Gimme a Call (21 page)

But I need the weekend off.

Of course I don’t tell Ivy that. She is all freaked out, because the phone doesn’t seem to be charging. “I don’t get it,” she says later that evening. “I’ve plugged it in for two nights straight. Why isn’t it working?”

“What do you think will happen if it dies?” I ask her while getting dressed for Kellerman’s house party. “Will your life keep changing every time I do something different?”

“It didn’t change before we started speaking,” she said. “So I’m thinking it’ll stay static if we stop. I’m guessing my life only changes when you do something differently because of our conversations, you know? Anyway, it’s not going to die. I’m going to figure out how to fix it. But for now let’s use it sparingly.”

Mom drops me off at Karin’s first, and we do our whole getting-ready ritual: makeup, the dabbing of perfume, head check for dandruff, and breath test. This time I add a new one.

“I wish my boobs looked like yours,” I tell Karin, checking myself out in the mirror.

“I don’t know why you keep saying that,” she says, blushing.

“They’re the best shape! Trust me. Girls around the world would kill for your cleavage.”

“Hmmm,” she says, taking a peek at herself in the reflection.

Joelle’s mom picks us all up, and off to the party we go. We’re looking adorable, if I do say so myself, boobs and all.

“Jerome Cohen’s here,” Karin whispers to Joelle. “You have to talk to him.”

“Definitely,” she says, her eyes twinkling.

“He’s really cute,” I tell her, but I’m thinking, If Jerome’s here, does that mean Bryan’s here? Not that I care. Okay, I care a little. “We should go talk to him!”

We maneuver our way over to the couch, where Jerome is hanging out with two other guys. Sadly, there’s no Bryan in sight.

“Hey,” they say.

“Hey,” we say.

La, la, la.

What do I have to do around here to get a conversation started? Drop more salsa on the couch?

“Having a good weekend?” I ask them.

“Not bad,” Jerome says, drumming his fingers against a side table and giving me a cute smile. Not exactly “dimples”-worthy, but still cute. “You?”

“Great,” I say. La, la, la.

“Do you girls know Nick and JT?” Jerome asks.

We all say hello and introduce ourselves. Nick mumbles hello but doesn’t look up. He’s obviously shy. I can kind of see why too: his skin is really bad. His nose and chin are covered in rashlike pimples. Poor guy. His over-gelled hair and flannel button-down aren’t helping matters either. He’s shuffling his sneaker-clad feet.

“So, Nick, what middle school did you go to?” I ask him.

“Carter,” he mutters.

“Oh. Cool,” I say. I wait for him to ask me something in return. He doesn’t.

So I turn to JT. Unlike his noncommunicative friend, he has perfect skin. He’s definitely cute in a leather jacket, gelled-hair sort of way. He could easily play Danny if the drama department ever decides to put on
Grease
. He’s also a bit sunburnt, although the spot on his face where he was wearing his sunglasses is pale.

“You got some serious color,” I tell him.

He smiles. “I know, huh? It’s the worst. I have a ridiculous farmer’s tan too.” He rolls back his sleeves so I can see his forearms. His tanned
and
well-muscled forearms.

“I’m guessing you weren’t farming,” I say. Not too many farms in the area.

“Golfing,” he says with a lazy smile.

“Really?” I lean toward him. “You play?”

He nods. “I have a handicap of fourteen.”

I have no idea if that’s good or not. I haven’t done my golf homework yet. “You know,” I say, “I’m starting a girls’ team at Florence West.”

“No way.” He inches closer toward me. “You’re a golfer?”

“Not yet,” I admit. “But I’m gonna learn.”

He looks me up and down. “I’m going to hit some golf balls tomorrow. Wanna come? I can show you some moves.” His eyes linger a little too long for his so-called moves to be purely sports related.

I think he’s asking me out. “That sounds fun,” I say. But then I wonder. Should I go out with him? I’d better ask Ivy. He’s cute. Isn’t he? I don’t know what to do. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of my life? Never trusting myself to go out with a boy because I have to ask … myself?

