“What’s that?” Jack asked.
I contemplated saying “Nothing,” but come on, it was a grocery sack. Even geeks don’t randomly carry around large paper bags for no reason.
“I brought food.”
The line of Jack’s jaw tightened and he tilted his chin, the start of his game face settled around his eyes.
Oh, no. Bringing lunch was a bad idea. I clutched the paper handles and racked my brain for a way to recover. I settled on, “Ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly?” I was doomed.
Jack’s face softened. He eyed the bag and then me. “Can I have both?”
Before I knew it, we were sitting in the first-floor stairwell, serious gauntlet-girl territory. With the way Jack tore through the sandwiches, I was glad I’d done the math at home. Even without Moni’s help: Teenage boy + athlete = a megaton of food.
By the third brownie, he graduated from inhaling food to chewing it (sort of). He paused long enough to speak. “Bethany.”
I loved the way he said my name. I was pondering the deliciousness of it when I realized the word held an edge to it. I pushed a lump of peanut butter past my throat and waited.
“I can afford to buy you a hamburger, you know,” he said. “Or a salad, whatever.”
“Cheeseburger?”
“Yeah, I can even swing a slice of cheese.” No smile, but some of the sharpness left his voice. “Look, I know you’re not the kind of girl who’d order surf and turf—”
“They have that at McDonald’s?”
“Big Mac and a Filet-O-Fish.” He seemed determined not to smile. “Thing is, if we’re going out—”
If we’re what? I set the sandwich down. If Jack was saying what I thought he was saying, I might have to save that PB&J, enshrine it with my Dr Pepper can, and treasure them both forever. “We’re going out?”
“That’s up to you.”
At some point I must have said, “Yes,” or “Okay,” or at the very least, I nodded. It was the only explanation for Jack’s quick, brownie-laced kiss, his wide grin, and my own somewhat hysterical laughter.
When he bit into another brownie, I calmed down. Some. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No. It’s cool. Really,” Jack said. “I mean, some girls wouldn’t get it.”
Some girls. Like those who specialized in expensive shoes?
I couldn’t say how long we sat there. Maybe five minutes. Maybe fifteen. I asked about his truck. Jack leaned forward, and his big shoe knocked the last brownie down the steps. He lurched after it—and ate it.
“Five-second rule,” he said.
Teenage boy + food = kind of gross.
But cute.
After launching into a monologue about carburetors, engines, and brake pads, Jack sat back. “Sorry,” he said. “I get carried away.”
I was about to say something about loving carburetors, although that would have sounded totally weird. Thank God the whoosh of the front doors cut off my reply. The rest of the varsity basketball squad returned from lunch, stomping snow from their shoes, their voices echoing in the lobby.
“I better—” Jack stood.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Next time,” he said, “we’ll talk books.”
Next time? Books? I wasn’t sure which to believe. “We don’t have to do that.”
“No, really. We could talk about…” He walked toward the locker room while he spoke. “I don’t know, Pride and Prejudice, maybe?”
Oh, of course. “I’m sure Wilker’s essay test has nothing to do with it.”
“Not a thing.” From his jacket pocket, he pulled my copy of the book. “See? I carry it with me everywhere I go.”
“I got the DVD for Christmas,” I said. “We should probably watch it,” and when I realized what I was suggesting, I rushed to explain. “You know, so we can do a compare and contrast for Wilker.” Which, of course, made me sound even more like a dork. Jack raised his eyebrows while I fought to keep from smacking my forehead.
“That’s not cheating?” he asked.
“Not if you read the book.”
“Yeah. That.”
When we got to the gym, Ryan Nelson and a few other senior boys were running through layups; basketballs thumped against the floor. Jack reached for one, then simultaneously slipped off his jacket and shot at the basket.
“Wow.”
He glanced back at me. “Lunch was…” He gave me that wide grin, the one that made him look like a little boy. “Great.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you.” He kissed me—quick—and Ryan shouted something that ended in “dawg.” Translating it was impossible with the feel of Jack’s kiss still on my lips. “I’ll call you tonight?” he said.
