by Coco Simon
I kept looking at her, not sure if I could really trust my own sister.
“Come on,” she said in an encouraging tone. “I owe it to you. Let me try.”
“Okay . . . ,” I finally agreed. “But in the morning. I can’t do it again tonight. I have too much other stuff to do.”
“Fine. We’ll get up early and do it, okay?”
I nodded, still waiting for this to turn into some sort of prank.
Dylan got up and headed for the door, then turned around. “And Alexis?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
Wow. An apology from Dylan, and I didn’t even have to ask for it!
“For which part?” I asked.
“Everything.” And she closed the door.
I sat down and sighed loudly, part of me wondering if I had just imagined the past five minutes. Dylan had really turned around! I started to finish entering the new data and notes on some new techniques, like hair-flipping, arm-grabbing, and lunch-inviting—not that any of them were my style.
I chewed on my pen cap as I asked myself the question Dylan had just asked. What did I want? What was my goal with Matt? Was it that I wanted him to just notice me? He already had. But wanting him to like me back seemed major, and maybe too big of a goal. Like more than I really wanted. I think.
My parents always tell us, when we have a big project due, to break it into smaller, more manageable chunks or goals. So if my big project is for Matt to fall madly in like with me, what would a smaller chunk be?
Chew, chew, chew. I looked at my pen cap. It was totally mangled. I twirled it around, and it looked like it was dancing. And then the answer came to me.
A dance. One wonderful, dreamy dance with Matt. Then he’d see how graceful and talented I was, and I’d have the chance to really charm him.
I smiled just picturing it, like a scene out of a Disney movie: Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Enchanted. One dance with the prince, and the rest is history. That was my goal.
Relieved to now have an actual goal, I put the notebook away, then did a huge e-blast to all of the Cupcake Club’s previous clients, advertising our new flavors (s’mores being one of them), wrote out forty vocabulary flash cards, did a math crossword puzzle, reorganized my planner, and cleaned up my room.
Later that night, when I went to brush my teeth, I nearly tripped over a pile of teen magazines that Dylan had left outside my door. “Get Him to Notice YOU!,” “7 Days to a Brand-New You!,” “Flirty Tips & Tricks to Wow Him!” the headlines screamed. Well, I certainly had my work cut out for me.
The next morning Dylan gave me a crash course in flirtation and a real makeover. I think even my parents were happy that we were doing something together and not bickering. It was like when we were little and we used to play Barbie dolls together for hours. My Barbie would run the clothing store and Dylan’s Barbie would come in to shop. My Barbie would bargain and haggle and put stuff on sale, and her Barbie would try everything on and leave it in a pile on the dressing room floor.
First Dylan and I looked through the magazines together to find a good new look for me. She talked about what I had heard her discussing with Meredith and Skylar, about pretty colors (no black, gray, or brown), touchable fabrics (fuzzy, floaty, silky, smooth), and patterns (floral is good; plaid, not so much). She went through my closet and also brought out some of her own(!) clothes to put together five new school outfits for me—complete with shoes and accessories!
I have to say, she was really getting into it, and she was being a big help. I think she liked that I was agreeing with everything she said.
Next Dylan made me shave my legs, which was gross and hard and took forever (I cut myself twice), but the result was pretty dramatic. She gave me a mud mask for my face and a quick manicure/pedicure (just clear nail polish because, she said knowledgably, boys don’t like colored or fussy nails). Then she had me wash my hair and deep condition it, and she set it in hot rollers we borrowed from our mother. They were heavy and felt like they were pulling out my hair, but when she took them out, my hair fell in soft waves, like a Disney princess!
Finally she taught me how to put on makeup. “The point,” explained Dylan, “is that no one should notice you are wearing makeup. You should look like yourself, only better.”
