Popular: Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek (16 page)

“Hello.” The woman’s voice is sweet with a faint East Coast accent, making her words soft around the edges. “Is this Maya?”

“Yes,” I say. I feel my head spinning.

“This is Mrs. Fadem, and Betty Cornell is indeed my mother.”

Monday, April 23

During lunch, the boy across the table from me is fuming. “Look, I don’t care who you think you are, but this is a boys’ table.”

“I’ll sit wherever I want, thank you. This is, after all, a free country,” I snap back, staring directly into his dark brown eyes. I refuse to take crap from this kid. I straighten my posture and pull out my applesauce.

I’m sitting at the most crowded table in the school. It’s where the less popular half of the Football Faction gather. This is also the general area where all the other guys in the school congregate. Even though I’m nervous, I’m not going to lose my ground. I am, after all, only a few days off from having to face Carlos Sanchez and the most popular people in school.

When things go badly, you must decide not to retreat; you must attack. But you attack in a special way, not by going out and slugging the first person who comes along . . . you attack by working out your displeasure in a determined effort.

“Shut up, David. Leave the girl alone. She can do whatever she wants.”

I give a grateful nod to the guy who defended me. I decide to start with him. “So,” I ask, “what did you think of the exam?”

All this week we’re taking statewide tests. Today it was history. Other than a few obscure questions, I think I fared pretty well. This morning Kenzie and I crammed in the lunchroom, since we aren’t allowed in the library during testing. We sat side by side making up songs to help us remember the Bill of Rights.

“I know for sure that I bombed it,” he says.

“Oh.”

I try to make a little conversation, but they ignore me and play a game that involves guessing the scents in one another’s burps.

Finally I ask the first guy, David, what his last name is.

“Why,” he says, looking panicked. “Are you going to report me?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, like I
really
go around sitting with people so that I can report the ones I don’t like.”

He stares at me, thinking so hard he starts going cross-eyed. “I was being sarcastic!” I blurt, “It’s a joke!”

“I don’t get it,” David says.

The boy sitting next to him teases, “Look, dude, she doesn’t like you ’cause you’re stupid. . . .”

“I never said that!” I say, but it’s impossible to be heard. They decide to stick their fingers in other people’s food, and try to make themselves fart.

After about ten minutes, Gabriel, a boy from my health class, looks over at me. “So,” he says, “are you enjoying this?”

“The table? Well, this hasn’t been the most positive reaction I’ve gotten.”

He looks down.

“I try to be nice to people,” I say. “But sometimes, they just don’t understand that.”

He raises his gaze and looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t listen to what people say.”

I smile genuinely. “Thank you.”

Thursday, April 26

Today, I’m sitting with a couple of Football Faction members along with a few Volleyball Girls. They have decided to completely ignore my existence. I excuse myself and go to ask Kenzie advice.

On the way, Gabriel from another table shouts over to me. “Hey, Maya, aren’t you going to sit with us?”

“I’m booked today.” I find myself smiling, “But don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

He gives me the funny look that people have started doing whenever they’re around me. I wish I could figure out what it means.

I get to our old table and see that someone’s missing.

“Francisco, where did Kenzie go?”

He fidgets and doesn’t meet my eyes. “She sits with Marissa now. Sorry.”

I turn around to see a crowded booth overflowing with laughter. Kenzie’s voice is, as always, louder than the rest. For some reason it makes me sad. I look down and sigh, realizing now how my friends might have felt when I left.

So I return to the social experiment that has become my life.

I pass by a table I sat at a couple weeks ago. One girl (a Band Geek) grabs my arm. Immediately her name jumps to mind—Lily. “Maya, you can sit with us. It’s just that the people you’re sitting with are mean.”

I am unbelievably touched, but am still determined not to be ignored. “Thank you so much. But I can’t today. Maybe later?”

She nods and the table resumes its conversation about a band trip.

