Since You Asked...

by Maurene Goo

  She unleashed her megawatt grin. “I can’t believe it!”

  David opened his backpack with a flourish. “Well, believe it, dude! We’re already prepared!”

  Liz picked one of the buttons up and started laughing once she read it. “Nice! No time like the present to start my Homecoming Queen campaign, right?”

  We walked over to our lunch spot and Liz immediately pulled out a notebook and started scribbling in it. I sat down next to her, trying to see what she was writing.

  “Holls, did you seriously make all your journalism staff nominate Liz?” Carrie asked before taking a bite of her hummus-and-veggie sandwich.

  I looked away from Liz’s notebook. “Sure. They’re the biggest group of anti-school-spirit people so they were happy to nominate someone who’s not on student government.”

  “And I got the Mathletes in on that,” David bragged, adjusting his knit beanie over his messy hair.

  “Did you promise all of them a date with Liz?” Carrie asked.

  Liz snorted while furiously writing in her notebook. “Please.”

  “Uh, can we go back to the Mathletes? I can’t believe you joined this year,” I teased.

  David reached over lightning quick and pulled my sweatshirt hood over my head. “What about it, Miss Remedial Algebra?”

  “Pardonnez moi, I’m in geometry this year, thank you very much.”

  “Yeah! With ME!” Carrie announced proudly. We both wriggled our eyebrows exaggeratedly at each other. David rolled his eyes and started eating his lunch.

  I noticed Liz had finished writing. “What is that?” I asked, peering at the notebook. She handed it over.

  HOMECOMING COURT HIT LIST

  Candace Ferrera — Witch. Was the ringleader in starting a rumor about my boobs. Also, once threw a plate of sloppy joes into Carrie’s face in fourth grade. Sociopathic cow. THE one to beat.

  Lauren Muklashy — Brainless follower of Candace, probably was “allowed” to be nominated just to be witch’s handmaid. Once called Holly a “geisha.”

  Lola Chang — Horrible human being. Stole Ryan Patel from shy albino girl, Melanie Duger, for Halloween dance in eighth grade.

  Jessamin Aya — Aside from her ridiculous name, she once kicked David’s skateboard on purpose and giggled while walking away with friends. Can’t tell if it was a ploy for his attentions or pure witchery. Annoying hipster either way.

  I was shocked but also felt kind of vindicated — this Homecoming Queen insanity was all for revenge!

  “Dude, LIZ!” I exclaimed.

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “What?”

  “Don’t ‘what’ me! Is this why you’re running for Homecoming Queen?”

  David and Carrie both looked at Liz’s notebook curiously. Carrie asked, “What are you guys talking about?”

  I pointed at the list. “She has like, a creepy hit list for the Homecoming Court. All the girls’ names plus a description of her beef with them. Liz, you’re like the comic book vigilante of school dances.”

  “I want to see!” David lunged for the notebook.

  “Me too!” Carrie crowed.

  Liz handed it to them. “Fine, whatever. It’s no secret I hate all these hags.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah but, Liz, this is a whole lot of trouble, don’t you think? Just for some, what, popularity revenge? I didn’t think you cared about that.”

  “It’s not revenge per se. I just want to make a point.”

  Carrie looked up from the list. “Which is?”

  “That I’m better than them.”

  David let out a whistle. “Okay, then.”

  Hands on her skinny-jeans-clad hips, she said, “What? It’s true, isn’t it? EVERYONE’S better than them. They suck as human beings and they need to be brought down a notch or two.”

  “I mean, yeah, of course they all suck. But why bother? It’s been a long time since you’ve cared about what those girls thought,” I said.

  “Yes, it’s been too long. I know how much these jerks care about something as trivial as this. I want to crush their dreams.”

  “Yes!” Carrie cried, laughing.

  David and I looked at each other. This was just plain weird and out of Liz’s too-cool-for-school character.

  “What? Don’t look at each other in your little secret way. I’m not doing anything wrong,” Liz said angrily.

  I sighed. “I don’t think it’s wrong…. Just a bit … pointless.”