Dylan gave me a tiny hint of pink blush to perk up my face and make me look healthy. (According to Dylan, boys respond to healthy looks. It has to do with the evolution of the species.) Then she gave me a cinnamon-and-ginger-laced pale pink lipstick with what she called “blue undertones” to make my lips plump up and my teeth look even whiter. Finally, she drew the faintest lines with brown eyeliner at only the outer corners of my eyes, and then she curled my eyelashes and lengthened them with a little brown mascara. When she turned me around to face the mirror . . . I loved what I saw! I looked great!
“Wow! Thanks!” I exclaimed. It was me, just a better-looking me!
Dylan smiled proudly at me, her handiwork.
“Now let’s talk flirtation,” she said. “There are two ways to get guys,” she said, holding up two fingers. “You can be a normal girl or a supergirlie girl. The supergirlie girl technique tends to work well on younger guys and dumber guys; guys who don’t really understand girls and are too shy to pursue them. The normal girl technique attracts the better guys, but it takes longer. Like sometimes years longer. Do you follow me?”
“Um . . .” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Do you mind if we go in my room, so I can write all this down in my notebook?”
Dylan laughed. “Fine, whatever,” she said.
I made her wait outside while I took the book out of the drawer. “Okay!” I called, and she came in and continued her lecture. I scribbled madly, happy to have specific directions to follow.
From what Dylan was telling me, it seemed that Sydney and Callie go with the supergirlie girl technique, and I prefer the normal girl way.
The supergirlie girl approach meant you had to be aggressive, giggly, loud, super touchy-feely, overdressed, made-up, and perfumed, and you always traveled in pairs, never alone. Supergirlie girls often act grossed out or incompetent to try to get help from boys, and this would in turn make the boys feel good about themselves. However, the supergirlie girl way could backfire because it makes girls appear so different from boys, and some boys could get scared off. But it often worked because boys are so shy and clueless, especially when they’re younger, that the girls just go after them and grab them, and the boys never see it coming. They think girls are supposed to be like that, and they’re just happy to not have to do the work of asking girls out and stuff. The supergirlie girl approach was based on the idea that boys and girls are totally different and foreign creatures to each other, and girls had to do a lot of planning to get what they wanted.
Whew! I was so glad that Dylan explained all this to me. I never would have known. And I was beginning to think that there might be a perfect recipe for finding love after all.
The normal girl technique was more subtle. You dressed pretty but not overly fancy (you could still ride a bike or play catch in whatever you’re wearing), and you might wear a little makeup, but never so the boys could notice it or, God forbid, see you putting it on. You are chatty and fun but not silly or giggly, and you are friendly but not aggressive. You don’t travel in big packs and you try to be friends with a boy first. Some boys might be too clueless to realize when a normal girl likes them—that’s the bad part—but in the long run, Dylan assured me, you attract better boys with this approach. Most important, the normal girl approach reminded you that boys are not that different from girls. They are people with feelings who are often shy and they just need to be treated with the same consideration you’d give a friend.
“I think I’d rather be a normal girl,” I told Dylan.
“Good,” Dylan said. “Slow and steady wins the race.”
My hand ached after copying all of this down. I couldn’t wait to put everything I lear
ned into practice. I only wished I could discuss it all with my best friends.
“Thank you, Dylan,” I said. “This is so helpful.”
Dylan smiled, looking a little weary after sharing everything she knew.
Just then the phone rang. Would you believe it was Emma, inviting me over? I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth fast enough. “Be right over!” I said, and hung up before I made the mistake of asking if Matt was going to be there. I was dying to, but slow and steady wins the race, I reminded myself. I might have to add that to my list of mottoes.
Dylan winked at me. “Go get him, tiger,” she said.
“So, I’ll let you know how it goes, in case he’s there?”
“Who?” Dylan asked.
What? “Dylan!” I cried.
“Kidding!” she said with a laugh.
“Thanks again,” I yelled as I ran down the stairs, hopped on my bike, and flew to the Taylors in record time.
CHAPTER 11
Slam Dunk!
Hey,” said Emma when I walked in. “You look nice.” She circled me and took in my outfit and hair and everything.
My stomach was all butterflies, and I glanced uneasily around the kitchen. “What’s up?” I asked. I wasn’t going to tell her about the makeover. Not now, anyway.
