by Meg Cabot
* * *
Popularity can be compared to a house.
It has walls, a strong foundation, and many different rooms.
The more deeply the foundation is sunk, the stronger the walls are, and the more rooms that can be added on.
This is why, just like there’s no such thing as a house with too many rooms, there is no such thing as having too many friends.
* * *
Twenty-two
STILL DAY FOUR OF POPULARITY
THURSDAY, AUGUST 31, 10 P.M.
I was happy for Becca. I really was. I mean, I think it’s great Jason bought her. I really do.
I just don’t think he had to make quite THAT big a production out of it. I mean, he basically wasted a hundred and forty-eight dollars, since he could have had her for twenty.
But whatever. I think it’s sweet. I do.
But not as sweet as what happened next.
And that’s that Mr. Schneck—after Becca had left the dais, looking all flushed and happy (and I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know why: She was thinking that if Jason was willing to spend that much money on her, she MUST be the girl Stuckey suspected Jason secretly liked. She was going to be IMPOSSIBLE to deal with after this. I don’t know what Jason was thinking. I really don’t)—cleared his throat into the microphone and said, “And now, all you Bloomville Fishes, the moment I know you’ve been waiting for—next up for auctioning off, the spokesperson talents of senior class president, team captain and quarterback, last year’s Most Valuable Player, and all-around great guy, MARK FINLEY!”
The screams and applause followed by this statement nearly brought the steel roof beams crashing down. Mark stood up, grinning bashfully, and turned to wave to the crowd as he made his way to the dais. Perhaps the loudest shrieking of all was coming from his girlfriend, Lauren, who could barely seem to keep her butt on her seat, she was bouncing up and down so excitedly.
When Mark reached the dais, he waved to the other side of the gym as well. Then he turned to face Mr. Schneck, who was saying, “All right, folks, simmer down, simmer down. We know you all love Mark. Now it’s time to see how much you REALLY love him. Mark has generously volunteered his time for use as an endorser of some lucky business…so let’s find out who that lucky business owner is. We’ll start the bidding at—”
Lauren’s paddle flew up.
And hers was not the only one.
Mr. Schneck paused and said, “Um, folks, I haven’t even—”
“A hundred dollars!” Lauren shrieked.
She was, I knew, just trying to imitate the sensation Jason had caused, offering such an outlandish sum he figured no one was going to outbid.
Too bad for her about ten other people had the same idea.
“A hundred and twenty!” a man I recognized as the owner of the Penguin cried.
“A hundred and forty!” shouted Stan, the manager of Courthouse Square Diner.
“One hundred and sixty,” Lauren shot back.
“One eighty,” Mayor Waicukowski, who owns an accounting firm in town—Waicukowksi and Associates: We’re more. More than just an accounting firm (although no one seems to know what that means)—shouted, waving his Day Mortuary fan.
“Two hundred,” Lauren shrieked.
Mark, on the dais, continued to look abashed—although he seemed to be enjoying himself, at the same time.
“Two twenty,” Mayor Waicukowski called down from his seat by Dr. Greer.
Lauren, clearly tired of this, stood up, opened her purse, took out her checkbook, and read off the total amount in the account:
“Five hundred thirty-two dollars and seventeen cents.”
Then she sat back down, looking satisfied by all the gasps the number had caused…and by the pleased grin on Mark’s face.
I was sorry to have to ruin this touching moment for them. But, after all, I’ve got a business to run as well.
“A thousand dollars,” I said, standing up.
The number of gasps for the number I’d just given, versus the number of gasps for Lauren’s number, rose exponentially.
“I beg your pardon, Stephanie?” Even Mr. Schneck looked shocked. “Did you just say a thousand dollars?”
“That’s right,” I said calmly. “Courthouse Square Books bids a thousand dollars on Mark Finley.”
Now all eyes were on me, instead of on Mark…including Mark’s. His expression was a combination of confusion and happiness mixed together—happiness over the fact that someone was paying so much for his services, I suppose, and confusion over the fact that it was me, and not his girlfriend, who was doing the buying.
“The little lady in the front bids a thousand dollars,” Mr. Schneck said, picking up his gavel. “Do I hear a thousand twenty? Anyone? Going for a thousand, then.”
Lauren was on her cell phone, desperately trying to reach her father. She was, I couldn’t help noticing, given that I was standing right next to her, practically crying.
“But, Daddy,” she said. “You don’t understand—”
“Going once,” Mr. Schneck said.
“—it’s for a really good cause, and I’ll—”
“Going twice,” Mr. Schneck said.
“—never ask you for anything ever again, I swear, if you’ll just—”
“SOLD to Stephanie Landry of Courthouse Square Books,” Mr. Schneck cried.
And Lauren threw her cell phone across the gym so hard that when it hit the wall next to the exit, it exploded into a thousand little pieces.
* * *
There is no such thing as instant popularity.
No one ever became popular overnight. Popularity is something that must be earned by paying dues, just like in any social club.