  David stared at the buttons. “Yeah. I thought this was just like, really important to you. I felt bad we made fun of you, even. And I never feel bad about making fun of you.”

  Tears welled up in Liz’s perfectly mascaraed eyes. “FINE! Don’t help me, then!” With that, she snatched the buttons from him and stormed off.

  The three of us were left, once again, looking helplessly at each other.

  “Wow,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

  “I think you guys need to get off your high horses and just let Liz do what she wants,” Carrie huffed.

  “What high horse?! I’m all for revenge, if it works! But I mean … is she really going to be satisfied when she wins Homecoming Queen? Is this a satisfying type of revenge? Why not just trip them in public?” I asked.

  David crossed his arms. “Yeah, it’s not going to do anything. Maybe for like five minutes. She’s been holding this crap in foreeever.”

  “Yes, she has. So shouldn’t we just keep our mouths shut and let her do what she wants?” Carrie asked.

  “I never keep my mouth shut,” I said.

  * * *

  When I walked into journalism later that day, Isabel was having a complete meltdown. I approached her slumped body apprehensively. “Um, are you okay?”

  With her face plastered onto a printout of the Homecoming Court spread, her muffled voice replied, “Thith footpid sfred int gong tbe ruddy ontyme.”

  “What?”

  When her head sprang up her eyes were teary. She pushed her curly black hair out of her face. “I said this stupid spread isn’t going to be ready on time. The printers are backed up this month so we need to send the November issue to print earlier than planned — which means we won’t have our King and Queen profiles in time!”

  Sometimes kids take things so seriously. I looked down at the unfinished spread when I felt Isabel’s eyes boring into my head. “Hey. HOLLY.”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “Isn’t Mrs. Richards your English teacher?”

  Confused, I answered, “Yeah.”

  “She’s one of the ballot counters.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, still confused.

  “Must I spell it out, Holly?” Isabel asked impatiently. “Ask her who’s going to win.”

  “Huh? How would she know?!”

  Isabel gave me a pitying look. “Oh, Holly, do you really think we actually vote on the King and Queen?”

  “Um, yes? Do we not live in the United States of America?”

  “No, we go to high school. And here, the most popular student government member always wins Homecoming Court. Which is probably going to be Candace Ferrera or Lauren what’s-her-name. And we need to find out who it is so we can get this issue done in time.”

  I couldn’t care less about our deadline at this point. “Are you saying the election is fixed?”

  Isabel nodded her head slowly.

  “How do you even know this?!”

  She shrugged. “It’s info that’s passed down from one generation of newspaper staff to the next. One of the student government’s many dirty little secrets.”

  “Has anyone ever bothered finding out if it’s true and exposing it?” I asked incredulously.

  “Oh, Holly. Still so optimistic about the power of the press. It’s just a dumb high school thing. We have other things to worry about.”

  “Like what? Who’s going to be our next assistant girls’ softball coach?” I was livid. “So you want me to call Mrs. Richards? Sure, I’ll call her.”

 
; Isabel followed me as I stomped toward the classroom phone. “All right, but be subtle, okay? There’s a tactful way to do all of this….”

  “Oh, sure thing!” I said with false cheerfulness. Isabel stood by me fretfully.

  Thus, the birth of my treachery. Moments later I was asking Mrs. Richards if she could help out the paper by disclosing the names of the Homecoming Queen and King ahead of time because we were behind on our deadline.

  “But, Holly, how would I know this information? The elections are next week!”

  My voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Oh, it’s okay, Mrs. Richards, I know all about the rigging. Is it Candace?”

  Isabel’s eyes got huge. “You can’t actually SAY it!” she hissed. When I shook my head at her, she shoved her ear next to the phone so that she could listen in. I tried pushing her away, but I have stick arms and Isabel is the captain of the varsity volleyball team.

  There was a pause on the other line. “Does Mr. Green know you’re asking me this?”

  Mr. Green was the student government advisor. “Yeah, sure!” I said with what I hoped was confidence.

  Some more silence. “I don’t know, Holly, I’m sorry. I don’t feel comfortable having this conversation. Good-bye, now.”

  Damn. I was hoping she would actually admit to something.

