This is so perfect! I can picture Cassie’s face now as Carter and I walk hand in hand…I don’t know…somewhere. Wherever it is, it will be absolutely perfect because she will be the one having to share her boyfriend for once. Ha. We’ll see how she likes it.
Now I’ve got to be really clever about this if I’m going to get Carter to date me. I can’t just go up to him and ask him out. He’ll be all, ‘Shoo, band nerd’ or something. No, I’ve got to plan this very carefully. A list. I need to make a list.
What time is it? 4:34 p.m. I have to leave for the football game in another 15 minutes so I won’t be able to get much planning down now. But I can get a good start. I walk over to my computer, launch a Word document, and sit down to make my list.
STEP 1: BEAUTIFY
I know I’m not bad looking or anything but I’m going toe-to-toe with Cassie Deegan here. I’m going to need to get Carter Jones cute-worthy. Let’s see.
1) Get cute haircut. Highlights?
2) Get eyebrows waxed.
Sigh. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
3) Buy push-up bra. Extra padding?
This is Cassie I’m competing with.
4) Buy a pair of BUTTZ.
I’ll never compete with her teeny thighs but with modern body-wear-shaping technology, I sure can try.
That’s a good start for now. I can take care of most of this list at the mall tomorrow. What’s next?
STEP 2: RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT
1) Research Carter Jones.
a) Google him
b) Check Facebook
c) Search through yearbooks
d) Casually gather info from Rayne (blech!) in band. Her older brother is a wrestler (I think?)
2) Develop plan to get Carter to date me.
Shoot. That last one is going to be tough. And I have to get to the game. I’ll have to work on this later.
* * *
This week’s half-time show has a 70s theme so we are marching to a medley of songs like “Disco Inferno” and “I Will Survive”. The stadium has its usual field lights on but for this show there are additional strobe lights panning across the field. The band is still sporting the usual orange and black polyester ensemble but the flag twirlers are all in big bell bottoms and wide-collared shirts and the dance squad still managed to find a way to show off their bodies with spandexed tops, micro-minis, and platform boots. I guess I should give them credit; no matter how cold it gets during these performances, they are dedicated to showing as much skin as they can bear.
We are in the middle of “YMCA” and moving into formation to spell the actual letters, Y-M-C-A, on the field. I’m the right-bottom corner of the “A” and Cassie is about fifteen feet in front of me. She and the other girls are contorting their bodies into the different letters of the song as well. Cassie has her left arm punched in the air and her right arm holding her right leg up so that she looks like the letter “Y”. For just a brief moment I want to run to the sideline where the pile of disco ball props are stored and bowl one right into Cassie’s left leg. But I don’t. That would probably be too obvious. It’s nice to think about, though.
The medley ends and we march off the field in a single-file line. I climb the ten rows up to my seat in the flute section and unstrap my giant black hat. I place it in my lap and concentrate on the big white fluffy plume, pretending the feathers need combing. I’m NOT going to the percussion section at the bottom of the stands to meet Chris, that’s for sure. No way. We can still be boyfriend and girlfriend, or whatever, but I’m not extending myself. The other flutists leave to get drinks or go to the bathroom and I’m left by myself, still working on the plume.
Chris comes bounding up the metal steps and a moment later is standing in front of me. “Ready for our hot chocolates?”
Is he kidding? Like I’m supposed to just merrily skip off to the concession stand and get hot chocolates like everything is normal when he has a date with Cassie in an hour? Puh-lease.
Well…technically I am. Since we are still “together” and all. Ugh! This BSC stuff is so hard! Fine. I’ll get a hot chocolate. But I’m NOT going to like it. And he can forget about the extra whipped cream. I’m not indulging in any extra calories. Especially not when I’m trying to get a date with Carter Jones.
