Mission (Un)Popular

by Anna Humphrey

  Sarah J. had fallen silent. She was staring at us, which, I realized, was exactly what Em had been aiming for.

  “I hope so,” I answered awkwardly. “I mean. You know me. I love modeling. All the free clothes and stuff.”

  Just then, the bell rang and a hush fell over the room as we waited for Mr. Learner to stand up or say something. He held up his index finger and, without even looking up from his book, said, “Give me a minute, guys. I’m almost at the end of this chapter.”

  Everyone hesitated, then slowly started talking again. After making sure that Sarah J. had gone back to ignoring us, Em shot me a look like, Really? “All the free clothes and stuff.” That’s the best you could do? I shrugged in response.

  Finally, Mr. Learner put his book down.

  “Done now,” he announced, laying his hands flat against the desk and leaning forward. “Quiet, please.” Nobody paid much attention. “I said DONE NOW,” he yelled in a huge, booming voice. “QUIET, please.” That worked.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he continued, stepping out from behind the desk, “that Mrs. Collins isn’t here today.” His pants were all wrinkled and part of his shirt was hanging out. He obviously wasn’t married. “She’s dealing with a family emergency. She’ll be away for the rest of this week, at least, so we’ll be getting to know each other.”

  I felt like jumping up and cheering. A family emergency! Despite how mean she’d been to me, I still hoped nothing really bad had happened to her family…but, still, an entire week Collins-free sounded kind of like heaven.

  “Since I assume you can all read, you know that my name is Mr. Learner.” He didn’t smile. “And let me say up front that I can read your predictable preteen minds. In fact, I can hear the wheels in your brains turning as you imagine how you’re going to get away with murder this week, so here’s fair warning: I know every trick in the book. And I’m watching you.” I could see a few people exchanging glances. “And now”—he walked over to a trolley full of books and grabbed one off the top—“we’ll be leaving the poetry unit behind until Mrs. Collins returns.” There were a few cheers. “I’d like to introduce you to William Golding’s modern classic, Lord of the Flies.” There were a few groans. “It’s a story about the downfall of a society run entirely by children,” he said. The cover had a picture of a bleeding pig’s head covered in flies. Lovely. A story about rotting meat.

  “As you read chapter one to yourselves, I want you to think about how you would organize a society if you found yourselves in the same situation as the characters. That’s right. Picture an entire island of hormonal preteens with no parental supervision. A terrifying thought, I know.”

  I had to admit, even though the book looked horrible, I liked the question. We all started to read. It was a bit confusing in parts, but not as bad as I was expecting.

  Almost the whole hour went by before Mr. Learner stopped us. “Books down,” he instructed. “Thoughts, anyone?”

  Nobody raised their hand, but Sarah J. made the mistake of leaning across the aisle at that moment to pass a note to Joyce. “Note passer,” Mr. Learner said, “in the blue shirt.”

  Sarah looked up. “What was the question again?” she asked.

  “If you found yourself stranded on an island, what’s the first step you’d take in organizing your society?”

  “Nothing,” she answered. “Everyone could do whatever. It’d be like a big bush party.”

  “Ingenious,” Mr. Learner said. Sarah shrugged like it was nothing. “A bush party. And what would you eat?”

  “Just, like, whatever food was on the island, I guess.”

  “And what food is on the island?”

  “Ummm…” She stalled. “Pig,” she said finally, sounding all pleased with herself. She pointed to the book cover. It was pretty obvious that she’d barely gotten past page one. “It’d be like a pork party,” she added with a giggle.

  “I see.” Mr. Learner stroked his chin. “And who would like to come to”—he paused—“your name, please.”

  “Sarah.”

  “And who would like to come to Sarah’s pork party?” Almost everyone except me, Em, Amir, and Erik Frallen raised their hands.

  “What if there was a typhoon?” he asked. “What if you were stranded on the island for more than a year, and there was only enough pork for a week? What if there was no fresh water to drink? Would you still want to come to Sarah’s pork party?”

