seventeen
“It’s all over Beachwood!” Hannah announces, the next day after first period.
“See you tomorrow, Pat,” I say, leaving a copy of my history notes on his desk. Patrick is ranked third in our class and doesn’t really need the help. But because of his wheelchair, he has to leave every class early so that he can make it through the hallways without being stopped by the crazy in-between-class traffic. And sometimes he misses little things, like a few history notes.
“Thanks, Tay,” he says, grinning at me and pulling the desk toward him.
I turn my attention toward Hannah as we begin walking toward my locker. “What’s all over Beachwood?” I ask, feeling my brand new, ruby-red patent leather heels slip off my feet. They look super cute with Vi’s skinny jeans (just like she said they would) and my basketball warm-up jacket. (Okay, so Vi told me to pair the outfit with a blazer, but I don’t exactly own one of those and Hannah’s doesn’t fit).
“You and—” She pauses and looks down at my shoes as I balance myself against my locker. “What the heck are on your feet, Dorothy?”
“My heels!” I exclaim, catching myself mid-teeter.
“Oh.” She gives me her “you’re strange” look. As I’m about to remind her that she’s the one who’s pushing me to be Beachwood’s next fashionista, her expression shifts. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re practicing for the show?”
“Uh, yeah. Who’s the greatest best friend ever?”
“Well, that’s a hard call. When you look at a friendship like Kylie and Missy’s, I just don’t know if ours can compare.”
“Haha. Very funny. So, anyway, the suspense is killing me. What’s all over school???” My hand-me-down Louis Vuitton bag (the one I found yesterday in my mom’s closet while she was out “working” AGAIN) slides off my shoulder. This fashion thing might just be even harder than it looks.
Hannah’s blue eyes bug out. “Only that a certain Zachary Michael Murphy was at your house yesterday.”
“And?”
“And that after shooting some hoops, you guys took a little stroll on the beach.”
“A stroll?”
“You’re right. A stroll doesn’t really cover it. Let’s back it up. You and Zach went to the beach and did some serious tongue wrestling.”
“Ohmigod.”
“Yeah, oh my god is right. How could you not tell me??? Me? Your best friend. The girl who you played Bratz dolls with when you were little.”
“No, oh my god—Kylie.”
“Oh, that’s the best part. I heard he’s totally done with Kylie.”
“Wait. What?!? Who told you that?” I scream. Wayyy too loud. Instinctively, I cover my mouth with one hand and begin fumbling with my locker with the other.
“The entire school knows. Well, that and the fact that you’re Zach’s latest hook-up. Are you?” Hannah almost does a little jump, but stops herself when she notices Vi sauntering down the hallway. She’s sporting a new look today too—chocolate brown hair for the fashion show. Hannah turns back to me. “Anyway, spill, girl, spill.”
“Yeah, sure. In a sec. But, first, tell me: Has Kylie heard about us?” I ask. As the words leave my lips, I’m not sure if I really want to know the answer.
“Uhhh . . .”
Great. Even Hannah’s nervous. Bracing myself for the big reveal, I decide to play it cool. I turn around and calmly open my locker. That’s when I see it. SKANK. The word is scratched across the inside, marring the blue paint.
“I guess that answers your question,” Hannah says, grabbing my Asics out of my locker and thrusting them at me. “You’re gonna need these if you plan on outrunning Kylie.”
I take a deep breath and slowly step out of my heels, one foot at a time. As I bend down to put on my sneakers, Vi’s jeans slice into my stomach. After casting a quick glance around to double check that no one other than Hannah is looking, I bend down and play with the waistband, causing my handbag to slip off my arm and land on the floor. This is not good. Not good at all. And this is exactly what happens when I’m not nice.
eigthteen
“Good morning, class, please take out your Word-of-the-Day assignments,” Mr. Ludwig, our English teacher, announces.
