Awkward (4 page)

“Um, thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll pay you back later.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Logan said easily. I guess when your college tuition is squared away, you don’t have to be stingy about money. I couldn’t help being a little envious. It seemed so nice to spend money without wondering how much each item would set back your timetable for a college laptop.

“I’ll pay you back later,” I insisted.

“Hey, are the two of you dating or something?” Patrick said uncertainly. I choked on my drink, but it had nothing to do with laughter.

“Good one,” tittered Chelsea. “Like the two of them would be dating!”

She was a darling. Really.

“Um, no. No, no, no.” Maybe I should’ve stopped after just one “no.”

Patrick grinned and I felt my knees weaken. He just looked so sweet with his chocolatey brown eyes all melty—like the mocha Frappuccino I was holding in my hands. I inched a little closer to him. I just couldn’t resist—the smile pulled me in.

“Just getting some coffee,” said Logan.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Because it increases alertness and is a great study agent. Did you know that coffee has been used as currency before?”

Patrick shook his head slowly to silently communicate that I was committing a huge faux pas. The girls stared at me in disbelief while Logan sipped his drink and looked amused.

“Why would we want to know that?” Chelsea asked snarkily.

“Um … because it’s interesting?”

I kept my eyes on Patrick so that my insides would stay soft and gooey. I’d freeze up instantly if I met one of the Evil Trio’s cool-eyed gazes. Logan put his hand on my shoulder (shutting me up instantly) and said, “I’ll see you guys later.” Then he steered me to the car. I waited until we were both buckled before I turned to him.

“It would be cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’d be cool.”

I hadn’t expected him to agree with me. He was looking at me intently, evaluating with his suspicious gray eyes, and I tried not to squirm in my seat.

Sometimes it felt like he was the tutor and I was the one failing the tests.

“I
had no idea you were into Patrick.” Logan’s voice was bland with just a hint of amusement.

“Wh-What makes you think
that?
” I managed to stutter.

“The way you were drooling over him was kind of a hint.”

I stared but failed to read his expression. He had grossly exaggerated one little moment of awkwardness and yet he looked so complacent. A seduction attempt?
Me?
What was he talking about?

I wasn’t above setting the record straight.

At a red light, I looked Logan dead in the eyes. “I don’t flirt that way. I have better things to do with my time.” I hoped this sounded cutting and smart. “Now, do you want to use your brain or just let it atrophy?”

Silence ruled in the car. And I admit it: I took it personally. . . and then I got pissed. It wasn’t the joking teasing of friends because we were
NOT
FRIENDS
. He’s a Notable and I’m an Invisible, and if I’d somehow managed to forget that, his Starbucks analysis had done the trick of reminding me.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

He shrugged. How much more noncommunicative can you get.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but deal with it! I can’t tutor you if you don’t speak to me. And I need this job so that I can buy a MacBook.”

“That’s what you’re doing this for?” he asked in disbelief. “A laptop.”

“Um … yeah,” I said. “Why’d you think I was tutoring you, for a Nobel Prize?”

He ignored my question and just looked thoughtful. “Makes sense. It has your name written all over it.” He grinned at my obvious confusion. “Mackenzie saving for a MacBook.”

I felt my hands tighten instinctively and had to order myself to relax. “Very clever. I’ve never heard that one before…. Oh, wait, yes I have. And I don’t go by Mack.”

I don’t think he was listening as we pulled into his driveway. A few minutes later, we were settled in his kitchen with our textbooks open.

“So the French and Indian War,” I tried again, “was between. . .”

Logan ran one hand through his hair in frustration and looked down at the ornate doodle he had created in his notebook. “The French and the Indians?”

“Not quite.”

Exasperation was written all over his face. “Then why is it called the French and Indian War?”

“Well, because the winners are the ones who pick the name.”

“So who won, the French or the Indians?”

“Neither.” The disgusted glint in Logan’s eye made me quickly add, “The British and the Colonists won. It’d be pretty long if it were the British and Colonists Against the French and Indians War.”

That got an almost-smile, so I kept going. “The British won with the Colonists. They just named it the French and Indian War because that was who they were fighting against.”

Logan was about to say something when his parents entered the room.

“Hello, Mackenzie,” his mom greeted me warmly. “How’s the studying going?”

