“Can I help you?” the male teacher asks us when we approach his desk. I see Kaia’s smoky eyes swing to Colton like a cat’s.
I quickly blurt out, “I’m Knedman,” while attempting to block my nemesis from her prey. But I’m too late. By the time I force the teacher to connect the dots and figure out that I belong across the hallway, Kaia has pounced.
“What’s up, guys?” she trills warmly, addressing Colton only.
I answer, “Oh, there was just a little confusion about my proper homeroom, but Colton is helping me and I think we’ve got it now, thanks.”
He and Kaia are looking at each other as if I’m not even there.
“What time do you have lunch?” she asks him, and I want to dive between them and cover Colton’s face with both of my hands. But there’s no way to stop this. The two of them establish what I already know: they will be sharing a table in the corner of the lunchroom in the not-too-distant future.
The teacher finally points me to the room across the hall. “Knedman would probably be over in room 124, or, wait . . .”
“Thanks, got it,” I interrupt, putting a hand on Colton’s arm. “I feel so silly, but can you point me in the right direction for room 124?”
With a grin aimed at Kaia, Colton finally drags himself away from her force field. But not before giving her the slightest wink, sealing my defeat.
Unless I can figure out a way to keep them apart for the rest of the day, Kaia will be riding home in the passenger seat of Colton’s Honda Element for the second time in a row. I’m sure of it.
Even worse, when we make our way across the hall to my real homeroom, I see Tom perched beside the only empty desk. He gives Colton and me a cold, “Hey there,” and I feel another pang of regret over ignoring his wave this morning.
Kaia says, “Well, you appear to be in good hands.” She’s standing at the door smiling at Colton, and I want to chase her back to the homeroom where she belongs.
Colton tosses a “Later, Andie” to me over his shoulder, and I watch him slide an arm around Kaia’s waist as he escorts her back across the hallway. Now that’s the way to see a girl to her classroom, I think with a sad sigh.
“Morning not going as planned?” Tom asks coldly.
“No.” I turn to him. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to ignore your wave.”
“Little advice,” he says. “You might want to think about making friends with a few people besides Colton.”
“I’m making friends,” I say defensively.
He shrugs. “I came to this school in seventh grade, and I’m still considered the new kid. Just be prepared to be seen as an outsider.”
I say, “I’m not an outsider.”
I check to make sure the pink dress hasn’t magically reappeared and say a silent thank you that I’m still wearing my normal outfit. Then I look around and realize a number of people are trying to hide the fact that they’re staring at me.
I tell Tom, “Okay, so I may be the new kid, but I’m a perfectly normal girl of average height and above-average intelligence. I’m sure I’ll have no problem fitting in.”
Tom laughs. “Well, then. Good luck.” He turns around so he’s facing the front of the classroom, and I feel yet another dip of shame. To be honest, I’m slightly below average in height, and he’s right—I’m in no position to turn down friends right now.
“Thanks,” I whisper to Tom’s back as the teacher begins to make announcements about which clubs are meeting on which days.
I’m sure my folks would love it if I joined a few special interest clubs, but the only one that would get me closer to Colton would be the football team. Or possibly the cheerleading squad. They’re meeting after school today, but as my aforementioned lack of rhythm can attest, I’ll need to find another way to get close to Colton.
If I don’t, I can say good-bye to ever getting that perfect first kiss I’ve wished for.
chapter 6
At least I have less trouble finding my classes this time around. Although I’m still late to most of them since I choose to run the long way around the hexagon between each bell so that I have a better chance of seeing Colton. I end up jogging all six sides of the building in under four minutes after science, just so I can get a glimpse of him talking to another athletic-looking guy at his locker.
“Hey, Colt!” I try to hide the fact that I’m breathing heavily.
He smiles and holds up a hand. “Hi, Andie,” he says, before turning back to his conversation. As if I’m one of the anonymous fans who’ve been greeting him all day. The fact that I’m sweating profusely probably isn’t helping my cause.
