King of the Screwups

by K L Going

I nod.

  “All right, let’s do ‘Space Oddity’ . . .”

  “Up-tempo,” Eddie suggests, which causes everyone to erupt.

  “You can’t do that one up-tempo!”

  “Why not? We’d be putting our own spin on a classic cover!”

  “Because you just can’t . . .”

  It goes on like this for a long time. Pretty soon I realize that the guys like to argue. Eddie’s obviously had way too much espresso, a fact that Aunt Pete uses to stir up trouble. Orlando smoothes things over, and Dino ignores them all and makes crazy rocked-out faces at me from behind the drum set.

  Still, when they finally get going they sound good. I never thought I’d be someplace listening to glam-rock seventies hits. Jamming with my English teacher. It occurs to me that this is exactly what an unpopular person might be doing on a school night.

  Maybe things are going to work out after all.

  The evening is going well until the phone rings. I requested a song by Fergie as a joke, and Pete sings the whole thing in falsetto. The guys are really vamping it up, so when the phone rings I slide across the kitchen in my socks so they won’t be interrupted.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Liam?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Jen. From school. How’s it going?”

  Huh.

  “Good,” I say. “Just hanging out with Mr. DeSoto.”

  There’s a long pause.

  “Oh, right. He’s in your uncle’s band, isn’t he?”

  Damn. Does everyone in this town know everything about each other? Still, it’s pretty uncool of me to be hanging out with the band.

  “Yeah,” I say, “he is. They’re awesome. Glam is the best.”

  Another long pause.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “So what’s up?” I ask, feeling pretty good about my unpopular self. Jen coughs.

  “Listen, I hope you don’t mind me calling. I got your uncle’s number out of the phone book. I heard about the whole bus thing today and . . .”

  Oh no.

  “. . . well, I was wondering if you might want to ride to school with me and Nikki and Joe. I could swing by and pick you up in the morning.”

  Crap. Now a gorgeous cheerleader with a killer rack wants to drive me to school. What else can possibly go wrong?

  “Oh, wow,” I say, buying some time. “That’s a really nice offer. I mean, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s out of your way.”

  “It’s not,” she says. “I’d be happy to pick you up.”

  I twist the phone cord.

  “Well, see the thing is . . . my aunt Pete, I mean, my uncle Pete, doesn’t really trust me to ride with other people.”

  This is a pretty good excuse, but Pete has come over and he’s standing right there. He makes a face, so I add, “He’s absolutely justified, so I’d better not risk it.” Then I cringe, because I can tell Pete is suspicious.

  He ducks under the phone cord.

  “You can get a ride with someone,” he says, opening the refrigerator. “Given your track record with the school bus, that would actually be preferable.” He says it loud, right next to the phone, so Jen hears him. He chucks three beers across the kitchen, and I try to stretch the cord so I can talk in my bedroom, but it won’t reach.

  “That was him, right?” Jen asks. “He said it was okay?”

  I think about lying again, but Pete is watching me.

  “Yeah,” I say miserably.

  Jen laughs. “Great! So, I’ll pick you up about eight thirty then.”

  “Right. Eight thirty.”

  Now I am sunk.

  24

  GETTING A RIDE WITH JEN wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t live next door to Darleen. I’m tucking a WXKJ T-shirt into a pair of designer pants with one of Pete’s rhinestone-studded belts when I hear Jen pull into the driveway the next morning. I run out to the car, but I’m distracted, so first I forget my pens and have to run back inside to get them. Then when I’m halfway out to the car, I realize I don’t have my notebooks. Jen keeps beeping, so I’m running, and that’s why I momentarily forget about the fact that Darleen’s not supposed to see me catching a ride.

  Then I realize she’s standing in front of her trailer.

  I get into the car and slide really low in my seat. It’s not like they could be here to pick up anyone else though, so I sit up again just as Jen pulls out, figuring I’d better take a different approach.

  “Hold on,” I say, and Nikki sighs.

