by Meg Cabot
Luke wasn't letting go, though. He was like Trina's cat, Mr. Momo, when he gets hold of a chipmunk. There is no letting go. Not until he's chewed its head off.
"But is that what you want to be, Jen?" Luke asked me urgently. "What do you want?"
Want? What did I want? Was he insane?
I decided he must be. I decided I must have been kidnapped—and was currently being held hostage—by a crazy man. It made sense, actually. Why else had I never been able to get an accurate read on him? Because he was nuts.
Wait until People magazine got a load of this.
"Seriously, Jen," the crazy man said. "What do you want?"
There was tons of stuff I wanted. I wanted Betty Ann back on Mrs. Mulvaney's desk where she belonged. I wanted people to quit mooing every time Cara Schlosburg walked by. I wanted out of show choir—or at least, I wanted Mr. Hall to quit yelling at me about that stupid hat and my jazz hands.
"The truth is, Jen," Luke went on, when I didn't say anything, "I don't believe you're mayonnaise at all. The way you snapped back at me that day outside the girls' room—"
I flinched, not wanting to recall that horrible moment.
But Luke wouldn't let it go.
"—I knew then there was more to you than nice little Jenny Greenley, everybody's best friend. I think you’re more than mayonnaise, Jen. Much more." He'd taken the glasses off—he didn't need them anymore, since everyone knew who he really was now—and I could see that his eyes were every bit as deep, deep blue as the lake down below us.
"The truth is," he said, "I think you're special sauce."
Ask Annie
Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions.
Go on, we dare you!
All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School Register.
Names and e-mail addresses of correspondents guaranteed confidential.
Dear Annie,
There is a girl in school who is always competing with me. Like whenever we get our tests back, she always wants to know what I got on mine, and if she got a better grade, she acts like it’s a big deal. She always wants to know what topics I’ve chosen for my research papers, and when I tell her, she picks the same topics! Then she wants to see who did better. It’s really annoying. How can I make her stop.
Doing Her Own Work
Dear Work,
Easy. Stop telling her what grades you got. And quit telling her your research topics as well. She can’t play the game if she hasn’t got anyone to play with, now can she.
Annie
TEN
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, So Luke Striker says you're special sauce. So what's the big deal? He's crazy, after all. And it's not like he wants to kiss you or anything.
And it's true Luke Striker doesn't want to kiss me. Or, at least, if he does, he hasn't exactly shown any sign of it so far.
And, truthfully, if he did, would I even be very thrilled? No. Because I, unlike a lot of girls my age—who live in my own town, anyway—am not in love with Luke Striker.
I did not want Luke Striker to kiss me.
But I was starting to think he might not be so crazy after all.
Luke sent me home by myself. I guess he was worn out from all the lecturing. You know, about how I'm not living up to my potential and about how to great people comes great responsibility and about where would we be if Churchill had turned his back on his people during World War II?
It didn't cause too big a sensation when a big black limousine came purring down the street where I live or anything. I mean, everybody in the whole neighborhood stopped what they were doing—mowing lawns, gardening, bringing in groceries—and stared as the limo pulled up in front of my house, and I came popping out of the back. My brothers came bursting out of the house, completely freaked, wanting to know where I'd been. My mom, who'd just gotten home from a decorating gig, stood in the middle of the yard, her mouth slightly open, staring as the long black car slid away after I got out.
It was Trina who got to me first, though. She must have been watching for my return from her bedroom window, since she came tearing over from next door, her long dark hair flying behind her like a cape.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," she screamed, grabbing my hands and whirling me around on my front lawn. "I cannot believe you spent a whole afternoon with LUKE STRIKER!!!!!"
As soon as my brothers heard that, it was all over. I guess what had happened over at the mall hadn't quite hit the middle school set, since it seemed to be news to them. But once they'd heard the whole story—Yes, I explained. I know Luke Striker—except for some quibbling on the part of my brother Rick that I didn't get him Luke's agent's phone number—that seemed to be the extent of the interest. I mean, they're guys, after all.