And then Emma flatly said, “He’s not here.”
“Who?” I asked, a little taken aback.
Emma made a face. “Lover boy,” she said, exasperated.
I blushed. “What?”
“I knew it!” shrieked Emma. “I was just testing you, but now I know for sure!”
“Know what?” I persisted.
Emma leaned in close. “I know you’re in love with Matt,” she whispered.
“Me? Matt? What?” I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.
Emma nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. “I figured it out yesterday when we saw him at the mall. You got all blushy and nervous and then I saw that kooky notebook on your desk—”
“You did?” I interrupted.
“Ha!” said Emma. “So you are.” It was a statement, not a question.
I sighed and looked down at my feet. “Yes. I’m sorry,” I mumbled. It felt good to finally admit it, although it felt really weird. I looked at her. “I just can’t help it!”
“It’s a little awkward,” she agreed. “And why Matt? I mean, Sam, maybe. He’s cute and girls seem to really like him. But Matt? Smelly sock Matt? Computer geek Matt?”
“Cute, funny, nice Matt,” I countered.
“Gross!” Emma exclaimed, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. After a moment she added, “Too bad Callie likes him too.”
“Oh!” I said. “I wasn’t sure if she liked him or Joe. I thought Sydney might like Matt.”
“I can’t believe you like my brother,” Emma said as she shook her head.
“Well, it’s not that surprising. I mean, you and I are good friends, and our moms are good friends. I guess the Taylors and the Beckers are just well-suited to each other!” Emma smiled. “I wonder if he likes you back?” Then she added in a mischievous tone, “Want me to find out?”
“No!” I screamed. “Please don’t ask him, Emma.” I was begging her, but part of me really did want to know.
“Well, at least he’ll be at Dylan’s party. Even if my mom has to drag him there,” said Emma.
“You don’t think he wants to go?” I asked, feeling a slight sting.
“No way! He and my mom had a big fight about it. Sam, of course, wants to go, because there’ll be all those cute girls there. Jake will go anyplace where there’s Mia or cupcakes, and both is even better. Matt is just . . . I don’t know. I think he might be kind of shy about girls.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. From what I’d seen, he seemed pretty comfortable with the attention he got from girls. “He doesn’t act that way.”
Emma thought for a minute. “Hmm . . . I think what I mean is that I don’t know if he’s mature enough to like girls, you know. The thing he’s really into is sports, especially basketball. So you could brush up on your dunking! That’s something to put in your notebook.”
The notebook! “Look, the notebook was just—”
“Pure Alexis,” Emma said, laughing. “Always taking the business approach. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about it. And I’m sorry for looking at it. I shouldn’t have, but I thought it was a math notebook!”
“Yes, you shouldn’t have,” I replied. But I couldn’t be mad at Emma. She was one of my best friends. Besides, I was happy we were talking about Matt!
“Let me see, what other ‘data’ can I give you?” Emma asked, looking upward and tapping her chin with one finger. “He loves cupcakes. And he’s really into computer graphics. Maybe you could call him up and ask him to help on a project for the Cupcake Club? And then pay him in cupcakes?”
“Oooh! Good idea,” I lied. As if I’d call him again.
Emma looked at me with a serious expression. “Can I ask you if you want him to be your boyfriend? I can’t imagine Matt being anyone’s boyfriend, but whatever.”
I hesitated. Should I tell Emma my goal? She was my friend, but she was also Matt’s sister. She looked at me expectantly. My goal was much easier to explain than any of my other feelings, so I took a deep breath and confessed, “I want to dance with him at Dylan’s party.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s it? It seems like a small thing, but it actually may be impossible to accomplish. I don’t think he dances.”
I hadn’t thought of that! “Well . . . ,” I said, not knowing how to respond.
Suddenly the back door opened. “Hello!” hollered Matt.
“Eek!” I squealed. I was totally caught off guard, even though I had been hoping he would show up.
