I was happy that I could look out for her. No one ever helped me when I was Doug’s biggest target, and I would have loved someone like me getting me out of his way. I noticed that Mary Ann’s dress was completely white (dye would probably ruin the organicness of it), and I could just imagine Doug “accidentally” spilling some red punch all over it. I didn’t want her to always carry around a horrible memory of this dance, so I made a beeline over to her.
“Come with me!” I said forcefully, and put my arm around her.
“But—” she started.
“You’ll thank me later,” I said as we hurried away. I saw Spencer by the food, deposited Mary Ann next to him, took another handful of chips (all right, two), and went to the boys’ room to start prepping (aka flossing) for my performance.
Right when I was gargling, in walked Becky’s dad. I braced myself for another boring conversation. Hopefully he was sick of the pituitary gland and would move on to the lymph nodes.
“Well, well, well,” he began, “fancy meeting you here!” He laughed at his own unfunniness, which led into his signature coughing fit.
I smiled politely and maneuvered past him to leave. I was thankful to see him go toward the urinal as I was walking out, but then he had the nerve to continue the conversation! I was at the door when he said, “Justin …”
I slowly turned around and soon heard the unmistakable sound of liquid flowing. “Yes?” I said uncomfortably.
“What are your plans for the summer?” he asked while continuing at the urinal. It seemed like forever. How much did he drink before he entered?
“Um, I’m going to go back to Usdan. It’s an arts camp.” I turned to go again. “See ya.”
“That’s too bad,” he continued, talking and peeing. “I thought maybe you could join Becky at the hospital.”
Hospital? Is she sick?
“What’s the matter?” I asked nervously as I turned back around.
“Oh, nothing’s the matter. Quite the opposite.” Finally he started to zip up. “I got Becky an internship in the endocrinology research laboratory starting in July.”
Oh. So that’s why he wouldn’t stop talking about the pituitary gland. It was obviously on his mind. Wait a minute. I didn’t remember Becky telling me anything about it. During chorus rehearsals last month, I told her how great Usdan was, and she told me she was thinking of going to the May auditions.
“When did she apply?” I asked. It must have been during the weeks I was avoiding her.
“Oh,” he said as he flushed. “She didn’t apply. I called Dr. Markowitz, who runs the unit, and told him a little about her and he agreed to take her as an intern.”
What a depressing way to spend your summer.
“Is it a morning or afternoon internship?” I asked. Maybe she could do Usdan for a half day.
“Both,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every day from eight to six.”
It sounded awful.
“How do you know Becky wants to go?”
He had the nerve to look at me like I was bizarre … after having just had a full conversation with me while peeing!
“Justin,” he said as he walked to the sink, “it doesn’t matter if she wants to go. Her mother and I decide what’s right and wrong for her.”
Was this the 1800s? “Sir,” I said, which I only say when I’m really angry at an adult and trying to feign being respectful, “Becky doesn’t want to go into medicine. She wants to be a performer.”
He put his arm around me (thankfully, after washing his hands) and said, “Have you heard Becky in performance?”
I knew he was going to bring that up. “Yes, I have, but more importantly I’ve heard her in rehearsal and she’s got an incredible amount of talent.”
“That may be true, Justin, but I’ll tell you something that’s obvious to anyone with eyes and ears. She doesn’t have any confidence. And that’s what you need to make it.”
And with that he walked out.
How dare he? He’s the one who set her up for failure by saying she had to be perfect to make it. And because of that pressure, Becky always failed. Turned out, he’d known all along she didn’t need perfection. That must have been his way of undermining her confidence so she’d follow the path he’d chosen for her. What a sneak! I had to tell her.
I ran out of the bathroom just in time to see Chuck about to enter the party … with Michelle Edelton! Wow. He went from one fake girlfriend to another, just like those guys in the book he got me.
“Yo! Justin!” Chuck called from down the hall.
I walked over quickly. “Hey, Chuck. Hey, Michelle,” I said as I sized her up. Hmm, she was my competition in one sense, but I knew the real Chuck underneath. He wanted boys.
“Are you here with Becky?” he asked me, and Michelle laughed.
What was the funny part?
“Yeah …,” I said warily. I was feeling protective of her.
“Well, I’m sure she told you that we don’t need you for a cover any longer,” he said, putting his arm around Michelle.
Boy, he was pushing the “I like girls” shtick with me. Did he not know I read (skimmed) the book he gave me?
“Yes, Becky said you guys broke up.”
“Were you surprised?” he asked, and his eyes glimmered.
I wanted to say, “Not really because I know you’re gay,” but I didn’t want to push it before my performance. I needed him to know that the cool kids accepted me before I made my move. I decided to go another route.
“Well, I noticed you weren’t too upset when you started to miss dates because you had to be with the team.”
Both he and Michelle let out a little laugh. I didn’t like the sound of it. Then she whispered flirtatiously, “I didn’t know you called me the team.”
He nudged her jokingly and said, “Be quiet, you!” then gave her a quick kiss.
WHAT? Did I just hear that right?
He was dating Michelle at the same time he was dating Becky!
