by Zoe Evans
POST PRACTICE, WAITING FOR MY RIDE OUTSIDE
Not long after I got to practice, I noticed something was DEFINITELY wrong with Tabitha Sue. And I don’t mean her usual nervous, insecure stuff. She looked downright sad.
She dragged her feet all during our warm-up, and she had that look on her face like she was about to cry. Jacqui noticed too, and we both looked at each other like “Huh? What’s up with her?” When I heard Tabitha Sue sniffle, I told Jacqui I was going to take a small time-out to talk to her.
“Good idea,” said Jacqui. “G’luck!”
“Hey, Tabitha Sue, can you help me with something?” I asked. I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I was singling her out. Also, I’m slick like that .
I stood in a corner of the gym by the bleachers so it wouldn’t be that obvious, and Tabitha Sue slunk over.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
At first she didn’t answer. She looked down at the floor, and then back over to the Grizzlies.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I assured her. “But you just look so unhappy, and Jacqui and I are concerned.”
Tabitha Sue took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. It will be good to get this off my chest. It’s just . . . I’m so tired of everyone talking about this stupid dance! And their stupid dates! Katarina and Diane are going on and on . . .”
I couldn’t help but cut her off. “Wait, Katarina has a date too? Who?”
It’s not like I don’t think Katarina is date-worthy (far from it, she’s drop-dead gorgeous), but the language thing hasn’t exactly catapulted her to the top of the popularity ladder. Most of the time, unfortunately, people pass her in the hall and do imitations of her accent under their breath. So immature.
“A family friend, but I heard he’s really cute,” Tabitha Sue said miserably. “And Diane is going with Peter Collins. I’m gonna be the only one all alone there.” A tear slowly crawled down her face. “Like a giant loser.”
Boy, do I feel Tabitha Sue’s pain. But she’s taking it way harder than I am.
“You know, I’m probably gonna go by myself too. If I go at all.”
Tabitha Sue’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “You? But you’re a cheer captain! Aren’t you going to go with Bevan Ramsey?”
I shook my head. “He hasn’t asked me.”
For the first time during practice today, Tabitha Sue smiled. “Don’t worry. He will, I’m positive. Besides, I don’t want you to be alone at the dance like me. I mean, it would be nice to have company, but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had set out to make her feel better, and she ended up being the one to comfort ME.
I gave Tabitha Sue a big hug. “You should really have more confidence in yourself, Tabitha Sue. You’re an awesome person.”
And then something dawned on me.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You know that guy who sometimes waits for Diane during practice?”
“Yeah,” Tabitha Sue said, nodding. “What about him?”
“Well, while he’s waiting on the bleachers, I see him checking you out.”
“You’re joking,” she said, blushing.
I crossed my heart. “No, I swear! I didn’t put it together till now. Do you think he’s cute?”
Tabitha Sue gave an emphatic head nod. “He’s adorable! But there’s no way he’s looking at me.”
“Tabitha Sue! You think I’d lie to you?”
“No,” she admitted.
“It’s true. He does, and he’s been coming more and more often.”
“Yeah, he’s probably coming to look at all the other girls.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Anyway, we should get back to practice, but think about what I said.”
I could see Tabitha Sue’s mood had definitely gotten better. She even smiled through our mile run around the gym.
Go me! And my powers of bringing happiness to others. Now, how do I bring some happy to yours truly?
THAT NIGHT, ON MY LOVELY FLOOR (COVERED IN SCRAPS!)
So, after practice, I jetted home to get ready for my bowling date with B. I took the quickest shower known to mankind and blow-dried my hair. T.G. it wasn’t humid today. I spent a couple of hours (okay, minutes, but they felt longer) agonizing over what to wear. Hmm . . . what goes with stinky, old, never-been-washed bowling shoes?
I decided to go for a laid-back look with an edge (it is bowling, right?) and chose a tank top with my leather jacket and skinny jeans.
