by Zoe Evans
Evan and I grabbed some slices to go after practice, and this time when he ordered he told the cashier that it was just one order. Meaning, he paid for me before I could even throw my bills on the counter. So at this point I was like, Mystery Time: Was that a “date move” or a “really nice friend” move? Like, back in the day, when we were just best buds, he never would have paid for me. In fact, if we were in, say, the candy store, he used to always weasel an extra pack of gum in there, and when I’d turn to ask him to pay up, he’d laugh and duck out the door (super sneaky). Lanie is so lucky that she knows that Marc likes her. It must make things much easier. Not that they go out on pizza dates that often, but I’m sure if they had to download some dusty old archive or something together, he’d offer to do it for both of them. And she wouldn’t have to guess what it meant because SHE’D ALREADY KNOW.
So after pizza, we went back to his house and chatted about the usual stuff. His dad asked us if we wanted to watch a TV special about some old baseball player who neither of us really cares about, but Evan said we had work to do. We sat in his room with just the light from his desk lamp on, which gave it a cozy, romantic feel (at least for me). He grabbed a stack of papers and plopped them on my lap.
“So here are the ones I’m choosing from for the fair. What do you think? Do they scream ‘SuperBoy: Best Of’ to you?”
I considered each one carefully, and every now and then I’d look up at Evan to catch him looking at me kind of weird.
“Didn’t you have a sketch where SuperBoy has this long cape on and is drinking a slushie? I always thought that was cute. And for people who want their own drawing, you can take that scene and personalize it by drawing that person in the scene. Maybe that person will be begging SuperBoy to help him save the day or something?”
He started digging through his piles of papers, looking for that particular scene. “I like it! Good thinking, Madison.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’m the thinker.”
We figured out a top-ten list of best SuperBoy images, and then worked on making signs for his booth. I knew I should probs also be working with Lanie on our booth now that we had it approved (finally), but working on SuperBoy was an excuse to hang with Evan. While we were making signs, he kept nudging me playfully with the end of his marker, so I took my marker and drew on him (which of course made him want to retaliate).
“That’s it! You asked for it!” he said, coming at me with the tip of a Sharpie.
Next thing I knew, he was trying to pin my arm down to the floor. And even though I’m the athletic one of the two of us, I couldn’t break free. Finally, my wrist was on the floor, and we were both laughing hysterically.
“I surrender!” I said between giggles.
He started drawing on my arm (which gave me major goose bumps), and when he was finished, I had a sort of cool-looking cheerleader superhero on my arm.
“Thanks, E, I’ll never wash it off,” I joked, batting my eyelashes.
“You shouldn’t. It will be worth millions someday.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if I can hold off a shower THAT long.”
Before it was time for me to head home, Evan did something I never thought he’d do. Or, at least, hadn’t expected him to do after all this weirdness between us. He ASKED ME OUT ON A DATE. (Thank goodness he didn’t do that with indelible ink on my arm. That would have been kinda embarrassing.) He didn’t say it like, “Let’s go on a date.” It was more like, “Can I take you out somewhere on Friday?” I almost did a herkie right then and there. Talk about embarrassing! And it was totally different from the time he asked me to Just Desserts, because back then he had just said he wanted me to “check it out” with him. But he said the words “take you out,” so I am pretty almost 100% sure this couldn’t be confused with “not a date.” Right?
“Um, yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too excited. “Where?”
“Leave that to me,” he said, like he’d been planning dates his whole life. “I’ll pick you up at seven, and I’ll see if someone can drive us.”
“Cool,” I said, my head spinning.
I walked home on cloud nine. Or maybe in this case it is cloud ten, because nine just seems so average. Isn’t everyone ELSE floating there?
I speed-dialed Lanes to tell her the BIG NEWS.
“Whassup?” said Lanie.
“OMG,” I said. “You are going to fall out of your chair when I tell you this.”
“Yeeeessss?” she said.
