I’m about to open my mouth, when I catch Camilla’s expression twist as if in irritation. Next, her eyes latch onto mine, piercing and accusatory. “You have to cut that shit out,” she says.
Blood drains from my face. “Cut what out?”
“Staring at me like that. I wanted to tell you yesterday. It makes me uncomfortable. I know I look like a freak, but if we’re going to be ID buddies, we need to set some boundaries.”
I want to scream at her for calling herself a freak. Instead, I gulp down the rest of my water, slam the glass on the coffee table, and say, “Will you go to homecoming with me?”
For a couple of seconds, it’s as if all the sound is sucked out of the room. My body temperature rises at least a hundred degrees.
Even though she just told me not to stare, I keep doing it. Her face smooths over, but the neutral expression only lasts a second. The skin around her eyes crinkles, her teeth flash, and she’s laughing like I’ve never heard her laugh before.
I’m too shocked to speak. When her laughter dwindles into sporadic spurts, she looks at me and her eyes widen. “You’re serious,” she says.
“I am.”
She thinks for a moment. “What’s the catch?”
“What? There is no catch.”
“No.”
A knot forms in my chest. “No, what?” I ask. Did she just reject me?
“No, there definitely has to be a catch. Are you trying to make some kind of statement?”
“No.”
“You can take any girl you want.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“It’s fine,” she says, suddenly very serious. “You can tell me what you’re plotting. Does this have anything to do with you breaking up with Becca?”
“Yes. That’s why I broke up with Becca.”
Camilla’s upper lip curls back. “I don’t get it.”
“I broke up with Becca so I could go to the dance with you.”
She chuckles again. “Yeah, okay.”
“Camilla, I like you.”
She laughs again. But not as freely as before. “Come on. I like you, too, but that doesn’t mean we should go to homecoming together.”
“No,” I say. “I like you.”
She goes quiet for a moment. Then, “Did your mother drop you as a baby or something?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
For a moment, she disappears somewhere else. Not literally, because she’s still sitting there across the living room from me, but her eyes glaze over and her line of sight drops to the floor. Heart pounding in my ears, I sit still. I don’t say anything. The longer I wait, the longer I can hope she’ll still say yes.
When Camilla looks at me again, there’s decision in her eyes.
“Okay.”
I don’t know what to do with myself. I stand up. Sit back down. Then stand up again. Never has a single word affected me this much.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Um, you’re welcome?”
I’m thinking about walking over to her—maybe giving her a hug, shaking her hand, something—when I hear the clank of keys on the kitchen counter and freeze.
“Camilla?” calls Mrs. Hadi, strutting into the living room. As soon as she sees me, she halts. She looks from me to Camilla and back to me again. “Oh,” she says.
Camilla stands up. “Hi, Mom. Maybe I should officially introduce you two?” Her head tilts in her mom’s direction. “Konrad, this is my mom”—her head tilts in mine—“Mom, this is Konrad. My homecoming date.”
Mrs. Hadi’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She looks like Camilla just told her she’s pregnant and she’s keeping the baby. My face is on fire, like I am the father of said metaphorical baby. “Nice to officially meet you, Mrs. Hadi.”
Mrs. Hadi doesn’t answer. She’s trying to smile but can’t quite form her lips into the right position.
This is way too intense for me. I turn toward Camilla. “I think I’ll head out,” I say. “Pick you up again Monday morning?”
“Yeah,” she says. “See you then.”
Backing out of the house, I nod at her mom. “Have a good night.”
Camilla walks over to close the door behind me. When I glance in Mrs. Hadi’s direction one final time, her mouth is still open.
CHAPTER 22
CAMILLA
WHOEVER DECIDED PAJAMAS AND SCHOOL are a fun mix is an idiot. It’s uninspired, unappealing, and most of all, unhygienic. Also, it’s drizzling today, which amplifies all of those things a hundred times over.
