Janie pulls out her phone. “Adam Higgs, right?”
“Yeah,” Adam says. “How’d you know my last name?”
“I guess I just pay attention.” Janie punches something into her phone. Then she giggles. “Did you just get Facebook or something? You have, like, two friends. How is that even possible?”
Shit.
“Yeah,” Adam says. “I just got it. I had to switch accounts when I transferred schools because I—”
“Stalker,” Janie says.
“What?”
“You had a stalker, didn’t you? That happened to Leanne once. She had to get a restraining order.”
“Shit,” Adam says. “Scary. Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay,” Janie says. “Well, I added you on Facebook. I’ll tell Leanne and everyone to add you, too. That way you don’t look like such a loser.”
“Ha,” Adam says. “Wouldn’t want that.”
59.
“Sara Bryant and Jessie McGill,” Adam’s mom says. “I don’t know who these girls are, but they’re sure good for your GPA.”
Steph nearly chokes. “You hang out with Sara and Jessie now?”
It’s dinnertime. The Higgs family—
(sans Sam, who rarely comes over—
he finds it depressing, he says, and anyway, it’s hard for him to get around the house in his wheelchair)
—sits around the dinner table, eating spaghetti. Adam’s dad just asked about school. Adam just showed him a couple recent homework assignments, both of which earned him that twenty-dollar bonus.
But Adam doesn’t tell his parents about the money. He just shows them the marks in red pen at the top of the first pages.
Steph is incredulous. “How the hell did you manage that, Pizza Man?”
Adam grins at her. “Maybe they have a thing for me.”
Steph laughs and laughs.
She laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Adam lets her laugh.
He’s on a roll.
60.
Progress is being made.
Adam uses the profits from Janie and Leanne’s history projects to buy an iPhone. It’s the previous generation and he can’t afford a data plan, but it’s an iPhone, anyway.
It’s practically a business expense.
61.
He quits his job at Pizza Hut, too.
Well, he doesn’t quit, per se.
More like, the manager calls him into the office for a stern talking-to. The guy’s about twenty years old. His acne’s worse than Adam’s. Much worse. “You’ve been missing a lot of work lately,” he says.
Adam says: “I’m busy. School. Anyway, I always find someone to cover my shifts.”
“That’s not the point,” the manager says. “You’re never here. If you’re not committed to Pizza Hut, there’s no reason for Pizza Hut to be committed to you.”
Adam shrugs. “Okay.”
“I want you to think about whether you’re really committed to Pizza Hut,” the manager says. “Come back and see me in a week or so.”
62.
Adam takes that week.
He doesn’t think about Pizza Hut.
He takes that week and spends it busting his ass on homework assignments for four pretty girls, and for Paul Nolan, who finds Adam at his locker on Tuesday with a math worksheet in his hands.
It’s a one-page assignment. Ten bucks. Adam takes the job anyway, because, hell, it’s Paul Nolan.
Adam busts his ass all week. Then he goes to see Sam.
“You have your whole life to make money,” Sam says. “Trust me on this, now’s the time to make memories.”
Adam trusts Sam. Sam’s working at the doughnut shop. He’s wearing a silly hat and a goofy-looking tie. He’s rolling around clearing garbage from the tables.
(Doughnut Man.)
Adam leaves and goes home and does more homework. He doesn’t think about Pizza Hut ever again.
63.
Adam’s smoking with Brian outside the restaurant. He’s just told the manager he’s quitting. “I’m sorry,” he tells Brian. “I know you vouched for me with the manager and all.”
Brian blows smoke. “Fuck that guy,” he says. “He’s a Pizza Hut manager. It’s not like he’s the president. You having any luck with that Sara Bryant chick?”
“And three of her friends.” Adam makes Brian take out his iPhone and look up Jessie McGill, Leanne Grayson, and Janie Ng on Facebook.
(Then he makes Brian add him on Facebook, for good measure.)
“I think I’m onto something here,” he tells Brian. “Like a secret formula or something.”
“You gonna hook up with these chicks?”
Adam grins at him. “Maybe.”
Brian finishes the joint. Looks at Adam.
(Even he looks at me different now, Adam thinks.)
“Hot damn,” Brian says. “You really found your balls, didn’t you?”
Adam grins wider. Adam shrugs.
“Looks like it,” Adam says.
64.
You gonna hook up with these chicks?
You gonna hook up with them, man?
With Jessie McGill or Leanne Grayson or Janie Ng or
Sara freaking Bryant?
You gonna fuck them, man?
65.
Adam’s thinking about it.
Oh man, is he thinking about it.
Adam Higgs is a seventeen-year-old virgin—
(never kissed a girl)
—suddenly surrounded by four of the hottest girls at Nixon. Four of the hottest girls he’s ever talked to.
(Hell, four of the hottest girls he’s ever seen.)
Is he gonna hook up with them? Even Sam wants to know. Adam shows Sam Sara Bryant’s Facebook profile on his computer.
“God damn,” Sam says. “You weren’t lying.”
“Right?” Adam says. “Right?”
66.
