The Cloudy with a Chance of Boys

by Megan McDonald

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” I turned to my friend and pleaded. “Liv, please. I’m your best friend. Please don’t leave me alone with him.”

  “Who him?”

  “You know who him.” I lowered my voice. “Wire Rims.”

  “Oh. Him. So that’s what you’re all bent out of shape about?”

  “Hello!” I said in a voice that came out high and shrieky. “I told you, I don’t know the first thing about boys.” She knew when it came to boys I hadn’t the foggiest. But she pretended like it wasn’t a big deal.

  “So?” She shrugged. “I already told you. They have big clown feet, they grunt instead of talking, they’re always hungry, and they like to burp.”

  “Be serious,” I told my friend.

  “I am being serious. See?” She sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling. Her eyes popped out at me.

  “Okay, now you just look like a demented circus clown. C’mon, Livvie. I don’t know what to say to the guy. You know I’m bad at this stuff.” Not like Olivia. When it came to trying new things, she did not hesitate to dive right in. Brave. Fearless.

  “It’s detention. You don’t have to talk. You can flirt with your eyes.” She blinked her eyes, fluttering her eyelashes madly.

  “Okay, now you look like a demented circus clown with something stuck in her eye.”

  “Look, trust me, there’s nothing to stress about. First of all, you’re not supposed to talk in detention anyway, right? So, you don’t have to talk to him.”

  “I can’t just not talk to him. Then he’ll think I hate him.”

  “Guys aren’t like girls. They don’t read a bunch of stuff into talking, or not talking. When it comes to boys, it is what it is. Simple.”

  “There’s nothing simple about it.”

  Olivia stepped back, studying me up and down.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just . . . why do you care so much?” Olivia gave me a hard look. “Time out! You like him. You are so crushing on the Glasses Man!” she teased.

  “Shh! I’m not crushing on anybody!” I said, keeping my teeth clenched. I glanced around to make sure nobody heard us.

  “You’ll be fine. I promise. Just remember, if he cracks his knuckles, that means he wants to hold hands. And if he takes his glasses off, that means he likes you.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Kidding! But not about the first thing.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was making fun of me or not.

  “Besides, it’s better this way. Without me there, he’ll have to talk to you. Instead of talking through me to talk to you.”

  Dear Ms. Carter-Dunne,

  Unfortunately, Stevie Reel had to go home sick and won’t be able to make detention after school today. I’m afraid she has a bad case of Boyitis.

  I wish.

  2:55

  De·ten·tion (noun) [di-ten-chn]

  confinement, imprisonment with a boy

  punishment by being detained after school with a boy

  locked up, incarcerated with a boy

  Okay, so I added the “with a boy” part. But still!

  3:01

  So far, no Sudoku in sight. Maybe the real punishment is just to worry about what our punishment will be.

  Outside, the rain had stopped. But fog had swallowed up the mountains and settled over the parking lot, turning the playground into a scene from Macbeth.

  I sat at my regular homeroom desk. Wire Rims slid into the seat next to me.

  “Hey, Stevie.”

  “Hey . . . Wire Rims.”

  “So, you like the glasses, huh? I get that a lot. Comments on the glasses, I mean.” He took off his glasses and rubbed them with the hem of his shirt. He smiled a crooked, goofy smile.

  Ms. Carter-Dunne told us we could sit quietly and work on our Language Arts homework for class — a five-paragraph persuasive essay. Mine argued against hunting wolves in Oregon. But I found it hard to concentrate on wolves when I could feel Wire Rims looking at me.

  Why hadn’t I used my peppermint body wash this morning? Now I just smell like dumb old soap.

  Why did he have to sit so close?

  Why were my ears turning red for no reason?

  Why was he cracking his knuckles?

  Why was my heart beating in my throat?

  Why was he not pretending to do his homework?

  Why was he looking over at my essay? What was his essay about?

  Why did I even care about any of this?

  Forget detention. This felt like a class in Lame-ology 101.

  Stare straight ahead, I willed myself. Stop stealing glances at him.

  Forget wolves. I took out my Science notebook and tried to concentrate on homework. But instead of observing clouds, I observed the specimen sitting next to me.

