Romance of the Snob Squad (12 page)

This should be good, I thought. I hoped Mom and Dad wouldn’t come back hungry. Vanessa added, “And don’t forget the candles.”

An hour later, Mom and Dad walked in on a romantic candlelight dinner. They both just stood in the doorway and stared.

“Sit here,
Madame
,” I said, ushering Mom to her chair. “
Monsieur
.” I escorted Dad.

While Vanessa dished up this stroganoff stuff she’d learned to make in home economics, I poured the champagne. Okay, it wasn’t real champagne, just diet Sprite, but it was bubbly and I threw in a maraschino cherry to make it fancy.

We lit the candles and dimmed the lights. Then Vanessa and I bowed out to the basement. “Call us when you’re ready for dessert,” I said, easing the door closed behind me.

We played darts for about an hour. “It’s awful quiet,” I finally said. “What do you think they’re doing up there?”

Vanessa hit a bull’s-eye. “What do you think?”

My eyes bulged. “In the kitchen?”

She aimed a dart at me. Suddenly we heard music seeping through the floorboards. It wasn’t music, exactly. It was the twang of a banjo, the yowl of a yodel.

“Oh, no,” I said. “You know how Dad hates to dance.”

Vanessa eyed the ceiling, looking worried. “We better break it up before they get in a big argument.”

We charged up the stairs. On the landing, Vanessa stopped me with a stiff arm. With her other hand, she held a finger to her lips. She opened the door slowly, and we both peered in.

It was dark. The only light came from the flickering candles on the kitchen table. The table where no one was sitting.

“Where’d they go?” I whispered. Then we heard the music drift in from the living room. This time it wasn’t country, or if it was, it sounded like a simple, soft ballad. Over the lilting melody, we heard Mom giggle.

Vanessa looked at me. We both must’ve inherited the same curiosity gene, because we couldn’t tiptoe to the living room fast enough.

There they were, dancing together to a love song on the stereo. Mom’s head rested on Dad’s shoulder. And they both had the same expression on their faces, probably the one I get whenever I dream about me and Kevin Rooney together. Except their expressions were sweeter because this wasn’t a dream.

M
onday before school, the four of us, the Snob Squad, squatted on the baseball bleachers, sharing a breakfast bar. I pulled out my food diary to record the moment. For Minnette. For me. Yeah, I decided to go back to her. Even though I realized my eating problem was mine to solve, I really felt I needed her help and support. Everyone needs help and support sometimes. Problems can get too big for one person to handle.

Or even two people. Mom and Dad had told us over breakfast that they were going to keep seeing Dr. Sid for counseling. They were determined to work through their problems. And ours. Then they’d told us they loved and appreciated us—all that mushy stuff. Stuff we hated to hear. Stuff we needed to hear. Vanessa had rolled her eyes, but I’d noticed she’d snarfed down two whole muffins while we’d been talking, while I barely took a bite of mine.

“Lydia”—I turned to her suddenly—“do me a favor. Every time I eat something, remind me to write it in my food diary.”

“Sure, okay,” she said, sounding surprised.

I knew Lydia wouldn’t forget. “And the rest of you guys, too. You’ve got to help me with this diet. One for all…?”

“And all for one,” they finished. We slapped palms.

Sometimes leadership means knowing when to lead, and sometimes it means knowing when to ask your team for help.

Prairie slumped and sighed. It was a different sigh, a long, drawn-out one. A sigh pocked with pain.

“What is it, Prairie?” I said. “Does something hurt?”

“M-my foot,” she replied. “It’s killing me.”

“Can’t you oil it or something?” Lydia asked.

We all looked at Lydia.

“What?” she said.

Prairie answered, “I’m g-getting a new prosthesis. This one’s too small. But my n-new one w-won’t be in for a couple more weeks.” She punched at her ankle. “I can’t stand it. Do you guys mind? I have to t-take it off for a while.”

“Go ahead,” we all said.

“I can’t look.” Lydia turned her head.

“Wuss,” Max muttered.

Max and I watched while Prairie slid the plastic leg down out of her jeans. Not out completely, just enough so that her feet weren’t even when she stretched out her legs. “Ah, b-better.” Her head lolled back.

At that moment two people emerged from behind the baseball dugout. “Jenny!” one of them called.

I steeled for an attack. Habit, I guess.

It was Kevin and Hugh. As they approached, my muscles relaxed, except for my heart. It skipped a beat. Then my eyes met Hugh’s, and my stomach lurched. Oh, God. Did he really like me? Was he actually going to ask me to the dance?

Kevin spoke first. “We’re really sorry about what happened Saturday,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hugh added. “That was one amazing rat.”

We all bowed our heads. Lydia said, “We had a funeral yesterday. You should’ve come.”

“Yeah?” Kevin said. “We would’ve. You should’ve told us.”

The conversation stalled. From my bent head, I stole a glance at Kevin. He kicked a rock. Hugh scratched his armpit. He said, “Say, is that your prosthesis, Prairie?” He pointed to her foot.

We all cringed. Beside me Max stood. Her fists clenched.

Prairie said, “Y-yes. I t-took it off because it p-pinches.”

“Could I see?” Hugh hunkered down.

Max growled.

“S-sure,” Prairie said. She started to pull up the leg of her jeans.

Lydia grasped my shoulder. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Saved by the bell. Literally. I jumped up, hauling Lydia to her feet.

Max threatened Hugh with a snarl on her way past, and he looked at her with an expression like “What? What’d I do?”

We turned to head for class. Lydia pulled up beside me. Prairie said, “I’ll be along.” She handed the leg to Hugh.

Hugh, cradling the plastic prosthesis like a newborn baby, said, “It’s heavier than I thought. It must be hard to walk.”

“You get u-used to it,” Prairie said. “Except this one’s too small. I’m g-getting a new one.”

“Yeah?” Hugh’s eyebrows arched. “Could I have your old one?”

“Oh, gag.” Lydia stuck out her tongue.

While the three of us sauntered slowly toward the temp building, I peered over my shoulder. Hugh examined every inch of Prairie’s leg. “Wow,” I heard him say. “Can you dance?”

Lydia gripped my arm. “I heard,” I said.

Prairie said, “Yes. Why?”

Max yanked me toward the building, which pulled Lydia along since she was permanently attached to my arm. Luckily our ears were tuned in because we heard Hugh say, “I wanted to ask you a question, Prairie.”

Lydia squealed in my ear, which prevented any further attempt at eavesdropping since I was now deaf. “See, I told you he wouldn’t go with Ashley,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah, you told me.” Guess that meant he wasn’t going with me, either. Which was a relief. And a disappointment, surprisingly. “Would you please let go of my arm?” I said.

Lydia frowned. “I’m not holding your arm anymore.” She stepped back.

My head twisted, and as it did, my eyes zoomed right into Kevin Rooney’s. “Could I talk to you a second, Jenny?” he said. “Alone?” He looked at Lydia, who was hyperventilating in my face.

I said to Max, “I’ll catch up.” It was a miracle how I could utter three coherent words at a moment like this.

Max glanced at Kevin, then me. “Yell if you need me,” she said. She veered toward the temp building, Lydia in tow.

When they were gone, Kevin said, “I called you yesterday.”

I almost didn’t hear him through the rushing of blood to my ears. “You did? How did you get my num—” Hugh. That’s why Hugh asked Prairie for my number? To give to Kevin? Okay, Jenny. Be cool, I ordered myself. My blood pressure soared. Any minute I was going to start hemorrhaging.

“Listen, I was wondering,” he said. “Well, I mean I was wondering how you were. After Harley… you know. After he… you seemed pretty upset.”

He’d noticed. How could he not notice a total emotional meltdown in public? “Yeah, well, you would be, too, if your prize rat just keeled over and died.” And you figured it was your fault, I didn’t add.

“I guess
so
,” he said.

“Max took it hardest, though. Harley was her rat.”

Kevin nodded. “I wanted to talk to you after the science fair, but with the crowd and all the commotion…” He scraped a circle in the gravel with the toe guard of his Reebok. “It isn’t fair that they disqualified you for using a live animal in your project.”

“No kidding. Especially since he was dead.”

“I didn’t mean—” When he saw me smiling, Kevin chuckled.

The second bell rang, and we hustled toward the temp. On the way he told me what a cool project ours was and how stupid his was. “Barbie and Ken. Brother.” He rolled his eyes.

“So, that barfing we heard coming from Ken. Was that your contribution?” I asked.

Kevin smirked.

If barf can be adorable, his was.

“We never should’ve let Ashley and Melanie take over the project.” Kevin shifted his backpack to his outside shoulder. “We spent more time figuring out what the computers were going to wear than we did getting them to work.”

“I especially liked the mustache on Ken. Nice touch.”

Kevin elbowed me.

God, he touched me. I’d never wash my arm again.

At the steps to the temp building, Kevin stopped. He removed something from his pack and said, “Here, this is yours.” He handed it to me.

I looked at it and freaked. My glamour photo. The worst one, too. The one where I was trying to act all sexy and everything. Groaning, I clutched the picture to my chest. My heaving chest. How long had he had this? A week? Why was it all bent? And why was there a little hole in the top?

“It doesn’t really look like you,” he said.

“Who does it look like?” I frowned. “Don’t answer that.”

He smiled. “No, I mean you look better in person.” He blushed. Or else he had a sudden bout of indigestion. I know I did.

Kevin started up the steps. Turning back, he said, “You going to the dance on Friday?”

“I dunno,” I said through shock. “Why?”

He stared off over my head. “Just wondered.”

“You going?”

He raked his hand through his gorgeous hair. “I might go. I mean, even Hugh’s going.” He sort of rolled his eyes.

“Where Hugh goes, you goes?”

He laughed. And looked at me.

“Sorry.” My eyes dropped.

“Well.” His hand poised on the doorknob. “If I do go, will you go? With me, I mean?”

“Sure.” I gulped an ocean. “Since Prairie’s going.”

He exhaled a long breath. “Great. That wasn’t so hard. At least she said yes.”

He wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to air. Not air, exactly. Kevin Rooney was talking to himself. How adorable. It made me laugh.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.” I shook my head.

Then we both cracked up.

Friday, I thought, as I squeezed past Kevin through the door that he held open for me. I’d have to lose twenty pounds by Friday. “Right,” I muttered. Maybe two pounds would be a good start. The way Kevin was smiling at me, I already felt as light as angel food cake.