Sam doesn’t meet many girls anymore, Adam’s pretty sure. The wheelchair and that ugly doughnut shop uniform scare them all off.
Even his nurse isn’t that good-looking.
(She comes by a few times a week to help Sam out with showering and, like, paralyzed-people stuff.)
But Sam’s not a virgin. His life isn’t that shitty. Adam walked in on him once, just before the accident. He was hooking up with Lesley Taylor, this smoking-hot Riverside cheerleader.
Sometimes Adam thinks about Lesley Taylor and what she and Sam were doing, and sometimes he thinks he’d still maybe trade his life for Sam’s, even knowing what Sam’s life has become.
(He’s usually pretty horny when he’s thinking this way.)
(But if you saw Lesley Taylor, you’d think about trading your legs for a night with her too.)
(Anyway.)
67.
Anyway, Adam’s been thinking about hooking up with these goddesses. He’s been thinking about it a lot, if you catch my drift.
But what’s a guy like Adam to do? It’s not like he’s Paul Nolan—
(yet).
It’s not like he’s Alton Di Sousa or Rob Thigpen—
(yet).
He’s Adam Higgs.
He’s—
(still)
—the Pizza Man.
68.
Anyway, before Adam can embarrass himself by asking Jessie McGill—
(or Leanne Grayson)
(or Janie Ng)
(or Sara freaking Bryant)
—on a date,
well,
Victoria Lemieux happens.
69.
It’s, like, a Friday.
Alton Di Sousa’s at Adam’s locker. “Pizza Man,” Alton says. “I need you.”
Adam looks at Alton. Adam wants to tell Alton his name is Adam, not Pizza Man. But Alton is the starting point guard on the Nixon basketball team. Alton is like six foot five.
Plus, Alton has a job for Adam.
“Economics, man,” Alton says. “You know anything about it? Go
t a lab due on Monday and I totally bailed.”
Adam hesitates. Literally the only thing he knows about economics is:
Ten bucks a page beats minimum wage.
But he doesn’t tell Alton that. He tells Alton to show him the assignment. It’s all gibberish.
Craaaap.
“I’ll pay extra,” Alton says. “Whatever you need to make this worthwhile. I fucked up the last one and they’re saying I can’t play ball until I get my average straight.
“I need this, man,” Alton says.
Adam looks at Alton. From the brand-new Air Jordans on his feet to the big chain around his neck. Alton has money. And Alton needs this, man.
Payday.
Except . . .
Adam shakes his head. “Ten bucks a page,” he says. “Normal rates.”
Adam doesn’t fleece him. Adam’s thinking long-term. Adam’s thinking, Another satisfied customer.
“Don’t sweat it,” Adam says. “Just give me a little warning next time, okay?”
Alton nods. Okay.
“Good,” Adam says. “Now let me see that textbook.”
70.
Oh yeah.
We’re supposed to be talking about Victoria Lemieux.
She’s more important than Alton Di Sousa.
By, like, a lot.
71.
So.
Adam’s stuffing Alton’s economics assignment into his backpack. Thinking his weekend just got a hell of a lot busier.
A hell of a lot more . . .
economical.
(Sue me.)
Anyway, someone calls out his name. A girl. A pretty girl with long hair, ruler-straight, jet-black.
Victoria Lemieux.
She’s a freshman. One of Steph’s one hundred new Facebook friends.
“Hey, Adam,” she says from her locker. “Where are you running to?”
Adam shrugs. “History,” he tells her.
“Oh.” Victoria kind of nods, like she’s waiting for the punch line. “Cool.”
She’s cute, Adam notices.
She’s really, really cute.
But Adam figures he knows what’s up.
“Listen,” he says. “I don’t think I can help you.”
Victoria makes a face. Screws up her nose. It’s cute. “What are you talking about?”
“You talked to somebody, right?” Adam says. “Sara or Jessie or Paul or somebody? The homework stuff? I just don’t think I could pull off the same stunt for a freshman, you know?”
Victoria cocks her head. Looks at Adam like he just told her he’s never heard of Facebook. “I don’t know anything about any homework,” she says. “I just wanted to say hi. You’re Steph’s brother, right?”
(What?)
Victoria catches the look on Adam’s face. Laughs. “Don’t people say hi where you come from?”
“Uh, yeah,” Adam says.
“It’s easy. Just say ‘Hi, Victoria.’”
Adam blinks. “Hi, Victoria.”
Victoria smiles back. She has an incredible smile. “Hi, Adam,” she says. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Adam says slowly. “How are you?”
Victoria laughs. “See?” she says. “You’re learning.” She closes her locker. “But I have to get to math class. If you hadn’t wasted so much time blabbing, we could have talked more.”
Adam says nothing.
Adam just stares at her.
Victoria giggles. “See you around, Adam.”
“See you,” Adam says. “And, uh, sorry.”
Victoria locks her locker and starts off down the hall. “It’s okay,” she says, grinning. “You’ll figure it out.”
72.
Victoria Lemieux adds Adam on Facebook the next day.
“Ugh,” Steph says when she catches him creeping Victoria’s profile. “I would really appreciate if you would stay away from my friends, Adam.”
