by Marni Bates
Oh yeah, because nothing was quite as hilarious as being asked if I wanted to grab a muffin, only to have someone point to my stomach and say, “Never mind. You’ve got a muffin already!”
Although I didn’t think there was anything worse than having someone lean in too close, gaze pointedly at the round swell that began right under my rib cage, and murmur, “Have you picked out a name for it yet?”
Fake had earned her fifteen points with that one.
“So where am I taking you?” Spencer looked totally unperturbed about being stuck with the biggest geek at Smith High School. I had half expected to hear him muttering about Logan sticking him with the chubster, but then again I hadn’t counted for how unflappable he could be . . . well, all the time.
Okay, maybe he had looked a little flustered when Fake and Bake tried to corner him at school.
But he’d managed to stay a whole lot cooler through the exchange than just about anyone else—certainly better than me.
Come to think of it . . .
“Why were you running from Fake and Bake?” The words just kind of popped out of my mouth and I found myself nervously shoving up the bridge of my glasses while I waited for his response.
None of your business, Fatty.
Spencer glanced at me and there was something in his eyes I didn’t quite trust. Something mischievous that made me achingly aware he was not going to be categorized into a personality type that fit neatly within my psychology textbook.
He was one-half bad boy and the other half . . .
I couldn’t help shivering slightly with unease. The other half I doubted anyone at Smith High School knew at all. Well, nobody beyond Logan Beckett, and I had a feeling the hockey captain wasn’t going to start spilling his best friend’s secrets anytime soon.
“Steffani and Ashley,” he said pointedly, while my cheeks overheated from my social slip, “have different interests than I do. That’s all.”
“They have interests?” I couldn’t hide my fascination. “Really? In what?”
I wasn’t being facetious. It was difficult for me to imagine either of them having any kind of passion for, well . . . anything. As far as I had seen, they were all about status, style, and securing their place in the high school yearbook so that someday they could toss their hair back and brag to their kids about how they’d been the queen of the prom.
“They want you for prom, don’t they?” I could feel the rightness of the words in my mouth and I knew—I just knew—that I had nailed down the situation. “Let me see if I can get this right. Okay, so Fake and Bake both want to be crowned prom queen, but neither of their former boyfriends had the social power to make it happen. Which wasn’t a problem back when Chelsea Halloway was at our school because it was obvious to everyone that she would be the one wearing the crown. But now that Chelsea goes to an entirely different school, there’s a power vacuum and . . . they’re trying to suck you in!”
“That’s,” Spencer coughed, “one, um . . . descriptive way to put it.”
“So they’re thinking it’ll be easy; land Spencer King and take the crown.” I couldn’t help but whistle admiringly. “You know, they’re probably right. The only real contender you’ve got for prom king is Logan, and now that he’s dating Mackenzie and your family is picking up the tab for the dance . . . you’re the safe bet.”
“Well, thanks for telling me. Do I turn left or right at the stop sign?”
“Left,” I said absentmindedly. “I’m missing something, though, right?”
“You’re missing the scenery,” Spencer pointed out. “I think we’ve probably passed some woodland creatures. Maybe a deer or—”
“You don’t want any of it!” I crowed, unable to contain my excitement at figuring out the missing piece, moving that final bit of motivation until it clicked into place and formed a perfect picture.
Spencer raked one hand through his golden boy hair, which only succeeded in rumpling it perfectly.
Life was so freaking unfair.
“Would you mind dropping the inquisition and focusing on the directions?” His voice was slightly strained, which for all I knew meant that he was seriously pissed off. It was hard to tell with someone who was practically unflappable.
Although I suspected he was starting to get . . . flapped.
“Another left at the light.” I drummed my fingers against my knee as I looked out the window without really seeing anything that was flashing past. “So you don’t want to be prom king.” I leaned back farther into the super-plush seat of his car. The luxury wasn’t a surprise—nothing but the best for a member of the King family. “I thought that was part of your genetic code or something.”
“It must have skipped a generation.”
“Hold up!” I yelled, and Spencer smoothly drove to the shoulder of the road and idled there.
Spencer glanced around. “Are we near your house or something?”
“Nope.” I swiveled in my seat to face him and then kind of wished I hadn’t. He was just too . . . everything. “You’re not just ambivalent to this prom king thing. You actively don’t want it. You’re trying to sabotage your chances!”
Spencer took a deep breath. “Are you for real right now? You made me stop for that?”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” I muttered uncomfortably as I tried to escape from the look of utter disbelief that was aimed right at me. It’s not exactly an unusual thing for me to be on the receiving end of snarky looks from the Notable crowd, but they never came in such close quarters. And I had never felt so trapped before.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable, Isotope.”
“That’s not even a name. An isotope is created when there are an equal number of protons but a different number of—”
“I get it!”
I looked at him doubtfully. Spencer wasn’t exactly known for having a pristine academic record, but for the ridiculous ways he was able to scrape by with a passing grade. Most of the stories I had heard depended heavily on his charm and his parents’ generous donations. “Do you, though?”
