“Wait,” Reece said. “I want to thank you.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Reece said. “I love the photos you guys took of me at the vending machine.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Anya took those.”
“I know,” she said. “But Anya said you cropped it and came up with the caption. I liked it.”
I’d only come up with a couple of captions for the photo of Reece doing a backflip next to the vending machine with a bag of M&M’s in her mouth. But Anya had really liked them.
REECE FONTAINE SCORES AGAIN.
REECE FONTAINE STICKS THE LANDING.
But it felt great to get this positive feedback.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said.
“Our yearbook is going to be so amazing,” Hannah said.
“Will you caption my photo too?” Fletcher asked.
But we hadn’t even taken any pictures of Fletcher yet. It sort of bothered me that he already knew he was going to be included in a section. But it also flattered me that he thought I did good captions.
“Venice and Anya write good captions too,” I said.
But then Fletcher smiled at me and it made my stomach feel wobbly.
“But yours are clev-ah,” he said.
Reece flipped her hair and laughed. “Anya showed us a bunch of yours from last week. We loved your stuff the most.”
“Wow,” I said. Because I thought that kind of stuff stayed in the Yearbook room. I didn’t know Anya was showing them to people.
“We’re headed to the movies,” Reece said. “Find us at lunch.”
And she didn’t say it in a bossy way. Or a stuck-up way. She said it in a way that made me think she really wanted me to find her tomorrow at lunch.
“You’re really blossoming,” my mother said, reaching her arm around me.
But I pushed away. Because my mom should have known better than to try to hug me in the mall right after we talked to popular eighth graders.
“Yearbook is really changing things for me,” I said. But I didn’t elaborate beyond that. Because I was pretty sure my mom would object to me keeping secrets from Venice. But to be honest, I didn’t feel totally terrible about that arrangement. Because I knew that in the end good would triumph over awfulness. And I also knew that I wasn’t awful. Leo was. I walked down the mall corridor fully aware that I had to keep Leo close until I was triumphant. And based on his terrible ideas so far, I figured that wouldn’t take me long at all.
Tactical Lunches
Was my life working? I wasn’t sure.
My classes were working. I’d come up with a bunch more snappy captions in Yearbook. And in PE, Ms. Pitman had told the whole class that I was the best listener during the partner walk/jog-and-talk. (But really I’d just let Poppy Lansing complain about her life—mostly her stepdad and little brother—while I thought about my own problems as we hoofed it around the track.) And I’d kept up on all my Depression-era reading for English. Science was science, and we’d mostly been studying the anatomy of starfish. (They aren’t actually fish and they have tube feet.) Idaho History had gotten somewhat interesting because Mr. Falconer had shown us pictures he’d taken at the Idaho Historical Museum, which included a two-headed calf named Déjà Moo. And Math had gotten fun because Mr. Pickering was assigning worksheets filled with math games, so I was getting As on everything.
Lunch was the place where I questioned everything. Lunch was the place where I caught myself glancing at other tables, looking for friends I’d had before Venice. Kendra Dover, a pretty terrible trumpeter, sat with the kids from band. She always had to stop herself from laughing before she drank her milk. And Tula Mori. She ran track like a demon and hung out with other tough athletes. Even though she brought a lunch that usually had depressing food in it like hard-boiled eggs and lettuce leaves, she seemed happy too. Why wasn’t I better friends with them? It was like we drifted apart and became totally different people.
I mean, did that have to happen? I still liked them. Wasn’t it possible they still liked me? Seriously. Did they ever think about me? Tula was the first person I ever texted. And for her eighth birthday I gave her a turtle bank. Did she still have it? Would it be totally weird to bring it up? How would it feel if I suddenly joined her table?
“Earth to Perry,” Venice said, snapping her fingers.
And that comment really brought me back to my terrible reality. I ate lunch with Venice and Leo. Just the three of us. We sat together at a small round table by the window. There was space for a person or two to join us. There was totally room for Javier and Luke and Eli. But nobody ever did join us. Probably because we looked miserable. Okay. Maybe Leo and Venice didn’t look miserable. But I looked miserable enough for everybody.
