P.S. I Loathe You (6 page)

Massie snatched Dylan’s bag of blue chips. “Terra?”

“Hey—” Dylan started to protest. But Massie silenced her with an elbow to the spine.

“Thanks.” Dempsey dug in and poked around for just the right chip. Clearly they were perfect for each other. If she ate chips, she would have done the exact same thing.

“Ever tried the spicy ones?” Layne suddenly appeared out of nowhere and thrust a black bag under his chin.

“Hey, Mrs. Claus.” Dempsey liberated his hand from Massie’s bag and put it in Layne’s.

“Don’t jinx me.” Layne lifted the gray feather–covered fedora off her head and fanned her flushed visage like a 1940s film star. “They haven’t made the announcement yet.”

“Has anyone announced that you’re stealing diseased pigeon feathers and gluing them to your fedor-ka?” Massie inquired.

“Yeah.
Teen Vogue
is writing about it in next month’s DIY section.” Layne proudly stuck the hat back on her head.

“Disease-Infected Youth?” Massie lifted her high-five hand. But for some reason Dylan was the only one who giggle-smacked it. Dempsey didn’t smile. Obviously, he was trying to be nice to the LBR because they were pre-makeover friends. And like any decent human being, he planned to wait the recommended twelve weeks before dumping her. By Thanks-giving, Layne would be outed like Clay Aiken on the 9/27/08 cover of
People
magazine.

“What’s up?” Derrington called, limping toward their table. He was wearing a bright green BOCD Golf visor, the matching jacket, and madras pants. Massie fought the urge to call him Tiger, because he’d assume she was flirting. And why lead him on?

“What are you
wearing
?” Dylan fluffed her red hair.

Derrington took a massive bite of tofu dog. “Josh Bankman’s golf uniform.” He chewed, and then polished off the rest of the dog. “I had to sneak into the café. I can’t eat in those trailers.” He dumped a paper cone filled with sweet-potato fry crumbs in his mouth. “They smell like pickles.”

He reached into his plaid pocket and pulled out a bag of sours. “Here.” He tossed them at Claire. “From Cam.”

“Awwww.” Claire’s smile was so wide, she practically swallowed her own ears.

“So Splenda!” Massie cooed, pretending to be moved by the sickly sweet gesture, even though she was really sending a subliminal message to Dempsey that said,
If you ever did something like that for me, I would react favorably.

Derrington flicked Layne on the padded shoulder of her secondhand history teacher tweed blazer.

“Owie!” She flicked him back.

“How did
you
get in here? You’re supposed to be in the trailers too.”

Layne unfolded a note written on school letterhead. “Principal Burns gave me permission because Alicia’s going to announce the cast of
The Wizard of Claus
,
and I auditioned for the lead and—”

“Does anyone have any ice?” Derrington cut her off. “My foot is swelling.”

“Lemme see.” Dylan beamed.

Derrington grabbed his plaid pants at the knee and lifted his leg. “Whoa.” He teetered left. Then right. Then left. Then he fell on his butt by Massie’s gray suede ankle boots. “Ahhhhh!” He rocked back and forth.

Massie rolled her eyes and stepped away from the spectacle.
Gawd, would he stop at nothing to get her attention?

“Ehmagawd.” Dylan raced to his side. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” he moaned while she helped him onto her chair. “I went to soccer practice and tried to push through the pain. And it got worse.” Derrington lifted his leg and pulled off his white sweat sock to reveal a black and blue foot the size of a walrus flipper.

Claire pity-gasped. Massie turned away in disgust.

“Now I’m off the team until it gets better.” He smiled like someone who had better things to do, even though he probably didn’t. “Looks like I’ll have a lot of free time after school now.”

“Well, I won’t,” Massie blurted, just to be clear. “I’m getting involved in the arts,” she said loud enough for Dempsey to hear.

“But you’re the best player on the team,” Kristen whined. “And now that we’re one school, the Tomahawks’ score affects our overall standing. You could totally bring down the Sirens.”

