My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan

by Seth Rudetsky

  When we arrived at Penn Station, we decided to have brunch on the Upper West Side because Lincoln Center is in the West 60s. Spencer found a place that looked great called Nice Matin, and we actually got a table by the window. Last week we had a late-November snow, and my mom gave me some cash for shoveling, so I told Spencer I was treating him to the meal.

  After Spencer got his orange juice, he raised it to his lips, then stopped, pre-sip.

  “Justin, just confirm for me that I’m not drinking orange juice paid for with blood money.”

  UGH! “You are not, Spencer.” Everything with him was at such an extreme level lately. “That money is from my mom. And besides, Becky decided not to audition for the show without any influence from me.”

  Spencer took a tentative sip.

  “You may have forgotten,” I went on, trying to will him to finish the glass, “but all I did was tell her how great she sounded.”

  Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I know, I know. You told me. I just don’t like that you were paid off by her father. Even if you didn’t do what he wanted.”

  I rolled my eyes. How many times did we have to go over this?

  “All right, Justin.” He took one more sip. “I’m going to have brunch and see the show with you, and I promise not to be a ‘moral downer’ all day, as I know you’ve called me in the past”—I’ve said that out loud?—“but I’ve thought about the whole Becky-audition thing, and I’ve come to the conclusion that what you’ve done is the equivalent of lying by omission.”

  “Meaning?” I asked, but it came out as “Mmgtmgnidn” because I was eating one of the delicious croissants that arrived in a bread basket before the meal.

  “Meaning, which I think you just said, that you could have spent some time with her figuring out why she isn’t up to snuff when she performs.”

  “Not ‘up to snuff’? She’s stinks,” I clarified.

  “Exactly. And it isn’t because she doesn’t have talent. That girl belongs onstage, just like you do, and yet you let her decide not to audition without any argument.”

  “Well,” I said, and then took time to swallow, “it’s too late now. Pamela Austin has the role.”

  The auditions happened at the beginning of this week and, not surprisingly, I got the lead! Finally, there was a show with a leading role where the requirement wasn’t being great-looking. I’ve gotten sick of playing the sassy sidekick, and I’ve always wanted the experience of taking the final bow. Unfortunately, once Becky was out of the running, Pamela was the best singer out of all the kids auditioning. This year, as usual, only a smattering of kids tried out because Mrs. Hall requires that students take theater class if they want to be in the big show. Even though Glee has suddenly made my whole school want to sing and dance, hardly anyone wants to actually train, so there were slim pickin’s at the audition. Pamela doesn’t have Becky’s acting talent or amazing high notes or phenomenal riffs but … she can sing. Not like a rock, pop, or R & B singer, but the only other girls who auditioned and could actually sing or look the part were Nell Malin, who has an amazing voice … on operatic songs; Mary Ann Cortale, who didn’t prepare an audition song so she sang “Happy Birthday” and forgot the words; and Zelda Chung, whose parents won’t let her sing anything “immoral,” so all the lyrics in the show would have to be changed to be about God. None of the other girls could ever pass for a cheerleader, and the whole point of the role is to show that although she’s beautiful on the outside, she’s sad on the inside.

  When Pamela arrived on the first day of rehearsal, Mrs. Hall mentioned that it might be hard to do all the cheerleading moves in the show with her hair hanging to her waist, so perhaps she could wear it up. That led to Pamela bursting into tears and claiming, “I’ve worn my hair this way my whole life” and then fleeing and locking herself in a bathroom stall. Unfortunately, she ran to the first bathroom she saw, which was the boys, and I had just drunk a full liter of diet Snapple. Suffice it to say, I was very uncomfortable using the urinal two feet away from Pamela’s sobbing, and I gave new meaning to the term shy bladder (estimated peeing time: seven minutes).

  Spencer asked me how things with Chuck were progressing, and I said “fine” without being specific. I didn’t want to mention the flirting thing because if I did, I’d have to mention that he still hadn’t paid me back the twenty dollars. Then Spencer would say he was only flirting to get cash out of me, and I was not in the mood to start arguing about that. I was there and I know Chuck was flirting with me. The money part was secondary.