So don’t make the mistake of acting as if you think you’re better than other popular people who have been at the game longer than you have. They’ve earned their popularity through hard work and commitment and deserve your respect.
Once you’ve earned your popularity, they will repay you in kind.
* * *
Twenty-three
ALMOST THE END OF DAY FOUR OF POPULARITY
THURSDAY, AUGUST 31, 11:30 P.M.
I seriously don’t get why everybody got so mad.
I bought Mark Finley—well, his services as a spokesperson for the store—fair and square, and that should be the end of it.
I don’t know why Stan from Courthouse Square Diner had to call my mother and tell her about it, so the first thing that happened as I walked through the door after the Taylors dropped me off was my mother screaming at me that I was the town laughingstock.
First of all, I am the one who is going to be laughing when we start counting all the money from the new business Mark’s image on our ads and flyers is going to bring in.
And second of all, Stan should mind his own business.
“He says you bought a boy in some auction,” my mom kept repeating. “How could you buy a boy, Stephanie? How could you?”
This is what comes from too much Law and Order and ice cream. I’m dead serious. It warps your mind.
Not even Lauren was that mad. Once she got over her initial shock, and all. She and Mark both came over to say congratulations to me.
“Your endorsement is really going to help bring business to the downtown area,” I said to Mark. You know, to make it clear I hadn’t bought him for ME, but for the STORE. “The opening of the Super Sav-Mart has really hit us hard.”
“Anything I can do to help,” Mark said, looking like he meant it.
And Lauren was like, “Oh, Steph, I had no idea your parents’ little store was in so much trouble. I’ll tell all my friends to shop there from now on.”
“Thanks,” I said.
And I swear, for like a minute, I thought to myself that Lauren Moffat might not be all that bad.
But I didn’t even really get to process that thought because Becca came up and was all over me wanting to analyze why Jason had bought her and what did I think it means a
nd should she call him (since he left right after Mr. Schneck declared me the winner of Mark).
I told her of course she should call him, and that nothing was different—he’d been her friend before the auction, and he was still her friend.
“But he must like me as more than just a friend to spend that much money just to make me not feel bad about no one but my dad bidding on me,” Becca said.
“Mark bid on you,” I reminded her.
“He just did that because you made him,” Becca said matter-of-factly. “No one made Jason do what he did. He must have done it because he thinks I’m The One. I’m going to call him as soon as I get home. Maybe I’ll even stop by and see him.”
I pointed out that it was after ten and that the Hollenbachs probably wouldn’t appreciate her stopping by so late on a school night. I swear, sometimes I think Becca must have been raised by wolves.
Anyway, Mark is going to come by the store tomorrow after school to pose for some publicity photos and maybe hand out flyers on the square or something.
It will be a perfect opportunity for him to finally get to know me as a person, outside the confines of school.
And the confines of his girlfriend.
Because I really do think, if he’d just take the time to get to know me—REALLY know me—Mark would realize how much nicer I am than Lauren…despite what my mom seems to believe, which is that boys like Mark are only interested in one thing, and now that I’ve bought him, he’s going to think I’m willing to give him that.
“You know that’s why he’s going out with that stuck-up Lauren Moffat,” Mom said. “One reason and one reason only: because she puts out.”
I almost started to cry, I thought this was so cute. Seriously, it reminded me of Kirsten’s question, “But aren’t the most popular people in your school the nicest ones?”
I don’t think there’ve ever been two people more out of touch with reality than Kirsten and my mom.
Because if I were going out with Mark Finley, I would totally put out, too. Even Father Chuck would understand that.
* * *
Cinderella didn’t wait for her prince.
One of the biggest mistakes girls can make concerning their romantic life is sitting around, waiting for their prince to find them, rather than getting out there and looking for him themselves.
Don’t forget, Cinderella actively pursued her prince by getting dressed up and going to the ball.
True, she had the help of a fairy godmother…but she dazzled Prince Charming all on her own.
So don’t wait for your prince to find you—get out there and show him what you’ve got.
* * *
Twenty-four
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 12 A.M.
I was just sitting on the bathroom counter, looking through Jason’s window with my Bazooka Joe binoculars, when all of a sudden I saw Becca—BECCA!—come into his room.
Dr. Hollenbach had to have let her in. He’s always got his head so high in the clouds, thinking about doctory things, that it would never occur to him not to send some girl who showed up at eleven thirty at night, looking for his son, straight up to Jason’s room.
I know Becca couldn’t have called first, because Jason was lying on his bed with no shirt on, writing something—a haiku for Kirsten, no doubt—when the door opened and in walked the last person in the world I would have expected to see walk through Jason’s bedroom door. Jason leaped up like he’d just realized his pants were on fire, and reached for a shirt (rats!).
Then Becca started talking, while Jason stood there looking like he couldn’t believe what was happening. After a while, he said something—I have no idea what…why didn’t I take lipreading instead of Spanish??? WHY????—and Becca sank down onto his bed, looking all depressed.
That’s when it happened. Jason sat down next to her and put his arm around her—
AND THEN THEY WERE KISSING!!!!
