How (Not) to Find a Boyfriend

by Allyson Valentine

  I look at him askance. “Anyone else who happened to be savvy to the fact that she was choking. And who happened to know first aid.”

  “My parents are both doctors,” he says, as if I needed a reminder. “They had me practicing the Heimlich maneuver on my first teddy bear. And who knows, she might have coughed it up on her own if I hadn’t stepped in.”

  “You’re being pretty modest,” I say, reaching up to give his shoulder a playful poke. It is only then, when I see my own furry sleeve, that I realize I am still dressed like a rodent.

  Behind Adam, a group of girls slows down. One of them dabs on lip gloss. Another takes a picture with her phone. No kidding, he could have anyone he wants. He may even currently top the hottie list of every girl in school. But Nora Fulbright, Monarch-in-Training, is about to flap her wings and soar above the crowd.

  I smile at him coyly. “So, I was just getting my stuff together to go to practice.”

  “Practice?” he asks.

  Slowly, striving for sultry or sexy or somewhere in between, I untie the woolly brown belt and the sweater falls open. I let it slide off one shoulder, revealing purple, gold and the exuberant jumping Cutthroat trout embroidered above my left boob. I shake my arm out of the sleeve, then reach around and free up the other arm. I stand facing him, the sweater dangling from my fingertips like it’s a silk bathrobe. I turn, fling open my locker door and go up on tiptoes to slide the muskrat onto the locker shelf. When I turn back, Adam’s eyes are wide.

  I smile. It’s a cocky smile. Adam Hood, meet Super Cheer Girl! Riverbend High School’s most talented flyer.

  With me standing in my cheer uniform in front of my open locker, this is supposed to be the moment when he’s wowed by my short skirt, my tanned legs, my perky demeanor. The moment when he falls into a testosterone-induced coma—Nora is a cheerleader! But instead, he pulls the book he’s holding, a book about chess openings, close to his chest like he’s protecting his heart.

  Something is not right. It feels like an icy gust has come in and snuffed out the spark that was glowing just minutes ago when he pressed a finger almost to my lips.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask. I take a step closer, he takes a half step back.

  “Yeah, of course,” he says matter-of-factly. “Everything is fine.”

  Everything is not fine. I can feel it. I can see it as the muscles in Adam’s jaw tense.

  “Um, I noticed you weren’t in algebra,” I say, searching for some common ground, for a way to breathe life back into our conversation. “I thought maybe you were . . .” Spit it out, Nora. In the hospital. In traction. Waking up from a near-death experience. “You know, sick, or something. Then I heard what happened at lunch. But don’t worry, all we did was a review worksheet, and I grabbed an extra so you could do it at home. It’s right here.”

  I reach for my book bag. Adam stops me.

  “No—thanks anyway, but I don’t need it. I, um, switched to a different class.”

  My one class with him and he switched out? My arms dangle lifeless by my sides. “Why?”

  He shakes his head so that a lone shock of hair falls across his face. I want to reach up and brush it away. But more, I want to give it a sharp tug and demand that he tell me what the hell just happened that made him turn to Jack Frost.

  “Well, Mr. Bolger seems like a good guy,” he says, “but it really wasn’t the right place for me. The review questions were ridiculously easy, but still, almost no one knew the answers.”

  If I only had a brain. I look down at my feet.

  “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.” Adam’s expression is pained. “I mean, I know math isn’t everyone’s strong suit.”

  Wait a minute. Is that what this is about? The sudden chill? Does he see the cheer uniform and instead of seeing me as a giant bucket of awesome, he assumes that I’m perhaps even dumber than I seemed in Bolger’s class? That because I’m a cheerleader I’m not smart? Not smart enough for him?

  “Woohoo! Adam! There you are!”

  Crap with a spout! The Teapot waves from all the way down at the other end of the hall. Her chestnut-colored Shirley Temple curls, pulled back in barrettes on either side of her face, bob as she ambles toward us. She’s got on what appears to be a purple mechanic’s jumpsuit with gold epaulettes and matching gold sneakers. “All the world loves a hero!” she sings out.

  Adam stiffens.