  Isabel smacked my shoulder when I hung up the phone. “HOLLY! What did you just do?”

  My bravado left me as suddenly as it came. Did I just make a huge mistake? “I was going to get her to admit the thing was rigged,” I said.

  “ARE YOU NUTS?! I told you to be subtle! We can’t actually say it outright!” she screeched. “You better hope this doesn’t get to Mr. Green.”

  She walked away and I was left feeling more scared than angry.

  When school was over that day, I still couldn’t shake the feeling. I sat on the front lawn, waiting for Carrie so we could walk home together.

  I spotted her, with Liz. Carrie made a face at me that clearly said, “Be nice.”

  “Hey,” I greeted them apprehensively.

  Liz gave me a shy smile. “Hey. Sorry about earlier.”

  Relief washed over me. Fighting with friends was up there on my Hate List, right above wearing headgear for three years.

  “I’m sorry, too. And I didn’t mean to be so unsupportive of your revenge plan,” I said in a rush.

  “Is it revenge? I guess I am being a little crazy.”

  I was dying to tell her about what I learned in journalism that day when Candace Ferrera and her gang of identical lemmings walked by.

  Candace stopped in front of Liz. “Wow, so, good job today. Did you have to pay people to nominate you?” The girls behind her burst into giggles, some gleefully covering their mouths. I wanted to punch them.

  Liz whipped out her most condescending smile. “Great theory, Einstein. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” This time Carrie and I giggled hysterically, covering our mouths mockingly.

  Candace whipped her head around and focused her evil eye on us. “Oh, shut up, dorks.” I flinched. It was not cool being the underdog in a high school movie. I felt Carrie move forward and I grabbed her before she did something stupid.

  “Say that again!” she shot out. Oh, how I wished at that moment that I had the perfect comeback. But my tongue was tied. My sassy mouth when I wrote my column was one thing — real-life Holly was still wimpier than I wanted to admit.

  Candace sent Carrie a withering look, then returned her attentions to Liz. “I’ll never understand why you decided to hang out with these losers. Honestly, it’s only sophomore year. It’s not too late to come back to us. You know you’re actually one of us, right?”

  My mouth dropped open. Was this bitch serious? Did she think we were acting out a scene from Mean Girls? Where were Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams? No, seriously, where were they?

  “I have nothing in common with you. Don’t ever think you can talk to me or my friends like this again. I’m being nice. You better appreciate,” Liz said with an icy calm that freaked even me out. I wondered if those rumors about her uncle being in the Persian mafia were true after all.

  Candace looked startled, then regained her composure. “Whatever. I guess it feels nice to be the big fish in such a crappy pond.” With that, she and her lemmings walked away.

  Carrie glowered, her hands balled into fists. “I hate them.”

  Liz, in contrast, held up shaky hands. “Wow. I can’t believe she finally had the nerve to confront me.”

  I decided at that moment to not tell Liz about the election rigging. I wanted her to have her revenge, rigged or not.

  Please shoot me the day I wear anything like this.”

  Liz glanced over at the poofy pink princess gown I was holding and shrugged. “It’s not that bad.” Carrie met my eyes and pretended to gag.

  I shook my head sadly. “Oh, Liz, it’s already too late for you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and shoved a couple dresses into my arms. “Oh, shut up and try these on already.”

  I was out shopping for my Homecoming dress that weekend with Carrie and Liz, and so far we had been to what seemed like a billion stores without any success. I could feel Carrie growing listless, but Liz promised this would be the last one. I hoped so. I was starting to get depressed.

  In the fitting room, I looked with skepticism at the two dresses Liz had picked out. One was a short, sleeveless teal dress with a skinny belt looped around it. Cute, but everything looked cute before I wore it on my boobless frame. The other was a flowy, long, pale blue dress with a cool racer back and layers of fabric overlapping on the skirt part. Really pretty but, again …?

  I pulled on the blue one first. It hung straight to the floor and made my skinny shoulders look like a hanger. “Ugh!”

  Liz tapped the door. “Don’t ‘ugh’ yet! Let me see!”

