A Match Made in High School (3 page)

marriage, such as the three C’s: Communication, Compromise, and Commitment. But don’t worry! Everything you say will be a fourth C: Confidential.

Sounds easy, right? Well, just to keep things interesting, you may or may not be given a life-altering issue (ranging from a sudden il ness to a pregnancy with twins!) along with a new monthly cost or a lower Income Factor to address in your budget. Of course, you may get lottery winnings or a sudden inheritance, and you could buy that new house or car! It’s up to you as a couple to decide how to handle these situations. Your school guidance counselor will offer assistance at your weekly counseling sessions. Don’t forget! Your school will keep a running tal y of all realworld cash earned. Each month, the couple who earns the most may win a prize. Also, at the end of the course, the most successful marriage as determined by your guidance counselor (in terms of effective communication, successful budgeting, conflict resolution, and personal growth) WINS HALF OF THE TOTAL

MONEY COLLECTED, TO BE SPLIT BETWEEN YOU!

Good luck and have fun
Trying the Knot
!

“Have fun?” I cried. “Does this really say, HAVE FUN?

These people are sadists.” I shoved the marriage ed packet into my backpack as Marcie and I headed to lunch. I hadn’t been able to bear reading the damn thing until just then. Now I’d pretty much lost my appetite. The stench in the hallway outside the cafeteria didn’t help either. There was no way to tell from it what they were serving. Could be spaghetti. Could be boiled baby diaper. Thank God they always had hot dogs. 22 Kristin Walker

“Have you talked to Todd yet?” Marcie asked.

“He bolts whenever I see him. What about you and Johnny Mercer?”

She didn’t answer, because just then Johnny rounded the corner and shuffled toward us. He plucked out his left earphone. “Hey Marcie,” he mumbled. He glanced for a split second at me. “Hey Fiona . . .” He tugged up the waistband of his oversized khaki cargo shorts and pulled at the side of his denim jacket. I didn’t think they still made those. But then again, it didn’t look too new.

“Hey Johnny. How’s it going?” Marcie asked.

He was nearly a foot taller than me, so he kept his head down and kind of eyeballed Mar and me from there. “Uh, fine,” he said. His voice was deep. “I, uh, wanted to let you know that we’re supposed to meet at guidance Friday after the . . . uh . . . wedding ceremony thing. At ten-fifteen.” He darted his eyes toward me from under a strand of sandy blond hair. “Everybody has a time. They’re posted on the bulletin board.” Eyes back to Mar. “I didn’t know if you’d seen it yet. Thought I’d just . . . you know . . . let you know.”

“Thanks,” she said. “See ya there.”

“Sure. See ya.” Eyes to me one more time.

“’Bye,” Marcie and I both said at once. He sidled between us and lumbered into the cafeteria.

“See? He
is
nice,” I whispered.

“Maybe.”

“I’m gonna go check out our time,” I said to Mar. But I was really going to see what Gabe’s time was. In case I could arrange to run into him in the hallway. “Save me a seat,” I said.

“Sure.” Mar went into the cafeteria, and I headed for the bulletin board. I got there just as a couple of girls skulked away from it, snickering. For a sec, I wondered what they were laughing at. Then I saw.

Right there was the paper with everyone’s counseling times on it. Right next to 9:45 a.m. were Todd’s name and my name. And right next to my name was an arrow pointing to a cartoon of a girl with glasses, sitting on a horse, with pee running down her legs and pooling on the ground. Underneath, it said:
Pee-ona Horse
.

Good old Amanda. Clearly this was her work. She’d forgotten it was Pony, though, not Horse. I reached out and ripped the picture off the rest of the sheet of paper. Unbelievable. The first day of school, and I was already a joke. I marched down the hall to the cafeteria, thinking of a dozen different insults to launch at Amanda. I pulled open the door and found myself face-to-face with Gabe Webber as he was leaving.

“Oh! Hey Fiona,” he said. “How’s it going?”

I crumpled up the picture and crammed it into the back pocket of my jeans. “Great. Fine. How about you?”

His porcelain smile gleamed. “Better every day.” He held the door open for me, and I slid by him. “See ya soon,” he said.