“She added me, Steph,” Adam says. “So suck it.”
“Gross.” Steph makes a face. “Just don’t embarrass me, okay?”
73.
“Victoria Lemieux,” Sam says. “Who is she?”
“One of Steph’s friends,” Adam tells him. “I don’t really know her, but she’s pretty damn cute.”
Sam looks at her Facebook picture. “Yeah, she is.”
“Is she as hot as Sara Bryant?” Adam asks him.
Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you like her?”
“I think so,” Adam says. “She’s nicer than Sara Bryant, anyway. By a mile.”
“Then go for her,” Sam says. “What do you have to lose, right?”
Adam nods.
Adam shrugs.
If only it were that easy, Adam thinks.
74.
It’s, like, the next Tuesday. Adam’s walking down the hall, passes Victoria at her locker. She’s talking to some big, dumb-looking guy. A football player, junior varsity.
(Chad something.)
Big, dumb Chad is leaning on Victoria’s locker and grinning down at her, and they’re laughing and chattering like BFFs.
Or worse.
Figures, Adam thinks. She already has a boyfriend.
A football-player boyfriend.
Adam cruises past. Pretends he doesn’t see her. He doesn’t get away with it. “Don’t be such a stranger, Adam,” Victoria calls after him.
Adam turns around. “Oh,” he says. “Hey.” He gives Chad a nod. Chad nods back, big and dumb.
Victoria laughs. “Why’re you being so abnormal? We’re Facebook friends now. You can’t just ignore me.”
Adam gestures to Chad. “Looked like you two were busy.”
“What, with Chad?” Victoria pushes Chad away. “This big dummy just likes to make my life miserable. What are you up to?”
Just then, Leanne Grayson wanders by. “Hey, Adam,” she says. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Leanne,” Adam says. Smiles at her as she wanders off. Turns back around to see:
a)Chad’s disappeared, and
b)Victoria’s got a funny look on her face.
“Oh,” she says. “I see how it is. Maybe you’re too busy for me, friend.”
“Ha,” Adam says. “It’s not like that at all.”
“You mean you’re not hooking up with Leanne Grayson? You don’t want to jump her bones?”
Adam glances back at Leanne. She’s wandered away. Didn’t hear a thing. “We’re just friends,” he tells Victoria. “No need to get pervy.”
“So, okay,” Victoria says. “Whose bones are you jumping?”
Adam looks at her. “I don’t, uh, jump bones. Do you?”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “It’s a figure of speech. It wasn’t the real question.”
“So what’s the real question?”
Victoria shakes her head like Adam has to be the dumbest person in the world. “Come back and see me when you figure it out,” she sighs.
75.
(Sidebar:
That economics thing for Alton?
A real pain in the ass.
See, there’s an art to forging homework. You can’t just write the perfect paper, not for somebody like Alton Di Sousa—
(career C-student)—
you have to know your client. You have to know how he writes. You have to know he’s never pulling an A-plus in his life, and if you mess up and get him one . . .
you’re both screwed.
You gotta throw in typos, grammatical errors, mess up some dates. But you can’t fuck up too much, or you won’t pull the requisite grade.
And in this case, if you mess up Alton’s grade, he’s off the basketball team.
And it’s all
your
fault.
Luckily, Adam does know his clientele. He’s watched them for months now.
He idolizes them.
And anyway, he doesn’t know jack shit about economics. It’s a miracle he passes, but he does.
A B-minus.
Alton gets to k
eep playing basketball.
Adam gets a new client.
(And a few gray hairs.) )
76.
“You never answered my question.”
It’s Victoria again. In no known universe is Adam getting sick of seeing her.
Of seeing that smile.
She ambushes him in the hall, this time. Sneaks up to his locker and jumps out and surprises him.
(But it’s the good kind of surprise.)
“Your question?” he says. “Sure I did. I’m not jumping anyone’s bones. I told you that.”
“So you’re single,” Victoria says.
Adam shrugs. “As opposed to?”
“As opposed to dating somebody,” she says. “Anyway, that wasn’t the real question, and you know it.”
Adam shrugs again. “I don’t even know what language you’re speaking. Is this some kind of code?”
Victoria shakes her head. “Are you really going to make me do this, Adam Higgs? Do I have to spell it out?”
“Spell it,” Adam tells her. “I’m clueless.”
(He’s not clueless, he’s just:
in disbelief.
Girls like Victoria Lemieux don’t really do this.
Do they?
Do they?)
Victoria looks around. Speaks slowly, like Adam’s a special-needs kid. “Do you ever go to movies, Adam?”
Adam nods. “Sometimes.”
“Do you ever take girls to movies?”
Adam shrugs. “Not a lot,” he says. Then he catches himself. “I mean, sometimes—”
(Never.)
“Why? Are you . . .”
Victoria: “Wait for it.”
“Are you asking me out?”
She claps her hands. “My god, there is life in there. You just got asked out by a freshman girl, slugger. How does that make you feel?”
“Not very manly.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Next time, smarten up. Ask me when I’m free.”
Adam asks her.
“Friday,” she says. “I like horror movies.”
How to Win at High School Page 6
