All's Fair in Love, War, and High School

by Janette Rallison

  I turned around and looked down the hallway. Except for Bentley, it was empty.

  They weren't even there? I had been talking indigestion with Bentley for nothing? I stared down the hallway and wondered what to do next.

  Could my friends have been caught by someone coming up the other end of the hallway? Perhaps right now the principal was chewing them out in her office.

  I walked down the hallway and peered into the next one. It was empty too. I tapped my foot nervously, looking around the rows of lockers. Seconds, minutes, millennia went by. I walked back to the first hallway. And that's where I found Aubrie and Rachel. They walked casually toward me, as though strolling around the school hallways after school was a normal activity.

  When they got close to me, I whispered, "Where have you been?"

  "Taking down posters," Rachel whispered back. "We finished in this hallway and just figured it would be faster to move on to the next one without coming back to get you."

  I hadn't realized I was shaking, but I suddenly felt it and wrapped my arms around my waist. "Thanks a lot. I've been back here coughing my lungs up."

  "Well, you can be happy now. It's done, and we didn't get caught."

  "Yet," Aubrie said.

  Rachel and I both got her point. We quickly walked toward the front door.

  I didn't breathe easily again until we reached the parking lot. And then I took several deep breaths. It was done. It didn't seem like nearly enough payback considering how Amy had smeared my name, but at least now she'd think twice before doing any more dirty campaigning.

  Aubrie took her car keys out of her backpack. "Now we can all go home and relax."

  "Yeah," I said, and suddenly realized I couldn't. I was supposed to be at work at 3:45. I looked at my watch. It read 3:42. Not only would I not have time to go to Josh's store, I wouldn't have time to go home and grab anything to eat, either. Usually I ate a sandwich or something because I worked through the dinner hour. Today I'd have to settle for whatever was on the candy rack by the registers. After all of the tension of the day, this was just what my stomach needed—a meal that consisted of Blowcharms and Trident.

  I said good-bye to my friends, threw my backpack into my car, and drove out of the parking lot like I was Brad with half a dozen cats roaming around the front seat.

  When I walked into the bookstore, I saw Logan standing at the cart. He always drove to school, which meant he'd been one of the lucky recipients of a flyer with my SAT score on it. He was probably just bursting with happiness and would gloat about my lousy score for the entire shift.

  I should have just gone home and called in sick.

  I walked over to the closet and got my vest out. Logan strolled up beside me as I put it on. "Hi."

  "Just shut up," I told him.

  "What?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What did I say?

  I buttoned up the vest and wished my fingers would stop shaking. "It's not what you said, it's what you're about to say."

  "You know what I'm going to say? Now you're a psychic?"

  "No. I'm obviously not a psychic. A psychic would have done really well on say . . . the SAT."

  "Oh," he nodded in an unconcerned manner. "So the report was true?"

  "I was having a bad day when I took the test," I lied. "I had this huge headache, and I couldn't think straight."

  Logan shrugged. "You'll do better when you retake them."

  "Yeah, I will."

  I waited for him to say something else to me, some jibe or jest, some commentary on my intelligence. But he didn't. He just went back to the book cart. I waited a little longer. Why in the world was he being nice to me now—now when he had really great ammunition to use against me? I decided not to live with the suspense.

  I went over to the cart, and while I picked up books, I said, "Aren't you going to tell me some dumb-blond jokes or something?"

  He glanced over at me with a smile. "Naw, I figure you've heard them all before."

  That was more like the Logan I knew.

  "I suppose you aced your test," I said.

  "If I didn't, I'm smart enough not to have told everyone about it."

  I slipped another book underneath my arm. "I didn't tell everyone. I just told Cassidy Woodruff. I didn't think she was the vindictive type." I paused for a moment, then added, "You notice I didn't tell you."

  He leaned over the book cart toward me and smiled again. "Was that an insult?"

  "No. It was a veiled suggestion. It's not my fault you're smart enough to figure it out."

