The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys (10 page)

BOOK: The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys
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“Finley? It's Zachary.”

“Why?”

“Oh.” He sounded confused. “Am I interrupting? I could call back—”

“No. I mean, why aren't you calling Maya?” I said this thinking that Maya was possibly still in detention. But even if she'd been freed, and was back home by now, her mom wouldn't let her talk on the phone during homework time. Especially not if she'd gotten punished by the principal.

So why had I asked him that? I had absolutely no idea. Except for the fact that it made no sense he was calling
me
.

“You got Maya in massive trouble today,” I added.

“Yeah, I know,” Zachary said in his serious voice. “I feel really bad about the whole thing. Even though I don't think Maya's fight with Chloe was
my
fault.”

He was right; it wasn't. But that was
so
not the point. “You should still thank her,” I insisted.

“I will, Finley. And I also wanted to thank
you
.”

“Me?” I said, surprised.

“You know. For offering that desk.”

“I only did it to help Maya. Not that it worked.” My heart was speeding up, so I took a breath. “Zachary, can I please ask you something? At dismissal you were hanging with all those guys. Jarret, Kyle, Ben—”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“And I heard laughing. What was it about?”

“Nothing,” he said fast.

“Not about Maya?”

“No way. They wouldn't, Finley. I think they're all scared of her, actually.”

Well, that was certainly believable, I thought. Maya could be pretty scary. “So what was so funny, then?” I said.

“Finley, it's stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“No, I mean it's
really
stupid.”

“Zachary, will you please just
talk
?”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “So. Apparently they thought it was hilarious that all these girls would be fighting over my desk. Not that you
were
, but.”

Oh, great, great, great.
Croakers were laughing
about us. About me
.

But I couldn't let Zachary know how humiliating this felt. “Well, thanks for that news flash,” I said with fake cheeriness. “I'm glad we were all so entertaining. And I'm glad you're making friends with Jarret.”

“I wouldn't call him a
friend
.”

“Whatever he is. At least you're not fighting anymore.”

“Yeah, that's true, I guess.” I could hear Zachary breathing. Then in a voice with just the faintest detectable crack in it, he said: “Anyhow, I just called to say thank you, Finley. For the desk. And also, you know, for giving me a second chance.”

CHAPTER 10

The next morning I got to school super early so that I could be sure to have time for a private one-on-one talk with Maya. Apparently she'd made the same plan, because when I got there, she was sitting next to her locker, trying to retape a rainbow ribbon that was dangling off my birthday decorations. As soon as she saw me, she sprang up and gave a quick, sharp hug.

“So what happened yesterday?” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Ish.” She did a wince-smile. “Fisher-Greenglass gave me a two-day in-school suspension, so I'm stuck in the computer lab today and tomorrow. And after
school I have to de-gum desks, so I'm also missing gymnastics practice.”


Two days?
Oh, Maya, that's so unfair!”

“I know, right? But Hairy Hands told her I was ‘challenging his authority.' I said, ‘No, actually I was challenging
Chloe's
authority.' So he went, ‘See? There she goes again! This has been the behavior pattern
all year
!' ”

“Irk,” I said.

“And then Fisher-Greenglass was like, ‘Maya, you've disappointed me, I'm sorry if this punishment seems harsh, but you need to learn respect before you go off to high school. If this happens again . . .' ”

Her forehead puckered. My best friend was supercompetitive and superstrong, but she hated disappointing people. Especially people in charge.

“Well, it
can't
happen again, let's put it like that,” Maya said. “My parents warned me that if I'm not on totally perfect behavior, they're pulling me out of gymnastics for the entire rest of the year. Can you believe that?”

“No, that's awful,” I said. My first thought was:
Maya's parents are crazy. Glad
my
parents are so much saner!
My second thought was:
Yeah, but what if they take away my camera?

“Oh, right,” Maya added softly, “and while we're on the subject of me messing up, I'm really sorry about what I said to you at the end of Spanish.”

“You said something to me? Huh, that's funny, because I didn't hear anything.”

Maya's face relaxed a little. “Thanks, Finny.” She touched my arm. “So anyhow. I guess you'll be taking care of Zachary the next two days.”

“What?” I said. “Listen, Maya, I'm really . . . not so sure about that.”

“Not sure about what?”

“The taking-care thing. And also Zachary.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Why?”

I almost mentioned the fist bump at dismissal yesterday, but I caught myself. Hearing how the Croakers were laughing at us would probably just upset her, and she already felt bad enough. Besides, I told myself, it wasn't Zachary's fault the Croakers were such jerks. Or even that they'd made him a Croaker hero, apparently.

And anyhow, it wasn't like the fist-bump thing was Zachary's only issue.

Instead, what I said was: “I don't know, Maya. There's just something funny about him.”

“Really? You mean like funny weird?”

I nodded. “I can't put my finger on it. But doesn't it seem like he has certain expressions?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, smiling. “Everyone has certain expressions.”

“Yes, okay. But I mean, he says some things
a lot
. Have you noticed? All that stuff about second chances—”

“What's wrong with second chances?”

“Nothing! They're perfectly fine. But it's the way he keeps repeating it all the time. And it's not just that—he hasn't told us anything about what happened when he left Fulton, I'm positive he lied about writing ‘lunch' on his wrist, and also—”

“Yes?”

I took a breath. “Well, don't you think it's slightly strange how he turned into a Frog? Without ever being a Croaker?”

Maya laughed. “You're still obsessed with that.”

“Not obsessed. And I don't think he's an imposter. But—”

“But what, Nancy Drew? You think he time-traveled to the future? Or did a body-switching thing with someone? Or wait—I know. Maybe he's some sort of hologram!”

“Maya, stop it, I'm serious.”