  Most people put their hands down. As cool as being at one of The Group’s parties might have been, the starving-to-death part probably put them off.

  “For next Monday, you’ll each write five hundred words about the steps you’d take to organize your society. Then we’ll talk about which of you would survive the year. Obviously, the people at the pork party need to do some rethinking.” He gave Sarah a condescending look.

  “Any questions?” he asked. There weren’t any. “Good.” Then he said, almost cheerfully, “Now get lost. I’m already sick of looking at you.”

  You know what I hate? People who make out in public places.

  It’s disgusting. And not only is it disgusting, it’s rude (especially to those of us who’ve never had anyone to make out with). And not only is it rude, it’s unsanitary, considering all the spit involved. And not only that, but it’s also disgusting, which I know I’ve already mentioned, but I think it’s probably worth saying again because it explains why, thanks to Sarah J.’s noon make-out session, I literally lost my lunch.

  Em had another mysterious “personal thing” to take care of when the bell rang, but she came to get me right after, from the side of the basketball court, where Amir, Mike, and Andrew were shooting hoops, while I almost passed level two of War of the Druids.

  “Come on,” she said, taking the DS from me and shoving it into Andrew’s bag. “Let’s go over there.”

  “Why don’t we just stay here?” I suggested, motioning toward the court. “They’re almost done, I think.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll be all sweaty. Anyway, we have girl stuff to discuss. Let’s go where it’s quieter.”

  I stood up, looking toward Andrew. “Okay, well, just let me say bye, then.”

  “Why? We’re just going over there.” She pointed to the red maple. “They’ll be able to see us.” She was right. And anyway, the guys were busy, so I nodded and followed her.

  But unfortunately, even though it was quieter, our new lunch spot put us directly in view of Sarah J., who was French-kissing Matt, her high school boyfriend, on the sidewalk.

  From all her talk, I’d been expecting some kind of ultra-cool surfer dude with a six-pack. He didn’t look anything like that. For one thing, Matt was kind of skinny. He was also shorter than Sarah, but to make up for it, he had very tall hair that rose from his forehead in a stiff wave. Still, he was well dressed in a gray Abercrombie sweatshirt and worn-in jeans, which Sarah must have liked, and he seemed to know what he was doing when it came to kissing.

  “That’s just nasty,” Em said, taking a bite of her sandwich and looking toward Sarah J.’s display of lip slurping.

  “Tell me about it. I’m glad I’m not eating right now.”

  “Forgot your lunch?” she asked with her mouth full.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s okay. I’m not really hungry.” The truth was, my mom had sent me to school with a VTV Power Pack lunch of organic vegetable stew, and I was not about to risk ridicule by heating it up in the cafeteria’s kitchenette microwave.

  “I’m not hungry either,” she said, and passed me half of her sandwich. “Eat this for me?”

  I was starving, actually, so I took it. It looked like something you’d buy at an open-air deli in Venice. It was on a big fresh bun, with baby spinach, cold cuts, red onions sliced thin, tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese. Seriously gourmet. At first I figured her mom must be a great cook, or something, but then I glanced at the wrapper in her hand. It had a Whole Foods sticker on it.

  “What does your mom do?” I asked. />
  “Gets her nails done and shops and stares at herself in the mirror,” Em said. “She’s an actor.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t keep the tone of amazement out of my voice. “So’s my stepdad. Well, he used to be, anyway. He did Shakespeare in the Park, and a bunch of commercial work. What has your mom acted in?”

  “Soap operas mostly.”

  I bit my lip to keep from gasping. I knew watching soap operas wasn’t a cool thing to do, but if she was on Charmed and Dazed, I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d definitely scream.

  “Which ones?”

  “Destiny’s World for a while. Oh, and she played Chloe on Chicago Dreams for like, years.”

