Awkwardly Ever After

by Marni Bates

  “Melanie’s nice,” Spencer said simply. “I enjoy spending time with her. I wouldn’t think that’d be news to you, since you claim you’re best friends and everything.”

  It didn’t seem like the right time to mention that I had every intention of killing my own best friend for putting me through this torture.

  I need you, Izzie. Please say you’ll go with me. Please.

  I couldn’t believe I had actually agreed. Melanie was now forever in my debt, no doubt about it.

  “You had a plan. There’s no way Mackenzie just happened to invite you to her house for a Disney movie if you didn’t have some kind of endgame.”

  Spencer took his eyes off the road only briefly. “Are you this suspicious of everyone? All the time?”

  Well . . . yes.

  Then again, I wasn’t a Notable either. I didn’t have the luxury of strolling into a room and expecting that everyone in it would jump at the opportunity to hang out with me. Just the opposite, in fact.

  “Okay, then let me try to explain something to you. See, most people don’t need to have an endgame to hang out with their best friend and his girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not most people.”

  Spencer’s grin widened. “Now, if I didn’t know better, I would think you had a crush on me.”

  My stomach jolted as he winked at me. It was probably meant to be friendly, but my palms only started sweating again. “You can relax, Isocrates. I know better.”

  “And . . . you’ve forgotten my name again.” Except I didn’t think he had. I was starting to think he’d known it all along and just enjoyed riling me up. Or maybe it was because he knew that as long as I could correct the obvious mistake, I wouldn’t have time to obsess over the potential subtext of his every word the way I usually do.

  Although it was entirely possible that I was giving him way too much credit.

  “If I was to hazard a guess—”

  “Oh, by all means, hazard one,” Spencer interrupted.

  “You thought that dating a freshman would be enough to keep you out of the running entirely. But you seriously miscalculated. Dating Melanie wouldn’t sink your prom king potential. All those guys on your hockey team would just say, ‘Hey, man, your new girlfriend is hot.’ ” I pitched my voice three octaves lower. “You dah man!”

  Spencer burst out laughing. “Is that really how we sound to you?”

  “Yo, bro, let’s kick it at Spencer’s house. His parties are dope.” It sounded ridiculous to my own ears, but then again, I wasn’t exactly a member of the Hockey erectus clan. That was only to be expected. What I didn’t anticipate was the rush of warmth that flooded through me at the satisfaction of making Spencer King laugh.

  I might be a geek, but the King of the Notables found me funny. That had to count for something.

  “So was I right?” I asked when his laughter died down enough for me to be heard.

  “Nope, we don’t sound like that at all.”

  “You did have a plan for Melanie,” I persisted. “Turn left at the sign.”

  “A plan sounds so . . . planned. I’m not nearly as diabolical as you seem to think. Although I kind of like this villainous alter ego you’ve created for me. Feel free to spread it around. Maybe someday I’ll be the inspiration behind a comic book bad guy.” He paused to really consider it. “I think I’d like a double life.”

  “And I’d like to receive a reduced high school sentence for good behavior and then skip every single stupid reunion. Looks like one of us is going to be out of luck.”

  Spencer nodded sagely. “So do you think you’ll go to the tenth anniversary or the twentieth?”

  I laughed, but I couldn’t help admiring his bravado. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to get exactly what he wanted—because he wouldn’t relent until he did. He lived his life like he was part of a freaking Nike commercial.

  “Neither. What about you, Clark Kent? Planning on coming back to relive your glory days?”

  Spencer shook his head admonishingly. “Now, that’s shortsighted of you, Instagram. And highly prejudicial. You should probably work on hiding your obvious disdain for other people if you ever want to make it as a psychologist.”

  My mouth fell open. “How did you know I want to go into that field?”

  “Well, the fact that I haven’t been this pumped for details about my life since the last time I went in for the obligatory mental tune-up was something of a giveaway. I also know a bunch of people in your psychology class.”

  I stiffened automatically as I waited for the insult I knew was coming. Yeah, my friends have all complained about the freshman who keeps screwing up the curve. Everyone wishes they could vote you out of the class.

  “Becka Cloober mentioned something about working on a group project with you a month ago.”

  “And you remembered that?” Maybe Spencer had a point about my prejudices; I never would have expected him to be capable of paying attention to anything except himself.

  “Sure, it was the reason we had to push back our . . . date.” He flashed his brightest smile and the car slowed down to a crawl.

  “Are we close to your house?”

  I pointed to the yellow two-story home that I had been born in. All through elementary school and even partway through middle school, my parents had taken my photo right next to the tree on the corner of the property. It was gnarled and rough, and it hadn’t appeared touched by the years, and yet it always made me feel safe and small.

  Spencer parked and turned toward me while I fumbled with my seat belt.

  “You made a good point,” Spencer told me before I could make my escape. His words pulled me up short.

  “I made several,” I said slowly. “Care to be more specific?”

  “Dating Melanie wouldn’t have been enough to sink my social standing.”