  OBSERVATION: Shaggy blond hair

  CONCLUSIONS:

  Surfer dude?

  Skateboard dude?

  Band-member wannabe?

  Yeti tendencies?

  OBSERVATION: Wire-rimmed glasses

  CONCLUSIONS:

  Geek potential? Nouveau geek?

  Wants to look smart?

  Techie?

  Trying to hide eyes?

  Can’t afford contacts?

  Entering John Lennon look-alike contest?

  Has ommetaphobia: fear of eyeballs?

  OBSERVATION: Faded T-shirt: THAI ONE ON

  CONCLUSIONS:

  Likes chicken on a stick?

  Family owns Thai restaurant?

  Older brother hand-me-down?

  Likes puns; wordplay freak?

  OBSERVATION: Absence of burping

  CONCLUSIONS:

  Hasn’t eaten since early lunch?

  Trying to be polite around a girl?

  Has burpophobia?

  3:17

  All of a sudden, Wire Rims reached over and tapped me. “Ah!” I nearly jumped out of my skin. Ms. Carter-Dunne glanced up. When she looked down at her papers again, Wire Rims pointed to the door.

  Scott Towel! What in the world? He was hovering just outside the doorway, gesturing like a crazy person. I glanced over at Wire Rims. He shrugged. Scott was mouthing words and motioning for me to come out into the hallway. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his eyes were about to pop out of his head, which looked positively volcanic. I figured I better get out there before his head exploded or something.

  “Excuse me,” I said, clearing my throat. “Ms. Carter-Dunne? Can I go to my locker and get a book I need?”

  “No problem,” she said, glancing up at me.

  I hurried out into the hall. A hand grabbed my elbow and dragged me into the empty classroom next door.

  “Where’s Alex?”

  “At home.” His T-shirt said WILL POWER and had a picture of William Shakespeare’s head.

  “What do you mean ‘at home’? There’s a Drama Club meeting today. Right now. They just posted all the parts for Romeo and Juliet.”

  “She’s still at home.”

  “Is she sick? Oh, man. This is so not good. You’re not gonna believe this. C’mere. I have to show you something.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “C’mon. Five minutes. You gotta come with me. You’re not gonna believe it,” he said again.

  “I’m in detention!” I told him. “Ms. Carter-Dunne thinks I just went to my locker. I’m already in enough trouble. Do you want me to get another detention for ditching detention?” I glanced toward the door.

  “What’d you do?”

  “Nothing. I mean — I gotta get back.”

  “Wait. Look. Here’s the thing. The thing is —”

  “Hurry up! What’s the thing?”

  “I think Mr. Cannon went loco or something. I don’t know what’s eating him. I got the part of Romeo and all, but not a lot of guys even tried out. But the thing is . . . the thing is that . . . Alex didn’t get the lead! Okay, so her audition didn’t go so great, but she’s obviously the best, and he k
nows it.”

  Alex didn’t get the part! I tried to take in what Scott was telling me. For all my sister’s moaning and groaning, it never occurred to me that there would come a time when she actually wouldn’t get the role she wanted in a play. “You mean . . . she’s n-not Juliet?” I stuttered.

  “This is what I’m saying! Crazy, huh?”

  “Who got it?”

  “Jayden. Jayden Pffeffer.”

  “Fluffernutter?” I asked incredulously. “Fluffernutter got the lead?” I tried to picture Jayden Pffeffer as Juliet. “This is going to kill Alex.”

  So much for Alex’s first kiss. It had just become the kiss of death.

  3:22

  When I got back to the classroom, I said, “Sorry, um, I couldn’t find my book. Guess I left it at home.”

  “Well, tell you what. Why don’t you two help me out with a project, hmm?” She took us over to the magnetic poetry board in the shape of a refrigerator door, hanging on the back wall.

  “You want us to make up similes and metaphors, like in class?” I asked.

  “Not today. The magnets have gotten so much use lately that they’re all mixed up.” She looked at her watch. “Why don’t you two spend the last half hour sorting them out for me?” She handed us boxes for Shakespeare magnets, Seventies magnets, and Text Message magnets. “Try your best to get them into the right trays. And if you’re not sure, just make a separate pile.”

