His laptop case landed with a thud on one of the kitchen chairs. He looked at the crushed eggshells and the empty can of Spam. “Thank you,” he said. He shut his eyes and sighed.
“Bad day?” I pushed the Spam to one side and added the eggs to the pan.
“Something like that,” he said. He crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on my forehead. “And how was your day? Any tests?”
“Just a quiz in French,” I said.
Dad’s gaze stopped on the rose in a vase on the table. I’d trimmed the end and added an aspirin to revive it. The flower did look perkier. If I leaned in close enough, I could still smell it a little, too, even through the thick odor of processed meat.
“And since you already have enough As, they gave you a flower instead?”
All of a sudden, my mouth felt weird, like there were words I couldn’t say. I was pretty sure those words were homecoming and court and queen and contest. This was stupid, I thought. What was I afraid of?
“And I’m in the homecoming court,” I blurted.
He blinked a couple of times.
“It’s why I have the flower,” I said.
“You’re going to homecoming?” he asked. “With Rhino?”
“No, Dad.” And I swear, he looked relieved. “I was voted into the homecoming court. You know, the five girls who—”
Dad let out a whoop. He picked me up and spun me around. “So, my little girl is going to be princess?”
My face burned so hot I could’ve cooked the eggs on my cheeks. “It’s queen, Dad, not princess, and there are four other girls who are a lot more …” Popular. I couldn’t get the word to leave my mouth. “I’m not going to be queen.”
“But you’re a candidate, so statistically, it’s possible.”
Statistically? Yes. In real life? Come. On.
But Dad looked so happy. I didn’t want to ruin his mood. I went back to the eggs, which were starting to stick to the pan.
Dad leaned against the counter next to the stove. “You know, when you were really little, I used to walk you down to Rhino’s to watch the parade. Remember that, Camy? You loved the girls in their long dresses and those little—” He made a motion like he was placing a crown on his head.
“Tiaras.”
“Oh, and your mom.” He shook his head and smiled. “I got in trouble for doing that every single year. You know how she feels about all that stuff. She’d go on and on about gender expectations and exploitation and … she’ll probably blame me for this too.” But he didn’t sound all that upset about it. In fact, he almost looked like he couldn’t wait to tell her.
I concentrated on getting the eggs and Spam onto plates. I didn’t want to think about Mom’s reaction. Maybe Dad really should be the one to tell her. If I couldn’t make that happen, email might be the best plan. Or maybe I’d pull a Mercedes and message her on Facebook. I could say something like:
Oh hai, mom. In h-coming ct. Kthnxbye.
“We’ll worry about your mom later,” Dad said, as if he’d just read my mind. “I’ll help you get your campaign canisters together. We should use that picture of you in that paper crown when you were … what? Six? Seven?” He looked like he was far away for a minute, like he was watching some old movie in his head. I had to reel him back in.
“Dad. Don’t go all crazy about this thing. Besides, I’m pretty sure the rules say parents aren’t allowed to help.”
Actually, I was exactly sure of that. I’d already read through Ms. Pendergast’s handout three times. I was also sure that most candidates didn’t follow any of those rules, but I wasn’t telling my dad that. Besides, maybe I was wrong. Maybe last year’s winner really had paid for that enormous campaign ad in the Olympia Times all by herself. And maybe that anonymous thousand-dollar “vote” came from a random citizen of our town too.
It could happen.
I guess.
We weren’t poor, but we didn’t have that kind of money to throw around, either. No way was I winning this thing. No way would I even come close. The most I could hope for was that Dad’s friends at work, and my grandparents, and maybe some of my neighbors would put a few pennies in a can so I wouldn’t be flat-out disgraced.
Now I was the one who was far away. I was trapped so deep inside my own lack of expectations that I didn’t hear Dad when he started to say, “… must be a ceremony or something? I’ll take off work and—”
“You would?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Of course he would take off work to see me in the coronation ceremony. He’d gone to every single football game I’d ever played in. But once my time in sports was over? Well, getting your name on the honor roll isn’t exactly a spectator event.
But the homecoming ceremony—he could go to that. I could see it: Dad, with his geeked-out digital camera, taking about a thousand pictures. It was pretty mortifying to imagine. It was also kind of cool.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
I handed him a plate of eggs and Spam. Then I focused on buttering the toast so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “Just don’t be disappointed when they don’t crown me queen, okay?”
He put his plate on the table, then took the butter knife from my hand and set it on the counter. “Right here,” he said. He held my hand in his and tapped the spot over his heart. “In there you’ve always been queen.”
Chapter 8
I WOKE UP EARLY the next morning with one thought in my head—I still hadn’t found out what Rhino had meant at the pep rally. What had worked? We’d hung out online for a while last night. We’d texted back and forth too. But every time I’d brought up the pep rally, Rhino had changed the subject.
I turned on my computer and checked to see if he was connected, but his avatar was grayed out. I decided to give him a little more time while I started the wiki backup. Catching him while he was groggy might be a good idea, but waking a sleeping rhinoceros? Not so much. Instead, I logged in to The Hotties of Troy.