I can feel myself blowing my big shot at a redo but don’t know how to stop it from happening. I try paying closer attention in all my classes. My teachers repeat the same introductions verbatim as I search for some clue about how to change my destiny.
I remember my English teacher, Mr. Demers, explaining that we would be covering the Greek gods and goddesses this semester. I’d stopped listening since we already spent a lot of time studying mythology last year at my old school and I was just psyched this meant an easy A for me.
Yesterday, or rather Today 1.0, while Mr. D yammered on about Greek god nonsense, I’d distracted myself with daydreams about how I was about to see Colton at lunch the next period.
Today, version 2.0, I listen closer while Mr. D places his hands on his hips and asks loudly, “Who here has an Achilles’ heel?”
A few hands fly into the air and one girl yells out, “Chocolate!”
Mr. Demers laughs and says, “Someone says chocolate every single class.” He widens his eyes and looks around at us. “Same thing. Every time. What would that type of situation be called?”
Nobody raises a hand, and the awkwardness settles in around our desks. I know the answer, but I’m not about to get involved. I’m just an observer here.
Finally, he prods, “I hear the same answer, over and over and over . . .”
I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment, I can’t take it and need to save us all from this discomfort. As I raise my hand, my heart clenches at how excited Mr. D looks when he points to me.
I say, “That would be a Sisyphean situation?”
His whole face opens up with happiness and he holds both hands in the air, calling out, “Bing! Our old friend Sisyphus. Can you tell us all what he was forced to do?”
I have everyone’s attention now and want to crawl underneath the desks, but remind myself that I’m dressed as a normal teenage girl today and none of these kids know about yesterday’s pink dress fiasco. I say, “He’s the guy who had to push the boulder up the hill every day, only to have it roll back down every night.”
Mr. D calls out, “Bing!” and I can’t help but smile at him. He points to the desk behind me and asks, “Yes? Tom, you have a question?”
I spin around. I had no idea Tom was sitting behind me in this class and now I wonder if he followed me to the lunchroom last time.
“But why would the guy keep doing that?” Tom looks at me. “I mean, why doesn’t he just stop pushing the stupid boulder up the hill?”
He stares me down as if he expects me to answer. I widen my eyes at him. “How am I supposed to know?”
The class laughs and Mr. Demers moves on to discuss the mythology behind the myths, but I’m left thinking about Sisyphus and what we learned last year. I remember one version of the story where he’d been a trickster, and when Hades came for him, Sisyphus outsmarted Hades and basically kept Death handcuffed in his closet for a while. It caused quite the ancient chaos, and that was the reason Sisyphus was cursed with pushing the boulder up the mountain every day.
For eternity. I shudder at the thought.
When it’s finally time for lunch, I’m glad I remembered to bring my money today. I dash out of the classroom before Tom can stop me, still spooked by the way he looked at me when he asked about Sisyphus.
Like I have any choice in what is happening to me.
&nbs
p; I stand in the food line, holding my tray and staring at the same pizza slice I ate yesterday. The grease from the melted cheese gleams underneath the heat lamp, and I’m reminded of the way it disagreed with my stomach last night. The brown goo that’s being dispensed by a tired-looking woman in a hairnet suddenly seems like it could quite possibly be delicious.
Glancing over to the corner, I spy the table where I plan on staking out my position to wait for Colton today. I can’t very well have a scoop of brown goo on my plate when he specifically told me (twice now) that pizza is the only acceptable school lunch. I grab the slice behind the one I ate yesterday, promising myself I won’t finish the whole thing, and then I pay for it myself with a flourish.
I’m much earlier today, and my hair isn’t nearly as poufy without the extra time spent stalling in the bathroom. I slide over to the still-empty table where Colton and Kaia fell in love with each other yesterday and casually position myself in the center of their spot.
Take that, I think, picturing Kaia deciding to sit elsewhere and maybe giving up on Colton entirely.
