by Beth Reekles
“Cheerleading tryouts? Are you up for it?” Tiffany asks.
“Come on,” Melissa says. “It’ll be so cool!”
“Plus,” Tiffany adds, “you’re little. I bet you’d be really easy to throw around.”
I actually snort. It’s a proper snort—the kind that nobody should ever hear you do. But I can’t help it, honestly. The thought of me, cheerleading … Me being part of the popular clique is ridiculous enough, but me at cheerleading tryouts?
As if.
“Um, no,” I say bluntly, my voice flat and unequivocal. “No way in heck will you ever get me doing that.”
There’s a moment of silence.
Bryce is the first to break it. “Why not? What’s wrong with cheerleading?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” I tell him, breaking off a piece of cookie and popping it in my mouth. “It’s just not for me, at all.”
“Too mainstream?” He puts a teasing emphasis on the word mainstream, which makes me bite back a smile and lean forward to look down the table at him.
“Ha ha,” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick. “So anyway, what’s everyone got after lunch?”
I say it to shift the focus off me; it works.
I’m right about it being a long lunch hour. I’m so nervous and fidgety, time passes all the more slowly. About fifteen minutes before the bell is due to ring, we all begin to get up, grabbing the remnants of our lunches and the trash.
What happens next is a blur.
“Whoa,” says Kyle loudly. I recognize the two people he is talking to in a heartbeat. “Watch where you’re going next time.”
I just stand there, my mouth open in a small circle, as I stare at Andy and Dwight. Andy has something wet all over his green sweater—I assume it’s orange soda from the open can he’s holding.
“Gee, thanks,” Andy says sarcastically, muttering it more than saying it to Kyle’s face, and he pulls at his sweater. “Jackass.”
Most of our little group have gone; it just Kyle, Adam and me. I stay rooted to the spot.
“Get a life, losers,” Kyle mutters, purposely barging into Dwight, with Adam following.
“Get some brain cells,” I hear Dwight retort under his breath.
Then he catches my eye. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something in his expression I really don’t like—something similar to his look at the beach party, after I spoke to Bryce. “Uh,” I stammer. “I—I have to … Bye.”
I hurry away. I have this sick, twisting feeling in my stomach; I know I should’ve said something, done something, told Kyle to shut up, or at least stayed and talked to Dwight. I haven’t seen him since the party—don’t I at least owe him a hello?
But no, I just scurry off after my new friends, because I genuinely don’t know what to do. And for the next fifteen minutes or so, until the bell rings, all I can do is ponder what I should’ve done, and think about that awful expression on Dwight’s face.
Chapter 10
Physics is three rooms away from where I had Biology class earlier, so it’s easy to find. But I still turn up late, dragging my feet because I’m so reluctant to go to AP freaking Physics. The bell has already rung when I finally reach the door to Room 31: PHYSICS, DR. ANDERSON.
Pausing for a minute, I gulp slightly. My teacher’s not just a Mr. or Mrs. Anderson. It’s Dr. Anderson. Doctor. Who is so going to give me detention for being late … Great. Detention on my first day—it just doesn’t get any better …
I take a deep breath, and then sigh heavily as I push at the door.
Except it doesn’t open.
I sigh again, this time a heck of a lot more frustrated, and jiggle the handle, twisting it, and finally shoving my shoulder into the door. And, of course, when I do that, it flies open. Typical.
Today is really just going totally swell.
I fly into the room, clutching the door handle so I don’t fall on my face for the second time. In the sudden silence my heels sound unnervingly loud on the laminate tile flooring.
“Late, as well,” says a voice. It doesn’t sound too pleased, either. “Miss … Clarke, isn’t it?”
“Um …” I pry my shaky fingers off the door handle. It’s stupid, but my hands are trembling at the thought of a teacher being displeased with me. So I may not have been a model student in Pineford, but heck, I never got detention!
