A Lot to Tackle (5 page)

Ava glanced at the kids waiting for the late bus in the front hallway. She dropped her gym bag filled with gear and shifted her bulging laundry bag away from her body. It did not smell pleasant—probably because she'd waited until the end of the season to bring home the last
month's worth of dirty football clothes from her gym locker.

She groaned. Sometimes she wished she wasn't such a slob. Alex would've cleaned out her locker every day. Alex probably would've ironed her uniform, then sprayed it with honeysuckle body mist!

“Hey, Sackett!” Corey headed toward her, followed by Xander and Bryce. They carried gym bags, but nothing like her overstuffed laundry bag.
Whatever,
she thought.
My bag can't smell any worse than they normally do. They won't notice.

“Hey, yourself,” she called back. She dropped the bag to the floor and slid down beside it. The boys sprawled next to her.

“Ugh! I smell salt-and-vinegar potato chips covered in spoiled milk,” Corey said.

I guess I was wrong,
Ava thought.

“You must be remembering lunch,” Bryce joked. “That cafeteria odor is nasty.”

“Especially on taco day,” Ava added.

“Whoa, Sackett, it's you who reeks,” Xander said, holding his nose.

“I'm trying out a new perfume. Scent of fermented football. Like it?” She reached out her arm.

“Get back. I'm going to hurl!” Xander pretended to vomit.

Ava rolled her eyes. “New topic. So are we doing that team pizza thing?”

“Not happening,” Bryce said. “The football banquet is Thursday night. That'll be our big party.”

“Corey here already had his party.” Xander shot a braces rubber band at Corey.

“Hey, yeah, I heard about that. Heart cake, man!” Bryce guffawed.

“Lindsey is crazy into you.” Xander shook his head in amazement. Then he shot a second rubber band.

“Crazy is right. She's totally intense,” Corey said.

“Intense?” Ava asked. As soon as the question left her mouth, she wished she could take it back. She didn't want to hear about Lindsey and Corey's relationship.

“She texts me nonstop. She texts me to say good morning before I even roll out of bed. She texts me when she brushes her teeth. She texts me when she leaves the house for the bus. She texts me to say she's at the bus stop. Then when she's on the bus. It never stops. All day long!” Corey said.

“I guess she likes to text.” Ava shrugged.

“And she's always sending me photos of food,” Corey said.

“Food?” asked Bryce. “What's that mean?”

“Beats me. She snaps photos of everything before she eats it. And she wants me to comment, but what's there to say about a turkey sandwich?” Corey complained.

“Maybe she's hungry?” Bryce ventured.

“That's another thing,” continued Corey. “At lunch, she never orders french fries. She says they're unhealthy. But do you see who eats my french fries? It's definitely not me! Lindsey takes fry after fry.”

“You're supposed to share fries with your girlfriend, dude,” said Xander. “Don't you know anything?'

“I think she goes out with me just to nab my fries,” Corey said, a glint in his eye.

“Well, that makes sense.” Ava smirked. “I can't imagine what else she sees in you. It's not your looks or your personality. Greasy potatoes, now that I understand.”

“Real funny, Sackett.” Corey grabbed one of Xander's rubber bands off the ground and flung it at her.

“Girls get crazy about everything,” Bryce complained. “My sisters go nuts if you don't go all out on their birthdays. It's like they think they're royalty or celebrities or something.”

“Oh, wow. When is Lindsey's birthday?” Corey looked panicked.

“Burn, man. You are in trouble!” Xander pumped his fist.

“Look what she did for you for two months of going out. She's going to expect her birthday to be epic,” Ava agreed.

Corey hung his head. “Why do girls have to be like that, Sackett?”

“Yeah, why can't they be chill like us?” Bryce waved his arm to indicate the four of them sprawled on their smelly laundry.

And Ava couldn't hold back her grin. She was no longer the lone girl on the football team. She was now one of the guys.

“Say ‘Austin!' ” Alex called during lunch on Wednesday. She framed the photo of Lindsey and Corey and clicked. “Let's do a couple more. Corey, move in closer.”