My mom, after she heard the story—I left out the part about how Luke had only taken me to his condo so he could lecture me about how I wasn't living up to my potential; it had actually been a little like spending the day with a guidance counselor. If, you know, I had a guidance counselor with eyes as blue as Clayton Lake and a drop-dead gorgeous smile—went, "Well, isn't that funny," then went inside, probably to call everyone she knew to relate the tale. You won't believe what happened to Jenny today!!
As soon as my mom and brothers went away, Trina pulled me up onto my front porch and sat down on the swing my dad had installed there and which my mom had decorated with cushions with—wouldn't you know it—hearts sewn on them.
"Okay," Trina said. "Now start from the beginning. What exactly did you and Luke talk about?"
I wasn't about to tell Trina the truth. I mean, for one thing, she just wouldn't have understood. She understands stuff like Mr. Hall's choreography—that kind of thing is no problem for her. And obviously she understands the mayonnaise thing—she's the one who called me on it in the first place.
But when it comes to stuff like—oh, I don't know, a hot movie star telling me I'm not behaving in a manner that would have made Churchill proud?—that's just not something a girl like Trina could wrap her mind around. If Luke had tried to French kiss me? No problem. I knew I could tell Trina.
But that he'd lectured me on my responsibility as a human being to effect social change at Clayton High School? Yeah, not so much.
"Oh," I said to her, as we rocked on the swing. "You know. Just stuff. I think he's really hurting, you know. Over the Angelique thing."
I didn't know this at all—he hadn't actually mentioned the A word, beyond saying he was getting the tattoo removed. But it sounded good.
"He came here to get away from it all, I think," I went on. "It was totally uncool the way everybody acted, back in the parking lot."
"Tell me about it," Trina said, her eyes widening. "I couldn't believe it! Did you see the way Bored Liz grabbed his legs? Who knew she was such a slut?"
I thought it wiser not to mention the fact that Trina had only acted maybe one iota better.
"Did he mention me at all?" Trina wanted to know.
"Um. Not really."
"What about Geri? Did he mention Geri? Because she slipped him her number, and she so thinks he's going to call."
"Um," I said uncomfortably. "No. Are she and Scott still broken up? Because when I left, they seemed to be . . . talking."
"Oh, please," Trina said. "The two of them are so over.
I'm surprised they lasted as long as they did. Geri's so bossy! I think Scott just stuck it out with her to keep from hurting her feelings, you know? I mean, seeing as how she's going off to college in a few months anyway. He's nice, that way."
Yes, he is.
"So I am totally breaking up with Steve after the movie tonight," Trina went on. "I thought about calling it off before the movie, but I really want to see this one, and I'm totally broke. Do you think that's really heartless? But, I mean, is it my fault he always insists on paying?"
Um, yes. I felt bad for poor Steve, whose only crime was loving a girl who didn't love him back.
But I didn't say anything, because it would have just made Trina mad.
Then I remembered what Luke and I had talked about. About how I was always smoothing things over, instead of keeping them from happening in the first place. Wasn't my not saying anything about Trina using Steve for free movie tickets exactly what Luke had been talking about? This was an injustice . . . a total mistreatment of Steve.
And I was just sitting there letting it happen. Because I'm nice little Jenny Greenley, everybody's best friend.
I knew how it would go, of course. Trina would dump Steve, and then I'd spend the entire bus ride up to Luers comforting him.
Well, not this time. I don't know—maybe that whole thing Luke had said to me, about me being special and all, had gone to my head.
Or maybe I'd just decided to grow a backbone for a change.
Whatever the reason, I decided to give it a try. Luke's theory of me effecting social change. Right then and there. If it turned out Luke was wrong, well, no big loss. But if he was right . . .
If he was right, things were going to start changing around here.
And about time, too.
"Why are you going to break up with Steve?" I asked Trina.
She blinked at me. "Duh," she said. "So I can go to the Spring Fling with Luke, silly."
