Belina looked at her.
“Like we’re a team,” Jenn went on. “You know—the red team.”
“Mine’s plaid,” Keith put in.
“Plaid isn’t a color,” I told Keith. “You’re wearing red.”
“Okay, so we’re all in red. Who cares?” Belina eyed me carefully. “Is there a problem with the red shirts?”
I hesitated. When I’d told my friends about Green Up Day, I hadn’t actually explained the real reason we were going there. I’d just said something crazy about community service and getting involved, and they’d gone for it. But now we were all in red—how would Jeffrey know which one was me? It might have almost been comforting to be able to hide amid the red camouflage until I was ready to make my move with Jeffrey. But the bad news was that Jenn’s shirt was tight in all the right places, and her blond hair was tied back in a perfect ponytail, while mine was sort of piled loosely on my head and fastened with a chopstick. Ohmigod, I thought frantically, what if Jeffrey thinks he was chatting with her and then gets disappointed when he finds out it was me?
Marcus stepped in to help me out. “No problem,” he said quickly. “But now everybody’s so matchy-matchy, except for me.”
I glanced over in Jeffrey’s direction and immediately had to rub my neck in a desperate attempt to pretend that I hadn’t been looking in his direction because at that very moment, he was headed our way, clipboard in hand.
“You’re wearing red too,” Keith pointed out to Marcus.
Marcus looked down at his shirt. “It’s rose,” he corrected.
Keith shrugged. “Whatever, dude. It’s in the red family.”
“Hey, guys! Whoa—the red team!” Jeffrey held up his clipboard and flashed his super-white smile. “With one rose member,” he said to Marcus.
“I’m wearing plaid,” Keith pointed out.
“Okay,” Jeffrey said, then glanced down at his clipboard. “Do you guys mind if I put you in mini-groups? A lot of people have started working already.”
Marcus looked at me, but I was pretty much incapable of speech or movement at that moment. My brain was in overdrive, trying to process about a hundred thoughts at once: Please let him know it’s me, oh, please don’t let him know it’s me, what is he thinking right now, is anyone else here in a red shirt, he looks so cute with that clipboard, is he smiling at Jenn or just smiling in general, does he remember that conversation we had last year about nineteenth-century hats, do I have anything on my face right now, etc, etc.
“Just let us know where you want us,” Belina said as she shoved her hands into the front pockets of her carpenter jeans. That was when I noticed how huge her boobs are. Thank the God of Small Things that she’s obviously with Keith, I thought, eyeing her red shirt.
“Let’s see, I need one person to oversee rosebushes and four people to plant maples.” He looked up at us. “Any takers?”
He looked directly at me and smiled, and I nearly had a heart attack trying to decode what it meant. He wasn’t giving any signals that he was looking for someone in a red shirt. I felt like I was going to faint and wished frantically that I could read minds. Does he know it was me? Does he even remember our conversation?
“Your name is Marcus, right?” Jeffrey said, turning to Marcus. “Since you’re in the rose shirt, why don’t you take the rose garden, and the others can take the trees.”
“Sure,” Marcus said.
“Ooh, I love maple trees!” Jenn said happily.
Jeffrey grinned at her. “And I’m sure they love you,” he said.
Grr! Stupid Jenn. Looking good in her red shirt and loving maple trees.
Marcus elbow-nudged me.
“I love maple trees too,” I said quickly.
Jeffrey gave me an odd little smile. “Great,” he said. He looked like he was about to say something else.
“Jeffrey!” someone called.
Oh, jeez, I thought, rolling my eyes. It was stupid Astrid. She was standing in the middle of a group from the International Club, waving a trowel.
“Be right there!” Jeffrey called. “Okay, guys, thanks so much for volunteering,” he told us. “Let me know if you need anything.” He hustled off.
I watched him go, wondering what on earth had just happened.
Two hours later, I was covered in mud, my back ached, and I smelled like manure. I never would have signed up for this if I’d known what a pain in the butt trees can be, I thought as I shoved more manure onto the pile at the base of the thin trunk. The chilly, wet spring earth was freezing against my kneecaps.
