How to Be Popular

by Meg Cabot

  “Stuckey?” I was sure I hadn’t heard him right, what with all the birds and singing.

  “Yeah. He’d have bought her himself. Only he didn’t have any money.”

  “Stuckey likes Becca?” I asked. The choir burst into the “Hallelujah” chorus. Especially when I thought about how Stuckey had been talking about scrapbooking the whole way home from school in his car today. And that tour of Assembly Hall he’d offered to give Becca.

  “I guess,” Jason said. “How should I know?”

  “Well, wouldn’t he have told you?”

  Jason shot me a very sarcastic look. Ordinarily, when Jason does this, I shoot him a sarcastic look right back. This time, all I could think about was how I wanted to kiss his nose.

  “Guys don’t talk about that kind of thing with each other,” he informed me.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Besides,” Jason said, “you bought Mark Finley. Does that mean you’re in love with him?”

  “Obviously not,” I said. I didn’t think it was necessary to mention that Mark and I had kissed, just as Jason and Becca had. Also that I would much rather have been kissing Jason. “I mean, you saw me not letting him in just now, right?”

  “Well,” Jason said, “you could have fooled me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The chorus and birds shut up abruptly.

  “Just that for someone who claims not to have been in love with a guy, you gave an awfully good imitation of it.”

  I thought about that. It was a fair statement, actually, under the circumstances. Mark’s gold-green eyes…his deep voice…the way his butt looked in his jeans. These were all very compelling images.

  But that, I realized, suddenly, is all they were. Images. What did I know about Mark the person? Nothing. Nothing except what Jason had said…that he was a mindless clone who just did whatever his girlfriend—or anyone, it seemed—told him to. He was so dumb, he didn’t even know Lauren was the one who’d written me that note. He actually believed her when she told him she liked me. He couldn’t see that his own girlfriend was the hugest phony in the whole world.

  And the truth was, he was a bit of a phony himself. I mean, kissing me, then telling me he’d done it because he couldn’t resist my cute niceness? When really he’d done it to get me to open the door.

  So why had I ever thought I liked him?

  I knew why. I knew perfectly well why, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  Because he was popular.

  But that was before, I told myself. Before I knew what being popular really meant. At least at Bloomville High School.

  And that was not being yourself.

  “Haven’t you ever thought you might be in love with someone,” I asked Jason, “then figured out you were wrong?”

  “No,” Jason said shortly.

  “Ever? What about Kirsten?”

  “I don’t love Kirsten,” Jason said, looking down at his shoes and not at me.

  “Come on. Not even a little? Are you saying all those haikus in her honor were just for fun?”

  “Exactly,” Jason said, leaning forward to scrub ineffectively at one of the unicorns with his thumb. “Look, we’d better go. The wedding’s tomorrow, remember. We gotta get up early to get ready for it.”

  But I put out a hand to stop him before he could get all the way up.

  “Seriously,” I said, craning my neck to look up at him. “Are you saying you’ve never been in love? With anybody?”

  Jason sank back against the wall with a sigh.

  Then, still not looking at me, he said, “Remember in the fifth grade when I kept pinching you, and stuff, and you said your grandpa said I was doing it because I was a little bit in love with you?”

  “Do I,” I said with a laugh. “You didn’t talk to me for like a year after that. Until after the Super Big Gulp thing.”

  “That’s because your grandpa was wrong.”

  “Um, that was fairly obvious, given the whole silent treatment.”

  “I wasn’t a little bit in love with you,” Jason said, finally looking at me. And his eyes, I noticed, for the first time that night, were the same color blue as Sirius, the dog star. “I was a lot in love with you. And I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t.”

  I could barely hear him on account of the choir and the birds starting up again inside my head. It was like Handel’s Messiah and a trip to Six Flags Wild Safari all rolled into one.