  My fingers pressed against the latch and the seat belt whirred quietly back into place. “Uh, right. Well . . . live and learn. I’m sure you’ll have no problem concocting an equally insane plan B.”

  “I already have.” The good humor that lurked in his eyes was still there, but this time he didn’t look like he was kidding me. He seemed as serious as a wealthy party boy could get.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “You.”

  Chapter 3

  High school is a popularity contest and at no point is that more obvious than during prom season, whether or not the school administration is willing to admit it.

  —Anonymous letter to the editor

  Published in The Smithsonian

  “Me?” I squeaked. “No. No. No. No. No!”

  “There’s no harm in considering it,” Spencer pointed out reasonably. Too reasonably. It had to be some kind of a setup. A new take on the classic Carrie story. Geeky girl goes to prom only to find out that it was one big joke cooked up by the popular kids at her high school. Actually, that wasn’t even a new take on it. That straight up was the premise of the movie, minus the bloodshed and supernatural abilities.

  Then again, I wouldn’t put it past Fake and Bake to grab a bucket of pig’s blood.

  “Fine, I’ll consider it.” I paused briefly and then nodded. “Yep, considered. Rejected. Anything else?”

  “You have to admit it makes sense,” Spencer said, slowing the car as we cruised through my residential neighborhood. “There’s no way I’d become prom king if I say I’m dating you.”

  My expression must have given away how much that stung, because he winced.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

  “Is there a good way to be told that you could torpedo someone’s popularity?” I said skeptically. “I think that’s kind of like being forced to hear, ‘I don’t want to say I told you so,’ when obviously if someone really didn’t want to say it, they could have just kept their mouth shut.”

  Spencer raked one hand through his hair. “Look, I need to get out of this and I would appreciate your help.”
>
  I was getting really sick of hearing people dance around the words “I need a favor.”

  I shoved my glasses higher up my nose. “Let me guess, you need to pretend to be in a relationship with someone who would tank your social standing enough to kill any chance of being crowned, but not so much that you would have to hang with the geeks.”

  “I’ve hung out with a geek before. It was fun. She knew things. Lots of things. Not all of which you’ll find in a textbook.”

  Spencer grinned, and even though I thought he was kind of kidding, he also sort of wasn’t.

  “Thanks for that very generous offer, but—”

  “You haven’t heard my offer yet.”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it enacted for chick flicks over a dozen times. You’re going to increase my popularity, right? Maybe find someone to give me a makeover? Well, screw you, Spencer. I like wearing sweatshirts and jeans!”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that.”

  I raised an eyebrow in what I thought was a pretty good imitation of his go-to expression.

  “Maybe you’ll learn to lighten up a little, but that’s it. I’m not trying to turn you into Chelsea Halloway.”

  “Because that would be impossible. There’s only one Chelsea Halloway. Anybody who thinks they can take her place is delusional.”

  “Exactly. And since I’m not delusional”—Spencer paused to let me snort in disbelief before he continued—“I wouldn’t attempt it.”

  “So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for a few weeks in exchange for . . . what exactly?”

  “Name it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you want party invites? Want me to introduce you to someone special that you’ve had your eye on but could never quite bring yourself to speak to at school? Money?”

  “There is no special someone.” Probably wouldn’t be for a long time if my psych books were right about relationships requiring open communication. I had a hard enough time talking to Melanie, Jane, and Sam; considering that they were the three least judgmental girls at Smith High School . . . I was screwed. “And I’m not interested in your money.”

  “Okay . . . well, what do you want?”

  The question froze me. It had been such a long time since I’d allowed myself to ask that, even if the words were only in my head. If I wanted something, I would be disappointed when I didn’t get it. And most of the things I wanted only made me feel . . . guilty.

  I wanted to be thin. To look in the mirror and think, Hello, gorgeous, I have a closet full of clothing and none of it is going to make you look fat. What do you want to wear today? I wanted to be able to walk within a fifteen-foot radius of a Notable without stiffening as I waited for the insults to fly.

  Scratch that.

  What I wanted was to look at the mirror and not care what anyone else said about me because I knew I looked fan-freaking-tastic. To give any jerk who dared to say different the middle finger and a screw you smile.

  But I wasn’t that girl either, and I couldn’t exactly confess that what I really wanted was a much stronger backbone. I didn’t want Spencer’s pity.

  Maybe because I actually kind of . . . pitied him.

  “Does someone always want something from you, Spencer? Part of being a King, right? Part of the lifestyle. I bet you hear, Hey, I could use a favor more often than I do. And I’ve been hearing it a lot recently.”

  Spencer just stared at me in silence. After years of being the biggest geek in class, I was used to getting a look that was somewhere between Did you actually just say that to me, loser? and Wow, weird girl has a point.

  “It happens,” he said at last with a shrug, but I seriously doubted he was as calm about it as he let on.

  “Is there anyone in your life who doesn’t have an endgame?” I mused before answering my own question. “Logan. Okay, so you have one person. No girls, though, right?”

  “Oh, I have plenty of girls.” Spencer smirked.

