by Laura Preble
We drive home the rest of the way in silence. Once we get home, I drift over to the couch and turn on the TV. Dad drops his keys on the hall table and follows me, turning off the TV before he sits next to me.
“What?” I yawn.
“I want to talk about why you’re avoiding Fletcher when you so obviously like him.”
I turn toward him and study his black-and-gray crazy hair, and his brown eyes, now with wrinkles scrunched around the edges. “I don’t like him.”
“I know you do!” I start to look for the remote, but Dad grabs my chin and makes me focus on him. “We’re going to talk about this, Shelby. I don’t want you to start making mistakes that you’ll regret.”
“Dad, you sound like I’m doing some really horrible thing. All I want is to make my life simpler. Fletcher doesn’t make it simple.”
“Is this because of your friends?” He lets go of my chin and I sink back into the velvet couch cushions. “Are you feeling torn between being a friend and being a girlfriend?”
“No.”
He just stares at me for a minute, and then throws his hands up in surrender. “Okay. You’re right. Maybe you’re just not ready to date anybody seriously. Maybe you just need to be by yourself for a while.” He stands up, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, “But I don’t want you to do it forever. Being alone is kind of…painful.”
Of course, he’s talking about Mom, which I knew he would. Whenever we talk about anything serious, Mom comes up. “I’m not going to be alone forever.” I concentrate very hard on my shoes. “Neither are you, I bet.”
He makes a weird noise in his throat and walks out of the room. I dive into the comfort of Forbidden Planet, and then watch three episodes of Lost in Space. My phone keeps buzzing. I ignore it.
The next morning, I wake up on the couch drooling on the velvet cushions. Euphoria is gently shaking my shoulder, and it feels like a herd of dirty camels spit in my mouth. “Wake up, honey.”
“It’s Sunday.” This statement should be sufficient to make anyone go away, but it doesn’t work with Euphoria, because days of the week are irrelevant to her.
“Becca is at the front door.” She leans a little closer. “She seems a tad upset. I’d rather not deal with her, if it’s all the same to you.”
When someone intimidates a robot, that’s something. I pull myself up, using the cushions for support, and manage to achieve some sense of upright. “What time is it?” I ask, squinting at the wall clock that remains obstinately blurry.
“It’s ten. Please get up, Shelby. I’ll make you some coffee.”
Can’t argue with that. I roll off the couch and scratch indelicately, then head for the front door. Becca is sitting on the porch swing, her legs kicking the banister with unfocused fury.
“Hi,” I say tentatively.
She whips her head around and smiles a big, fake smile. “Hey.” She stops the perpetual motion, scoots over, and pats the seat next to her. “Sit.”
“Do I have to?”
“Uh…yeah.”
I drag myself to the swing, plop down, and go ragdoll, trying to pull off a I’m-goth-my-life-sucks attitude. It never works for me; my skin’s too good. “I don’t know why you’re all upset. I’d think you’d be glad.”
She doesn’t answer right away. “What conversation are we having, exactly?”
“Aren’t you here to chew me out about last night?”
She laughs her donkey honk gut-buster laugh. “Last night? You mean your big party date with Fletcher? Please.” She starts to swing again, more gently this time. “He called me when you wouldn’t answer. He told me what happened.”
“What did he say?”
Euphoria rolls out onto the porch with two steaming mugs of coffee in claw. “Here, girls, coffee with just the right amount of cream.” She hands one to Becca, one to me, and then crosses her skinny metal arms, waiting.
“Thanks, Euphoria.” We both sort of stare at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. However, it’s really difficult to hint at someone who really can’t make use of body language. “Okay, so, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” She just stands there.
Becca clears her throat. “So, Euphoria, we kind of wanted to be alone.”
“Oh.” I sense her disappointment. “I thought maybe I could help.”
“I don’t think anything will help.” I groan, then taste the first delicious, wonderful sip of brew. “This might, though. It’s really good. Ethiopian Fancy, huh?”
Euphoria lights up, pleased. “You noticed! See? I’m sensitive. Let me listen.”
