I take a deep breath, thinking about how to reply to the list of questions she rifled off. “Here. I know. That’s okay. At home. And because this”—I point to my head—“is me.”
Milan blinks rapidly, totally confused. “Okay, hold up. Tell me why you missed the contest.”
I sigh. I have no idea what to say to this question, at least not to Milan.
Milan’s eyes dart over my shoulder to the stage. The girls are walking back out to join the mayor, already waiting. “Forget it,” Milan says. “Let’s go.”
Milan tugs my arm hard and the next thing I know I’m being dragged toward the stage.
“Milan!” I yell. “Milan, stop! I don’t want to go up there.” But she isn’t listening to me. She keeps tugging me forward. And she is a lot stronger than I thought too. Maybe she’s started loading the pumpkin chucker herself recently and I haven’t noticed.
I look at the people sitting on either side of the aisle as Milan pulls me to the front. There’s the Spinelli family. The twins see me and point. I wave with my free hand. And oh wow, Dilly did come. She was supposed to babysit her little brothers today. She’s sitting with Sara. Sara is staring at my hair in horror. All her work destroyed. I reach up and touch one of my pigtails. “I’m sorry,” I mouth to her. We’re almost to the stairs and I see the middle school librarian in one of the chairs on my left. Everyone in town really is here. And yikes, my parents have spotted us. But I wouldn’t say they look mad. Surprised maybe.
Milan starts to ascend the stairs and I plant my feet firmly. Well, as firmly as I can. “No,” I say. “I’m not going up there. Look at me, Milan.”
Milan looks at my overalls and pale pink T-shirt and shrugs. “You’re the one who put that on. Let’s go.” She gives one last big tug and I half fall, half walk up the stairs onto the stage.
The contestants are giving me puzzled looks and I bite my bottom lip. I can’t explain why I’m up onstage ruining their big moment right now. The most I can do is try to sneak off. Milan’s grasp on me has loosened and I make a break for the back of the stage.
“Not so fast,” she says, looping an arm through mine and pulling me into the line of girls with her. “Sorry, Mayor,” she says. “You can continue.”
The mayor is standing in the center of the stage with the microphone poised under his chin. He’s giving us a strange look. “Um, okay,” he says, and turns to face the crowd. “Let’s get on with announcing Pumpkin Princess, then.”
I turn sideways and try to hide myself partially behind Milan. I don’t know what Milan is doing, but I feel completely ridiculous up here in front of the town like this.
“We have carefully tabulated the votes, and this year’s Pumpkin Princess is—” the mayor begins.
“Hold it,” Milan shouts out, and walks up to the mayor. “I’m sorry, Mayor, I guess I was lying before when I said you should continue. I have to say something.” She pulls the microphone from his unresisting hand. I think he’s in shock. The people in the audience are probably thinking it’s typical Hollywood bad behavior to do something so rude as interrupt the crowning of Pumpkin Princess.
I look at it as my cue to get the heck off the stage. I start for the back of the stage again when Milan’s voice booms over the speaker system.
“Jamie Edwards, you stop right there.”
Aw geez. Did she have to do that? I turn around and face the audience again. I try to smile.
“I’d like to officially drop out of the Pumpkin Princess contest,” Milan announces, and there are several gasps in the audience. “I know, I know,” she continues. “Only minutes ago I told you how much of an honor it would be for me to represent your town. And I wasn’t lying about that, it would be a huge honor. I’ve come to love Average. But”—she takes a deep breath—“there’s someone who loves Average even more. I don’t deserve to represent your town. If you want someone who is hardworking, and true, and confident in herself, someone who is Average, Illinois, then you want my cousin Jamie Edwards.” Milan swings her arms out in my direction.
Oh my God. I’m so touched! And embarrassed. And minorly horrified. But mostly touched. I can’t believe she just did that. I feel tears spring to my eyes and I can hear the audience cheering. I walk to Milan and give her a big hug. “Thanks, Milan. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me,” I whisper in her ear.
“I mean it,” she whispers back.
The mayor steps up to Milan and plucks the microphone out of her hand. “Done now?” he asks. He looks irritated. I don’t think he liked Milan’s interruption too much.
Milan nods and puts a confident arm around my shoulder.
“Like I was saying before, this year’s Pumpkin Princess winner is…”
I hold my breath.
“Molly Jenkins.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Oh! Molly! She’s perfect.
“What? The girl with the unibrow?” Milan says a bit too loudly.
“Milan!” I scold.
Milan gives me a sheepish look. “I mean, yay.”
I can’t help it, I start to giggle. And Milan joins me. I can’t believe for even a second either of us thought I could be crowned Pumpkin Princess after not even participating in the contest and charging up here at the end in my work clothes. It’s ridiculous.
The mayor looks at us and I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. Milan and I watch as he places the green rhinestone stem on top of Molly’s head and the crowd claps. I scan the audience until I see Molly’s mom, and her brothers and sisters bouncing up and down in their seats clapping for their big sis, and I wave at them.
When it’s over, Milan and I head for the steps. On the way down from the stage Milan says, “Hey, Jamie, you want to go throw corn at people?”