“Actually, I may have plans for tomorrow. But I’m not sure. Can I get back to you?”

“No sweat,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “Lemme know. I’m going to get a drink. Want something?”

“I’m good, thanks.” I give him my best hidden-braces smile. Now I just have to wait for her to call.

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty.

A watched phone never rings, does it? But
why
hasn’t she called yet? It’s almost nine-thirty! Doesn’t she want to see how I’m doing? I’m used to her calling me every hour or so to check in.

What if something happened to her? How would I know? What if the phone does die? I send her a text that says Ivy! Call me! Urgent!

Ten more minutes. Twenty. Thirty.

My phone finally rings. “Thank God!” I squeal.

“Thank God what?” a voice asks. Not Ivy’s. Shoot.

“Who is it?” I ask, annoyed.

“It’s your sister. Hello? I’ve been gone less than a month, and you’ve already forgotten about me?”

I feel a pang in my stomach. “Oh, hi, Maya! Sorry. Hi! How are you?”

“I’m good. I miss you! We haven’t spoken all week!”

“I’ve been really busy,” I say. “You know.”

“Of course. Me too. I was wondering if you still want to come visit for Columbus Day weekend. Should we ask Mom and Dad to get you a ticket?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Sure. That sounds like—”

Beep!

Yes! Call-waiting. Caller ID says it’s me. “Maya, I gotta go. Can I call you back later?”

“Sure. Don’t forget about me. We’ll need to get you a ticket soon, because prices—”

Beep!

“I really have to go, Maya. I’ll call you tomorrow!” I hang up and switch over to Ivy. “It’s about time!”

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “It better be important. We’re low on battery.”

“I know, I know. I just need to ask you something.” I duck into a corner. “A guy named JT asked me out.”

“Who?”

“JT,” I whisper. “I don’t know his last name. He’s cute. He plays golf! He wants to hit some balls with me tomorrow. Can I go?”

“JT Prause?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Does he have dark hair? Does he look like he could play Danny in
Grease
?”

I love how we think alike. “Yes!”

“Then no,” she says. “You absolutely can’t go out with him.”

My shoulders slump. “Why?”

“Because he’s a tool.”

“Really?” I ask doubtfully. “He seems nice.”

“He’s not. He’s a loser. A
big-
time loser.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” I huff. “And anyway, if he’s friends with Jerome Cohen, he can’t be that big of a loser.”

“I don’t mean he’s not popular. He’s a loser
in life
. He doesn’t even go to school anymore. He has a major gambling addiction. He stole from half the class and racked up like thirty thousand dollars on his parents’ credit card and they sent him to Heken. You know—the school for delinquents.”

“Oh.” Never mind, then. I do not want to go out with a guy who goes to Heken. I don’t even want to associate with a guy who goes to Heken.

“Plus, last year he sold Jenny McIntosh’s bra on eBay.”

“He did not!”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Do not go out with him. He’s a sketchball.”

“He
seemed
nice.” Although he was checking me out in a slightly skeevy way.

“He isn’t. Do you want him to sell
your
bra on eBay?”

“I wasn’t going to give him my bra. I was just going to hit some golf balls with him.”

“Don’t. He’ll take your credit card while you’re not looking.”

“I don’t have a credit card. You do?”

“You get one next year. If you’re good. If you don’t go out with thieves. Why don’t you read up on golf instead? Yeah, that’s a good place to start. Spend the day reading about golf techniques. Did you finish all your homework today?”

“Uh-huh,” I lie.

Eeeeeeeep!

“Damn, that’s the battery again! I have to figure out how to fix it. I’m going to a party at Laura Kingsley’s. I’ll be home late, so I may not call.”

“’kay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

I hang up and drop my cell back into my purse. While I’m in there, I make sure my wallet still is too.

chapter thirty-one
Saturday, May 31
Senior Year

Right before Karin picks me up, I stare at my still-uncharged phone. What’s its problem? I had it plugged in all last night, and it looked like it was charging. The red light was on and everything. But I still have less than a bar of battery. I really need to go to MediaZone tomorrow and get them to fix it or give me a new battery or something.