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett,” I said, wondering if I should refer to them both as Dr. Beckett or whether that would just make things confusing. “I think it’s going pretty well. Just covering the highlights right now.” I tried to make it sound like everything was under control when clearly it wasn’t. Logan had gotten 29 percent on his diagnostic test. That wasn’t “fine” by any stretch of the word. Nothing from class seemed to be sticking. All Logan had done was create a binder full of drawings. I saw sketches of classmates, ships in peril, and long-necked giraffes all jumbled in the margins. Great.

“And how are the two of you?” I asked in an attempt to deflect attention.

“Oh, just fine,” his mom replied as she pulled out sliced turkey from the refrigerator and began making a sandwich. The Beckett house was nothing if not pristine, expensive, and classy. Which is what you get, I guess, when you have two doctors and one child instead of one waitress raising two kids and depending on child support from her cheating ex.

“Any excitement at the hospital?”

“Nothing too interesting. A few kids with alcohol poisoning needed their stomachs pumped. Apparently there was quite a party last night.”

Even the adults were more clued into the party scene than me.

“I wouldn’t know,” I replied honestly, like the studious good-girl type I am. “I’m not a drinker. Not really my style.”

Logan looked me squarely in the eyes. “No kidding. I never would have guessed.”

Jerk.

“Well, isn’t that refreshing,” his mom said chipperly. “That you know your limitations and stay within them.” She turned to her son. “Isn’t that nice.”

“Yeah.” He looked like he was stifling the urge to laugh. “Very nice.”

We both knew why I didn’t drink—you can’t if you aren’t invited to those kinds of parties.

I almost said something when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get that,” said Logan’s dad, who popped open a can of Diet Coke and strolled to the door.

“Hi, Mr. Beckett.” I recognized the voice as one of pure evil—a girly tone accustomed to treachery and debauchery. I’m lying. All I could tell was that it belonged to Chelsea Halloway. The rest was merely a well-informed hypothesis.

“Logan, you have a
friend
here to see you.” The emphasis his dad placed implied that maybe “friend” wasn’t the best term to describe their relationship. Not that it was any of my business.

I closed the AP US textbook and mentally psyched myself to deal with Chelsea. I don’t know what it is about the girl (maybe her perfectly coiffed hair or her impeccable makeup), but she always intimidated me. It didn’t matter if I saw her at school, or Starbucks, or in Logan Beckett’s kitchen, the girl reeked of Superiority. Or whatever the latest fragrance was from Victoria’s Secret.

“Hey, Chelsea,” I said casually when she finally entered the kitchen. I stood up and moved toward the banana bread muffins. The Dr. Becketts had told me to make myself at home on my first day of tutoring, which meant I didn’t have to ask every time I wanted to raid their refrigerator. I get a mean case of the afternoon munchies.

“Hey,” she replied before abruptly turning to Mrs. Beckett with a dazzling smile that said,
I am beautiful and just the type of girl you want your son to date.

Suck-up.

“How have you been, Mrs. Beckett?” Chelsea asked sweetly.

“I’m doing well, Chelsea. And you?”

Chelsea flicked her hair back over her shoulder. It moved like a freaking Pantene commercial. “I’m great.”

“Do you and Logan have plans later—once Mackenzie is done tutoring?”

I was surprised to hear my name mentioned. I was blending in with the refrigerator as I snagged a Diet Coke. Still, Mrs. Beckett didn’t seem the type to forget the geek when a popular girl entered the premises.

“Actually, Mackenzie is helping me with an essay,” Chelsea replied confidently. She did everything confidently. She and Logan would probably go on to produce very confident offspring.

“Are you up for that, Mackenzie?” Mrs. Beckett asked me kindly. “You’re not too overworked?”

“I’m fine,” I said. What else could I say? The truth?

“Sorry, Chelsea, but my brain is fried. You’re on your own with the essay. I guess that means you’ll start a nasty rumor about me in the girls’ locker room. I should have called to cancel, but you don’t give Invisibles like me your phone number.”

Yeah. That’d go over real well.

“I’m fine. Logan can take a break, maybe flip through some flashcards, while I help Chelsea. Then we’ll attack the textbook again,” I said instead.