“Is it me?” Jenn asked. “Or is our tree crooked?”
“It’s you,” I snapped, even though our tree was practically growing sideways. Standing up, I opened a bag of mulch and tried to aim it at the base of the tree, but it landed all over my shoes. Damn it! I thought, kicking mulch out of my clogs. Damn you, Nature!
Jenn looked doubtfully over at Belina and Keith’s tree. They were already on their third maple, actually. Those two are just this amazing team. All of their trees poked straight toward the sky and were surrounded by a tidy ring of mulch, like they had been professionally landscaped.
“Do you two need some help?”
I looked up into Astrid’s green cat eyes. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she looked really pretty and healthy, in this sort of European Woman of the Forest way. What is she doing here? I wondered. Hasn’t she had enough green-upping? Her mini-team had already finished planting a ring of shrubbery around the entire perimeter of the garden. What a show-off, I thought, despising her German efficiency.
I was just about to tell her that we had everything under control when Jenn piped up with, “Ooh, would you help us? I think our tree is all wrong.”
“Sure.” Astrid looked down at me with this do-you-mind? look on her face.
I felt this weird flash of protectiveness for my mound of mulch. I didn’t want Astrid touching it. Especially since I didn’t want Jeffrey to see what a bad planter I was. But I had to admit that our maple looked pretty sad, hanging there like a leafy seesaw. I shrugged and backed away from the mulch.
Faster than I would have thought possible, Astrid cleared the dirt and mulch from the roots, yanked the maple out of the ground, dug our hole about a foot deeper, and dropped in the tree—straight up. “There you go!” she said brightly.
“Oh, thanks!” Jenn said eagerly as she accepted the shovel and started dropping dirt in at the base. “Frannie, would you just hold the trunk straight for me?”
Astrid gave us a smile, then walked off toward the corner of the garden where Jeffrey was finishing laying a brick path with two other guys from our high school. I narrowed my eyes as Astrid picked up a brick and Jeffrey smiled at her.
Jenn followed my glance. “She is so helpful, isn’t she?”
I glared at her. Helpful? She’s stealing my man! “That’s what she wants you to think,” I snapped.
Jenn blinked. “Oh,” she said.
I sighed. Poor Jenn. It wasn’t her fault that I was having a horrible day. Actually, it was my own. I couldn’t stop kicking myself for not walking right up to Jeffrey and telling him that I was whoosie1988. It seemed like every minute that passed made doing that more awkward and impossible.
My knees creaked as I stood up and looked at our tree. Poor little guy, I thought sympathetically. He’s been through a lot today.
“Nice tree,” Marcus said brightly as he walked up to us. Reaching out, he wiped a smudge of dirt from my forehead.
“Why are you so clean?” I demanded grouchily, eyeing his pristine rose-colored shirt.
“I was in charge of writing labels for the roses,” Marcus explained.
“Hey,” Belina said as she and Keith joined our group. “It looks like things are wrapping up around here.”
“Is anyone else starving?” Keith asked. “We could head to Giant Sombrero for burritos.”
Giant Sombrero is our favorite Mexican place. That isn’t really the name of it, by the way
. Its real name is El Rey del Sol—but it has a giant sombrero out front, so that’s what we call it.
“I’m not sure Frannie is done,” Marcus said.
“Oh, we’re done,” Jenn said confidently, giving our tree a leaf pat.
Marcus looked at me, his hazel eyes boring into me. “Are you?”
Belina toyed with one of her baby dreads. “Why are you guys acting all secret spy mission?”
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Forget it.” I glared at Marcus, wanting to kill him for suggesting this Green Up thing in the first place. This whole day had been a total bust. I’d had a miserable time, I’d nearly murdered a tree, and Jeffrey hadn’t even noticed me. I’d had enough. “Let’s get out of here.”
Belina looked like she didn’t believe me, but she knew better than to press. “Okay,” she said finally. “Jenn, let’s put the shovels by the shed.”
