by Donna Cooner
“You always eat in the weight room with the other baseball players.”
“Not today,” he says.
Alex drops me off at the door. Before I get out, he holds up three fingers. “Keep your head up,” he says.
“What is that?”
“The Hunger Games salute,” he says, with a grin. “Mrs. Pirtle recommended it to me on Facebook. Good book.”
My laugh is a little wobbly. Before I slam the door, I hear him shout, “And stay off that app.”
I drag myself through the front door just before the morning bell. Two girls stand by the doors to the band hall, whispering and pointing. At me. Of course. I take the hall down by the main office to try to avoid the usual crowd. My stomach is still doing something crazy, but I try to ignore it. Spending the morning in the bathroom throwing up is not an option.
I hurry past the senior row of lockers, praying no one sees me. It is pretty quiet, not too many kids milling around, but there are still glances and nudges as I pass. Not a good sign. The final steps to the door of my first-period class stretch out endlessly. My legs feel like logs. There is no avoiding it. I have to go through that doorway and face the rows of judgment on the other side. Stopping for a minute one step away, I take one deep breath in and then let it out slowly.
I force myself to walk into the room. Rows of heads swivel my way. A frozen moment, then the heads huddle together in groups, whispering and shooting glances my way as they deliberate my fate. I walk down the aisle to my desk, feeling the flush rise up in my neck. Slipping into my chair, I try to make myself invisible, but it isn’t working.
Taylor sits across the room with one long leg draped over the other, her toe tapping restlessly against the floor. She catches me looking at her and mouths the word “Sorry.” I feel my shoulders slump. I’m an object of pity. I look back down at my notebook, but I still feel her eyes on me. I feel everyone watching me. My fingers twitch to get my phone out of my bag and check my standing on Worthy, but I can’t imagine anything worse. Still, I slide my hand into my bag and click on my phone.
The bell rings and everyone gets quiet—or at least quieter—with conversations moving into sneaking whispers and sideway glances. If I keep my eyes trained on my notebook and scribble quickly, maybe I can blend into my chair. The teacher starts the lesson. I glance up from the notebook and nod once in a while, like I am interested, but I really have no idea what’s being said. I could cry or yell or crumple into a huddle in front of them all, but everyone would just talk about my breakdown for the rest of the year. They would love that. I grit my teeth and straighten up, staring down two whispering girls in the row beside me. They giggle nervously, but turn away. One small victory.
When the bell finally rings, students rush out the door to the hallway, squealing, yelling, and laughing. I throw my backpack over one shoulder and take the stairs two at a time. I slam open the door on the first floor and run directly into Taylor on the other side.
“Whoa,” she says, reaching out to steady me with both hands as the door swings shut behind me. I keep walking, but she follows me to my locker.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“Great. Just great,” I mutter, opening my locker door.
“You’re sure you are okay? You don’t look so good.”
I shake my head. “Thanks a lot.”
“Listen.” She tosses her perfectly curled blonde hair over one shoulder. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
I pull out my history book and slam my locker.
“Don’t let this stuff bother you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You were worthy.”
“You’ll be fine without Alex.”
Now she has my attention. I turn and face her. “What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I just mean, if it turns out you guys weren’t meant to be … ” She trails off with a shrug.
“Being on Worthy isn’t changing anything with me and Alex,” I tell her. “I’m still asking him to the prom.”
She bites one pink, pouty lip with her impossibly white teeth. I notice the front incisor has a tiny chip on one side. Not so perfect after all. “Are you sure?” she asks. “Maybe you should wait and see how it all turns out.”
Anger hits me then. I walk away down the hall. “I’m not waiting on anything,” I say over my shoulder.
“You’re right,” Taylor says quickly, racing to catch up with me. “It doesn’t matter what people say.”
But it does.
That realization creeps in so silently, I am unable to recognize it until it is already rooted and growing wildly through my heart. I stop suddenly in the middle of the hall, and Taylor bumps into my back.
“What are they saying about me?” I turn around, crossing my arms and steeling my heart.
“The voting is going pretty well,” Taylor says. “Some people are saying good things. It’s just that Alex is getting a lot of attention these days with the baseball team doing so well, so it just makes it that much harder for you to be … ” She pauses, then says a little quieter, “Worthy.”
I look away, down at the floor, and then glance back up at her face. She tilts her head, smiling ever so slightly. “Rule number one. Don’t read the comments. Ever.”
She’s right. Nobody really wants someone to sit down and tell them all the things they dislike about you. And there could be a million things. It could be something stupid, like that my legs are too short. Or because I got a better math grade than they did once on a test in fifth grade. Or that I wear red too much.
What could I do to prove I deserve to date Alex?
And if it’s something I can’t change? This face? This body? Myself? My self? Tell me. What do I do then?
Right before lunch, I find Alex at his locker.
“I can’t take it,” I groan, coming up to him.
The inside of his locker is evidently fascinating, because he doesn’t look at me, instead staring straight ahead at a stack of books and a discarded red hoodie.
He shrugs, then slams the locker door shut. A muscle twitches along his jawline. Finally, he turns to face me. “Linden, I told you this is stupid. I don’t care what other people think about us.”
