How to Be a Perfect Girl

by Mary Williams

  Miss Andrews had assigned seats for the entire class; the seat to Val’s left was occupied by an older boy named Miro. He seemed laid back; every once in a while he would ask Miss Andrews a funny question or crack a joke, but for the most part he was quiet.. Sophia, the vulpine-cheeked girl from the Trio, had the seat to Val’s right. She had a habit of answering questions Miss Andrews directed at Val, which was great for the most part—except that it allowed her to zone out almost entirely. Already she’d had a few scares when Miss Andrews threatened to give quizzes on her lessons; all Val had gotten from the first few lessons was that colors could be arranged on a wheel and if you chose certain colors they matched better than others. Hardly novel concepts, but Miss Andres acted like she was teaching a college course on the matter.

  The bell brought fourth period to a close; Val almost cheered, but decided against it. No use irritating a teacher whose class she’d have every weekday for the rest of the semester. She almost went to the cafeteria, but remembered Young’s—Porter’s—promise to take her to lunch. How am I supposed to know where to find him? She wondered. It would be easiest to go to the parking lot and try to find his car—if only she knew what it looked like. But still, there was no harm in trying to find him. Palm Lake wasn’t such a large school; if Val waited in the parking lot she figured there would hardly be any way for Porter to leave without her noticing.

  Val was waiting for nearly five minutes when someone tapped her on the shoulder, “Hey, how’re you doing?”

  Porter smiled; his smile was crooked, flawed in a way that only made it look better. “Derrick, this is Val.”

  Porter’s black-haired friend smiled cordially at first, but when he locked eyes with Valentina, he did a double-take. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “You’re the forty dollar girl!”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re the one who gave me forty dollars for that eighteen dollar order,” the boy explained, “Very generous.”

  “You go here?” Valentina asked, surprised.

  Valentina stared at the two; Derrick was cute, as Mckayla had mentioned a few days ago, but not anywhere near as handsome as Porter. “Wait, if you go here, why do you work at a pizza place?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  Derrick shrugged, “Partly for the life experience, partly for a little extra spending money.”

  “Why would you need extra spending money? I thought everyone had rich parents here.”

  “Derrick’s parents are loaded, but they’re on this self-sufficiency kick,” Porter explained, “They started putting his allowance in a trust fund and told him he should get a part-time job.” He laughed, “And besides, not everyone’s parents are loaded here. My dad makes like thirty-thousand a year; I get to go here because my mother’s the principal, so she didn’t have to pay the entry gift or the tuition.”

  It suddenly clicked in Val’s mind how alike Keenan was to this handsome senior; they shared the same crooked smile and carefree attitude, although Porter was obviously a lot stronger than his brother. Just to be sure she hadn’t heard wrong, Val asked, “Wait, are you Keenan’s brother?”

  Porter laughed, “Yes ma’am. You know him?”

  “Know him? Of course, he’s like one of my only friends here. We’re in the same chemistry class.”

  Porter smiled knowingly, “Ah, so you would be that blonde. How’s your algebra studying going?”

  Val was flattered Keenan would mention her to his brother, “It’s going well. Well, not really—it’s going horribly, but I really love my study group.”

  “Okay, I am officially no longer a part of this conversation,” Derrick cut in, “Feel free to keep talking, but can we please go somewhere to get food? You know, before the period ends?”

  “Oh yeah,” Porter ducked his head sheepishly, “Well, let’s go get my car.” He led the way to a red mustang parked as far away from the school as possible.

  “Well that was a bit of a hike,” Val joked.

  “Sorry about that,” Porter replied, “The one con of having first hour off.”

  Val tried to climb into the back seat, but Derrick held a hand out, “You can sit up front if you want,” he said. Val gave him a smile and maneuvered herself into the passenger seat.

  Porter drove like a madman; he would have given Alex a run for his money. Val closed her eyes each time they came particularly close to colliding with other vehicles, causing Porter to laugh. “We’re gonna be alright. No need to worry, I promise.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Val asked. Derrick and Porter laughed loudly, but Val could only manage a weak giggle.