  “Now what did you forget?”

  I roll down the window. “Do you want a ride?” I yell. It’s kind of rainy out and now that Darleen’s seen me, I might as well offer. Joe’s eyes bug out.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he blurts, but I ignore him.

  Darleen scowls. She’s carrying two huge bags of god only knows what, but she doesn’t look grateful for the offer.

  “No. I’m actually allowed to ride the bus,” she says.

  “Well, okay,” I say, rolling up the window. Jen is already pulling away, and Joe yells “freak” out the window. No wonder Darleen hates popular people.

  “You do not want to be friends with her,” Joe says once he settles back down. “That girl is a total basket case. I swear, she needs professional help.”

  Nikki laughs. “God knows she needs fashion help. Did you see what she was wearing? She must have bought that shirt from the Salvation Army.”

  I squirm because that isn’t really fair. The Salvation Army isn’t a bad place to shop. You can get some cool stuff there that you’d never find anywhere else. So what if Darleen shops there?

  I suddenly realize something about being popular. I didn’t get it before, but now it clicks. When you’re popular, people give you the benefit of the doubt. Here I am sitting in Jen’s car, and no one cares that I’m wearing one of the all-time stupidest outfits.

  “Darleen’s not so bad,” I say. “In fact, she’s my friend.”

  Joe frowns like he can’t decide whether or not I’m kidding.

  “Darleen is a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We share the picnic table.”

  “Liam’s right,” Jen says. “You shouldn’t treat her like that. Just because she’s not very social . . .”

  “Not very social?” Nikki gasps. “The girl is going to be voted Class Bitch in the yearbook. I think she wants people to hate her.”

  “Seriously,” Joe says. “Last year she wanted to cancel the junior prom so the school could do an art show instead. She made this huge argument to the school board about how there’s already a senior prom, so why should class funds go toward having a second prom when our arts and sciences are grossly lacking. That’s what she said. ‘Grossly lacking.’” Joe laughs and Nikki nods from the backseat.

  “The year before that she wanted everyone to boycott the biggest football game of the season because of some dumb comment the coach made about women. No one else would have taken offense, but Darleen has to make a big deal about everything.”

  Jen glances at me, then back at Joe and Nikki.

  “I think she just has a lot of hostility since her mom left,” she says. “It’s not her fault . . .”

  But Nikki doesn’t want to hear it.

  “Well, that’s not a reason to be a total bitch. I mean, it sucks that her mother was a loser, but that doesn’t mean you can treat everyone else like crap.”

  “Exactly,” Joe agrees. “Trust me on this one, Liam. Darleen Martinek is not someone you want to be friends with.”

  25

  DAD STANDS IN THE KITCHEN talking to Mom. He’s leaning on the counter, reading the newsletter my school sends out.

  “Can you believe this?” he says, setting down his coffee mug. “The orchestra is losing part of its funding so that the basketball team can take some trip.”

  He means our trip to Washington D.C. for nationals.

  “That’s outrageous. Our culture places far too much value on sports. Wha
t exactly are we trying to teach our children? That having a good body is more important than having talent? That the arts should be shortchanged for a . . .” He laughs derisively. “A basketball team?!”

  Mom glances over at me. Her look says, Let it go. Dad doesn’t even remember that I’m on the basketball team.

  The only freshman to make varsity.

  …

  Darleen Martinek is exactly the person I need to be friends with. If there’s anyone who would impress my dad, it’s Darleen. For the rest of the week I make talking to her my number one priority, but since she’s ignoring me, I don’t get a chance until Friday.

  It happens when I’m least expecting it. I’m sitting in physics, counting green cars in the parking lot outside the window as Principal Mallek announces lab partners.

  “Duane Allen and Cynthia Caroll. Liam Geller and Darleen Martinek. Robert Blake and Tyrone Watson . . .”

  I stop, then raise my hand.

  “I missed my name. Could you read it again?” Darleen glares and Principal Mallek sighs, but I have to be sure.