  I thought he'd fight this point, but instead, he straightened up and tapped a book absentmindedly against the cart. "Cassidy Woodruff. Why would she put flyers about you on people's windshields?"

  "She's campaigning for Amy."

  "She's not the type to put nasty flyers on people's windshields."

  "Your judgment of women fails you again."

  He kept tapping his book, as though he hadn't heard me. "Cassidy wouldn't have done it. She might have accidentally let the information slip to someone who could have done it, but she wouldn't have done it on purpose."

  Typical Logan. He knew absolutely nothing about the situation, and yet he stood there defending Cassidy anyway. I said, "I'll let you know my opinion of Cassidy after our bet is over."

  "You really think she was involved? Come on, Samantha, have you ever heard Cassidy even say a mean thing? I bet she doesn't have an enemy in the whole school."

  I didn't say anything.

  "She always helps people with their homework and stuff."

  I didn't know whether he was trying to goad me into an insult or whether he was just smitten with Cassidy. I smiled graciously at him. "Go ahead and ask her out. You'd make a lovely couple."

  "Naw, I think she's pretty tight with Josh Benson." He picked up the last of his books. "I'll stick with Veronica. After all, you'll never make it the next nine days without insulting someone."

  I could have set him straight about Cassidy and Josh. He was bound to find out eventually that they'd broken up, and perhaps he'd back off this whole trying-to-get-me-to-insult-somebody thing if he knew Cassidy was available. But I didn't tell him. Somehow I didn't want to. I didn't want to see his face light up at the prospect of a date with her. I didn't want to endure Cassidy updates every time Logan and I were stuck working together. I refused to give him one more way to annoy me.

  Instead, I said, "Not only will you have to take me to the Hilltop restaurant, but I'm going to make you hold the doors open for me and push in my chair."

  He laughed and walked away. Even that was annoying.

  For the next couple of hours, Logan and I didn't talk to each other. If I wasn't helping customers, then he was. When things finally slowed down, I walked over to the candy counter to see what I could buy that would substitute for real food. While I decided between a Milky Way and Corn Nuts, Doug walked in. I picked up the Milky Way and hoped he'd just pass by me, but he came and stood beside me. When I turned to go to the cash register, I nearly bumped into him.

  "Hey, Samantha, you know chocolate is an aphrodisiac, don't you?"

  "That must be why I love this job."

  Instead of just wandering off somewhere, Doug stood beside me as I paid for my Milky Way. "Yeah, I bet it gets real boring in here, but hey, you look cute in that vest."

  "Uh . . . thanks." I took the receipt and shoved it and the candy bar into my vest pocket. What I wanted to do was rip the wrapper off the Milky Way and gobble it down in two bites. But how could I do that with Doug standing there watching me? I walked back toward the books. Doug walked beside me.

  "Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" I asked, remembering I should treat him like a customer.

  "No, I just came in to browse." He took a quick survey of the store. "Hey, when do you get in the swimsuit edition of Hot Babes magazine?"

  I looked at his face to see whether he was serious, but I couldn't tell. He wore a silly grin, which could have meant anything
. "I don't know," I said. "I don't pay a lot of attention to Hot Babes magazine."

  His grin got bigger. "Well, you work here. Aren't you supposed to know that kind of stuff?"

  I forced a smile and tried to sound patient. "You're one of those guys who decorates his room using posters of scantily clad women draped over sports cars, aren't you?"

  "Naw," he said, "I'm not much into sports cars." As we walked, he picked up a James Bond novel from the shelf and flashed the cover at me. It featured a woman wearing shorts that would have been tight on Thumbelina. "Now, she'd look good on a sports car."

  I looked around for a customer, any customer who seemed like they might need help. Unfortunately, everyone milling around the store seemed completely content. Logan must have noticed my frantic gaze though, because he strode up to us with a big smile.

  "Hey, Doug," Logan said happily. "What brings you into the literary world?"

  "I was just passing by and thought I'd come in and say hi."

  "He was checking to see if we had the swimsuit edition of Hot Babes magazine yet," I added.