“See ya, Justin,” he said, and they walked into the dance.
I didn’t get it. If he was secretly gay, why was he cheating on Becky with Michelle? Did he really have that deep of a need to prove to everybody that he was a lady-killer? And did people still use the phrase lady-killer? (I’d heard it in an old Lauren Bacall film on TCM.)
It’s one thing to be in the closet and feel the need to cover up by dating a girl, but it’s another thing to cheat on that girl, especially with her close friend! Why hurt someone just to perpetuate your own image?
What a creep. It was getting very hard for me to fully support my plan to win him over. If we did start dating, what would stop him from cheating on me with one of my friends?
GASP!
Like Spencer! If Chuck went behind my back with him, I’d have a breakdown.
I then forced myself not to think of myself (for five minutes) and thought about poor Becky. Her father was horrible and her so-called (closeted) boyfriend had been cheating on her for who knew how long. As I was thinking about her, I happened to look up and caught a glimpse of Chuck from the back.
Holy cow!
He must do a lot of squats. And did his shoulders get broader? I pondered whether he was born with that V-shape or if it was from all the pull-ups he did in the weight room.
OK, focus! This new development meant I had to ponder the situation objectively; I accept that Chuck will never be a long-term boyfriend and that he could cheat on me the same way he cheated on Becky, but quite frankly, even if we date for a month, I’ll have memories to last me for the rest of my life. And think what it would be like in college if I showed prospective boyfriends photos of Chuck and called him my ex. I’d be able to date the hottest guys in school with that kind of pedigree.
Suddenly, I heard Spencer’s voice in my head.
Stop your plan now, Justin. How do you think Becky will feel if you kiss Chuck in front of her?
Um … slightly mortified?
Take out the word slightl
y.
OK. So, you’re saying I should just do my big number, get the whole school to finally worship me, have more friends than I’ve ever had before—
People who worship you aren’t your friends.
But—
No singing. No Chuck.
But I have to follow through with the public dare, don’t I?
You know I’m only making you do that so you’ll accept who you are.
But what about my personal responsibility toward my school? There’s a music performance scheduled for the crowning ceremony. I don’t want to let down Mrs. Hall.
Really? Or do you not want to give up getting attention?
What’d you say? The connection’s going in and out. Are you in a tunnel?
Nice try, Justin. I’m in your head. Listen to my advice.
ARGH! I wanted to discount his babbling, but whether in my head or in real life, Spencer’s been my voice of reason, the one who’s not afraid to tell me things I don’t want to hear. And he always does it in a caring way. A caring, annoying, know-it-all, spoil-the-fun way.
Spencer’s voice was strong, but so was the one telling me that I worked so hard to get to this night—scheming with Becky, winning over Cool U, dealing with Becky’s dad, getting close enough to Chuck to have him secretly admit his biggest secret, trying to not get too close to Becky, convincing Mrs. Hall to let me sing. How can I give it all up when I’m almost at the point of getting what I’ve always wanted? School-wide adulation and a first kiss from the hottest guy I’ve ever known!
Because it’s wrong. You don’t love Chuck.
But it’ll feel so nice to kiss him.
Will it feel nice to hurt Becky?
SHUT UP!
OK. That’s it. I needed to get rid of Spencer in my head and I needed to decide what’s right for me.
Spencer!
Yes?
Clear out. I need time alone.
I think you need—
Don’t make me push you over that cliff again. I’ll do it.
Fine. I’m outta here.
Spencer?
Spencer?
Silence.
OK.
Thinking.
Thinking.
Then it hit me.
The solution.
Yes! I probably knew it all along.
But I had to figure everything else out as well.
Hmm … hmm …
I stood in that hallway for ten minutes with a dazed look on my face. But I wasn’t dazed; I was P2: planning and plotting.
Got it!
I went into the dance and saw that the big glass bowl by the punch was empty, so all the forms for the Spring King and May Queen were backstage being counted. I had to move fast. I found Becky chatting with Savannah and company and gently pulled her away.
“What’s up, Justin?” she asked while I maneuvered her over to a private corner.
“Becky,” I said intently, “I hate to say this, but … did you know that Chuck was coming with Michelle?”
She looked surprised for a second and then sighed. “I guess so.” Then she clarified. “I mean, he didn’t tell me. But I’ve been hearing the gossip about it in school.” She then added, “I told you he was a jerk.”
I refrained from commenting.
OK, now on to the second bomb-dropping.
“Listen …,” I said, trying to ease into the bad news and then just deciding to plunge in. “Your dad is planning on sending you to intern at a hospital this summer.”
“What?” she asked, confused. “I told you I want to go to Usdan. I still mean it.”
“I know, I know,” I said, and then recounted the whole horrible bathroom conversation to her.
“Oh, Justin,” she said, sounding overwhelmed, “what am I supposed to do?” Then she looked away, into the distance. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?”
“No! It doesn’t have to be,” I said with conviction. “But first”—I turned her around and looked her in the eye—“I need you to do something.”
“Now?” she asked.
“Well, soon,” I explained. “When they crown the king and queen, I’m going to play the piano and sing a song onstage.”