"What makes you think Luke would go to the Spring Fling with you?" I demanded.
Trina looked worried. "Why? Do you think Geri's already asked him? Did he say yes?"
"What makes you think," I asked, getting up from the swing and beginning to pace the length of the porch, the same way Luke had paced his deck, "that Luke would go to the Spring Fling with anyone from this town, after what we did to him today? How do you know he's not heading straight back to L.A.?"
Trina knit her brow. "Jen? Are you all right?"
"You know what? No, I'm not." Because I'm sick of being nice little Jenny Greenley, everybody's best friend. I want to be nice to people. Yes, it's true.
But I also want people to be nice back. Not just to me, but to each other, for a change.
"I'm not all right," I said to Trina. "The way you treat Steve, Trina. It's wrong."
"Steve?" Trina laughed. "I thought we were talking about Luke. What's wrong with you, Jen?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong with me," I said, feeling just like I had outside the ladies' room with Luke—sick to my stomach but plunging on anyway. Because I had to. I just had to. "I've stood by and watched you treat Steve like dirt for too long. He has feelings, you know. He's a human being, and he happens to be in love with you, and it's unconscionable of you to take advantage of that for free movie tickets and supersize tubs of popcorn."
"Unconscionable?" Trina echoed. "What does that mean? What is with you? We're talking about Steve, remember?"
"He has feelings, too, you know. If you don't love him—and I don't believe you do, because if you did, you wouldn't be breaking up with him a week before Spring Fling so you can ask someone else—then tell him that. It's not fair to get his hopes up. You're just using him, and it's not right."
Trina laughed. I'm serious. My first stab at effecting social change, and I got laughed at. It hadn't been easy, either. My heart was beating really fast, my palms were unpleasantly sweaty, and my stomach really, really hurt.
But I'd had to say it Really, after everything Luke had said, what choice did I have?
"Who died," Trina wanted to know, "and made you Steve McKnight's baby-sitter? He's a big boy, Jen. I think he can take care of himself."
"Not where you're concerned," I shot back. "Because where you're concerned, he has a weak spot, and you're taking advantage of it. And it's going to stop after today, because either you decide he's the one, or you tell him the truth Because if you don't, I . . . I'll tell him myself!"
"What is wrong with you?" Trina demanded, standing up. The swing jiggled around behind her. "What, are you jealous or something? God, my mother warned me this was going to happen someday. My mom said someday you were going to get jealous over the fact that I always have a date and you don't. She was like, 'Don't rub it in Jenny's face, Catrina.' But I was like, 'Jen's not like that, Mom. She's happy for me. She doesn't care that I have a boyfriend and she doesn't.' But I guess it turns out my mother was right, huh, Jen? Because that's what this is about, isn't it? The fact that I've got a date for the Spring Fling, and you don't."
"Oh, I've got a date for the Spring Fling," I assured her.
"Oh, right," Trina said with a laugh. And not a very nice one, either. "With who?"
"With Luke Striker."
Trina flinched as if I'd punched her. "WHAT?"
And the scary thing was, it was true. I wasn't even lying. I did have a date to the Spring Fling. And it was with Luke Striker.
Nobody could have been more stunned than me by the way it had come about, either. It had happened in the weirdest way. The two of us had been sitting there on his deck, exhausted, I think, by our long talk. Luke had gone inside and gotten himself another beer and me a soda. We'd been sitting there for some minutes in fairly companionable silence when the phone inside the condo started to ring. A second later, there was a knock at the condo door.
"Well," Luke said, taking a swig from his beer. "Guess the jig is up."
"Wow," I said, a little shocked at how fast they'd managed to find him. "That's kind of scary."
"Not really," Luke said. "I mean, I'm used to it. It's you I feel bad for."
"Me? What are you worried about me for?"
"'Cause they're gonna come after you, too," he said, "when the full story gets out. You're gonna have Nancy O'Dell and Pat O'Brien beating a path to your door, too."