  Logan raised an eyebrow at Doug, but Doug just grinned. "Got to make sure I get mine before they're sold out. Which reminds me, when do you get next year's Hot Babes calendars in? I tried to get one last December, and they didn't have any."

  Logan said, "Doug . . . ," and I thought Logan was about to comment on Doug's choice for marking the months, but the sentence disappeared and Logan's smile reappeared. "You like to get things done early," he said instead. "No procrastinating for you." Logan then glanced at me. "Isn't that a fine quality, Samantha?"

  I matched Logan's cheery tone. "Almost as good a quality as respect for women."

  Logan slapped a hand over Doug's shoulder. "And people who have calendars are organized and punctual."

  "That is, if they ever look at the days part of the calendar," I said.

  Doug was either tired of, or didn't understand, the direction the conversation had taken, so he broke in with the question, "So how late do you work here?"

  I didn't know whether he was addressing Logan or me, but I was afraid it was me. Since I didn't want him to follow this question with any suggestions about getting together after work, I chose a vague answer, "The bookstore's open until seven P.M."

  "But Mr. Donaldson doesn't make us close on school nights," Logan put in.

  "Because he knows we have to go right home and do our homework," I added.

  Doug tilted his head at me. "Do you do a lot of homework?"

  I felt myself blush. Was he questioning my intelligence? Was he making some reference to my now famous SAT score?

  "I need to start doing more," I said stiffly. "I'll let you guys talk. I have work to do."

  I walked into the back room, sat down on one of the stools we used to reach the high shelves, and tore open my candy bar.

  I would rather die than ever go out with Doug.

  As I consumed mouthfuls of chocolate I wondered if Doug knew about the bet between Logan and me. Maybe that's why he'd spouted off about Hot Babes. Maybe he'd been trying to trick me into an insult.

  But then again, it seemed entirely more likely that Doug was someone who saw women merely as good calendar material.

  After I ate my candy bar, I straightened up the back room for a few minutes just so I wouldn't have to go out to the sales floor again. I stacked up all the stray books from the counter and was picking up pieces of trash from the floor when Logan came in.

  "You can't hide in here forever," he said.

  "Yes, I can." I saw the corner of a paper sticking out from underneath one of the shelves and bent down to pick it up.

  Logan watched me for a moment, then sat down on the countertop and folded his arms. "He came all the way to the bookstore just to say hello to you. I thought it was very considerate of him."

  The paper was stuck, and I ripped it as I pulled. "He actually said the words Hot Babes to me."

  "So it would be good if you went out with him. You could enlighten him on the correct way to talk about women." He held up a peace sign. "You know, girl power and all of that stuff."

  "Nine more days? I have nine more days until I can insult you again, right?"

  "And I'm going to make it hard for you."

  "You already are." I didn't wait for him to answer. I just walked out of the room and back onto the sales floor. I was half afraid Doug would still be lurking around someplace, but I didn't see him. Maybe he got tired of leering at the James Bond covers and went home.

  I picked up a stack of books from the book cart and shoved them onto the shelf extra hard. Men. They had stupid calendars, and stupid bets, and stupid ways of driving, and stupid ways of breaking up with you, and stupid handwriting. The handwriting thought hurt the worst because it brought the whole flyer incident back to my mind. I'd been so busy worrying about retaliating, and then worrying about Doug, I forgot to worry about tomorrow when I'd have to face an entire student body who thought I couldn't spell SAT, let alone pass it.

  Of course, I couldn't blame this horrible situation entirely on guys. After all, Cassidy had divulged my test score, and Amy had done the flyers, and they both belonged to my half of the population. It made the betrayal that much worse.

  Next time I saw Cassidy, I'd tell her exactly what I thought of her and her supposed friendship, and then I'd—

  Dang. That would fall under the insult category. If I hadn't been so dead set against going out with Doug, I would have blown the bet with gusto. I would have even invited Logan along to witness the event. As it was, the best thing to do would be to say nothing at all until the bet was over. Nothing now, and everything later.

  I put the last of the books on the shelf and sighed. Nothing would be harder.