Mrs. Beckett nodded as she put the finishing touches on her sandwich. “All right, well, good luck.” And with that she pulled her husband out to the pool, leaving me on my own with two Notables. I needed all the luck I could get.

“I
’m not sure I can help you with this.” Which, as far as realizations go, totally sucked. It’s just not fair when the prettiest, most popular girl at school is also intelligent. I mean,
come on!
The girl had to have some flaws (besides her tendency toward evil), otherwise I’d have to suspect that she was secretly a cyborg from another planet. But so far … nothing. I didn’t even know why Chelsea wanted me to look at it, unless it was all some ploy to spend time with Logan.

“What’s wrong with it?” Chelsea asked defensively. She sat up straighter in her chair, breaking the clear view of her cleavage that Logan appeared to have been enjoying.

I could have told her, “Nothing is wrong with it! It’s a solid essay. No worries, Chelsea, your English teacher will love it.” But that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

“Well.” I pointed to the book in front of me. “You think the main character, Janie, in
Their Eyes Were Watching God
found true love, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, when I read the book, I didn’t think it was about love at all.”

That definitely got her attention. “What are you talking about?” she asked disgustedly. “It’s about how she turns to the wrong men before she finds the right one.” That last part was clearly delivered for Logan’s benefit, beneath lowered lashes. Even I could tell it was a come-on.

“I thought she was pathetic.” That got a scowl from Chelsea and an amused grin from Logan. “She jumps into abusive relationships until she has to shoot her rabid husband. I thought the real message was … guys are dogs.”

Logan raised his eyebrows at the last part of my critique.

“Hey,” he said calmly. “Not true.”

“Sometimes it’s true. Not all guys, obviously, although present company might not be an exception.” Chelsea’s eyes bored holes into me, but Logan grinned.

“Well, thanks,” Chelsea said, leaving the words “for nothing” lingering unspoken in the air.

“Sorry, I can’t be more helpful. So, Logan, how’s the French and Indian War?”

“Thrilling,” he told me straight-faced. “I wonder how it’s going to turn out.”

I grinned. “I’m betting the Colonists win.”

“Way to spoil the ending.” He closed his textbook, so I had to flip mine to the right section.

“It’s actually pretty cool. If you look at the Battle of …” But Logan wasn’t listening to me. Chelsea had leaned forward while pretending to concentrate on her essay. Yeah, guys aren’t dogs. Right.

The rest of the tutoring session was pretty uneventful. Mainly because every time Logan started paying attention to either me or the textbook, Chelsea dropped her pencil and had to lean
way
over to pick it up. Or she tossed her long hair behind her so it swung softly right back to the front. It was pretty clear her essay was the last thing on her mind and that Logan didn’t mind the show.

With Logan having the attention span of a guppie as Chelsea pretended to be an extra on
90210,
the study session fizzled out. I felt like a failure. It was pretty obvious that the stuff just wasn’t sticking. So it was really fortunate that I was tutoring Logan again on Sunday.

He dropped me off in front of the Hamilton house, and I headed home once the sleek black car disappeared. Dylan was waiting for me outside.

He looked like someone had died. Really. I took in his ashen expression and I burst into a full on sprint, ignoring the
thud, thud, thud
as my textbook slammed against my back.

“Dylan, what’s wrong? Is Mom okay?” I called out.

He didn’t say anything until I reached him, and then he merely grabbed my arm and yanked me into the house.

“You’ve got to see this.” Dylan led me straight to our family computer. It was about a billion years old and took forever to start up again. Dylan brushed the mouse aside, and the screen saver of Dylan, my mom, and me happily laughing at the beach dissolved. What I saw behind it made me want to throw up all the banana bread I’d eaten.

A YouTube video with a blaring caption that announced:

Mackenzie Wellesley: Most Socially Awkward Girl Ever!

That alone made me want to curl into a little ball until my mind numbed. The video below made me feel even worse. It was the whole scene, right there, recorded for the enjoyment of millions. All Dylan had to do was click and I could relive it frame by frame, watching myself smack Alex Thompson with my backpack, look horrified when he didn’t respond, and then sling my leg over his stomach so I could try to do
CPR
. Worst of all, while I had been pounding on his chest, Alex was staring with undiluted horror and surprise … and weakly trying to fend me off.