“Um, yes …”
The teacher looks like a Dr. rather than just Mr., I think. His hair is thick and white, and his thin silver-rimmed glasses are perched on top of his head. He has a bony, crooked nose, and he wears a long white lab coat. “You’re late, Miss Clarke,” he repeats.
“Sorry,” I say, then add in an undertone, “Nobody ever said I didn’t know how to make an entrance, though …”
I say it quietly enough that I think he can’t hear me, but a few people in the front row nearest me stifle a laugh, which makes me feel a little less nervous. However, even Dr. Anderson chuckles—he must have superhuman hearing or something.
“Um, Dr. Anderson?” I say, edging closer to his desk after pushing the door shut behind me. “There was a mix-up with my transcripts … I’m not actually supposed to be in this class.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Apparently there aren’t any classes for me to move into.”
“Hmm. And how good are you at physics, Miss Clarke?”
“Not very.” I smile innocently, just to make it clear that I’m not being modest, I’m perfectly serious.
Dr. Anderson closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s got a headache. “Perfectly capable students and they can’t fit them into the class—and no wonder, if they keep messing up schedules.” Then he says, in a louder voice, “All right, Miss Clarke, you’ll have to grin and bear this class for the time being.”
“I really don’t think there’s much chance of me being moved,” I tell him miserably.
He scans the classroom. “Mr. Butler, please make space at your desk. Miss Clarke …” He waves a hand for me to go sit down.
And at this, I suddenly see Dwight’s head snap up. He doesn’t so much as glance at me. “But can’t—”
“Mr. Butler. Move.” The teacher looks back to me again. “You’ll have to try and muddle through, I’m afraid. I’ll speak to the office at the end of the day and see if there’s anything they can do, but I’m sure Mr. Butler over there will help you out. Worst comes to worst, you’ll have to think about extra classes, or a tutor.”
Then Dr. Anderson claps his hands together. “Now, after that lengthy interruption, back to the matter at hand …” He chuckles at his own joke.
I don’t even listen to the rest of the “matter at hand,” though; I’m too busy making my way to my designated seat next to Dwight. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as I drop onto the stool next to him.
“Hi,” I say quietly. I have to say something, just to fill that empty void. It feels so incredibly tense, and I’m not even entirely sure why.
Okay, okay! I know why. I should’ve said something to him at lunch rather than stammering incoherently and running off.
But it stings: he was so nice and friendly to me the other day. Now he won’t even answer me and say hi back. Nor will he look at me, for that matter. So I try again: “Dwight.”
“You know, some of us are trying to learn here.” He doesn’t sound like the friendly, easygoing Dwight I met in the coffee shop. He sounds irritated. Not mad or snappy; it’s more like I’m a pesky fly.
“Sorry,” I mutter. And I don’t try to talk to him again.
It’s not until we’re told to discuss the answers on page 180 of the textbook that I speak to him again—and not about question 2a. Dwight reaches across to pull the textbook closer and flips it open to the right page. I watch him for a moment before I blurt out the sentence I’ve been trying to perfect for the past twelve minutes:
“So what, you suddenly hate me now?”
I see his eyebrow
go up a little, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. Though he answers this time, at least.
“Right, because you were just being so friendly earlier, weren’t you? Let’s just be best buds.”
“What did you expect me to do?”
It’s the only reply I can come up with, and I know it’s a lousy one.
But I’m not about to tell him the truth, to explain myself. And how can I say that I didn’t know what to do because I’m no good around people, that I chased after the people who wanted to be my friends because I didn’t want to jeopardize my shot at actually having friends? I can’t tell him that without giving him my life story and sounding like a complete loser.
And no way in heck is anybody here going to find out about Fatty Maddie. I won’t let it happen.
Dwight shrugs in response to my rhetorical question. “I thought you were better than that, Madison.”
I don’t need to ask what he means: he thought I was better than someone who would run off after the popular people instead of staying to at least say hi to him and Andy.