“Fine,” Becca says impatiently. She turns to me. “Fletcher called and told me that you won’t talk to him. Is that true?”
“Kind of,” I mumble, diving in for another gulp.
“And that he sang karaoke to try and get you to forgive him for whatever he did that pissed you off?”
“Thompson Twins. ‘Hold Me Now’. I had to leave.”
“Totally understandable.” She contemplates her coffee mug, swirls the ripple of cream around with her finger. “But, I guess what I want to know is…do you want to break up with him or what?”
Euphoria’s lights blink expectantly, which kind of irritates me. “I don’t know.” I pull my legs up under me and cradle the hot cup of coffee, peering into it as if it were a Magic 8-Ball that might tell me what to do. There’s nothing in there but coffee and a gnat that is really, really hyper. “He didn’t do anything, that’s what’s crazy. I just keep feeling like I want to pick a fight with him. I want to just run away whenever he wants to talk about anything important.”
Becca nods knowingly. “It’s just too much right now, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
Euphoria pipes up. “But when you first started going out with him, your heart rate and respiration were very high, and I noticed a lot of endorphins circulating, which seems to indicate—”
“Thanks, Euphoria,” Becca says, jumping off the swing and hooking her cup onto Euphoria’s claw. “Could you warm that up for me?”
Euphoria’s lights blink. “I suppose. It’s still pretty hot, though….”
“Thanks.” Becca helps rotate Euphoria and points her toward the front door. Euphoria might not be intuitive, but she doesn’t need a brick wall to fall on her. She takes off.
“Now.” Becca sits, a little too gleefully, next to me. “You’re just not ready for a big commitment. What’s wrong with that? You two are just in different places. Right? And that’s not to say that you can’t date again later. Maybe just take a break.”
“Yeah. That’s true. I could just take a break.” The more I repeat it in my head, the better it sounds. We won’t break up, we’ll just take a break. A vacation. An all-expense paid trip to solitude. “Why is this so important to you?”
Becca’s eyes get wide, and she sighs heavily, then drops the cheery cheerleader face. “Okay. To be honest, I have selfish motives.”
“Really?” I sip my coffee, trying to avoid the cranked-up gnat. “I would never have guessed.”
“Yeah, okay. Be sarcastic. But I hate feeling like I’m losing you to a boyfriend, not after all the stuff we did last year. And, Shelby, I can’t do any of it without you. That’s the truth.” She looks down at her shoes, the bright pink tennies, and licks her lips. “I know you like Fletcher, maybe even love him. But you haven’t been happy, and I doubt that he’s been happy either. So, why don’t you just take a break and go back to how it was before?”
What she says makes sense, and I feel this tremendous sense of relief. Just going back to nothing would kind of be better, really. I know it will be tough for Fletcher, but for me, I think it will be a lot easier. “Yeah,” I say to her, smiling. “I think a break is in order. Not a breakup. Just a break.”
She smiles gently and pats my shoulder. For the first time since the summer, it feels like the old Queen Geeks are back in action. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you! I got another poem.”
“Fro
m Wonder Rabbit?”
“Yeah.” She sighs contentedly. “See, that’s the perfect boyfriend. Somebody you don’t know who worships you from afar.”
We spend most of the rest of Sunday talking about GeekFest and about our upcoming meeting. My phone keeps buzzing, and Euphoria comes in about every two hours and says Fletcher’s on the phone, and every time I get this little kick in my stomach. But Becca puts a hand on my shoulder, smiles knowingly, and I just tell Euphoria to take another message.
At school the next week, Becca and I implement our new plan, Operation Disappear. Of course, we tell Amber and Elisa, and swear Amber to absolute secrecy since she’s still overtaken by the hormones of the dark side. We change all of our meeting places, we bring our own lunches so we can avoid the cafeteria, we even wear our hair in different ways (and, in Elisa’s case, inside a Sherlock Holmes hunting hat) to escape notice. Since Fletcher and I have no classes in common, it’s relatively easy to avoid him; I just dodge into the girl’s bathroom until right before the bell rings, and then dash to class. There are a couple of close calls, but he hardly even gets near me.