  “I haven’t crashed yet, have I?”

  “There’s a first time for everything—“ Val wished she hadn’t said it. Somehow the familiar saying made the threat feel all the more real. She changed the subject, “So where are we going?”

  “It’s philly cheesesteak Friday!” Derrick shouted; he laughed.

  “Uh, ok—What’s that?”

  “On Fridays we go to Phillies,” Porter explained, “And we get Philly cheesesteaks.”

  “Oh,” Val said, “I’ve never had a Philly cheesesteak.”

  “You’re missing out,” Porter teased, “They’re great, you’ll see.” He pulled the red mustang into the parking lot of a monochromatic building—it didn’t look like anything to Val, but she decided not to judge the place based on its the exterior. Derrick held the door open for her and Porter; Val stayed back from the register, since she didn’t know what to order.

  “Are you paying for my food?” she asked, looking at Porter.

  The senior nodded, “That was the deal. What do you want?” The menu was intimidating; it filled a twelve by four foot section of wall above the cashier.

  “Just get me whatever you think I’ll like best.”

  Porter laughed, “Can do. So a large Philly cheesesteak and a soda.”

  “No soda, please.”

  “Oh,” Porter cocked his head in confusion, “You sure? You look like you could use the calories.”

  “Excuse me?” It took Val a moment to realize he was joking, “Not funny.”

  Derrick smiled broadly, “I beg to differ. Get her the soda Porter, we’ll make sure this girl cures her anorexia before today’s over.”

  Val stuck her tongue out, “I don’t have anorexia.”

  Porter and Derrick ordered; Derrick paid for all of them, despite Porter’s protests. He finally said, “Consider it gas money bro,” and that settled the matter. They found a table in the corner to sit at and filled their cups; Val had some trouble getting the water spout to work, so she ended up settling on sprite.

  “So what classes do you have, Val?” Porter asked as they sat down.

  She counted them off on her fingers, “Algebra, Introduction to Geography, Italian, Drawing, English Composition, and Chemistry.” She paused a moment, “Wait, I think I missed one. Homeroom? No, that’s not really a class. Oh, I don’t know.”

  Porter laughed, “Really? Just escaping your mind, eh?”

  Val nodded, not sure what was so funny.

  “Say Val, what class is it that we have together?” Porter continued.

  “Gym—“Val said. She laughed, “Oh yeah, that’s the one I forgot.”

  “So—who do you have for Italian?” Derrick asked.

  “Miss Wells.”

  The pair of boys shared a look.

  “What?”

  “Miss Wells is quite the looker,” Porter shrugged, “That’s all.”

  “Wish I had her,” Derrick said. A man—he looked to be in his mid-twenties—delivered their food.

  “Large cheesesteak?” the man said. Val raised her hand; when the man set it down she smiled, “Thanks!” It looked like a lot of food, and a ridiculous amount of calories, but she wasn’t going to complain in front of one of the staff members.

  “And—two more large cheesesteaks,” the man frowned, “I guess it doesn’t matter who gets what then, since you all ordered the same thing.”

  “
That’s where you’re wrong,” Derrick joked, “I get the biggest one, cause I paid.”

  The man nodded, but Val thought she saw him roll his eyes. He started to walk away, but Porter stopped him, “Hey my man, before you go, I have a quick question.” Porter grinned at Val, “Wouldn’t you say my friend here needs to eat more? Get some meat on her bones and all that.”

  “I’d rather not, uh, weigh in on that,” the man glanced sideways at Val.

  “It’s okay,” she said, “You can feel free to answer. I promise I won’t be mad.”

  The man’s frown deepened, “She’s—gorgeous. I don’t think you should worry about how much weight she has. And besides, it doesn’t look like she’s dangerously thin or anything.”

  Val grimaced, “Gee, thanks.”