I smile. “Not just now. I’m off to get one of those fancy lattes.”
Chapter 25
Best latte ever. It’ll become “our drink.” We’ll serve lattes at our wedding. Years from now I’ll be sitting at the kitchen table with our grandchildren, telling the story of how we went for lattes on our very first date. I’ll show them the plastic coffee stirrer that I’ve saved all these years and they’ll aw at their romantic ol’ gran.
Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself. But it was a darn good coffee. I ordered the large so Danny and I could spend as much time as possible together and I tried my hardest not to do or say anything lame. Well, except for one small thing. I did mention that YouTube video of the cat that can sing “La Bamba” and after I said it I thought, “Wow, I could have come up with something much better to talk about.” But he said it sounded interesting and he’d definitely check it out. So maybe it wasn’t the lamest thing ever. And he is picking me up to go to the cineplex in half an hour for our second official date.
I pick up my dark eyeliner pencil and line my right eye again, trying to make it look more like the left. Hmm. Looks pretty straight, I think. Corner to corner at least. This wearing makeup thing isn’t so bad once you get used to it.
Milan walks into my bedroom and flops onto my bed. “Excited about your date?” she asks. I smile at her. Things have been going good with us. I wouldn’t say they’re perfect. She still has her snippy moments and I’m sure I still have my annoying moments for her. But we’re both trying and so far it’s been really nice.
“Borderline delirious,” I reply, and she laughs. Pumpkin season technically ended this week, but Milan is still living with us. Mom talked to Uncle Jack and Aunt Annabelle and they said that Milan could stay with us for the rest of the school year. Yep, Milan Woods is now attending Average High School. And loving it! And not that I’d ever tell Milan this but I’m loving it too. I’m going to get to see what it’s like to have a sister after all.
“You two do make a sweet couple,” she says.
I blush. I think we make a sweet couple too.
“You’re not going to do your eyes like that, are you?” she asks suddenly, and I shake my head. Though I totally planned on leaving my e
yes exactly like I have them. She sighs. “Here, let me help.” She heads for the pile of makeup on my desk and pauses in front of my window to peer out.
“Paparazzi?” I ask sympathetically. They sure have been driving Milan nuts the last couple of weeks since they discovered she was living here with us.
She nods. “They’re thinning out though. Only a couple of them are hanging around still. And they’ll get bored soon enough. Soon as the next Hollywood celebrity gains ten pounds or the next sex scandal hits.”
I think about her dad’s affair with that young actress and wonder if she’s thinking about it too. It hasn’t hit the papers yet, but it’s likely only a matter of time. I wonder if she’s furious with her dad or worried about her mom. If she misses one or both of them or if she misses home and her friends. But she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it yet. Any of it. She hasn’t even mentioned her parents once actually. Not since she found out that she could stay with us. I’m sure she’s dealing with everything as best as she can and when she’s ready to talk I’ll be here.
Milan wipes my face with a makeup-removal pad and redoes my makeup from top to bottom. I think she’s being a bit dramatic—my makeup wasn’t that bad. I thought I had a good handle on the blush, personally. But if it makes her happy I’ll let her show me again how to do it.
She puts the finishing touches on my lips, a quick swipe with a glittery gloss—for lips that beg to be kissed, she tells me, and I can feel my cheeks flush again. I’d love to kiss Danny but I’m not sure we’re there yet.
I hear Danny’s truck rolling up outside and I stand and tug at the bottom of my sweater. “Do I look all right?” I ask Milan.
I see her eyes narrow like she’s about to say something like “Yeah, for a country girl,” but she presses her lips into a smile instead. “Yeah, you look great. Have a wonderful night.”
I walk out to the living room to meet Danny, and see my mom standing at the door talking to him. I don’t see Dad anywhere though. He must be holed up in his office. He probably can’t even bear to think of me dating, let alone get the visual.
“You have her back at a decent time now, okay, Danny?” Mom says, trying to look serious.
“Promise,” Danny says, and nods.
He holds the screen door open for me to pass by him and we head for his truck. My right hand fidgets with the purse strap on my shoulder. I’ve never carried a purse before and it feels weird. But Milan said I had to bring one so I have someplace to put my lip gloss in case I need to reapply. Which I hope I don’t. It’s hard keeping it in the lines on my lips. She also said I had to stop carrying my cell phone in my back pocket and that I should put it in my purse too. She said no one looks good with a lumpy butt. And I guess I’d have to agree with that.
We walk silently down the gravel driveway to his truck, our feet kicking up rocks with each step. I’m about to ask him what movie he wants to see tonight when I feel his hand slip into mine. And I think my heart may explode. His hand is large and warm and a little rough with calluses from the work he does, but I don’t care. It could feel like grade-fifty sandpaper and I wouldn’t mind one bit. It’s perfect. I glance up at him and he looks down at me and smiles. And I go for it. I’m not sure where it comes from but I tug him toward me, step up on my tiptoes, and kiss him. And he kisses me back. All these years of waiting and I’ve finally decided I don’t have to wait anymore.