  I opened the door and made a face. She looked me up and down. “Not bad. You look like a young Kate Moss.”

  “Ha! Nice try. That’s another way of saying I look emaciated and awkward.”

  Liz didn’t argue. “Well, the color looks great on you, and it’s such a cool style. A lot of girls would kill to look as … willowy as you.”

  I made a face. “Olive Oyl is not the look I’m going for. Next!”

  The next dress fit me more snugly, and I had to say, with the little flare of the skirt, it was fun to twirl around in. When I opened the door Liz’s eyes lit up. “Oh, this is PERFECT.”

  Carrie ran over. “Let me see!” She whistled appreciatively. “You look great! Like a right proper lady!” she said in a British accent.

  I suddenly felt shy. “Really? It doesn’t look too girly?”

  Liz threw up her hands in exasperation. “Holly! Sometimes ‘girly’ is not a dirty word. You look amazing in this!”

  I eyed myself in the mirror again. The belt did help give the illusion of a figure. Now if only my legs could miraculously grow calf muscles.

  I paid for the dress and we headed home in Liz’s car. “Wow, we’re actually going to a school dance,” Carrie mused from the backseat.

  “Thanks for agreeing to be my date, Carrie,” Liz said from behind the wheel.

  “No prob, dude. I’ll just go to prom with Scott,” she responded cheerfully.

  “Keep dreaming!” I said.

  Carrie kicked my seat from behind. “Dreams come true, you know. Hey, so how’s the covert mission going with your parents?”

  “So far so good. They know I’ll be ‘working’ all weekend, and they didn’t bat an eye when I told them,” I said with satisfaction.

  “Your parents are so trusting,” Liz said. “Mine interrogate me about everything. They’re always worried that I’ll become a prostitute at any moment.” It was true, Liz’s parents threw the word “prostitute” around about as often as my parents used the phrase “bad daughter.”

  “They’re only letting me go to the dance because I’m nominated for Homecoming Queen,” she continued. “
They think it’s a weird American tradition, but my mother loves any opportunity to take me to the spa.”

  “Spa?!” Carrie sputtered. “I’m sorry, are you preparing for your royal wedding night? I thought you were just going to the Homecoming dance.”

  “Persian women know how to take care of themselves, thank you very much.”

  I was envious. “I wish my mom would let me wear makeup, let alone take me to get primped and preened.”

  “Uh, guys? Must I remind you that my mom is making my dress? With her own hands? Enough said,” Carrie said with finality.

  “I guess everyone’s parents are crazy,” I said. “But mine are still the worst.”

  When Liz dropped me off I left the dress with her. She placed her hand solemnly over her heart and said, “I shall guard it with my life.”

  I looked at it a little wistfully before she drove off. It was so ridiculous that I couldn’t keep my dress in my own house. But my mom was no stranger to rifling through my closet searching for something or another, so it was a sacrifice I had to make.

  * * *

  Sitting in bio the next day, I was completely ignoring the lesson that I, of course, didn’t really understand nor care to understand. (Mitosis? What? Good God, what is all this ABOUT? Do people really understand science? I suspect that all scientists pretend to understand what the heck they’re talking about because they’re too scared to look stupid in front of all the other scientists. Yes, that must be it.)

  When the class was interrupted by someone stepping in and handing Mrs. Robinson a note, I felt a nervous sense of déjà vu. And wouldn’t you know, seconds after she read the note, Mrs. Robinson looked straight at me. Before she could say anything, I got up with a sigh and grabbed my things. I walked up to her with a weary, “Where should I go?”

  She handed me the pass and said in a low voice, “The principal’s office.”

  As if I didn’t already have a (wholly undeserved) messed-up reputation! The class broke into whispers and murmurs. Even I was a little shocked. What in God’s name could I have done to get called to the Mother of All Offices?

  I fled the classroom as fast as I could. As I walked across the empty Quad, I grew more nervous. Could this be about me talking to Mrs. Richards? No way … I mean, what’s the big deal? I didn’t think Mrs. Richards would have told on me to the principal. I racked my brain for other nefarious activities I may have been involved in without knowing it.