The Cupid Chronicles (8 page)

Lana Sharkey is a junior and the head of the Bramble Burners.

“Tanner was just sitting there on a log all by himself …”

I look to see if Tina is jealous—just two weeks ago she was making a list of all the ways she and Tanner were compatibly perfect—but no, Tina's stabbing her salad bowl. “They're so stingy with the cheese around here,” she says.

“… and all I did,” Ruby rolls on, “was sit next to Tanner and ask if I could roast him a hot dog or something and then, all of a sudden, Lana Sharkey comes running over
all crazy and whispered something really mean to me and then they got up and walked off together. Tanner didn't even wait for his hot dog.”

I'm dying to make eye contact with Tina, but she's still searching for cheese. Clearly she's over Tanner McGee. I guess it's all about Jessie now. Good. Jessie and JFK are friends. Maybe the four of us can—

“Anyway,” Ruby says, folding her arms, “I thought about it all weekend. And I decided that Tanner was just using me to get back at Lana for flirting with that new transfer kid, Chris Ruggiero. Wow, have you seen him yet? What a beamer …”

I keep sipping my vegetable soup, not nearly as good as Sam's but I'll deal, nodding like I'm listening, eyes on the door for JFK.

“At first I was hurt,” Ruby says with a sigh. “But then I said to myself, ‘so what, let it go,' or as Yogi Senile would say, ‘breathe and move mountains, breathe and move on.' So I said to myself, ‘what's more important, Ruby Sivler? Fighting over a boy or being a Bramble Burner?' I don't need Lana Sharkey mad at me. She's actually adding one of my moves to the new halftime cheer …”

I keep watching the door for JFK. I wonder what he thought of the candy. I wonder what his favorite candy is. I wonder what—

“… and so I decided …” Ruby's still talking. Tina clicks open her mirror and puts on lipstick. Ruby is annoyed that she doesn't have Tina's full attention. She clears her throat, loudly. “So, like I was saying. I decided Lana can have Tanner McGee. I'm going back with Joey Kennelly.”

“What?” Tina and I say together.

“What do you mean you're going back with Joey” Tina says, looking quickly at me. “When were you ever
with
Joey?”

Soup is swirling in my stomach.
It's not Joey. It's JFK. And he's mine.

“Oh, come on.” Ruby squints at Tina. “Don't you remember? Joey and I had a good thing going before he moved to Minnesota. We had some nice times together.”

What good thing? What nice times?
Potatoes and carrots and celery are swirling. “I'm definitely ready for older guys,” Ruby says. “But Joey is so sweet and shy.” Ruby twirls a red curl and giggles. “He'll be like my training wheels.”

My ears are burning. My lips are frozen.
Training wheels!

“What nice times?” Tina asks. Thankfully, her lips still work.

I'm going to puke. Here come the carrots. I hate you, Ruby Sivler.

“Well, it was after you moved to Maine last year Willa …”

Thanks, Stella. Always messing up my life …

“Joey and I were Spanish partners and had to write a skit for Cinco de Mayo …”

I'm having a sinking feeling of déjà vu. Ruby somehow managed to be JFK's Spanish partner in seventh grade too.
What is wrong with you, Willa?
Why didn't you switch to Spanish then? Who cares if you've had six years of French? Spanish is a perfectly good language. Half the country speaks it. How hard can it be? Maybe I can still—

“… and Joey would come over to my house just about every day after school so we could work on the skit. Day after day, we'd be sitting side by side at the computer, all alone, down in the basement …” Ruby looks like she's blushing. She twirls a red curl. I'd like to rip that curl out by its roots.

“… and then one afternoon Joey just leaned over and …” Ruby pauses for maximum dramatic effect.

My head is spinning, the soup is rising.

“He leaned over and what?” Tina demands.

“Oh …” Ruby tilts her head and twirls another evil curl. “I can't say.” She's smiling as innocently as Little Red Riding Hood. “It's sort of our secret.”

The cafeteria's crashing in on me. I turn to run.

“Willa, wait,” Tina calls.

The bell rings. Ironically I've got French.

Mademoiselle Ferret looks especially constipated today. That lady never cracks a smile. “Pop quiz,” she announces, gleefully Pop quizzes are Ferret's idea of fun. She really ought to take up fossil collecting or something.

“Willafred?”

I hate that. Ferret insists on using my full name. Stella used to do that too, back in the BS, Before Sam, days. Imagine having to endure “Willafred” when you could be “Willa, like a willow tree” instead?

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

She tells me to please stand and conjugate the verb “to love.”

Love?
Do ferrets have sick psychic senses or what?

I stand, fighting back tears and soup puke.

“J'aime.”
I
was beginning to love JFK.

“Tu aimes.”
You
might not believe it, but I thought he liked me too.

“Il ou elle aime.” Now, I find out,
he
loves Ruby and
she
loves him.

“Nous aimons.” We could have been a great couple …

Last period is Freshman Class Meeting. We're voting on our community service project. I've forgotten all about the library. All I can think about is JFK.

CHAPTER 11
 
“Hot, hot, hot”
 

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.

—Shakespeare,
Othello

Come on, Willa. Get a grip. You've got a job to do. Think how you love that library. Just tell them the plan and you can go home, crawl into bed, and cry.