  I glance from the Teapot and her friends back to Adam. “Is that who was choking?” I ask, unable to keep the terseness out of my voice.

  Adam’s head barely moves as he nods. He looks—embarrassed? A thought makes my breath catch. Is he embarrassed to be seen talking to Nora, the dumb cheerleader?

  The Teapot makes her way through the thinning crowd with Little Nate and Tallulah, the girl who played Beauty in last year’s play. Again, perfect casting. Tallulah is stunning, with thick, black Rapunzel-like hair that cascades over one shoulder as she sashays along between Little Nate and the Teapot. It is rumored that one day last year she came to school wearing nothing but her hair and a well-placed belt. And she is not just beautiful, she is supposedly very smart. And while she is not popular in a Chelsey or a Jake way, everyone knows who she is.

  They stop when they reach us. At the sight of my uniform, the Teapot inhales like she has entered into a field of poppies. “Y’all look so darn cute!” Her smile is warm and genuine. She appears to have recovered nicely from her near-death experience.

  “I heard about what happened at lunch,” I say. “Lucky for you Adam was there.”

  The Teapot beams at him. “You’re telling me! If he hadn’t been there to save Tallulah, I would be short one best friend.” She nods toward Tallulah, who has sidled in between me and Adam and is looking at him like he’s made of cheesecake.

  Wait. What?

  Tallulah touches the back of her hand to her forehead and speaks in a voice that is low, smoky and smooth. “I just don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t been there to save my life.” She places one long, silver fingernail on Adam’s shoulder and runs it down the length of his arm. “We’re on our way to drama club. You should come. We’re doing improv today and you just never know where things will go.” She licks her lips like she took the AP How to Get a Guy class and got a perfect score on the final exam.

  “It’s tons of fun,” quips Little Nate.

  The Teapot wraps an arm around my shoulder, and the warmth of her bulk reminds me that, without Krista’s sweater, I’m freezing. “If you ever have a Friday free, you should come,” she tells me. “You’d be great!” She leans in and whispers, “No offense but you might want to try a padded bra.”

  I clamp my arms across my chest.

  “Thanks for the invite,” says Adam. “I’m not much of an actor. And anyway, I need to get home. I have a lot of work to do.” His eyes drift toward mine but stop somewhere around my cheekbones. “And, um, have a good cheer practice.”

  Tallulah watches him go. “He’s really something,” she says to the Teapot and Little Nate, because I seem to have become invisible.

  He really is something. He is something smart and kind and lifesaving and funny and beautiful. He is also something that has just confused the crap out of me. Now to figure out how to convince him that I am something, too. Something way more than just a dim-witted cheerleader.

  But do I even stand a chance against Tallulah?

  They leave and I turn back to my wide-open locker, where Krista’s giant heart screams a reminder that maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just go for Jake. He’s funny. He’s hot. And as far as I can tell, Jake does not think he’s too smart for me.

  Six

  PRACTICE GOES EXTRA LONG because Vanessa completely muffs up the dance routine we’re planning to do at halftime and Chelsey is relentless, making her do the same moves over and over again. I’m frustrated by the repetition. I’m frustrated by what just happened with Adam. Frustrated by the mere existence of Tallulah and her magnificent hair. Her magnificent brain. Her mag
nificent luck and timing when it comes to hot dogs and hot guys.

  Vanessa slams her pom-poms onto the gymnasium floor in a huff. “Look, I’ll just sit out halftime,” she offers.

  But Chelsey maintains that it’ll be impossible to pull off the routine with an odd number of girls. In exasperation Elsa offers to sit it out, too, because then we would be an even number again, but the math confuses Chelsey, and in the end we are all stuck going through the routine again and again until Vanessa has it down. For now.

  It’s much later than I wish it was when I finally pull into the driveway. Joshie and Copernicus greet me at the front stoop.

  “That guy was biking by and he stopped to play soccer with me again,” Joshie reports.

  My breath catches. “Adam?”

  Joshie nods like he’s trying to shake something loose. “He’s nice. You should marry him.”

  “First I’d need to go out with him.”

  Joshie shrugs. Copernicus scratches. Apparently he has no four-legged wisdom to share today. Joshie switches gears. “Want to play with me?”

