The Forever Crush (8 page)

Dad nodded and grinned goofily.

“But I'm so happy,” she said. “You'll finally be a big sister.”

“Table for four!” Dad called out, and then clinked his water glass with Mom's in celebration.

“Wow,” I said, still getting used to this news.

Mom came over and hugged me. I hugged her back, but I was still absorbing it all. I used to wish for a baby brother or a sister. Did I still want one? I wasn't sure. They told me the due date was June 21, the first day of summer. I stayed through dinner and listened to my parents talk about when they'd tell my grandparents and how they'd make a baby room out of our guest bedroom.

“I say we don't find out if it's a girl or a boy,” Mom said. “Let it be a surprise.”

“I don't know if I can handle any more surprises,” Dad said, and laughed.

I stayed through dinner, but I was also feeling the need to be alone. There was too much going on. I now had a major life change ahead of me and the following pre-existing problems:

1. I was about to upset one friend (Bet) to help another friend (Kate) by taking the video off the Pink Locker Society Web site.

2. The PLS still had a stalker. The latest message said, “Your time is running out!”

3. I had a boyfriend who was not really my boyfriend.

Our contact was minimal, but what contact I had with Forrest was usually public. He “liked” stuff on my Facebook page, stopped by our lunch table when he was done eating, and stood near me if we were out in a group somewhere. Now that our school's football season was over, there were basketball games to go to on Friday evenings. Forrest decided not to play so he could focus on his music. His band was newly formed with some different members. They now called themselves Eleven-Eleven (11:11).

I hoped they named themselves after those two special minutes of each day when I always made a wish. But I couldn't bring myself to ask because I worried this was a babyish habit of mine. Not to mention that most of my 11:11 wishes had something to do with Forrest.

At basketball games, he sometimes sat next to me on the top bleacher, high above the action on the court. One time he gave me a pin that said “Go Fly a Kite,” but it's just something he got for free at a kite store. I attached it to the lapel of my blue wool coat.

Forrest didn't send me notes or say I was pretty or buy me gifts. Kate's and Piper's boyfriends—and I suspect all normal boyfriends out there—did that. I thought of how Christmas was approaching—Ms. Russo and Mr. Ford's wedding was New Year's Eve, in fact. Would Forrest buy me a gift? I wondered what the right gift would be for him. I couldn't be too thoughtful or sentimental with the present. This was all just an act.

But measuring my every action and reaction was wearing me out. Not to mention all the lying. My friends would ask how Forrest was and I'd usually say, “Great!” But I had nothing more to add. No details, no anecdotes, no “Forrest said the cutest/nicest/funniest thing the other day” stories. And with regard to kissing, I refused to answer, but let Piper and Kate assume that we had.

Yet there were moments—like the arm around me in the movies—that seemed
real
. And there were times when we talked that I made him laugh. And this one time he seemed to really listen when I was talking about this problem with the “Stop the PLS” bookmarks and how Piper, Kate (and now Bet), and I were trying to catch this person. It was a whole domino effect: If these bookmarks attracted attention from the wrong people (Principal F., for instance, or one of our parents), people would know the PLS was up and running. They'd shut us down for good and I couldn't bear the thought. I noticed that I was clenching my fists as I explained it all to him.

He asked what I'd do if I noticed the bookmark bandit on the surveillance video. I said I'd head right over and confront the person. I wasn't sure this was true, but liked thinking I'd be so brave.

“Well, be careful,” Forrest said. Pretty caring, I thought.

Another time, we were the first two of our group to meet near the water fountain before school. Had we truly been dating, I imagine this time would have filled up naturally with chitchat and whatever sweetness passes between eighth-grade couples. But Forrest and I ran out of stuff to talk about. I thought about telling him about the baby, but I hadn't even told Kate yet. Forrest and I just stood there together, in awkward silence. Where else could we go?