I feel a little bad about being so immature about it, but I also have a blast because it’s just me and the girls again. We giggle like we’re ten and sneaking into the movies when we hide in the bathroom in between classes. On Friday morning before school, Elisa brings in funky hats for all of us; we meet in the girl’s P.E. bathroom to go undercover.
“Amber, you get to wear the fairy princess hat with the skull-and-crossbones stars,” Elisa says, fixing the shimmery headpiece into Amber’s long, dark hair. “And, Becca, to accommodate all your little spikes, I’m giving you this hair net, complete with fat rollers dangling off the ends.” She snugs the cap over Becca’s head, and we all have fun trying to force her little hair spikes to poke out through the mesh. “And finally, for Shelby, I have the ultimate in boy-dodging apparel: a rasta hat with long dreadlocks.” She pulls out a red, yellow, and green knit cap that’s attached to realistic-looking polyester dreads. She pulls it down over my ears, and with the help of a makeup compact, I can see that I truly look like Ziggy Marley from the back, especially if I wear some baggy clothes. “He’ll never know it’s you!”
“Won’t people be talking about this, and then won’t Fletcher find out what she looks like?” Amber asks, yanking the fairy crown from her head. “This is so silly, you guys. Why don’t you just talk to him?”
Becca answers. “Shelby wants a break, and she doesn’t want to make a scene. I’m sure she’ll talk to him. Later.” Amber purses her lips disapprovingly at our lack of maturity. “What are you wearing, Elisa?”
Elisa grins, and pulls out a waist-length black wig and Hollywood sunglasses. “Probably as close as I’ll ever get to being Cher. Thank God.”
Friday is meeting day, of course, and I go through the morning feeling giddy about what we’re going to do. We have great plans about GeekFest, and we started a MySpace page for the club, and things just seem to be all sorted out again. I practically skip to Ms. McLachlan’s room, my rasta dreadlocks swinging along behind me. Never mind that Fletcher’s voice keeps echoing in the back of mind.
The room is packed full of girls, and they are all chatting excitedly. Becca and her glorious hair net are already there, Elisa stands sort of primping near the door in her movie star getup, and Amber is in the back of the room, minus her fairy hat. Becca claps her hands and welcomes the thirty or so girls as Elisa closes the classroom door. “Welcome to meeting two of the Queen Geek Social Club,” she says. “It’s such a rush to see all you guys here to help with our projects. First of all, I want to welcome any newcomers. We do have a website, and if you could talk to Elisa, our resident movie star over there, she’ll get your name on our mailing list. Now—” The door opens slowly, and Becca says, “Come on in, we just got started.”
I’m reading a flier about GeekFest, so I don’t notice why everyone suddenly shuts up. I look up, and Fletcher is standing in the doorway, with Jon in tow. “Hi.” He waves to everyone, very chipper. I feel like someone has punched me in the gut.
Becca cocks her head at him. “Hi. We’re having a meeting, so if you don’t mind…”
“Nope. I don’t mind.” He plops down on the floor and tucks his legs up under him. Jon does the same.
“Uh…okay. Let me be more direct. Could you please leave?” A low hum of whispers starts to fill the room. Most of the girls don’t know what’s going on, but of course, they will know within about three seconds. Gossip travels fast.
“Why should we leave?” Fletcher asks nonchalantly.
“This is a meeting of the Queen Geek Social Club,” Becca says evenly. “Members only.”
“Well, Jon and I want to join.” Fletcher smiles maddeningly.
Becca looks as if her head will explode. “Dammit, you can’t join. You’re not girls!”
Amitha Bargout taps Fletcher on the shoulder. “Maybe you should start your own club.”
“I really want to join,” he says. “I want to be part of this amazing undertaking. I hear you’re going to change the world.”
Now the chatter is full blown, and I feel my face turning an unpleasant shade of red. I rip off the rasta hat and throw it at Fletcher. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you won’t talk to me,” he answers defiantly.
“If I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t have to.”
“No, but you also can’t keep me out of your club. Check out your club charter.”