While Mr. Ludwig drones on and on about the importance of this project “in light of the widespread cultural failure to impress upon our nation’s youth the vital significance of acquiring an extensive and sophisticated vocabulary,” I unhook the top button of my jeans. Then I begin staring at Mr. Ludwig’s shiny bald spot, and ask myself the same question I pose every day: In what cruel world would I not end up with Martie for English?
Today, however, my thoughts swerve, eventually landing on one person in particular: Zach. Why was it that he came over my house? Why did he kiss me? Does he really like me? Why did he change his status back to “in a relationship” as of ten fifty-eight last night? Did something happen? And who is he in a relationship with? Is it me?
Just to be sure, I pull out my phone, hide it beneath my desk, and change my status to “in a relationship.” But, then I change it back to single again. And then I switch it sixteen more times before I finally settle on single.
Ughhh. I just don’t know anymore. I open my notebook and begin writing in the hopes that a list might clear things up.
Reasons Zachary Murphy Came Over and Kissed Me:1. He saw the basketball court and wanted to play.
2. He needs someone six feet or over to practice basketball with.
3. He was curious to see if my parents were huge and gigantic like me (and if we are part of the circus or something).
4. He wants to see how much psychotic behavior Kylie is capable of.
5. He’s a closet fan of L.A. High who watches reruns on the SOAP network and wanted to meet my mom.
6. He’s in a relationship with me!!!! (*although highly unlikely) ☺
“Okay, share with your partner,” Mr. Ludwig calls out.
Matt taps me on my shoulder. “Hey, Taylor, what’s your word?”
I spin around and face Matt, hiding my list as I flip to my homework. When I look up from my notebook, his brown eyes meet mine. A gray Beachwood Academy Lacrosse hoodie (can’t stress how much he loves his hoodies) hugs his thick, tan neck and a sweet smile graces his lips. If only he were about four inches taller! But, alas, he only meets two of my three boyfriend requirements. And height is numero uno. Plus, he’s with Violet. And they look perfect together. Of course. And let’s not forget his illicit past . . .
“You first,” I say.
“No, you. I want to hear this.” Matt grins and leans back in his chair. “Let me guess, it’s about Murph.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“Whatever.” I smile and attempt a peek at Matt’s open notebook. Naturally, he catches me in the act.
“Umm Taylor, this is some serious stuff. If I allow you to discover my Word of the Day before I’m ready, I might just be damaged for life. And if I were that traumatized, I might need to switch classes. And if I did that, who would you talk to during English?”
“Someone who actually did his homework.”
“Ouch. Now you’ve asked for it. Prepare to be awed and amazed.”
“Lucky me. I finally get to learn your secret.”
Matt glances at me oddly, and I realize that I’ve committed a serious sin. Matt, after all, does have real secrets. “Uhh, so what’s your word?” I ask, attempting to redirect.
“Polemic, noun,” he plays with the page in his notebook.
“And why did you pick polemic?” I regurgitate the question from the worksheet script Mr. Ludwig gave us last month.
“It means to engage in a controversial argument. And—”
I cut him off. “Let me guess. Gray hoodies are super controversial.”
“You’d be surprised. Actually, on Saturday, my lacrosse coach engaged in a very controversial argument over a call. See, the ref called us off sides and we weren’t. We ended up down a man because one of the guy
s on the team argued it.”
“Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going,” I interject.
“Yeah. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, the other team scored because we were shorthanded.”
“And how many points did you lose by?” I ask, even after I do the math in my head.
“One. Of course.” Matt shrugs.
“Sheesh. That blows,” I commiserate.
“Yup, it does,” Matt agrees, looking at me. For a second, I think that maybe venting made Matt feel better. But the calm doesn’t last. “What’s your word? Murph?” Matt asks, mocking me.
“Nooooo. It’s . . . uh . . .” I spot the corner of what appears to be a diary underneath Matt’s English notebook. I thought only girls wrote in diaries. Not burly, thick Matt-types. “Is that a journal?” I ask, pulling at the black leather edge.