  “Liam Geller and Darleen Martinek. Table four.”

  My heart beats faster. Too good to be true. I gather my books and wait at table four while Darleen goes to the front of the room and starts a long, animated conversation with Principal Mallek. I figure I ought to read ahead, so I’ll know what we’re supposed to do.

  “Equipment: Two inclined planes of equal length. One Ping-Pong ball. One wooden car. One stopwatch.”

  Not bad. How hard can it be if there are only four things? I skip ahead to the directions.

  “Set each plane at a forty-five-degree angle. One person holds the stopwatch while the other person positions the objects at the top of the inclined planes. When the person holding the stopwatch gives the signal, release the objects, timing from the moment of release to the moment the objects reach the floor. Repeat with varying angles.”

  Huh. That doesn’t sound hard at all. I look up as Darleen sits down across from me. Her eyes narrow, but I grin.

  “I’ll get our stuff.”

  “No horsing around, Mr. Geller,” Principal Mallek says as he hands me two boards, a wooden car, a Ping-Pong ball, and a stopwatch. “I’ve paired you with my strongest student, so you’ll have a good chance at passing the lab section of this course.”

  I nod. I nearly drop the stopwatch but catch it in time, then I bring everything back and set it down on our table. Darleen sighs.

  “Fine,” she says. “If we have to work together you’d better pay attention. I’ve read through the directions, and I think you should work the stopwatch.” She hands it to me. “I’ll set up the planes, drop the objects, and measure the angles.” She takes out the two boards and secures them against the edge of the table while I study the stopwatch.

  “You know,” I say. “I wasn’t mocking your flyers the other day. I know you think I was, but actually . . .”

  Darleen sighs again. She holds the car and the Ping-Pong ball at the top of each plane.

  “Are you ready?” she asks.

  “I think you’re absolutely right about homecoming. I mean, who needs to have a good time? This is school and we’re not here to have fun. People should really buckle down and—”

  Darleen’s jaw tightens. “Would you start timing, please?”

  I look down at the watch. “Oh, right. Yes. Okay, go. So anyway, I just wanted you to know that if you need any help . . .”

  Darleen ignores me entirely and lets go of the car and the Ping-Pong ball.

  “What was the time?” she asks. I look down, but the stopwatch is still running.

  “Oh. Sorry. Forgot to shut it off. Let’s just do it again.”

  Darleen groans. She repositions the car and the Ping-Pong ball.

  “Go,” she says. I don’t say a word, just watch very carefully as the two objects roll off the planes. Then I hit the stop button.

  “Time?” Darleen asks.

  “Three point five seconds.”

  “For which one?”

  “What do you mean ‘which one’?”

  Darleen grabs the stopwatch and points at the diagram in our lab book. “You’re supposed to time them separately,” she says. “Separately!”

  I look at the picture. How was I supposed to do that when I only have one stopwatch? I figure the answer is probably obvious so I’d better not ask.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” I reset the stopwatch. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

  Darleen picks up both of the objects and positions them once more at the top of the planes. I glance around the room and realize everyone else is already adjusting the angles. I take a deep breath.

  Darleen drops the objects and I hit stop. Then I hit stop again. The numbers disappear, and I choke.

  “I don’t know why it did that,” I say. “I just hit stop. Maybe it’s, er, malfunctioning?”

  Darleen grabs the stopwatch out of my hands. She hits first one button, then another button.

  “Fine,” she says slowly. “It’s working fine. Maybe you should drop the objects. How about that?”

  I think this is a good idea, even though she isn’t being particularly nice about it. I’m sure I can roll a car and a Ping-Pong ball down a board.

  “Right. Good idea.”

  I position each object at the top of the planes and wait for Darleen’s signal.

  “Time,” she says. I drop both objects and watch them roll to the floor. When I look up Darleen is glaring at me again.

  “What?”

  “You dropped them wrong.”

  “What?!”