“Okay, sure,” I said. “See ya, Gabe.” I loved saying his name out loud. I watched him stride down the hall until the door swung shut on my view. Then I turned and searched the lunchroom for Amanda. I looked the cafeteria over three times, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I did, however, see Marcie sitting with a bunch of people, and she had apparently 24 Kristin Walker

forgotten to save me a seat. Perfect. Whatev. I’d just sit by myself and read. I was no good at girl talk anyway, even if there had been room for me at that table. Designer clothes, bubblegum pop music, celebrity heartthrobs—I couldn’t give a fat rat’s hairy ass. Just give me my hotdog and Jane Austen, and I’m good.

I got in line for said hotdog and pulled out
Pride and
Prejudice
. I pretended to read as I tried to calm down. I told myself the picture was just a joke. I could deal. Probably no one had seen it, anyway. And if they had, maybe they hadn’t understood. Or didn’t remember second grade. Of course, the shifty eyes Johnny Mercer had given me pretty much shot that theory to hell. He’d seen it for sure. But who cared what he thought, anyway? No biggie.

I had just convinced myself that the stupid picture was
so
beneath my contempt, when I noticed Todd Harding line up about five people behind me. I tucked my book in my backpack, took a “cleansing breath,” as Mar would say, and decided I would say hello. Just to make sure he knew about the appointment on Friday and all. I pride myself on my maturity.

When I got to the entrée counter, I stood back, like I didn’t know what I wanted. “Go ahead,” I said to the girl next in line. And the next: “Go on, I’m still deciding. Go ahead.”

Right up until Todd was next to me. Then I stepped forward.

“Pardon,” I said smooth as cream. “Just need to grab a hot do— Oh, hi Todd.” Like I hadn’t even noticed him.

“Yeah. Uh, Fiona, right?”

I chuckled. “Uh-Fiona. Yep that’s me. Uh-Fiona. So, I

guess we’re married, huh?” I squeezed some ketchup on my hot dog. It splurted all over my tray.

Todd made that pus face again and said, “Look, nothing personal”—which of course always means something personal—“but I’m not spending my senior year hanging out with you. It’s not happening.”

“Um, it’s not?”

“Nope. Sorry to ruin your wet dreams.”

“Uhhh . . . ’scuse me?”

He smirked. “I mean, I’m sure you need the money and all.” He cocked his head to the side and eyeballed my outfit.

“For a pair of socks that match, maybe. Or a bra, once your tits start to grow. But I don’t need it. I’m good.”

I just stood there, limp and rigid at the same time. Like a rag doll with a broomstick stuck up its ass.

Todd’s bonehead buddy sniggered next to him and nudged him along the line. As they pushed past me, Todd leaned over to his friend and whispered, “Poor horse.”

Then he whinnied.

And that’s when I knew. Todd had drawn the picture. That was why Pony had been wrong: because Todd thought it was a horse. Amanda hadn’t done it. Todd had. Just to publicly humiliate me.

That asshole.

I picked up my hot dog and hurled it at the back of his pretty-boy white-blond head. SPLAT. Ketchup everywhere and a greasy wiener tumbling down his back. Bull’s-eye.

“
What the
. . . ?” Todd spun around.

“That was for your little piece-of-crap artwork,” I said. 26 Kristin Walker

Todd took two giant strides toward me, leaned in to my face, and growled, “You want to play, Princess Pisspants?

Fine. We’ll play. See you Friday morning. Welcome to married hell.” Then he stalked away, leaving me standing there with one thought in my head.

Game on.

ThAT NIGhT AT dINNER whEN I ToLd My pARENTS

about marriage ed, my mom said, “That is absolutely ridiculous.” She sliced through a piece of spicy Thai chicken.

“Why?” my dad asked.

“What can they possibly hope to gain by forcing these kids together when they barely even know each other? It’s not like they got to choose their partners.”

“So?”

Mom set her knife and fork down on the pottery plate she’d bought a set of at an art fair last year. “So how is it applicable to real life? How does it teach them about choosing a good mate when they didn’t get to make the choice themselves?” she asked.

