Miri and I run to my mom’s bedroom and there, on TV, are the cows.
A reporter is standing in front of them. “Today, at JFK High School, a school prank has been taken to a new level. Someone has mooooooooved”—I groan—“fifty cows into a high school gym. In related news, this explains the mysterious Saturday disappearance of the cattle at Sammy’s, a slaughterhouse in upstate New York.”
The scenery changes to Sammy’s. “Hey!” my mom says from under her purple duvet. “Isn’t that near . . .”
La, la, la. Miri starts biting her nails. I twirl my hair. An elderly man is on TV. “It was the strangest thing,” he says, looking utterly mystified. “The animals were here grazing at seven p.m. but gone by four a.m. We didn’t hear a thing. It’s almost supernatural. If we didn’t know better, we’d think it was the work of aliens. . . .”
“Girls,” my mom says, her eyes bearing into us, “something you want to tell me?”
Squirm.
“Rachel,” she begins. “This is your plan to get school canceled?”
She thinks I did this? Hello? I’m the kid who was left behind. The child to whom nature forgot to hand down the witch gene. “Mom, I swear, I did not know this was going to happen.”
She thumps the still-tucked-in spot beside her. “Why don’t you two sit down and explain.”
Miri’s face squishes up like a raisin. Here come the waterworks. “It’s my fault!” she wails, tears spilling. “I was trying to save the cows!” Sob. “I didn’t mean to put them in the school gym, I swear, and now someone innocent is going to get blamed. And it can’t be me because then people will know, but I don’t want it to be someone else because that would be so unfair.” Miri then climbs into the spot next to our mom, and I plop down on the corner of the bed.
My mom pats Miri’s hair. “So you were trying to save the cows,” she says.
We nod frantically. “Yes!”
“I see.”
Okay, now that she knows, everything will be fine. Mom will tell us how to fix the situation, and all will be taken care of. Problem solved!
“So how are you going to fix it?” Mom asks.
What? “Um, us?” I say.
“I said you’re allowed to use magic. But I also said that you have to face the consequences. And that means not expecting me to clean up your messes.” She shakes her index finger at us. “You two are on your own.”
Miri sinks into the mattress. “Do you have any advice?” she squeaks.
“Yes. Next time you cast a spell, think about what you’re doing. Where did you think the cows were going to go?”
“Somewhere safe?” my sister answers.
“Yes, but where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now you do,” Mom says sternly. “So you’d better be more careful next time.” And then she . . . smiles?
Where did that come from? “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Sorry,” she says, still smiling. “Just thinking about something else.”
Something else? What could possibly be distracting her from our moving cows across the state? “What’s up with you?”
She aims the remote at the TV and clicks it off. “Lex called today.”
“Lex?” Miri looks confused. “Luther?”
“Yes, Superman’s nemesis called Mom,” I say, and lie across Miri’s legs. “What planet were you hatched on? Lex is the old guy from the bus.” I can’t believe he called already. It’s only been a day since we got back. He’s obviously desperate. “What did he want?”
“To take me out to dinner,” she says, her smile widening.
Miri pulls the covers over her head. “I don’t want you to date again! You’re going to forget all about us!”
“Never ever,” Mom says reassuringly.
“Well, I’m not worried,” I say. “I want you to date again. Just not him. You’re not going to go, are you?”
“Of course I am,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I? Didn’t you think he seemed nice?”
“Nice and old,” I say. “He probably eats dinner at five o’clock and orders the early bird special.” Miri giggles from under the covers and I add, “You should be dating younger guys.” I join Miri under the covers and then sit up so it feels like we’re in a tent.
My mom sighs. “Don’t be mean, Rachel. And it’s not like any other guys are knocking down my door.”
“When are you going out with him? Saturday night?” At least someone in this place has a date. I lift the comforter and pull my mom underneath with me.
“No,” she says, sitting up beside me. “I told him I’d be happy to go out with him on the weekend of the eighth.”