Just Your Average Geek
Just Your Average Geek
By Kristina Springer
Copyright 2015 by Kristina Springer
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This story was previously published as “Boy Swap” and has been re-titled for inclusion in the Just Your Average line.
Just Your Average is a line of fun standalone young adult contemporary romance novels about average girls in extraordinary situations.
www.KristinaSpringer.com
For fellow band nerds everywhere.
Chapter 1: Tap, tap
Raise your right hand and repeat after me:
We, the members of the Boy Swap Club, being of totally sound minds and rockin’ bodies, do here forth promise to be true to the following rules:
1) Never hog your boyfriend all to yourself.
2) Never get mad at a sister member for dating your guy.
3) Don’t go all the way with any of the swapped guys.
4) And never, ever, fall in love with any guys involved in the swap.
I put down my hand and smile at the group of girls I’ve just joined. I can’t believe that I’m really here. I don’t totally understand what it is that I just agreed to but who cares? I’m hanging out with the “it” girls. Cassie Deegan and Caitlyn Ray, the two most popular girls in our entire school, run this club and I about died when Cassie invited me to attend. She slipped me a note after Biology this afternoon that said, “4 p.m., Bookends Bookstore, Travel section. Be there.” At first I thought, oh great—I pissed somebody off and now she’s going to lure me into an empty corner of the giant bookstore so she and her friends can kick my butt, film it on their cells, and post it on YouTube. But curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t believe it when I showed up and found ten of the prettiest, most popular girls at my school sitting in a circle waiting for me.
Well, except for, blech, Delaney Adams, the only girl who might actually want to kick my butt. She stands a few feet behind the C2, scowling and appearing generally unhappy that I’m here. Not that that’s new. Obviously she was the “Nay” in the Yay or Nay vote on my invitation. But Cassie and Caitlyn must really want me here so she can just go ahead and deal.
“Okay,” Cassie bellows to the circle, interrupting my thoughts, “I need to make it clear that not just anybody can join Boy Swap. This is a super-secret elite club that you have to be tapped into. So don’t like, go running off and telling your friends or anything. Because we’ll deny it all. You were chosen to join our club because you have a desirable boyfriend.” Cassie looks directly at me and gives me a tight smirk.
Hmmm…Chris is a hottie. With his adorable dimples and dive-right-in ocean blue eyes, I think he’s irresistible. But they really picked me because my boyfriend is cute? How weird.
“Look at the girl to your left and the girl to your right,” Caitlyn instructs. I glance to my right at Sarah Reynolds with her long shiny blonde hair, the swim team captain and last year’s homecoming queen. On my left is Jackie Adelson with glossy auburn waves, varsity cheerleader and lead in every single school play. I finger my own chin-length dark brown hair. Okay. So if the three of us went head-to-head for a Pantene commercial I’d come in third. But Chris loves my hair. He’s always running his hands through it when we’re making out. “They may not be your friends outside in the real world,” Cassie continues, “but in here, they are your sisters.”
Wow. Sisters! I’ve always wanted a sister. Or two. Or ten. I reach down into my purse for my phone—I want to text Lizzie so bad and tell her all about it. Oooh, but I can’t. Cassie just warned against that, right? Well, I know, and that is what’s important. Currently, my school social status is kind of up for grabs. I’m not exactly what you would call popular. Okay, who am I kidding? If we had to walk the school with our status branded across our chests for all the world to see like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter, mine would read “BN” for Band Nerd.
&nb
sp; Yes, I’m totally a band nerd. I am the second chair flutist in our school symphony as well as in the marching band. Ack, I know, I know! The orange and black toy soldier band uniforms are flattering on no one! Believe me, if I could convince Mr. Shank, our band director, to let us out on the football field in cute sundresses and wedge sandals, I would. But it is a sacrifice that I make to play my music. I love the flute. When I play it, I feel all Tinkerbell twinkly. If you play an instrument in the band then the flute is the only way to go. Your sound stands out higher and prettier than all of the other instruments and it feels more like they are accompanying you. But don’t mention to anyone that I said that. I’ll have a bunch of pissed off clarinetists and saxophonists on my back.
Anyway, maybe I don’t have to forever be known as a band nerd? This could really change everything for me. Maybe now I’ll make friends with some of these girls and break into their cliques. And that would totally piss Delaney off as well, which is a major bonus. She just hates that I’m sitting here smack dab in the middle of her world. We’ve spent the last five years pretending each other didn’t exist so I imagine this is completely killing her. Her eyes are rolling so far back in her head I’m afraid they might detach and plop right out onto the floor at any moment.
“If there are no questions, I’d like you to sign the forms I’m passing out and…”
“I have a question,” I say, shooting my hand in the air. All eyes fall on me. “Um, I guess I don’t quite understand what I’m agreeing to. What is the Boy Swap Club exactly?”
Cassie sighs and rubs her temple with her right hand.
Whoops. Did she already explain and I wasn’t paying attention?
Just Your Average Box Set (Just Your Average Princess, Just Your Average Geek, & Just Your Average Celebrity) Page 14
