1. Fix them up with someone (P.M., No!!!!!)
2. Lend them money (Like, hello, B.B.?)
3. Loan them your car (Two words, R.J.: Driving Record!)
4. Baby-sit their bulldogs (Come on, P.M.! You're on this list twice)
5. Believe what they say when they break up with you (Everyone!)
Your turn, folks! Let's make this list comprehensive.
Chapter Sixteen
Despite new affirmations—more like specific instructions about not making stupid mistakes, now written less conspicuously on my ankles in Sharpie marker—I found myself making yet another stupefying decision. It's those foolish affirmations. If I have loving and supportive friends, then I should go along with their plans, right? And if I have loving and supportive friends, then I should love and support them, even if that means hanging out with their doofus boyfriend late at night in an empty strip mall parking lot.
I should've gone to the bonfire party with Sonnet. So what if Xander Cooper told her about it? He hangs out with the hardcore partiers now, too? Sonnet made way too big a deal about how he'd asked her to tell me.
"He's so into you," Sonnet said. "Do you see the way he stares? And he's always writing stuff in that little notebook. Probably odes to his Fair Polly."
"I'm sure it's just a grocery list or something. I think he uses a lot of hair product."
"You think you're so funny, but the guy seriously has his rhyme and meter going for you."
I rolled my eyes. "You make it sound so dirty."
"Oh, do I? Or is that the way your mind is going?" Sonnet flipped her hair. "What if I write a few sample Xander love odes for my blog?"
"What if I convinced every blond guy within a thousand metric miles to die his hair puke green?"
"Green makes me horny."
I pushed her off the Lazy River bridge in a totally illegal, bad-girl move.
Sonnet bobbed out of the water, cleavage quite exposed. "You could've just said no."
"No!" I'd screamed. "A thousand times no."
But now here I am standing under the yellow glow of the parking lot lights with my arms crossed. We've removed our shoes to create a slalom course for a grocery cart race. Why did I wear my newish sandals? The nerd patrol has rounded up two carts. One guy even went shopping with his mom so he could hide the cart behind a Dumpster. That's the level of quality I'm dealing with. Loving and supportive friends, I chant to myself, ignoring the fact that Jane has barely acknowledged my presence. She's all over Rowdy, running up and down the shoe course in her bare feet, giggling as she rearranges our footwear. Really she's acting like she's been infected with some viral brain disorder.
We've divided into teams. As one of only two female specimens, I get to be a team captain. I only picked guys who would never in a geologic era appeal to me. One of the guys—he was in my AP Physics class—struts up to me. He reminds me of Buster, except without the, you know, musculature. "So, Martin," he says. He's trying way too hard. "We've got to work on achieving maximum velocity, don't you think?"
"Well, Akim—"
"Call me Razor—like Occam's Razor, Akim's Razor. Get it?"
"Okay. Whatever. Actually, um, Razor, I think we should focus on trajectory more than velocity."
Akim nods, all serious. One of my other teammates starts arguing with him, but I hear Akim whisper, "Yeah, but dude, I know she doesn't look like it or act like it, but she breaks the class curve every single time."
I roll my eyes, wondering how this guy knows anything about my grades. I keep that stuff low profile, but whatever. "It's just a grocery cart race, right?"
"It's pride, man." They do an awkward chest bump. Works better with drunk football players than with sober members of the academic team. "And loser pays at Hamburger Heaven!"
"Oh. No. That's okay. Pride is just fine." I'm not showing up at Hamburger Hell with these lower life forms! Not on a Friday night. And then there's the whole Mom situation. I will not let the other team win! I will lie about my curfew!
"Okay." Jane bounces over to me with far too much enthusiasm.
"The course is ready. What do you think, Polly?"
I glance at the random placement of shoes streaming between the bookstore on the south end and the craft store at the north. "Let's just get this over with."
Jane's face falls.
"I've got to get home early."
She puts her hand on her hip. "But you're spending the night?"
"Oh. Yeah. Right." I really need to donate my brain to science, possibly as soon as tomorrow, so someone can figure out what went wrong. "Joking."
Jane shrugs her shoulders. "That was lame, even for you."
"I'm just trying to throw you off your game so we can dominate. Right, guys?"