I blinked, unable to communicate by normal, human means. Jack laughed before turning to jog across the gym. Wait! How could he call? He didn’t have my number. “Jack!”
He skidded to a halt and spun.
“Do you, I mean, my—” I swear, my IQ dropped a hundred points every time I was near that boy. “My phone number,” I finally stammered.
That grin again. Jack didn’t say word. Instead he tapped his forehead with his index finger, once, twice, before scooping up a ball and shooting it from midcourt.
“Wow.”
I’d gone to my room that evening, determined to start on my homework. For the last half hour, I’d looked out my window and contemplated the dark street and the ghostly snow instead. Lunch. Jack. Way more interesting than the extra-credit history report I was supposed to be doing with Todd, “Dictators through the Ages.”
I couldn’t help noticing how quiet it was, both outside and in. I’d left Moni a voice mail and sent a detailed e-mail describing my “date” with Jack, but I still hadn’t heard from her. Nothing from Todd, either, not even a nudge about the report, or a reminder about Geek Night. I would’ve been glad to see spam in my in-box, and I almost e-mailed myself, just to see if the program still worked.
Saturday night was Geek Night. I weighed the pros and cons—again—about skipping. It was a standing tradition with the debate dorks, the chess team, the symphonic band, plus me and Moni. Video games, anime, trivia contests, and the occasional replay of Jeopardy! shows. It was how the brainy bunch bonded.
I missed those boys; I even missed Todd. Despite what he might think, I wasn’t avoiding him on purpose. I wasn’t avoiding Geek Night, either. Not really. Ever since Moni and I had started cheering, we hadn’t done much of anything that didn’t involve schoolwork or a referee. Maybe cheerleaders weren’t really so stuck-up; maybe they didn’t have time to talk to anyone.
I had just opened a book about Mussolini when the phone rang. My heart skipped a beat, and for a second, I hoped it was Jack on the other end, but I knew better. It was prime Moni-calling time. The hour when Moni’s dad and Monica bonded over creating bacon-wrapped sea scallops and saffron rice, and Moni retreated to the guest room until dinner. “About time you called.” My words came out in a huff.
“I said I would.”
Not Moni, not even Todd, although he usually IM’d me. No, it was Jack on the other end of the phone line. I groped for words and came up empty.
Jack laughed.
“I thought you were Moni,” I managed to say.
“So I figured.”
But then he grew quiet, and I wondered if we were destined for one of those awful phone calls that contained more silence and static than actual conversation.
“So,” Jack said. “What are you doing?”
I glanced at the book in front of me. I almost hated to admit it. “Homework.”
“That’s what I’m doing too.” A shrill whistle interrupted Jack, and he swore. “Sorry, I’m also listening to the radio. The T-wolves are playing.”
Instead of my throat clamping up, I relaxed. “Really?” I said. “They have basketball on the radio?”
“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most normal thing ever. “I can see the game in my head.”
<
br /> Even though I was really glad it was Jack on the line, I didn’t want to miss talking to Moni. I reached for my laptop and logged on to IM, thinking she might try to message me.
“That sounded lame,” said Jack.
What sounded lame? Had I managed to say something stupid without even knowing it? I wound back through the conversation. Oh. “Seeing the game in your head doesn’t sound lame at all,” I told him. “That’s how reading is for me. Kind of like watching a movie, but in your brain.”
My IM program flashed. QT_Pi (aka Moni) wanted to chat.
QT_Pi: Wassup? Phone. Busy.
Book_Grrl: I know.
QT_Pi: And? And?
Book_Grrl: And what?
Yeah. I was teasing her. On the phone, Jack said, “You wouldn’t want to help a dumb jock with his homework, would you?”
I laughed. “What’s the subject?”
“Pretty much all of them.”
QT_Pi: Tell. Me. NOW!