  I’d never watched either of those. Still, it must have been pretty cool to have a soap opera actress for a mom. Way cooler than having a Shakespearian actor, or that bald-guy-in-the-travel-insurance-commercial for a stepdad. Now that I knew her mom was kind of famous, more and more things about Em were starting to make sense, too—like the black car with the tinted windows that had picked her up from the self-esteem workshop, how she was so good at hair and makeup, and probably even how she’d gotten into doing modeling work.

  “Oh,” said Em, reaching for her bag, “I almost forgot. The girl stuff we have to take care of. I brought you something.”

  “What?”

  “Just something. Take off your coat.”

  “Why?” I complained. It was kind of cold out.

  “Because I said so.”

  “No,” I said.

  She fixed me with a serious stare. “Okay, Margot. I really like you…and that’s why I have to be honest with you. Your coat is ugly.”

  I took in both those bits of information at once. First, she really liked me? I tried not to let my face break into a smile, which was made easier by the fact that she’d just insulted my coat. “It’s not that bad,” I said lamely. It was a white Gore-Tex jacket with blue stitching. My mom bought it for me last Christmas. I knew it must have practically killed her to pay almost a hundred dollars for it when there were perfectly good, affordable coats at Walmart. But everyone had a Gore-Tex jacket, and I’d begged. Of course, that was last year. I looked around the yard. Nobody was wearing their Gore-Tex jackets anymore.

  “Margot,” Em said, halfway between kidding and serious, “this is an intervention. I’m rescuing you from your ugly jacket.

  Give it to me.” I handed it over. “And now for the ceremonious banishing of the ugly coat.” She walked to the trash can on the other side of the yard and dropped it in, brushing her hands off as she came back.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. All I could think about was how my mom was going to kill me when she found out I threw away my jacket. I could hear Em opening the zipper of her bag, then felt her put something around my shoulders. “Open!” she said.

  I was wearing the coolest green army jacket ever made. It had a million zippered pockets in it. I put my arms into the sleeves. They were the perfect length for scrunching my fingers up inside. “Is this yours?” I asked.

  “Yours now,” she said.

  “For real?” I hugged the jacket around me. “Thanks!” I could hardly wait to show it to Erika.

  “Don’t mention it,” Em said. “Friends don’t let friends wear bad clothes.”

  While Em took another bite of the sandwich, I pretended like I was concentrating really hard on my fingernails so she wouldn’t notice the big dorky smile on my face.

  “Okay, enough. Gross,” Em said. Sarah J. was running her hands through Matt’s hair now—at the back—not in the wave part, where they’d probably get stuck.

  Suddenly Em stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey! Get a room!” she shouted. Without coming up for air, Sarah J. took one hand off Matt’s head and gave us the finger. Em turned to me in exaggerated shock.

  “Did you see that?” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s it. This has to be stopped or else I’m seriously going to barf.”

  She seemed to think for a second, then stood up and walked over to the fence. “Excuse me,” she said. “People are trying to eat here.” I couldn’t believe what she was doing, and apparently, neither could anyone else. Practically the whole school yard was staring, waiting to see how Sarah J. was going to react.

  She pulled away from Matt and turned to glare at Em. “Do you want to stop staring at us, lesbian pervert? You too, Ham-burglar.” She laughed at her own offensive joke, then turned away, putting a hand on Matt’s cheek and looking into his eyes.

  “Come on, baby,” he said, trying to lead her away to someplace more private.

  “No way.” She stood her ground. “We have a right to be here. They’re the ones being perverted by watching.” She started kissing him again.

  Em just sighed, turned to me, then hopped up on the concrete ledge so she was leaning over the top of the fence barely three feet above Sarah and Matt. “This is your last warning,” she said. When they still didn’t come up for air, Em shrugged.

  “I know you really like pork and everything, Sarah,” she said. “So have some. It’s capicola with veggies.” She lobbed her half of the part-eaten deli sandwich right at Sarah. The bread split open when it hit her perfect blond head, then tumbled down to the ground, leaving a trail of mustard and mayo on her plaid jacket. Sarah gasped and looked up in shock, a purple onion clinging to her hair.

  “You didn’t just do that,” she said.