  Porter laughed loudly, “Hey, you said you wouldn’t get mad. And my man, I didn’t ask about her face, I was asking about her body. We can all see she’s got looks, but I don’t see how that factors into the question of whether or not she needs to gain weight.”

  Val was getting tired of the conversation. “I’m not anorexic.”

  Derrick smiled. “Denial,” he whispered, loud enough for them all to hear.

  “I’m not in denial! I eat enough food, I’m just thin cause I exercise.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t give her such a hard time,” the man said.

  “Well we’re just kidding,” Porter said, “There’s no need to get all—hissy.”

  “I’m not being hissy,” Val protested, “I just don’t know why we’re still talking about this.”

  “Good point,” Derrick agreed, “Let’s just dig in.”

  Val looked at the cheesesteak in front of her; as far as sandwiches went, she wasn’t sure it qualified. The cheesesteak looked like someone had soaked it in grease and layered as much cheese as possible on top. It was the kind of food Val would actively avoid normally, but after the conversation they’d just had, she didn’t want to hear Porter’s reaction if she were to forgo lunch. She took a few bites, surprised that it tasted much better than expected; its bold flavor was a stark contrast to the bland sandwich Val had thought she was biting into. She ate until she was full, and then ate even more. When she’d finished half of the cheesesteak and couldn’t possibly eat more, Val set down her remaining food.

  Their cheesesteaks had all been served on top of a bed of fries; Porter had finished his meal, and was busy stealing fries from Derrick. “You can have mine,” Val offered. Porter shook his head, his cheeks full of potato-meat. “No, you eat that,” he said through the mush.

  “Well that’s attractive,” Val replied, wrinkling her nose.

  “Sorry,” Porter apologized, his mouth still full of food.

  “It’s alright, just—don’t say anything else.”

  “Ever? Or until he finishes what’s in his mouth?” Derrick asked, “You need to clarify the terms of this silence.”

  “Just until he’s finished eating. Seriously, didn’t your parents teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

  Porter was careful to finish his food before replying, “I suppose. It just didn’t really sink in. Anyway, I’m done.” He was right; there was no food left on his or Derrick’s trays. Val, on the other hand, hadn’t touched her fries or the second half of her sandwich. “You wanna get that boxed?” Derrick asked.

  “Uh, sure,” Val was pretty sure she wouldn’t want to see cheesesteak again by the same time tomorrow; she was already regretting eating as much as she had.

  “Alright, just go to the counter and ask. They’ll box it up for you,” Porter said.

  Val took her tray to the register, where the man who’d served their food had taken over from the woman who’d taken their order, “Hey, could I get a box for this?” She asked in her nicest voice, “Or like a bag or something?”

  The man smiled; Val noticed a nose ring and ear stud she had missed when he served their food. “Sure thing. You aren’t anorexic, by the way.” The man talked as he retrieved a box from under the counter, “You’re just about perfect.”

  Val blushed, “Thank you. I’ve never been told that.”

  The man pulled the cap from a pen and wrote something on Val’s box, “But surely you get compliments all the time?”

  “I guess—but even when I get compliments, it’s never like ‘oh, you’re perfect’. It’s usually just people who say they like my hair or something.”

  “Well you are perfect. Have a great day,” the man winked at Val as she grabbed her box from the counter. She didn’t read what he’d written until she’d already taken a seat in Porter’s car and they were driving back to school.

  “Oh my gosh!” Val exclaimed, “Seriously?”

  “What?” both Porter and Derrick asked.

  “That guy, our server or whatever—“

  “Yeah?” Porter prompted.

  “He wrote his number on the box. Eww.”

  Porter laughed, “Really?” He looked at the box in Val’s lap, “That guy must’ve been like thirty.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t hitting on me or anything.” Val thought about it a moment, “Yeah, maybe he just was saying like if I wanted to text and talk about stuff.”

  Derrick slapped the back of Val’s seat, laughing hard. “Oh, sure, cause guys do that all the time!”

  “Do what?” Val turned in her seat to look at him.