Unfortunately, our school is pretty spirited when it comes to Spirit Week. If I didn’t dress up in my blue polka-dotted footies, I’d only be asking for more attention. And we all know I get plenty of that as is. Although, now that I’m going to homecoming with Konrad Wolnik, I’m not sure any extra precautions will even matter.
Shoes already on my feet, my backpack and jacket waiting on the couch, I peek between the curtains. Konrad should be here any minute.
After he left on Saturday and Mom got over the whole homecoming thing, she sat me down for a serious conversation.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“I think you’re mature enough and know enough about the world that I don’t have to tell you how unusual this is.”
“I know.”
She frowned, picking at nonexistent lint from her scrubs. “I just can’t help thinking he has some ulterior motive.”
He does, I thought to myself. But then so do I.
“It’s fine,” I told her. “None of it will matter after the dance.”
“Why?”
“Because. We’re just going to the dance. And that’s it.”
I didn’t elaborate in case she thought I was showing symptoms of a disturbed mastermind. And boy do I feel like being a disturbed mastermind. MUAHAHAHAHA!
Oh yes. Everything’s falling into place. I couldn’t have asked for a better setting to execute my glorious rejection of Konrad Wolnik. I mean, I wanted public and splashy, and what’s more public and splashy than homecoming? And as his date? This is just too good.
Konrad’s obviously counting on the power of spectacle himself. Think about it: Is there a better way to display his heroism and selflessness than by taking me to homecoming? Absolutely not. It’s a smart plan. But, if he thinks I’m going to fall for it, he’s not a very smart guy.
Can you believe his audacity, though? Thinking he just gets to say he likes me and I’ll do whatever his beautiful highness desires? I cannot wait to humiliate him.
The rumble of an engine out front yanks me out of my thoughts. Slipping into my jacket, I grab my stuff and head out. The misty rain hits my face as I cross the front lawn to his car. I swab a film of water off my forehead.
“Hi,” I say, slamming the door behind me.
“Morning,” Konrad replies, his gaze burning into me—all of me—making me uncomfortable. As usual. “Nice threads,” he says.
“Thanks.” My eyes travel to the monkeys, barrels, and bananas on his black pajama pants. I recognize them from one of the arcade games I watched him play the other day.
“Donkey Kong?” I ask.
“Yup,” he says proudly, swinging his long legs open and closed.
“Cute,” I say. I’ve got to give it to him—he thought his outfit out. The Andy Warhol banana T-shirt peeking out from his open hoodie is a great touch. Cute, hip, and sexy at the same time. Of course, I’m not about to say any of this out loud.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks.
“It was fun,” I reply, all friendly and polite. I have to stay on his good side. I can’t give him a reason to change his mind about taking me to the dance on Friday night.
We get to school and walk in together, side by side, like there was never a time when we hadn’t. People shoot us curious looks. Usually, we go our separate ways as soon as we step in the building. Today,
he walks me all the way to my locker. Today, he leaves no doubt that we’re more than just polite toward each other.
Adrenaline sneaks into my veins. It has begun.
“Yo,” Mike Rogers yells in our direction. At first, I hold my breath, thinking he doesn’t have any clothes on below his waist—all I see is his bare thighs. But then I realize he’s wearing a thong and exhale in relief.
“Hey,” Konrad says.
Mike jogs up to us in his red see-through baby doll, the muscles in his thighs contracting. From this up close, I have the perfect view of the very detailed outline of his you-know-what. Blushing, I yank my eyes away. There’s no way he walked into school like that, so my guess is he’d just removed his pants. He’s got, like, ten seconds before one of the teachers catches him.
“Very nice,” Konrad says, looking him up and down. Tom Dempsey, in more traditionally male nighttime attire, sneaks up behind Mike and crosses his arms. He nods at the pair of us, but the icy look he gives Konrad isn’t lost on anybody.
Mike holds the hems of the barely-there dress and does a little Southern belle curtsy. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m making the case that lingerie and pajamas are the same thing.” He eyes Konrad’s T-shirt. “I really like your bananas, Mr. Wolnik.”