On other days, we were saved when a third friend arrived or when the football coach stopped by. But when no one approached, we were faced with the hard reality that the two of us didn't really have all that much in common. I thought only I minded, but Forrest broke the silence.

“Why do you care about it so much?” Forrest asked.

“It?”

“The PLS,” Forrest said.

The question struck me silent at first. I had an answer, but I was surprised at how genuinely interested he seemed.

“It's the first thing I've been in charge of,” I said.

He nodded.

“And I like helping people.”

He smiled slightly and I am 99% sure that he was thinking of how I was helping him by being his fake girlfriend.

But these moments were too few and I mostly felt sad about him. My heart always pointed me in Forrest's direction, but I started to wonder if my heart might be steering me wrong. I would have talked it over with Kate, or even Piper, but of course I couldn't. It was like the having an elephant in my bedroom. Try as I might, I kept running smack into it.

Twenty-two

All day Saturday, I cut off communications with the outside world and forced myself to work on a presentation for American History. “Did you know Betsy Ross was a real person but no one's ever proven that she sewed the first American flag?” Well, now you do. I did a whole PowerPoint on it.

Mom seemed more like herself after her doctor appointment and picking me up so late. She was still napping in the afternoons, baby-related I guessed. When I emerged from my room post–Betsy Ross, it was my dad who was emptying the dishwasher. I stood at our kitchen counter using the family calendar to count how many more weeks until Ms. Russo and Mr. Ford's wedding. Just three!

“Are we ever going to decorate for Christmas?” I asked.

“Eventually,” Dad said.

I thought a New Year's Eve wedding was
beyond
romantic. I wondered if Ms. Russo would carry roses or gardenias, like my mother had carried at her wedding. Or maybe she'd just wear a fur muff since their ceremony was outside. Yes, outside. I started thinking about what I'd wear and if I could talk Mom into buying me something new—velvet, off the shoulder maybe. It was the next official date for me and Forrest.

Mr. Ford had kept the promise he made the night of the Backward Dance, when he proposed to Ms. Russo. They invited all the eighth-graders to the wedding—my first wedding invitation ever. When I saw the invite, the location of the reception confused me. To fit everyone, they were having it
outside
at a place called Gibraltar. Outside on New Year's Eve? Mom said it was an old house with gardens outside, but nothing would be in bloom in winter.

“They must be doing tents,” Mom said.

I pictured the army green canvas camping tent that we used on our rustic vacations. That was not what I had in mind for my first spin as a wedding guest. I was hoping for some fancy hotel, but I guess if they did it at an expensive place, they couldn't have invited more than a hundred of us eighth-graders to join the celebration.

I was so glad I had the wedding to look forward to. That Saturday night—like most weekend nights—stretched before me like a big snooze. Being an only child has its plusses, of course, but one of the downsides is that it's just the three of you. And since Mom was having low-energy issues, I knew that it would be nightgowns and TV by nine.

A sister—or even a brother—might have livened up the evening. Though I hear that when you have them, you fight or they won't hang out with you when you want them to. I guess in six months I'll know what it's like. I had seen Kate with her brother and sister and I knew they played marathon games of Monopoly on Saturday nights. I imagined my new, bald, diaper-wearing brother or sister sitting across the table from me with a fanned-out wad of Monopoly money.

After a snack, I realized I needed a shower. I had gone running first thing in the morning and then dove into my project. I was sure I was stinky even though I was now wearing deodorant every single day. I took one of my usual too-long showers and no one banged on the door.

Afterward, I wrapped myself in an enormous purple towel and took squeaky-wet steps on the wood floor that led back to my bedroom. I closed my door so I could use the full-length mirror on the other side. I hoped I was not the only girl who occasionally checked herself out. I took a deep breath and dropped the towel. As I stood there, I tried to assess whether I had grown in any important departments. I had just hit one hundred pounds on the scale.

When I told Kate, she said, “I was one hundred pounds when I was nine.”