Matt’s eyes widen and he leans against the pile on his desk. “It’s nothing.”
“Oooh, come on. Let me see.” I snag it, causing his books to tumble.
Opening the book, I notice right away that tons of short poems grace the pages. What???
Chocolate
My girl is milk chocolate.
Always sweet, never bitter.
Just like the sound of her voice, her life, her looks.
Always sweet, never bitter.
I flip to another page.
Why?
He’s so wrong for her.
In so many ways.
Why can’t she be with me?
Instead, she stays.
And another.
Dad
What does it mean to be a dad?
To push and pull.
Pull and push.
Until I can’t breathe.
Until I break.
Until I bleed.
And quit the only thing I’m good at.
Wow. I look up at Matt and then back down at the pages. I’m at a total loss for what to say. His poems are all amazing. I can’t believe that one about his dad. I had no idea he was so tough on him. And whoa, that “Chocolate” poem. If only someone would write poetry like that about me. . . . Vi is so lucky. Who knew her new hair-do would lead to this?
Sensing my silence, Matt attempts to grab the notebook, but I play defense, turning my back to block him out.
Matt kind of harrumphs at me.
Not one to relish upsetting people, I’m tempted to return the journal then and there. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. I decide to be direct. “Matt, these are really good,” I say. “I never knew you were a poet.”
“Yeah. I—”
“And that ‘Chocolate’ poem? Vi must love it.”
Matt turns ruby red, reaches around my back, and snatches the journal. “Look, Taylor, don’t tell anyone that you read these, okay? The guys on the team would have a field day if they knew.”
“I guess so, tough guy.” I giggle, pinching his bicep.
Matt squirms.
“How long have you been writing poetry?” I ask, wondering how he kept it under wraps for so long. I mean, the guys on the lacrosse team hang out together constantly.
“I don’t know. A while, I guess.” He looks around the classroom, shoves the journal back underneath his books, and wipes his forehead.
“It’s crazy hot in here.” He wipes his face again, pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, and clenches his fists.
“Nah. It’s just you,” I say and giggle, hoping to make him feel comfortable again. I hate to see anyone squirm.
“Feisty, are we?” he replies.
“Only when you’re around.” I wink.
“So . . .” He relaxes back in his seat. “Who are you playing today?”
“Bel Air,” I answer. “They kind of stink, but Friday’s game against Richland is huge.” My stomach flips just thinking about Friday.
“What’s going on Friday?” Matt leans forward.
“The coach of an elite regional summer club team, the SoCal Suns, is going to be there,” I explain. “And if we win against Richland, our three-peat should be a piece of cake.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, the SoCals are AH-mazing. Last year, three girls from the team went on to work out with the Olympic Development Program.” I wave my hands, animatedly.
“Really?” Matt asks.
“Yup, and all of the players end up going to big-time colleges.” I literally bounce in my seat.
“Excited much?” Matt teases me.
“Oh yeah. But it’s not like a spot with them is in the bag or anything.”
“What are you talking about? I’m sure that the great Taylor Thomas will blow away any scout.”
“Well, the problem is the team we’re playing on Friday. Or, more specifically, their center: Rodriguez.”
“I’m sure this Rodriguez can’t match your mad skillz.”
“Oh, is that right, home skillet?”
“You know it.”
“Honestly, Rodriguez is definitely a contender for the spot.”
“Okay, so you’ll show her who’s boss when the time comes.”
“I hope so. But that’s not the only reason why this game is sooo huge. If we beat Richland, we pretty much clinch the division. If we lose . . .” I cross my fingers. “Then, the Beachwood dynasty comes crashing down.”
“Wow. A lot riding on one game.” Matt smiles. “Good luck.”
“I’ll need it.”
“Sounds like that’s up for debate.” Matt’s smile grows wider.
I grin back.
Continuing, Matt takes one final jab, “So, tell me Taylor Thomas, with all this basketball stuff going on, how do you have time for your boy Murph?”