He straightens and looks at me as if he’s only just noticed me. I raise my chin and smile—partly because I’m enjoying the confusion I see etched across his features, and partly so it’s harder for my eyes to steal involuntary glances at his crotch.
“Camilla,” he says, pressing his palm to his face. He peers through his fingers and points at my chest. “Respect.”
“Come on, man,” Konrad says. “That’s so old.”
Just then, Principal Marks turns the corner. Her face twists at the sight of Mike’s naked ass. “MR. ROGERS!” she yells. “PANTS! NOW!”
Mike does a little oops face and trots back to his locker. Tom lingers, but only for a moment. He turns away without a word. I can’t help but wonder what happened between him and Konrad. You could cut the tension between those two with a knife.
Since Ashley’s taking her time replying to my texts—like always these days—Konrad and I reunite at lunch. I’m under the impression that we’re just walking to the cafeteria together and will sit separately once we get there. And then he says, “Want to eat together today?”
“What about your friends?”
“I’d rather eat with you, trust me.” The look in his eyes is convincing, and maybe it’s true, but I suspect he just wants to avoid Becca.
When we walk in, at least thirty percent of the kids are looking in our direction. The rest are either stuffing their faces or playing with their phones.
I scan the crowd, but Ashley’s not around anywhere. My heart sinks a bit, until I see Jodie.
She’s sitting with Joe Park, this geeky-cute Korean kid. I knew they had a class together but I didn’t know they talked outside of it. I guess a lot has happened since Jodie and I last spoke.
Jodie’s eyes meet mine. At first, there’s shock on her face—probably at seeing Konrad stand so close to me—but she gets over it and waves at me.
I drag my eyes away. It took her awhile, but just as I predicted, she’s acting like nothing ever happened. Like her words didn’t hurt me. Finally, I get my chance to ignore her. Finally, I get to make her reflect on what she did to me.
So why doesn’t it feel as good as I want it to?
My chest tightens as I realize how much I miss her. For a moment, I even consider inviting Konrad along and sitting with her. But it’s too soon. The part of me she hurt is still too fragile. I scan the cafeteria some more. My eyes land on Alan and Lauren.
Excitement races up and down my body.
This must be fate. I rarely see those two in the cafeteria. Is it because it’s raining today? Whatever. Looks like Konrad and I won’t be sitting with the track team after all. I just figured out how I’m guaranteed to stay on Konrad’s good side until Friday.
After Konrad and I get our food, I balance my chicken rice bowl on my tray with one hand and grab Konrad’s elbow with the other. This is the first time I touch him of my own free will, but I ignore the tingle radiating in my fingers and keep pulling. The thirty percent has turned into at least fifty, but I’m too focused on my mission to make a more accurate estimate.
“Follow me,” I say to him. I might not be ready to make up with Jodie just yet, but someone is definitely making amends today.
Halfway across the cafeteria, I start feeling the first signs of resistance.
“Where are you going?” he asks. In response, I tighten my grip.
As we near the table, our destination now clear, Alan’s mouth stops moving, Lauren’s eyebrows hike up, and Konrad’s feet stick to the cafeteria floor.
I let him be for a moment and go up to them alone. “Mind if we sit with you?” I ask.
They exchange a glance. Alan looks down at his sandwich. Lauren shrugs and sweeps her hand as if to say, “Do what you like.” I look back at Konrad. His face is red and panicked. He might as well be showing symptoms of malaria.
Setting my tray down, I slip my legs under the table, one at a time. Alan’s in some game-inspired pajama set, I’m assuming, but Lauren’s wearing her usual ensemble: a tight leather jacket over a tight white T-shirt. Apparently, Lauren doesn’t do Spirit Week.
“Hey,” she calls past my shoulder to Konrad, her gaze unflinching.
Konrad limps over but remains vertical. “Hey,” he replies, his eyes catching mine. There’s so much pleading in them I almost give in and stand back up so we can go somewhere else. But this is a one-chance type of deal. I shoot him a pleading look of my own.