“Evan asked me out on a date!” I said.
“Yeah, FINALLY!” said Lanes. “Wait, are you sure, Mads?” Count on Lanie to be the party pooper. Or cloud popper, or whatever.
“Well, he said the words ‘take you out,’ so I think so,” I said, trying not to let doubt creep into my brain.
“He actually said those words? Not like, ‘Let’s go to this place’ on Friday?”
I did a little rewind of the whole scene in my head, just to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.
“Yes, Lanie. Yes, I’m positive that that is what he said. I mean, I guess I can’t be entirely sure, but it SOUNDS to me like a date. Right?”
“I’d have to say yeah. That DOES sound like a date. Go, little E.”
I don’t know why it annoys me just a little that she still calls him that, since to me he’s no longer “little E,” the boy who used to star as the husband in all our playing-house episodes. Now he’s “completely adorable and crush-worthy Evan,” to me at least. But I guess I can see it being hard for Lanie to picture him that way, even now. I mean, it was hard for ME, too, at first.
Okay, must catch some z’s. I’m so definitely going to be dreaming about this date. Now, what in the world am I going to wear???
I woke up this morning going completely nuts thinking about my date later that night with the E-Man. It just felt so surreal, imagining him coming to my doorstep to pick me up. I tried to picture what it would be like, but my brain wouldn’t process it. Would he be holding flowers? Would he be nervous? Would he like what I was wearing? Speaking of, here is what I decided on: skinny jeans with a long flowy silky top, long dangly earrings, and the platforms I had to beg Mom to let me buy. Footnote: Mom was worried I’d break my neck in them, but I pointed out that with me being a cheerleader, there are far worse ways for me to injure myself. That seemed to do the trick . But anyway, I think the outfit says “cute” without trying too hard. Like if I wore a dress, that could be too much, and I obvs wasn’t going to wear sneakers and any old shirt. I think the silk of the top and the earrings take everything up a notch. Hope Evan agrees!
On my way to school I was in happy la-la land, listening to a Bruno Mars song on the radio and probably smiling like an idiot. Mom kept giving me funny looks. Like, what? She’s never seen me happy before? Please. Okay, fine, maybe SOMETIMES I get a little moody. I didn’t tell her about my date with Evan, because I didn’t want her to get all gushy and teary-eyed. I could totally see her doing the “Wow, my little girl is growing up so fast” look. Or she would treat Evan weirdly. Yeah, no thanks.
But right after lunch, disaster struck. Of course Madison Hays is not allowed to have one drama-free day. No sirree. My phone buzzed with an SOS text from Lanes.
“Srsly, call me,” it read.
I ducked into a corner and rang her up. “Where are you?” she asked, without even saying hello.
“Just leaving the caf. Where were you at lunch?” Evan hadn’t been at lunch either that day, because he had some extra-credit thing he was doing, and I didn’t exactly appreciate eating alone at our table. But it happens.
“I’m really sorry, but that’s what I’m calling about,” said Lanie, sounding miserable. “I popped into the Daily Angeles to drop an article off before lunch and to say hi to Marc.”
“Yeah, why am I not surprised?” I said.
“No, that’s not the story! So I was there, and Marc was there, and then there’s this knock on the door.”
“Just hold on
a sec. Are you anywhere near the caf?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s meet on the steps, okay?”
Lanie didn’t bother responding before she cut off our call.
I met her on the steps and realized something bad must have happened, because her forehead was all crinkled with worry, and her eyeliner looked like she’d done it in the dark.
“Lanes, you might want to look in a mirror,” I said.
She scowled. “Ugh, I was doing my usual afternoon reapplication but must have been so upset I wasn’t paying attention. Thanks for catching that, Mads.”
“Okay, so dish.”
Lanie explained that the knock on the door was Miss Clementine Prescott herself. Lanie had no idea why Clem had decided to grace the Daily Angeles with her presence, but she’d immediately gotten the feeling that Clem was up to no good. Clem barely looked at Lanes and walked right up to Marc, who hadn’t even noticed her come in.