We high-five each other, and I climb in the cart with Akim the Mighty Razor. I don't want to rehash the calculations based on weight distribution that went into that decision. Let's just say that I won't be fantasizing about any of these guys early in the morning. Not that I do that about anyone anymore. Not since Xander's skateboard passed my window this morning, anyway. So? It's a difficult habit to break! No male contamination. No male contamination. No male—
"Ready, Polyamide?"
We all have new nicknames. So what if Helium (don't ask) wants to insult me by insinuating that I'm synthetic, as in "fake"? This is the first time we've ever spent more than a class period together. So what if I sometimes ask stupid questions or pretend to get a bad grade now and then? Guys love to explain things, not have them explained. After enduring a Polynomial versus Polyamide debate, I've also decided to name my future kids—not that I plan to mate with anyone—after an unpronounceable symbol.
Razor and I distribute our weight for maximum velocity. Helium and Sulu stand behind, ready to push. Jane sits in the other cart with Rowdy; you can bet that decision was hardly based on a scientific formula. More like a hokey love potion. I'm totally not into this whole endeavor, but as long as I'm here, we might as well win.
"Go!" Campos screams. (These guys spend way too much time watching those Fast and Furious movies.)
My whole body jiggles as the grocery cart careens around the shoes, nearly tipping over. I'm thrown against Akim. "Distribute! Distribute!" he yells.
I start laughing. Jane and Rowdy's cart catches up with us. They aren't distributing anything except their hands all over each other! My boobs bounce all around, but Razor's too busy screaming instructions to notice. "Veer to the left. The left!"
Jane and Rowdy overtake us around a tight turn, tipping precariously to the side, which slows them down. Our cart shoots ahead following a straight trajectory.
We win!
Sulu, Razor, and Helium immediately call out Hamburger Heaven menu items—along the lines of "I'm getting like two shakes, dude, and cheese fries and a Devilish Bacon Burger."
I'm still feeling all light and giggly from the ride. "Let's do best two out of three." I grin at Jane. "You up for a rematch?"
"You're on!" Rowdy comes over and bumps his fist against mine. "Should we rearrange the course?"
I look over at my shoe, flattened by a speeding cart's wheel. Well, the sandals are kind of oldish. And it's not like I'm out to impress anyone. Ever again. "Only if you want to move my sandals away from the finish line."
Razor says, "No, the course stays the same to maintain the integrity of the scoring."
"You're quite right," I say. "We don't want anyone to invalidate our results." I sort of enjoy hanging out with these guys who've mastered their SAT prep words, scientific notation, and, you know, Star Trek characters. Apparently I'm smiling a little too much because Akim slings his arm around my shoulders.
I shrug him off. "We shouldn't mix business with pleasure, there, Occam's Razor. We've got a race to win."
He clasps his hands behind his back. "Oh, right. Right."
Yes. I'm in complete control. We climb into the carts again. As we start the second race, sirens blare and lights flash: the mall secur
ity truck rounds the corner, heading toward the far parking lot entrance.
"Cops!" Sulu just lets go of the cart, sending me and Akim careening toward the curb. Wham! The cart lands on its side. I hit the pavement. Hard. I sit up, dazed. Droplets of blood bubble on my arm, but the pain hasn't hit yet. I've got a big rip in my shorts.
Akim screams, "Run!"
"Get in the car!"
We all scramble toward Rowdy's van, picking up random shoes. I manage to grab one sandal before Jane screams at me to "Hurry! Hurry!" Razor takes my hand and pulls me into the van, onto his lap. We peel out of there just as the security guy pulls over to investigate. Everyone speculates about the potential chase that's about to ensue, but the security guy simply gets out, shakes his head at the stray shoes littering the pavement, and gets back into his car.
"Damn," says Akim. "There goes my opportunity for a decent story to tell the ladies."
"What ladies?" Sulu laughs. "You're going to need a lot more than that, my little Akim."
My arm throbs. Bad. I bite my lip. "Um, Akim? Could you maybe move your knee?" He jams his patella into my butt cheek. "Maybe not quite like that." I shift, groaning with pain.