Mom was very annoying the whole ride, trying to pry into my social life. I mean, not like I’m Miss Party Girl or anything, but I guess the fact that I was meeting a boy at the bowling alley was somewhat intriguing to her. HOWEVER, she hasn’t exactly been an open book about Mr. Ed “Phys Ed” Datner. And when I tried to bring it up, she just waved me off like, “Oh, well, we’re having a good time.” (Thanks for that, but seriously? TMI.) What I really want to know is, are they actually dating? Or is this going to be a short-lived thing? That way I can prepare my major offensive against the taunts I’m sure to receive at school.
Well, two can play at that game. When Mom asked me how things were going with Bevan, I just said “Okay” and left it at that. Besides, what girl wants to talk about boy stuff with her MOM? Super yuck. Jacqui is so lucky—her mom would NEVER ask her about stuff like this.
When we pulled up to Bowl-o-Rama, Bevan was waiting for me outside. He looked kind of James Dean-ish, leaning against the column by the entrance with this one curl falling in his eyes.
“Have fun, sweetie!” Mom yelled out the window.
Cringe.
As I approached him, Bevan’s smile grew wider and wider. “Wow, you look great,” he said.
I looked down at my outfit. Yay, fashion sense! “Oh, this old thing?” I joked.
He gave me a big bear hug (which was nice) and led me into the bowling alley. I’ve always loved Bowl-o-Rama. Mom, Dad, and I used to go on weekends when I was little. We’d get three hot dogs with chili on top and two giant sodas while we waited for our lucky lane (aka lane 15) to open up. I don’t know why we called it “lucky,” because it wasn’t like we all bowled amazingly each time, but one day Dad bowled especially well and before we knew it, his lucky lane became everyone’s lucky lane. We got so good that we even bought our own bowling shoes that matched (too bad I’m twice that shoe size now). We were Team Hays at the family night bowl-offs.
As soon as we walked in, I turned my head toward lane 15, curious to see if it was free. I sighed. It wasn’t. And since it was evening, the place was packed. We’d have to eat, like, five chili dogs to wait for it to be free.
“You good?” Bevan asked.
I shook the clouds of memories from my head. “Yeah, I’m great.”
Bevan got us shoes, and I picked out a ball for me and a ball for him. I figured he would need something a little heavier.
Bevan hadn’t been lying—bowling was not his strong suit. I got a strike on my first bowl, but Bevan’s went to the gutter within seconds of hitting the floor.
“Pay attention,” I said. “Because you’re about to get schooled.”
Bevan laughed. “Oh yeah?”
I motioned for him to come over to where I was standing in the lane. “Do what I do. Hold the ball to your heart, and as you take a few steps, extend your arm down to your side, swing back, and just when you take your last step, swing it forward. But straight!”
Bevan looked like a deer in headlights. “That’s a lot of steps. I didn’t realize it was that complicated.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It sounds like a lot, but eventually it becomes second nature. Like anything new, right?”
Bevan narrowed his eyes into a mock glare. “Maybe we should play soccer together sometime. Then we’ll see how slick you are.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Not a chance. That is, unless you want to give a go at cheerleading.”
Bevan backed away with his hands up in protest. “Yeah,
that’s not happening either.”
By the end of the game, Bevan had actually learned to hit a few pins, which we decided was reason to celebrate. “Soda time?” he asked.
I nodded. It’s so weird that when we’re together, Bevan is all eyes on Madison. But when we’re not, or especially at school, it’s almost like we’re strangers. I don’t get it. Ugh.
Anyway, we went over to the snack bar, which for some reason always smells more like feet than the rest of the bowling alley. I got us a seat on one of the high tables with the swivel-y stools (love those!), while Bevan got the drinks.
“Hope you like cherry Coke?” he said, holding one of the cups out to me.
“How did you know?” I said with a smile.
Bevan took a few sips of his drink and then fell silent. I was a little worried that all of a sudden he’d gotten bored with our date or something, but then he looked up at me through that cute little hair curl.
“So, I was wondering . . . ,” he said, trailing off.