Apparently Mom plays hard to get. No last-minute plans for her. Someone’s been reading her dating books. “That’s in three and a half weeks!”
“It’s not that long,” she says. “And it’s the next time you girls are at your dad’s.”
“We’re not babies, Mom,” I huff. “You’re allowed to have a life when we’re here. Dad has a life. You should too.” I can make out her shrugging shoulders in the dark. “So what did you agree to?” I ask. “A Saturday-night dinner?”
“I didn’t. I told him to call back closer to the date.”
“That’s good,” Miri says casually. “Since he’s so old, by then he might have kicked the bucket.”
My mom snorts, and then the three of us laugh, and our tent feels warm and cozy like a cocoon. “I should start dinner,” Mom says, and reaches to dismantle our hideaway.
“Don’t,” I beg. I don’t want her breaking this bubble. I don’t want to return to reality just yet. I don’t want to worry about cows or going back to school or Raf or London or any of that.
“It’ll be fine,” she says, patting my knee.
Maybe she’s right. The cow problem will eventually go away. And how bad can London’s revenge be?
5
www.ineedtobehomeschooled.com
Kick. Kick.
Thank goodness for Tammy. If she weren’t sitting next to me, I would definitely have to transfer.
The last two days went by too quickly. Why do good things disappear so fast? Vacation. Money. Ice cream.
The two of us are sitting on the right side of the auditorium, in the fifth row. I warned Tammy that her proximity to me would contaminate her social status, but she was convinced that, after a week and a half, the fashion show clique would have forgotten all about me. Teen years are like dog years. Thirteen days translates into thirteen months.
As always, there’s good news and bad news. The bad news is they have not forgotten. London Zeal is kicking my chair. Yes, London and her posse of slick A-list seniors followed me to my seat so they could sit behind me and harass my back with their pointy-toed boots. Very mature, no? I’m pretending to ignore them. The other bad news is that the entire school has a lingering smell of cow excrement.
The good news is that my beard is gone. Since I very cleverly hid it under my turtleneck on Monday, no one ever knew it was there, and now it’s as if it never happened.
Kick. Kick. If the auditorium didn’t have built-in seats, my chair would have been jolted across the room by now.
Kick, kick. She’s making me wish I had broken both her legs.
Tammy yawns.
“You sound tired,” I say. “You’re not, right?”
“Nope.”
“And your throat doesn’t hurt?” Swollen glands are another sign of mono.
“Nope. Poor Aaron has mono. Not me.”
We’re both in denial. Tammy fell asleep on my couch again yesterday. But I cannot bear to be at school without her.
Kick. Kick, kick.
Enough! I spin to face my nemesis. “Yes, London?”
Her good leg is raised in midkick. “If it isn’t Rochelle Weiner,” she says.
“It’s Rachel Weinstein,” I say. “Can I help you?” What does she want from me? One of my good legs? I already told her I was sorry.
“I’m surprised to see you.�
�
“I do go to school here.”
“Yes, but it won’t be a pleasant few months for you, I can promise you that. You may want to transfer. Unless you’re enjoying all the coverage.” The fashion show lackeys beside her giggle.
What is she talking about? What does she mean by coverage? I look at Tammy for an explanation but she’s sound asleep. I have no retort, so I spin back to the front. How did I manage to get the most popular girl in the school to hate me?
Onstage, Mrs. Konch, Vice-Principal Earls, and Will Kosravi, Raf’s brother and the student council president, are huddled together. Then Mr. Earls clears his throat into the microphone. London kicks my chair again.
I nudge Tammy with my elbow. “You okay?”
Her eyes pop open. “I’m not tired.”
Mrs. Konch takes the microphone. “I wish we could welcome you back under happier circumstances, but unfortunately, the school was a victim of a terrible prank.” She glowers at the rows and rows of students. “We are currently investigating who is to blame. If anyone has any information, there will be a reward. And for those of you responsible, punishment will be less stringent if you turn yourselves in.”