"Ooh, Polyamide, that's quite a superficial scrape on your dermis." Akim's hand hovers above my arm before he changes his mind and puts it back on the armrest.
"You think? Serves me right for spending my evening acting like an uber dork."
Silence. The entire van goes silent.
"Polly," Jane whispers.
Now I feel like a lower life form. "I didn't mean it." I bite my lip, hoping that will keep my tears in check. My arm really hurts, almost as much as my lame social life. "Maybe I just have low blood sugar."
"Mmm," Akim murmurs, jamming his other bony knee into my butt, before going into a long explanation about glucose levels.
"Maybe we do need to stop at Hamburger Heaven," I say. "I really should eat something, I guess."
"But who pays?" Helium asks. "Since we didn't finish the rematch?"
"We'll all pay for ourselves," Jane says. She sounds way too happy for a girl who just lost a grocery cart race and got chased out of a mall parking lot by a rent-a-cop.
Cars crowd the Hamburger Heaven parking lot even though it's nearly 11:00 P.M. Don't these people have responsible parents who give them appropriate curfews? Not that I'm exactly on Mom's radar screen these days. Everyone leaps out of the van, but I'm still sitting on Akim's lap. We've parked between Mom's car—and Hayden's!
"I think I'll wait here." Do I really want to be seen on a Friday night with the geek squad? Not to mention that my mother will probably be my server, I may bleed to death before my order arrives, and Hayden might try to get me to sign a petition or something.
"You should wash your arm in the bathroom," Akim says, but I think he wants me to get off his lap. We are the only ones still sitting in the van.
"Oh, yeah. Right. Good idea, I guess."
My leg hurts as I limp out of the van. I've got another long cut on my upper thigh. When Rowdy opens the restaurant door, it sounds louder than a school assembly. Mom spots me right away and smiles enthusiastically. "Kids! I've got just the table for you."
"Hey, Mrs. Martin!" Rowdy says. "I didn't know you worked here."
"How else am I going to see my favorite students?"
"Aw, but you always made me stay for detention."
"Laugh and the class laughs with you, but you get detention alone."
Rowdy laughs. "I wish you taught high school."
Everyone slides into the big booth that's way too close to the door, the bathroom, the bar area—practically everyone in the restaurant has to pass by us.
Mom leans down, angel halo bobbing. "I'll give you all a discount, and let me just tell you that the chocolate shakes are particularly delicious tonight."
Jane grins. "Your mom is the best."
Akim's eyes widen. "Mrs. Martin is your mom?"
"Like, duh." I roll my eyes.
He looks me up and down. "I suppose I see some genetic similarities."
"Uh, thank you? I'm kind of recessive?"
He nods his head real slow. "Don't say it like it's a bad thing."
"She looks like her dad, stupid," Jane says.
I don't like where this discussion is heading. "Uh, okay. I'm going to the restroom."
As I scoot out of the booth, making Helium move, Jane finally notices my wounds. "Omigosh, Polly. Your arm. And your leg!"
I wince. "Anything for the team."
On the way to the bathroom, hobbling around in my one squashed sandal, I spot Hayden sitting with a bunch of student government types: girls who sport serious haircuts and wear preppy outfits to hamburger places on Friday nights. They never show up at parties because a single incriminating photo on the Internet could derail their future careers. I backtrack down the aisle and walk out of my way to avoid Hayden. A few kids sitting at tables greet me cheerfully before giving me funny looks when they notice my gaping—okay, bleeding—wounds.
In the bathroom I discover that fluorescent lighting doesn't do much for road rash. I look like I tried to run myself through the Hamburger Heaven meat grinder—not that they don't completely use frozen patties, but whatever. I soak a few paper towels and rest them on my injured arm and leg, and I try to brush some of the dirt stains off my shirt and shorts. I'm a mess.
Emmy Winters, our next class secretary, comes bounding into the bathroom. "Omigod, Pol. The whole restaurant is buzzing. What happened to you? Did you jump out of a moving car?" She drops her voice. "You're not back with Kurt again, are you? Because Sonnet Silverman wrote this totally mysterious poem about you on her blog."
"No, I'm not with Kurt." I gently remove the wet paper towels from my skin. The air stings. "And Sonnet apparently has a death wish."
