Romance of the Snob Squad (9 page)

I thought I could do the blank, though obviously guilty, look better than anyone, but Ashley’s was good.

“If you don’t give it back, I’m telling Mr. Biekmund.” She just looked at me. Then her eyes crossed, and she imitated a moron. Very realistic. She sniffed the air and said, “I think I smell a rat. A big, fat one. And I don’t mean the one in the cage.” She puckered her nose and waddled away.

I almost stabbed her in the butt with my pencil. I should have. How much lead does it take for lead poisoning?

As soon as Mom and Dad left for their marriage counseling, Vanessa and I ordered a pizza. Mom’s curried corn quesadillas didn’t exactly stick to the ribs. Ever wonder where the expression “food to die for” came from? Now you know.

While we channel surfed, we stuffed our faces. Okay, I stuffed mine. But it was the first time in a long time that Vanessa actually ate more than three bites.

We settled on Nick at Nite, which was having a mini-marathon of back-to-back
Brady Bunch
reruns. Out of nowhere, Vanessa said, “I bet Mom and Dad are going to get a divorce.”

I froze, a pizza slice poised midair on its way to my open mouth. “What do you mean?” I managed to croak.

She turned to me. “I mean d-i-v-o-r-s-e.”

She couldn’t spell any better than me. “They can’t,” I said. “They’re in marriage counseling. It’s against the law or something to get divorced while you’re getting help.”

“What help?” Vanessa said. “They argue all the time, in case you haven’t noticed. They hate each other.”

“They do not!” The mozzarella in my stomach melded into a hard cheese ball. “They hate us.”

Van met my eyes. She blinked back to
The Brady Bunch
, who were having a pleasant family discussion during dinner. Alice, the maid, carted in a luscious-looking chocolate cake. Maybe that’s what we needed. A maid.

“They’ll work it out,” I said. “They always do.”

“I don’t think so,” Vanessa countered. “Ever since Mom went to work and Dad lost his job, things have changed.”

That’s it! That’s when everything changed. But why? I answered my own question: “Because they’ve lost the romance. But they can find it again.”

“What?” Vanessa curled a lip at me.

My face flared. I must’ve said that out loud. “Nothing.” Quickly I added, “Everyone changes. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. Change is good. Through change people grow.”

She widened her eyes at me like I was a raging retard. “Who taught you the facts of life?”

“You did.”

“I got it wrong.” She turned back to the Bradys. A commercial came on, and she said, “I hate to tell you this, Jenny. You’re living in a dreamworld. Wake up. I want you to be prepared for the worst.”

Why does everyone always say that? Why can’t we be prepared for the best?

Just then the garage door sounded. A few seconds later, car doors slammed and the back door opened. Dad’s voice echoed through the kitchen, “I’m just saying I think it’s a waste of money. We’re paying a bloody fortune for this guy to sit and stare at us for an hour every week.”

“You’re not paying a penny,” Mom snarled. “The cost of all this counseling is coming out of my insurance. Since I’m the only one working.”

The sofa creaked. I glanced over to see that Vanessa had curled into the corner of the couch, hugging her knees. Her eyes were transfixed on the TV. I’d had about as much of
The Brady Bunch
as I could stomach. Speaking of stomachs…I tossed my half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box, closed the cover, and escaped with it to my room for a brain-numbing blast of heavy metal music and mozzarella.

T
he next morning as Lydia, Max, Prairie, and I were heading for class, someone shouted, “Hey, guys. Wait.” That someone was Hugh. We all stopped and turned. Hugh smacked right into my back, almost as if he meant to. Weirdo. Something sharp, his slide rule probably, stuck in my spine. Go ahead, I thought, add physical pain to my emotional and psychological distress.

“Sorry,” Hugh mumbled.

“Want to get off my foot?” I said.

He stepped back. “I, uh…” He gulped. “Do you mind if I talk to… to Prairie?”

“No,” Lydia said. “Go ahead.”

Bunching up Lydia’s polyester sleeve in one hand and Max’s canvas camouflage jacket in the other, I said, “He means alone.”

“Oh,” Lydia replied.

I yanked Lydia and Max ahead. Prairie smiled gratefully at me.

We couldn’t hear them, but we did see Hugh write something down and nod before he plodded off. Prairie just stood there, gaping. We bustled back to her.

“Well?” Lydia attacked her. “What did he want? Did he ask you to the dance?”