I sit back down with the semi-populars but no matter how hard I try, they disregard my existence. I don’t let it get me down, though. I guess they’re just not willing to take a chance.

The bell rings and I walk to the door. Everyone pushes me against the glass. I’m almost sure to be crushed when 6’2” Gabriel from Monday reaches over the crowd and holds the door open for me. He smiles and I call out a thank you.

I will add him to that ever-growing list of people I’ve met and now consider friends.

 . . . . . . .

Thursday, 3:46 p.m. Today, I’m talking to Betty.

The phone rings and I rush to answer it, heart pounding. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I say something wrong?

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maya, this is Mrs. Fadem. I’m going to put my mom on the other end, and then you two can chat. Is it okay if I listen in?”

“Of course,” I say.

There’s a pause, then an older woman’s voice comes on. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Maya.”

“Hello, this is Betty Cornell. I think that what you did is just wonderful. I am very proud of you. So tell me a little about yourself and what you thought of my book.”

I hesitate, then begin. “This past year, I’ve been trying out the suggestions in your book. I think it’s really working.”

I tell her the positive highlights of each chapter. I’m pretty sure my phone etiquette sucks because I know I say “um,” “exactly,” and “like” way too many times.

I avoid telling her about all the bad things that have happened: being called names, being humiliated and mocked, and I sure as anything don’t mention the girdle. Instead, I talk about the pearls.

“Don’t you just love them?” she asks. “They look great on everyone. Go on, tell me more!”

I let her know that I’m sitting at different lunch tables.

“What an amazing opportunity to meet new people! Wasn’t it nice, though? Did you make new friends?”

I think of my experience today. “You know, for the first time, I feel like I’ve got people looking out for me.”

“Oh, how great! So what is coming up next?”

“Next month I’m going to go to the eighth-grade prom. Do you have any advice?”

“Is it a formal?” Mrs. Cornell asks.

“It’s more . . . semiformal.”

“Okay, so don’t overdress. Or wear too much makeup. That’s the problem. Girls try out strange hairdos and clothing that they don’t know how to work with. They don’t look like themselves at all. Let’s see, what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” I say.

“Then you should get yourself a nice blue dress.”

I smile. Her voice sounds just like I’d imagined it, gentle and matter-of-fact. I describe my family, leaving out Nat’s autism and our overall strangeness. She listens enthusiastically.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you wrote this book. Even though it was years ago, it still rings true. It still works. It’s changed my life. Suddenly I can make friends.”

“You’ve just made my day. More than that . . . you’ve made my month, my year,
everything
!”

I am on top of the world.

From now on, I not only get Betty’s advice from the book, but I can also get pearls of wisdom from the mouth of Mrs. Cornell herself.

Friday, April 27

Today is the day. I’ve been working up to this moment all month long. All year, for that matter. Today I sit with the jocks, the most popular people at our school: the highest of the Volleyball Girls and Football Faction all together at one table.

Here goes.

The bell for lunch rings, and I slowly pull myself out of my desk and drag my feet down the hall toward the cafeteria. I can hear the blood pounding against the inside of my skull. My fingers shake as I try to remember everything I’ve learned, what’s truly important in making friends.

I sit down across from a Volleyball Girl.

“Hey, Maya, what’s up?” she asks, smacking her neon-pink chewing gum.

“Hi, Cristine, can I sit here today?”

“I guess.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos Sanchez stumbles in with his buddy Pablo, singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Badly. An onlooker would describe them as drunk, but they did the same thing during third period, so I’m not surprised.

He glances at me. I freeze and force myself to smile, even though I think I’m going to be sick.

“What’s up, Maya?” He rejoins the song, then jumps back. “Holy crap! Since when do
you
sit with
us
?”

I try to stop my voice from shaking.

“I’ve sat with tons of people.” I point to the tables around the lunchroom. The group seems impressed.

A football guy at the end of the table leans forward to see me. “Why?”