  Thankfully, Spencer and I wound up having a great time. I’ve hardly spent any time with him since the aborted meditation session because I’ve been so busy with Becky and Chuck. I’m still adjusting my personality with the cool kids to try to rise even higher in popularity, and it was a pleasure to just be myself with Spencer, even if it was only for an afternoon. I ordered a goat cheese egg-white omelet and was waiting for Spencer to order his signature bacon “very, very, very well done,” but he only got the fresh herb omelet with no sides.

  I stared, dumbfounded, after we ordered. “Spencer! Where’s the delish bacon? I’m the one on the diet.” I finally started a diet because when I do eventually wind up with Chuck, I don’t want people to look at our prom picture and think, Why is he with him? (I’m him.)

  “Oh yeah,” Spencer said, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sort of experimenting with being kosher.”

  “What?” I yelled, resulting in getting glared at by the James Gandolfini look-alike at the next table, whom I then realized was a woman. Yowtch. “You’re not even Jewish! Why would you adopt the part of the religion that’s the most annoying to follow?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just trying different things.” Spencer has always been spiritual/respect the earth, but this year he was a combination Mother Teresa/​Gandhi/​Dalai Lama, and now Tevye. The rest of the afternoon was super-fun. We walked to the theater and at one point we laughed for five blocks straight. I can always make him laugh but then he’ll top what I say and make us both laugh hysterically.

  Speaking of laughing, I finally made Chuck laugh! Until I slim down a little bit, I’ve got to lure him with whatever attractiveness I’ve got, and my sense of humor doesn’t have love handles. I met up with Becky and him at the gazebo by Goose Pond. It’s got a great view of the water, and in the winter they cover it to keep in the warmth, but it’s still pretty cold. Hence, we knew we’d be the only ones there.

  Chuck was, as usual, on the phone for a while and Becky started coughing, perhaps because it was thirty degrees outside the gazebo and thirty-five inside.

  “Becky!” he said after he hung up. “You cough so loud! Man …” He shook his head. “I could hardly hear the coach.”

  Becky didn’t respond, so I tried to break the tension.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s better than coughing like Monsieur Bissel.” I then did my imitation of our French teacher’s cough, which wasn’t so much about the sound but about the crazy physicality. If he’s about to have one of his smoker’s hack fits, he’ll always grab on to something to steady himself, put one hand daintily on his throat, and then for some reason, clamp his eyes shut during every cough. I did a few and Chuck couldn’t stop laughing. “Dude!” he said. “You look just like him!”

  I felt so triumphant making him laugh. I was about to launch into it again when he turned to Becky and said, “And you look hot!” and they started making out. Hmph.

  I spent their make-out time thinking about how close Chuck had been to my face at my house. Ah …

  I don’t know how long my trance lasted, but it ended right when their make-out session did. It was freezing and I wanted to get a delicious hot chocolate on my way home, but my wallet was depressingly empty. I thought maybe Chuck would have at least ten of the twenty dollars I’d lent him; but right when I was about to ask him, he looked at me and said, “Justin, man, you are wicked funny.” First, the brazen flirting and now the appreciation of my humor. Who cared about
the twenty bucks?! I wore such a look of love that I was scared Becky would pick up on my master plan. Ah! I had to erase it from my face! I thought of peeing near Pamela Austin in the boys’ room, and I immediately looked disgusted.

  Chuck lived in the opposite direction and made a hasty exit. It was now my job to walk Becky home. She and I walked out of the gazebo and toward her house. Oy. What to talk about?

  “So … that was a pretty long make-out session.” That’s my version of conversation? No wonder the popular kids still don’t want to be my best friend.

  “You’re right,” Becky said with a little smile. “I think a part of me is trying to re-create the first time, you know?”

  I actually didn’t know. “First time what?”

  “You know … my first kiss.” She closed her eyes. “Mmm, I’ll never forget what it was like.”

  Now I was interested. “What was it like?” I asked, hoping for the kind of details I could retain and later think about with my face in the place of Becky’s.

