“Actually, I was just learning guitar, but my playing has kind of plateaued. I should probably take lessons.”
“Oh … ?” Right, he would be into guitar. Now I’ll probably fall completely in love.
“Hey, it sounds like you’re pretty good. Do you ever give lessons?”
This could be my chance and I don’t want to blow it. “Lessons?” I act like I’m pondering this. “I suppose I could give lessons. I mean, I’ve been playing guitar since I was twelve and I’ve had lessons.” I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I would consider it.”
“What?” Emery tunes back in to our conversation. “What are you two hatching here?”
So Harris explains that he’s wanted to take guitar lessons and that I’m willing to teach him.
“Really?” Emery looks dubiously at me. “You teach guitar lessons?”
“Not usually, but I’m open to it.”
She turns back to Harris. “Between football practice and games, when do you think you’ll have time to take guitar lessons? Or practice, for that matter?”
He frowns at her. “You’re sounding more and more like my mom, Emery. Seriously, that could get old.”
Emery’s eyes get clouded now and I can tell she’s hurt. I actually feel a little bit sorry for her. “Well, excuse me,” she says in a terse tone. She picks up her purse, nudges Saundra, and the two of them walk off.
“Here we go.” Harris rolls his eyes. “Time for drama club.”
“Good thing Emery didn’t hear you say that,” Buck teases.
“Sorry, but I get tired of being treated like Emery’s little boy,” Harris says to the others at the table.
“What about when she tucks you in and kisses you good night?” Cal Jorgenson laughs. From what I can tell Cal and Harris are pretty good friends.
Harris winks at him. “There’s a time and a place for mothering.”
So more jokes are made about guys and girls and I am feeling extremely uncomfortable. Fortunately the lunch hour is about over, so I stand to leave too.
“What about those guitar lessons?”
I turn to Harris. “You’re still interested?”
He nods. “Yeah, there’s more to life than playing football.”
This provokes more teasing and bawdy jokes from the jock dudes, who act like the sun rises and sets over the goalposts. During their friendly banter, I write my cell phone number on a corner of notebook paper and slip it to Harris. “If you’re serious about lessons, give me a call.”
Our eyes lock and he nods again.
I feel slightly faint as I stand back up, but I simply smile and tell him, “Later.” Then with trembling knees, I walk away, managing to get all the way out the cafeteria door without collapsing. I cannot believe what just happened. Or maybe nothing happened. By the time I’m nearly to the art room, I’m starting to giggle.
I gave Harris Stephens my phone number — how crazy is that?
“What’s so funny?” a girl with magenta hair asks me as I enter the room.
“Huh?” I look at her, trying to remember who she is.
“Why are you laughing?” she repeats.
“Laughing?”
“Oh, never mind.” She gives me an exasperated look.
“You’re Poppie, right?”
Now she smiles. “Yep. That’s me.”
“I didn’t realize I was laughing. I guess I was amused.”
“Obviously.”
“Okay, fine, the reason I’m laughing is because I just gave Harris Stephens my phone number.”
She looks shocked. “You gave Harris Stephens your number?”
My hand goes over my mouth. I can’t believe I just told her that. What is wrong with me?
“Oh, it’s okay; it’s not like I’ll tell anyone,” she says as we sit at the same worktable. “But why on earth did you give that boy your phone number?”
“He wants to take guitar lessons.”
She looks even more surprised now.
“Never mind,” I tell her. “I’m sure he’ll never call. His girlfriend says he’s too busy to play guitar anyway.”
“So you teach guitar lessons?”
“I haven’t, but I suppose I could.”
Now a tall, thin guy comes over and sits at our table too. He’s got shoulder-length wavy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Hey,” he says as he opens his portfolio. “What’s up?”
“Haley is giving Harris Stephens guitar lessons,” Poppie blurts out.
“You said you wouldn’t say any — ”
“Sorry.” She holds up her hands. “But don’t get your knickers in a wad. Zach won’t tell anyone.”
“You’re giving Harris Stephens guitar lessons?” Zach peers at me like I’m from another planet.
“No,” I say loudly. “I never even said that.” I turn to Poppie. “I told you he asked me about lessons and I gave him my phone number. That is all.”
“Oh, you gave him your phone number?” Zach says this like it’s something sleazy.
I glare at him. “Is there a law against giving out phone numbers at this school?”
“No, no,” he says smoothly. “Just as long as you know who you’re giving them to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I whisper since Ms. Flores is going to the head of the class.
“Nothing … but if you’re handing out your phone number to every Tom, Jerk, and Harry, how about giving it to me, too?”
I turn away from him now, pretending to focus on Ms. Flores as she talks about an upcoming art fair, asking for volunteers. Both Poppie and Zach raise their hands, but I keep mine on the table.
“There will be extra credit given,” she adds, “and for those preparing their portfolios for college, I should point out that this will look good in your bios.”
I hesitantly lift my hand, along with several reluctant others. I’m not even sure why I feel this is such an imposition. Last year I would’ve jumped at an opportunity like this. But suddenly I feel torn and distracted — I’m thinking about Harris and his friends and wondering if he’s really going to call me about guitar lessons and whether or not I could possibly fit into that crowd and if I could fit, would I really want to? If it meant belonging to Harris, I know I would.
