by Donna Cooner
Mrs. Boggs sighs. She isn’t buying it. “You were at the assembly last week and you know what I’m talking about, Linden.”
I look down at my carefully folded hands. My thumbs tap against each other restlessly.
“Do you know who created it?” she asks.
I look up and lock eyes with her. “No,” I say. “No one knows.”
“I’m sorry. This kind of judgment must feel very invasive for your friend, Nikki,” Mrs. Boggs says, shaking her head. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you, or if anyone you know, wants to talk about it.”
“Thanks, Mrs. B. I’m sure the attention will just move on to someone else.” It is a good answer and I hope it is true. I stand and pick my backpack up off the floor.
“If you know who’s doing this, Linden, please let me know,” Mrs. Boggs says before I can walk away. “Speaking up about something like this isn’t tattling. It’s taking a stand to stop it.”
I shoulder my book bag and turn for the door. “I have no idea how to stop it, Mrs. B. If I did, I would.”
In the cafeteria, Max sets a small metal lockbox down on the table covered in green and gold tissue-paper streamers. Behind him are two handmade posters taped up on the wall featuring prom shoe pictures and details about the contest.
“Great idea, Linden,” he says as I approach. “You should be my campaign manager. Or better yet, your friend out there should be. She’s got everyone talking.” He bobs his head toward the courtyard. When I look over his shoulder, I see three girls staring at Nikki and Jake from the cafeteria windows. They are probably deciding right now how they should vote and what they should say. My betrayal makes my throat feel tight. I swallow hard and look down at the ground. I will tell her. I’ll explain and she’ll understand. Eventually.
Raylene bounces up to the table, dragging Ross along by the hand. “We’ll take two.”
Evidently, they survived the scrutiny of Worthy and are still a couple. I realize I’m relieved.
“You have your tickets, right?” Max calls after me, but I pretend not to hear him. I go through the lunch line and pick up a sad-looking piece of pepperoni pizza.
If everything goes according to plan, I’ll have a date to prom by this Friday night. But maybe I should wait and let Alex ask me in his own way?
No, I am definitely going to do it.
I take a seat by myself at the usual table, setting down my tray, but then see Taylor waving wildly at me from across the room.
“Over here, Linden!”
Jayla and Mia don’t look up from the piles of lettuce and carrots in front of them, but Mia pushes her cheerleading pom-poms down on the bench and silently scoots over to make room for me. Jayla nods a greeting, and just like that, I fit in at the popular table, surrounded by the Lovelies. I know a lot of people in this cafeteria would kill to be in my shoes right now, but honestly, the view isn’t any different.
“You should have gotten a salad,” Mia tells Taylor, looking at her bagel. “Even an inch or two is going to be obvious in that mermaid dress you’ve picked out.”
Taylor glares at her but pulls out all the middle of the half of bagel she’s holding in her hand and takes a few tiny bites of the outside crust. I take a bite of my pizza and chew slowly. Looking down the table, I notice no one else has pizza. It’s a mistake on my part. I put the slice down on my plate, my stomach growling in revolt.
Jayla finally makes eye contact with me. “I think your friend is so courageous.”
Mia nods enthusiastically, flipping her long blonde braid over one shoulder. “A woman’s worth should never be determined by how others feel about her. It’s all about how you view yourself.”
I’m pretty sure I saw this direct quote on Pinterest last week. Then I would have said Nikki was the living, breathing embodiment of this saying. Now I’m not so sure.
“Well, I know all about the inner strength it takes to be on Worthy,” Taylor says, clutching her hand to her heart. “After all, I was on it first.”
I do an inner eye roll. Sitting here is a bad idea. I should quit this publicity thing right now and go back to my comfortable table in the cheap seats of the cafeteria. But quitting in the middle of a plan has never been one of my strengths. Even if it’s all going downhill fast.
“So what’s up next, Linds?” Taylor says, turning to me. “We have to keep this prom momentum going.”
Suddenly, I have a nickname from the Lovelies. As if it isn’t weird enough to be sitting here.