  “Wait,” I heard myself—barely—say. “Did you just say—”

  And a million crazy thoughts flooded my head. I remembered that day in fifth grade, when I’d said the thing about him being a little bit in love with me, and how red his face had gotten—on account of rage, I’d thought then. I remembered his ignoring me, and how lonely and miserable I’d been during that time—right up until the day I spilled that stupid drink on Lauren, and Lauren and all of her friends invented the Don’t Pull a Steph thing and wouldn’t sit by me in the cafeteria, and made fun of anyone who did. So no one did.

  No one except Jason, who put his tray down next to mine and started telling me about an episode of The Simpsons he’d seen the night before, as if there’d never been a rift between us in the first place, and as if people in the hallways didn’t accuse him of Pulling a Steph.

  But he didn’t care.

  I remembered all those nights on The Wall, making each other laugh until I thought I’d wet my pants (again), mocking the popular crowd, and eating Blizzerds. And those nights on The Hill, lying in the cool green grass, gazing up at the massive night sky, Jason pointing out constellations and musing about the possibility of life on other planets, and wondering what we’d do if one of those meteors turned out to be an alien spacecraft and landed right next to us.

  And I thought about how many nights I’d said good night to him, after spending the entire day together at the lake or the movies, and then gone inside my house, only to sit in the dark and watch him in his room, as if I just couldn’t get enough. Of Jason.

  Jason. Jason.

  God. I must be the stupidest girl on the entire planet.

  “Did you really just say you’re in love with me?” I asked him, just to be sure. Because I was afraid it had all been a dream and that I was going to wake up all alone in my room.

  Jason closed his mouth. Then he opened it again and said, “Well. I guess I did.”

  And that’s when I kissed him.

  * * *

  “Avoid popularity if you would have peace.”

  —Abraham Lincoln

  * * *

  Thirty-two

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2

  He loves me.

  He loves me.

  He loves me.

  He says he always has. He says all that stuff he said before, about not believing in soul mates and how people shouldn’t fall in love in high school, was just to try to talk himself into not loving me so much, since he didn’t think I felt the same way about him. He had no idea that, just like he’s always loved me, I’ve always loved him.

  Even if I didn’t exactly realize it until a little while ago.

  Oh well. No one’s perfect.

  But it’s okay. I’ve totally made up for lost time. We’ve been kissing so much, in fact, my lips feel a little chapped. But in a good way.

  I’ve told him everything—and I do mean everything: about my thinking he got hot while he was in Europe (he claims he’s thought I was hot since the second grade); about my spying on him (He didn’t get mad. In fact, I think he was kind of flattered. Although he says he’s getting blinds tomorrow); about how jealous I was when I thought he loved Becca (“Becca?” he choked. “Oh, God!”); about how jealous I was when I thought he had a crush on Kirsten, to the point where the sight of her elbows actually sickened me (“Her elbows?” he echoed incredulously); I even told him about the time I wore his Batman underwear. And how I kind of liked it.

  I saved The Book for last. We had a good laugh over that one.

  “Wai
t,” Jason said. “Let me get this straight. You found some old book of my grandma’s, and you thought it was your ticket to popularity?”

  “Well,” I said. We were still sitting in the same spot where we’d first kissed. Only now my head was resting on his chest. It felt really good there, as if Jason’s chest had been made to fit the exact shape of my head. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  When I paraphrased some of the choice chapters, he laughed so hard my head started jiggling up and down, so I had to sit up.

  “You laugh,” I said. “But that book taught me a lot.”

  “Oh, right,” Jason said. “How to act like a big phony and drive all your friends insane.”

  “No,” I said. “How to be the best you that you can be.”

  “You already were the best you that you could be,” Jason said, pulling me back down against him. “You didn’t need any book to help you with that.”

  “I did,” I said to his shirt. “Because if it weren’t for the book, I’d never have tried to be popular, and if I’d never tried to be popular, I’d never have realized how I really feel about you.” And I’d never have discovered that I’m the girl Stuckey was saying Jason has always secretly been in love with.