“You’re going to sing?” She gave me a quick hug. “That’s amazing!”
“Will you turn my pages?” I asked, and before she could answer, I pulled her to the stage.
At that moment, Principal Berman began testing the microphone. “Hello, students!” he said with the smile he turns on only when parents are around. “It’s time for the big event of the evening. The crowning of this year’s reigning couple.”
Everyone started cheering, and Becky and I made our way to the piano onstage.
“Justin,” she said in a panic, “where’s the music?!”
“Don’t worry,” I said as we sat on the piano bench.
Mr. Berman ripped open a gold-colored envelope. “Please welcome your new Spring King and May Queen … Chuck Jansen and Michelle Edelton!”
I wasn’t surprised. That was the power of Chuck. Even though he just started dating Michelle (in public anyway) a week ago, they were already being crowned king and queen. Everyone started cheering wildly. I looked out into the audience and could see Spencer standing at the foot of the stage, looking at me and shaking his head slightly. I smiled and waved to him. I knew that after Chuck and Michelle got crowned, Mr. Berman would read the boring list of “Royal Duties” they were to assume, so I had to seize my quick window of time.
I gazed at Chuck, who was approaching the stage with a giddy Michelle. The light was hitting his face just right, making his already white teeth glimmer. I shook myself out of my stupor and ran up to the front of the stage with the microphone from my piano. “Congratulations, King and Queen!” I yelled, and everybody cheered again. Then I added, sounding incredibly positive, “Who cares if they deserve it? They’re the winners!” Everybody cheered again, obviously not taking in the content of my sentence, just the tone. I saw Spencer raise an eyebrow, and I knew he got my passive-aggressiveness.
“While the king and queen take their triumphant walk,” I continued, “we’re going to part with tradition tonight and have a hot, live performance instead.” Thankfully, I still got cheers. Spencer went back to shaking his head. “So, listen up, everyone!” I yelled, all the way to the back row of people. “Right after the rules are read, get ready for … Becky Phillips!”
Everybody cheered and I ran back to the piano as Mr. Berman started reading the traditional rules list. “King and Queen,” he said in an uncomfortable monotone, “you are to spread joy like spring flowers, blooming throughout the year.…”
When I got to the piano, I saw that Becky’s face looked like mine last year when I realized the camera was filming me in the locker room. “Justin, what are you doing?” she hissed.
I smiled and moved her off the bench. “You’re going to sing ‘The Best Night,’ the song you should have sung in the show.”
“Wh-what?” she sputtered. “I don’t know it!”
“You told me you’d memorized every song in the show.”
“I don’t want to sing.” She folded her arms defiantly. “I’m not doing it!”
“Becky,” I said calmly, “don’t pretend you don’t love performing. Here’s a chance to do it in front of the whole school.”
I could hear Principal Berman droning on: “… must present themselves in a respectful manner …”
“But … but …,” Becky sputtered. “Chuck’s here with Michelle.” Then she somehow got even paler. “And worse than that, my father is out there.” She was almost sobbing. “You know what that does to me.”
I spoke soothingly. “Becky, c’mon. We’ll deal with it.”
My calming tone must have gotten through to her. She got color back in her face and didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she looked like she was getting an idea. She started scanning the crowd. “OK, this could work if you think you can convince my dad to leave.” She started f
umbling for her phone. “You could call him on his cell and pretend to be—”
“No, Becky,” I said, cutting her off. “When I say ‘deal with it,’ I mean deal with the fact that he’s here.”
She looked panicked again. “No, Justin! You know I can’t perform with my dad in the audience.”
“You’re going to have to, Becky, because there’ll always be someone out there like your father. Someone who’ll doubt you or try to sabotage you.” I could tell she didn’t quite know what I meant, so I explained. “It could be another singer who’s trying to bring you down or one of those mean and stupid critics.…” It looked like I was making her even more nervous, so I grabbed her by the shoulders. “But none of them can take away your talent.” I locked eyes with her. “The only thing they can take away is the joy you feel when you sing.” Then I said as strongly as I could, “Don’t let them!”
I could tell she was torn. She kept looking at the stage, then at the audience, then back at me.
I channeled my inner Spencer to come up with the perfect line.
“Becky, do this performance and you’ll be free.”
I saw something register in her eyes, and right at that moment Principal Berman ended his litany of boringness. I handed Becky the microphone and she slowly started walking to the center of the stage.
She looked nervous and turned toward me for help.
I looked at her and simply said, “Hospital internship.”
She got an angry look on her face and yelled, “A-one, two, three, four!” and I launched into the intro to the song.
Chuck and Michelle started taking their red-carpet walk but no one looked at them. Everyone was watching Becky, who had never sounded better. I was so happy for her. Halfway through, her father moved all the way to the front of the stage. I didn’t know whether he wanted to see her performance up close to prove to himself it was really her or if he was trying to psyche her out. It didn’t matter. Becky belted out the final chorus, and when she got to the last note, she leaned down and sang it right to her father. People in the audience probably thought she was giving him a shout-out, but I knew it was more like the finger.
My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan Page 14