“Prom is only two weeks away,” I say. “Not a lot more time, but I’m thinking there should be one more really big promposal.”
Mia makes a face. “Kind of last minute, don’t you think?”
But Taylor isn’t taking her bait. “Who?” she asks me.
I look everyone in the eye, up and down the table, my pulse racing. “Me.”
“I didn’t even know you were dating anyone,” Jayla says.
“Well, I am.” I take a breath in and announce, “I’m dating Alex Rivera.”
It’s the first time I’ve actually said it out loud, and my heart explodes with the thought of it.
Jayla just dips her forkful of lettuce into her oil-and-vinegar dressing and nods. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
“Who is that?” Mia asks, and Jayla tells her, “He’s on the baseball team.”
“That cute catcher?” Mia asks, and Jayla nods; then Mia looks at me with her blue eyes all wide. “He’s adorable,” Mia says.
For a moment, I think she’s going to jump up and do a little cheer just for me.
Jayla says, “I saw you sitting by him at the assembly, but I didn’t know you were dating.”
“Well, we are,” I say.
Taylor squeals and punches me in the arm. “This is going to be epic.”
She seems even more enthusiastic after I explain the plan with the banner and the balloons.
“So romantic!” she cries.
“I know, right?” I’m excited by the enthusiastic reception, but a little overwhelmed.
Surprisingly, Jayla and Mia volunteer to help hold the sign at the game. “If we’re all in the video, it will definitely have the most hits yet,” Jayla says, obviously thinking about the potential for prom queen publicity.
“Is Nikki going to help?” Blair asks.
“I haven’t talked to her about it.” I deserve something to be about just me. If Nikki gets involved, everything will be about heart stickers and Worthy.
But before I can even try to explain, Taylor changes the subject. “What does your dress look like?” she asks between bagel nibbles.
I look up from my pizza. “I don’t have one yet.”
Taylor tilts her head to one side like she couldn’t have possibly heard me correctly. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been so busy with all the prom plans, I haven’t really thought about it.”
“We’ll have to fix that.” She gently pats me on the shoulder.
“Fix what?” Nikki is standing beside the table in her Am I Good Enough? shirt. She’s clearly caught the tail end of our conversation.
Taylor takes a last long sip of her bottled water, then stands up. Everyone at the table quickly follows her lead, clearing trays and picking up trash.
“I have to get to class. I’ll text you about dress shopping, Linds.”
Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? You’re going shopping with Taylor?”
“I didn’t plan it. She just asked me right now.” I don’t know why I sound so defensive. “She’s going to help with the promposal … ” My voice trails off.
“You can’t be serious. Why didn’t you ask me?”
I feel like a traitor. “I wanted to ask you, but you’ve been so preoccupied with Worthy.”
“So all of a sudden you’re hanging out with your new ‘friends’?” She makes air quotes with her fingers. Even though Nikki’s always floated between different groups, I’ve never stretched myself thi
s far.
Jealous, Nikki?
Her sarcasm makes me angry. Why wouldn’t they be friends with me?
“You aren’t the only one who is worthy,” I say, surprised at the harshness in my tone.
Nikki puts her hands on her hips. “This is important, Linden. We have to stand up for ourselves and let people know we can’t be judged by the way we look. Worthy is my chance to do that in a big way.”
But after our conversation last night, Nikki’s words don’t make sense to me. On one hand, she says looks don’t matter. On the other, she keeps trying to change herself to make Jake like her more.
Which is it, Nikki?
Worthy has somehow twisted Nikki’s confidence into a muddled mess, and now it’s not only about proving her worth to everyone at school. It’s also about Jake and how he makes her feel. I can’t hold it back anymore. She has to know.
“You are worthy, Nikki. That’s why I voted no.” I blurt it out.
Nikki’s mouth falls open, and I keep talking as fast as I can. “You deserve much more than someone like Jake. If I could have voted him unworthy, I would have.”
