by Mary Strand
The only thing smoldering on me was Josh’s note. I reached my hand into my pocket, just to make sure it was still there, especially when Josh kept looking more at Penelope and less at me. When they started talking to each other and shutting me out, I gobbled my lunch and slurped down my soda and made my excuses and beat it out of there.
The note had lost most of its hotness by the time I made it to the media center, pulled it out of my pocket, and unfolded it. But I was still more excited than I wanted to admit—I mean, this was my very first note ever—so I quickly scanned it.
And frowned.
MB, do you have time after school for Kyle and me to ask you questions about the roller coaster we’re designing?
Josh
Oh. My. God. I was such an idiot.
Thank God I had Josh to remind me of it. Every day. I pictured him sitting in the cafeteria, playing kissy face or slobbering all over Penelope right now. Penelope, my doppelgänger, but with curves and wild curly hair and a gallon of makeup and, from what I could see, eyes for Josh.
Thank God I didn’t want Josh.
He wanted me only for my brains. Specifically, my brains for Physics. My knees suddenly felt rubbery, and I plunked down in the nearest chair as the librarian shushed me, apparently for plunking too loudly.
Had Penelope copied my look—such as it was—to get Josh? But which look of mine had Josh preferred? The one I wore yesterday when he couldn’t take his eyes off my boobs, or the overalls I’d worn today, when he tried to talk me into helping him get a better grade in Physics?
Why should I care? I hated Josh!
As I slouched in the hard wooden chair, feeling sorry for myself and pissed at Josh, the librarian walked up to me. Ms. Kieran had cast-iron eyes, jeweled fuchsia reading glasses on a chain around her neck, and—especially for a librarian—the loudest voice I’d ever heard. I steeled myself, figuring she’d give me grief for groaning in the media center. As if everyone didn’t do that, at least during finals.
“Mary? Mary Bennet, right?”
I nodded, not bothering to mention the “MB” thing to her. She’d probably only shush me.
“Are you here to look at college applications online? Or to look at college brochures?” She nodded at me, as if she couldn’t possibly think of another reason why I’d come into the media center during school. Like, say, for a book. “I heard you did quite well on your ACTs. I hope you’re considering some good schools. Just like your sister Jane.”
Right. Jane, who’d had to transfer from Carleton College to the U of M after her first year when Dad’s mid-life crisis and a sucker investment sent our family’s finances—along with all of our hopes for good colleges—up in smoke.
I shrugged. “I’ll probably just go to the U of M. That’s the only—”
She pointed a ring-covered finger at me. “I heard about your ACT scores, and I know your grades are quite high. Really, Mary. You must apply to some good schools.”
“Like I said. The U of M.”
“I see great things for you.”
I blinked. I hadn’t ever met a single person who saw great things for me, but somehow I’d been holding out hope that it’d be someone other than Ms. Kieran. Like maybe other kids, or at least my parents or sisters. Sure, Jane and Liz said nice things the other day, but I figured they were just giddy from having dates that night.
Ms. Kieran gave me a smug smile, told me to wait, then came back with half a dozen college brochures. Princeton, Yale, Harvard, Berkeley, MIT, the University of Chicago. She might as well hand me brochures for a rocket to the moon.
I gave them right back to her. “Really. I pretty much have to go to the U of M.”
“Because you want to stay close to home?” She made a tsking sound, a lot like my mom always did, and held her reading glasses up to her nose as she peered at one of the brochures. “I hope your parents aren’t pressuring you to stay home. I find it extremely annoying when—”
“They’re not.”
“Well, the University of Chicago really isn’t so far away. There’s also Carleton College, which is very close and a gem. Doesn’t your sister Jane go there?”
She smiled wistfully, as if she wished she were having this conversation with Jane. Not with me, especially since I seemed to be thwarting her grand plans to live vicariously by sending me to the college of Ms. Kieran’s dreams.
I shrugged. “Jane went there her first year, but then she transferred to the U of M.”
Ms. Kieran frowned. “Really? Carleton’s English program seemed like just the thing for Jane.”
And it was, and Jane had loved it, and I think having to come back to the U of M had utterly crushed Jane. Just like Charlie crushed her. Come to think of it, for a girl Jane Austen called perfect, my own Jane had been smacked upside the head a few times in her life.
I’d just never thought of it that way.
As I thought about Jane, Ms. Kieran kept trying to shove the brochures back into my hand.
“Really, Ms. Kieran, I can’t.” I wasn’t about to explain my family’s finances to anyone, let alone the biggest gossip at Woodbury High, but I also didn’t feel like pretending I was going to bother dreaming of a school I couldn’t afford to visit, let alone handle tuition or housing. Even a scholarship—as if I could get one—would never come close to covering it all. “But thanks, uh, for thinking of me.”
As I backed away from her on my way out of the media center, my only sanctuary from Josh and Penelope and every other kid here at Woodbury High, she waved the brochures in the air. “I’m not giving up on this, Mary. I’ll speak to your teachers and perhaps even Mr. Paymar.”
I shuddered as I reached the door to the media center. Great. The last thing I needed was yet another trip to the principal’s office, even if it wasn’t technically for punishment. Visiting Mr. Paymar for any reason was torture.
I opened the door and waved feebly at Ms. Kieran. Nothing I said was going to stop her. I might as well ignore her.
“You have star potential, Mary. You deserve this!”
I shook my head as I joined the swarm of kids in the hallway. Ms. Kieran definitely had me confused with someone who, unlike me, had star potential. Or someone who had a future.
Weird. Despite being a librarian, Ms. Kieran obviously hadn’t read The Book.
Josh sat next to me in Physics again, but I finally knew why he’d decided to quit avoiding me in class: he wanted my help getting a good grade.
I’d figured out by now that Josh could get a decent grade in pretty much any subject, even with Kyle for a partner. But Josh wanted a good grade. Even if you didn’t absolutely need a partner to get a good grade, having someone smart to bounce ideas around with made it a lot easier. Which was why I’d basically stalled out on designing my own roller coaster.
It wasn’t that working on the roller coaster made me think of Josh, or of barfing all over him, or of how he stopped speaking to me and dumped me as his partner and then hooked up with a weird chick who was suddenly dressing like me. I told myself I was too busy acquiring a new wardrobe to work on a roller coaster. Even though the wardrobe had lasted exactly one day.
When I first saw Josh slide into the desk next to me in Physics class, I stuck my hand in the pocket of my overalls, right where Josh’s so-called note had been, to remind myself exactly how stupid I could be around a guy if he pretended to like me, even just for a few minutes.
Josh had pretended it, twice now, to get a better grade in Physics. And, twice now, I’d fallen for it.
At least this time I’d fallen for it only long enough to read his note. I was improving.
As Mr. Gilbertson started droning on about another physics principle that would never have great meaning in my life—since I wasn’t going to MIT or the University of Chicago or any other college for brainiacs, and therefore wouldn’t become a world-famous lab researcher, if there was such a thing—I glanced out the window. Unfortunately, Josh sat between the window and me, so an idiot might thin
k I was glancing at Josh. Which I totally wasn’t.
He grinned at me.
I gave him a tight smile and looked back at my Physics notebook, which was open to a page on which I really ought to be taking notes instead of doodling, especially since I wasn’t much of an artist. I was a math and science geek who wasn’t going to MIT. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. How weird that one of Ms. Kieran’s brochures was for the college I’d dreamed of since seventh-grade science class. The day Jane moved back home after freshman year of college, I’d shoved it out of my mind forever. Painfully.
The droning continued, the half-assed doodling continued, and I could swear Josh’s grinning continued. Irritated, I sneaked a peek at him. He wasn’t grinning at me. He wasn’t even looking at me. From what I could tell, he was staring at some girl on the other side of the room.
I didn’t want to think about how many girls I’d seen Josh hanging with in the last couple of weeks, or even the last few hours. I mean, he probably hung with guys, too—like Kyle—but somehow I never noticed that. Why did I care? I didn’t like Josh. I mean, not like that.
But I’d kinda liked him as a friend. The strange, inexplicable guy who’d actually talked to me, passed me notes, hung out by my locker, and invaded my otherwise empty lunch table. As it turned out, he’d done it just to get a better grade. Couldn’t he hire a tutor?
Come to think of it, when he paid for my soda and rides at the Mall of America that day, had he actually thought of it as paying for a tutor?
Biting my lip until it ached, I stacked my books ten minutes before the final bell rang and leaped to my feet the moment it did. I scooted around half a dozen kids as I headed to the door, intent on escape. I almost stopped at my locker, then whapped myself upside the head. Duh! Josh would look for me there. I shot past it, then turned a corner and cruised down another hall as fast as the throngs of kids let me. Another corner. And into the media center. My old safe haven.
I’d forgotten about Ms. Kieran.
“Mary! Have you come back for the brochures?” She held up a hand when I started to protest, then waved it frantically when she noticed me backing out of the media center. “No, no, wait right here. I set them aside for you. I’ll get them.”
Josh was probably in the hall right now looking for me. Unlike me, he wasn’t a complete idiot, so he probably hadn’t waited more than five seconds at my locker after I left class before him. Would he look around school for me? Or would he and Kyle go somewhere and start working on their roller coaster project?
I sucked in a breath as I realized one of the most likely spots where he and Kyle might get together. Right here. In the media center. Where I was waiting for Ms. Kieran to give me a bunch of brochures that I’d toss in the trash the instant I left.
After a quick glance around to make sure I wasn’t within Ms. Kieran’s range of vision, I turned and ran. Out of the media center, down the hall, outside to the parking lot.
Even though my backpack and half my books, including a couple of hours’ worth of homework, were still in my locker. Even though I’d probably pissed off Ms. Kieran, who’d tell all the teachers or report me to Mr. Paymar or both. Even though it totally annoyed me that I was afraid of Josh and a football player who wasn’t even smart enough to spell his own name, let alone mine.
I was wheezing by the time I made it to the Jeep—or, actually, to where I’d parked the Jeep this morning. Had Cat grabbed it at lunchtime and skipped out for fast food? I glanced up and down the rows of cars. It should be easy enough to find; after one of Lydia’s infamous Jeep incidents last spring, before she even had a license, Dad painted the Jeep hot pink, claiming he wanted to be able to recognize it easily if the police ever called again like that.
No hot-pink Jeep appeared in my line of vision. There were two parking lots, one on each side of school, but we always parked in this lot so we knew where to find the Jeep. I walked up and down every row. Definitely no Jeep.
Cat, that rat bastard.
Sure, I’d done the very same thing to her a couple of times recently, but I’d been provoked. By Josh, who was now walking down the row I was in, coming straight at me.
The only good thing, if there was one, was that he wasn’t with Kyle. Or Penelope. Or any other girl.
But he looked pissed.
“No one in this school actually calls you MB, do they?”
I blinked. Those weren’t exactly the words I’d expected to come out of his mouth.
“Uh . . .” I felt like an idiot. I wanted everyone to call me MB, or thought I did, but no one did. Why? For starters, no one but Josh ever spoke to me. Why would they give a rip about what to call me? “It’s just that—”
“And I wrote you a note. You got it, right? Did you read it and then blow me off after school?”
Oh, right. The love note. The one that made me blow him off after school, yes, but I wouldn’t exactly use those words. Like, not in a million years.
Which was how soon I felt like talking to Josh.
“What do you want, Josh?” Angry, I tried glancing at him, but I wasn’t just angry. Even if he was a jerk and a user, Josh still made me . . . nervous. He was a guy, and guys had never talked to me. I stammered and, with my luck, probably had something green stuck between my teeth. “You want me for a Physics partner, and then you don’t, and then you do—but in some bizarre trio with Kyle, of all people.” I couldn’t help it; I snorted. “And then you decide you want me to help you and Kyle get a good grade. Is that pretty much it?”