Becca, who seems poised to let loose a stream of nastiness on the boys, stops before she even utters a word. “What…did…you…say?” she whispers venomously.
Fletcher stands up and dusts off his pants. “I said, your school wide club charter states that a school club cannot discriminate against any potential members. Jon and I want to join.”
The place goes nuts. Girls stand up, faces contorted in various degrees of anger or amusement or puzzlement. “Fine, fine,” Becca says through clenched teeth. “Sit down, everybody.”
The boys return to their spots on the floor.
Glaring at them, Becca continues. “Obviously, we will get to the bottom of this, and we won’t let them derail what we want to do.” But I can tell that she’s a bit less excited, a bit less enthusiastic than she had been, and a bit less sure of herself. “So, let’s talk about committees. We’ll need someone to be in charge of lighting. Anyone in theater?”
Jon raises his hand, and so does Amber. Becca looks like she might spit on Jon, but instead, she nods toward the back of the room. “Amber. Thanks.” She jots the name on her clipboard so furiously that she breaks the lead in her mechanical pencil. “And next we need someone who can work on programs.”
“I can program!” Jon shouts.
“Programs for the show,” Elisa says harshly. “Geez, and you call yourself a genius?”
Claudette and Caroline raise their hands and volunteer for program duty. Other girls volunteer for stuff. This goes on for about ten minutes until all the committees are formed, and each time Becca announces a new one, Fletcher or Jon or both of them raise their hands and make a general nuisance of themselves. I want to punch them out. What did I ever seen in him? Other than his wit, charm, good looks, and sexiness?
The bell rings, ending lunch. “That’s all. See you next week,” Becca says as cheerfully as she can while in the midst of a murderous rage. As girls file out of the room, Fletcher and Jon stand up and start to leave too. Becca blocks their path. “Where are you going?”
“I thought you’d be thrilled for us to leave,” Fletcher says. He turns to me. “I know you aren’t speaking to me for some reason, but I care about you so much that I’ll come in here where I know I’ll get spit on and abused, and I’ll sit on that cold floor just to be near you!”
“The floor is carpeted,” Elisa notes.
Fletcher ignores her. “When you decide you’d like to have a real conversation, let me know.” Inside, I’m screaming, “Yes! I w
ant to!” but all I do is stare at my shoes.
Becca gets in his face. “She doesn’t want to talk to you or she would. Maybe you should leave her alone. Or should I report you for stalking?”
“Good one. Are you her personal bodyguard?”
“I could be.”
Amber has rushed to the front of the room and nervously inserts herself between Becca and Fletcher. “Now, listen. If you guys get in a fight, the club will fold, and you’ll both get suspended. That’s stupid.” She glances at me. “Shelby, could you tell them?”
In my head, I have lots of great, snippy comments as well as a bunch of sappy apologies and even a few panicky crying jags, all waiting to emerge. So, to keep all of them corralled, I say, “Just go.”
Fletcher looks at me, gives me a little crooked half-smile, and his eyes soften as he says, “Okay. But we do need to talk. When you’re ready.” He turns to go.
“So, you’re not going to press this club thing?” Becca asks.
“Oh, no, I’m still joining your club,” he answers. “I don’t walk away from anything this good.” He waves at me, then he and Jon dodge into the churning sea of teenagers.
“Let’s go to class,” Amber suggests, tugging at my arm as an English class files in. Elisa and Becca follow behind, silent.
When we get to the place where we all part ways and Becca and I go to our hellish P.E. class, it’s an unspoken agreement that we will get together after school. “My house?” I ask. Everyone nods.
“Meet at the theater instead of the Rock,” Amber says as she turns toward the math building. “We can go the back way.”
Becca seems as stunned as I am. Her eyes are round saucers, and she walks like someone in shock. I expect I look the same. As we change in the girl’s locker room, she turns to me and says, “You know this is war, right?”
“Why?”
“Why?” She slams the door a little too hard, and a few other girls glance over to see if there’s a catfight imminent. “Because he’s going to go to the student senate or the principal and complain if we try to keep him out of the club. And they will shut us down.”