“Yes, you’re an enormous pain in the ass. Thank you for confirming what before I merely suspected.”
Well, crap. That hurt.
Do not react. No wincing, no flinching, no nothing. Poker face, Izzie. Keep it locked in place.
“You can turn right at the next light.” I kept my eyes on the view through the windshield and waited for him to move back into the flow of traffic.
The car didn’t budge. I fidgeted as the air seemed to thicken. Or maybe I was just imagining that, because at some point the seat warmer had apparently kicked in and the car now smelled like . . . money.
Loads of it.
“Do . . . do you want me to get out here or something?” I asked as my stomach lurched lower.
He did. Of course, he did. He probably wished he’d never agreed to play chauffeur in the first place. “I think I’ll walk the rest of the way. Thanks for the . . . well, see ya!”
I tried to say the last part the way Melanie always did, effortlessly cheerful in a non-perky way. Less cheerleader, more casual and devil-may-care.
Too bad my voice cracked at the end of it.
“Spit it out already, Isadore. I know you’re dying to ask.”
I didn’t even bother trying to correct him this time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Spencer.”
Saying his name out loud felt weird to me. Too familiar. We weren’t friends, or even classmates for that matter, given that he was concentrating on wood shop instead of world history. We weren’t anything to each other beyond acquaintances, and we were already failing spectacularly at that.
“You want to know why I’m not interested in being prom king,” he said bluntly. “So ask away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I don’t need to ask you anything.” Spencer raised an eyebrow skeptically and I couldn’t help grinning just a little as I continued, “I already worked that out for myself.”
&nbs
p; He snorted in disbelief, turned off the engine, and leaned back in his seat as if he had nothing but time. “Let’s hear it, then.”
I squared my shoulders.
Think like a psychologist, Izzie. Approach him as if he were just part of a case study. What is it that Melanie called them again? Hockey erectus.
“Well, you’re loaded”—I gestured at the control panel of the car—“obviously. You throw the best parties.”
“I thought you knew better than to put any stock in hearsay, Isolde. I know I’ve never seen you at any of my parties.” He winked at me. “I would have remembered.”
Yeah, a whole lot of people would have remembered a party where mocking the freshman dork provided entertainment for the night.
“Fine. You’re rumored to throw the best parties. You have no trouble getting girls. That’s also plenty obvious after your close encounter with Fake and Bake earlier today.”
Spencer had no clever comeback for that, so I just kept right on going.
“My guess is that you’ve been around people like that your entire life. You’ve got an older brother who threw the same kind of keggers when he was in high school, and your parents probably still look the other way because it’s expected. It proves that you guys are popular amongst your peers. And I’m also betting that your parents know of a cleaning company that can work wonders when it comes to removing beer stains from carpeting.”
“Interesting theories, but it still doesn’t have anything to do with prom.”
“I’m getting there. So you’re sick of it. Well, not really. I mean, you probably love the attention and the perks of popularity, but you think you’re sick of it.”
Spencer nodded. “Sounds . . . logical.”
“Which leaves you in a bit of a bind. You could continue doing what you’re doing—” I waved my hand at his perfectly tousled hair and the attractively rumpled button-up shirt he was wearing. “You could keep having random, meaningless hookups—”
“Hearsay,” Spencer interrupted.
I ignored him.
“The problem with those . . . well, one of the many problems with those, is that we’re approaching prom season and all those girls are hoping to score a place as your plus one. And I don’t think you like disappointing people.”
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “What makes you think that? It doesn’t seem in keeping with the rich, entitled asshole identity you’ve mapped out for me.”
“You’re Logan’s best friend.” I didn’t realize that was even a factor for me until the answer tripped off my tongue. “You must have some redeeming characteristics. I’m betting that’s one of them.”
“Saved once more by Logan Beckett.”
I wasn’t sure about the “once more” part, but it didn’t surprise me that Logan had to bail out Spencer on multiple occasions. What did surprise me was that I hadn’t caught any snippets of it in the hallways. Mostly I heard girls crying over the fact that they thought Spencer would want to be in a relationship with them, but he hadn’t called. Something along those lines . . . I had never paid it much attention.
“So that leaves you with door number two: Take yourself off the market. But for that you have to find the right girl. Someone whose feelings won’t be hurt when you admit that there was nothing really going on between the two of you. There’s just one thing I can’t figure out.”
Spencer stared at me hard and part of me froze under his intensity. This was a Notable. I had no business asking him anything, let alone expecting him to give me a straightforward answer.
But I also had nothing to lose.
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Why on earth would you ever try to use Melanie Morris as your beard?”
Spencer momentarily looked too stunned to speak.
Score one for the freshman.
Chapter 2
Everyone here at The Wordsmith agrees completely with Lisa Anne Montgomery: It is unconscionable for someone to use a school publication to further a personal vendetta. However, that’s not what we are interested in doing. We simply want to give students an opportunity to reimagine the world through fiction.