“N-no.”

“Well, did he mention the glamour photos?”

“Y-yes.” Prairie’s eyes filled with tears.

Lydia squeezed her arm. “Did he say something about them? Something mean?”

“N-no.” She sniffled. “He thought they were b-beautiful.”

“He must need an emergency eye exam,” I mumbled.

Lydia said, “What else did he want? What did he write down?”

Prairie bit her bottom lip. “He wanted J-Jenny’s phone number.”

They all looked at me.

“Huh? Why would he want my number?”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Why else?” she snarled. “He’s going to ask
you
to the dance!”

I heard Prairie tell Mrs. Jonas she wanted to skip science and spend the whole day in the resource room, catching up on assignments. Quickly I rushed over to the pencil sharpener so that I could talk to her before she left. So that I could tell her I wasn’t interested in Hugh Torkerson. Get real. But when Prairie saw me waiting there, she deliberately went out the long way, through the back door.

Sometimes life stinks. Like most of the time, if you believed Vanessa. Which I was beginning to. Prairie hated me. And I didn’t blame her. I blamed Lydia. “This is all your fault,” I told her on the way to the science lab. “You just had to play Cupid. Stupid, stupid Cupid.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lydia flared. “You’re the one who was flirting with Hugh.”

I shoved her against the lockers. “I was not!”

Max stepped between us. “Cool it,” she said. “You’re gonna get us busted.”

Lydia stretched her neck out around Max’s arm. “This was all your idea, Jenny.”

“My idea!”

“You’re the one who thought up Herd a Nerd.”

“Well,
you
had to take glamour photos.”

Lydia clucked. “That was Max’s idea.”

We both glared up at Max.

“Shut up,” she growled. “It’s all our faults. We shoulda just butted out.”

I took a deep breath. “Max is right. We never should’ve gotten involved in Prairie’s love life. All for one, and one for all. What a crock.”

Lydia hung her head.

“Look, it’s my fault, okay?” I said. I was their leader. I was responsible.

Lydia must’ve taken it the wrong way. “So you
are
interested in Hugh. You admit it.”

“I do not!” I cried. “And I’m not flirting with him, either. God. Tork the Dork?”

“He’s not that bad,” Lydia said. “In fact, the more I get to know him, the more I think he’s not all that dorky.”

“Maybe
you’re
interested,” Max said.

Lydia sneered at her. “I’m not, believe me. But I think Ashley is. For real.”

We all considered that scenario. Scary scene.

“Question is,” Lydia said, “is he interested in her?”

That might be Lydia’s question. Mine was, Why is he asking for my phone number?

What Prairie missed during science class was Harley hip-hopping through the obstacle course perfectly, from start to finish, without a fleck of food for reinforcement. Three times in a row he set off the siren. After the second run, the whole class watched and cheered Harley on. Except Ashley and Melanie, of course. They scowled at us from the PC center. Hugh and Kevin joined everyone else in fawning over Harley. A couple of times I thought I caught Hugh trying to inch closer to me, but I kept a wide berth. They don’t call me Wide Bertha for nothing.

The Beak Man said our project was excellent. That it actually gave our school a chance at a prize. Then he asked if we couldn’t disconnect the siren because it was giving him a major migraine.

After school we joined forces to look for Prairie. To talk to her, to try to convince her that I wasn’t a threat. That Hugh couldn’t possibly be interested in me. And if he was, he was blinder than I thought.

When we turned down the A-wing hallway, we spotted Prairie outside the resource room. She was just standing there, staring up at the wall. “Hey, Prairie,” I called. “We missed you at science. You should’ve seen Harley, the wonder rat. He ran the obstacle course three times.” Maybe if I pretended everything was normal, it would be. Denial, I know. It didn’t work with my parents; I don’t know why I thought it would with my friends.

Prairie didn’t reply. Didn’t even turn our way. Great. She hated me.

As we got closer, Max said, “Whatcha doin’, Prayer?”

She sighed, a heavy sigh, full of resignation. We gathered around her. Our eyes followed hers to the wall.

My stomach lurched.

The poster read,

Sixth-Grade Spring Fling

Friday, May 15

We’re puttin’ on the Ritz (so bring a box of crackers).

Just kidding.

Shirt and shoes required.

“Oh, brother.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Who thought up that stupid slogan?”

No one answered.