Dad leaned in. “How do you suggest the course should work?”

Now, let me take a moment to explain something about my father. He’s a political science professor at Northern Illinois University, and he likes to teach using the Socratic method of basically just asking questions. That’s it. Anything a student says, my dad simply turns around and puts it back on the poor sap in question form. He could teach an entire 28 Kristin Walker

hour-long lecture using only the words, “Why?” “How?”

“So?” and “What do you think?” Sometimes I wonder if he knows anything at all about political science. But he’s one of the most popular professors on campus. Unfortunately, he tends to bring his teaching method home, which makes him not-so-popular with my mom and me at times.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your pupils,” Mom said.

“I can have my opinion without needing to defend it.”

“Okay, if you want to have an unfounded opinion, go right ahead.” He stabbed a bite of spinach salad and popped it in his mouth.

“My opinion is not unfounded; it’s just none of your business,” she said.

“You made it my business when you said it out loud,” he mumbled through chewed green stuff.

“Are you kidding here?” Mom asked. “Because you’re starting to actually piss me off.”

Dad swallowed, smiled, and grabbed my mom’s hand.

“Of course I’m kidding. Don’t get mad.” He leaned across the table and kissed her. “I’m just playing with you.”

That’s what my parents call playing. It’s twisted, but they seem to love it. Whatever steams your clams.

“Mom’s got a point,” I said. “These random matches are a disaster.”

“Why?” Dad asked. “What happened; did you get a dud?”

I slowly spun my knife on the table. “Not a dud. The opposite. Extremely popular and a total jerk. There isn’t one thing about this guy I find at all appealing.”

“Hey now. Come on. Don’t be mean. Popular guys have feelings too,” he teased.

“Not this one. Unless you count feeling up his girlfriend in the hallway before class.”

“Feeling up a girl always counts,” he said.

Mom swacked him with her cloth napkin, “Ethan—”

“It’s true. I’ve counted every single time.” And I swear to God, he reached over and honked her boob right in front of me. “Six thousand, two hundred, eight.”

I leaned back from my parents as far as possible. “
Ethan
,”

I cried, “this is the
dinner table
.”

Dad toggled his head at me. “Pardon me, Your Ladyship.”

My mother struggled to compose herself. “Fiona, Principal Miller really said you can’t graduate if you don’t take this course? And the school board okayed it?”

“That’s what she said.”

“I find that objectionable,” Mom said.

“For once, we agree,” I said. I flicked grains of jasmine rice around my plate with my fork. I lined them up into a little
T
for
Todd
, and then smooshed it with the back of the fork tines.

“Well, I’m not standing for it,” Mom said. “I’m calling Principal Miller tomorrow. Then the school board. Maybe I’ll even write a letter to the paper.” She drained her wineglass.

“Ridiculous.”

“Uh-oh,” Dad said. “Hide your daughters. Viv is on the warpath.”

Mom swacked him with her napkin again.

30 Kristin Walker

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, Mom, but it’s not going to change anything. Meanwhile, I still have to deal with this jerk.”

Mom picked up her plate and took it to the sink. “Fiona, I think this course is absurd. But for the time being, you’re going to have to play along. Just try to find one thing about this boy that you like, or respect, or can at least stand. Just one thing. That’s all you need. Focus on that one redeemable quality, that one thing you like, and you’ll be surprised how long you can stand him for.”

“Is that how you and Dad stay together?”

“What can I say? He makes a mean chocolate milk shake.”

“And she can really sing,” Dad said.

“I’m a terrible singer,” said Mom.

“You are? Well, in that case, I guess we’re through.” He shrugged. “Hmmm . . . I wonder who I was thinking of who can sing.”

“Your mother is a good singer. Perhaps you should go live with her.”

Dad said, “At least
she
lets me feel her up.”

I stood up. “That’s it; I’m done. And I’m not even going to ask to be excused, because you two are sick and depraved and no longer hold any authority over me. I’ll be in my room.”

I set my plate in the sink and left them giggling behind me. Upstairs, I sprawled out on my bed and pulled out the marriage ed packet. I grabbed the journal and a pen. Figured I might as well record this horrific day.

