Class Favorite (10 page)

6. Academics. Ugh. I hoped you didn't have to be an Eric von Trieger—smartest person in our class—to be popular. Of course, Eric wasn't really popular. People sort of respected him because he did so well in school, and sometimes he tutored kids. So, is intelligence moot? Many Hollywood actors were high school dropouts, but I didn't respect that. (Hmm . . . funny reading this one as I purposely bombed my algebra quiz.)

7. Confidence. Like Kirstie said, even if I don't have any (which I don't), I should at least fake it.

8. How many friends you have! I'd lost one and gained another, but was that enough?

 

Leaving algebra, I took my list from my bag and got right up to Rosemary's desk just as she gathered her books. She had smiled at me during class, so I told myself there was no reason to be intimidated by her.

“Hey, Rosemary,” I said enthusiastically. I kind of stood in front of her for a sec, then realized I was blocking her from getting out of the aisle. “Oh, sorry,” I offered.

“That's okay,” she said, glancing blankly at me with her
long-lashed eyes. I made a mental note of her nude glossy lipstick. As she stepped around me, the smell of green apples wafted past me. How could she smell so good this late in the day?

I followed her out the class door, and when she turned left she looked over her shoulder curiously to see me coming up behind her. I forced my instant fear of looking like a stalker out of my mind and focused on my first task: acting normal.

“Hey,” I said again.

“Hey.” She grinned, showing her pearl-white crooked front teeth, which, you know, actually looked pretty cute on her. I'd just assumed she'd had braces like everyone else . . . except me, of course.

“Hey, Kayla,” she said to my spit 'n' sneeze victim, who was walking with Jessica.

“Text me!” Kayla called to Rosemary as she passed us, not even bothering to look at me.

“So,” I said, glancing back at them. I pressed on. “That quiz sucked, huh?”

She gave a little “humph,” like something between a laugh and a hiccup. “I guess. Hi again, Jason,” she said as we passed him leaning against the lockers.

Oh, yummy Jason
. . .

“'S up, Rosemary,” he said. Did he just smile at me?

“Yeah,” I continued. “I hate pop quizzes,” which I immediately
regretted saying because who likes any sort of quizzes, much less the pop kind?

Rosemary politely stared ahead, so I quickly glanced down at my CF qualities list, then said, “Oh, hey, those are really cute jeans. Where'd you get them?”

As we got to her locker and she started spinning her combination, she started to look downright suspicious of me or maybe just annoyed. But she kept answering my questions.

“The mall,” was her reply, which wasn't a really revealing answer. I mean, everything comes from the mall. But did she get it at a place like Macy's or 5.7.9?

Once she closed her locker and started back down the hall, I realized I might have time for two more questions, because she was heading in the direction of my locker, which I needed to stop by before last period. And if I left her there, it'd be like she was following me, like she was walking
me
to
my
locker, and then maybe it wouldn't look so weird. That's what I was hoping for, anyway.

“So,” I said as we rounded the corner. “Got big plans this weekend?”

Up the hall, I could hear Shiner's high-pitched laugh. He shoved a sixth grader against a locker and twisted his nipple.

“Woo-hoo!” he hollered. “Go on, whistle! Whistle!”

“Ow! Come on, man!” the kid hollered as he sputtered out a whistle-less blow.

Rosemary glared toward Shiner, and I felt sorry for the kid he had in his greasy grip. “Not big plans,” Rosemary answered. “Just hanging out with some friends.”

“Cool. Your parents let you stay out late? 'Cause my mom, she can be a real pain sometimes about curfew. But if my dad still lived at home, I think it would be worse. Your folks still together?”

“Yeah,” she answered as we headed toward my locker and the front of the building.

As we came up on my locker, we both noticed a crowd around it. I saw Rosemary's mouth fall open before my own could.

My first thought was that there had just been a fight. I imagined someone was on the floor, face beaten bloody, waiting for someone to haul him to the nurse's office before he went to the principal's. It was the look on everyone's face that made me think that: Some were laughing, some were whispering to one another, lots had their faces scrunched up in disgust, like whoever was in the center of their circle was really horrendously messed up.

8

Can You Exude Beauty in an Ugly Situation?

You're strutting through the food court wearing your killer new cream-colored pants, when a five-year-old menace comes racing through the aisles, smearing your pants with ketchup and mustard. How do you react?

a) By screaming at the kid for ruining your clothes and telling his mother she's an unfit parent

b) By “accidentally” tripping the kid on the way back to his table

c) By laughing it off, saying that your dull pants now look like a Jackson Pollock painting

 

It was an ugly, offensive mess. And it was all over
my
locker.

“That's so wrong,” said student council secretary Emily Sanders.

“Oh, dude,” said Sean Hurley.

“My God. Is that your locker, Sara?” Rosemary asked.

There must have been a dozen tampons taped to the outside of my locker, plus a couple of those fat, granny-size Kotex—the ones with wings, no less. My face burned hot, and I clenched my fists around the strap of my messenger bag, forcing back the tears that were threatening to burst through.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” I muttered as Rosemary stepped away from me and toward her friends, who were staring, hands over mouths. I tried to quickly think how she might handle it, but there were at least a dozen other people standing around, staring, gawking, with a tinge of pleasure on their faces—exactly the kind you get when you see a real gnarly fight. They were all whispering and shaking their heads, glancing at me but refusing to look me in the eye.