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Chris takes my hand and I let him lead me down the bleachers and toward the concession stand. As we are about to get in the back of the line, we almost run smack into Cassie and Carter carrying their own hot chocolates. Well, isn’t this interesting? I’ve never seen Carter at a game before but he must have suddenly felt compelled to attend one. Gee, I wonder why? Chris and Cassie both look completely shocked and even pale a bit at this near collision. No one says anything. Carter looks back and forth between Chris and Cassie with a puzzled expression.
Oh for God’s sake, does no one have better recovery skills than this? I mean really.
“Hi, Cassie,” I say, with a bit of annoyance in my tone. I turn to Carter and sweetly say, “Hi, Carter.” I bat my eyelashes at him. It’s never too early to begin flirting—though I do wish I was sans band uniform.
Carter blinks a couple of times at me, like he’s trying to place how he knows me.
“I’m in your English class,” I say, leaning toward him a bit. “With Mrs. Miller? I’m Brooke.”
“Oh yeah,” Carter says, smiling now. I’m not sure if he’s happy because A) of me, B) it’s polite, or C) English is his favorite class. “Hey.”
I smile again. Carter looks expectantly at Chris. Chris is doing his best to look anywhere but at Carter or Cassie. Cassie is still mute. Funny how when her boyfriend is around, she’s just not her normal, flirty, bubbly self.
“This,” I say, nodding in Chris’s direction, “is Chris.”
“Hey,” Carter says again with a nod at Chris.
More silence.
“Well, it was so nice running into you guys,” I say. “We better get in line for our drinks. I’m freezing.” I rub my arms briskly with my hands just to really bring it home.
“Oh, yeah. We better get back to our seats with ours,” Cassie says, lifting her cup.
Hallelujah! She speaks!
“See you in class, Carter,” I say sweetly.
“Yeah, see ya,” he says and gives me a little wave.
Carter and Cassie walk back toward the stands and Cassie briefly looks over her shoulder at Chris. I roll my eyes. These two are freaking unbelievable.
Hmm. I wonder if Chris’s family dinner has suddenly been cancelled?
We get our drinks and walk toward our seats. “You go ahead,” I tell him. “I want to run back for a heat sleeve. The cup’s burning my fingers.”
Chris nods and keeps going. I return to the front of the line at the concession stand. Blech. Delaney’s standing there. Well, I don’t have to talk to her. Just need to reach by her really fast and grab a sleeve.
I pluck one out of the box and turn to go when I hear Delaney mumble, “Quit.”
I look up, startled. Is she talking to me? “Excuse me?” I say.
But she doesn’t turn around. Just keeps staring straight ahead. I must be hearing things. I take a step away from the concession stand and this time she coughs and says louder, “Quit the club.”
Okay, this time she’s definitely talking to me. “Delaney, do you have something you want to say?” I ask. But she still ignores me. “Whatever. I’m not quitting so just get over it.” I walk away before she can pretend to not say anything else to me. What a witch.
Chapter 11: Truth or Dare
I don’t hang around to find out if Chris is still going to his family dinner, a.k.a, date with Cassie. As soon as the game is over, I wave a quick goodbye and pile into Shannon’s car with her, Lizzie, and Emma. We make a pit stop at Emma’s to change from our uniforms into our party clothes: Lizzie dons a short brown, round neck baby doll dress with platform loafers; Shannon rocks a skin-tight red v-neck top, tight black je
ans, and black high-heel boots; and Emma dresses in a sparkly silver top with matching handbag, short denim skirt and silver ballet flats. I put on a baggy black hoodie sweater, frayed jeans, and my favorite Skechers. Sure, I’m dressed down more than the other girls but what am I celebrating tonight?
Lizzie’s plan is well underway. We’ve been at the party for maybe twenty minutes and two cookies and Shannon’s already got the whole room playing truth or dare. Lizzie keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs in anticipation for her turn.
“Brooke’s turn,” Melanie, one of the oboe players, says. “Truth or dare?”
I contemplate this for a minute. Well, the truth can’t be too hard. At least five people have already asked me, “Where’s Chris?” tonight so it isn’t likely they’ll ask me that one again. “Truth,” I say.
“Where did you get your pink scarf?” Melanie asks, rubbing her hands together, eager for my answer.