  “Well,” Jason said, wrapping his arms around me more tightly than ever, “then we better take that book and get it bronzed.”

  He was joking, but I actually think he’s right. I owe everything to that book. Even if, ultimately, I didn’t actually get to be popular.

  I got something much, much better, instead.

  * * *

  “Whatever is popular is wrong.”

  —Oscar Wilde

  * * *

  Thirty-three

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 9 A.M.

  I woke up to the sound of someone yelling my name.

  When I lifted my head, I had no idea where I was. Also why my neck was so stiff.

  Then I rolled over and saw Jason, sleeping next to me.

  Then I sat up so fast, I actually caused my neck—stiff from sleeping on the industrial carpeting—to make a cracking sound.

  “Jason,” I said, poking him. “Jason, wake up. I think we’re in big trouble.”

  Because of course we’d stayed up so late talking—and kissing—we’d fallen asleep. In the observatory. On the floor of the observation deck, under the rotunda.

  I was so, so dead. Even though of course we hadn’t actually done anything. Besides kiss.

  But who was going to believe that?

  My grandpa, it turns out. When he came in a second later, took one look at us, and called back over his shoulder, “It’s all right, Margaret. They’re in here.”

  The next thing Jason and I knew, my mom and Grandpa were standing over us, all yelling at the same time.

  “How could you?” my mom was shrieking at me. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? Why didn’t you call? And Jason—your father’s been checking hospital emergency rooms all over Indiana all night long. He thought you’d been in an accident!”

  “You really ought to have telephoned,” Grandpa said. “What in the Sam Hill are you two doing here?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious what they were doing here, Dad,” Mom said bitterly. Which was totally unfair, considering we both still had all our clothes on.

  “We just fell asleep,” Jason said. “Honest. We were talking, and—”

  “But why didn’t you call?” Mom wanted to know. “Do you have any idea how out of our minds with worry we’ve been?”

  “We just forgot,” I said. I did feel horrendously guilty. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to call.

  But I couldn’t very well sit there and go, We were just way too busy making out to think about calling home, Mom.

  “Well, you, young lady, are grounded,” my mom announced, pulling me to my feet with surprising strength for a woman so far advanced in her pregnancy. “Maybe that will teach you not to forget to call.”

  “Your parents are going to be very disappointed in you, son,” was all Grandpa had to say to Jason, who never gets punished for anything. His parents just get disappointed in him. “Your poor grandmother’s been up all night, and today is her wedding day!”

  Grandpa and Kitty’s wedding! I’d totally forgotten!

  “Oh, Gramps,” I said. “I’m so sorry. We just didn’t check the time.”

  “But what were you doing here?” my mom wanted to know.

  I sucked in my breath, prepared to confess all. Well, not the making out all night with Jason part. But the part about Mark Finley and the rager. Because, as long as I’d come clean with Jason, I figured I’d better come clean with everybody else, too.

  But before I got the chance to, Jason stepped forward and said, “We were just looking at the stars. And I guess we fell asleep.”

  “The stars?” My mom looked totally confused. Then she seemed to remember we were standing in an observatory. “Oh. Well.”

  “See, Margaret?” Grandpa said. “I told you. They’re fine. They were just looking at the stars. And they fell asleep. No harm done.” Then, to my surprise, Grandpa put an arm around Mom’s shoulders.

  What was even more surprising was that she actually let him.

  “I told you this observatory was a good idea,” Grandpa said. “Give the kids in this town something to do at night, instead of getting into trouble.”

  Jason and I exchanged glances. Grandpa had no idea how close his observatory had come to getting a LOT of kids in this town into trouble.

  My mom shook her head, then lifted trembling fingers to her temples. “God, I wish I could have a drink,” she said to her belly.

  “Well, maybe at the wedding reception, someone’ll slip you a glass of champagne,” Gramps said, giving her a squeeze.

  This was even more shocking than the fact that she was letting him hug her. Mom was coming to his wedding after all? They were on speaking terms again? When had this happened?