Book_Grrl: Phone = Jack.
Instead of typing actual words, Moni filled her entire message space with exclamation points, followed by one word: DEEETAILS. In all caps.
QT_Pi: OMG! *My* phone.
Book_Grrl: Who?
Nothing. I tried again.
Book_Grrl: Who?
QT_Pi: Rick, rick, rick, rick!!!1
Her IM icon went gray. So long, Moni. Hello, Jack. For a while, we discussed his Grammar and Comp class, which frustrated him. And trig, which frustrated us both. Math was always Moni’s subject, not mine.
“Oh, man,” he said as I heard the ref ’s whistle blow again. “T-wolves suck—and so do I. This stuff is too hard. College—what was I thinking?”
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
“U of M, but I have to get a scholarship first.”
“Basketball, right?”
“I’m hoping,” he said.
“You’ll look good in maroon and gold.”
“It’s not a sure thing.”
Wasn’t it? “Okay, so I don’t know a lot about basketball,” I said, “but I know talent when I see it. You have talent, Jack Paulson. Any Big Ten school would want you.”
“They’d want you, too, along with Harvard, Yale…all the rest.”
“Right,” I said. “That’s Todd’s thing.”
With the mention of Todd, Jack went so quiet that I could hear the game’s play-by-play in the background. I’d learned enough about basketball to know the T-wolves really were sucking—and so was our conversation.
“What?” I asked.
“He’s—” Jack paused. “Really smart.”
“So?” But I got it. Hard to believe the Jack Paulson might be jealous of Todd Emerson, dork extraordinaire. “You’re smart too,” I said.
“Not like…that. Not like…you.”
“There’s different kinds of smart,” I said. “There’s smart in your head and then there’s—” Smart in your heart, I wanted to say, but just thinking it made me blush.
“There’s…?” Jack prompted.
“There’s, uh—” I scrambled to come up with something that didn’t make me sound like I was doing a commercial for Lifetime TV. Got it. “Who’s the guy talking on the phone, doing homework, and seeing a basketball game in his head? You’re still doing all of that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, that’s smart,” I said. “Hey, you want an easy way to raise your history grade?”
“Can I still listen to the game?”
I laughed, then explained the ins and outs of World History extra-credit projects. “You could do basketball through the ages,” I suggested. “Did you know the ancient Mayans played a game that’s kind of a cross between basketball and soccer? Of course, the losers were sacrificed.”
Jack burst out laughing. “Good thing those weren’t the rules when I played freshman year.”
After a while, we simply talked, low and quiet. No more shrill whistle in the background, no more ancient Mayans, no regrets about skipping Geek Night. No more sacrifices, either. The pauses weren’t torturous. They just were. I simply was. With Jack. In a weekend of amazing things, that was the most amazing.
9
From The Prairie Stone High Varsity Cheerleading Guide:
Even “off duty” you are still a Prairie Stone High School varsity cheerleader. You represent the squad and the school. Watch your behavior, and watch out for peer pressure—at parties, dances, even the mall. Others will look to you as an example. Remember to let your school spirit shine.
I’d really hoped to see Jack before first bell on Monday. Hoped it, and dreaded it too. What if he acted like nothing was different? I scanned the space above the students crowding the hall. That was the best way to spot Jack.
But not Moni. She barreled into me, out of breath, her curls flying. She pulled me against an empty spot along the bank of lockers.
“I hate to say I told you so,” she said, “but—”
“I know. I know. This cheerleading thing is paying off. Big-time.”
“Say it like you mean it. Come on.” Moni bent her head toward mine. “Jack Paulson and Rick Mangers?”
Okay, so Moni had a point.
“It’s way more than just the cheerleading thing with Rick,” Moni added. “We have so much in common. His parents are divorced too. Finally, someone who gets it.” She leaned against the lockers and sighed. “You have no idea.”