And nearly threw up.
My name was all over the wiki, in the recently-updated list, the recently-accessed list, and even the Hottest of the Hot list. I pushed back from the desk and headed downstairs. I needed coffee.
We were out of cream but I drank a full cup in the kitchen anyway. Then I poured a second cup and carried it upstairs. I swallowed down a large gulp and clicked on my name.
Not only were there new comments on my page, but comments about the comments went on forever. There was a new link for photos too. I clicked on that to discover a shaky cell phone pic of Sophie and me in the school parking lot. What the hell? That creepy sensation crawled up my neck.
I clicked back to my main page. Words. So many of them. Even the nice ones left me feeling violated:
kylem: I never noticed how pretty she is.
Kyle Monroe, the swim team captain. Part of me wanted to scream: Really, Kyle? How many years have our lockers been across the hall from each other? And you never noticed me?
And then there was this:
aident: She’s got a pretty face, sure. Maybe we can take up a collection for implants—or at least a new wardrobe. She dresses like my little brother.
lukasn: True. Would it kill her to wear a skirt?
jasona: Yeah. One of those short ones. I bet she’s got cute legs.
mchottie: I bet she’s got better legs than Aiden’s little brother.
adm*n: That’s enough, gentlemen.
I looked down at the Vikings football jersey and Pokemon shorts that I’d slept in the night before. Okay, so maybe they had a point. I still resented the comment. To tell the truth, I resented all of the comments. I resented all of the guys, too. Even the nice ones like Adm*n. Maybe he was trying to control the boys on the wiki, but it was like trying to put out a fire with a squirt gun.
My phone vibrated against the desk, and I whacked it with my hand. “Yeah?” I said, not bothering to look at the number on the display.
“It’s me.” Elle’s voice was quiet.<
br />
“Oh.”
“You saw it already, didn’t you?” She sounded sad.
“Yeah,” I said again.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve known those wankers would do something like this. I was trying to catch you before you logged on this morning.”
“I don’t think it would’ve mattered,” I said. “But thanks.”
“If it makes you feel any better, all of us are getting the same treatment.”
It didn’t. None of us should be getting that kind of treatment. I clicked on the home page and realized that the five girls on the homecoming court were listed in all three categories. At the moment, Sophie was topping Elle in the Hottest of the Hot list. I went to Sophie’s page and read a comment or two. Then I clicked the whole thing closed in disgust.
“How were the dresses at Tillie’s?” I asked, just to change the subject.
Elle laughed. “Not bad, but we didn’t have much time to look. Clarissa had auditions for the fall play and Mercedes and I had to get on the bus for the football game.”
The game. I wondered, “How did it—?”
“We lost again. Big time. I should’ve stayed in town and shopped.”
“Maybe you could just dye the dress you already have.” I had no reason to be mean to Elle. None of this was her fault.
Elle laughed again. I was starting to suspect that she actually liked the bitchy side of everyone’s personality. “I can’t believe I let Clarissa talk me into that,” she said. “Maybe I’ll wear it to the holiday dance or save it for prom.”
There it was again: the difference between us. For Elle, every dance was a sure thing. She could buy a dress for any of them, any time she wanted. Me? I hadn’t been able to bring myself to even think about a dress for homecoming yet. I was scared I might jinx it.
“What about you?” Elle asked. “When are you going shopping?”
“Not until Sunday,” I said. On my laptop, I clicked the icon for the wiki and logged back in. There hadn’t been any new comments in the past few minutes, but anger brewed up in me anyway. It tasted bitter and dark, like this morning’s coffee.
“No,” I said.
“No what?”
“Just … no. What these boys are doing is disgusting. We can’t let them get away with it.”
“Hello. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”
“I mean, I’m going to figure out who’s behind this thing. I want to know who started it. And whoever it is, when we get to him—”
“We can kick him in the nuts?” Elle suggested.
“We can finally make it stop,” I said.
“Um, this won’t involve a certain rhinoceros, will it?”
“No. For one, I’m not sure we can solve it with technology. And two.” I paused before admitting, “I really don’t want him to see my page.”
“Your page and what’s on it are not your fault. You know that, right?”
“I know. It’s just...” I couldn’t find the right word. Embarrassing? It wasn’t like Rhino hadn’t seen me humiliated before. The Hotties of Troy shouldn’t be any different. But this felt worse, more personal, like one of those parasites that worms its way through your system and leaves your heart full of holes.
“It sucks,” Elle said. “These guys are like Dysons on overdrive.”
“What?”
“Dysons. You know, the vacuum cleaners?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Look,” she continued. “I have a debate tourney again today. But you can call me later ... if it’s getting to you, or whatever.”
“Thanks. And, Elle?”
“Yeah?”
“You can call me too,” I said. “If it’s getting to you. Or if you get nervous about the tournament or anything.”
“Oh, I already know we’re going to win.”
I wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the tournament or the wiki. Either way, when she hung up, I had a smile on my face.