The shine of lip gloss highlighted Lindsey's white teeth as she flashed an effortless smile. Her blond hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders. It was hard not to focus on her—she was so confidently pretty.

Yet as she lined up the pictures on Lindsey's phone, Alex found her own gaze stuck on Corey's eyes. It wasn't the bright blue color that reminded her of the ocean, but the flicker of uncertainty she saw there. His mouth was smiling, but his
eyes weren't. Was he as self-conscious as she was in front of the camera? She always felt stiff, as if she were trying too hard.

Alex shook her head. Why was she grouping herself with Corey? Corey and Lindsey were perfect. The perfect football player. The perfect cheerleader. The perfect couple.

Rosa leaned on the cafeteria table and peered over Alex's shoulder at the camera. “What's with the cutesy photo shoot?”

“Yeah.” Corey stopped smiling. “Why are we doing this again?”

Lindsey's gaze flicked to Alex. Alex was ready for this question. “It's for the yearbook,” Alex said.

“Cool!” Corey stuck out his tongue. “Take this one.”

“What about me?” Logan protested. “Don't I get to be in the yearbook?”

“Who are you going out with?” Emily asked.

“No one. What's that got to do with anything?” Logan demanded.

“The yearbook is doing a cutest couples page,” Alex explained, feeling a lump lodged in her throat as she spoke. She wasn't even on the yearbook. Of course, no one questioned this part of the story that Lindsey had fabricated. Alex
was involved in everything else in the school, so why not the yearbook?

Alex paused for a moment to consider this. Maybe she should join the yearbook.

“We're a couple,” Xander announced, wrapping his arm around Charlotte.

“In your dreams!' Charlotte wriggled away from Xander. “I'm not taking a photo with you.”

“Xander, you're not cute enough to be on the page,” Lindsey teased, smiling at Corey.

“Yeah, check out my face. Model material!” Corey bragged. Alex quickly snapped another photo.

Guilt enlarged the lump in her throat. She swallowed painfully. These photos were never going in the yearbook. Lindsey had cooked up this fake photo shoot so she could make Corey a surprise online scrapbook. Alex couldn't understand Lindsey's desire to broadcast her relationship. What did she have to prove? Everyone knew she and Corey were meant for each other. No one needed to see it displayed on a pizza or an online scrapbook.

At first Lindsey had planned to do one large photo. Instead Alex had suggested shooting a bunch of silly photos—kind of like the strip of
photos from a photo booth. As they talked, the idea morphed to a romantic online scrapbook. Alex had spent hours on the phone with Lindsey and Emily, planning the photos.

“Let's take one more,” Lindsey suggested.

“All of us this time!” Rosa cried. She, Xander, and Logan gathered alongside Lindsey.

“No! No!” Lindsey's voice came out shrill. “Just me and Corey.”

“The yearbook is not just about you and Corey,” Rosa pointed out.

Lindsey ignored Rosa and wrapped her arm possessively around Corey's shoulder. “How about nose to nose?”

“How about not?” Corey pulled back, as Lindsey pressed her nose against his. “Why can't everyone be in it? Alex, isn't this your thing?”

“Uh, uh . . . ,” Alex stammered. It wasn't
her
thing. She wanted to help Lindsey, but she hated lying. Plus, she had an English vocabulary quiz next period that she'd planned to study for during lunch. She handed Lindsey back her phone. “Actually, I'm all set!”

“Me too.” Corey stalked toward the trash can with his balled-up paper bag. An awkward silence fell over their lunch table.

Alex pulled out her sheet of vocabulary words. The letters ran together as she frantically tried to memorize. Why hadn't she studied last night? She'd spent too much time on the phone with Lindsey and texting the student council members. She wondered how the Variety Show vote would go today. She had Nate and Carly Hermano on her side. Chloe, maybe.

“So what do you think? It went well, right? I mean, Corey seemed a little angry at the end, but that was because Rosa was being pushy.” Lindsey sat beside Alex. “He's going to be so into me when he sees the scrapbook.”

“Lindsay, he's
already
into you. I really need to review these words.” Alex held up the sheet.

“You're so smart. You always do great on vocabulary.” Lindsey gave her a sincere smile that calmed Alex's panic. “You'll ace it.”