Moni didn’t say it to be mean, but her words still caused my stomach to lurch. Hadn’t I been there for Moni the whole time? But Rick Mangers comes along, and after a couple of phone calls, now he’s the one who totally gets it?
Before I could say anything or change the subject, Rick Mangers slid in front of us.
“Hey, spark plug. We got ten minutes until the bell. Wanna split a doughnut?”
Moni played it cooler than I could’ve imagined. She took Rick’s arm and they glided down the hall, making a way cute couple—her smarts for his strength. I thought about following them. Maybe Jack was in the cafeteria, shoveling down spoonfuls of oatmeal.
But that meant a trip through the gauntlet. It meant chatting with Moni, which was fine, but it also meant seeing Jack—at school, with everyone around. If he blew me off? Well, I wasn’t sure I could take it.
I turned toward honors history instead, then stopped. I might be even less popular in there, especially since I’d neglected Mussolini in favor of the Mayans. I stood between my two choices, each of them uncertain territory, until the bell rang.
What I didn’t realize until I walked the halls to third-period Independent Reading was this: Every single tile on the school floor, every classroom, every encounter was uncertain territory—and I didn’t have a map.
I slipped into my chair, one of the first people in class. I went through all the motions—books tucked under my desk, notebook, novel, pen and pencil ready. I waited for Jack to walk through the door. When someone tall, with dark hair, sauntered in, my heart landed in my throat. I couldn’t choke out a single word.
Not that I needed to. It was Ryan Nelson. I’m not sure how I looked: disappointed, relieved, insane? All I knew was he burst out laughing—but not before he winked at me.
I opened my book and reread the opening line to Pride and Prejudice. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a…” I closed my eyes and crossed all my fingers under the desk. Oh, please, I thought, don’t let Jack Paulson be as girlproof as I once imagined. I’d only glanced away for a second or two, but when I turned back, Jack stood at his desk, staring at it rather than me.
The bell rang.
Jack still stood there.
“Well, Mr. Paulson.” Mr. Wilker paused in writing Regency-era vocabulary on the whiteboard. “Plan to join the rest of us?”
More laughter, from Ryan—who hadn’t really stopped—and the rest of the class. Jack slumped in his seat. His books landed on the desk with a thump. From the corner of my eye, I cou
ld see the neat pile, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. I was almost too afraid to look, but I had to know. Was I about to get majorly dissed?
I turned.
He turned.
I smiled.
He—thank God—smiled.
I floated for the rest of Independent Reading. Mr. Wilker called on me. I gave answers. Since no one laughed (again), I assumed I hadn’t substituted Jack’s name for Mr. Darcy’s. Something told me that was the result of pure luck.
I floated all the way to lunch, too. When Jack landed in line behind me, my feet barely touched the floor.
“Hey,” he said.
I craned my neck to peer into his face. “Hey.”
Scintillating conversation would have to wait, especially with the way Jack piled his tray with food. I felt my eyes grow wide. If he shoveled it in every second between the time he sat down and the bell for sixth period, could he eat it all? Maybe. Did jocks eat that much all the time?
Jack’s gaze went from my face, to his tray, and back again. “Carbo-loading. For tomorrow’s game.”
“Wow,” I said, “you’re dedicated.”
We waited in line for the cashier together. We picked up forks, napkins, and ketchup together. We even took the first few steps down the middle aisle of the cafeteria together. Then Jack turned one way. And I went the other.
He froze. I froze.
Moni sat at the geek table, a hand clasped over her mouth. Clearly, she saw the problem. Todd looked at the soda machine, the ceiling, and even ducked his head under the table like he’d dropped something. Clearly, he didn’t care about the problem.
Opposite the geeks, in a corner near the door, was the jock table, with one chair empty. True, no one had stenciled paulson across the back. But it was Jack’s chair. And there certainly wasn’t one beside it marked and his geeky new girlfriend.
I stood there, wondering why every awful thing in the universe had to happen right in the middle of the cafeteria.
The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading Page 13