  I’m wiped out, but maybe a little soccer wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe a certain bedimpled guy would happen by twice in one day and I’d have a chance to redeem myself here, where I’d have the home-field advantage.

  “Okay.” I look around the yard, the centerpiece of which is a little blow-up pool littered with Popsicle sticks and dog hair. “Where’s the soccer ball?”

  Copernicus yips and jumps at the mention of the word ball.

  “No. Not soccer. Come on.” Joshie grabs my hand and pulls me inside, where he’s got the chessboard set up on the living room coffee table. All the pieces are in their correct squares.

  I tug my hand away. “I am not playing chess with you. I don’t even remember how to play,” I lie. I don’t think you can really forget how to play chess. At least not the basics. Not when you played as much as I did.

  “I know how to play,” Joshie claims.

  “You do not.”

  “Do too. I read that book your dad sent you. And I looked things up on the computer. Did you know that in medieval times you couldn’t be a knight unless you knew how to play chess?”

  “I have virtually no interest in becoming a knight, Joshie. None. And I don’t want to play chess. And you know what else? You don’t want to play chess. Trust me. It can turn you into a total nerd.”

  Joshie’s hands ball into fists at his side. “Phil plays a lot of chess. He isn’t a nerd.”

  I laugh. “What? He’s the biggest nerd ever!” Okay, he’s a lovable nerd, but still—

  Joshie stomps his foot. “You can’t laugh at my big brother!” His lower lip trembles. Copernicus growls.

  I forgot. In addition to being Mr. Bug, Joshie is the president of the Phil Fulbright fan club. “Don’t cry. Please?” I try to hug him and he backs away, bawling.

  “Nora? What are you doing to your brother?” Mom calls from her office.

  “Nothing!” I lower my voice. “Look, I’ll play with you for a little while if you stop crying, okay?”

  “Okay.” Joshie sniffs, hiccups and runs to the chessboard. “I’m white. White always goes first.” He delivers a tutorial on which pieces do what. I take him out in six moves. More tears. Clearly that is not the outcome he was looking for. We play again and I let him win. And again.

  “Okay, that’s it,” I say finally. “I’m tired of being beaten.”

  Joshie, who’s been kneeling on the carpet while I took the seat on the couch, glows. “See? I’m pretty good! I’m going to go show Pratik.”

  Joshie takes off for his friend’s house and I am left with a sad, hollow feeling inside. It’s got nothing to do with Joshie. It’s all about chess. And Dad. And Adam and Tallulah.

  Adam. What is he doing right now? I cross the living room and look out the front window on the off chance that he’s returned and is outside staring longingly at my bedroom window. He’s not.

  I flop back onto the sofa.

  Adam.

  Tallulah has that mane of hair, plump lips, curves in places where I don’t even have places. He turned down her offer to go to drama club, but I don’t know if that was about her or about drama club. It was pretty clear from the way she looked at him that she is not going to give up. And she’s not the only one. Even some of the Cabbage Whites were talking about him at practice:

  —I heard that this really cute guy at first lunch saved a girl who was having a heart attack.

  —No, not a heart attack. She was choking. My friend said that he had to perform an emergency tracheotomy.

  —Seriously. I heard there was blood everywhere.

  Upon hearing them, Krista pushed her headband into place, rolled her eyes and nudged me with her elbow. “So he’s a hero. Big deal. Stick with Jake.”

  Now I jump when Mom reaches over the back of the sofa and gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “Thinking about the first big game tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Nervous?”

  I groan as I sit up. “Probably not as nervous as I should be. But I’ve still got all night to obsess.”

  “You’ll be fine. Remember how nervous you got before the PSATs? All that vomit, and still, you got a twenty-four hundred. It’s Joshie I’m worried about. He’s so excited to watch you cheer that I don’t know if he’ll even be able to sleep.”

  She scans the kid-free, dog-free living room. “Speaking of Joshie . . . ?”

  “He went to Pratik’s.”

  Mom heads to the kitchen without a single snide comment about “cheering on the boys.” Maybe she’s finally gotten over it? I sink into the sofa cushions and fall asleep until Mom wakes me up for dinner. With the long nap, and then a pile of chocolate ice cream for dessert (grocery store brand, but any port in a storm), by the time I crawl into bed my brain is on full alert.