She's right,
Alex told herself as the bell rang. She followed the tide of kids down the hall to English class.
I have this!

But when she handed in her quiz to Ms. Palmer at the end of class, Alex was sure of one thing: She didn't have this. At all. She'd never been so lost on a vocabulary quiz in her life. Why had it been so hard?

Her stomach clenched. She feared how bad her grade would be. She sat through math class in a daze. What would Ms. Palmer think? Alex had always excelled in her class.

“You okay?”

Alex started, surprised to find Corey by her side as she walked mechanically out of math toward French.

“You look upset.” His usually pompous, jokey personality was replaced with concern.

“I'm fine.” For a moment, Alex thought about telling him about the quiz, but her failure was too embarrassing to share. She didn't want his pity. She kept her head down and hurried into French class.

“
Bonjour!
” Madame Knowlton's cheery voice rang out.

Alex shook herself free of her foul mood. She turned her attention to the translation flashed onto the smart board. She liked French class. Everything was going to be fine. It always was.

Two minutes before the final bell ended the school day, Madame Knowlton walked down the aisles, placing the graded tests that they'd taken yesterday facedown on the desks.

Alex flipped hers over.

A red C scrawled in marker at the top of her test blurred and swam as tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back, trying to process what she saw. She'd thought the B she'd gotten last week was bad. A C was unthinkable.

This had to be a mistake, she decided. She checked the paper, half expecting to see another student's name written on it. All she saw was
Alex Sackett
in her own rounded print.

“Alex, check me out. I got an A!” Charlotte leaned forward from the desk behind her. “Oh, wow.” Charlotte had caught sight of Alex's paper. “I can't believe I got a better grade than you. That never happens. Now I'm doubly proud of myself.”

“That's great,” Alex said tightly. But it wasn't great. Alex always got the highest grades in the class. Something had to be wrong. Madame Knowlton had messed up.

She waited until everyone had left the classroom. She straightened her pale-blue plaid shirt and walked confidently up to Madame Knowlton's desk.

“
Bonjour
, Alex.” Madame Knowlton smiled warmly. Teachers always loved her. She knew Madame Knowlton would apologize when she saw what she'd done to Alex.

“Can you please check to see if you made a mistake grading my test?” Alex smiled back and handed the teacher her test.

“I can check.” Madame Knowlton raised her thin eyebrows. She adjusted her glasses, then scanned the test questions. “No, Alex. This is the grade you deserve.”

“I don't deserve a C!” Alex's voice cracked. “I knew the vocabulary words. I knew the conjugations.”

“But you didn't know the translation or the history of French cooking.” Madame Knowlton pointed to a bunch of questions marked with nasty red x's.

“History of French cooking?” Alex had been confused when she'd seen that on the test. When had they done that in class? “We never reviewed that. No one could've known those answers.”

“That information was on the study guide,” her teacher reported.

“The study guide? You never said that!”

“I clearly told the class to complete the study guide,” Madame Knowlton said.

“But I thought I didn't need to. I was busy that night. Besides, study guides are for kids who don't know everything,” Alex protested.

“But you didn't know everything.” Madame Knowlton folded her hands, as if the conversation were finished.

This was so unfair! Alex tried desperately to convince her teacher not to count those questions. Madame Knowlton wouldn't agree. Alex suggested a makeup test. Madame Knowlton refused. Alex begged for an extra-credit project. Again, Madame Knowlton turned her down.

“This is your grade,” Madame Knowlton said. “Think of this experience as a learning tool. You now know that you need to use the study guides.”

Alex didn't want a learning tool. She wanted her A. “B-but . . . but . . . ,” she sputtered.

“It's one test, Alex.” Madame Knowlton's voice grew warmer. “Have one of your parents sign it, and I'm confident you'll do better next time.”

“Sign it?” Alex asked.

“Any student receiving a grade of C or below needs a parent's signature,” the teacher explained. “That's the school policy, remember?”

I don't remember, because I never get Cs!
Alex wanted to shout. But she didn't. How mortifying that she'd have to show this grade to her mom and dad. She wanted to crumple the test and shove it in the trash.