Shoot. I can’t tell them that. I unconsciously finger the pink scarf tied around my wrist, under my sweater sleeve. “What scarf?” I ask.
“The one you’re touching right now,” Melanie replies, pointing.
Rayne smirks from her spot, three seats away from me.
“Um…dare,” I say.
“Oh come on! Tell us already,” Natalie, a xylophone player, says.
“Nope,” Lizzie interrupts, “Brooke chose dare. Give her a dare.”
I send a silent thank you to her for the save.
“Fine, fine. I’ll give her a dare,” Melanie says. She thinks for a moment and then shoots me an arched eyebrow stare. “Katie, can Brooke borrow your flute for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Katie says, leaving the room. A moment later she returns with it in hand, already assembled.
“Okay, Brooke,” Melanie says, already giggling. “You have to go out on the front lawn and play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’.”
“No prob,” I say, standing up. We’ve all had that song memorized FOR-EVER.
“Wait,” she says. “I didn’t finish. You have to play it in your bra.”
Eh, still easy. I’m still in the black sports bra I was wearing under my band uniform. “Okay,” I say.
Everyone scrambles to get up and watch me from the door and front windows. I whip off my sweater, take the flute from Katie, and step outside. Ohmigod it’s freaking cold out here! I begin to play the song and decide to march around the front lawn as well, both for everyone’s entertainment and to warm up a little. My performance is seemingly a hit from the sound of the cheers. Just as I’m about to do an improv one-woman kickline, a police cruiser slows down in front of the house and flashes his lights at us and bleeps. I run into the house and someone shuts the door behind me. And we wait. But nothing happens. The cruiser keeps going and we all crack up at the close call. I’m starting to have some fun.
“Okay, okay, now I get to choose,” I say, slipping my sweater back over my head. “Um…Lizzie’s turn. Truth or Dare, Liz?”
“I’ll go straight to the dare,” she replies, all innocent.
“I dare you to give a really rockin’, awesomely long kiss to…” I pause and look around the room like I’m really trying to decide on someone, “Jacob.”
Jacob blushes. And Lizzie does too, even though she developed this whole plan.
“Um…sure.” She stands up, crosses the room to where Jacob is sitting and squats down in front of him. His nose twitches and his fingers fidget. With a determined look, Lizzie leans in and plants a nice long kiss on his puckered lips. Long enough that everyone hoots and hollers. When Lizzie and Jacob finally pull apart, they both look a little breathless.
Happy with the completion of phase one of Lizzie’s plan, I head for the kitchen in search of a bottle of water. I hear someone follow me in and turn around. It’s Rayne.
“Hey, Brooke,” she says, reaching past me to grab her own drink from the cooler on the floor.
I grunt hello.
“I’ll never be able to play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ again without thinking of you,” she says.
“Rayne,” I say slowly, putting my thoughts together. “Don’t you have a brother who is a senior? On the wrestling team?”
“Yeah. Dirk.”
“Oh. Huh.”
“Why?”
“Oh nothing. Just…is he friends with Carter Jones?” I finally ask.
Rayne widens her eyes.
Why is she looking at me like that?
“Yeah,” she says, “Dirk and Carter are good friends. Carter comes over to the house a lot and they hang out sometimes on the weekends.”
I nod. I’m trying to think of what other information I can get from Rayne without being too obvious. “Carter seems nice, huh?” I say.
“Very nice,” she agrees, as the corner of her lips start to turn up.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “You rock. I hope you get him.”
“You hope I get who? Carter?” How does she know what I’m up to?
“Listen,” she says in a lower voice, looking around to see if anyone can hear us. “I know all about the BSC and Cassie dating everyone’s boyfriends. Believe me. I know.” She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Are you…?” I scan her outfit for any sign of a pink scarf.
“No, no, not me,” she says shaking her head. “But I’ve heard all about it from my older sister Marissa. She graduated last year but she was in the Boy Swap Club when she was a senior. She complained about Cassie constantly.”