“I’ll help you,” Keith volunteered.
“What are you doing?” Marcus hissed as soon as the others were gone. “You aren’t leaving here until you talk to him.”
I shook my head. “I’m not talking to him now,” I said. “I look horrible, capital horror.”
“You’re talking to him,” Marcus said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Um, excuse me?” said a voice behind me. The voice. The deep, rich, poetry-reading voice. I stared up at Marcus, cringing. Please, no, I thought.
“Hi, Jeffrey!” Marcus gave me a smug smile. I could practically read the thought bubble over his head: Ha, ha. You have to talk to him now.
Taking a deep breath, I tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear and turned to face Jeffrey.
“Frannie Falconer,” Jeffrey said.
My name had never sounded so beautiful. “Hi,” I squeaked. What do I say what do I say what do I say? Damn it—two hours of kneeling in manure, and I still didn’t have an opening line!
But then, Jeffrey did something incredible. He held out a small bunch of daffodils and said, “These are for you.”
I stared at the flowers in his hand, completely speechless.
“Ooh! Look, Frannie—flowers!” Marcus said giddily. He sounded really proud of himself. “None for me?”
Smiling, Jeffrey pulled one out of the bunch and handed it to Marcus.
Marcus’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. I guess he was really taken off guard by that move. “Thanks,” he whispered. He hesitated a moment, then accepted the flower. I could feel Marcus looking at me, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from the daffodils in Jeffrey’s hand.
“You . . . are . . . whoosie1988, right?” Jeffrey asked. I looked up into his face. He was starting to blush, and he hesitated. “I mean . . .” He laughed nervously. “Maybe I’m making a huge mistake right now. . . .”
“No, no,” I said quickly. Shaking my head, I took the flowers. This was unbelievable. I mean, it was the kind of thing that happened to people in movies or to my sister, Laura, or something—not to me. “I just can’t—I mean, how did you know it was me?”
Jeffrey looked relieved, and he laughed. “Well—I guess I didn’t. Not for sure. I was just . . . hoping.”
He was hoping it was me! I thought dizzily. I looked over at Marcus, who looked like he was about to burst.
“Anyway,” Jeffrey said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to thank you guys for coming out today. You were a huge help.”
“I think I got more dirt in my hair than I did around my tree,” I confessed.
Jeffrey smiled. “You look great,” he said. “Brown’s your color.”
I thought I was going to die.
“We had a great time!” Marcus said brightly.
“So, uh—would you . . . would you like to have lunch together sometime?” Jeffrey asked. “I was thinking Monday.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!” I said quickly, looking over at Marcus. “We’d love to!”
A strange look flickered across Jeffrey’s face, but he recovered. “Oh, uh, great. Okay, well, uh—” He ran a hand through his soft, wavy brown hair. “Look, I’ve got to—” He gestured toward the supply shed, and I knew he meant that he had to help clean up. He was in charge of Green Up Day, after all. “So I’ll—I’ll see you Monday.”
“See you!” I grinned as he walked away. The minute he was out of earshot, I turned to Marcus. “How’d you like that move, huh?” I asked him. “He wanted to hang out with us, and I said yes to lunch, just like that!”
Marcus rolled his eyes.
“What?” I demanded. “Aren’t you proud of me?”
“Frannie, you adorable moron,” Marcus said, “he was asking you out. You just accepted for both of us when all he wanted was you.”
I was still trying to absorb this information when Jenn bopped over to us. “Hey—flowers!” she said, eyeing the bouquet in my hand and then the single flower in Marcus’s hand.
“Where did they come from?” Belina asked as she and Keith walked up.
“Jeffrey Osborne,” Marcus said quickly—like he was the one with the crush or something.
“Oh, really?” The corners of Belina’s mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“What are you smiling at?” I asked.
Belina shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad we could all be here to do this valuable community service.”
“Frannie, you sly dog,” Keith put in, holding up his hand for a high five.
Giggling, I slapped it.
“What?” Jenn asked. “What’s going on?”
