by Liz Czukas
“You are hopeless,” Lisa said. “You should turn them both down and go with the group like you were supposed to.”
“I still say whoever asked first wins. That’s just good manners,” Cassidy said.
“So, Heart, who’s it going to be?” Lisa asked.
“I cannot make this decision!”
“You’re going to have to eventually.” Lisa sighed into the phone, making noisy static for the rest of us. “And you better do it soon, because this topic is already getting tired.”
“You’re so supportive.” They were obviously going to be no help on this.
“Wait!” Cassidy hollered. “I’ll ask the Magic 8 Ball!” I could hear her moving on the other end of the line for a minute, then, “Aha! Okay . . . Magic 8 Ball, should Heart go to prom with Ryan?”
“How do we know you’re not going to cheat and say whatever you think?” I asked.
“I would never lie about the Magic 8 Ball.” Faintly, the sloshing sounds of the toy made their way through the phone. “‘Ask again later’? Oh, come on!”
“See? Even the Magic 8 Ball doesn’t know what I should do.”
Cass ignored that, too. “Should Heart go to prom with Troy?” Shake, slosh, shake. “‘Concentrate and try again.’ You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m telling you, there’s no way to make this decision. Even fortune-telling toys won’t help me.”
Lisa snorted. “Shocking.”
“I’ll ask it again later and report back to you tomorrow,” Cassidy said.
“If you must.” I draped myself across my bed with one hand against my forehead. Sometimes I think those silent film stars had it right. Melodrama can be so cathartic.
“Trust me. It’s in the hands of fate.”
I let my tongue loll out like I was dying from her poisonous words. Fate is only a comfort if you actually believe in it.
5 Concerning the questionable fortune-telling powers of toys
Cassidy and I have our first class together, so I suspected she’d have a full report on the Magic 8 Ball experiments as soon as I walked in. I was right.
“Okay, this is downright bizarre.” She waved a piece of paper at me. “I asked the Ball twenty times about Ryan and twenty about Troy, and look at this.” Flattening the paper on her desktop, she pointed to a chart. “It’s, like, completely equal.”
She’d written down each response in two neat columns. They were even color-coded with red, green, and yellow dots next to each answer.
“You have too much time on your hands,” I said.
“It was fascinating!” she insisted. “See? Greens are yeses, reds are nos, and yellows are those annoying unhelpful answers.”
Scanning the sheet, I saw that she was right. There were seven greens in each column, eight yellows, and five reds. “Wow, that is kind of weird.”
“I’m telling you. We might need to consult another source.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Don’t say a Ouija board.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Tarot cards and your horoscope.”
Before I could reply, Schroeder’s voice startled us both. “Did I miss some major assignment?” And then, before I could stop him, he was looking over Cassidy’s shoulder at her chart. “What is that?”
“Never mind.” I snatched the sheet and shoved it into the pocket of my dress. Schroeder was the last person I wanted to see the chart. I knew without a doubt he’d tease me, and I didn’t need that today. Besides, he was in the No Drama Prom-a Crew, so I was technically about to ditch him. I doubted everyone would be as enthusiastic about my last-minute change of plans as Cassidy.
“Heart’s got two invitations to the prom, and we’re trying to figure out who she should go with,” Cassidy answered his question.
I closed my eyes for a second, fighting the urge to stomp on her foot. Maybe I’d spend my first class drafting an ad for a new best friend.
“I thought we were going together. All of us, I mean.” Schroeder’s eyes narrowed.
“I was . . . am . . . might be.” I sighed.
He laid a hand over his chest. “Heart, I’m wounded. You’re ditching us?”
And now I felt guilty. Wonderful. “It’s complicated.”
“Not really, Ditcher.” He grinned, but didn’t look very amused.
“It’s not like that.” I scowled at him, but his grin didn’t fade. He just shook his head and sighed.
“No, I see how it is. You don’t want to go with me. With any of us.” He sighed again. “And we were going to have such a great time. Bad food, terrible music, watching the cheerleaders hold each other’s hair back after too much Boone’s Farm wine . . .” Another sigh.
I raised my eyebrow. “Wow, you really know how to sell a girl.”
“What can I say?” He shrugged.
“So, who do you think she should go with?” Cassidy asked. “Ryan from stage crew, or her brother’s friend Troy?”
Schroeder’s eyebrows pulled together momentarily. “Ryan asked you?”
My cheeks went hot. “Yeah.”
“Are you going with him?”
“I don’t know. I can’t figure out what to do.”
“And who’s Troy again?”
I waved a hand. “My brother’s friend. It’s a pity date. His girlfriend dumped him.”
“So, which one would you go with?” Cassidy asked him.
He appeared to be considering her question for a moment, before slowly looking at me, then back to Cassidy. “Neither.”
“Very helpful.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.” He turned on his heel and went down the aisle toward his seat.
“Clearly, this is an impossible decision,” I said.
“After class, I’m checking your horoscope.”