As I get back into a sketch I started yesterday, something I plan to paint with watercolors, I realize that I’m changing and I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it.
“So are you pretty good on guitar?” Zach asks me.
“Huh?” I look up, trying to process this question. Is he teasing me again, or is he serious?
“If you’re offering to give lessons, I assume you must be good.” He’s studying me closely through those wire rims.
I shrug. “I’m okay.”
“I play guitar too.”
I give him an even look. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Now he seems surprised. “I don’t know, why?”
“Maybe it’s this John Lennon image you’re sporting,” I say glibly.
Poppie lets out a laugh so loud it sounds like a snort. “Good one, Haley.”
“I happen to admire John Lennon,” Zach says. “As a musician anyway.”
“So do I, but I don’t go around trying to imitate him.”
Poppie giggles.
“And neither do I.” Zach adjusts his glasses. “Contacts irritate my eyes and I was getting sick of those dark plastic frames. I figured I’d try something new.”
I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings and that makes me sad. “Actually, I think it’s a good look, Zach. Very cool.”
“Really?” He sounds hopeful.
“Uh-huh. I was just getting back at you for tweaking me about Harris.”
He leans toward me. “You’re not really into Harris Stephens, are you?”
“No, of course not.” I shake my head. “But what difference would it make if I was?”
He gets a grim look. “If you were, I would warn you.”
“Warn me?”
He nods as he licks the tip of his pencil.
“Zach would warn you to stay away from Harris because Zach is crushing on you. He wants to keep you to himself, Haley.” Poppie says this loud enough for a few others to hear, and now half the class erupts into giggles and my cheeks grow warm.
“Poor Poppie,” Zach says in a pseudo soothing tone, “feeling a bit jealous, are we?”
“Get over yourself!” Poppie gets up and goes across the room, presumably to get paintbrushes but I think she’s just embarrassed.
“What was that all about?” I ask quietly.
“Poppie and I used to be a couple,” he explains while he continues drawing. “The breakup was perfectly congenial, but I sometimes think she’s still into me.”
“And you’re not into her?”
“Not so much.” He looks up and smiles, and I realize he actually has an attractive smile. And, really, he’s much better looking than John Lennon. I suppose if someone like Harris Stephens wasn’t out there walking the earth, a guy like Zach might be interesting to me. Except that I have this sneaking suspicion he’s a Christian.
Not that he acts like one exactly. But I noticed he had some images of crosses as well as a Jesus fish sketched in his notebook — and I’m just not going there. No way. Besides, I just can’t seem to shake Harris out of my head.
...[CHAPTER 5].................
Ifind it hard to believe I’m still welcome in Harris’s crowd. It’s like no one even questions me hanging with them, so I keep coming back. I’m fully aware that there’s one main reason I keep coming back — a six-foot-tall handsome hunk of a reason.
So far no one seems to suspect my real motive, since no one is questioning me. That might be because I’m playing my hand very carefully. I go out of my way to be congenial to Emery; I’m even tolerant with Saundra — although I have no authentic respect for her. In my previous life, I would have categorized her as a mean girl. Yet, somehow, she doesn’t really scare me now.
Even so, I can’t get over the feeling that I’m an imposter here, or perhaps I’m playing a game or just waiting for the other shoe to fall … or maybe the boot. Finally it’s Friday and nothing has come along to derail me from my charade of fitting in with the “in” crowd, and I almost believe I’m really part of it. This fills me with a strange mix of emotions, contradictory things like pride and angst and shame.
“I never would’ve taken you for one of them,” Poppie says as we select watercolor brushes for our current projects. She’s just been lecturing me on why the kids I’ve been hanging with are all wrong for me.
“Why is it that just because you’re friends with someone, everyone assumes you’ve become one of them?” I shoot back. “Why can’t I just be me?”
She gives me a long, curious look. “Good question. Why can’t you just be yourself?”
“How do you even know who I am? You’ve known me for all of one week.”
She just shrugs and goes back to our worktable.
“I have to side with Poppie on this,” Zach says from behind me. I didn’t even know he was listening.
“Why?” I demand.
“Maybe we see something you’re missing.” He adjusts his wire rims and peers at me.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re obviously a square peg trying to squeeze yourself into a round hole.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When you’re with the others — the so-called cool group — you’re not yourself.”
“See, there you go, acting like you know who I am. Just like Poppie. You’ve known me a week and yet you know who I am?”
“Let me put it like this, Haley. You’re one person in here with us and a totally different person out there with them.”
I think about this. “Well, maybe I’m acting different with you guys in here, just trying to fit in. Did you ever think of that?”
He chuckles. “You pull it off really well then. You’re totally believable in here. But out there you look like a farce.”
“A farce?” Do Zach and Poppie sit in the cafeteria just staring at me throughout the entire lunch hour? Maybe they’re spies for my mom.
“You’re like a caricature of them, Haley. Like you’re trying too hard, trying to pass yourself off as being like them, when it’s obvious you’re not.”