“Anybody want fresh apple pie?” Leo asked, holding out a plastic box filled with three amazing-looking pieces of pie.
I took a slice and tried to smile. Ever since we’d started eating lunch with him, he’d been trying to manipulate me into liking him by bringing my favorite desserts. I didn’t know how he knew exactly what I liked, but he did. Moon pies. Butterscotch cookies. Banana walnut bread. It was totally delicious and it bugged me beyond belief. Because it was really hard for me to strongly dislike somebody who kept being super nice to me, even when I knew it was all for show.
“It feels like we’re wasting time,” Leo said. “We need to pick a person and commit.”
This was what they’d been saying all week. Maybe it was because we were all so different. Or maybe we wanted different things. Or maybe it was because I wasn’t trying very hard, but we’d made zero progress when it came to naming a sixth grader for the What’s Hot section. Nobody in the sixth-grade class was as accomplished or as popular or as hot as the people Anya had already chosen from the upperclassmen.
I ate my pie and looked concerned. But deep down I was furious with him for trying to get Venice mixed up in his weird plan. Tragically, for me and Anya, I hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out if this was the real plan or if there were other additional terrible plans. I just couldn’t figure out a way to ask Leo, “Hey, are you lying to my face about your plan? And do you have secret additional, barfier plans?”
“Even though Anya says she’s on board with adding a sixth grader for What’s Hot,” Leo said, “I’m pretty sure she’ll cut out whoever we pick at the last minute if the person doesn’t meet her standards.”
Venice nodded. “She’s like that. We need to pick somebody uncuttable.”
Why was Leo even helping us find anybody? He was the advertising manager and a seventh grader. And how did Venice know what Anya was like? Did she spend every afternoon talking to her and reporting on possible plans of sabotage from her fellow classmates? No. That was me. I was the one who knew Anya. And she wasn’t as bad as these two thought she was. She just had superhigh standards when it came to what was hot.
“Maybe we’re thinking about this wrong,” Leo said.
I just kept fake-nodding at him. Because it was way easier for me to do that than join the conversation.
“What do you think?” Venice asked me.
I set down my pie and cleared my throat. “There’s got to be a worthy sixth grader,” I offered. And that wasn’t even a lie. That was something I believed.
“Okay. Let’s all of us say our top three picks again,” Venice said. “I’ll go first. Winnie Dusenberry. She’s cute. She’s funny. She’s popular. Her mom makes and designs those awesome denim skirts with lace trim that she wears. Plus, she writes a blog about her dog that has over five hundred followers.”
Leo winced. “Cute? Funny? Popular? I think the dog is the famous part of that equation.”
I wished Leo could have been more supportive of Venice. She was trying really hard to think of somebody. I mean, everybody did know who Winnie Dusenberry was. She was just a little plain. And while Venice thought Winnie’s homemade skirts looked cute, not everybody did. (Kids can be cruel. Winnie’s middle name was Marci.
And that rhymed with barfy. Enough said.)
“Dion Frater is the fastest sixth grader,” Venice said. “He’s just amazing. And people like him.”
I nodded. And this time it wasn’t even fake.
“Yeah,” Leo said. “His older brother Barney is a giant creep. I polled my history class today about Dion to see if people thought he was cool or popular, and some of the class booed me.”
“That’s absurd,” Venice said. “A person’s reputation shouldn’t be defined by an older brother.”
“Yeah,” Leo said. “I know. But Barney threw all those water balloons at puppies in the dog park. People think he’s a total jerk. And they’re not sure about Dion yet.”
I hadn’t heard about the water balloon incident. It must’ve happened over the summer when I was out of town.
“This is so hard,” Venice said, throwing her napkin onto her tray. “Why can’t more sixth graders live hot and interesting lives?”