But the only reply I can come up with is: “Well, I guess we can’t all be perfect, can we? Or geniuses at physics.”
“Don’t expect me to do your project for this semester for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I snap—but I’m not so much angry as hurt by his comment. “I barely scraped a B in physics last year. Sorry I can’t keep up with you AP brainiacs. Sue me.”
“We prefer the term ‘nerds,’ you know.”
I cast a sideways glance at him, and I’m surprised to find he’s biting back a smile.
“Sure,” I say. “That’s what I meant. Nerds. Gotcha.”
Dwight lets the smile he’s holding back slip onto his face. Then he says, “Are you going to switch classes?”
“I can’t. Looks like you’re stuck with me for the rest of the year.”
“Whoopee.”
He uncaps his pen with his teeth, and starts writing the answers to the questions. I look at him for a moment—the freckles, the gangly arms and skinny frame, the curly black hair …
It didn’t even cross my mind when I met Dwight that he could be a nerd. I didn’t want to stick a label like that on him. I just thought he was a really nice, cute guy. Now that he says it, though, it seems so obvious that he’s on a different social level from Tiffany, Summer, Kyle, Bryce—all of them. Like he’s just turned on a flashing neon sign over his head.
Jeez. Spend years with people not wanting to be your friend, and then this kind of thing happens. But I just … I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to know what to do?
I don’t want to not be friends with Dwight. I like him. And if he gets over being mad at me, I think he’ll like me too.
And on the other hand, Tiffany and the rest of the girls seemed really nice, and I could almost—almost—picture myself being friends with them, and the guys. But it’s darn near impossible to see myself hanging out with the popular kids.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “About earlier, I mean. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything to you.”
He’s silent for a moment, but then he says, “It’s okay. I get it. New school, you get straight in with the popular crowd … I get it.”
He says it so sympathetically, so understandingly, that for a minute I almost believe he really does get it. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know the half of it.
Dwight carries on, “At least you’re a big enough person to apologize. Just remember, the higher you climb, the harder the fall.”
I have no reply to that, because I know it’s true.
I struggle through the rest of the lesson, but at least I manage to survive it. I have a free period next, so I figure I can go home. Mom and Dad are still at work, but surely I can find the way by myself. It shouldn’t be too hard …
“What class are you in next?” I ask Dwight, just to make conversation.
“Nothing,” he tells me, shoving his notebook into his overstuffed messenger bag. “Study period. How about you?”
“Same,” I answer.
“Are you staying in school, or going home?”
“I guess I’ll go home, if I can remember the way.”
“If you can remember the way?” he repeats quizzically, with a frown. I hold the door open for him as we leave the room. “How’d you get here this morning?”
“My dad gave me a ride,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I can remember. It’s not exactly too far to walk, right?”
“Well, no, it’s not,” Dwight says. “Where’re all your friends?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know where they are?”
“Uh, your cell phone?” he suggests, like it’s totally obvious. And once he says it, it is obvious. Except, you know, I’m not used to using a cell phone for everything, and it didn’t even occur to me earlier in the day to ask for anyone’s number.
“Oh, good point,” I say. “I don’t have anyone’s number, though. It doesn’t matter, I’ll just head on home.”
“Hang on,” Dwight says. I pause, and turn back to look at him. He fishes his cell out of his back pocket. “I’ll just see if Carter is around and we could all hang out—”
“Madison!” trills a voice, and we both turn to see Tiffany and Summer at the end of the corridor; Summer waves at me.
“Um …”
“It’s fine,” Dwight says. “Go talk to your … friends. I’ll, uh, see you around.”
I start stammering at him that he doesn’t have to go, I’m happy talking to him, but he’s already walking briskly down the hallway, so I’m left gaping, speechless, staring after his retreating back.
“Madison,” calls Summer, and I turn around to see them coming toward me.
Dwight’s sudden departure leaves me feeling confused. And strangely hollow. But I smile at them anyway. “Hi.”