  Chapter 9

  The next day at school was a trip to misery. Every time I walked down the halls, every time I sat at a desk, I felt the weight of a hundred stares on me. I told myself I was imagining it. Not everyone was watching me, not everyone was wondering about my intelligence.

  Maybe.

  Only a few people actually mentioned the flyers to me. Each time someone brought up the subject, I just shook my head like I thought it was funny and said, "Where do people come up with these rumors? Next they'll be saying I'm an undercover FBI agent watching for terrorist groups."

  Whomever I was talking to would laugh, and then I'd say, "Just between you and me, the cafeteria ladies are scheming to take over the world."

  More laughter. I'd join in. It's amazing how your face can do that while you want to cry.

  I went from class to class and paid perfect attention to my teachers. I not only wanted to look studious, I wanted to be studious. I wanted to ace the SAT next time around and then photocopy the results and stick them to everyone's windshields; then we'd see if people ever believed Mr. Skinny E's again.

  After lunch the principal called Amy, Rick, and me into the office to discuss the unsportsmanlike campaigning that had gone on the day before. She eyed Rick up and down from behind her desk with a dark expression. "If I knew for certain who made those flyers about Samantha and tore Amy's posters down, I'd disqualify him"—she snapped her fingers—"just like that. So whoever did it had better be watching himself very carefully, or he might just find himself out of the race and out of school." Then she glared at Rick again. It was enough to almost make me feel sorry for him. Almost.

  We all swore we had nothing to do with any of it and promised to be model candidates. She let us go back to class.

  Finally the day ended. I made it through all seven hours without bloodshed or a nervous breakdown. I was at my locker congratulating myself on this fact when Cassidy appeared beside me. She wore a pale blue sweatshirt and jeans. Chelsea would have called it simple, bland, and uncreative; and yet Cassidy still looked as though she'd just stepped out of an Ivory Soap commercial.

  I hated girls who didn't struggle to be beautiful, and still were.

  Cassidy leaned against the locker next to mine, h
olding a couple of textbooks against her chest, and nervously fingered the paper that stuck out of them. "Hi, Samantha."

  "Hi."

  She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I just wanted you to know that Amy didn't make those flyers about you."

  "Oh?" I shoved the last of my books into my backpack. "And why would you think I suspected her?"

  She leaned in closer to my locker and lowered her voice. "Logan told me you thought I'd told Amy your test scores."

  "Logan told you?" Great. Not only was he the thorn in my side but he had also become my publicist. Now, despite all of my attempts at humor and FBI jokes, it was bound to get around that those really were my test scores. Why did I tell anybody anything?

  Cassidy shrugged. "Yeah, Logan was worried about you being upset."

  "Uh-huh." Sure. Logan frequently agonized over my well-being.

  "Anyway, I didn't tell anybody about your test score, but even if Amy had known about it, she wouldn't have made those flyers about you."

  I slammed my locker door shut. "Oh. Well, that's very reassuring to know. I guess the Evil Flyer Fairy just visited our school parking lot then."

  She blinked innocently. "Why are you so positive it was me?

  "Because you were the only one I told about my SAT score. I trusted you, Cassidy, and this is what I got."

  She looked a little confused then, like she could see my logic but still didn't believe it. "Well, then someone must have overheard you telling me."

  "Oh, yeah, probably one of the school hallway gnomes was listening."

  She straightened up, and I could see every part of her stiffen. "I'm sorry you don't believe me."

  "And I'm sorry about a lot of things." I turned and walked away.

  This would have been a great parting line if I never had to see Cassidy again. Unfortunately, I had to see her that afternoon. I'd completely forgotten, until my mother reminded me, that I'd agreed to help out at the neighborhood fun fair.

  Since Katya had arrived in Pullman, Cassidy's mom had done all sorts of fund-raisers to help out her old orphanage. One time she'd done a shoe drive. Another time all the women on our street got together to make quilts. On Halloween a bunch of kids went trick-or-treating for quarters to raise money for vitamins. Now it was the neighborhood fun fair.