  What if Vanessa messes up and I fall off the pyramid?

  What if everyone at school is there, watching?

  What if no one is?

  At seven o’clock in the morning I’m still in bed when I get the first text from Krista:

  Today’s the day! Nervous!!!!!!!!!!!! What if I puke?

  Five minutes later:

  My hair looks like crap!!!!!!!!!

  And then:

  Ack! Bethany used my eye glitter for an art project! Bring yours to the game!!!!!

  I shower and get ready to go. Krista texts some more, and when texting isn’t enough, she calls. Her voice has as many exclamation points as her texts do.

  “Oh my god, Nora! I think I just forgot all the cheers!”

  Somehow I talk Krista down, despite the fact that I’m as nervous as she is. I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths. I know the cheers. My hair looks fine. So does my eye glitter.

  Still, I’m nervous. It isn’t the act of messing up that worries me so much. It’s about who will see me mess up.

  Will he be there?

  I hope so.

  I hope not.

  Krista texts a final time:

  !!! Mom and Dad are ready to go. C U there in 15!!!

  I take a last look in the bathroom mirror and adjust my hair bow. I tuck eye glitter for Krista into my purse. Here we go! It’s finally the day I’ve worked toward since last spring when I first saw the poster that caused the Teapot to drool:

  Cheer for the team!

  Cheer for the school!

  Tryouts Friday—

  Cheerleaders rule!!!

  I enter the kitchen expecting to see everyone packed and ready to go, but no. Mom, in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt, is frying a breakfast hot dog for Joshie. Joshie feeds mustard and crackers to Copernicus beneath the kitchen table. Bill, still in his morning-run attire, sips iced tea and fills out Sudoku squares with a permanent marker. His eyes lift as I enter the room. “Well, look at you!”

  Joshie gasps. “You look as pretty as a butterfly!” He scrambles from under the table, and before I can stop him, he hugs me, dotting m
y top with round, mustard-yellow fingerprints.

  “Joshie! Look at what you did!” I push him away, but I push a little too hard and he trips over Copernicus, who has trotted through a dollop of mustard, and emerges from beneath the table to see what all the fuss is about. Joshie erupts in a swell of tears. Copernicus jumps up on me, smearing yellow paw prints on my kneecaps.

  “Nora!” shouts Mom. “Do not push your brother!” As she lunges to help Joshie, she knocks the pan off the stove and Joshie’s hot dog bounces across the floor. Bang! Copernicus is on it. Joshie’s wail hits a crescendo—“MY HOT DOG!”—as I tear off my top and run to the sink.

  “Are you okay?” Mom, on her knees, hugs Joshie.

  “Bad boy!” Bill chases the dog.

  “Yip! Yip! Yip!” Copernicus runs in circles around the table, cheering his own ingenuity—not only did he get a free meal, he got an awesome game of chase. Bill follows Copernicus out the back door.

  “What about me?” I shout, standing there in my sports bra and pleated skirt, wringing out my soggy top. “I’m supposed to be at the school in fifteen minutes. I told you guys we needed to leave at nine thirty!”

  Mom snarls, “Well, somebody shoved her little brother. You need to calm down!”

  I shake out the top. It’s clean, but soaking wet. “That’s because somebody’s little brother got mustard all over her! And I didn’t mean for him to fall.”

  “She didn’t mean for me to fall.” Joshie gulps like he’d be more comfortable breathing through gills.

  I slip the dripping top over my head. My eyes well up. I wipe them and come away with wet, glitter-smeared pinkies. I stamp the kitchen floor hard. “Crap! I wanted to look perfect for the first game.”

  Mom looks like someone whose team has just lost the big game one thousand to nothing. “Looking perfect is what matters most in the world, isn’t it, Nora? Got to look our best for the boys?”

  I was crazy to think she might have been over it! I am actively crying. “Why don’t you just say what you mean? You think I’m stupid! You’re embarrassed by me!”

  She hoists Joshie off the floor. A smear of mustard, like war paint, is splashed across her cheek. Joshie flies to my side but keeps his hands to himself.