Any similarity to real people or events is entirely coincidental.
So back off, Lisa Anne.
—from “Censoring The Wordsmith,”
by Jane Smith
Published by The Wordsmith
“That’s not what I was doing!”
It was funny watching him get all bent out of shape over it, especially because I couldn’t shake the bone-deep feeling that I was right.
“You’re not doing a very convincing job of faking it with Melanie,” I said agreeably. “But that was the plan, right? Get Melanie to act like your girlfriend and wait for the social storm to blow over? No real feelings—how could there be when she’s hung up on Dylan?”
Spencer laughed outright at that. “I don’t think you were supposed to tell me that little detail. In fact, I’m positive you weren’t supposed to let that slip.”
I felt my cheeks flush guiltily. He was right. Melanie had trusted me with her secret and I had definitely let the cat out of the bag. But since it was out in the open now, there was no reason to let Spencer believe I couldn’t hack an honest conversation—he was the one who constantly tried to be evasive.
“As if you hadn’t already figured that out on your own,” I said defiantly. “We both know better.”
Spencer grinned. “You really hate being in the wrong, don’t you?”
I crossed my arms tightly across my chest and sucked in a deep breath. Nothing to fear here. No reason to notice that when Spencer teased me, his eyes crinkled attractively at the corners. He would probably age like Robert Redford, with a cool sense of self-possession that could only come from years spent entirely satisfied with the person he’d become.
“I wouldn’t know. It happens so infrequently. It’s not exactly difficult to be right when everyone around you is inevitably wrong.”
Okay, so I was overstating it a little. More than a little. It wasn’t like there was nobody else at Smith High School who could keep up with me on an intellectual level. There were plenty of smart kids there, most notably Mackenzie Wellesley, Jane Smith, and Scott Fraser. Well, I hadn’t actually taken a class with Scott because he had only recently transferred to our school, but I assumed he was smart. I couldn’t picture Jane spending time with anyone who couldn’t hold up his end of a conversation—let alone start dating him.
And since the two of them were every bit as adorable together as Mackenzie and Logan, I was willing to bet he had no trouble keeping up.
The only problem was that none of them was a freshman, and I wasn’t exactly winning any popularity points with my classmates by being in all advanced courses. If it wasn’t for my friendship with Melanie, I would probably have a bull’s-eye painted on my back.
Okay, so I had Sam too. Nobody messed with Sam-never-Samantha. Not if they wanted to make it through their time at Smith High School without being besieged by flying condoms.
Spencer laughed at my bravado, and even though it wasn’t the first time I had heard the sound coming from him, it still felt like a jolt to the system. A strange electric pulse that made me feel . . . alive.
Suddenly it made sense to me why there were always girls surrounding him, and it had nothing to do with his cash inflow and class status. There was something about Spencer that was infectious.
I had no intention of coming down with whatever it was that he carried.
“You seriously need to unwind, Isobel.”
I shoved my glasses frames higher, half expecting that the smile on Spencer’s face was the product of my imagination or a residual thumbprint on the lens. I had trouble trusting my eyes, but there was no denying my ears. “You said my name correctly.”
“Did I?” He shrugged with apparent unconcern, but his laugh lines deepened as he took in my openmouthed disbelief.
Spencer leaned closer toward me and for a millis
econd my breath caught in the back of my throat. I felt like I was back in middle school, heck, maybe even elementary school. Back to having sweaty palms and a heartbeat that was pounding too quickly every time I interacted with the cool kids.
“Melanie’s beautiful.”
It was a total non sequitur, but it was the only thing I could think of that would ease the pressure from my chest. The only way to get this conversation back on track. Spencer was still just the golden boy Notable and I was the pain-in-the-ass nerd who was trying to psychoanalyze his interest in my best friend.
“Yes, she is,” Spencer said agreeably.
That was all it took to quell the quivers running up and down my side from his proximity. Of course he thought Melanie was beautiful. It was an undisputed fact. She was one of those girls who made everyone think enviously, Man, it must be fun to glance in the mirror and see that looking back.
At least that’s what I inevitably ended up thinking.
“So why did you think you’d avoid being crowned prom king if you started feigning interest in her?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look Spencer in the face as I asked that incredibly intrusive question, so I felt more than saw him stare out the driver’s side window before he eased the car back onto the street.
“I wasn’t feigning anything,” he said carefully, which only made me snort derisively.
“If you were really interested in Melanie right now, you wouldn’t be sharing the car with me.”
It was the truth. He would have chased after Melanie instead and offered her a ride home. And if Dylan told her to leave him alone, Spencer would’ve been the safe shoulder to cry on, and from there . . . who knows?
Regardless of the outcome, I would have been calling my mom for a lift.
Spencer turned right at the light, which at least proved that he had been listening to my words earlier. I felt a soft glow of warmth at the thought that something I had said—even something as meaningless as driving directions—had made an impression on someone who was probably accustomed to calling all the shots.