  “Give girls their number just to talk.”

  “Well, I mean—“Val was at a loss for words; Derrick was right, and she knew it.

  “Look, Val, guys operate in three modes,” Porter said, “The first is with our guy friends—we joke around and just have fun. Then there’s the way we act around girls who are family or that we don’t see in a sexual way. We act pretty much the same with that group as with the first. Then there’s the way we act around girls we think are hot—and it’s totally different from how we act with anyone else.”

  “Ok—But what does that have to do with this?”

  “That guy was acting like a guy acts when he wants a girl.”

  “But he barely noticed me—I mean, except for when I walked right up and asked for a box.”

  “He noticed you before then,” Porter said, “He was stealing glances the whole time he was figuring out whose food was whose. Didn’t you notice?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I saw it too,” Derrick added.

  “Yeah, take our word for it, Val. That guy didn’t give you his number because he wants a friend; you’d be smart to just toss it.”

  Val frowned, “Ok.” The car was silent for a couple of minutes; Val was first to speak, “So which mode are you in with me?” she looked at Porter.

  “’scuse me?” he looked worried.

  “Well you said there were three modes you act in around people. You don’t act the first way around me, for obvious reasons. But which of the other two categories am I in?”

  Porter grimaced, “You—“ he took a breath, “—I’d rather not answer.”

  “Why not?” Might as well make him sweat a little, Val thought, as revenge for the anorexia jokes.

  “Cause you’re too young.” Porter nodded, “Yup, too young.”

  “Too young for what?” Val asked innocently.

  “For—for—“ Porter searched for the right words, “Oh well, we’re here.”

  “Hang on,” Val said, holding an arm out to keep Porter in the car, “Here, I’ll make it easy. You said the third mode was for girls you think are hot. Do you think I’m hot?”

  Porter’s blush was the only answer she received; it was also the only one she needed. Val grabbed her bag from underneath the seat and sauntered to her next class.

  Chemistry was rather uneventful. Val disturbed the lecture by walking in almost seven minutes late, but other than that nothing happened. Jenny made a few jokes about toxic soap, but Val did her best to ignore them; after all, it wasn’t her fault that she had happened to be the butt of Mr. Phillips’ joke.

  Keenan never too
k notes; he just sat there and watched Mr. Phillips as he wrote. Val almost envied his nonchalance; she wished she could just put her notebook aside as if her grades didn’t matter. But she knew if she did that her grades would slip, and she wanted—needed—a perfect transcript, which meant no B’s, no slacking off, and copious notes.

  Val frowned and crossed out one of the equations she had copied from the board; she had let her mind wander and as a result her version of the equation didn’t make any sense. Keenan watched her scribble out the erroneous note; “Having trouble?” he joked, raising his eyebrows in mock concern.

  “I just—need to slow down, that’s all.”

  “Shh,” Jenny scowled at Val.

  Keenan turned back to face Mr. Phillips, “Hey Mr. Phillips, could you go over example two again?” he asked.

  “Sure,” the teacher paused, then went to where the equations for the example had been written on the board. “So, if you look at—“ Valentina used the time it took for him to explain to catch up on her notes.

  The rest of the class was uneventful; Mr. Phillips droned on about ‘significant figures’. Val tried her best to keep up, even though she doubted she’d need to know anywhere near as much about the subject as she wrote down. By the time class was over, she’d filled five pages of her chemistry notebook; Keenan smiled and showed her his notebook—as far as Val could tell he only had one that he used for every class. In it, he’d written ‘Use the same number of digits at the end of a calculation as you did at the beginning’. Under the note he’d added, ‘How about dinner next Wednesday?’

  “Wednesday doesn’t work for me,” Val said, “I have soccer—hopefully.”

  “Oh,” Keenan shrugged, “Well what day works for you?”

  Val thought a moment, “I’m pretty sure I’m free Monday.”

  “Alright, Monday then. By the way, Alex told me we’re ‘studying’ at your house tonight?”