  “Well”—she opened her eyes and pushed some of her reddish gold hair into her wool hat—“Chuck and I had been flirting at lunch for a few months but he never asked me out.” I knew what that was like. Without the flirting-at-lunch part. “Finally, we were at one of Michelle Edelton’s parties.” She laughed. “You know how crazy those get!”

  My face said, “Yes, I do” while my brain said, “No, I don’t.”

  Becky stopped to pick up a handful of snow and then threw it into the air. “Everyone was dancing and Chuck suddenly walked up to me and asked if I wanted to leave. I nodded.”

  Perfect, the fewer words she said in the situation, the easier it will be to imagine it’s me later on.

  She continued. “Instead of going out the front door, we went out the back and found ourselves in her garden. No one else was there.” She looked away dreamily. “Michelle has this bench right next to a big rosebush and we sat on it. He still didn’t ask me out, but he took my face in his hands and leaned forward and then … we kissed.” She closed her eyes again.

  So did I. When I opened mine, she still had hers closed.

  “So, that was your first kiss?”

  “Yes.” She turned toward me, and her eyes sparkled. “You never forget it, right?”

  I smiled and pretended to remember mine. “That’s right,” I parroted back. “You never forget it.”

  She shivered. “That tingly feeling of excitement and happiness. It goes all through your body.” She sighed. “It’s like no other feeling.”

  So that’s what it’s gonna be like.

  Thankfully she didn’t ask for details of mine or I would have had to do some creative babbling.

  We kept walking.

  We were both thinking about kissing Chuck.

  We turned onto her block. She looked thoughtful. “He was almost a different person back then. He hadn’t made quarterback yet, and he hadn’t hit that home run in the last baseball game of the spring.…” She trailed off.

  What did she mean? That he was an even more amazing catch now? ’Cause that’s what I was thinking.

  Becky hugged me on her porch. “Bye, Justin,” she said while taking out her keys. Then she looked at me with a half smile. “It’s always so great to talk to you.”

  She walked into her house. I stood there. One of the most popular girls in school just told me how great it is to talk to me. Annoyingly, I didn’t feel as happy as I thought I would. It’s probably because I need a bunch of the popular kids to really like me before I truly feel fantastic. Having Becky like me is similar to having a fresh new dollar bill. It’s certainly nice, but it’s much nicer to have a million fresh new dollar bills. Or at least however many kids sit at Cool U.

  FINALLY! CHRISTMAS VACATION! I NEEDED a break. I’d had it with the nonstop homework. Well, my own homework and the extra homework I was obligated to do. You see, around three weeks ago, I was waiting for Chuck and Becky at the mall and it was one of the rare times that Chuck got there before Becky. I was, of course, speechless seeing him but luckily he started talking right away.

  “We got out of practice early because some doofus broke his arm when I tackled him.”

  I decided to pretend that Chuck sounded sympathetic.

  “That’s too bad.”

  Silence.

  How could I make him go back to the flirting? And maybe take it further?

  I added, “Becky’s not here,” awkwardly stating the obvious.

  “I know,” he said with a sudden smile. “Which is perfect.”

  Perfect? Yes. Perfect for me! But why for him?

  He put his arm around me. It was in a “we’re both dudes” way, but it was the closest I’d ever been to him. My breathing suddenly accelerated as if I had run for a half hour on the treadmill. And I basically can’t breathe after just fifteen minutes of fast walking.

  “Justin, dude …” I could feel his breath on my neck. Heaven. “Do you mind helping me out a little with French homework? I didn’t want to ask you in front of Becky.”

  “Help you out? No problem!” I answered right away. I’d love to tutor him. I could come to his house. Sit with him in his room. It could get late. He’d ask me to sleep over and then … it could work out better than I ever expected.

  But I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to ask in front of Becky.

  He then handed me his French take-home quiz.

  “I already signed it,” he said as he pointed to the honor pledge at the end promising that he hadn’t cheated. “You can just fold it up and slip it into my locker tomorrow.”

  Oh.