“Thanks for caring,” Derrington teased his fellow captain, wincing in pain.

“Good afternoon.” Alicia’s voice crackled from the speakers. “This is Alicia Rivera with your lunchtime news brief.”

Everyone in the café took their seats and stopped talking— not because they cared about school news, but because they thought she was hot.

“First up, the Christmas play.”

Layne squeezed Dempsey’s arm. Massie flicked a soybean at her back.

“I am pleased to announce that this year’s female and male lead in
The Wizard of Claus
will be played by Layne Abeley and Dempsey Solomon.”

“YESSSSSS!” Layne threw her fedora in the air. A flurry of mangy pigeon feathers drifted to the ground.

Dempsey threw his tanned arms around her and lifted her into the air. Massie flicked another soybean, this time pegging Layne on the cheek.

Dylan threw her head back and cracked up.

“Jealous much?” Layne shouted at the entire café, having no idea who the soy-shooter was.

Massie summoned Layne to the head of the table with an index finger. “Hey,” she whispered, “where did she say those rehearsals were?”

Layne exhaled sharply, poisoning Massie’s air with spicy chip smell. “Don’t even
think
of stealing the female lead. It’s already mine.”

“Puh-lease!”
Massie slapped her heart. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Layne leaned in a little closer. “Then what do you want?”

“The
male
lead.” Massie winked. Then, just to be perfectly clear, she pulled out a travel-size bottle of Chanel No. 19, leaned forward, and spritzed the back of Dempsey’s olive green hoodie three times.

Derrington waved the iris-scented air. “Dude, is that you?”

Dempsey sniffed the back of his sweatshirt with marked concern.

“Don’t worry,” Derrington assured him. “The same thing happened to me a few months ago. I think it means you’ve been touched by an angel.”

“More like the devil,” Layne mumbled. Her phone beeped with a text.

Massie: I marked him. He’s mine.

Layne’s thick eyebrows collided. “You can’t do that!”

“What?” Dylan asked, peeking at Layne’s screen. And then immediately began typing.

Dylan: U marked derrington and now you’re over him. U sure u mean it this time? isn’t marking forever?

Massie glowered across the table before responding. Why was everyone being so negative lately?

Massie: I can un-mark him by soaking him with water.

Dylan: U going to unmark derrington?

Massie: Some day.

Dylan: U don’t even like him anymore.

Massie: Doesn’t mean he can like someone else.

“But—” Dylan tried, looking up from her iPhone.

“Butts are for toning,” Massie snapped, resenting the sudden challenge. Not only was it undermining, it was taking her attention away from Dempsey. And if she didn’t keep him occupied, he might leave. “Now shhhhhh.” She pointed at the speaker on the ceiling, then lifted her finger to her lips.

“. . . The rest of the cast list will be posted outside the auditorium after lunch,” Alicia continued. “Now on to sports. Tomahawks captain Derringt—I mean, Derrick Harrington—” She giggled. “—injured his foot in an unfortunate incident that involved a tree and gravity. He’s been benched until he’s made a full recovery. Soccer tryouts to fill his position will take place Friday after school. Now on to parents night . . .”

“Dempsey!” Kristen turned around and blurt-smacked his hand. “You should totally do it.”

“Me?” Dempsey chuckled.

“Him?”
Massie leaned forward, smacked the table, and gasped.

Kristen leaned toward her. “He’s ah-mazing,” she explained. “I saw him play last night and—”

“I was just messing around. I can’t—”

“That’s right—he
can’t
.” Layne nudged Kristen. “Rehearsals for
Wizard of Claus
start tonight. Re-mem-beeeer?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good and our school needs—”

“But Dempsey’s not into soccer,” Massie insisted. “And we’re over watching soccer games after school, re-mem-ber? We’re into the arts.” She looked beside her, hoping Claire might back her up, but she was giggle-texting Cam, which was even more annoying than this conversation.