  We started taking magnets off the board. “I guess all the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ go into the Shakespeare tray, huh?” I said, getting started.

  Wire Rims didn’t say anything. He was peering at a couple of magnets that said lily-livered and canker-blossom.

  “Here, I’ll take all the Shakespeare, and you find all the ‘Groovy’ and ‘Far out’ ones from the Seventies. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Wire Rims pulled Dream On, Can you dig it?, and Phoney Baloney off the board.

  “So,” Wire Rims asked. “Who was that guy?”

  “What guy? Oh, him? Nobody. His name’s Scott Towel. I mean, Scott Howell. He’s just some guy who my sister kinda, sorta, um, knows.”

  “He’s in eighth?”

  “Yeah.”

  I handed him cheesy. He handed me dafadilly.

  “So . . .” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a snack pack of two chocolate cupcakes. “Cupcake?” he offered.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Are you sure? There’s supposed to be a delight no matter how small a bite,” he said, referring to the corny ad for snack cakes. He tore open the package and took a bite. “Did you know every one of these cupcakes has seven loops on top? It’s like a thing.” When he smiled, his teeth were covered in chocolate.

  “A thing, huh?”

  “You like cupcakes, right? I mean, you were in a cooking contest or something?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I heard a rumor.” He picked up funkadelic and cheese weasel and tossed them into the Seventies tray.

  “Olivia, right?”

  He nodded. “I heard you made an entire castle and it was really cool.”

  I could feel the edges of my mouth curling up into a smile. “Okay, just so you know, you can’t believe everything Olivia says.”

  He pushed a bunch of words to the bottom of the board, spelling out a message for me to see.

  Hey Sunshine. U R stellular. Totally munga.

  I arranged some Shakespeare magnets to form a message back to him.

  Methinks u jest squire (Me, Stevie)

  I M no cheese weasel (Wire Rims)

  Aye perchance a merry maggot-pie (Me, Stevie)

  Grody! (Wire Rims)

  3:55

  Ms. Carter-Dunne stood up and straightened the stack of papers she’d been reading, tapping them into a neat pile. She started shoving folders into her shoulder bag. “Okay. Time’s up, you two. You’re free to go.”

  Thou from loathsome prison breaks

  Check ya later Sweetness

  The word Sweetness dangled at the end of Check ya later. Did he mean me? Does that mean he likes me? I caught myself kind of hoping, but it scared me at the same time. What does it mean, anyway, if a boy likes you? Maybe he hadn’t even put it there on purpose. Maybe the word just happened to be there.

  Uh! I hate that I’m driving myself crazy over a B-O-Y.

  No matter what Olivia says, this figuring-out-boys thing was harder than it looked! Definitely not a science.

  Next time, maybe I’ll just start a burping contest.

  TO TELL OR NOT TO TELL

  Starring Alex

  Me: Finally! Stevie. You’re home. What took you so long? Did you see the list? Hurry up, hurry up. Tell me. I’ve been dying all day.

  Joey: Yeah, Stevie. Hurry up. Tell her.

  Me: No, wait. (Takes a deep breath to calm down.) Don’t tell me.

  Joey: Yeah, Stevie, don’t tell her.

  Me: Joey, do you have to keep saying everything I say? And do you have to keep bringing that frog in my room?

  Joey: He has a name.

  Stevie: Tell you or don’t tell you? I feel like a Ping-Pong ball. First you drag me out of class and pretend to be Mom because you can’t wait to find out; now you don’t want me to tell you?

  Me: So, you know!

  Joey: You have to tell her sometime.

  Me: That’s bad, right? What did you mean, Joey, she’ll have to tell me sometime? Just tell me. Okay, go ahead. I’m ready. No. Wait. First . . . (Gets into Shakespeare mode.) “Is the news good or bad, answer to that.”

  Stevie: Well, let’s see. It depends.

  Me: On what?

  Stevie: On whether or not you were hoping to have a lot of extra free time.

  Me: (Glares.) Oh, spurious day! How can this be happening to me? Uh! I knew it! I knew it the second Mr. Cannon didn’t take notes. I didn’t get the part, did I?