I slither in my seat. Kick.
“The animals,” she says, frowning as snickers wave through the rows, “have caused severe damage to the gym floor—”
They have?
“—as well as damage to the ten classrooms neighboring the gym, the changing rooms—”
Those, too?
“—and the cafeteria.”
Stupid, hyperactive cows.
“We will have to undergo a few changes,” she continues. “First, all gym classes will now be held outside, so please dress appropriately. Second, until the classrooms are repaired, some freshman classes will be doubled up. Check the revised class schedules on the activities board. Finally, the library will be open for lunch.”
Would you like some fries with that Shakespeare? Maybe Raf will be in some of my classes.
Kick.
Snore.
Groan.
Just my luck. Instead of getting doubled up with Raf’s homeroom, I get Melissa and Jewel’s.
I pull a groggy Tammy into the back row. As I’m about to sit down, Melissa slides into my seat. I lunge for the desk in front of her.
“Saved for Doree,” Melissa says.
I point to the empty desk beside her. “And that?”
Jewel slides into the chair with a shrug. My stomach sinks. Not that I expect her to help me out.
At this late stage in the game, only one empty seat remains. It’s by the window, so I sit Tammy in it—perhaps the fresh air will keep her awake—and crouch down beside her on the cold, hard linoleum. By the time I look up, Tammy’s cheek is already flat on her desk. Which leaves me with no one to talk to.
Doree Matson, by far the most annoying of all the A-list freshman girls, mostly because she thinks she’s smart and never stops talking in class, sashays into the room. “Hello, darling!” she sings to Melissa as she sits in the saved chair.
Janice Cooper, a friend of Tammy’s, sits on the floor beside me. “I am so sorry,” she says in a very serious voice. “How are you dealing?”
“Sorry about what?” I ask cluelessly.
She stares at me. “That you were added.”
What is she talking about? “To what?”
Instead of looking at me, she fidgets with the gold barrette in her long brown hair. “You haven’t seen?”
“Seen what?” Panic is taking hold like a straitjacket.
“Oh, you know. Never mind.” She flushes and looks down at her book.
This is bad news. Cockroach-in-the-bathroom bad. I stretch upward and shake Tammy’s arm and try to keep my voice down. “What’s going on?”
Tammy opens her eyes. “Not tired.”
“What have I not seen?” I whisper.
She reddens and snaps to attention. “Oh, Rachel, I’m trying to find someone to take it down. . . .”
Has something been written about me on the bathroom walls? My bra been hung up on the flagpole? “Take what down?”
“Your picture on the freaks Web site.”
“What?” I shriek. I didn’t even know there was a freaks Web site.
Tammy leans down toward me and whispers, “Rachel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see any point in telling you since I knew it would just freak you—I mean, upset you. It’s a stupid thing started by some of the senior girls. Aaron told me about it, and I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Konch, demanding that the site be taken down, but I guess the administration is too busy with the cow stuff to do anything right now.”
I think I might hyperventilate. “What does this Web site say?” I whisper.
“You don’t want to know. But don’t worry. We’ll get it deleted.”
I’d like to get myself deleted.
The day goes from very bad to very worse. Our math class isn’t doubled because we’re advanced, but Hayward gives us a pop quiz, which I completely fail because I can’t concentrate. And I’ve never failed a math test in my life. Math is my thing. I swear I’m not being conceited, but some people have even called me a math genius. During the quiz, though, I can barely remember what a polynomial is because all I can think about is getting online.
And then Jewel, Melissa, and Doree are also in my bio class, something I would have loved a month ago, but now I just want to knock them over the head with my beaker.
I spot Raf as he’s about to leave for lunch. His dark hair is curling over his eye. He slips his arm into his leather jacket. I need an icebreaker, something that can lead to real conversation. So how about those Mets? Sunny out, isn’t it? Come here often? I could tell him that he dropped a glove at my apartment. But then I’d have to give it back. And then what would I sniff when I miss him?