Emmy's eyebrows rise above her eyeglass frames.
"Joking. Look, the whole thing's a silly—Whatever." I flap my hand. "It's stupid, really. And since I'm kind of bleeding to death here, you know?"
"Fine. Fine." She holds her hands up. "But you've got to promise to tell me all about this sometime. I'll keep it a top student government secret."
I flash her a smile. "You betcha!" I catch my big cheesy grin in the mirror and blush. Polyamide. I am completely synthetic.
"Bye, Polly. Let's hang out sometime; we can start brainstorming prom themes."
I raise my arm. Ow! "What about prom horror movies?"
"You're, like, so funny! See ya, Pol." Laughing, Emmy leaves the bathroom.
After spending far too much time patching my wounds, I head back to our table. Mom's setting down platters of food. The guys gush, "Thanks again for the free wings and everything, Mrs. M!"
"Okay," Mom says. "Why did the student eat his homework?" Thankfully she doesn't give them time to guess. "His teacher told him it was a piece of cake."
Everyone laughs. I can't take this. I'm about to slide next to Jane, avoiding the whole Akim situation—I do not want to run the risk of physical contact again—when Rowdy calls out, "X-Man!"
I turn around, confused. Xander strides toward the table, smiling. "Guys! Thought you'd still be setting world speed records and generally—"
Xander sees me and stops talking mid-sentence. I hover, halfway sitting and standing, even though the gash on my leg hurts.
"Ouch!" That's so not what I wanted to say.
"Polly, your leg. It's bleeding pretty bad," Jane says. "And it's kind of getting on stuff." She uses my supposedly profuse bleeding as an excuse to climb into Rowdy's lap.
I stand up in a rickety-old-man kind of way. My leg throbs. My arm throbs. My heart does not throb! Xander stares at me, brown eyes wide, mouth turned down in a sympathetic-looking frown.
"Polly, you didn't?" Xander looks at Akim.
Akim nods. "Oh yeah. She did."
"Thought you were the bonfire party type," Xander says.
"Oh, she is," Akim says. "We completely stretched her capacity.
"What does th
at mean?" I watch blood seep through my shorts. "I'm the one who told you to go with trajectory."
"True. But you also made it clear that we were kind of lame."
I sigh.
Mom swings back around, holding a heavy tray of drinks. "Excuse me, X-Man," she says slipping behind Xander. She knows Xander Cooper? She calls him X-Man? "You kids going to be here tomorrow for academic team practice? I'll have the mozzarella sticks waiting."
"Sure thing, Mrs. M." Xander grins at her.
I'm standing there gaping: mouth, wounds, hole in my shorts, brain...
Mom finally grabs a clue and notices me. "Oh my goodness, Polly. What's happened to you? You look like you've been through the meat grinder—not that we have one, but you know what I mean. Sweetheart, you need to get home and clean up right away."
Across the room a server drops an entire tray full of dishes, sending a huge clatter echoing through the restaurant. Mom rushes over, halo bobbing, to help. Someone yells, "You go, girl, Mrs. M!"
The entire academic team digs into their greasy refreshments. Jane's not even looking at me because she's eating the french fries flapping out of, you know, Rowdy's mouth. Disgusting! She once lectured me about public displays of affection when Jack and I ate the opposite ends of a licorice stick at the movies. The double standard, the hypocrisy, the—hot guy staring at me, looking all concerned and doe-eyed like freaking Bambi or something.
"I can give you a ride," Xander says. "Not on my skateboard." He smiles.
"My friend"—I glare at Jane—"promised to give me a ride. Because I'm spending the night at her house." But Jane's moved from french fries to, um, French kissing right in the middle of Hamburger Heaven.
"Jane!"
She looks at me, lips puffy, a moronic grin spreading across her face. "Hmm?"
"I'm spending the night at your house?"
"You sure? You're so hurt and all, and—"
Rowdy's got his hands in her hair, leaving behind an oily residue, and, yeah, ruining my appetite for cheese fries, probably forever. A drop of blood tickles as it runs down my leg.
Xander hands me a paper napkin. "That looks kind of bad—might need medical attention."
Swoon at Your Own Risk Page 12