It seems to work. His face twitches in defeat. He hesitates but presses his lips together and lowers himself to the seat.
Lauren’s eyes shift from Konrad to me. “Now I’ve seen everything,” she says.
I laugh. Her no-holds-barred honesty really is refreshing. If the circumstances were different—if I weren’t trying to ruin Konrad—I could totally see us becoming friends.
Alan’s looking at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. “What game is that?” I ask, pointing to the little pixelated creatures on his shirt.
“Space Invaders.”
“Nice,” Konrad says to no one in particular, extremely busy as he unwraps his cheeseburger.
“Thanks,” Alan mumbles to the table.
I turn to Konrad. “Did we play that one?”
“Nah,” Konrad says, his cheeks turning even redder. “They don’t have that game.”
I face Alan. “Konrad took me to that arcade bar.”
“Wait,” Lauren says. “You guys, like, hang out together?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And he talks about you two all the time.”
Everyone goes silent. The tension around the table thickens. I’ve gone too far too soon. Just when I start to think my plan’s gone to hell, Konrad saves us all. “I, um, didn’t know you guys all knew each other.”
“We do!” I say. “They gave me a ride home the other day.”
“Yeah,” Lauren adds. “She got as high as a kite.”
Konrad’s head snaps my way, his eyes about to pop out of their sockets. “You did?”
“She’s being dramatic,” I tell him. “I was totally in control.”
“That’s not what the lawn said when you rolled out of Alan’s car.”
“I tripped! The marijuana had nothing to do with it.”
And then we’re laughing. All four of us.
For the next couple of minutes, Konrad, Lauren, and Alan reminisce about their weed escapades of the past. I ask a question here and there, but mostly just listen. More and more of our food disappears from our trays. By the time we’re finished eating, nothing but empty plates and wrappers before us, I know my plan is a success.
Konrad, Lauren, and Alan are friends again.
Of all people, Alan’s the one to officially confirm it. “We’re driving down to Six Fla
gs on Saturday,” he says. He looks from me to Konrad. “You guys should come.”
Heat travels to my cheeks. I have to cut eye contact with him. Alan is almost making it sound like Konrad and I are a couple.
Lauren stares at Alan’s ear for a minute, clearly surprised. But then a smile sneaks onto her lips. She turns to me and Konrad and nods in approval. “Yeah,” she says, “come.”
“I’m down,” I say, feeling a strange tug. I can actually see the four of us hanging out. Maybe even having fun. But, of course, I’m lying. I’m not down. I can’t be. The dance is on Friday night. By Saturday, Konrad and I will no longer be speaking.
“Me, too,” Konrad says, flashing me a big smile. I doubt he’s actually excited about the prospect of having to continue our so-called “friendship” beyond the dance, but the gratitude in his eyes for what I did for him today seems genuine.
All in all, my plan couldn’t have gone any smoother, and I would’ve kept riding the high of my success for the rest of the day, except, after school, Konrad decides to take his gratitude to a whole other level.
We’re walking side by side on the way to his car, when his hand reaches for mine.
I’m so flustered, I don’t know what to do. My own hand stiffens but doesn’t move. His fingers wrap around it. He gives me a little squeeze and then lets go.
My skin is on fire. I’m too stunned to look around, to confirm if anybody saw. And then, his eyes on the pavement, our shadows drifting across it, he says, “Thank you for that. At lunch.”
And for a brief moment, as I watch him open the door on the other side of the car, he almost makes me believe that this—our friendship, all of it—is real.
Almost.
CHAPTER 23
KONRAD
“DUDE,” MIKE SAYS. “WHAT DID you do?”
I look up from my textbook. Framed by his giant blond wig, Mike’s eyes are chock-full of mischief. Crumpled tissues peek out from the black bra under his tight tank top. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I had previously removed this very same bra off of Sara.
“What did I do what?” I ask. Ever since Mike and I became friends—if you can even call it that—we’ve been pairing up in Mr. Connick’s class. Working with him feels like having your very own monkey assistant, i.e., he’s fun but not very helpful.
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