I’ll just apologize. I take a deep breath, as if I’m about to dive underwater, and then I walk straight over to him and say, “Hi.”
He zips up his jacket without making eye contact. “Hey.”
“How was New Orleans?”
“Fine.”
“Did you have shrimp? I heard the seafood there is supposed to be . . . um . . . amazing. Was it? Is it Mardi Gras this time of year? No wait, it’s in February. Or March. I just read something about it in Cosmo. Did you read it? Probably not. . . .” My babbling trails off. “Raf, I am so, so sorry that I stood you up for the Spring Fling.”
He closes his locker. “Whatever.”
He smells so good. Why was I so stupid? I should have told him that I had my dad’s wedding that night. I should have known that he wouldn’t care that I screwed up the show. I should have trusted him. I lean against the neighboring locker. “No, really. I thought that you would never want to be seen in public with me after what happened at the fashion show.”
“Why would I care about what happened at the show?”
“Because I made a fool of myself.” I keep my eyes on the floor.
“So?”
I was kind of hoping for a no-you-didn’t. I look up and realize he’s looking right at me. I meet his dark brown eyes. “So, I thought you’d cancel.”
There is green in his eyes too, emerald speckles I never noticed before. “Listen,” he says. “I couldn’t care less about a stupid show. But it’s too bad you think I’m so superficial that I care about what other people say. Plus,” he continues, “the whole wedding thing was weird. Why did you say yes to being my date? You must have known your dad’s wedding was on the same night.”
“Well, I . . . I didn’t think the wedding . . .” My voice trails off. Explaining that I was trying to cancel my dad’s wedding will make me look even more psycho. “I’m sorry” is all I can manage.
“Whatever,” he says again. “See ya.” And with a shrug he takes off down the hallway.
Ouch. It’s so unfair. Doesn’t he know that I would have given my molars as well as my eyeteeth to go to Spring Fling with him? I’ve missed three of JFK’s dances: Fall Ball, Winte
r Mixer, and now Spring Fling. Since prom is exclusively for seniors and their dates, I will officially be the only person in the entire school not to go to one single dance in a given year. Not that I know how to dance, but that doesn’t mean I don’t really, really want to go.
Tammy slides up beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders. “Wanna go out for lunch?”
I nod without saying a word.
I finally get online during seventh period, when we have computers. Since we pick our own stations, I arrive extra early to get the window seat way in the back. At least this class isn’t doubled up.
Tammy sits next to me. “I don’t think you should look,” she says, resting her head on her hand. “I don’t want to see it again.”
“Well, you don’t have to sit next to me if you don’t want to. In fact, you shouldn’t get this close to anyone, since you have mono. And I have social leprosy. Now, what’s the name of the Web site?”
She types it in for me.
Maybe it isn’t about me. Maybe it’s about a girl who looks just like me . . . my doppelganger. In Russia.
And that’s when a close-up image of me and my beard fills the screen.
Okay, it’s not just me. There are other people on the screen too, about ten or so additional students unfortunate enough to have made it onto this site. There is also the heading: The Freaks of JFK High. But I can’t breathe. My beard is on the Web, and here I thought I concealed it so well. There’s also a picture of my tripping over the bike rack. I guess that light I saw was a flash.
“Don’t look up,” Tammy says. So of course I do. London is standing at the door. All in white. Smirking.
I thought, It can’t get worse than Thursday! How could it ever get worse than Thursday?
It gets worse on Friday.
“I’m sick,” Tammy says via the traitorous telephone receiver.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment this morning. My throat is burning.”
“No. No. No! You’re not sick! Mind over matter!”
“I’m so sorry.”
I can’t believe she’s making me go to school by myself. When I’m the star of the freak Web site.
Frogs & French Kisses Page 5