I’m still arranging my pizza “prop” attractively when I glance up and spot Miss Hair Gloss. There’s no sign of the other girls I saw sitting around her yesterday as she scans the slowly filling lunchroom. Her eyes narrow when they land on me.
She strides in my direction, and I run a nervous hand through my hair to smooth it down even more. I make a mental note to figure out how to boost its shine factor. Furniture polish, perhaps?
“You’re sitting in my seat,” Kaia snaps when she reaches me.
“Colton told me to meet him here.” I’m trying to be confident and assertive and maybe even a little territorial, but I’m pretty sure she catches the tiny waver in my voice.
Her full lips slide into a feline smile. “Colton is so nice, isn’t he? But here’s the thing: he and I are spending lunch together. We have a few things to discuss.” She makes air quotes with her long fingers, and I picture the two of them nuzzling each other just like yesterday.
I can’t let that happen again and so keep my butt firmly planted. Smiling sweetly, I make my voice go high and nonthreatening. “He’s a grown boy. We can let him decide where to sit.”
She puts her face so close to mine, I can smell her hair. I catch a vague waft of coconut, and make a mental note to buy myself a vat of coconut oil. Kaia lowers her voice. “I can appreciate that you’re figuring out where you fit here at Punxsutawney High. Really, I can. But you aren’t going to physically fit right here.” She gestures to the empty seats. “We have friends who sit with us, and I’m afraid we have no room for someone new.”
I look around and see the lunchroom is now bustling with students. Tom’s friends are filling up their table, the brainiac girls are congregating two tables down, and Kaia’s model buddies are making their way toward us with trays of food.
“There’s no place else for me to sit.” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice. But it’s there.
The first of Kaia’s friends arrives, and she gives me a confused look. “Who’s this, Kaia?”
“This is Andie, but she was just leaving.” Kaia gives me a look that says she’s considering dumping my pizza into my lap.
I spot Colton giving a high five to one of the guys I saw him with earlier. Apparently, it is customary to greet each other numerous times throughout the day here at Punxsutawney High. I think of his shift from practically holding my hand at the movie theater to barely greeting me in the hallway earlier.
I’m suddenly not at all confident Colton will even remember my name a week from now. That is, if I ever get through today.
Kaia is watching me with her hands on her hips, and her friends are already sliding my tray out of their way.
“Colton told me to wait for him right here.” My voice sounds firm, but I’m standing up to go as I say it.
“Are you sure about that?” Kaia asks, neatly shredding what remains of my confidence.
I look up to see Colton walking toward us. He’s giving people casual waves as he crosses the cafeteria. Like he’s famous or something. I see an underclassman actually sneak out her phone and snap a picture of him.
His gaze shifts over to our table and locks onto Kaia. I missed out on witnessing the two of them cozy into smooching position yesterday, and I don’t exactly want to watch it unfold in real time now. I know how this ends.
I consider the table of smart girls and catch the eye of the one with the tight hairband. Another girl has a book open on the table in front of her, and I can see from here it’s not a schoolbook. She’s genuinely reading for pleasure. And it’s not because she lacks a smartphone—I can see her phone right there beside her tray. Maybe they really are my people. Which makes me wonder whether Colton is worth trying to get past Kaia.
As he draws close, I feel panic rise from deep in my chest. He still hasn’t noticed me, and I’m half standing at the table with my hands on either side of my tray. A tray on which sits one greasy slice of pizza bought only so I could prove to him what a good listener I am.
I tell myself that eating in the bathroom stall again is not an option, but as Kaia and Colton embrace, I quickly grab my tray and slide around behind them.
“Hey there, Andie. Where’re you going?” Colton asks.
I turn and see Kaia already has an arm draped across his shoulder. She’s glaring at me as if I’m a stray dog and she’s protecting her favorite chew toy. Even if I do stay here, watching them will make for a very long lunch period. I scowl at the thought.