I sit with the other class officers up front. Ruby and the Burners aren't here. Good. JFK is sitting on the couch in the back corner with his headset on and his eyes closed. His lips are moving as fast as an auctioneer's, his curls in sync with the beat. “Rap,” he said, “it's like poetry except it's music.”

Our class president, Gus Groff, the smartest kid in Bramble, keeps us on schedule. We decide on important issues we want to tackle with the administration. More “outie” days. Less homework. Important issues.

“Willa, you're on.” Gus nods to me.

When I take the podium, JFK takes his headset off.

Be brave, Willa, be brave.
I smile and he smiles back. He pulls the five-pounder out of his backpack, unwraps some candy, and gives me a thumbs-up sign.

Ha-ha, Ruby, so there.

“Willa.” Gus taps his watch.

“Thanks, Gus.” I'm feeling more confident. “Hi, every—”

The door plunges open. Ruby and the other freshman Burners gush in, giggling. Ruby plops down on the couch next to JFK. The other Burners squish in beside her, sandwiching Ruby closer and closer, until she's practically on JFK's lap.

My throat clenches.
Forget about her, Willa.
“As you know, we need to decide on our community service project. Some way in which our class can make a better Bramble. I have a suggestion, but I'd like to hear other ideas.”

No one says anything. Just as I expected. Nobody else wanted this job. “Okay, then.” This should go
smooth as taffy. “You've probably heard about—”

“Let's get some decent vending machines,” Luke calls out.

“Yeah, that's good,” Emily says, and several girls nod.

“Okay” I write “Ideas” on the board and then #1 Vending Machines.

“And a new sound system for the gym,” Jessie says. The Buoys are on a roll.

“Nice one,” Tina says, smiling at Jessie.

Hey, Tina, you're on my team. And it will take more than a new sound system to make the Buoy Boys sound better. But Sam says that when you're brainstorming, you're just supposed to let people be creative and get all their ideas out. You write down everything everyone says without trashing it and then you go back and talk about it later. If it comes to a vote though, Tina, you better pick me. Ice cream or not.

“Good, number two, sound system.” I write it on the board. “Anybody else?”

The room is silent. “Okay, then, if no one else has any ideas, I have a sugges—”

There's a mumble from the back.

“I'm sorry,” I say “What was that?”

“Vanity lights,” Ruby shouts.

The Burners giggle. JFK smiles. He must think this is funny.

“What do you mean by vanity lights?” I'm breaking the brainstorming rules, but that is a stupid idea. If looks could kill, Ruby would be “roll over, Rover, you're dead.”

“Well, it's no secret we need better lighting in the girls' locker room,” Ruby says, like she's done extensive research on this crucial crisis.

“That's right,” the Burners say.

“So we can see ourselves better,” Ruby says, puffing up like a peacock.

“That's right,” the Burners agree.

“It's impossible to put on mascara, or curl your lashes, and you might as well forget about eye-liner—”

“That's right.” The Burners are outraged. These are horrible hardships indeed.

Ruby marches on like she's giving a campaign speech,“… and so, in conclusion,” Ruby poofs her red curls and bats her eyelashes fast as a hummingbird—“I say better lights for a better Bramble.”

The Burners cheer, “hot, hot, hot.”

Ruby has got to be kidding. This will be easy. I look at JFK. He winks at me. “And you think this is an important cause?” I ask, standing up on my
soapbox, the scales of truth and justice on my side. “You want to make a better Bramble by buying new lights for the
bathroom?”

Gus and his chess club friends crack up. The Latin club kids do too.

Ruby's cheeks turn red as her hair.

“Okay” I say turning toward the board, feeling a tiny bit bad for being so mean, but only a really tiny bit. “Fine, number three, vanity lights.”

When I turn around, Ruby's on the rebound. She sits back down on the couch, skin close as she can to JFK. “Oh, and …” Ruby pauses. She turns and looks at JFK with a mischievous smile. “I don't want to discriminate against
boys
or anything.” Ruby keeps staring right at JFK. She puts her hand on his arm. Someone says “ooh-ooh,” and the Burners squeal.

“Not that I've ever been in the
boy's
locker room before …”

The swim team guys slap their elbows together and bark out their seal call,
urgh, urgh, urgh….

JFK looks flustered.

“… and so I'm not exactly sure how
dark it is
in there …”

The Burners sing, “hot, hot, hot.”

The whole room is laughing. Now JFK is redder
than Ruby's hair. Is he embarrassed or guilty or what? My head is spinning.
Breathe, Willa, breathe.
I turn back to the board and pretend I'm fixing a word that's smudged. Tears are stinging my eyes. Is there something I don't know? Did Ruby and JFK kiss in the locker room? Stop it, Willa. Get a grip. Don't you dare cry. Do you hear me?

“Willa,” Gus calls. “There's another hand.”

I force the tears back in and turn around. It's JFK. He's waiting for me to call on him. I nod and turn back to the board so I don't have to see his face. I write “# 4.”

“What about you, Willa?” JFK says.

I'm so confused. What is he doing? Who does he like, Ruby or me?

“You said you had a good suggestion.”

I can't speak.

“Yeah, Willa,” Tina chimes in. “That's right. What's your idea?”

“Willa?” Gus prompts, nodding toward the clock. “We're out of time.”

For a few seconds, I'm frozen. But then I picture the green ivy waving on that old brick building, the whale spoutin'-fountain, Mrs. Saperstone all excited, handing me a book … all of those rows of beautiful books.