“Hey, what am I missin'?”

Shiner strutted up to the scene, textbook cupped in his hand. I took one look at him and wanted to yank that stupid coral necklace right off his chicken neck.

“What's going . . . oh man, Thurman,” he said. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest and splat at his stinking feet as I waited for him to say something moronic that would add to my humiliation. But he didn't. He just stood back and stared at the ground. This was so bad that even Shiner wouldn't make fun of me.

“Who did this?” I tried to demand, but I think it came out
sounding more like a pathetic whimper with zero authority. I searched the crowd for a sign of Arlene, but she wasn't there, and I knew that if I didn't pull myself together quickly, it wouldn't be long before I started crying. My mind reeled. I was angry and embarrassed, but I had to maintain control. “Who did this?” I said again, but with more force. I didn't deserve this. I'd never done anything to anyone, and I didn't deserve to be publicly humiliated. “If no one's going to own up, either help me clean this up or just get on.” I yanked a tampon off to emphasize my point, even though my hands were shaking and I felt like vomiting. When I looked back at the crowd, many were dispersing. Then I locked eyes with Jason. Of all people, he had to see this.

His hazel eyes bore into me, like he was trying to understand me. I couldn't help but stare back, thinking briefly that his eyes looked crushingly sympathetic, like when you see a dog get plowed by a Suburban. His golden-brown hair fell over his forehead, and for a microsecond I felt everything fade away. Then he gave me one of those pathetic smiles, the kind that says,
No matter how big a loser you are, we can't help but feel sorry for you
. Which made me feel even worse.

Even in the enormity of the situation, I realized I should try to exude some poise. “That was nice of them to take them out of the wrappers,” I said, flicking one of the tampons.

Ugh
. I immediately cringed at myself for always saying and doing the dumbest things.

Jason nodded and said, “That's one way of looking at it.” And then . . . he smiled. At me. Jason Andersen looked me right in the eyes and smiled.

The warning bell rang, and everyone finally started to move on. Some last giggles, then someone joked, “Anybody got a tampon?” A few erupted in laughter.

He scratched the back of his head and looked at my locker. He sighed and said, “Man, Thurman. Whoever did this is a real psycho.” He looked back at me. “Well. I guess we better get this cleaned up.”

We? He said
we
? I was painfully aware that there was no
we
when it came to Sara Thurman and Jason Andersen. I stood there paralyzed, wondering what he was going to do next. I half expected him to laugh at me—“Just kidding!”—then walk away, even though I knew Jason wasn't that kind of guy.

The halls had almost completely thinned out when he set his books down on the floor, walked across the hall, and dragged a trash can over to my locker.

“Look,” I said, all weak and shaky and embarrassed. “Really, you don't have to do this.”

And then:
Rip!
He yanked a Kotex superabsorbent with wings off my locker and dropped it into the garbage.

“Oh, my God, Jason, I'm serious.” Seeing his hands grab that winged monstrosity made everything seem wrong. Even though he might be able to help me realize my Class Favorite
dreams, I didn't want him to see me like this. “Look, I'll take care of it, don't worry. This isn't your problem.”

“It's not really your problem either. I mean, you didn't ask for this,” he said as he tore off a tampon. Amazing that he just trusted that I didn't do something awful to deserve that. I wasn't sure I would have given the benefit of the doubt just like that.

“And if you ask me, whoever did this should totally be expelled.” I couldn't handle any thought of Arlene yet. It was just too awful. Instead, I concentrated on Jason, who was actually talking to me and even sort of being my knight in shining . . . well, in a really cool Hilfiger shirt. But he probably just felt sorry for me.

And then he gave this look—a half smile with kind eyes, and then one of his blink-and-you've-missed-it winks. “Come on,” he said, reaching out and lightly brushing my arm. “Let's get this mess cleaned up before Shiner comes back to take pictures or something.”

He was joking, but the truth was it was a total possibility. And if anyone got a photo of this, they'd probably use the picture of my locker for my class photo instead of the one I had posed for in September.

Jason and I fell into a rhythm of tearing the taped items off and dropping them in the trash. The halls were silent, and we didn't speak, only gave fleeting glances at each other. It was actually pretty nice. Considering.

“So it's true!”

Jason and I turned to see Kirstie storming down the hall. When she got to us, she propped her hands up on her slim, curvy hips, and her mouth hung open. It was good to finally have a friend there, but it felt a little late. Anyway, weird as the situation was, I felt comfortable with Jason.

“Hey, Kirstie,” I said as Jason looked over his shoulder at her, then turned back and tore some tape off my locker.

“Sara,” she moaned. “You poor thing!”

“I just came out of algebra, and it was like this,” I said. “This is Jason,” I introduced, and then mouthed to Kirstie,
This is him!

Jason forced some tape off his finger. “Hey,” he said, looking at Kirstie briefly.

She smiled and flipped her hair off her shoulder.

I started digging my nails under the adhesive on my locker. It wasn't coming off in sheets but in little rolled-up balls. It was never going to come completely off.