“Ahem,” Clementine had said, even though Lanie was already looking at her. But it was Marc’s attention she wanted.
“Yeah?” Lanie had said.
“I’m here to talk to Marc. Marc, I have an awesome idea for one of your stories about the fair.”
Marc had finally looked up from the piece he was reading and nodded at her to speak.
“Since I’m the Head Fair Leader, I pretty much have the inside scoop on everything fair related. So I was thinking, wouldn’t it be fabulous if the paper did an intimate profile on my involvement with the fair, and how I’m single-handedly making the whole thing come together?”
Marc had just looked at her like she’d landed from Planet Cheerleader.
Clementine hadn’t missed a beat. She twirled a finger through her hair and sat down right next to Marc. “I think it would be the perfect way to show how a student can have more than one interest and talent. I’m a born leader, obviously, but you wouldn’t expect a cheerleader to also be so involved in the community, right?”
At this point, Lanie said, Clementine couldn’t have been batting her eyelashes more furiously. Lanie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Bossing people around for the school fair isn’t exactly the work of Mother Teresa,” she countered.
Clem had just continued smiling like an idiot at Marc, as if Lanie wasn’t even in the room. “Thanks for your input, Lanie, but this is between Marc and me. I want a more SERIOUS staff writer to do my profile.”
Finally Marc had snapped out of his “what is this girl talking about” face and spoke up. “I appreciate the compliment, but we’d definitely need to take this up with the rest of the staff to make sure it’s a piece that everyone agrees on.”
Lanie had been so happy that Marc had come up with a good excuse. And also that he wasn’t buying into her obvious attempts at flirtation.
Clementine had finally gotten up from the table then. “No biggie. I just thought I’d give you the idea. At no charge, of course!” she’d said with a flirtatious giggle.
“Madison!” said Lanie, pulling nervously at the bottom strands of her hair. “She was hitting on Marc! She’s trying to steal him away so she can work her weird cheerleader voodoo magic on him.”
“Lanie, you have nothing to worry about with Marc. Didn’t you just say he was the one who came up with the excuse to turn her down? And how he hardly noticed her when she walked into the room in the first place?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Lanie agreed softly. “But the point is, Clementine is trying to get in between Marc and me. And I don’t think it has anything to do with her liking him or anything. I think she just wants to punish me—or us—for getting our booth back.”
I’m not trying to be super egotistical or anything, thinking that the entire world revolves around me, but I can’t help but think that Clem was trying to teach ME a lesson by hurting my best friend. Cuz normally she doesn’t have anything against Lanie (except her association with me), and until now, it’s really just been me who Clem has been mega obnoxious toward. Me, me, me, me, meeee (how many times can I write that word on a page?)! And now I feel really bad that Lanie is getting the Torture Treatment from Clem, probably because of me. I knew that giving us the booth wouldn’t come without complications.
“Don’t worry,” I told Lanie. “You’ve obviously got nothing to worry about with Marc and Clementine. I’ll see if maybe I can talk to Katie about it and see what she says. Maybe she can talk to Clementine about backing off a little.”
Lanie nodded, but that furrow in her brow was still there. I texted Katie in front of Lanie to tell her to meet me in our room ASAP. Luckily, we both had a free period after lunch. I needed to get through to Katie that this stuff with Clementine was getting kind of ridiculous. And since Clem would practically jump off a cliff to avoid talking to me, and because she was Katie’s BFF, I figured I had a better shot of having Katie get through to her.
I got to the room a few minutes before Katie and collected my thoughts. I thought about the things that had been happening lately with Clementine and tried to make some sense of them. First, I guess around the time I decided not to join the Titans was when she started just generally being meaner to me than usual. Then she tried to sabotage my booth with Lanie. THEN she tried to get in between Lanie and her boy. If it were just one solitary thing, I wouldn’t really think much of it. (They don’t call Clementine a Queen Bee for nothing. Being mean is part of the package.) But now that these other things are piling up, I can’t help but think there’s more to this. BUT WHAT IS IT???