Nikki shakes her head. “That’s not fair. Of all people, I always thought you had my back.”
My eyes fill up with tears. “I do,” I whisper. “Always.”
“But not now.” Her words slice through me like the scissors she always keeps on her desk to cut through the fabric of her latest creations.
I have to explain. Tears spill out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I put my hands out, but she steps away from my reach. “I wanted you to see he wasn’t right for you,” I try to explain.
“That’s my choice. Not yours.” Her brown eyes are cold, her mouth tight. Now she has pinned me through the heart with guilt.
She’s right and I’m so, so wrong. “I was trying to protect you,” I mumble. “I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
“Don’t you think I know what it feels like to not fit in? I don’t fit anywhere. That’s why I make my own place.” She takes a step closer to me. “And some people appreciate that about me.”
There is nothing more I can say. I watch her turn and walk away through the crowded hallway, and despite the swarms of pushing bodies all around me, I feel completely alone.
That night, I sit at my desk and think about everything that happened with Nikki. I love the power of words, but I just betrayed my best friend with only one.
No.
On the wall above me, judging me with all those empty squares, is my writing calendar. Three freaking stickers for the whole month? Who am I kidding? I have to accept it. I’m never going to break through this block if I can’t trust someone enough to actually read what I write. Tears burn at my throat.
Murphy sniffs at my hand, drawing my attention away from my thoughts for a moment. I look down into his golden eyes and he puts his chin on my knee. My glance is encouraging, so he nudges me gently with his nose, pushing his soft chocolate snout underneath my hand. My fingers move ever so slightly, and Murphy snuggles in deeper, positioning my hand perfectly on top of his head for stroking. The response is almost automatic. My fingers relax into his fur. All of this emotion has to be good for something. Finally, I turn back to my computer. I write a while and cry a while. It is the perfect combination.
Congratulations, Nikki!
72% say YES!
You are WORTHY!
Hey, Hornets! Wake up tomorrow, roll out of bed, and start judging. Someone new will be under the WORTHY microscope!
On Monday, I stand in front of my closet, my mind still clouded with sleep, staring at the rows of clothes. I could put that skirt with that top, but what shoes? Or those sneakers with that pair of jeans, but what else? Nikki would know, but she didn’t answer my texts all weekend. I deserve her silence.
Picking out my outfit is way too difficult, so I give up and focus on putting makeup on instead, trying to cover up the puffiness from last night’s cry-fest. My favorite NARS concealer covers the dark circles pretty well, but does nothing to hide the guilt looking back at me from the mirror. My hair is a tangled mess and I don’t have the energy to tame it into some kind of style, so I just twist it into a long, low braid. I add a quick coat of mascara and some chocolate-brown shadow, then call it done. No contacts today. My glasses will just add one small buffer between me and the world.
I’m glad Nikki was voted worthy, but somehow it makes what I did even worse. I should have supported her or, better yet, not let myself be dragged into Worthy at all.
When I finally turn on my phone, it goes crazy with notifications. There are no texts from Nikki, but a bunch from Taylor.
TAYLOR: OMG
TAYLOR: HELLO?
TAYLOR: YOU’VE SEEN IT RIGHT??
TAYLOR: CHECK WORTHY
I refuse to be sucked into this again. I’m done with Worthy. And, just to cement the deal, I put down my phone. I open my desk drawer and take out a sheet of stickers. Peeling a bright pink sticker off the top, I stick it carefully to my writing calendar on top of yesterday’s date. I step back. It’s a start. I actually got work done last night. I give a contented sigh.
My phone buzzes again and I look down.
TAYLOR: NOW!
I turn my phone facedown on my nightstand. Then I go to the closet and pick my clothes out—a pale pink tunic sweater and some print leggings. I look at the rows of shoes. Black motorcycle boots? Seems appropriate for my mood. I pull them out, but before I can put them on, my phone buzzes again.
ALEX: HANG IN THERE. THIS WILL ALL DIE DOWN SOON
I frown. I put one boot on, lace it up, then leave the other one lying on the floor to text him back.