It shouldn’t matter to me either. I want to believe I am stronger than that. It is such a demeaning realization, because it means I know I’m not. I feel like such a coward.
“Can we just forget about it?” Alex asks.
I wish I could, but I’m too aware it’s happening and I’ve been sucked in way too far.
I stare at him, trying to see if he is hiding something or if he thinks differently about me now. If he is pretending so he won’t hurt my feelings, I can’t tell. A growing crowd watches us, like sharks gathering for blood in the water. Then my phone buzzes and I look down, my stomach churning. The phone slips out of my shaking hand, but I scramble to retrieve it off the floor before the buzzing stops. Alex takes it out of my hand before I can read anything on the screen.
“All you have to do is turn it off.” He clicks the phone to black. “See?”
He slides the phone into my bag, but I know Worthy is still there waiting. Everyone is still talking about us, watching us, and the votes are pouring in even as we stand there.
What if I’m not worthy?
“What’s for lunch?” Alex’s question brings my attention back to him. He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. Just a little bit. I tuck my hair behind my ear and pull out a brown paper bag from my backpack.
“Peanut butter and banana sandwiches?” I shrug.
“Sounds perfect,” he says.
I look around. “You don’t have to eat lunch,” I say, then add, “with me.”
“I want to eat lunch with you,” Alex says. I know he is trying to make me feel better. He’s a good guy. Too good for me? “And today we’re eating in the courtyard. It’s a perfect day to be outside.”
Outside in the courtyard, the sun is so hot that the air I suck in and out
feels like it is scalding the inside of my throat. The sweater I chose to wear was definitely the wrong choice. I feel a small trickle of sweat running down my back between my shoulder blades.
At first, we eat in silence, but I’m really just pretending to eat. The idea of swallowing even a small bite makes me nauseous. I was crazy to think I could handle this kind of attention. Every movement I make feels awkward and exaggerated. I can almost hear the whispers.
She’s too girly. She’s not girly enough. She’s too smart. She’s not smart enough. She’s just not … ENOUGH.
There are several kids watching, a few taking pictures. I see Nikki inside sitting at our usual lunch table, but she is the only one not looking my way. I miss her. All I want is to crawl back into her shadow and stare at people’s shoes.
Alex finishes the last bite of the peanut butter sandwich and wipes the crumbs off his mouth with the paper towel.
“You should talk to her.”
Of course he noticed Nikki and I weren’t speaking. We’ve been inseparable for as long as anyone can remember, so it’s pretty strange to see one of us without the other.
I try to keep my voice light. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Have you even tried?”
I look down at my motorcycle boots. “I’m sorry. Everything is such a mess … ” My mouth goes dry and I fight to keep my voice even. “Why do you want to be with me, Alex?”
Alex frowns, hurt darkening his face. “Because I like you. And some stupid app isn’t going to change that.”
But you could do better. Everyone is saying it.
I look over his shoulder to see two boys walking by, laughing and looking toward me. I feel my face burn. I remember how I once thought of Worthy as a magnifying glass, lighting the student body on fire. And I am right in the middle of the blaze, with no hope of escape.
Linden Wilson & Alex Rivera
IS SHE WORTHY?
Here’s what you are saying:
* Talk about a snob! She doesn’t speak to anyone if she can help it.
* He’s a rising star and she is not.
* Pretty, smart, talented. Of course she’s worthy!
* He could definitely do better.
The vote is in …
Stay tuned …
It’s the last period on Thursday and ten minutes until I can escape the side eyes and gossip. When Alex and I went up on Worthy, I didn’t think things could get any worse. But today the vote will be announced, and this is definitely worse.
Nikki called last night, but I didn’t answer the phone. Now that I’m the one in the hot seat, I feel even guiltier for what I did to her on Worthy. I tried to catch her eye this morning in class and later in the hall, but she never looked my way. I wasn’t brave enough to walk right up to her and start talking. What would I say?
Everyone is sneaking peeks at their phones and I’m completely paranoid, thinking every time someone says anything, they’re talking about me. Mr. Landmann has given up on keeping our attention right up until the bell, so everyone is chatting in clumps while he grades homework at his desk.
I sit with my hands clenched and my nails digging into my palms until my phone buzzes in my bag. Maybe this is it. The vote is in. I feel myself starting to sweat. I carefully slide my phone out and hide it in my lap under the desk. I glance down quickly, but it’s not Worthy.
ALEX: THINKING ABOUT YOU! COULDN’T FIND AN EMOJI FOR HUNGER GAMES SALUTE.
My lips twitch into a tiny smile. I look up from my phone and take a deep breath. This is all going to go away.
Taylor stretches her long arms out over her expensively streaked blonde hair and sighs. “This Worthy thing has become such a distraction from all things prom,” she groans.
“It’s just so random,” Jayla says, looking over at me. “I don’t get what makes someone worthy to even be on that thing.”
Mia giggles like this is the funniest thing ever. I want to smack her.
Somehow I need to stop all the talk about Worthy. If only for a moment, to catch my breath and calm my shaking hands.
“So you are all in for my promposal tomorrow at the game, right?” I ask.