  “Oh, Dad,” Mom said. She threw him an aggravated look.

  But underneath the aggravation, I saw a hint—just a hint—of affection.

  Then the next second, the look was gone, and she was glaring. At me.

  “Well, come on, young lady,” she said. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”

  “Okay,” I said, throwing Grandpa a perplexed look. What was going on? How had he gotten back on Mom’s good side?

  Grandpa saw my look. I know he did.

  But he just winked, then put his arm around Jason.

  “Hey, kid,” I heard him say as he and Jason followed us out of the building. “Ever ride in a Rolls before?”

  * * *

  “Avoid popularity; it has many snares, and no real benefit.”

  —William Penn

  * * *

  Thirty-four

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 6 P.M.

  The wedding was beautiful. The rain cooled things off, so it was actually pleasant to be outdoors for a change. The sun shined in a cloudless blue sky—the same color as Jason’s (and Kitty’s) eyes—making it one of those glorious late summer, early autumn days that’s just perfect for apple-picking or boating on the lake.

  Or getting married next to one.

  The bride certainly didn’t look like a woman who’d been up all night, worrying over the whereabouts of her grandson. She glowed in a beaded ivory evening dress, looking elegant and yet relaxed at the same time. Grandpa, seeing her in her wedding finery, actually got a little misty-eyed.

  He told me later it was because he’d got something in his eye. But I know the truth.

  Just like he knows the truth about what Jason and I were really doing in the observatory. Well, not the part about the rager. But the part about not looking at the stars.

  But that’s okay. Everything else went great. Mom and Dad—to everyone’s surprise but Grandpa’s—did show up, with Sara in tow. Kitty was so happy to see them, she started to cry. Then my mom, seeing that Kitty was crying, started crying, too. Then the two of them hugged
, crying, which caused Sara to cry, because no one was paying any attention to her.

  Meanwhile, Robbie didn’t lose the rings, and Jason looked so incredibly handsome in his tux, I thought I was going to cry. Although that might have been due to lack of sleep.

  I even avoided a falling-out with Becca over the guy she had a crush on turning out to be MY One instead of hers. That’s because Becca had her new One at her side to keep her occupied. The Stuckeys and the Taylors weren’t even assigned to the same tables, but Becca had obviously done a little bit of pre-reception switching of the place cards, since when I walked into the dining room, there she and John were, smooching over the salad course.

  I walked right up to them and went, “Excuse me. Becca, can I have a word?”

  She followed me, blushing, over to the champagne fountain.

  “It’s not what you think,” she said to me right away.

  “How do you even know what I’m thinking?” I asked. Because the truth was, that what I was thinking was “How am I going to explain to her about Jason and me?”

  “I’m not on the rebound,” Becca said. “I feel totally different about John than I did about Jason. And not just because John actually likes me back. This is it, Steph. This is the real thing.”

  “I wasn’t going to accuse you of being on the rebound,” I said. “I was just going to say I’m happy for you.”

  “Oh.” Then Becca beamed at me. “Well, thanks. I just wish you could meet Your One, too. Hey…I know you’re going to think this sounds crazy, but have you ever thought of asking Jason out?”

  I just stared at her.

  “I’m serious,” Becca said. “Because I think he likes you. The other night—well, I didn’t tell you this, because it’s sort of embarrassing. But after he bid on me—you know, at the auction—I went over to his place and I sort of…well, I told him I liked him. Don’t laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing,” I said.

  “Thanks. Anyway, that was before I figured out that I really love Stuckey. But, anyway, Jason said he was sorry, but that he didn’t feel the same way about me. And I asked him if it was because of the whole not-believing-in-soul-mates thing, and he said he’d actually lied when he’d said that. He told me he thought he’d found his soul mate already, but that he didn’t think she liked him back, because she’s in love with a popular boy…and, well, call me crazy, but I couldn’t help wondering if maybe Jason was thinking about you.”