I spent the rest of the morning up in my room, on the computer, looking for sites that might help me hack into the wiki better. I tried to find a way to link ISPs with locations and then those to the user IDs. If I could get a handle on who posted what and where, I’d be one step closer to discovering who was behind the wiki.
I didn’t have much luck, so, after lunch, I decided to look at the problem in a different way. What would a tutor do? What would I tell Byron, or Sophie, or one of my other students working on a math problem?
I knew the first step was to ask, "What is the question?" Okay. That was easy. The question I wanted answered was: Who started the wiki? Since the problem had to do with people, I knew I’d have to concentrate on the human aspect too. And I’d have to choose variables that involved things that I could measure, like time. I picked up a pencil and bit the eraser. If I use T for time…
I looked for patterns that might reveal clues. I diagrammed the timing of threads, too; who usually commented when. I also studied how they commented and linked that information to other threads. Two of these boys were the admins. There had to be some way to figure out who they were.
By four in the afternoon, I had a pretty good idea which boy posted when, and where he posted from. It was simple once I added in things like television schedules and sports practices. Like, I could tell every time the Twins had played, because the number of postings Jason made equaled zero. I was feeling kind of Nancy Drew-ish. It was really kind of amazing.
I was about to start checking the times of the postings against the admin user names when my phone rang. This time, I glanced at the screen. Oh! Rhino! I remembered my earlier goal to find out what he’d meant at the pep rally.
“Hey,” I said. I’d have to find a way to ease into the question. If Rhino knew how badly I wanted to know, he’d make things difficult.
“Hey yourself, Ladybug. Where’ve you been all day?”
“Right here. I’m ... working on a project.”
“Well,” he said, “I’d say drop the project and come over, but we’re going out to eat at OCD.”
Actually, he meant OCC, the place everyone else called the Olympia Country Club. According to Rhino, everyone there was Obsessive about money and Compulsive about status symbols, and all of that equaled a Disorder.
“I’d invite you along, but Jason’s family is coming. Unless you have some secret crush on The Ab?”
“Shut up,” I said. As much as I liked Rhino, the idea of spending an entire evening with Jason had disaster written all over it. After his latest comments on the wiki, I’d probably go super-bitch on him and drench him with my drink. Then I’d have to explain why I’d doused Olympia High baseball’s only hope with Cherry Coke.
“I think I’ll pass,” I said.
“How about tomorrow? Brunch at Rolly’s?”
I loved the pie at Rolly’s, the coffee shop and café downtown. But I had already promised to meet Sophie at noon. “You mean, like, ten?” I said.
A heavy sigh filled my ear. “I was thinking more like twelve.”
There was no way around this. I took in a deep breath, exhaled and said, “Um, sorry. I can’t. I’m shopping for dresses tomorrow.”
Rhino responded with … nothing.
“At Tillie’s,” I added.
Still nothing.
“With Sophie.”
I thought I heard a dog bark at the other end of the line. It was my only clue that Rhino hadn’t hung up.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “It’s for homecoming. I have to buy a dress. It’s in the rules somewhere. A blue one.”
“Why not wear one of your Doctor Who shirts? They’re blue. Then you could staple a matching ruffle to the bottom of your jeans and voilà! Formal wear a la Camy. ”
“Very funny,” I said, but it wasn’t really funny at all. In fact, it was probably what those guys on the wiki expected me to do.
“I’m kidding,” Rhino said. “We’ll get you a dress that will have Gavin groveling at your feet.”
I didn’t k
now which bomb in this minefield of a conversation was more dangerous. The one where “we” got a dress together? Or the one where Rhino had Gavin groveling at my feet? I hoped he couldn’t hear the way my heart was pounding.
If Rhino could take one comment about a cute baseball player and torture me with it for months, what would he do if he knew I had a head-over-heels crush on a real live boy?
I. Could. Not. Talk. To. Rhino. About. Gavin.
“That’s okay.” I tried for calm. “I don’t need your help to buy a dress.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to come.”
“But I want to be there.”
“You really don’t.”
“You know what?” he said. “I do. I think it’ll be the highlight of my high school experience. Next to seeing you nominated, I mean.”
Ooh! My way into the subject of the pep rally. I tried to sound uninterested. “By the way, what did you mean Friday, about something that worked?”
“Let me come dress shopping and I’ll tell you.”
There was no winning with him.
Dad called up the stairs. “Cams? You’re doing that freaky hermit girl thing again.”
I was. I really was. I looked down at my laptop and realized I’d spent the whole day on a bunch of jerks who didn’t deserve my time.
“My dad wants something,” I told Rhino.
“Nice excuse.”
“Don’t you have to go put on a suit coat with a little gold crest on the pocket, or whatever it is you people wear to the country club?”
The quiet at his end of the line felt different this time. “Wait,” I said. “Do you really have to wear a suit?”
“I barely escaped a haircut.”
Actually, he could use a trim, but I didn’t say so.
“Plus,” he added, “I may have to dance.”
Dating on the Dork Side Page 10