Now, I’m the one who’s ruby.
nineteen
“Skank!” Kylie yells from across the cafeteria.
“Neeeiiiigggghhhh,” Missy and Brooke call out in between strawberry lip-gloss applications. Gotta love the horse nickname. Nick christened me with that one during the second grade. With my long, lanky legs and mane of chestnut brown hair, he insisted I was born a calf.
The at-ease feeling I had from hanging out with Matt doesn’t last long. Right now, at lunchtime, Kylie and her crew are involved in Operation Humiliate Taylor Thomas. Who knew the kiss rumor would spread even faster than the ultra-embarrassing Chloe Simpson cell phone pic Kylie sent to everyone last year? I throw down my second water bottle in less than ten minutes, attempting to make my mouth taste less like sandpaper.
“Don’t listen to them,” Hannah yells over the neighs, snorts, and giggles. “They’re just jealous.” She rolls her eyes and shovels a spoon of organic peanut butter into her mouth. Then she looks up just in time to see me mouth, “I’m sorry” to Kylie’s table.
Not one to let me get away with my “pay-it-forward” method, she immediately calls me out. “You did not just tell Kylie and her band of bumbling bimbos that you’re sorry, did you?”
“Uh, well, you know, I can’t help it!” I respond.
“Tay. Come on. Give it up already. You can be sweet all you want. It’s not like Kylie and Co. are going to care.”
“Maybe they’ll have a change of heart. Kylie used to be nice.”
“That was before. Anyway, enough Kylie talk. Are you going to give me the deets on the kiss or what?”
“It was no big deal,” I insist.
“No big deal? Was it good?” Hannah asks, refusing to believe that I told her the whole story.
I shrug. “Sort of.”
“What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Hannah has now begun licking the spoon.
“Nothing,” I say, staring at my turkey-and-cheese-with-honey-mustard wrap. Unlike Hannah, I buy my lunch at the cafeteria.
“Nothing?” Hannah gives me an I’m-not-buying-your-story look.
“I mean, it was okay.”
“Okay. What do you mean ‘okay’?” Hannah’s eyes enlarge. “This is Zachary Murphy. The Zachary Murphy.”
I put my hands on the table and lean over to her. “Yes, it
was amazing and sparkly and everything I thought it would be.”
Looking satisfied, Hannah takes a violent bite out of a piece of bread she clearly swiped from Panera. (She maintains that the sample baskets are there for your eating pleasure. I maintain that they’re there actually for sampling.) Brushing off the crumbs that land on her lap, she catches notice of her Volcom bag. Her eyes widen. “Ooh, I almost forgot.” She opens the bag and pulls out a piece of tan shearling. “What do you think of this?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy watching Zach feed a dollar into the Aquafina machine and thinking to myself: I kissed him! I kissed him!
“Tay, are you even listening?”
I continue to stare.
“Earth to Taylor!”
I notice that Kylie has joined Zach at the Aquafina machine and avert my eyes.“Uh, what is it?”
“Way to pay attention,” Hannah chides me.
“Sorry, I—uh—got distracted.”
“No kidding. But, to answer your question, I got it off one of Vi’s old Ugg handbags,” she says, smugly.
“One of these days, Vi is gonna kill ya.” I wag my finger at her in mock disapproval.
“I know.” She smirks. Then she hands the fabric over to me.
“Wow. It’s really soft. What are you doing with this?”
Hannah snorts her Red Bull. “I’m gonna shove it up my butt hole. What do you mean what am I doing with it? It’s for my design.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s . . .” My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of Kylie and Zach laughing. “Look,” I say, nodding in their direction.
Hannah turns around. “What?”
“I’ll bet they’re back together by tomorrow.”
“Oh, Tay.” Hannah sighs. “Maybe you’re wrong and it’s not what it looks like.”
On cue, Kylie’s arms flail around. Zach, looking ever so slightly irritated, takes a relaxed swig from his water bottle and walks away, leaving Kylie standing alone by the machine.
Head Games Page 7