  “You little—” Matt started, heading toward the gate.

  “Quick, Margot. Your sandwich,” Em said.

  If I’d taken a second then to pause and weigh the questions of right versus wrong, revenge versus forgiveness, and whether or not possibly getting beat up by a ninth grader was worth the five seconds of satisfaction I was about to feel, I might have made a different decision. But, as it was, I was mad. Really mad. I was sick of being Ham-burglar and getting called a lesbian when I wasn’t one. I was tired of watching the unpopular kids get pushed around while the evildoers got to call the shots and French-kiss their boyfriends wherever they wanted. And I was grateful to Em. First of all, for giving me the coolest jacket ever made…but also for having the guts to do things I never did. And that’s why, without thinking, I jumped up onto the ledge beside her, and I threw my half of the sandwich. And, thanks to War of the Druids, which had totally improved my hand-eye coordination, I hit Sarah J. right in the shoulder.…I would have gotten her face too, I swear, if she hadn’t blocked it with her arm at the last second.

  “Oh, that’s it,” Matt said, breaking into a run. Moving fast in the opposite direction seemed like our best—maybe only—plan, but Em held me back.

  “Wait,” she whispered furiously. “I’ll deal with this.”

  I stood there frozen, wondering why she was setting us up to get murdered in broad daylight. I caught Andrew’s eye across the yard. He, Amir, and Mike had stopped their game, and Andrew especially was watching with big worried eyes.

  “You’re dead,” Matt said, coming through the gate.

  His feet had barely hit the school yard pavement when Em took a huge breath and shouted so loudly and so suddenly it almost made me lose my balance: “Help!! There’s an intruder on school property! Somebody help us! I think he has a weapon!” Matt froze, staring at her in bewilderment. Within seconds, a teacher was there, then two teachers, then three.

  As Mr. Munka, the boys’ phys ed teacher, grabbed Matt by the arm, and general panic broke out in the school yard, Em hopped off the concrete ledge, smiling calmly at Sarah J.

  If it were possible to murder someone through a chain-link fence using only the fury in your eyes, I’m pretty sure Em would be seriously dead right now. But as it was, all Sarah could do was pick the onion out of her hair and mumble a vague threat.

  “You’re in so much trouble now, New York, you know that? You and your little friend Hamburglar, too.”

  14

  I Don’t Buy Any Girl Scout Cookies

  DOES ENDING UP IN THE office three tim
es in the first two weeks of school officially make you a badass? I don’t know. Personally, I think “badass” is a state of mind. It’s not about getting in trouble. It’s about not caring that you’re getting in trouble, and I definitely didn’t feel relaxed as Sarah, Matt, Em, and I sat in Mrs. Vandanhoover’s office explaining ourselves.

  “I hope you realize, Matthew, that you’re no longer a student here. Manning could choose to press charges against you for trespassing, as well as for threatening two students and bringing a weapon onto the premises. I shouldn’t need to tell you how serious this is.” Vandanhoover’s face was stony. It was just lucky for Em and me that Matt had been carrying a weapon. It was only a Swiss Army knife, but it still counted.

  “I wasn’t threatening them—” Matt started, but Em interrupted, clearing her throat.

  “He said, and I quote: ‘That’s it. You’re dead.’ If that’s not a threat, I don’t know what is. You can ask anyone standing in the yard. They all heard him.”

  Mrs. Vandanhoover looked at Matt.

  “It’s just an expression,” he said. “All I meant was that I was going to kick their butts.”

  Mrs. Vandanhoover frowned, not seeming any happier with that.

  “Anyway, they were throwing stuff at us,” Sarah said. “Look at this stain on my jacket.”

  “Okay, that,” Em explained. “Margot and I were sitting there eating. And we were just trying to ask them, politely, to stop engaging in disturbing sexual behavior so close to school property. We were forced to throw the sandwiches in self-defense after Sarah made a rude gesture and yet another homophobic comment.” Em gave Vandanhoover a meaningful look to remind her about the posters.