When I hear the honk, I toss the phone into my purse and run outside. We go through our regular ritual.

“Hair?” she asks, leaning over.

“Dandruff-free.” I lean over and tilt my head.

“You too. Breath?” She blows into my face.

“Minty. Me?”

“Scopey.”

“Perfect.”

Next we pick up Joelle, who’s dressed in an emerald tunic over jeans, and then Tash, who looks—well, there’s no other word for it—stunning.

She’s wearing her usual—jeans and a black shirt—but these are skinny jeans and she’s accessorized them with black stilettos and a pale yellow scarf around her neck. Her hair is blow-dried and glam, and the contacts and the little bit of black liner make her eyes pop. Wowza.

As soon as I walk into the party, I spot Celia sitting on Bryan’s lap. The chicken fingers I had for dinner almost make a reappearance. “I need a glass of water,” I tell the girls. “Come with me to the kitchen?” We all go.

Sitting on the kitchen counter beside the party’s host, Laura, is my possible make-out partner, Harry. Is he back to being my prom date?

“Hi, Harry,” I say with a nervous giggle. “Nice to see you. Do you know where I can find a Coke?”

I expect Harry to say hello. To possibly give me a come-hither stare. But he doesn’t even notice me. Did I scare him off? Or did I scare Frosh off? Did my hookups with Harry disappear faster than Alfonzo?

“Hey, babe,” I overhear Harry say to Laura. “What color should your corsage be?”

I reach inside the fridge and pull out a bottle of Coke. Laura’s chin has telltale red marks. So I guess that’s why I’m not going to prom with Harry. I scared Frosh off and now Laura is the one kissing him and being his prom date. Keeping track of my love life is giving me a headache. I turn to my friends. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“Me too,” Joelle says.

“Me three,” Karin says.

A crowd of seniors is already outside, including another potential minefield: Sean Puttin, the preppy jerk who said I kissed like a fish.

Unless Frosh did her job and remembered to keep her fish lips to herself. But how will I know? Asking—hey, everyone, did I make out with Sean Puttin?—is probably not the best way to find out.

“Hey, do you know where Sean is going next year?” I take a sip of Coke and try to sound nonchalant.

Karin’s eyes flash. “To hell?”

Hmmm. It seems like I still kissed Sean Puttin. Thanks for nothing, Frosh.

“I’m still so pissed at him for saying I kiss like a fish last year,” Karin says angrily.

Huh? Now Karin kissed him? Karin wouldn’t have kissed him if I had. Unless I never did, and Karin kissed him instead!

Karin fingers a curl. “Whatever. I know my lips are too thin. Although Stevey seems to like them as is. And anyway, at least they’ll be perfect by college after the lip injections.”

I choke on my Coke. “You don’t need lip injections! You don’t need a boob job either. You look great the way you are!”

Her eyes widen. “Boob job? Why would I get a boob job? Do you think I need a boob job?”

“No!” I shake my head vehemently. “Absolutely not!”

She wiggles her upper half. “I have nice boobs. But I definitely need to fix my lips.”

I deliberate using up more of my potentially precious minutes and decide that, yes, I have to help Karin. When I have the chance, I secretly text Frosh: Good job with the lavish boob praise. Keep Sean Puttin away from Karin too. V. imp!

All this juggling past and present is kind of exhausting.

After dropping the cell back into my purse, I find my friends deep in a discussion about corsages. It’s prom fever. I check the area for Tom Kradowski. Is he here too? I should probably get to know him.

“Have you seen Tom?” I ask Karin.

“Doesn’t he go to his dad’s on the weekends?”

I should probably know that. “Right. Of course.” I can’t believe I’m going to prom with someone I’ve never spoken to. Assuming he’s still my prom date. “Am I going to prom with him?”

Joelle laughs. “Yeah. Speaking of prom, there’s Jerome.”

Tash rolls her eyes. “Enough with Jerome. Can’t you forget about him already?”