"Aw," I said. "I'll be all right."
He looked at me then, long and hard. Then he said, "You know what? I think you will. Listen. I feel bad, inviting you over, then doing nothing but yell at you."
"That's all right," I said. "I think I see what you were getting at. And it's something I'll try to work on. I'm not making any promises, but . . . I'll try."
"Glad to hear it." Inside the house, the phone rang and rang. The knocking grew louder. "But it's still not all right. Let me make it up to you. I know. Let me take you to the Spring Fling."
I just about spat my soda out all over him. I managed to swallow it instead, but of course it went down the wrong tube. The next thing I knew, soda was coming out of my nose, and tears were streaming down my face because the soda stung so badly. I was beginning to see why Geri Lynn liked her soda flat. That way, if it went up her nose, it probably didn't hurt as much.
"Hey, you okay?" Luke was patting me on the back, thinking I was choking. "Here, here's a napkin."
I sopped up soda and tears with the napkin, then laughed.
"Oh my God," I said. "Sorry about that. I thought you said.
". . . you know, I thought you just asked me to the Spring Fling."
"I did," Luke said.
My heart gave a lurch. Not a good lurch, either, but like an Uh-oh, I think I'm about to get hit by that bus kind of lurch.
Because, really, the last thing I needed was to go to the Spring Fling with a teen heartthrob. I have enough problems without having to fight off a bunch of girls just to share a glass of punch with my own date.
"Before you say no, hear me out," Luke said, as if he'd been reading my mind. "For one thing, it won't be like today. That was really bad back there, I admit. But it's because people weren't expecting it. If we go to the Spring Fling together, it'll be different. Yeah, there might be some photographers or something, but everybody'll know I'm with you, so they won't . . . you know. Be throwing themselves at me. At least, not as much."
All I could do was stare at him. I really thought maybe the beer had gone to his head or something. Or maybe there was a camera hidden somewhere, and this was one of those reality shows. And in a second Ashton Kutcher or somebody was going to pop out and tell me I'd been punked. . . .
"The thing is," Luke went on, "like I told you, I never went t
o high school. So I never got to go to a school dance. And I want to see what it's like. I'll admit there's a prom scene in the next project I'll be working on, but that's not why I want to go. I want to go for me, really. So I won't have missed out on anything."
"Missed out on anything?" I shook my head. "Luke, you've been to, like, Africa. You've been to Europe, what, a thousand times? You sat next to Clint Eastwood at last year's Oscar ceremony. I saw you there—don't deny it. How could you have missed out on anything?"
"Easy," Luke said. "I miss out on everything normal people get to do. Jen, I can't even go to the grocery store to buy milk without people wanting my autograph. Is it so wrong that I want to experience something every American teen but me has?"
Every American teen has NOT experienced the Spring Fling. I mean, look at me, for instance.
But I didn't want to burst his bubble. At least, not that way. What I really wanted to do was get real about what was bothering me the most. . . .
"But why ME?" I asked him. "I mean, you could go to the Spring Fling with anybody. Trina is much prettier than me, and she wants to go with you. . . ."
"Yeah," Luke said. "But Trina's not my friend, is she?"
I stirred on the bench uncomfortably. "Well. No."
"And Trina doesn't like me as just a friend—the way you do—does she?"
I understood then. I knew why Luke was asking me. I knew what he was asking me, too.
And my heart swelled with pity for him. I know, it's ridiculous—me, feeling sorry for a millionaire, a movie star who was worshiped by women all over the world, and who had his own Ferrari.
But there was one thing money and good looks couldn't buy Luke Striker. And that was friendship. Genuine friendship, from someone who didn't want to use him to get rich or famous herself, from someone who liked him for who he was, not the characters he played on the screen. All he wanted was to be treated like a normal person.
And really, if you think about it, what's more normal than the Spring Fling?
He had urged me not to be little Jenny Greenley, everybody's friend anymore. He had told me I had the potential to be something special.