  He wasn’t asking me to “help” him with his homework; he wanted me to “do” his homework. That’s why he didn’t want Becky to know. I remembered hearing that Becky found out last year that he had bought a research paper from someone he met online and she forced him to throw it out and write it himself. She was a stickler for honesty. Except, of course, when it came to her dating life.

  I thought about it. Do his homework for him? Hmm. Unfortunately, Spencer had rubbed off on me throughout the years, and I, too, would never consider cheating on anything. I made my decision. Even though I wanted Chuck to be the Edward to my Bella, I had to say no. But before I did, he looked me right in the eye, just like he had at my house, and said, “Please, Justin.”

  Then … he winked! It wasn’t just a “dude” wink. It reeked of sexiness. Suddenly, we both heard Becky shout us out a big hello from near the Gap. She was walking to meet us, and Chuck grabbed his homework, shoved it at me, and said, “Quick, before she gets here!” I was about to weakly protest when he whispered, “Justin. You know I think you’re the best.”

  That’s all it took. I grabbed the homework and put it into my bag. Now we have a ritual that after French class, he walks out right behind me and slips the homework into my backpack. Then I do it and slip it into his locker right after study hall. I just have to copy all the answers I write down in my version of his handwriting. It’s not that hard … and you should have seen the sexiness of that wink. It plays in my mind more times than Hannah Montana reruns on the Disney Channel.

  This whole vacation week I pretty much vegged out at my house. My mom didn’t ask me how my dates with Becky were going because she knew Becky was off skiing with her family. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any private Chuck time because he was with his parents in New Hampshire where they have a house. There aren’t a lot of Christmas parties in my school, since the majority of the kids are Jewish.

  But New Year’s Eve is a BIG deal, and if you’re not actually having a party, you’re invited to one. My parents, however, are the exception. They always spend New Year’s Eve having what they call a romantic dinner with dancing in Manhattan. They took a semester of ballroom dancing in college together, and this is the one night a year where they use their skills (not counting weddings and Bar Mitzvahs). They go out to some fancy restaurant that has a big band and, according to them, spend the night making everyone jealous of th
eir moves. Since it’s their yearly “night to reconnect,” I’m never invited.

  I had a babysitter up until fifth grade, but after that I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve at Spencer’s house. We order in pizza and then at eight o’clock we play a board game. However, it’s never something like Uno or Battleship. We want it to be something that will take hours to play and keep us up until midnight. At first it was Risk, but for the past four years it’s been Monopoly. Not everyday Monopoly and not any of the themed ones you can buy, like The Wizard of Oz or New York or something horrible like sports. Instead, we make it themed with stuff related to us! Last year I was in charge and designed one all about school lunches. My playing piece was a miniature lunch tray and Spencer’s was a tiny lunch plate with a meticulously placed hair glued across it (Spencer once got a plate with a hair on it and returned it, horrified, and then the next one also had a hair on it!). I turned all properties into meals—aka expensive Boardwalk and Park Place became Cheese Quesadillas and Caesar Salad (our favorites) and cheap Baltic Avenue became Tuna Fish (the most disgusting). Instead of “Go to Jail” cards, it was “Sit at Toughs ‘R’ Us” (Doug Gool’s table), and when you passed GO, you collected 200 calories. The goal was to have the most calories and become morbidly obese.

  This year was Spencer’s turn to make the Monopoly game. I went over to his place at six, we ordered our signature pizza (double-cheese Sicilian), and he unveiled the game. He told me it was dedicated to me and then ceremonially took off the towel lying across it. It was Broadway-themed! Yay! He showed me my playing piece, which was a mini Evita with arms raised Patti LuPone–style, and his was Tracy Turnblad from Hairspray. He doesn’t know that much about Broadway, but he obviously did his research. Every property was a different Broadway show, and instead of “Go to Jail” it was “Go on a Non-Union Tour.” Inwardly, I was sad that this New Year’s Eve was going to be different because I couldn’t stay the whole night. I’d told Becky I’d pick her up at her house at nine to go to Michelle Edelton’s party. I was not only sad, but I was anxious, too. I hadn’t gotten around to telling Spencer. I didn’t want to deal with him being disappointed or giving me a lecture, but because I put it off, it was now going to be that much worse.