Wednesday, September 4

I thought today would be the first day of a fantastic senior year. Instead, it sucked. Now I have to spend the whole year ShACkLEd to a person (who shall remain nameless, but his initials are Todd hARdING) whom I despise. I have been advised to try to find one redeeming quality in him to focus on. So far, the only thing I can think of is that he is breathing. But even that is questionable, because he is very likely a zombie or some other form of the undead. I would seriously rather spend my entire life as a virgin spinster than spend it with Todd harding. I’d be perfectly happy living as the crazy cat lady. I have an uncle (Tommy) who is total y the male version of the crazy cat lady, and he’s happy enough. Actual y, come to think of it, he’s real y not. Like this one time about three years ago, we went up for my Nana’s seventy-fifth b-day. we ate at this restaurant, and I got stuck sitting next to uncle Tommy. I tried to make polite small talk, but he started snapping at me, saying that one of his two cats was sick. Some kidney problem or something. he asked me if I had any pets. I said no, and he said, “Good. They’re heartache. I bought Sarsaparil a and knee hi this year for my fortieth birthday. They just remind me of how old I am. And now, knee hi’s sick. I don’t know what Sarsaparil a would do without her sister.”

I said I was sorry to hear that, and he said, “wel , it’s par for the course for my life. God forbid I have one small thing that isn’t a disappointment.”

ooooohhhhkaaaay.

what the freak could I say to that? Luckily, the appetizers came out, and I could suddenly develop an al -consuming interest in the construction of shrimp puffs.

32 Kristin Walker

That was uncle Tommy three years ago. I can only guess how bitter and frightening he is by now. I hope to hell the cat didn’t die. I have no idea what any of that has to do with marriage education, but at least it took up a couple journal pages.

FRIdAy MoRNING. FIRST pERIod. ThE SENIoRS wERE

gathered in the auditorium. Up onstage stood this crappy white archway left over from last year’s production of
Much
Ado About Nothing
covered in fake pink flowers and lit up with a spotlight.

Principal Miller’s fingers fluttered at her hair and neck as she walked to the podium next to the arch. “All right, seniors. Settle down, now. Let’s get through this ceremony and you can go to class. I’d like the young women to line up on the right side of the auditorium according to the alphabetical order of your last names. Young men, you will line up on the left side of the auditorium across from your partner.”

This took several minutes, as many of the senior girls had not yet mastered the intricacies of the English alphabet. Plus, none of us was in too much of a hurry to get to the actual wedding part. Principal Miller tried to help out as best she could.

“No, Maja, Bjorkman comes before Bloomberg. Catherine, is it McHenry or MacHenry? Okay, that means you’re after Juliana. Rhiannon, I know you and Joscelin have the same last name. Line up according to first name, then. No, that 34 Kristin Walker

means you’re behind Joscelin, not in front. There you go. No, Elizabeth, you do not have to kiss. In fact, you should not. No kissing! Do you hear me, everyone? No kissing! Rashmi Kapoor, get back here! Well, too bad, you’ll have to hold it.”

There’s a saying about herding cats. Like how impossible it is. But that would have been a piece of cake compared to this. Finally, we slid into place, and so did the guys. I looked across the expanse of green vinyl seats to the line of them huddled against the wall. They looked like game animals that had been shipped in for a controlled hunt. Some oblivious to their fate. Some bucking and kicking against the enclosure. Some resigned to their impending demise. But all trapped. I scanned the line. Johnny Mercer was toward the front, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded above his stomach. He was completely motionless except for his right black boot, which kept tapping and tapping furiously on the floor.

Gabe stood about halfway down the line. His tangerine shirt made his skin look like burnished bronze. He chatted with the guy next to him and laughed casually, showing his perfect white teeth. It reminded me of how he’d tried to make me laugh on the way to the nurse’s office in third grade so I wouldn’t think about the pain in my ankle. His smile was still the same.

All of a sudden, Gabe turned and looked across the auditorium toward the girls. I could see his eyes passing down the line. In a second he’d be looking right at me. Should I let him see me watching him? Would it surprise him? Or should