Jayla’s mouth drops open. “You’re still going ahead with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I try to look defiant. I gulp down my anxiety. This is the best way to show everyone that I’m perfect for Alex and that Alex is perfect for me.
Taylor’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she is the first one to recover. Leaning across the aisle, she pats me on my knee like some kind of grandmother. “Oh, sweetie, I think that is so brave of you. Of course we’ll be there. Won’t we?”
She glances over at Mia, who looks back and forth at both of us, obviously confused.
“Oh, come on,” Taylor says. “It’ll be fun.”
Mia smiles, but it’s insincere. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jayla says.
My eyes drop to the phone in my lap. I’ve tried to keep from looking, but the promise of a final vote sucks me in like quicksand. Anxious flutters erupt in my stomach.
I open the app.
The result is in.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” My words are jerky, my breath ragged. I don’t even realize I’m saying it out loud. Everyone turns around in their desks to stare, and Mr. Landmann looks up from his desk and lowers his reading glasses. My eyes squeeze tight, as though I can make the words on the screen disappear.
“What is wrong with you?” Taylor hisses at me.
I open my eyes and stare back at her. I feel dizzy. Actually light-headed.
“What is it?” Taylor asks.
“I’m not worthy,” I whisper.
So sorry, Linden!
58% say NO!
You are NOT WORTHY!
I don’t remember much after that. I get home somehow, but it is mostly a blur. Mom is at the firehouse. Dad and Rat are going out to dinner and a movie.
“Do you want to come?” Rat asks. “It’s a dystopian Romeo and Juliet story. With a computer-controlled apocalypse. And anime, of course.”
“I can’t imagine why Ever doesn’t want to go to something like that.” My dad grins at me, pulling on his jacket, but I don’t smile back.
Instead, I shake my head. “No, I’ll just make something here for dinner.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Dad puts a hand on my forehead.
“Just a headache,” I say. “I’ll be fine after I take some aspirin.”
Dad kisses me on the forehead and they both head out the door, arguing about the best anime movie of all time.
Later, I sit at the dining room table that seats four, staring at my dinner of macaroni and cheese. Usually, macaroni and cheese feels like warm spoonfuls of comfort, but nothing is helping me feel better tonight. The blinds on the small dining room window are pulled up, and in between small bites, I watch the neighbors on the small tree-shaded street, out enjoying the mild March evening. Alex is at baseball practice now, but he’ll come home to a table full of quinceañera plans. Nikki is probably arguing with Maricel about something. I should call her, but all the words are tumbling around in my brain with no way out. I have no idea what I could say to make her or myself feel any better.
I take a few more bites, but leave the rest uneaten.
Upstairs, I take a shower, standing under the hot water for a long time, and try to sort out how I’m feeling. Mostly I’m just angry that I care. About everything.
When I finally get out, I take out my contacts, pull my hair up into a messy pony, and put on some sweats and a tank top. My phone buzzes with a text and I so want to ignore it. But I don’t.
ALEX: COME TO THE WINDOW.
When I pull up the blinds and look down, he’s standing there at the curb, looking up at me. He must have just come from practice because his hair is all spiky from sweat and he looks like he’s been rolling around in the dirt. My heart melts.
He holds up his phone and points to it. My phone immediately starts to ring. When I answer it, Alex asks, “You okay?”
“Yes,” I say, because just seeing him out there on my lawn makes me feel better than I have all day. “Why didn’t you come to the door?”
“I’m a mess. Besides, I’m already late. I’m supposed to be at some dance practice for Izzy’s party.” He clears his throat. “But I wanted to see you.”
I smile into the phone. “You’re crazy.”
“And I wanted to tell you that Worthy doesn’t matter.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, pressing a hand against the windowpane.
He lifts his hand in response. “I have to go. I’ll call you later?”
When I hang up, I watch his car drive away with my forehead pressed against the window and my fingers still spread out on the glass in a silent good-bye.
I finally turn away from the window and flop down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Alex is right. Worthy doesn’t matter, and I’m going to prove it by going ahead with my promposal plan tomorrow at the baseball game. Going to prom together is only the beginning. There will be many, many more magical evenings to come.
Or at least I hope there will be.
On Friday afternoon I watch Alex step into the batter’s box. The chatter from the infielders and from the team in the dugout is loud and conflicting.
“Come on, Alex!” one of his teammates calls from the dugout. “You can do it.”
“Watch the ball!” another yells.
The catcher tries to confuse Alex. “Hey batter, batter.”
All this noise and excitement is the best thing I can do to distract me from the Worthy decree. Besides, none of it is going to matter when I pull off the biggest promposal yet and everyone has to eat their words just one day after the verdict was posted.
I look around nervously, but everyone is watching Alex. Not me. I gulp down my insecurities and set my jaw. Yes. I’m going through with my plan.
I catch sight of Nikki down near the bottom of the stands. She looks around at the same time and our eyes meet. In that moment I remember years ago when Nikki told me Martin Wells had kissed her behind the tree outside the playground. We pinkie swore to always tell each other our secrets. If I went down there now, maybe we could fix this. But it feels like sending a note in grade school that reads, “Do you want to be my friend? Circle yes or no.”