“Frannie’s about to get it on with Jeffrey,” Keith explained.
Jenn’s blue eyes were wide. “You are?” she squealed. “He’s so cute!”
“Good choice, Frannie,” Belina said, her dark eyes shining.
“Yeah, better than your usual,” Keith agreed. “Ow!”
Belina had just punched him on the arm.
I couldn’t help smiling, though. This was it. Real romance.
Involving me . . . for a change.
Three
I was in the middle of making a Big Deal when Frannie came in to see me.
Big Deals are our biggest sellers. I’ve made so many, I can almost literally do it with my eyes closed: cut a brownie into four pieces (triangles, not squares), slice half a banana (wheels, not chunks) and scatter the pieces on top of the brownie, then add three scoops of ice cream (Very Vanilla, Chocopalooza, and Chocolate Chipmunk, or you can special order), then three toppings (hot fudge, peanut butter, marshmallow, or special order), whipped cream, pecan halves, mini-chocolate chips, and a paper flag that says SCOOPS! on top of the whole thing.
Scoops is the place where I work in the mall. It pays more than minimum wage, and the ice cream is great, but the uniforms are hell, as in, striped polyester shirts and these seriously humiliating hats they make us wear. Still, for me, it beats bagging groceries or folding sweaters at the Gap. Plus, you can have a friend here talking to you as long as they act like a customer.
Frannie sat down at the counter, ordered a hot chocolate, and held up two bags of clothes from Buy the Pound. “I need a consultation,” she said. “I’m trying to figure out what to wear to lunch.”
“I hope you got something for me too,” I said, slicing a banana. “We want to make a good impression.”
“Very funny,” she said, smile-free. I had been giving her a hard time ever since she had accepted Jeffrey’s invitation—for both of us, which actually seemed appropriate. The whole thing was starting to feel like a joint project.
“You’re more into this than I am,” she accused me.
“I don’t know about more into it,” I said.
“Okay, just as into it as I am.”
“Let’s just say I want this for you as much as you want it.” I leaned into the freezer with my scoop. “What time are we supposed to meet him?”
“Tomorrow after fifth period,” she said. “What about this?” I looked up from th
e freezer to see her pulling a striped men’s business shirt with a white collar out of one of her bags of clothes.
“Very eighties,” I said.
She looked at the shirt suspiciously. “Good eighties or bad eighties?”
“If anyone can pull it off, you can,” I said, which was true, in a good way. “But with a skirt, not pants,” I added.
“Definitely,” she said.
I don’t know why Frannie comes after my fashion advice. Compared to her I’m a total yawn, all jeans and T-shirts and sweatshirts. Still, I like that she asks.
“I vote no,” said Tina, one of the waitresses, who had just come over to pick up an order. Like everyone else at Scoops, Tina found other people’s personal lives infinitely more interesting than her job. “This is some kind of date, right? Stripes are a bad idea.” Which was an ironic thing to say, given the uniform she was wearing. (I think they’re intended to make customers feel extra-attractive in comparison so they’ll be comfortable buying lots of ice cream.) Outside of work, Tina wore all black, to go with her piercings and heavy eyeliner, even though her personality was kind of Disney Channel. Frannie and I referred to her as Goth in a Box.
Frannie had started to put the shirt back in the bag again, when Margaret, the assistant manager, piped in from where she was at the register. “Hang on, Frannie,” she said. “Let’s see that again.”
Frannie held the shirt up without even raising an eyebrow in my direction. She had learned a long time ago that there’s no such thing as a private conversation at Scoops.
“Okay,” Margaret said. “Now, if you unbutton the bottom two buttons, you could tie it off. That’d be real cute.”
Frannie smiled politely. “I’m not really the midriff type. I was thinking more half tucked, with a corduroy skirt.”
The way Margaret pursed her lips said everything about how different their tastes were. She’s about twice our age and divorced but likes to be part of the group. That’s the other thing about this job—you end up connected to people you’d never see together anywhere else.
M or F? Page 4