  “You dropped the Ping-Pong ball sooner than you dropped the car.”

  I’m sure I didn’t.

  “Well, can’t you just write the number down anyway? What difference does it make?”

  Darleen’s eyes bug out. “That’s the whole point of the experiment. To see which one gathers the most velocity at the lowest angle. If you don’t drop them at the same time, it totally negates the results!”

  I don’t see why this is such a big deal, but I nod anyway. I pick up the car and the Ping-Pong ball and position them again at the top. Only this time I’m nervous. When Darleen says time I mean to release them both, but I’m distracted, worrying about releasing them at exactly the same time, so I end up holding on to the car by accident. The Ping-Pong ball rolls under another lab table.

  “I’ll get that,” I say real quick. I crawl under the table but can’t reach it.

  “Here.” The blonde at table six bends down and hands me a Ping-Pong ball. “We’re done, so you can have this one.” I want to kiss her.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Darleen’s waiting impatiently, answering questions in her lab book. I’m sure we’re supposed to answer those questions together once the lab is done, but Darleen isn’t waiting. She doesn’t say anything as I set up the experiment, just holds the stopwatch and without looking at me says, “Time.”

  I release the car and the Ping-Pong ball at exactly the same time. I’m positive. Darleen just frowns.

  On the eighth try I get it right. Darleen writes down two numbers in her lab book and I have to peek over to see what they are, then copy them into my book quickly before I forget them.

  “What do they mean?” I ask. It seems like a good question—a studious question—but Darleen gives me the look again. “I mean, what do those velocities, um, signify, about the stuff?”

  “We won’t know until we complete the experiment. We’ve got to do it again with at least two more angles.”

  “Again?!”

  Darleen nods. Then she looks at the clock.

  “Oh my god!” she says, and I look around, expecting something to be on fire.

  “What?!”

  “We’ve only got three minutes left. You’ve wasted the entire lab period! I can’t believe this. I’ve never not finished a lab before.”

  She looks really upset.

  “We can get it done quickly,” I say. “Just copy what those g
uys have written . . .”

  That’s when I notice Principal Mallek is standing behind me.

  “That would be called cheating, Mr. Geller.”

  Crap.

  26

  PRINCIPAL MALLEK SENDS ME to the guidance office. He also gives both me and Darleen failing grades on the lab.

  “I truly despise you,” Darleen says loudly as I gather my books, and I know that she means it. Everyone stares as I leave the room, and I feel mildly ill.

  I wait in the guidance office through all of second period, but they’re busy so they give me an appointment seventh period instead. Then I have to wait twenty minutes to talk to my guidance counselor, only to have him forget my name.

  “Yes. Leroy. Tell me about your academic history? Looks like you’ve moved around a lot. Why was that again?”

  By the time I get to English, I’m late and frustrated. Orlando is reading something in front of the class, and he stops and sighs when I walk in.

  “You’re late,” he says. (As if I don’t know that.) I dig around in my pocket for a hall pass before realizing I forgot to get one.

  “Fuck,” I say, under my breath.

  Orlando puts his book down. “Excuse me?”

  I look up. “What? Oh. Nothing. I mean, I forgot to get a hall pass.”

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “Guidance.”

  Orlando hesitates. “This once,” he says, “I’ll let it go, but if it happens again . . .”

  I nod and walk across the front of the room to sit down at my desk. Orlando starts reading again, but I can’t concentrate. Darleen hates me worse than ever now, and if I can’t impress Darleen, I certainly can’t impress my dad, and since I’ve already screwed up once with Aunt Pete, that means he’ll be sure to kick me out next time, and . . .

  “Liam. Where’s your book?”

  Orlando is standing directly over my desk.

  Book? Aw, hell.

  “I forgot it.”

  “Seems to me like you forgot it yesterday, the day before, and, hello, every day this week.”

  The class snickers.

  “Tell me something, Liam,” Orlando says, tapping one finger on my desk. “What’s the name of the book that we’re reading?”