I relax a little. “For fun. Anyway, I’m moving to Georgia and—”

“WHAT! YOU’RE MOVING?!” Carlos Sanchez shouts loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear.

“My dad got a job at a university there.”

“But, you make our school look all smart and stuff. And, and now we’re just gonna look dumb!”

Carlos Sanchez will miss me, too! Am I dreaming?

Some of the boys get into an argument over who will miss me most.

“No, I want to sit next to Maya.”

“Too late, I was here first!”

I’m floating, honest to goodness floating! My head has to be fifty feet above the earth!

Someone from the nearby Choir Geek table hears the commotion, looks up, and sees me sitting at the most popular table at school. Her eyes widen, and she pokes one of her friends. They both gawk. One of them mouths, “What the hell?!”

I smile. Soon all the choir girls are staring at me.

I feel like a princess on a float. So I just smile and wave. The whole Popular Table is talking to me, competing, even, for my attention.

As the bell rings on another successful lunch, I get up. One of the Football Faction members leans over to me.

“Don’t sit at the gangster table. They’re scary.”

I’m shocked at his warning. “I already sat with them. They were really nice. They just don’t speak much English.”

He shakes his head and disappears. When I get into the hall, all the choir girls surround me. “What were you doing?” they ask.

“I’ve sat with everyone. They weren’t too bad.”

“But the jocks are terrifying!”

“Maya, you’re amazing!”

“You are so brave!”

“You’ve got some serious balls, man.”

Wow, I mean . . . Wow. I’ve never been considered brave, or even bold. Now, I have “serious balls.”

I practically soar down the hall to my next class, but a question keeps bringing me back to reality: Why is everyone so scared of one another?

 . . . . . . .

Still feeling the high from the cafeteria earlier today, I’m positively glowing when I arrive at a church potluck. I sit down next to Ethan, who is alone.

“Hello there,” I offer.

“Hey,” he murmurs. He doesn’t look at me.

“Are you against being social?” I ask, teasing.

“Yeah,” he remarks, sarcastically. I laugh.

I talk to him for a little while about my day, and ask about his. Then he looks at me, eye contact and everything. “Am I immature?”

“What?” I’m floored.

“Really, am I immature? Some girl told me so today, and I’ve never been made fun of before in my life. So, am I immature?”

I laugh. “You’ve never been made fun of?”

“Nope.”

I pause a moment. “Then I think it’s supposed to be some humbling experience sent by something greater. That, or she likes you.” I smile as he blushes. “I mean it’s obvious you can’t get her out of your head. Sure you can be immature, but so can everyone else. I think it’s good you got called out on it before you left for high school. Middle school is supposed to be a time of growth, a time to realize that you’re not the only person on the planet. Sometimes it’s hard to do that until someone comes along and makes you deeply ponder who you are.”

“Oh. I thought everyone just respected me because I have a girlfriend.”

I take a deep breath, and it’s like the tension is released.

And just like that, I realize that it doesn’t hurt. The crush is gone. I’m free to connect with anyone and everyone. I’m free to give honest advice from my heart.

Glory be, I am free!

“Well maybe you’ve got to think more about re-creating yourself,” I say. “I have.”

“I know. People at my school talk about you all the time. Everyone knows your name. Well, they call you ‘Maya Van Woogen.’” He laughs. “They say mean things, actually: that you dress like a grandma and talk to people who don’t know you. All in all you come off pretty crazy.”

Ethan goes to the elite, expensive private school miles away from mine. I’m not sure how to take this. Four months ago this would’ve crushed me, but now, I’m more intrigued than hurt. Everyone knows my name.

Monday, April 30

Here I am again.

The lunchroom.

This is where my month first started, and this is where I choose to end it. I walk to my own Social Outcast table and sit down.

Betty Cornell says that
“Your first dance is obviously reserved for your date, as is the last.”
I came with my group, and I intend to leave with them. It’s almost like everything’s back to normal. But not entirely. There are some key differences: