by Mary Strand
But we were talking about Cat and Lydia. It was possible.
Mom shook her finger at Dad. “Howard, I can’t believe you’re making fun of your very own daughters, especially when they’re not here to defend themselves. Oh, Lydia! Poor girl, she must be miserable so far away from us, even if she is at one of the best schools in the country.”
Good God. Even after a few weeks, Mom was still in the dark about Lydia. Hadn’t Lydia called yet? Didn’t they even give a girl a quarter for a call home?
Dad didn’t crack a smile. “I’m not making fun of them. I’m quite concerned about their study habits, or lack thereof, which makes it all the more surprising that you’re so intent on Mary. Mary has straight A’s.”
Except in Gym class.
Jane nudged me, and I glanced at Mom and Dad, seeing that they were facing off against each other now and hardly seemed to realize we were in the room. Okay, Dad probably did, but he was obviously taking a bullet for me. Willingly, even.
I glanced quickly at Jane, nodded, and we both escaped upstairs as Mom’s voice went up an octave and Dad headed back to his yoga mat. Halfway up the stairs, I turned back to see Mom still screeching and Dad putting earphones on.
He probably wasn’t even playing music.
“You can do it.”
“Nope. Definitely can’t.”
I sat up in bed Monday morning, still in my pj’s and groggy, with most of the new clothes I’d bought still in the shopping bags, wondering why Jane hadn’t left for class yet. Didn’t she have an eight-o’clock class on Monday mornings? Or was that just wishful thinking?
At least I’d left most of the tags on. After school today, before Jane or Liz found out and tried to strangle me, I could return everything except the outfit I wore home on Saturday.
“You wore new clothes once last week.”
I yawned. “And look how that turned out.”
“Actually, I’m not sure how it turned out.” Jane bent down and tapped the bottom of my foot, which seemed like a pretty feeble attempt to get me moving. “You said Josh stared at you.”
“At only one part of me.” Or two, depending on your viewpoint. “And that wasn’t my intention.”
“But he noticed you.”
“Jane, he already noticed me. He noticed me when he asked me to be his Physics partner, and he noticed me even more when I puked all over him.”
Jane smiled, a little annoyingly. “Who was it who said there’s no such thing as bad publicity?”
“An idiot. And barfing on Josh wasn’t publicity. It was sheer humiliation.”
“Which brings me to my next point.”
I heard Liz stomping around in the hall outside my room, her typical morning routine, and stared pointedly at the clock. Jane just stood there, calm, her arms crossed, as if getting me into new clothes was the most important item on her to-do list.
She tapped her foot. “For a smart girl, you’re a little slow. Don’t you get it? No one in school found out that you, er—”
“—barfed. On Josh.”
Jane nodded, looking a little queasy herself. “Right. Josh didn’t tell anyone.”
“How do you know? He dumped me as his Physics partner.”
“Did anyone know he’d been your Physics partner?”
I frowned at her. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. I barfed on Josh, and he dumped me, and everyone’s been laughing at me ever since.”
“That’s because they’re immature toads.” Jane put her hands on her slim hips. “What you’re missing here is that, even if a few kids happened to laugh at you, they didn’t do it because Josh told them anything. No one knows you barfed on him, or Cat would’ve told us all about it by now. Believe it or not, the guy likes you. At a minimum, he’s not a complete toad.”
I pulled my covers up to my chin but wanted to pull them over my head. Anything to stop Jane. “Our standards are really slipping, aren’t they? So Josh doesn’t blab. Maybe.”
Liz poked her head into my room. “Unless they like a girl, most guys blab. So whatever point Jane is making, listen to her. Actually, stop listening, because Jane doesn’t have time to talk right now.” Liz pointed at her watch, and Jane finally glanced at the clock next to my bed. And screeched.
“Like I said.” Liz turned to me, her sharp gaze skewering me. “And before you even think about returning the clothes we spent all that time shopping for on Saturday, forget it. Jane clipped the tags off yesterday when you were eating breakfast.”
What?
“Liz, I did not!” Jane turned bright red.
“No wonder I had to. Heh heh.” As Liz chuckled, I considered leaping off my bed and dropping her to the floor. Even though she’d kill me. “As it turns out, you and I think more alike than you knew. Scary, huh?”
I shuddered.
Jane nodded sympathetically. “I can’t blame you for wanting to kill her, MB, but she’s right. Besides, you can’t hide your new haircut. You might as well wear the new clothes and take this all the way.”
All the way where? Straight to hell?
My hands flew to my hair, checking to make sure it was still there. It . . . wasn’t. Thanks to my lifelong aversion to mirrors, I kept forgetting what I’d done to myself on Saturday. Tags or not, the clothes weren’t permanent. The haircut was.
Liz grabbed Jane by the arm and started dragging her out of the room. “I didn’t throw away your overalls, if that’s your next question, although I considered it. I do have some decency.”
For once, even Jane snorted.
Chapter 12
Mary’s powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affected.
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Eighteen
I stepped gingerly into first-period English, my gaze aimed straight ahead, my feet moving by memory more than willpower. After a quick shower, I’d thrown on one of the new outfits: black leggings, a flowy peach top that Jane and Liz worked like dogs to talk me into, and my already beloved Birkenstock sandals.
Several long heartbeats later, I finally reached my desk and sank into my chair. Turning slightly, I glanced around.
The entire class was staring at me.
Josh, who hadn’t said anything to me since he and Kyle peeled out of the parking lot last Tuesday after school, tapped me on the shoulder and whispered the word “cute.”
My worst nightmare. I’d become Cute.
The bell rang, and Mr. Skamser rapped his ruler on his desk. “If everyone is done admiring the Mary Bennet fashion show, I’d like your attention, please.”
Most kids’ heads whipped toward the front of the room, but I felt my face flaming. Even though no one was laughing. I mean, not even a single snicker.
The rest of the day went the same, except that none of my other teachers were sadistic enough to point out my new wardrobe to the entire class. Ms. Gonzalez didn’t even notice, since we have to wear those skanky shorts and T-shirts in Gym class. In Physics, Mr. Gilbertson must’ve been too stunned by my new look to ask again whether I’d found a partner I liked for the roller coaster project.
In short, the entire day was a success, or as close to one as I’d ever experienced in this lifetime. On the other hand, no one came near me at lunch. No Josh. No Penelope in her wannabe overalls. I didn’t look around the cafeteria to see if they were sitting together somewhere else. I was having a decent day, for the first time in forever, and didn’t want to ruin it.
And yet . . .
After offering the Jeep to Cat, I trudged home alone after school. I was used to being alone, and that hadn’t changed today. The only thing that changed was that Josh said I was “cute” and Mr. Skamser noticed my outfit—although I’m not sure how that cuts—and nobody laughed at me. Sticking to overalls would’ve been a lot cheaper.
Sighing, I kicked at a stone.
A beat-up, dark-green Camaro drove by, slowly, a lot like the one Dad almost bought during the early throes of his mid-li
fe crisis until Mom put her foot down. This one needed a paint job. I glanced at it, then kicked the stone again.
The Camaro slowed to a stop at the corner and didn’t start up again. I glanced around, idly wondering if it was a creep, but the block was full of kids playing and the occasional mom or dad hanging out in the front yard. I felt safe enough, but the car was still there. Waiting for God knows what.
Waiting for me, as it turned out.
The driver’s window was down, some loud rock music that sounded Spanish was blaring, and I finally recognized the face behind the dark sunglasses. Josh.
I slowly stepped closer, stopping on the curb across from him. Despite myself, my head bounced to the music throbbing from the Camaro’s speakers. I still didn’t like Josh, even if—or because—he suddenly thought I was cute, but I allowed myself to like his music. Unless he was singing it.
“Do you need a ride home?”
With Josh? In that car?
“You don’t have to look at me like I’m a mass murderer. I just asked if you wanted a ride.”
I froze, totally unable to decide. Unable to remember why I hated him, but I knew I did. “I, uh—”
As the Spanish-sounding rock kept thumping, he glanced up into his rearview mirror. Was he checking for traffic or worried that someone from school would catch him talking to me?
Maybe both. Nothing new. “What is that? That music?”
He eyed his dashboard as if the answer lay hidden there, then looked back at me. “That? Juanes?”
“He’s . . . Spanish?”
I rolled my eyes. He’s Spanish? And I was an honors student?
“Well, he ain’t French, if that’s what you mean. Don’t you take Spanish?”
“Fifth period.”
“I wondered. We were in class together last year.”
We were? Was Josh in every class I’d ever taken? Was he stalking me?
“You don’t have to look so surprised. Anyway, Juanes is Colombian. Don’t you remember Señor Haakenson playing a few Juanes songs in class? Un Día Normal? ‘Today’s a normal day, but I’m gonna make it intense.’ God, I love that.” He pounded his hand against the steering wheel, in time to the song Juanes was singing right now, as if to emphasize his point. “So I went out and bought a couple of his CDs.”
I knew the music sounded familiar, but I’d have to step closer to Josh’s car to hear it better. And, well, no.
“You think a lot, you know that?”
I suddenly realized I’d been staring down at my feet, in my comfy new Birkenstocks, my toenails embarrassingly bare and free of polish. Unlike every other girl I knew. I glanced up to see Josh’s eyes boring a hole through me.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Like I said.”
As my cheeks flushed, I heard myself stammering. “It’s, uh, just that I—”
“—spend a lot of time by yourself. Yeah, I’ve noticed. Why is that, anyway?”
I stared at Josh, trying to figure him out. Was he teasing? Making fun of me for having no friends whatsoever? Or utterly and completely clueless?
The thing is, he didn’t look clueless. Behind his slacker façade, he actually seemed smart. Okay, for a guy who wore his pants baggy and slung low, like the other skater dudes, and who spent his life riding around on a stupid contraption with four tiny wheels.
A car honked, and my head jerked up as I realized that an SUV had pulled up right behind Josh, the woman behind the wheel looking a bit crazed. Josh rolled his eyes and pulled forward, then around the corner. And stopped by the curb.
I crossed the street, not because I had any desire to follow him to the ends of the earth, but only because I didn’t want to be rude. Then I walked up to the passenger side and bent down to look in the window just as Josh reached across the seat and pushed the door open.
Like I was supposed to ride in it or something.
Biting my lip, I slid inside, slammed the door, and buckled my seatbelt. It was quite a feat, actually, considering the way my hands were trembling.
“Hey! I’m a good driver.”
Even though his car wasn’t going anywhere. As Juanes continued to blare, even louder now that I was inside the Camaro, Josh just sat there, staring at me. All of me.
Squirming, I untangled the strap of my backpack, which I’d dumped on my shins.
“So. I asked why you spend so much time by yourself. I mean, besides the fact that you’re probably busy thinking brilliant thoughts.”
Josh looked like he didn’t mind sitting there all day, waiting for my answer, but I wondered who lived in the houses on this block and whether they knew my parents and whether Mom would be waiting with a shotgun when I eventually got home.
I also wondered if Josh would walk me to the door. Did guys still do that? I mean, if they were actually going out with a girl and not just giving her a ride home after school?
Was Josh planning to go out with me?
“Earth to Mary. Or MB. Or whatever you want to be called today.”
I blinked, clearing my head. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” All of it stupid and pointless and basically the opposite of brilliant.
“Like?”
“Like?” Nothing I could confess to Josh. Most of my stupid thoughts were about him. “Like school.”
“You’ve got good grades, right? So what’s to worry about? Senior year doesn’t really matter, since colleges mostly look at your grades through junior year.”