I know what he’s saying is true, yet I have no intention of showing that. Mostly I feel aggravated that my disguise is so easy to see through. If Zach and Poppie have figured me out, why haven’t the others? Or maybe they have and they’re just waiting to pull the rug out from under me.
Whatever the case, I feel seriously rattled as I gather my things after school. Questions like Who am I? are rolling around in my head, and I can’t wait to get out of here.
“Hey, wait up,” calls a guy.
I turn to see Harris coming toward me. I make a sheepish wave and slam my locker shut, glancing around to see if Emery or any of her friends are nearby. This could be the setup.
“I’ve been looking for you since lunch.” He leans against my locker. “I wanted to see if you’re still on for my guitar lessons.”
“Seriously?” I frown at him.
“Yeah, I want to learn to play. Are you into that or not?”
I make an uneasy smile. “Sure, but what about Emery? She seemed a little concerned — ”
“Emery is not my mother.” He looks over his shoulder like he doesn’t want anyone to hear this. “The truth is, I’m about to break up with her.”
This makes me feel slightly dizzy … and suspicious. “Really?”
“Don’t say anything though.” He looks into my eyes and that makes me even dizzier. “I feel like I can trust you, Haley. You seem different than the other girls. More mature, you know?”
I just shrug.
“So anyway, how about tomorrow afternoon for lessons?”
“Sure,” I tell him. Then I give him my dad’s address.
“Hey, that’s not far from where I live. Cool.”
I nod. “Yeah. Cool.”
“Are you coming to the game tonight?”
Now I’m gauging … is this a casual question or a cloaked invitation? “I don’t know.”
He frowns. “You’re not into football?”
I think hard and then decide to go for it, making my flirtiest smile. “I suppose I could be into football. I mean, if the right guy was playing.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Then you better get yourself to the game tonight.”
Keeping up my sly, flirty persona, I just nod. “I’ll give that some serious thought, Harris.”
He pats me on the shoulder. “You do that, Haley.”
As he leaves, my head is spinning and I feel tingles from the roots of my hair to my toenails. He is coming on to me — I know it. And he said he’s going to break up with Emery. It’s like Harris Stephens is mine for the taking. And I’m going to do the taking. This is a chance I do not want to miss. I am most definitely going to the game! Hopefully Dad won’t mind.
I practically dance all the way home, and once I’m there, I spend the afternoon trying on every outfit I think would be perfect for going to a football game. And I primp and primp.
“Hello,” Dad calls out as he gets home.
Bracing myself for his disappointment, I go out and try to think of a gentle way to break the news that I want to go to the game tonight.
“Hey, Hay.” He grins. “How’s it going?”
“Great. How about you?” I realize how little Dad and I have talked this week. He works such long hours that he’s sometimes getting home just as I’m getting ready for bed, and it feels like we’re ships in the night.
“Okay.” Now his grin fades. “Hey, you don’t mind if I take Estelle out tonight, do you? It’s kind of an expected thing, but I could cancel if you—”
“No, Dad,” I say quickly. “That’s actually perfect because I wanted to go to the football game anyway.”
His smile returns.
“Great!” Now he looks more closely at me. “You look really pretty, Haley.”
I give him a self-conscious thank-you and head back to my room. Hopefully he doesn’t know that I’m fixing up for a boy. Of course, Dad probably wouldn’t even care. It’s Mom who flips out over something like this.
“Don’t wait up for me,” Dad says as he’s getting ready to leave. “I might be in late.”
“Okay.” I just nod.
“Have fun!” He jingles his car keys and, just like that, he’s gone. I feel a strange sense of detachment as I stand there by myself in the condo — kind of like I’m all alone in the universe. On one hand, I should be thankful for this newfound freedom. On the other hand, it’s a bit unsettling.
It’s still light when I walk to the game. A car full of guys honks at me and offers me a lift, but there’s no way I’m climbing in with a bunch of strangers, thank you very much. I feel a little odd going to the game by myself. The stands aren’t that crowded, and I soon discover that this is the junior-varsity game and in its second half.
Some of the varsity cheerleaders are among the spectators, but I don’t see Emery or Saundra among them. However, Libby Farnsworth, one of Emery’s lesser friends, waves me over to join them. Libby isn’t a cheerleader but is part of their crowd. And in my opinion, she’s one of the nicer ones.
“Did you hear the news?” she urgently asks me.
“What news?” A rush of panic hits me — did something terrible happen to Harris? Car wreck, broken bones, what is it?
“Emery and Harris broke up,” she says dramatically.
Concealing my true emotions with a serious expression, I slowly nod, trying to take this in. “Oh, that’s too bad,” I finally say, but in reality I am controlling myself from doing the happy dance. “What happened?”
“I guess we should’ve expected it. They’ve been fighting a lot lately and we all know what that means. Emery is saying it was mutual.”
“Yeah, right,” Deidre Thornton says as she joins us. Deidre is a cheerleader and one of Emery’s closer friends. “Emery’s been home crying her eyes out all afternoon.” Deidre holds up her phone. “Saundra just texted me saying Emery might not even make it to tonight’s game. And we really need her to do our new formation.”
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