I waited, not sure where this was going. Was he going to tell me he thought we should just be friends? Or maybe that he needs to focus on soccer right now, so he probably shouldn’t see me anymore?
“Do . . . do . . . do you have a date for the Sunshine Dance yet?”
Oh sweet relief! FINALLY! Little cheerleader angels did backflips and loop-de-loops over my head. It was like the roof of Bowl-o-Rama opened and rays of glittery sun were floating through. At this point, this was nothing short of a miracle!
But of course I didn’t want Bevan to see my excitement. “Nope,” I said, looking off to the side like I was distracted by, I don’t know, someone’s bowling shoe.
“So would you like to go with me, you think?” he asked shyly.
“Yeah, we could do that,” I said. Even though I was annoyed that it took him a century to ask me, I couldn’t help but be happy that he asked.
“Awesome,” said Bevan, looking relieved.
Seriously, I will just never understand boys. If he was so totally set on going with me to this dance, why didn’t he ask me earlier? Why was it on his mind NOW but not, like, a week and a half ago? Is there some weird switch in his brain that puts all Maddy thoughts aside until he actually sees me? So confusing. But more important: Yay! I have a date to the dance! Abby Lincoln will have to sit on the bleachers without me. (Aw, poor gal.)
I excused myself to use the ladies’ room, and took that opportunity to text Lanes. “Guess what, chica? Urs truly will NOT be an old spinster @ the dance after all!”
“Go grl!” she wrote back.
I put some more lip gloss on and fixed a cowlick before heading back out.
As I walked back to Bevan, I saw that he was grinning ear to ear. Guess I made his night? Maybe the rough times with Bevan will all be over now. Maybe he realized that he was acting really uncool these past few weeks and is ready to turn over a new leaf. Like, now that we’re going to the dance together, things might go back to what they were before with us. Maybe?
And maybe my feelings for Evan will find some way to hide themselves inside my brain. And stay there. Because that whole mess is just too confusing. Hmph.
Disaster struck when I got home. Mom asked me if I wanted some tea, so I was like, “Sure.” I hoisted myself on the counter while we waited for the water to boil. Mom was acting a little weird, so I was hoping she wasn’t planning on asking what happened on my date. I would have barfed up those fries Bevan and I shared in between games.
But what she talked about instead was WAY WORSE. Like the difference between a cake made of dirt and a cake made of dog poo. Both bad, but one is MUCH more disgusting.
“Did you have fun with your friend?”
Why do older people always refer to a kid’s boyfriend or girlfriend as a “friend”?
Ugh. I took the tea bag out of my mug and brought it up to my face to inhale the steam. “Yeah. I kicked his butt bowling.”
“Good job,” said Mom with a smile. “Glad you didn’t lose your bowling skills after all these years.”
“Like riding a bike.”
I was waiting for her to dig more, but instead she said, “You know, speaking of dates, I have a date with Ed this Friday.” I could tell from the way she said it that she was waiting for a reaction from me. I was glad she seemed so happy lately, but still . . . Mr. Datner? Oops, I mean Ed. Yep, school will never be the same. Once word gets to the streets, it will be O-V-E-R for me.
But instead of telling Mom that this is THE WORST idea in the world, I just said, “That’s cool.” Because I was feeling generous.
Mom looked up at me from behind her cup. “It is?”
“Well, it’s not that cool. I really wish you weren’t dating someone from school.”
“I know, honey. It must be a little strange for you to see him here.”
I nodded. “But I am happy that you’re happy.”
Kind of. It’s great when Mom’s in a good mood (makes my life easier), but still, can’t she be like a normal mom and meet someone at a dinner party or coffee shop? Or on the Internet?
Mom put her cup down to give me a giant bear hug.
“You’re choking me!” I joked.
“All right, all right. Just wanted a tender moment with my Madington.”
“Yeah, do not call me that in front of Mr. Datner, please!”
“You got it.”