“Because we’re super busy with Idaho History homework,” I said. Because I wasn’t exactly a hot and interesting sixth grader either. And Mr. Falconer was killing us with take-home worksheets.
“I just keep thinking we need to pick one of the theater kids,” Venice said. “Because Anya hates them so much.”
“I don’t know if it’s fair to say she hates them,” I said. “Hate is a strong word.”
“I’m pretty sure Anya has told the theater kids to their faces that she hates them,” Leo said. “I think she has dramamama issues. Her mom used to perform in local theater.”
“Yikes,” I said. Because it felt dangerous to be saying unkind things about Anya’s mom. I looked over my shoulder to see if she was listening.
“Who do you have on your list?” Venice asked.
“Well,” I said, fiddling with the zipper on my jacket. I felt nervous coming up with names, because at the end of the day I wasn’t on Venice and Leo’s side of things. But I was still a sixth grader, and I did want somebody decent to represent our class. “Chet Baez could work. The local news featured him on a segment about bird-watching.” But actually I thought Chet was way too weird to include. “Or maybe Poppy Lansing. She helped her mom decorate a birthday cake for a senator.”
Leo and Venice just stared at me. I think they suspected that I wasn’t really trying. But I ignored their reaction and finished my top three.
“My third pick is Penny Moffett. She built an authentic teepee in her backyard and the local news covered it. She braided her hair and everything. She looked totally cute. I mean, she has the shiniest hair ever. It was a long segment. Her whole family cooked beans in an old-fashioned pot. Do you remember that?” I asked, turning to face Venice. “After it aired she said a couple of people asked her for her autograph.”
“Yeah. But wasn’t that three years ago?” Venice asked. “Do people really know who she is?”
I really hated that Venice didn’t support my ideas, even if they were lame. I thought she could at least say one thing positive.
“I just think you’re approaching it wrong. It shouldn’t be about something somebody did one time. That’s not really being hot. It should be about who they are deep down,” Leo explained. “That’s where we should look for their hotness.”
“Exactly,” Venice said. “Like how Reece is a future Olympian. It defines who she is. It’s bigger than hot. She’s a hotshot.”
“I know,” Leo said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We need somebody at Reece’s level.”
But there was nobody at Reece’s level. Didn’t they know that?
“Who were you thinking?” I asked.
Leo tapped his bottom lip with his pointer finger. “Chet Baez is a good pick. He’s a little weird, but girls think he’s cute. I’m not sure Anya will go for it.”
Girls thought Chet Baez was cute? Wow.
“He needs to stop wearing feathers,” Venice said. “Do you think we could tell him to knock that off?”
She actually made a good point. Anytime Chet found a feather he immediately figured out a way to fasten it to either his belt or his shoes.
“It’s too late,” Leo said. “He’s already ruined it for himself.”
Leo pointed across the cafeteria to where Chet sat with his friends. An enormous black feather was stuck behind one of his ears.
“That’s unsanitary,” I said. “I mean, birds are a lot dirtier than people think.”
“What if he grows up to be a famous falcon trainer on television? Maybe he has a hot future ahead of him,” Venice said. “Maybe we should pick him.”
I shrugged. “I don’t even think he wants that. I think he wants to grow up to be the falcon.”
Both Venice and Leo laughed at this, and it made me feel really funny.
“You’re a lot cleverer than you look,” Leo said.
But that actually offended me. Because it felt like he was saying I looked dull.
“So who are your three?” I asked again. He was really good at shooting down everybody else. What person did he see in the sixth grade who was Reece-level?
“Girls think Hayes Ellsworth is cute. And his family owns the skating rink. He’s got some cool videos that he’s put online,” Leo said. “Is that hot?”
I really wanted to roll my eyes at this suggestion. Because Hayes Ellsworth was not cute. And he always had scabs on his elbows from falling down in the roller rink.
“Girls don’t think he’s cute,” Venice said. “We’re afraid of his elbows.”
Ooh. I liked it when Venice shot down Leo’s ideas.