I have no idea who started it. I just saw their faces getting closer and closer, and then—
BAM!!!! They were smashing their lips up together.
And of course, as if that weren’t weird enough, Pete had to choose that very moment to come barging into the bathroom.
“What are you doing sitting here in the dark again?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing! God! Don’t you ever knock?” I whisper-screamed.
“Not when I don’t see a light under the door,” Pete said. Then, to my horror, he said, “Oh, wait, I know what you’re doing in here. You’re spying on Hawkface.”
“I am not!” I practically shrieked. Only I had to keep my voice down, so as not to wake up Mom and Dad. “And don’t call him that.”
“Why not? You do. And you are so spying on him. You’re holding binoculars. And you can see right into his bedroom from—Hey. Is that BECCA on his bed?”
“GET OUT!” I wanted to kill him.
“What’s Becca doing making out with Hawkface?”
“Nothing. They aren’t making out. See? They stopped.”
Pete and I stood there and watched while Jason—the back of his head to the window—said something to Becca, who seemed to nod. It was kind of hard to tell what was going on.
But I saw Becca get up off the bed and leave.
“Whoa,” Pete said. “Am I going to give HIM a hard time about this at the wedding.”
I reached over and pinched him, hard enough to make him yelp.
“You aren’t going to say ANYTHING to him about this,” I hissed. “Because he can never know we were doing this. Spying on him like this.”
“Why not?” Pete wanted to know. “You started it.”
“I wasn’t spying on him,” I insisted. “I was…meditating.”
“Sure,” Pete said. And turned toward the toilet. “Whatever you say, Crazytop.”
He screamed so loud when I pinched him for calling me Crazytop that he woke up Dad, who called sleepily from his bedroom, “What’s going on up there?”
“Nothing,” I called back sweetly. “Good night!”
I can’t believe it. Becca and Jason? I mean, I knew she had a crush on him, and all. But I had no idea he felt the same way about HER.
Although I guess I should have known, seeing as how he bought her tonight.
Still. Jason and Becca?
The world has gone completely insane.
* * *
Become irresistible to any man
How do you do this? It’s simple: by doing what you love.
It sounds crazy, but it’s absolutely true: If you do what you love—whether it’s painting, dancing, reading, or stamp collecting—you will be happy, and men, like the rest of society, can’t resist a happy person.
Don’t forget—boys can be shy, too!
And a happy, smiling girl is far easier to approach than a scowling or aloof one!
* * *
Twenty-five
STILL DAY FIVE OF POPULARITY
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 9 A.M.
She didn’t say a word about it in the car on the way to school. Not a single word.
I can’t believe she and Jason have a secret I don’t know about. That I’m not supposed to know about, I mean.
That has to mean something? The fact that she didn’t tell me about the kiss? I mean, the very fact that we were in her dad’s Cadillac again, instead of Jason’s BMW, had to mean something. If she and Jason were an item, wouldn’t he have offered to drive her to school this morning?
That has to mean it was just a pity kiss. Becca probably confessed her true feelings for Jason, and he told her his heart still belongs to Kirsten. Or he gave her the soul mate speech again.
That has to be why she isn’t saying anything.
Unless it means the OPPOSITE. What if it means that kiss was so special and sacred that Becca wants to keep it to herself—hug it to herself, like my secret about wearing Jason’s Batman underwear that one time?
And the reason she had her dad drive us to school, instead of Jason, is that the two of them a
re waiting for the right time to break it to me—the truth about their love affair, I mean.
The real question is, why do I even care? I don’t like Jason. In that way. Becca can have him. My God. I OWN MARK FINLEY FOR THE DAY.
I have got to chill.
Of course, the fact that Mark looked at me kind of funny when I was at my locker this morning hasn’t helped matters anyway. He was like, “Hi, Steph—what happened to your hair?”
Which is when I realized I forgot to blow it out this morning.
But seriously, there is only so much drama a girl can handle. I was still all freaked out about Jason and Becca. Is it any wonder I’d forgotten to blow-dry my hair and that it was curling all over the place?
Except of course I couldn’t say that to Mark. I couldn’t be like, “Oh, yeah, I’ve got Crazytop this morning because last night while I was spying on my neighbor I saw my two best friends making out with each other.”
So I just went, “Ha, yeah, trying out a new look.”
“Well,” Mark said. “It’s…interesting. So is it okay if I stop by the bookstore around six tonight? Because I’ve got practice after school.”
“Totally,” I said. “Perfect. See you then.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “Lunch. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Right!” I said. “Sorry. Lunch.”
“And, hey, listen…about last night.”
Last night? How did HE know about last night? Had he seen Becca and Jason making out, too?
“The auction,” Mark said, I guess because I’d looked a little confused.
“Oh, sure,” I said with a laugh. “The auction. Right!”
“Yeah. I heard we raised seven thousand dollars.”
“Seven thousand nine hundred and twenty-three,” I corrected him. Because that is how I am.