Tiffany nods her head in the direction Dwight took. “What were you talking to him for?”
“Dwight? He’s in my Physics class.”
She nods and goes, “Mm-hmm,” and she and Summer exchange a glance. But neither of them says anything, so I just smile innocently at them.
“What do you guys have now? I have a free period,” I say, just to move the conversation on.
“Free,” they both chorus. Summer adds, “We’re going to the mall—you in?”
“Sure,” I say enthusiastically, excited that these girls are inviting me to go to the mall with them. It’s, like, an actual everyday social activity!
“Cool,” Tiffany says. “Come on, I’m driving.”
Chapter 11
It turns out that going to the mall basically involves sitting on the edge of a fountain sipping milk shakes and talking for about an hour. No actual shopping is involved, which is good, since I only have twenty-three dollars (and a nickel).
I mostly just drink my strawberry milk shake; they mostly just talk about people I don’t know.
“So, Madison,” Summer says, turning to look at me. “Are you really stuck in AP Physics?”
I nod. “Yup. Sucks, huh?”
“You’re lucky you’ve got that Dwight guy as your lab partner. He is your lab partner, right?” I wobble my head yes. “Well, shouldn’t be too hard. He’s such a geek—it’s kind of sad, actually. I bet you can get him to do most of the work for you.” Tiffany smiles innocently, like she didn’t mean anything horrible by it.
“Why’s it kind of sad?” I ask. “That he’s a geek?”
“Well, just, you know,” Tiffany says vaguely. “Sad.”
“Oh,” I say. “If you say so.” I make it clear that I disagree with her.
“Are you interested in Bryce?” Tiffany suddenly asks me, grinning broadly. “I should totally set you two up.”
“No, I’m not interested in him. How about you, though? He’s the star soccer player or whatever, you’re the cheerleader … I just thought you guys might be … you know …”
I trail off, feeling idiotic, because Tiffany looks l
ike she wants to laugh. She’s halfway through putting her hair up into a ponytail, and pauses to look at me. I can see her trying to decide if she’s going to laugh or not.
Tiffany does laugh, but it’s not in a mean, condescending way, like I expected. “Bryce is hot, and he’s a total sweetheart, believe me. But me and him? It’s just not going to happen. We’ve known each other since kindergarten.”
I nod, not knowing how to reply.
“Besides,” she goes on, inspecting her nail a moment—I see there’s a slight chip in the lilac nail polish—“I’ve totally sworn off guys. Right, Sum?”
Summer nods. “You mean after the Steve situation?”
“What’s that?”
“So, freshman year,” Tiffany begins, “I started dating this guy, Steve, and we were totally loved up. And then, the winter of sophomore year, he just—whoop!—up and left. His parents moved to somewhere in Idaho. Idaho! Totally broke my heart. Sworn off guys entirely since then.”
“Entirely?” Summer raises an eyebrow and giggles.
Tiffany smiles sheepishly. “Okay, okay, almost entirely.”
I don’t say anything, but then she exclaims, “Oh, no, no! Not like that. I don’t, like, hook up with every hot guy who comes my way. Not like that! Making out with every hot guy who comes my way, though—that’s a different thing entirely …” She winks, and she and Summer laugh. “But I don’t sleep around.”
“I didn’t suggest you did.”
“I know, I’m just sayin’. You might’ve been thinking it.”
“Oh. For the record, I wasn’t.”
She laughs, and slurps the last of her milk shake. “So how’s your love life been, Madison? Come on, tell us a little gossip about yourself. Any sex scandals? Games of truth or dare gone awry?”
I snort, and shake my head. “Yeah, right.”
“Oh, come on,” Summer says, giggling. “Spill it all.”
“There’s really nothing to spill,” I say. “No … sex scandals, no truth or dare games gone bad. Nothing.”
“Never had a boyfriend?” Summer sounds like she seriously doubts that, almost like it shocks her. I’m kind of flattered she thinks I could’ve had a boyfriend, actually.