Sabrina Leftwich was walking toward us, making a
click-click
sound with her boots. We waited for her to open her locker, hang up her jacket, and take out a couple of textbooks. But she didn't leave. She just stood there, flipping pages, like she suddenly had this burning urge to read about the Continental Congress.

Maya murmured, “Careful, I bet you-know-who is spying for Chloe.” Then she leaned in closer. “Oh, and on that topic, I obviously can't go to Chloe's party now. I mean after our big fight in Spanish.”

“That's not so terrible,” I said. “I mean, it's just Chloe's Stupid Party—”

“Yes, but the thing is, I invited Zachary to come with us.”

“You did?” I stared at her. “When?”

“Yesterday. He called our house and my brother snuck me the phone.” Maya poked me in the elbow. “He said
you
made him call me.”

“I didn't force him. But yeah.”

She was watching my face now. “Anyhow, he thanked me for sticking up for him. And he said he wanted to go.”

“To Chloe's?
Why?

“Oh, come on, Finley. You remember how mean Chloe always was, how she used to kick him out. It was humiliating. And I think it's really, really important to him to feel like he actually belongs here now.”

All at once I could see where this was going. “Listen, Maya,” I began.

She did a pleading smile. “So
would
you go with him, Finley? So that he doesn't have to go alone?”

“Are you nuts?”

“Uh-
huh
.” She laughed. “But what does that have to do with it?”

“Okay, I'm not going to Chloe's party with Zachary.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not going if you aren't. I never wanted to go in the first place.”

A bunch of sixth-grade kids began streaming toward our lockers. So I said as quietly as I could, “Maya, can I ask you something? Why do you care about Zachary so much anyway?”

Sabrina Leftwich slammed her locker door and spun her combination lock. When she
click-click
ed over to Dahlia Ringgold and Sophie Yang, two girls from the basketball team, I calculated that Sabrina had finally left the eavesdropping zone.

Then I just let it out. “Because I know he complimented your gymnastics, which was extremely Froggy of him. And of course there's the cuteness issue; I'm not saying it doesn't exist. But he's a
middle school boy
. And I thought you'd given up on that species.”

Maya's cheeks splotched pink. “You think I'm that shallow—that I'd like somebody just because he complimented me?”

“No, no.” I could feel my face getting hot. “But the way you're inviting him to everything—”

“Finley, I'm only doing that because
you
like him.”

“What?” I said.

“You
like
him,” she repeated. “I mean, don't you? You keep staring at him.”

“That's because I don't trust him,” I sputtered. “I've been trying to tell you that, Maya. That's my whole
point
.”

She took my arm. “Look, Finley, don't be upset with me for saying this, but do you ever think you're possibly a little bit too hard on people? And maybe
that's
the reason you're having trouble with boys?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don't mean trouble; I take that back. I'm just saying, you know, all that Frog business, naming boys to
categories based on whether their voices changed—”

“Are you serious?” I was gaping at her now. “The
Life Cycle
wasn't just about their dumb voices! It was about their
total behavior
. And, Maya, you did it too!”

“I know, it was both of us; you're right. But I'm thinking . . . maybe it's time to throw out the chart, okay? Because boys grow up; they all do. Eventually. Look at Zachary: Did you think he'd ever change? And he has. I mean, obviously.”

She squinted. Then her face lit up, and she did her desert-island wave to someone behind my head.

Of course it was Zachary.

•  •  •

As soon as Zachary came loping over, I mumbled some excuse and fled the lockers. I just couldn't deal with him right then; my brain was in snow-globe mode. Partly it was because Maya had accused me of crushing on Zachary, but mostly it was this: Even though I'd gone to school that morning worried about my best friend, and feeling guilty (although all I'd done was try to rescue her from both Chloe and Señor Hansen), we'd gotten into a fight. And she'd called me boy-illiterate again. And made me feel like a baby for the whole
Life Cycle
thing, which she'd half invented.

Although, now that I focused on it, I couldn't think of the last time she'd updated the chart. Okay, but she still talked about doing upgrades, didn't she?

Except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember the last time she'd decided a boy was Froggy, or had qualified for Croaker status. And I remembered something else—two days ago when I'd mentioned Wyeth Brockman's croak/blush/invitation, she'd acted like it didn't matter.

Really, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that the
Life Cycle
had become my job lately.

All right, I told myself. So maybe it
was
my job.

But even if that was true, even if I'd become the official chart keeper, did that mean I was being “too hard on people”? Or that I “was having trouble with boys”?

I mentally scrolled through various boys on the
Life Cycle
chart. Just yesterday I'd upgraded Wyeth Brockman, so it wasn't as if I couldn't change my mind about people. When they deserved it.

And I could appreciate the niceness of complete Croakers—Drew Looper, to name one. For example, just last week we'd been laughing together in social studies about this Web comic we both liked called
Splat
. Also, a few days ago he'd let me copy his math homework, and to say thanks I gave him half of my chocolate chip brownie.

See? Niceness. From both of us.

Oh, and also Ben Santino. After I'd decided he was too Croaker to crush on at Chloe's party, we had a really fun conversation about zombies. Which we both agreed were way cooler than vampires. Or werewolves.

So the fact that I'd listed Ben Santino as a Croaker didn't mean I couldn't see him as a person.

It just meant I couldn't imagine him as
date-worthy
.

Which was totally not the same as “having trouble with boys.” Or “being too hard on people” in general.

As for staring at Zachary: All right, maybe I had been. But staring did not equal liking. I was a chart keeper, a photographer, a student of character.
Une stud-ent of charact-aire.
Staring was necessary, a part of the job. How could you notice things about people if you weren't focused? You couldn't.

BOOK: The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys
5.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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