“I think I see someone I made friends with in my science class.” I gesture to the nerd table. It’s a lie, and yet it’s not really a lie. I haven’t had science class yet in this version of today, but “yesterday” afternoon I did share a quick eye roll and smile with a girl with a short black bob, who is sitting at the table I’m headed toward.
Kaia purrs, “Isn’t it wonderful that she’s making friends already?” as she bares her straight white teeth at me.
When Colton looks in her direction, Kaia repositions her lips into her patented pout and innocently blinks up at him. He says, “Good for you, Andie,” but he doesn’t even glance my way. He’s wholly under Kaia’s spell.
I can’t believe I was handed some strange, supernatural second chance to make things right with Colton and I’m failing again. As I make my way toward the safety of the nerds’ table, I purposely avoid eye contact with Tom and his rakishly tilted fedora. Also to be ignored: the sense that I might be a horrible person after all.
A guy slows down as he walks by the table I’m headed toward. He’s wearing yellow suspenders attached to his dark jeans in an ironic way, and it looks like he may snag the last open seat at that table. The girl with the bob who I will meet in science gives him a shy small smile, and he blushes.
As Suspender Dude draws closer, the girl with the open book raises her head and pointedly stares at him. He freezes a moment before wordlessly retreating toward Tom’s table.
Black Bob Girl looks disappointed, but as soon as I get closer, she smiles at me standing there with my tray. “Is this seat taken?” I ask her.
“Sit. Sit.” She gestures to the empty seat.
“Yes, might as well.” The reading girl rolls her eyes and tips her head toward Colton’s table. “It’s not like we’re above accepting the meatheads’ rejects.”
“I’m not . . .” I start to protest, but when she gives me a full-on glare, I bite back my response. It appears there’s a very nonexclusive club labeled “Colton’s castoffs,” and I’m the newest member. I wonder if he’s rejected any of the other girls at this table. Or possibly all of them.
As I humbly place my tray down, I consider the half dozen females who are mostly on their phones. They seem far more subdued than people at other tables. These girls carry an air of maturity that makes them seem like undercover agents who are only pretending to be high school students.
The reading girl I slide next to has on jeans and a T-shirt, but the
shirt is so new that it still has fold marks. I smile and say I like the emo band that’s pictured on the front.
She looks down at the image of floppy-haired boys making goofy faces. “Thanks. I’m wearing it ironically.” She goes back to reading. Ouch. If she is undercover, she’s amazing at it.
As the girl with the black bob introduces herself as Petra, I give my pizza a poke. I wonder if only eating half will have the same bad effect on my stomach as a whole slice did yesterday. I mean today, but that first time.
I lose my appetite.
I realize Petra just asked me a question, and I mutely stare across the table at her a moment before snapping back to reality and asking her to please repeat it.
She asks, “Where did you live before moving here?”
I attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace and tell her we’re from a tiny little speck on the map called Jaytown.
“What’s it like?” she asks.
“It’s, well, it’s just normal, I guess. Everyone knows everyone. The days move on in a linear pattern without repeating.” She gives me a confused look, and I’m suddenly feeling very homesick. “Just kidding. You know, Punxsutawney. Groundhog Day.”
There’s an awkward silence.
Finally, Petra laughs. “Right. Because of the movie. I love that movie!”
I want to both slap her and hug her at the same time. She’s mocking my situation unknowingly, and yet I must admit she has splendid movie taste.
Without looking up from her book, the girl beside me says, “Nothing like a movie that parodies our whole town for its Groundhog and Pony Show.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “It’s like we only exist on February second, and Punxsutawney Phil is the only living creature who matters.”
“Don’t mind Anna,” Petra says. “She has this thing against the groundhog celebration and blames the movie for making everything worse.”
Anna shakes her head and goes back to her book, mumbling something about Colton loving that stupid celebrity groundhog. I find the connection strange, so I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head.
“Did you and Colton date or something?” I ask, and everyone freezes. Anna intently stares at the page of her book, and hair-band girl pauses with her forkful of brown goo poised midair. I look at the tableful of mannequins around me. “What?”
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 7