Prairie sighed again. So did I. She met my eyes. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Lydia said, “Oh, figures.” She pointed down the hall. There were Ashley and Melanie, taping a poster to the A-wing window. After they finished, they had to walk by us to get out.

Ashley stopped to sneer. “Not that you’d care,” she said, “but we’re having a live band come and play at the dance. The Eight Anchovies.”

Where had I heard that? Lydia’s fiery eyes met mine. Now I remembered. The survey. Before Lydia could splutter a curse, Ashley added, “Me and Mel asked Hugh and Kev to the dance. Since we’re teammates and all. Oh, by the way, no fourth graders allowed.”

Lydia’s hair frizzed from the roots to the split ends.

Ashley smirked. She knew she’d gotten Lydia.

Lydia blurted, “I heard Hugh’s asking Jenny. He’s calling her tonight.”

I almost peed my pants.

Ashley said, “Where’d you hear that?”

Lydia shrugged. “Around.”

“She’s lying,” I said. “Don’t believe it.” I’d strangle Lydia. Right after Max beat her to a pulp, if the growling next to me meant what I thought it meant.

Ashley and Prairie had the same expression on their faces. Like they were about to burst into tears. And I was the bimbo who broke their hearts over Hugh. Melanie grabbed Ashley’s arm and said, “C’mon, Ash. Let’s go hang the rest of these posters.”

I glanced at Prairie. She looked as pale as I felt. Then I glared at Lydia.

She began, “I just thought—”

“He’s not asking me, Prairie,” I cut her off. “It’s a joke or something.”

Prairie shook her head. “Hugh n-never jokes.” She whirled and walked away.

Max ripped the poster off the wall and crushed it to dust under her army boot.

“Me next,” I said.

M
om made something called Singapore stir-fry for dinner. You’ve never eaten foreign food until you’ve had Singapore stir-fry. I kept staring at my mound of rice, expecting something to squirm.

Out of the silence, Dad cleared his throat. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he said.

“We hear ye,” I muttered.

“The first official Solano self-therapy session is now in order.”

We all stared at him. I said, “Is this
The People’s Court?
”

That elicited an almost detectable wave of amusement. Dad replied, “In a way. Except we are the judge and jury. From now on, no more shrinks. We’re going to solve our own problems. Here, during dinner. It’s my belief that all of our problems can be summed up in one word:
communication
. Or lack of it. So, would anyone like to share?”

Vanessa and I looked at each other. In unison we shoved our plates of Singapore stir-fry at him.

He clucked, and shoved them back. “Get serious.”

“We are serious,” we said together, and giggled. Maybe this was going to work. Except that beside me, Mom bristled.

Whoops.

Dad said, “Come on, guys. Let’s get everything out on the table.”

I snapped my fingers. “I
thought
something was missing. Dessert. Where is it? In the freezer?”

Vanessa smothered her smirk with a hand.

Mother was not amused. She set her fork down hard and said, “Your father’s right about one thing, Jenny. Apparently your counseling is a waste of time and money. You don’t seem to be losing any weight. Whatever happened to the food diary you were supposed to be keeping?”

“I have it,” I mumbled.

“Well, let’s see it.”

I gasped. “It’s private.” It’s empty, I almost said.

Mom exhaled wearily. “I’ve tried to help, you know. I’ve stuck to the dietician’s meal plan religiously. But all you do is turn up your nose at every meal.”

“No, it’s my stomach that turns,” I said.

“Jenny!” Dad barked.

“Well, it’s true. This food is totally inedible.”

Mom’s jaw came unhinged.

“Well, I’m sorry, but it is. If you don’t believe me, ask Vanessa.” I turned to her. She turned to stone. Didn’t even come to my rescue. Thanks a lot, I seethed to myself. To Mom I said, “How come you’re always ragging on me about my eating problems? What about Vanessa’s? She’s anorexic, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Through sunken eye sockets, Vanessa glared at me. “Why should I eat?” she said. “You eat enough for the both of us.”

“Vanessa!” Mom scolded.

Vanessa blinked at me and looked away.

Mom said, “We know Vanessa has a problem. We’re working on it… in private.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “And my problem we get to work on in public.”

Mom dropped her gaze.

It got real quiet. Finally Vanessa shattered the silence. “Jenny’s right,” she said. “Everyone in this family has an eating disorder. You know why? Because this food is terrible.”