6 On the superiority of the cafeteria’s french fries and near-death experiences at the hands of said fries
I don’t know what it was about the school cafeteria’s french fries, but they were my drug of choice, and I had no interest in twelve-stepping my way out of this addiction. So I was completely lost in french fry anticipation when a touch at my elbow made me jump. I turned, heart pounding, to find Troy Rafferty smiling at me. Except it was not a real smile. Sure, his lips were shoved into approximately the right position, but his eyes hadn’t gotten the memo. He looked like a sad clown with a smiling mouth painted on. It bordered on creepy. “Hey, Heart.”
“Troy!” I clapped my dollar bill to my chest. “You scared me.”
“Look, I know your brother told you about Amy.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I squinched up my face, not sure if this was a full-on hugging moment or not. I settled for a quick pat on the shoulder.
“So, I know it’s short notice and all, but if you wanted to come to prom with me, that would be pretty cool.”
And the nominees for least enthusiastic prom invitation are . . .
“Oh, um.” It was a lot harder to say no to Troy himself rather than Phil, who as the messenger, deserved whatever punishment I could dream up. Troy was the guy who always made sure to say hello to me when Phil’s friends were over, and he’d even given me a ride home from school once or twice when Phil was busy. A genuinely good human being.
“If you don’t want to, that’s cool.” Troy looked down, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to start crying. Ginormous, six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Troy Rafferty was going to break down in the french fry line.
Damn you, Amy.
“It’s not that.” I jiggled my hands in front of me, hoping to somehow stem the potential tide of tears. “It’s just that someone else asked me and—”
“That’s cool,” Troy said softly. “Sorry to bother you.” He started to lumber away, and my heart crumpled.
“Troy, wait!” I put a hand on his back. “Uh . . . let me talk to . . . him. The other guy, I mean. I’ll, like, let you know, okay?”
A miniature sunrise of relief warmed his face, making his blue eyes look happy for the f
irst time. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, okay. That’d be great.”
Well, that settled it. I’d just have to tell Ryan I couldn’t go. Clearly, Troy was a man in need. Besides, this way Phil wouldn’t be pissed at me, and I am all about maximizing the number of people I can keep happy at any given time, especially people in my family. And at least I didn’t have to worry that Troy was expecting anything to happen between us after the dance. More importantly, how could I possibly say no to someone who was on the verge of tears?
Then, of course, because I was having the kind of day that is normally only found in teen movies from the 1990s, I ran into Ryan almost immediately after paying for my fries.
“Heart!”
“Ryan . . .” I tried to force some enthusiasm, but ended up making a weird warbling sound at the end. I wrinkled my nose, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Um, listen . . . about the prom . . .” He looked around and touched my arm. “Do you have a minute?”
Honest to God, my first thought was: He’s going to uninvite me—hallelujah! Luckily, I managed to keep my reply to a more polite, “Sure.”
Ryan led me, and my french fries, to a remote corner table where no one sat—probably because its vicinity to the recycling bins made the floor permanently sticky. I found a relatively clean spot to stand and popped a fry in my mouth. No sense letting them get cold.
“So . . . we’re friends, right?”
I gave him a confused look. “Yeah, of course. We’ve bonded over French, Ryan. That’s not the sort of thing I take lightly.”
He smiled and laughed nervously. “I just feel like I should be honest with you,” he said. “I didn’t want you to think that I was asking you because . . . that we . . . that I . . .” He took a frustrated breath and let it out in a short huff. “I’m gay.”
My tongue went psychotic, and the fry lodged in my throat. I wheezed as my lungs reacted to the sudden loss of fresh air. Eyes bugging and filling with tears simultaneously, I let out a cough that sent the fry out of my mouth like a bullet. It splatted on the floor right beside the Aluminum Cans bin while I sputtered and coughed some more and tried not to vomit. Ryan thumped me on the back a couple of times until I finally got a deep breath. I grasped his arm for support, panting for a second, then finally managed to croak, “What?”
“Oh my God. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I coughed. “I’m sorry, I just choked a little.” I patted my throat. “You were saying?”
He laughed nervously. “I’m, uh . . . gay.”
I nodded enthusiastically, trying to smile even though my eyes were still watering. “That’s what I thought you said.”
“Before you choked.”
“I absolutely promise you the choking was not about what you said.”
“Really?” He looked doubtful. “Because it pretty much seemed like a cause-effect kind of thing.”
“Okay, it might have been a little bit about what you said, but not in a bad way, I swear.” I used a knuckle to wipe below my eyes.
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
“Because it was kind of like the worst thing I could imagine after coming out to someone for the first time.”
Thank God I had the foresight not to put another fry in my mouth, because I swear I almost choked again. “The first time?”
He laughed again, nervous. “Um . . . yeah.”
“Mon dieu! I’m . . . I’m honored!” I threw my free hand around his neck, hugging him as best as I could with my muscles still feeling like jelly after nearly dying, and a container of fries in my other hand.
Ryan made a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Thank you.”
“So no one else knows? Your parents?”
“I think my mom suspects, but I haven’t said anything.”
The weight of being the first person he’d told was intense. To think of all the years we’d been friends, and I’d never even had a clue. Malfunctioning gaydar, for sure. “Why me?”