Katie came bouncing into the room, ponytail swinging, with her usual face full of sunshine and her perfect cheerleader smile. But as soon as she saw the expression on my face, she must have known something was up.
“What’s going on? Did something happen?” she asked.
I explained the latest in the Clementine vs. Madison saga. Katie chewed on her lip thoughtfully.
“Wow,” she said. “I guess Clem is kind of acting strange.”
“Yeah, you think?”
Katie sat on top of the desk next to mine and rhythmically drummed her pink fingernails against the wood. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into her. I know she’s having a hard time with her mom and the booth and everything, but I don’t know why she’s taking it all out on you.”
“I have no idea, except maybe she’s super mad that I didn’t join the Titans. But I was thinking . . .” I paused because I didn’t want to sound like a loser when I said what I was about to say. “Maybe you want to tell her that you’re my friend, and that the way she’s acting is not cool?”
Basically the way I see it is that if Clementine knew that Katie and I were friends, and if Katie made a request AS MY FRIEND for Clem to change her ’tude toward me, then maybe Clem would listen. I mean, Katie and I have been going to great lengths to act like strangers whenever Clem sees us near each other. She probably thinks that during the times we do talk, we’re just comparing cheer captain notes or something. Which up until lately was pretty fine with me. But now that I’m keeping secrets from Evan (can’t tell him about Luc) and Clem has gone a little overboard, I think it is time Katie tells her what’s what. Don’t friends defend one another?
Unfortunately, Katie didn’t see it my way. “Madison, I can’t do that. I can’t tell her about our friendship. Not without explaining my trip to New York.”
I wish I could have come up with a loophole in her reasoning—some way for her to avoid dishing the details about New York while explaining how we got to be friends. But the whole reason the two of us became un-frenemied was because of our bonding in New York. We’d have to come up with some elaborate lie otherwise, and honestly I don’t have room in my brain for that kind of thing.
“I can’t tell Clementine about the audition,” she continued. “It would be a disaster. I even tried the other day, but something held me back. I feel so bad about lying, but now it’s gone on so long she’ll be so mad when I tell her the truth. I feel like Clem will flip out about me even thinking about l
eaving the Titans. Please, please don’t say anything to her.”
Katie was getting a little hysterical. Wow, this really was a day for friend drama.
“Okay, okay,” I said, my hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna say anything, don’t worry.”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but Clem and I have been best friends practically forever. Like you and Lanie. And Clem has been a good friend, even if it is just me she’s good to.”
I wanted to say there were a couple of BIG differences here . . . but I just kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want Katie to have some kind of major meltdown. Maybe if I bring it up another time, I’ll have more luck. In the meantime, though, I’m definitely on my own with this.
Later on, before cheer practice, Lanes and I met up outside the gym. I told her about my conversation FAIL with Katie.
“Some friend SHE is,” said Lanie, shaking her head. “I told you not to trust cheerleaders.”
“Um, excuse me?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine, maybe just Titan cheerleaders. Seriously, what is her deal? Aren’t you tired of this whole ‘secret friendship’ of yours?”
“Yeah, I am. But what am I going to do?”
Lanie shook her head in frustration. “Whatever. The good thing is, Marc said he’d sooner stick a pencil in his eye than spend time interviewing Clementine. Luckily, he has an aversion to anything pink and peppy.”
“Nice,” I said. “In other news, though, tonight’s my date with Evan.” I quickly scanned the hall to make sure Evan wasn’t sitting there. Lately, I never really know when he’ll pop up, which makes talking about him a tiny bit difficult.
Lanie’s face lit up. “You psyched?”
I nodded. “Psyched and a little nervous.”