Kate was still bugging me about taking Bet's video off the Web site. I tried to tell her that no one could see her name in the Fat or Not book unless they paused on that exact frame and really studied it. But she wasn't giving up. Kate had talked with her mom and her doctor and was relieved to learn she didn't need to go on a diet. But she was trying not to gain weight, so she “ate more thoughtfully,” as she put it. This made me laugh because I thought this sounded like she was being thoughtful to her food. “Excuse me, Mr. Apple, let's get you a nice shower before I dry you off and eat you!”

But it actually meant that she wasn't automatically eating dessert every night or sitting in front of the TV or computer with a bag of salty chips. I did this plenty, which Kate said was unfair because I was still a string bean. But at least I was a hundred-pound string bean now.

When I looked at myself, I was a little shocked. My breasts were looking more real in size and shape. And I saw continued changes down below, too. I knew both of these were steps toward getting my period. When I really pressed for nitty-gritty details, the school nurse said that a girl's first period can be predicted—sort of.

She said we could talk more about it and that gave me a BRILLIANT idea: The PLS could give girls a quiz about their signs and symptoms and predict when they would get their periods. I thought we could even charge money for it! I would certainly have paid. We would be kind of like fortune tellers. It was brilliant because “When will I get my period?” was still one of our most asked questions.

I wanted to get to work right away, but I had learned something about teamwork from the whole fiasco with Bet's video. If I wanted to make a big change, I needed to discuss it first with Kate and Piper.

Twenty-three

During our PLS meeting in the school basement, Piper demonstrated the video surveillance powers we now had. Mrs. Percy had come through and said she and Ms. Russo would keep an eye on the library, too. They'd watch in the before- and after-school hours—as time allowed. I was eager to talk about my Period Predictor idea, but I waited patiently.

It was cool that we could, from our secret meeting location, spy on people in the library. There were several views of the library on different squares of the screen. I saw Mrs. Kelbrock sitting at the main checkout desk. And I think I saw Taylor Mayweather file by. It was study hall, after all.

But after about three minutes of watching the library, I wondered how we'd ever catch the bookmark bandit. I made a mental note to talk with Mimi Caritas, Clem's sister, since she was in the library club. She was in the library so much, she might know something. And she'd probably love to help an eighth-grader. The most recent message we'd received actually mentioned the bookmark campaign.

Attention, PLS: I have boxes of bookmarks and there's no stopping me.

“What are the chances,” I said, “that one of us will be watching when the person strikes again?”

“It would be, like, a full-time job,” Piper said.

“Teamwork,” Kate said. “We could all take shifts.”

“Speaking of teamwork, I have a new idea to propose,” I said.

I gave them my Period Predictor idea, beaming with pride that I had thought of it.

“Gosh, that's an amazing idea,” Kate said.

“How much do you think girls would pay for this?” Piper asked.

“Hellooo, we can't charge money. It's our job to be helpful,” Kate said.

“We could charge a small fee and still be helpful,” Piper said.

We agreed that I'd work out the details after my talk with the school nurse and Piper could figure out the technical part. We'd talk later about the money issue, but I could see that Kate would never go for it. I chose this moment to spring some good news on her.

“Kate, guess what? Bet figured out how to disguise your name in that video.”

“What do you mean?”

I explained how Bet came up with a solution that would mask the names in the Fat or Not book. She didn't have to take down the whole thing. She would just pixelate the frames that featured the pages of the book, where Kate's name was, for an instant, visible. The names would look all wavy and unreadable.

I imitated Bet for the girls: “It's probably better from a privacy standpoint anyway.”

Whatever that meant. I was just so happy that I could keep both of my friends happy. Bet would have really been crushed if she couldn't post her
You Bet!
videos on our site. She already had a whole plan for what would go up next. I could tell Kate was relieved.

“Oh, a million thank-yous, Jemma,” she said.

After we crept back up the stairs, Kate grabbed my elbow. I thought she was going to thank me again.

“So what's the latest on you and Forrest? You haven't said anything about him in forever.”