“Didn’t Drea Quan win a hot dog–eating contest at the Eastern Idaho State Fair?” Leo asked. “I’ve heard a ton of people talking about her.”
Venice and I looked at each other in horror.
“What’s wrong?” Leo asked. “What did I say?”
I let Venice answer him.
“Somebody filmed that with their phone and uploaded it to the Internet and basically she wins the contest, then spends the next five minutes puking hot dogs,” Venice said.
“She was actually disqualified,” I said. “You can’t throw up when the buzzer sounds. It’s called a reversal of fortune.”
“Maybe that’s why I’ve heard of her,” Leo said.
“Well, that’s not getting her into the What’s Hot section,” I said. “Vomiting shouldn’t improve your social status. It’s dangerous to send that message.”
Leo looked at me and laughed again. “Your one-liners are priceless. No wonder Anya likes your captions.”
I glanced at Venice to make sure she was okay that her borderline boyfriend was paying me compliments. She didn’t appear to care.
“I wish this wasn’t so hard,” Venice said.
“It’s only difficult because we’re doing it right,” Leo said. “We’re figuring out the perfect hot person.”
Then I said something that depressed everyone. Even myself. “What if there is no perfect hot person?”
Ring.
“That’s it!” Leo said, jumping to his feet.
“What?” Venice asked. “Do you know the perfect hot person?”
I sure hoped Leo wasn’t the person to come up with the perfect hot sixth grader. I wanted it to be either Venice or me.
“Over the summer I read Frankenstein,” Leo said.
I wasn’t sure why he was bragging about his summer reading. I felt like telling him that Venice and I had reread Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret and Blubber.
“The story is about building a monster,” Leo said. “That’s our solution. We shouldn’t try to find the perfect hot sixth grader. We should try to build the perfect hot sixth grader.”
That actually seemed totally impossible. I wasn’t sure you could change a person like that. Because at the snake assembly when I tried to shine the light on some nerdier kids, I’d only succeeded in making them look super awkward. I mean, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I was beginning to think there was a reason that people who weren’t hot weren’t hot.
/> “How do we build a hot sixth grader?” Venice asked.
“We pick somebody who has the potential to be hot. And then we push them toward their hotness,” Leo said.
Venice broke into a smile so big it almost cracked her face.
“That’s brilliant,” Venice said. “We’ll pick somebody who deserves to be hot. We’ll probably end up changing their life.”
I slowly walked to the cans when we dumped our trays and let this sink in. Leo thought we could build a sixth grader for What’s Hot? That was nuts. That meant we’d have to make somebody super popular in the next few weeks. And that wasn’t how popularity worked in middle school. Popularity was something that happened to you randomly in second or third grade because you wore the right clothes and were cute and weren’t an obvious nerd. Also, it helped if you didn’t have any major hang-ups, like a bad odor or a disastrous amount of freckles or a history of being dangerous with scissors. Then, if you were lucky, if you were given the gift of popularity, you clung to it like a life preserver as long as you could, until you made it through high school and things started over again in college.
“Okay,” Venice gushed. “In our free time today let’s try to come up with the person with the most potential.”
“Free time?” I asked. Had Venice forgotten that we were on our way to Idaho History, where we had to replicate (freehand) the state seal? And that after that I had Math in Focus? And that after that I had to walk home and spend time with my cat and my mom?
“Yeah,” Venice said. “Like when you’re walking home alone. You can think about this.”
I didn’t really enjoy Venice telling me what to think about when I was walking home. And I also didn’t appreciate her reminding me that I walked home alone.
“And we can figure it out on the bus,” Leo said, giving Venice an obnoxiously loud high five.
“This is going to be the most amazing thing anyone has ever pulled off in the history of Yearbook,” Leo said.
But I didn’t think that was true. Because after I told Anya about it, I was sure she’d figure out a way to stop Leo and his terrible sixth-grade-monster-building idea.
Project (Un)Popular Book #1 Page 9