Matt was all sweaty from practice and had on a hideous pair of ripped sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was sticking up every which way. But he still looked gorgeous to me.
He seemed surprised to see me. “Oh, hey, Alexis,” he said.
My heart leaped. He had said hi first! I couldn’t wait to log that data in the notebook!
“Got any cupcakes?” he asked.
I laughed nervously. “No. Not yet.” Should I ask him a question now? I didn’t know what to do or say. Thinking of Sydney, I flipped my hair from one side to the other. “Huh,” was all he said before heading for the fridge.
“Where’s Mom?” he asked Emma.
“At Jake’s practice,” Emma replied, then she winked at me. “Hey, Alexis and I were just going out to shoot some hoops. Want to come give us some pointers?”
I stared at her. What was she doing? I couldn’t believe what she had just suggested! I looked over at Matt, who was chugging a Gatorade. He turned and looked at us over the rim of the bottle. When he finished, he let out a really loud burp and grinned.
The burp was gross, and I wondered why he felt it was okay to do that in front of me. But then he said, “Sure,” and shrugged, and the next thing I knew I was playing H-O-R-S-E in the driveway with Matt Taylor, man of my dreams! I silently forgave him for burping and quickly got caught up in the game.
I have to say that I am decent at basketball. Not sure why, but maybe because it’s kind of like dancing to me. I don’t know. Anyway, we were having a pretty good time. I think Matt was even impressed by my skills. This was definitely the normal girl approach, and it seemed to be working.
After about fifteen minutes, Joe Fraser showed up, and he joined the game too. I was so happy! Emma and I challenged the boys to a two-on-two, but they insisted we split the teams, so Matt and I played Joe and Emma. It was awesome. We were winning, 8 to 2, when suddenly somebody called out, “Yoo-hoo!”
Sydney and Callie!
Emma and I looked at each other and frowned. I couldn’t tell if Matt and Joe were happy or annoyed. But the girls were definitely happy. They were super dressed up for a Sunday morning, in skin-tight jeans and tight sweaters with tiny down vests, and boots with high heels. T
heir hair was super-fluffy and they had on tons of makeup and perfume and dangly earrings. I wondered when Sydney had planned this little outing.
“Can we play?” asked Sydney in her high, flirty voice. Callie at least had the grace to look nervous.
Matt shrugged. “Okay.” He didn’t sound excited, but he didn’t sound mad, either. I think he was just being polite. Emma, on the other hand, was really mad. Her face was set like stone.
“I think we need to play H-O-R-S-E again,” said Matt.
“What’s that?” Callie said, giggling.
Matt explained the game, and he went first, tossing the ball in high over his left shoulder, facing away from the basket. It was an impressive shot.
Sydney clapped and whistled, and Matt grinned. Why hadn’t I thought to praise him like that? Then she stepped up to take the shot and threw it so badly that it just flew over her shoulder, landing nowhere near the basket.
“Whoops!” she said with a laugh, covering her mouth with a hand that showed off fresh scarlet nail polish. Sydney clearly didn’t care that she had missed. In fact, she probably missed on purpose.
Callie took the ball. She bounced it once or twice, then flipped it over her shoulder, but her sweater was so tight it made her lose control as the ball left her hand; it fell weakly to the ground and rolled away. “Oh dear! I stink!” Callie said, but it was clear she didn’t really care how badly she played either.
Now it was my turn. If ever I had wanted something in my life, this was it. I focused like a laser beam and took a deep breath, closing my eyes. Then I bent my knees like Matt had and lifted the ball in a gentle arc over my shoulder. Slow and steady wins the race, I told myself. I didn’t dare to look, but when I heard the ball thump the backboard and Matt yelling, my eyes flew open. Matt had both fists straight in the air. “Yes!” he cried. “You made it!” He stuck out his hand for a high five and I slapped it, laughing in giddy relief.
I stole a quick glance at Callie and Sydney and they were both standing there with their mouths open. Sydney started chewing on the end of a piece of her fluffy hair, probably wondering what she should do next. I had a new equation for my workbook:
