“What does Mr. D flaking and going out on tour have to do with me and Chuck?”
“Because you’re making the kind of mistake I made.” I looked at him, confused. He went on. “I wanted to be Mr. D’s friend so badly that I quit the math team.”
“Yeah, the most amazing decision you ever made.”
He shook his head, grandpa-style, and said, “The math team was me. Instead, I wound up being on the debate team and hating it and, after a few months, not even having Mr. D to coach me.”
I looked at him and thought, And????
He sounded exasperated. “You’re obsessed with Chuck. When someone wants something that badly, they make the wrong choices and it never works out.”
He was so extreme. “What’s wrong with wanting something a lot? It’s called having a goal.”
Spencer put on his “I’m going to teach you about life” face. “Justin, the Buddhist religion teaches us to renounce all worldly things.”
“Chuck’s not a worldly thing. He’s a person.” I then added, “And I’m not a Buddhist. I’m Jewish.”
He shrugged. “One can be any religion, yet still practice the teachings of the Buddha.”
All right. I’d had it. Enough already with his spirituality. I had a boyfriend to get.
“Listen, Spencer. I know you think I’m setting myself up for a big fat fall but I don’t!” He looked like he was about to start listing how everything could blow up in my face, so I cut him off at the pass. “Let’s make a deal.…”
I thought for a minute and continued. “I need around six months for my plan to come to fruition, so April will be the cutoff month.”
Spencer nodded skeptically. “OK …”
“The deal is … we stay friends, but don’t discuss the Chuck/Becky situation. If I’m not one of the happiest kids in school come April, I’ll do a public dare.”
Spencer and I are always making bets like this. Last year he’d had it with my Broadway babbling and (stupidly) bet me that I couldn’t name all the Tony Award–winning best musicals for the last twenty years and, of course, I won. I made him do a public dare of trying out for the cheerleading squad. There was no gender specification on the posters announcing tryouts, but I knew he’d be the only guy in a sea of night-brace-wearing fourteen-year-old girls.
I was right, but unfortunately it backfired on me. The cheerleading coach thought Spencer was so good that the school has now formed an all-male squad and Spencer is the captain! Of course I’m dying to join, but I’m too angry to admit that my dare boomeranged in my face.
If Spencer lost this one, my public dare for him would have to be foolproof.
“Justin, how will I know if you’re one of the happiest kids in school?”
Argh! Why must he always ask obvious questions? “My plan is to become one of the most popular kids. In the spring, you can ask the kids at school if they like me. If a majority of them say yes, I’m popular. Popular equals happy.”
Spencer shook his head and started to speak, but I spoke first. “If I’m not on top of the world, you can make me do a public dare at”—I needed to sweeten the deal so he wouldn’t keep undermining me for the next six months—“at the Spring Fling.” The Spring Fling was the big dance that literally everybody in school attends. If you’re gonna be publicly humiliated, that’s a surefire way to make sure that no one has to hear about it secondhand.
Spencer looked like he was pondering everything. “There are too many holes in this. Let’s say you become popular but aren’t happy, but you say that you are just so you can make me do a public dare.”
“Fine,” I said. “You get to decide!”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you always know when I’m lying.”
He immediately smirked. Every time I’ve tried to put one over on him (“I haven’t had sugar in a week!” “I think I may be bi”), he knew I was lying before I finished the sentence.
I continued. “If you think I’m happy, I win. If you think I’m not, you win.”
He looked unconvinced. “I don’t know if I approve of public dares anymore. It seems a little like I’m trying to control the universe. And, if I actually do win and come up with some way to humiliate you”—he looked like he was trying to find the right words—“it’s as if I’m hoping to bruise your soul.”
Bruise my soul? Why is everything such a big deal with him lately? Of course it’s embarrassing when you lose a public dare, but that’s the fun part! He was acting like we were planning a Hunger Games–style fight to the death.
I had to use all my lawyerly skills. “Spencer, it’s not controlling the universe if we’re both agreeing to enter a wager.” He looked vaguely convinced. I went on. “And if you win, instead of trying to make the dare bruise my soul, like making me come to school in my underwear, you can make it”—I had to think of a phrase he would buy—“soothe my soul. Like … forcing me to go to a yoga retreat.” Ironically, that would probably be more horrible for me than parading around in my underwear.
He thought about it for a moment, then put out his hand.
“It’s a deal,” he said as I shook it.
I smiled. I felt sure I was gonna win. I looked at Spencer. He looked like he knew he was going to win … but didn’t want to.
I LEFT SPENCER’S AND TOOK my time getting to the food court. I wanted to take in the anticipation of my first date with Chuck. (And Becky.) I arrived at the mall thirty minutes early and decided to make a pit stop at one of my favorite stores, The Body Shop. I first feigned looking at the men’s stuff. I say “feign” because I never like the stuff they have for guys: It always smells like patchouli or other weird scents guys are supposed to like. After an appropriate amount of time elapsed (I could only take it for seven minutes), I then moved over to the ladies’ stuff and picked up a sample bottle of moisturizer. In a volume I knew the salespeople could hear, I proclaimed, “Oh … I think my mom would like this dewberry lotion. Let me see what it smells like.” I then proceeded to pour half the bottle on my arms and neck.
Mmm … delicious.
My next stop was The Nature Store, where I looked at some cool books about weather. (I’m obsessed with hurricanes and tornadoes. Not the dying part, but the amazing winds and waves.)
Finally, it was time to go to the food court.
I had been waiting for one second when I saw Becky come up the escalator. I couldn’t tell if she put on makeup for her date or if her whole face just naturally got more gorgeous because she knew she was going to meet Chuck. In my case, instead of naturally looking like I had a perfectly made-up face in anticipation of meeting Chuck, I naturally formed an extra layer of upper lip sweat. I quickly wiped it with the back of my sleeve.
“JUSTIN!” Becky screamed, and ran into my arms. She gave me a quick kiss on the lips and hugged me.
“Mmm,” she said. “You smell so good!”
I smiled.
“Like my mother,” she continued.
I stopped smiling.
Her reddish gold hair swung wildly as she did a 007-looking-for-spies move. She obviously decided the coast was clear because she started talking softly.
“I can’t believe how well it worked. Everyone thinks we’re a couple.”
I gave her a thumbs-up. “You’re the genius. And I guess your father deserves some thanks for surprising you yesterday.”
“Oh!” she suddenly said. “That reminds me. I gotta call him.” She pulled her cell phone from a pink holder and pushed a speed-dial button.
“Hi, Daddy! I’m not gonna be home for din-din. I’m having Japanese.” She paused. “Oh … Justin and some friends.”
Pause.
“Yes, you can talk to him.”
She handed the phone to me and put her hand over the receiver. “Don’t worry. Just lie.” Then she added, “I have to go to the bathroom. Be back soon!” And she walked off quickly, past the escalators.
“Hello?” I asked, not knowing where this was going to lead.
/> “Justin, my boy!” he said, with what can only be described as gusto. “I’m very glad you and my daughter seem so happy together.”
Seem so happy together? He only saw us together yesterday for ten minutes. But I went with it.
“Oh, we are, Dr. Phillips!”
“Quite frankly, I’d love it if some of your bio skills could rub off on her.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” I fake-laughed.
“Now, I know you also dabble in theater like she does.…”
Dabble? More like having a featured role in every show since fifth grade. I’m not counting my seventh-grade stint in the chorus, because I blame that on the phlegm attack I had during the audition due to Doug Gool’s harassment of the afternoon, which consisted of forcing me into a toilet stall and smoking a pack of cigarettes in my face. “Well, it’s a little more than dabbling …,” I began.
“That’s because you’re actually talented.”
Wouch. PS, wouch is something Spencer and I made up, a combination of “wow” and “ouch.” It was appropriate because I was both happy for the flattery and shocked that he’d dish about his daughter with me. And yet … he did have a point. Becky was always amazing in class or during rehearsals, but every time she performed in public with a chorus solo or a part in a show, she was ter-ri-ble. Sometimes she’d sing flat and sometimes she’d sing sharp. And mind-bogglingly, during one small solo in Oklahoma, her last note was flat and sharp, or “flarp” as I christened it with Spencer. Her other vocal “skill” was either no sound coming out of her mouth in the middle of a phrase or simply cracking … and not just on the high notes. She would crack on any note, no matter the range. She sang “Memory” when we did Cats at our synagogue’s yearly Passover fund-raiser. Ouchy-wowy. I taped the whole show, and out of morbid curiosity, I listened to her again and again on my iPod for weeks afterward. I can offer a full analysis by heart:
(Music swells)
(flat) Touch me!
(forgets words) to (flat) leave me!
All alone with the (sharp) mem’ry
(inaudible) of my days in the (cracks) sun.
And whenever she did a show where she didn’t have to sing, her acting would be riveting in rehearsal but onstage she’d forget complete sections of dialogue. And the lines she did remember she would recite like a robot. It was maddening.
I was going to tell her dad that she actually has a lot of talent but needs to work on her performing skills. Unfortunately, he didn’t give me a chance.
“Justin, listen. I have two tickets to the new musical at Lincoln Center. Are you interested?”
YES!!!!! I wanted to scream but didn’t want to destroy Becky’s cell phone with my loudness. I took a breath and said calmly, “Yes, sir. I am. That show is sold out for months.”
He laughed. “I know. The producer’s mom has been my patient for years. She offered me two tickets, and you were the first person I thought of.”
Wow! Maybe he’s not as bad as Becky thinks. “Thank you,” I said, then added nervously, “Uh … when is it?” If it was two tickets, did that mean he’d be my “date” for the evening? Oy. It’s awful enough to spend a night with your own father but devastating to spend it with someone else’s.
“The first Saturday of next month. And don’t worry, you can have both tickets.”
Both tickets? Was there a catch?
“I just need you to do one thing.…”
Aha. I held the phone and waited for the perfunctory “Please respect my daughter’s boundaries” speech he felt he had to say. I prepared for a five-minute stretch of time to tune him out and then I’d say a “yes, sir” as I came out of my stupor. Unfortunately, instead of the “my daughter is a delicate flower” oratory, I got “I need you to make sure Becky doesn’t try out for Rock and Roll High School.”
What?
Background: Rock and Roll High School is the big musical coming up in April. Last year for the spring show, Mrs. Hall chose a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta that none of the theater kids had heard of. Everyone was so devastated that Mrs. H promised she would choose a show with a rock score for the next year if everyone stopped complaining before auditions even began. Well, she didn’t quite phrase it like that. It was more: “If you kids promise to stop your yammering about hating a brilliant show, which, by the way, you know nothing about, I’ll do one of those horrible high school pop shows next year. Now, all of you get on some antidepressants and shut the hell up.” Of course, we wound up loving H.M.S. Pinafore because the music is fantastic and the lyrics are hilarious, but I’m glad we hated it at first because now we get to do a show where the lead role has to sing and play the piano.
YES! Who else at our school can sing and really play the piano?
And Zelda Chung doesn’t count because the role is for a boy. But there are amazing parts for girls, too. If Becky got over her performance awfulness, she’d be perfect for the cheerleader lead.
I didn’t know what to say to Becky’s dad. I wanted those tickets. But wouldn’t it be wrong to make Becky not audition? I mean, it’s true I’d be saving her the embarrassment of a bad performance because that’s probably what would happen. Wait a minute … the more I think about it, the more I feel I’d actually be doing her a favor.
No, you wouldn’t. You’d be using her in order to get a material possession you want.