I went upstairs to my room to see if anyone was online, but no one was. (Okay, if I’m being honest, the “anyone” I was looking for was Evan.) I saw the patterns and designs I’ve created for my dress sprawled out on my desk and felt a thrill go through me—now I’m actually creating something that I’ll get to wear. There was a part of me before that was worried I’d make this awesome dress and then not have the guts to wear it to the dance by myself. But it’s official now—I’m going to the dance, and I’m NOT going alone. I started to flip through the Sew What catalog and consider different types of sequins and fabrics for my dress. There are some totally barf-inducing sequins that look like the kind Mom had on her jean jackets from the Stone Age.
She told me that she used to use something called a “BeDazzler” to add sequins to her clothes. Apparently, at the time, it was considered a “must-have.” Well, I don’t know where I get my knack for fashion design, but it’s DEFINITELY not from her.
Gah! It’s two in the morning! I have to go to sleep ASAP or I’m going to be going to the dance looking more like a zombie than a fashionista.
Friday, February 25
Afternoon, outside the gym
Song Level:
Stairway (or pyramid?) to Evan
This morning during math (in between learning about isosceles triangles), I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and it was Clementine. She’d snuck up to my seat while Mr. Hobart wasn’t looking. But seriously, Clementine, of all people! I can’t remember the last time she said something directly to me that wasn’t followed by a snotty look or smirk. I oh-so-casually turned around to see what she wanted. She was holding a note folded into a square maybe the size of my fingernail.
At first I was like, “What would Clementine have to say to me in secret? She’s usually more than happy to insult me out loud.” Then I noticed Katie behind her, who winked at me. Aha. The true note-giver revealed!
This made a ton more sense. Especially since after Clementine handed it to me, she made a big show of making a disgusted face and wiping her hands on her skirt. Like she’d just touched moldy bread or a dirty toilet seat. Ew.
I made sure Mr. Hobart was too involved in singing the praises of the isosceles and—better yet—drawing something on the blackboard before I started the noisy process of unfolding the letter. Mr. Hobart has ears like a hawk and at the slightest rustle, he’s been known to zone in on you with his beady little eyes and demand that you read the note out loud to the class.
Slowly, carefully, I unwrapped the millions of little folds. Katie must be an origami whiz or something. Finally, I saw her message, and
it was so short I thought maybe there was more I was missing on the back. All it said was “get ready.”
Get ready? I felt like in our recent training sessions, we’ve already gotten to “ready.” Lately my body’s been hurting so much from overtraining (with Katie, with the Grizzlies, at home on my own), I feel like an old person. Every time I get up or sit down, some part of my body cries out in pain. But Katie’s note hinted that this isn’t even the worst of it! Might as well start writing my epitaph.
On the other hand, I’m glad that tryouts are on my brain in a BIG way because (surprise, surprise) I haven’t heard from Bevan since our bowling night together. I can’t believe we’re back to this again. He hasn’t even texted me to see how I’m doing. It’s like he thinks he can take me out for a fun night every now and then, and that in between I can just replay those “dear” memories of our time together over and over again in my head. I bet he thinks nothing is wrong, either.
So for the last few days, when I’m practicing an especially hard jump, I’ve been picturing Bevan’s face when my feet fly into the air. I know, not very nice of me, but I’m angry! By the time we go to the Sunshine Dance, we’ll practically be strangers.
When I left Mr. Hobart’s class, my brain was so focused on my annoyance at Bevan that I almost tripped over Evan, who was on the floor of the hallway, doodling in his sketchbook.
“Working on SuperBoy?” I asked.
He looked up at me, slightly startled. “I didn’t see you coming,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m sneaky like that.” I smiled.
Evan held up the sketch he’d been working on. “Check it—it’s the Cupid story.”
In the sketch, SuperBoy was chasing Cupid around the school hallways until he finally catches up to him and steals his arrows.
“It’s good!” I told him. I slid down the wall to sit next to him.
“Thanks.”
He looks especially cute today, wearing a red-and-black-checked flannel—which, as usual, is one size too small for him—with the cuffs rolled up. I’m sure E doesn’t know that flannel is ACTUALLY in. This is just another hand-me-down.