Colleges. Ugh. Ms. Kieran had trapped me again today to bug me about college choices and whether I’d be applying for early decision.
I shrugged. “Ms. Kieran is all over me about colleges, but I have to go to the U of M.”
Josh frowned. “Money? Or do you just want to stick close to home?”
Could I talk about money with a guy? My sisters mostly just seemed to make out with guys. But I wasn’t my sisters, and guys weren’t exactly lining up to make out with me. Not even Josh, who’d been sitting next to me in a Camaro for a few minutes and hadn’t so much as reached for my hand.
My hands went clammy just thinking about it.
I glanced sideways at Josh. He was just sitting there, waiting, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Gripping it pretty hard, I noticed.
“I don’t want to stick close to home. It’s more about—” I swallowed hard. “Money.”
There. I’d said it.
“I know.” As my eyebrows flew up, he brushed a hand through his hair. “I mean, same with me. My parents split up last year, and it leaves my college plans swinging in the breeze.”
“What college plans?”
“I wanted to go somewhere warm. You know, so I can skate year-round.” He laughed, but he didn’t exactly seem amused. “Unfortunately, I haven’t found a lot of schools that offer full scholarships to skaters.”
Were there any that did?
“But . . . what about grades? Academic scholarships?”
I had to admit that Ms. Kieran’s constant badgering was actually sinking in. Not that any hot school would ever give me a scholarship or, for that matter, admit me. I had no activities, no friends, nothing but straight A’s. And, okay, perfect ACT scores. But what did those count for?
Josh shook his head. “I wouldn’t have a prayer. My grades are decent, but a lot of kids have decent grades. I should’ve listened to my dad and gone out for basketball. A sports scholarship would be easier to get.”
Even though Josh was maybe five feet nine, tops. And was obviously a skateboarder. Or skater. Or whatever he called himself.
“You could apply for an academic scholarship.” I tried to sound hopeful, even though Josh was right. Decent grades alone wouldn’t cut it. Even my grades, without much else on my résumé, wouldn’t be enough to nail a scholarship at MIT or the University of Chicago or anywhere else on my wish list.
Josh looked skeptical. “What about you? If anyone could score an academic scholarship, I guess it’d be you.”
I smiled weakly. “Since I don’t
play basketball.”
“Not to mention football. Kyle already has a scholarship.”
“Kyle?” That moron got into college?
Josh nodded. “He got a full ride at the U of M.”
Yet another reason not to go to the U of M. At least it was a big place, and I had a strong hunch that Kyle and I would never run into each other there. Kyle in the library? Kyle in a lab? No way.
Josh laughed, breaking the sudden silence. “Unfortunately, ever since he got the word, he’s been less than eager to help out on the roller coaster project.”
I fiddled with my backpack, mostly to avoid looking at him. Was that why Josh was giving me a ride? Assuming we ever actually moved, of course? “Like you said, senior-year grades don’t matter.”
“Not to colleges. But they actually matter to me.” Josh glanced at me quickly. “I know that sounds lame.”
No, it sounded like me.
“Anyway.” Josh shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Enough about me. So tell me. If money weren’t an issue, do you know where you’d like to go to college?”
“MIT.” The initials whooshed out of me in a single breath.
“Feel free to take some time thinking about it.”
Josh laughed, his hand slapping the steering wheel, which reminded me that I was sitting in a car with a guy. Parking. Well, without the groping hands and hot breath and whatever else usually happened in parked cars, although maybe not in this particular Woodbury neighborhood on a sunny Monday afternoon in early October.
Weird parts of me started tingling just then, and I didn’t know what to do or even what to think. Was this normal? Was Josh feeling something, too?
“Are you gonna at least apply to MIT?”
No, apparently he wasn’t feeling anything. I blew out a breath. “Ms. Kieran keeps talking about it and shoving college brochures in my hands, but I haven’t even mentioned it to my mom or dad.”