AH! I not only have to deal with Spencer in real life but also in my head? That area is reserved solely for Chuck.
I saw Becky walking back from the bathroom.
“Oh, here comes Becky now,” I said. “I’ll be sure to talk to her,” I added, without specifying what I’d be talking to her about.
“Good boy!” he said to me … or possibly to his dog. “I’ll hold those tickets for you.”
“Thanks!” I said.
As I was about to hand the phone back to Becky, he added, “If.”
That’s all he said. Literally “If” followed by a period. Hmph. Not only was that vaguely threatening, but it’s also a sentence fragment. Hadn’t he ever taken Mr. Fabry’s English grammar intensive?
Becky took the phone and said bye and a perfunctory “I love you” to him.
We started to walk toward Sushi Yummy. “What did he want to talk to you about?” she asked, and her catlike eyes looked so innocent. Oh no. I hadn’t had enough time to work out a lie.
“Um …,” I started.
She smirked. “Probably asking you to help me get into AP bio …”
“YES!” I said, much too loudly, grateful that she thought of the lie for me. “I can do flash cards with you if you want.”
She looked annoyed. “I don’t want. He wants.”
She started getting in line and I looked around. Where was Chuck?
“Um … Becky. Aren’t we supposed to wait for Chuck?”
“Oh,” she said while getting her tray, “don’t worry. He always comes late. Either practice goes over or he decides to spend an extra half hour on the treadmill.”
That’s annoying. But, frankly, he’s worth waiting for.
Becky saw me hesitating by the trays. “Don’t wait for him.” I got my tray and we started moving past all the delicious sushi choices. “The sad part is, he might have eaten already. He’s always shoveling protein bars down his gut and calling it a meal.”
Protein bars? So that’s how he stays so muscular. Well, muscular and lean. Not too muscley. Just the right amount. His biceps don’t necessarily bulge, they—
“What do you look so happy about?” Becky suddenly asked.
Caught!
I said the first thing I could think of.
“Eel rolls!”
“You’re in luck!” she said with a beautiful smile. “They have them.”
I know. I saw them near the California rolls.
“Here.” She put three on my plate.
Great. The first thing that came to me was eel rolls but not because I love them; they were on my mind because I hate them. UCK. Eels are so ugly. They lo
ok like creatures from hell. That sushi recipe is like cutting up evil and serving it rolled in rice.
Of course, they’re more expensive than other rolls, so I only had enough money left over for a side salad. Becky and I sat down at one of the food court tables with umbrellas, and I chose the side where I could see the escalator Chuck would have to take.
Becky and I started eating (delicious sushi for her and lettuce for me).
We chewed.
No sign of Chuck.
We swallowed.
Was that Chuck on the escalator?
No …
“So …,” she said.
“So, yeah,” I said.
What now? We knew each other from various rehearsals but hadn’t ever spent any time alone. Except for the recent morning walk to school, and that was more of a planning session. What could we talk about? The only thing I could think of was her father’s scheme, and I couldn’t bear the thought of carrying it out. I tried to force it out of my mind so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
“Becky, are you trying out for Rock and Roll High School?”
Great. I forced it out of my mind, right into my mouth.
“Oh!” she said excitedly. “I need to ask you something about that.”
Well, the good news was we had something to talk about; the bad news was it was something I didn’t want to talk about.
“Lots of people don’t try out,” I said, which related to nothing she’d said.
Thankfully, at that moment her cell phone rang.
She looked at the screen. “It’s Chuck!” She flipped her hair back and answered it. “Hi, honey.” She listened for a while, nodding.
“OK,” she finally said. “See you then.”
Phew. At least he’d given an estimated time of arrival.
“How late is he gonna be?” I asked, trying to make it sound like I was frustrated because it was an inconvenience for me to have to wait for them to have their date and not because I’d expected to see Chuck’s stunningness and now had to wait.
“Oh, he’s not coming.”
WHAT?
My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan Page 7