“Dude, if you’re that good, maybe you
should
try out.” Derrington adjusted the green brim on his visor. “Maybe that’s what the angel’s try’na tell you.”

“Ya think?” Dempsey cocked his head, considering this.

“What about the play?” Layne whined.

“It’s not like I’m going to make it,” he assured her. “I’m just gonna try out. You know, for fun.”

“But you
will
make it.” Kristen’s pale cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I know it.”

“If you’re that good, you
have
to do it,” Derrington urged. “The team needs you.”

“Okay.” Dempsey shrugged. “I guess I could try soccer for a few weeks. To honor the African orphans.” He beamed.

“Madonna will be so proud,” Dylan blurted from across the table.

“Seriously?” Layne stomped her metallic gold Converse high-top. “You’re quitting the show?”

“Why not?” Dempsey shrugged. “I’ll do the play next semester.”

“Sellout!” Layne crumpled up her chip bag, whipped it at his neck, then took off in a huff, bashing into unsuspecting students as she zigzagged through the maze of bamboo tables.

“Wait!” Dempsey called after her.

“Don’t let her bring you down.” Massie stood and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “This new opportunity is too exciting.”

Claire finally stopped texting. “I thought you hated soccer?”

“Me?”
Massie gripped her heart in shock and fell back into her chair at the head of the table, like someone close to fainting. “Puh-lease! I toe-da-lly support sports.” She beamed invisible “shut up”
rays from her eyes.
Gawd!
Claire of all people should have understood the sacrifices one must make for love. She rode to school every day on Cam’s bike! She had given up heated leather luxury SUV seats for the back half of a hard triangular stump.

“You
do
?” Kristen pushed her plate of sweet-potato fries aside. “How?”

Dylan reached over and helped herself to a handful. Derrington, who was now standing behind her, grabbed them out of her hand and stuffed them in his own mouth. Dylan giggled, reaching for more.

“Whaddaya mean
how
?” Massie’s cheeks reddened. “My, you know, dream of starting a cheerleading squad.”

Claire burst out laughing.

“What?” Massie leaned to the right and smacked Claire’s thigh when Dempsey wasn’t looking.

“Seriously?” Kristen cackled. “Cheerleading for
soccer
?”

“Why nawt?” Dylan chewed. “You know how many calories we’ll burn?”

“I say we have our first meeting Friday night,” Massie announced. “At Kristen’s house.”

“I thought it was a
condo
.” Kristen shot her a side glance.

Massie pouted in an “I feel sad for you right now” sort of way. “K, why are you always putting your cute little apartment down? I think it’s cozy.”

“That’s what
I
think.” Dempsey leaned across the table and high-fived Massie. A fiery-hot crush-bolt shot up her arm the instant they made contact.

“Ehmagawd, that’s right! You live there. I totally forgot.”

Kristen rolled her eyes.

Claire smile-bit her pinky nail, half listening and half texting Cam.

“Maybe we’ll run into you Friday night.”

“May-
be
.” Dempsey nodded back.

Massie beamed.
Gimme a YAY!

CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

WESTCHESTER, NY

SYCAMORE ROAD

Tuesday, September 22nd
4:39 P.M.

Dylan had imagined herself riding doubles on the back of a boy’s bike many times before. A silk Hermès scarf tied around her red curls . . . tanned calves glistening in the sunlight . . . cashmere-coated arms hugging a distressed leather jacket . . . But never had she envisioned herself post-detention, wearing pigeon poo–covered sweats, red rain boots, and gripping a hoodie with cracked dishpan hands. Yet there she was, on Derrington’s silver BMX, off to buy his sister a birthday present. And she had never felt more beautiful.

Students lumbering home under the weight of their backpacks envy-glanced as they passed. Dylan made sure they saw her “my life is so perfect I’m bored” expression. Lids heavy . . . mouth relaxed . . . hungry.

After a few blocks, Derrington started to slow down. And then the bike started to wobble.