He shrugged. “You’re just . . . you’re really nice. And I know you don’t really date anyone from school, so I thought . . . I don’t know exactly. I just needed to finally tell someone. And I guess I figured you wouldn’t tell anyone. I don’t want this getting around right now.”
“Well, thank you. I guess.” Was that the right thing to say?
“So, about prom—?”
“Oh.” I was surprised he was back to that so quickly after dropping such a huge piece of news on me.
“The thing is, I didn’t want you to think that I, like, liked you and be weirded out by that or anything.”
I laughed, as if that was the furthest thing from my mind. Silly Ryan, why on earth would I make such psycho assumptions? Perish the thought!
Ryan went on, “I just wanted to go and have fun with someone who wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”
I felt strangely important, but all I could think to do was nod.
“So, you’ll go? Even though it’s not going to be some big romantic night for you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. There is zero possibility for romance among any of my potential dates for this gig.”
His face fell. “There’s a lot?”
Stupid. “No, I mean, well, I was supposed to go with a big group. You know, Cassidy, and Ally, and Kim, and Schroeder, and Dan, and Pat, and Neel.” I bobbed my head along with the list.
“Oh.” His disappointment was palpable.
“But that wasn’t, like, set in stone or anything.” Apart from the fact that I already paid for my ticket, and signed up for a table of eight with the rest of the crew.
“Oh,” he said again, this time with hope.
And then I remembered Troy. Damn it. I had just talked to the guy, for heaven’s sake. What was wrong with me? I didn’t remember anyone getting amnesia from a near-death french fry experience on any of my grandma’s soap operas. “Let me talk to them. Is that . . . you don’t mind, do you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But can you not tell them about me?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t!”
“Okay. Then, yeah. Just let me know later, okay?”
“Great.” Procrastination, thy name is Heart LaCoeur. “Um, thanks again. For telling me, I mean.”
“Thanks for not actually choking to death from the shock.”
I laughed. “Hey, you know, we’re French buddies, we go way back.”
“Les amis français,” he corrected with one finger raised.
“Ah, bien sûr.”
“I’ll see you at rehearsal later.” He waved a little and backed away a few steps before heading for his usual seat.
Oh man, I was in trouble now.
7 Wherein the deities desert me, and I give myself over to the power of statistics
I had a feeling I’d already exhausted my friends’ patience on the who-should-Heart-go-to-the-prom-with front, and I couldn’t tell them the secret Ryan had entrusted me with, so I was stuck mulling over the decision on my own for the rest of the day. Cassidy’s idiotic Magic 8 Ball chart wasn’t getting any more helpful stuffed into my pocket, and so far no signs had come down from the heavens to clue me in. Not that I seriously expected one, of course, but part of me was hoping, I have to admit. Any deity would be welcome as long as he or she came equipped with an answer.
If only my mother had named me Heaven instead of Heart . . .
No, scratch that.
I was no closer to a decision when I slipped into chem class and climbed onto my designated stool at the lab table I shared with Schroeder.
“’Sup, Duodenum?” he said with a slight tilt of his mouth.
“Schroeder.” I looked down my nose at him. Even though I was impressed by his seemingly endless knowledge of internal organs, I had to keep up the illusion that he was successfully annoying me.
He took forever settling into his seat, dropping his bag and shrugging out of his hooded sweatshirt. It was always hot in the labs. Underneath hi
s sweatshirt he was wearing the dark green shirt we’d gotten for being in the fall play last year. Either he’d grown or the shirt had shrunk since last year, because it was much tighter around his biceps than I remembered. It’s not like I go around cataloging the fit of Schroeder’s wardrobe, but he has really nice forearms, so I could hardly help myself. It’s probably from all the piano playing.
“Listen,” he said in a soft voice, pulling my attention back to his face. “I was thinking I could get my little sister to make one of those fortune-teller things if you still haven’t made up your mind about prom.” Schroeder held up both hands, pinched his fingers and thumbs together, and made them move like the paper toy he alluded to.
“Remind me to thank Cassidy for being such a big mouth.” She must have told him the whole Magic 8 Ball story.
He laughed. “She also told me it was her idea, if that makes any difference.”
“Minor.”
“So, have you come to your senses yet? Coming with the No Drama Prom-a as planned?” He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.
“Oh.” I twisted my mouth.
“You’re not, are you?” He sounded disappointed. And not in a fake aww-what-a-shame way, but more like a Heart-I’m-very-disappointed-in-your-behavior way.
With a sigh, I lowered my head to the lab table’s surface and wove my fingers together behind my neck. “Maybe I shouldn’t go at all.”
“You can’t do that,” he said quickly.
“Why not?” I asked the cold table.
“Because . . .” He paused, long enough to make me sneak a peek at him through the fringe of my hair. “Then you’re letting the drama win!” He said it like it’d just come to him, and I turned my head far enough to cast a raised eyebrow in his direction. “You can’t let the prom win.”
I laughed. “The prom is out to get me?” It probably was. That would just figure.
“I’m just saying, if you don’t go at all, you’ll only sit at home obsessing about it.”
“I would not obsess. It’s a stupid dance.”
“So . . .” He drew an elaborate, invisible design with his finger on the lab table. “Just pick someone and be done with it.”
