A Match Made in High School (6 page)

feet out in front of me. “According to Marcie’s mom, only people with no class actually use the word
class
. If you have it, then you never talk about it.”

“Oh.” Johnny nodded slowly. “Just like herpes.”

I cracked up. I mean I really cracked up. I laughed so hard I got a cramp in my side and had to roll over. Then I sat up and smacked Johnny’s arm with the back of my hand. “I’ve
gotta
remember that one.”

Johnny smiled at the floor. He tapped the toes of his black boots up and down.

“Are those Doc Martens?” I asked.

“Yup.” He reached down to retie the right one. I nodded. “Nice.”

We sat without talking while a seemingly endless techno dance song pulsed through the gym. I picked at a fingernail. Johnny crossed and uncrossed his arms. Tapped his foot some more to the beat.

He said, “So . . . do you like music?”

It was a pretty stupid question. I mean, who doesn’t like music? Okay, maybe some puritanical zealot out in Hicksville. But really. It was kind of like asking, “Do you like food?” “Isn’t oxygen great?” “Have you got skin? I do.” I knew what he meant, though.

“Yeah. But this kind . . . not so much,” I said. “You like it?”

“Nah,” he said. Then tipped his head back and forth. “It’s okay. Some people like it.”

“I guess your friend Noah does.”

Johnny shook his head. “Oh, he doesn’t pick the music. He just operates the equipment.”

60 Kristin Walker

“Huh,” I said. I tried to blink my eyes fast enough to counter the strobe light. “Makes you wonder who picks the music.”

“Well, actually . . .” Johnny straightened up and cleared his throat, “since you mentioned it—it’s me. I do it.”

I gaped at Johnny. “What?
No
way!”

“Yeah, I’ve been putting the playlists together for every dance since freshman year.” He hitched his chin toward my hoodie. “You like The Connells?”

I shoved his shoulder. “Oh my God, you know The Connells? I
love
them.”

“Know them?” Johnny said. “Personally, I think they’re one of the most overlooked indie jangle pop bands of the post-punk movement.”

I blinked. “Wow. Uh . . . yeah, I totally agree.” I pulled my sweatshirt out straight to read it even though it was upside down and stuffed with prank ammo. “I don’t get why they’re not bigger.”

“
’74–’75
did pretty well in Europe.” Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Who else do you listen to?”

I turned and put my knee up on the bench. “I’m a mad, psycho fan of the White Stripes.”

“Totally understandable. They’re beyond innovative. Jack White is a brilliant musician.”

“No kidding. And the Raconteurs?”

Johnny swiveled to face me. “Oh my God, his work with them is insane. ‘Salute Your Solution’ is coming up later in the mix.”

“Awesome.”

We grinned and nodded at each other.

The Velvet Underground & Nico’s “I’ll Be Your Mirror”

started playing, and I said, “Wow, nice choice. God, if I’d known you were putting together the playlists all these years, I might have come to more dances.” Johnny opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but when the lyrics started, he just spun forward and hunched over his knees.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Super.” He shot me an okay sign without looking up.

“No problem.”

I searched the dance floor for Gabe. Didn’t see him anywhere. But I did see Todd and Amanda plastered together, bobbing to the music. She dragged her claws up and down the back of his polo shirt as they danced.

Johnny lifted his head and watched the crowd too. One guy wrapped a silver streamer around his girlfriend and held the ends as she slow-danced in front of him.

“Do you like dancing?” Johnny asked.

Oh God. This was awkward. Was he asking me to dance?

My mouth hung open while I pondered the deeper meaning of his question. He must have sensed my apprehension, because he blurted out, “I hate dancing. I mean, I don’t hate it. I just—I’m terrible. I’m totally into music, but I
really
can’t dance.”

Phew. Relief. “Yeah, you said that this morning. Neither can I.” I hitched my thumb at the couples on the dance floor.

“Not that I’d call that dancing.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“Sometimes I wish I lived back when people had balls.”

62 Kristin Walker

Oh God. That did
not
come out right.

I said, “I mean back when they had elaborate parties and dances and everyone dressed up and knew all the formal dances and everything.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

We sat not talking for several songs. There were one or two predictable crowd-pleasers, but also some obscure gems. A little Chairlift. There was a little bit of The Killers. Some Plain White T’s (gotta play the hometown boys). And even this other local band I love called Kicked Off Edison. It was enough to show that Johnny Mercer’s taste in music basically rocked. I drummed my fingers on the bleachers. “How much time?”