  I reached blindly for the door handle. “You want to keep acting like a pompous jerk, you can do that all by yourself. If you want to make a deal—”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Spencer finished for me. “What were you going to say?”

  “That you don’t have any girl friends. And in case you didn’t catch it; I’m putting a big old period between ‘girl’ and ‘friend.’ Not a girl who is pretending to be your friend because she’s hoping it will turn into something more. A friend who also happens to be a girl. Do you have any of those, Spencer?”

  “I . . . uh . . .”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “So let me get this straight: You’re offering to be my friend?”

  It was the strangest moment of my life. Stranger than being invited by Melanie to watch a movie with some Notables. Stranger even than letting the King of the Notables give me a lift home.

  I hadn’t intended to psychoanalyze him, but now that I had . . . I couldn’t back out.

  Or maybe I could have, but I didn’t want to do it. And not just because I was curious to see if I was right; if all the assumptions I’d been making about life as a Notable were accurate. It sounded like buried somewhere beneath his frat-boy facade was someone who actually needed some help.

  I’ve never been able to ignore other people, maybe because I’d been on the receiving end of being shunted aside too many times to count.

  “Here’s the deal.” The words came tumbling out of my mouth before I could overthink them. “I’ll become the first—hell, the only female friend you may ever have, and I won’t have any ulterior motive for doing it. But whether or not you want to lie to everyone else at that hellhole we call high school, you do not get to lie to me. Try that on for size, hotshot.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I bolted from the car before Spencer could take me up on the offer I couldn’t believe I had extended.

  And I didn’t slow down until I had reached my bedroom, flopped on my bed, and muffled my shriek into a pillow.

  Because that’s what I do whenever it becomes clear that I’m out of my freaking mind!

  Chapter 4

  Prom is a tradition, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s one that needs to remain for future generations. People only recently stopped holding cheese-rolling competitions, which involved participants barreling at breakneck speed down a hill in the hope of being the first to snag the aforementioned dairy product.

  But eventually people realized that it was probably better for everyone if they just ate the cheese instead of trying to tackle it first.

  So why has nobody considered ditching prom?

  —from “Ditching Tradition,”

  by Vida Condon

  Published by The Smithsonian

  I had no intention of seeing Spencer King ever again.

  There was no reason for me to see him because: 1) he would never take me up on my offer, and 2) it was no longer even on the table. Maybe I could have detailed a longer list of reasons why pretending to date Spencer was such an epically bad idea if Melanie had picked up her fracking phone, but I’d been able to come up with enough of them on my own to realize I was in way over my head.

  So . . . new plan. Avoidance was my watchword.

  But I couldn’t help wondering if maybe Spencer was interested in the offer, even though the more I thought about it the less sense it made. How could I be friends with someone I didn’t even like? Friendship requires trust. Admiration. Esteem. Something.

  Most of the time I spent around Spencer I wondered if he was a Cylon infiltrating high school so that he could see what life was like for the humans. That would explain the perfect golden boy looks and the way he seemed to skate over every problem that sprang up in his path.

  Okay, so he had a pretty solid sense of humor when he wasn’t acting like a total jerk. He didn’t take himself too seriously, and since I could never seem to turn my brain off, I envied his ability to just hang out. There was no way Spencer
King would remain awake at night recalling every uncomfortable social interaction he’d had over the course of the day and then systematically berating himself for each and every screwup.

  He probably never gave any of his social faux pas a second thought.

  That seemed a whole lot healthier than the complicated tangle of emotions I inevitably fought at two in the morning.

  So maybe it wasn’t entirely impossible for me to respect Spencer King, just incredibly unlikely.

  Then again, it wasn’t as unlikely as a Notable asking me to fake a relationship to tank his chances at prom king, and that had already happened. I rubbed my forehead wearily. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t enough sleep or coffee in the world to make any of this seem normal.

  That’s why instead of asking Melanie how it had gone with Dylan the day before, I couldn’t even let her get beyond, “I owe you an apology.”

  Although that was partly because I saw Fake headed right toward me and I was flooded with a sense of foreboding. Yesterday she had pretty much ignored me. The day before I hadn’t even been on her radar. But if Spencer actually took me up on that harebrained offer of friendship . . . every mean girl at Smith High School would be out for blood.

  Specifically, my blood.

  “An apology?!” I choked. “Oh, you owe me a whole lot more than that! You talked me into going to Mackenzie’s house only to ditch me with Spencer King!”

  But it didn’t look like Melanie was picking up on the gravity of the situation. Why would she, though? The only reason Melanie wasn’t already sitting at the Notable table with the rest of the absurdly attractive people there was because she cared about me. But the girl was still total Notable queen material.

  Melanie could fly through unfriendly airspace whenever she pleased, but I would be shot down the second I came within range.

  It was almost funny that I was just thinking about getting shot down when I spotted Spencer walking right toward me with the same relaxed, loping stride that revealed an innate sense of coordination I certainly hadn’t gotten as a kid.