize the only quasi-friendships I’d made at school, frail as they were. Jenna and Cy didn’t seem like snitches, so I went ahead and told them about my conversation with Dad, emphasizing the “stopping bullies” theme. Again, it sounded like a flimsy excuse. Cy and Jenna didn’t buy it for a second. Only when I admitted what Ms. Eulalie had suggested—that I might’ve been looking for a small smidge of revenge along with justice—did Cy and Jenna accept my answer.

“Kind of a dick move,” he said.

I nodded and mumbled, “I had good intentions. I thought I did, anyway. Apparently, they were hiding a couple of not-so-good ones.” I desperately wanted to offer Jenna and Cy a reason not to hate me. A reason for me not to hate myself. I straightened up and snatched the lid off my yogurt. “You know what? Dad would never do it. I bet he’d never do it. He won’t. You guys matter too much to him. His students.” I crumpled the foil lid into a tight pebble. “Don’t worry.”

“But you’re his daughter,” Jenna said.

I smiled sardonically and shook my head. “Not here, I’m not.”

Cy snagged one of my pretzels and popped it in his mouth. I took it as a tentative gesture of forgiveness and pushed the bag toward him.

“Here’s what I don’t get, though,” I said. “The entire conversation happened in his office, with the door closed. How
could the rumor even start? Dad wouldn’t blab. He’d know it’d make things worse for me. Plus, if he ended up deciding not to cancel the Senior Scramble, he wouldn’t want anyone to know that he was even considering it in the first place.”

“Wait a sec,” Cy said. “You were in your dad’s office?”

“Yeah.”

“The door was closed?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Was Mrs. Bolger still there?”

Jenna suddenly caught on to what Cy was hinting at. “Oh my God! That must be it. I cannot
believe
that woman!”

I looked back and forth between them waiting for them to explain. “Who’s Mrs. Bolger?”

“The head secretary. Mrs. Bolger,” Cy said.

“Gladys?” I asked. “Is her name Gladys?”

Jenna nodded. “Yeah, Gladys Bolger.”

“What about her?”

“Oh my God,” Jenna said, collecting herself. She held both hands up to set the scene. “Okay, here’s what happened. This one time Cy got called into Principal Mac’s office for threatening this jerk who was saying crap about me. I ditched class to go with Cy, but I didn’t want to get caught, so I waited out in the hall. So I’m out in the hall, right? But I keep peeking through the glass every now and then, to see if Cy’s done. So at this one point when I’m peeking in, I see Mrs. Bolger, who’s the only other person there, I see her tiptoe up to Principal Mac’s door and listen for a sec. I thought, that’s weird, right? So I keep watching. She goes straight back to her desk and pushes a button on her phone and leans down to it. I finally
figure out what she’s doing, and I know I have to stop it. You know, for Cy. So I barge in there and she jumps like a frigging monkey, smacking at the phone. But it’s too late. I heard Principal Mac’s voice loud and clear through her intercom before she finally hit that button. I didn’t let on that I knew, of course. But I did. She was totally listening in on them.”

I gaped at Jenna. “Oh my God, she eavesdrops on his private meetings?”

“Yup.” Cy chucked another pretzel in his mouth.

Jenna leaned back and snuggled into Cy’s chest. “Bet that’s how everyone knows about the Senior Scramble.” Cy wrapped his arms around her and fed her a pretzel.

“Unbelievable,” I said. “She seems so nice.”

Cy gave a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, well, so do serial killers. It’s a total front. Don’t trust her. She gets off on stirring up shit for students.”

“How pathetic,” Jenna muttered. She picked the black polish off the tip of one of her fingernails.

I sat up straight as a rod and poked at the air. “You know what? She’s the one who told my dad about the yearbook picture yesterday too!”

“See what I mean?” Cy said. “Stirs shit up.”

“Unbelievable.” I grabbed my spork as something zinged past my head. I looked up in the direction it came from and saw a Tater Tot winging toward me. I’ve never had quick reflexes, and even if I did, I’d never had someone throw food at me before. Ever. Especially not at Meriton. So I didn’t even flinch, and the Tater Tot smacked me in the middle of my forehead.

Cy and Jenna wheeled around to see the bunch of goons three tables down who had broken into hysterics. I touched my forehead and had opened my mouth to say something, when one of the guys launched another Tater Tot at me. Only this one was covered in ketchup. I tried to dodge, but it hit me square in the chest, splattering my cream tunic with red goo and grease.

Cy growled, “Give me your yogurt,” so fiercely that I didn’t dare disobey. I handed it to him and he stood up. His thick-soled black boots thudded on the linoleum floor as he strode over to the guy who’d thrown the ketchup. Without hesitation, Cy tipped the container upside down over the guy’s head and squeezed the entire cup of strawberry yogurt into his spiky, over-gelled hair. The guy leapt to his feet and shoved Cy backward with both hands.

Now, besides the fact that Cy rocked a fairly psycho-killer look, he also was taller than pretty much everyone in the junior class. So all he had to do was come at the yogurt-covered douche bag like a madman—yelling and waving his arms and pointing to me—and yogurt douche backed down. Cy didn’t need to lay a finger on him. Yogurt douche took a couple of stumbling steps backward and then pivoted and stormed out of the cafeteria. One of the underpaid, under-educated teachers monitoring lunch followed him out like an obedient dog. None of the other monitors had even noticed the fight until it was already over.

“Now you watch,” Jenna said softly. “Cy’s the one who’ll get in trouble.” In her eyes was the tenderest affection I’d ever seen. I’d never noticed anything like it between couples
at Meriton. Even the ones who’d been together for years. I sure hadn’t ever felt it myself.

When Cy headed back to us, Jenna’s demeanor and tone did a complete one-eighty. She went into sex-kitten mode. She arched her back and lifted one of her feet in black patent-leather Mary Janes onto the bench. She wiggled in her seat as he came closer. When he got there, she reached out for him and purred, “God, that was hot. I love it when you do brave hero shit.” She slid her hands around Cy’s hips and drew him closer, gazing up at him standing above her. He slipped one hand behind the nape of her neck, bent down, and pulled her face to his. They kissed hard and deep.

I sat, mesmerized.

When they were done, Cy tossed the empty yogurt container onto the table and it skittered toward me. “Here you go,” he said. “Thanks for the loan.”

I was still gripping the spork tightly in my fist. I hadn’t really moved a millimeter since handing over the yogurt. Finally, I managed to say, “I should be thanking you.” I picked up my lone, useless napkin and tried to wipe off the ketchup. “I’ve never … That’s never …” The spot just smeared. It was more than a spot; it was a stain. It was a violation. It was a message. It was a symbol of the fact that, for the first time in my life, I was disliked. By pretty much everyone. Except for the two people in front of me. These unlikely allies.

“Thanks, Cy,” I said weakly but totally sincere. “I owe you.”