ME: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
I hit send, then pull on the other boot. But before I tie the laces, my phone goes crazy. I’ve never had this many texts before eight o’clock in the morning. A feeling of dread pushes into my sleepy brain and I grab my phone again.
ALEX: CHECK OUT WORTHY BUT DON’T FREAK
TAYLOR: LINDS, ARE YOU THERE? HAVE YOU SEEN IT?????
My heart starts to pound. Finally, I open Worthy. My face stares back up at me.
Right next to Alex’s.
It’s a picture of us that I posted on Instagram, a selfie. I’m hugging him from behind and we’re laughing.
I’m on Worthy.
For a long moment I just go blank. My hand holding the phone starts to shake.
No. No. No. No.
My mind is racing and there is suddenly a sharp, horrible pain throbbing behind my right eye.
I’ve been flung onto the crazy Worthy stage and the curtain has been stripped away, leaving me exposed for the whole world to see. To discuss. To judge.
The comments are already piling up on the screen in front of me like writhing snakes full of poison. I imagine them as lime green with razor-sharp fangs. They twist and curl around my skull, hissing their venom deep into my eardrums.
Ssss-see? Sssss-seeee?
She’s cute, but not his type. Too serious and too quiet.
Give me a break. These two together?? I don’t see it.
Tears sting in my eyes. It’s as if I’ve been punched by the words scrolling down the screen. I drop the phone onto my bed and take a step away, but it is too late. The messages are already slithering in behind my eyes and into the darkest corners of my brain. People don’t like me. It makes me feel sad and a little sick to my stomach.
I grab for my phone to call Nikki, but then remember we aren’t talking. Nikki is one of the few people who knows how all this scrutiny feels. She could tell me exactly how to face all the attention. When she was on Worthy, she sashayed her way into the school, cutting a wide path for me to follow. Just like always. But Worthy has ruined that relationship, too.
I stare down at my phone, wondering what would happen if I texted her and said I’m sorry. But what if she doesn’t answer? And why hasn’t she texted or called me?
I turn off my phone again and put it in my bag.
I won
’t go to school. I’ll tell my parents I’m sick. It wouldn’t really be a lie because my stomach is churning and my hands are trembling. I can’t stay in my room forever, but maybe I can stay here long enough that Worthy moves on to someone else.
“Linden!” My dad is calling up the stairs. “Someone’s at the door for you.”
Oh my God. I can’t ignore my dad. I have to say something. The roaring in my ears is so loud I can hardly think, but I walk to the top of the stairs and look down.
“Who is it?” I call.
But I can already see who it is. Alex is standing in the entryway, looking up the steps at me, his face all drawn and serious.
“I thought you might want a ride to school,” he says. His eyes lock on mine, and I nod.
I’m grateful Alex manages the small talk with my dad and even greets Rat, like absolutely nothing is up. Staying home from school is not an option now, so I follow Alex out the door and down the driveway to his car. When we get in, Alex puts both hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead. He doesn’t start the car.
“I tried to call you before I came over,” he says.
“I turned off my phone.”
“Good.” He still doesn’t look at me.
“Why me?” I ask, pressing my hands to my cheeks. I’m trying so hard not to cry.
He turns to face me, putting both hands on my shoulders. “Look at me, Linden.”
I pull my hands away from my face, biting my lip to keep the emotion inside.
“I don’t know why they picked us,” he says. “If I could fix it, I would. Please don’t cry.”
I nod, numb. I like that he said us. It reminds me that I’m not in this alone. He cups my cheek in his hand, wiping away a tear from the corner of my eye with one finger. In spite of everything, I smile. He runs a thumb along my bottom lip. Slowly. Then he leans in to kiss me—very softly—following along the line his thumb traced with his lips.
I wish we could stay here longer, but he turns back to the steering wheel and starts the car. “I have to be out at the baseball field for practice this morning, so I can’t go in with you,” he says, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb, “but we can eat lunch together.”