  Stevie: (Cringes.) No. You’re not Juliet.

  Me: What sayest thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort?

  Stevie: I’m sorry, Alex.

  Joey: But look at the bright side. (In baby-talk voice.) Right, Sir Croaks-a-Lot?

  Me: What bright side? You sound like Dad with his “Every cloud has a silver lining” speech. This is only the worst day of my life.

  Joey: Um . . . (Thinks.) You don’t have to pretend to drink poison and die and stab yourself in the stomach. (Stevie nods in agreement.) And you don’t have to kiss a yucky boy who has Frog Lips in front of tons of people.

  Me: (Falls back on the bed and moans.) My life is over.

  Stevie: Your life is not over. It’s one part in one play.

  Me: The role of a lifetime!

  Stevie: There are other parts, Alex.

  Me: You’re right. Just no other parts I was born to play. (Dramatically throws hand over eyes.) So, let me have it. What part did I get?

  Stevie: (Shrugs.) I don’t know, I — I mean, I’m not sure — um, Rosaline?

  Me: What do you mean you’re not sure? You saw the list.

  Joey: (Chimes in.) She didn’t actually see the list.

  Stevie: That’s right. I didn’t actually see it. I mean, not with my own eyes.

  Me: Then, if you didn’t see it, maybe you made a mistake. That’s it! Maybe you heard wrong or something. This whole thing could be one big melodrama of mishaps, just like in Romeo and Juliet.

  Joey: (Blurts.) Scott Towel told her!

  Me: (Springs to the edge of the bed.) What! You talked to Scott? What did he say? Sit down. Tell me every single word. Start at the beginning.

  Stevie: Well, he came to my homeroom after school. As soon as he saw the Drama Club list and found out he’s Romeo —

  Me: He’s Romeo! I knew it. Just my luck. My life is over. Why didn’t you tell me?

  Stevie: I am telling you. He saw that your name wasn’t on the list —

  Me: At all? Or just that I’m not Juliet?

  Stevie: I don’t know. He just really wanted to find you, but he saw
me and he was freaking out —

  Me: Whoa, whoa. Freaking out how?

  Stevie: I don’t know. Freaking out.

  Joey: Like insane? Foaming at the mouth? Eyes rolling in the back of his head?

  Me: Was it freaking out like he likes me and he wishes I got the part? Or freaking out like how is he going to learn all his lines if I’m not there to practice with him?

  Stevie: How should I know? All I know is —

  Joey: (Animatedly.) Jayden Pffeffer got the part! Juliet. Jayden Pffeffer is Juliet. (Evil eye from Stevie.)

  Me: A plague o’ both your houses! They have made worms’ meat of me.

  Joey: What does that actually mean? (Whispers to frog.) Sounds bad.

  Me: Jayden Pffeffer? That measle! That toad-spotted maggot! That artless elf-skinned hugger-mugger! I wish she’d shrivel up and turn into a mindless malt-worm. (Waves Joey and Stevie out the door.) A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence and have more talk of these sad things.

  Joey: Huh? (To Stevie.) Do you think she wants us to leave?

  Stevie: (Shrugs.) I guess.

  Me: “O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day. Most woeful day that ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day, O day, O day, O hateful day. Never was seen so black a day as this! O woeful day, O woeful day!”

  Joey: What’s “woeful”?

  Stevie: Let’s just put it this way. Not. Good.

  Not long after hitting Alex with the bad news, Joey came upstairs and announced, “Mr. Cannon’s on the phone.” Alex nearly fell off the bed.

  “See. I knew it,” she said, jabbing a pointed finger at me. “I knew it was all just a big fat mistake.”

  “Hey, don’t look at me. Blame your boyfriend,” I told her.

  “He didn’t ask for you,” said Joey. “He asked to speak with Dad.”

  “That’s weird,” Alex said.

  I, for one, agreed. “Maybe . . . he wants to ask Dad to borrow some costumes or props, or about the set for Romeo and Juliet or something.”

  “Maybe . . . he wants to ask Dad to direct this time or something,” Joey said.

  “Yeah! Maybe he didn’t pick you for Juliet because Dad will be directing, and that might be weird or something.”