I crossed my arms halfway through my speech, and I left them like that now. For one thing, I figured my hands would shake if I actually let them loose.
Josh just stared at me, then took a step toward me. I froze in place when I wanted to take a step or five backward.
A horn honked.
“Yo, Josh! You coming?” Kyle leaned out the driver’s window of a red convertible—figured—as he zoomed up to the two of us, stopping right behind Josh, who was still in the middle of the row.
Josh glanced over his shoulder at Kyle, then back at me. Shaking his head, he turned and climbed into Kyle’s car. Because Kyle was his partner. Kyle, who didn’t barf all over him on roller coasters. Kyle, his pal. I heard them both laugh as Kyle pealed out of the parking lot.
Mary or MB? No matter what anyone called me, I was a loser.
Was that Jane Austen’s fault? Or mine?
Chapter 10
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human nature.
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Twelve
I trudged home from school. No Jeep. No Josh. Needless to say, no friends who drove by and stopped to offer a ride.
God, I was pathetic.
When Jane got home from her own classes, she basically agreed with me.
“Mary? Why are you back in those overalls?”
She refrained from scrunching up her nose, the way she might when Lydia or Cat did something to offend her or, for that matter, when Mom cooked. She also waited until she caught me alone in my room to say it.
But I didn’t need any favors. Even from Jane. “I’d rather be called MB, if it’s okay with you.”
The truth was, I wasn’t even sure about that anymore, but I didn’t feel like backing down. I was having a lousy day, and something needed to go my way. Anything. Just once. Dad had asked the minute I got home how things were at school, Mom finally noticed I wasn’t practicing piano, and Cat giggled as she dangled the keys to the Jeep in front of my nose.
“MB?” Jane sat down on the end of my bed. “Since when?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never liked being Mary Bennet.”
“Not since you first read The Book, at least.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Too bad you were always such a good reader. You could’ve been spared some of the trauma of middle school if you’d waited until high school to read it.”
“Does anyone get spared the trauma of middle school?”
Laughing,
Jane nodded. “Point taken. But you know what I mean. You give Jane Austen way too much credit for ruining your life.”
Weird. That was exactly what I’d been pondering during my entire walk home from school. Not that I’d admit it. As much as Jane Austen annoyed me, I’d rather have her wrecking my life than, say, me doing the damage.
Curled up with a pillow and Boris at the head of my bed, I sniffed. “I still like MB.”
“Then MB it is, but I confess I like ‘Mary’ better. Now, tell me about the overalls. Didn’t you wear one of your new outfits yesterday?”
Yesterday. A lifetime ago. I’d almost forgotten.
Not.
A tear stabbed the corner of my eye. Twisting toward the wall, which prompted Boris to swat a paw at me, I brushed the tear away. But not quickly enough to keep Jane from scooching closer to me.
“Didn’t the other kids like it? What about Josh?”
Another stupid tear. Dammit. Josh made me mad. He wasn’t supposed to make me cry.
Jane patted my hand, the way I’d always wished Mom would, even just once, but I hadn’t gotten a mom like that. In the great lottery of life, my mom was a bipolar divorce lawyer who couldn’t boil water and who focused all her attention on the daughter most likely to wind up in prison some day.
I swiped the back of my hand at the second tear.
“It can’t be that bad. I’m sure you looked fantastic. I wish I’d seen you.” Only Jane would be willing to get an up-close look at a train wreck. She leaned against the wall, taking my old Eeyore pillow to prop behind her back. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t Josh handle it?”
“He stared at my boobs.”
Too late, I clapped a hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to tell Jane. I didn’t even want to know it myself.
Jane’s eyebrows went up. “You never gave him a chance before. To sneak a peek at you, I mean.”