“Really?” My attention is completely captured.
“Yup. As soon as I saw your scarf last week, I knew they got you too.”
“Yeah,” I admit, fully knowing that I technically shouldn’t be talking to Rayne about the BSC like this.
“I think it’s hysterical that you’re going after Carter. Cassie so deserves it. I’ll tell you whatever I know about him. If I can help in any way, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” I never thought I’d feel a connection develop with Rayne, but now I’m actually kind of liking her.
Rayne gives me a bunch of information about Carter and I write it down on a notepad next to the Hodges’s phone. It includes things like his favorite pizza (pineapple and pepperoni from Lou’s Pizzeria), his truck (a 2002 red Ford Bronco), and his e-mail address ([email protected]). Who knew the band party would turn out to be so informative? I rip the paper off the notepad, fold it, and stick it in my back pocket for some follow-up research this weekend.
Chapter 12: I Heart Google
I spent the first part of my Saturday accomplishing STEP 1 of my plan. It started with a bus trip to the Promenade, where I got a new haircut and highlights (which the stylist swore made my face look thinner) and an eyebrow waxing at the Mario Tricoci Salon. The waxing included a fifteen minute neck massage that was absolutely fabulous. I didn’t realize how stressed I’d become with all of this Cassie and Chris stuff. Next, I stopped at Neiman Marcus where I bought the Turbolifter 3000 in black lace. It is guaranteed to increase your bust by at least two cup sizes or your money back. And with all of this new found cleavage, I had to buy a sexy low-cut black wrap top to show off the girls. My last purchase was the BUTTZ—the most amazing invention on earth. My butt and thighs look so good in them that I could totally go out in a pair of skinny jeans and actually look, well, skinny. I blew through all of my babysitting savings but it was worth it. I look hot. My plan is to have Carter Jones drooling like a one-year old cutting teeth by the end of next week.
I have a date with Chris (who will NOT be privy to the Turbolifter 3000 or BUTTZ) tonight. Luckily it’s a group thing with a bunch of people from band. I even heard Lizzie invite Jacob last night after they sucked face for half the party. Our group date isn’t for another three hours, though, so I have plenty of time to get a start on Step 2 of my plan: researching Carter Jones.
I take a seat at my computer in my room and launch a Web browser. I bring up Google and start entering sea
rch phrases.
“Carter Jones”
Ick. It gives me about a gazillion hits. Apparently Carter Jones isn’t such a unique name. Let’s narrow it down a bit.
“Carter Jones” Rosehill, Illinois
I get two pages of hits. I browse through the various links but they all seem to contain the same information. Wrestling stats. Yawn. This isn’t going to help me very much. Although, I should know something about his wrestling matches. Just in case it comes up in conversation on our date. I read through a few articles about him from different sources, mostly the town online newspaper.
“Carter Jones has three pins…Carter Jones is now at ten pins…Carter Jones has the most pins out of every wrestler on the Rosehill High Varsity wrestling team…”
Yay for him, I guess. Strange what one finds newsworthy. What is he going to do with all of these pins anyway? Sew a shirt? Hem some pants? Ugh. This isn’t helping me at all.
I return to the search page to see if there is anything I missed. Score! Carter has a Facebook page. I click on the link, hoping for some good info on him. Oh, annoying. He’s one of those people who have like a million FarmVille updates on their Wall. I mean, who really cares if you have extra pig slop or you just scored some sweet strawberry bushels? Not me. I click on the Info tab to see what he says about himself.
“What are you doing?” a voice says.
I leap back in my seat.
It’s just Mom.
“Geez Mom, you scared me,” I say, quickly minimizing the screen. Mom is way anti-Facebook. She thinks if I get a Facebook page, I’ll hook up with an old man who will kidnap me and bring me to another country to be a sex slave. She saw it on a talk show once and you know, things like that happen so often in Rosehill.
“What are you doing?” she repeats. “Homework?” She tries to nonchalantly see what is on my screen.
Boy Swap Page 6