Johnny looked at his watch. “Eight minutes.”

I stretched my arms above my head and arched my back.

“Where’d Mar get to?”

“Dunno.”

“Maybe I should go look for her.” As I stood up, though, the music suddenly stopped and Principal Miller blew into the microphone. Her watch must have been running fast. Maybe that was how she caught her cheating husband. The lights brightened, and I saw Mar wave and give me a thumbsup from across the gym. It was nearly showtime. Principal Miller said, “Seniors! Seniors!
Señoritas
and
señors
!” She paused to laugh at her own lame joke. “Let me interrupt you for one moment. Well, we’re here to kick off the year with style! Yes! And to celebrate learning about marriage and partnerships! To start things right, I’d like each of

you to dance the next dance with your marriage education partner. After that, have
fun
! And enjoy the evening!”

Nobody moved.

Except for Johnny, Mar, and me. I signaled to Mar and she made a beeline for Amanda. Johnny and I headed for Todd. We knew we only had seconds before the lights went back out. Mar got to Amanda first and started pointing to her face—distracting her with makeup talk, I assumed. Next, Johnny strode just in front of me. He circled to the right, turned, and “accidentally” ran into Todd from behind. Todd fell forward. Johnny caught him but continued to bump and fumble, apologizing profusely. As Todd was bent over, I casually walked up to him, pulled our secret weapon from the plastic bag in my hoodie pocket, and slapped it on the ass of his khakis. With all Johnny’s bumping and fumbling, Todd hadn’t felt it. Only when he stood up and Amanda shrieked did Todd realize he was wearing an adult diaper filled with chocolate pudding, axle grease, and taco meat. The sticky-tabs helped, but the axle grease really made it stick.

“WHAT THE HELL?” he yelled. He wheeled around and saw me.

I crossed my arms and smiled. “Oh, poor baby,” I said.

“Did Mommy forget to change your diaper?”

Todd peeled the diaper off his butt and made the fatal mistake of holding it up. Callie Brooks screamed like it was the severed head of her deity, Martha Stewart. Everyone around us turned and stared. Amanda heaved, covered her mouth, and went running off in the direction of the bathroom. 64 Kristin Walker

“Holy . . . What the . . . ? Oh, you are
so
dead, PRINCESS

PISSPANTS,” Todd said. Loudly. So everyone would hear the name.

Except I had a name for him, too. I’d gotten the idea from Principal Miller, in fact. I took a deep breath and said, “So glad you like it, SEÑOR SHITSLACKS.”

A few people started laughing. A couple more joined in. Then someone yelled, “
Hola
, Señor Shitslacks!” and everyone burst into hysterics.

Then Todd Harding looked at me with an expression on his face that totally threw me. I’d thought he’d be scowling. Furious. But he wasn’t. He was smiling. And there was something in his eyes. At first, I thought it must be malice. It had to be hate, right? But I swear to God, as he held my stare, I realized.

It was admiration. He’d thought it was cool.

My mind zoomed. Was he yanking my chain? Trying to lure me in with his phony charm, only to set me up again?

I stood there like a robot with an electrical short. I think I actually twitched. Suddenly Principal Miller—who either had missed the whole prank or had decided not to notice it—was on the microphone again.

“Come on, turn those lights off! Find your partners and hit the dance floor! GET DOWN AND PAR-TAY!”

Todd glanced at Principal Miller and mumbled, “She’s totally loaded.” And I—I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself—I laughed. Todd said, “I’m not dancing with you, Princess Pisspants.”

I said, “I’m not dancing with you, Señor Shitslacks. Your ass stinks like chocolate tacos.”

Todd looked at me, looked at Johnny, shook his head, and walked bowlegged toward the bathrooms, holding the diaper away from himself. When he passed Callie Brooks, he thrust it at her face and she screamed again. What a wuss. The lights went down and the music came back on. Johnny clapped three times. “That was awesome!”

Marcie came over. “Well, Fee, feel better now? You know, you’ve got a seriously evil streak, girl.”

Evil streak? Me? I’d never considered myself evil before. Was an evil streak something I should be proud of? I should have been proud that I’d humiliated Todd just like he humiliated me. I should’ve been proud that we’d executed the plan without a hitch. I should’ve been thrilled that everyone saw that I was the one responsible.

But weirdly enough, I was something less than ecstatic.

“Yeah, it was cool. You guys were great. Thanks for helping me out.” I high-fived both of them.

“That’s what we’re here for, Fee,” Mar said.

“Yup. Nothing says friendship like, sweet, sweet revenge,”

Johnny said.

I tried to laugh at Johnny’s joke, but truth be told, Todd’s whole admiration reaction had totally messed with my head. And the idea of Gabe sneaking off with some girl just wrung me out like a dirty dishrag. “You know what, Mar? Whaddya say we blow out of here?”

Marcie’s satin forehead creased. “Already?”

66 Kristin Walker

“Yeah, I just—I dunno. I don’t really have any desire to stay. We did what we came to do, you know? I’m just done.”

Marcie gave me the head-wag-with-one-hand-on-the-hip routine. “Well, I’m your ride, and I don’t want to leave.”

“
Mar
-cie,” I said. As in,
Uh are you my best friend or what?

But Marcie either didn’t get it or didn’t care. “Fiona. I helped you. Why can’t you stay for me?”

“Come on, please? I just need to curl up and veg,” I said.

“I—I could take you,” Johnny said, and then to Mar: “I could take her and come back.”

I didn’t speak a word to Mar, but my eyes said,
You are
not seriously going to make me go home with Johnny Mercer, are
you?

Mar didn’t blink.

“Thanks anyway, Johnny, but you know what?” I waved my hand in front of him and Mar. “Forget it. I can walk.” I turned and strode toward the door. I got five steps before Mar said, “All right, wait up, Fee. I’ll take you.” She caught up with me and we headed out together. I glanced over my shoulder, gave Johnny a wave of thanks, and we left. ThAT NIGhT, I CouLdN’T SLEEp. My ANTIquE BRASS

bed creaked as I flopped around, trying to get comfortable. I kept playing the prank scene over and over in my head, trying to figure out why it hadn’t been as satisfying as I’d imagined. I didn’t get it. Sometime around two-thirty, I grabbed my iPod, pulled up
White Blood Cells
, and listened to music until I finally fell asleep.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling like I’d been dragged behind a bus driving through a minefield. I hoped I hadn’t caught something like typhoid or Ebola under those bleachers. Besides not wanting to have a deadly contagious disease, I also didn’t want to cancel babysitting for Sam that night. I had to ask her parents about Todd coming along, too. Marvelous. Couldn’t wait for that.

I rolled over to face the window beside my bed. Outside, the sun had the translucent, washed-out look that was the sign of a humid day. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep. When that didn’t work, I decided I needed caffeine, stat. I threw off my covers and trudged down the narrow back stairs to the kitchen.

My mother and several other women sat huddled around 68 Kristin Walker

the kitchen table, conspiring over their coffee mugs. One of the women was Marcie’s mom. As she caught sight of my torn nightshirt and moose-covered pj pants, a flicker of horror lit across her face. I said, “Hi Mrs. Beaufort. Uh, Mom?”

Mom startled. “Oh, Fiona, we were just talking about you. Your marriage course, that is. This is the executive committee of the PTA. Ladies, this is my daughter, Fiona.”

They nodded to me, and I waved without making direct eye contact with anyone. They looked like a bunch of mobsters planning a hit. I inched over to the coffeemaker, which was empty, of course, so I started making a new pot. Normally, I would’ve just grabbed a Coke, but one, I needed megadoses of caffeine, and two, I wanted to eavesdrop.

“Vivian, did Principal Miller say exactly when she got school board approval?” asked a woman who had a curly mass of jet-black hair with a two-inch band of gray roots at her part. It looked like an electrocuted skunk had died on her head.

“All she said,” my mother answered, “was that she appealed to them over the summer, and they called an emergency vote just prior to school starting.”

“And we all know how conservative that school board is,” Electrocuted Skunk said. “But there’s conservative, and then there’s crazy. No offense, Michelle.”

Mrs. Beaufort composed a smile and raised a hand to mean,
None taken
.

“Appealed to them?” said a woman with gold earrings way too big and gaudy for 10:23 a.m. “More like cried on their shoulders. I grew up with Barbara Miller. So did half