How Not To Be Popular (13 page)

After they announced that we were leaving Portland, I seriously considered refusing to go. Lorraine said I could stay with her, and I knew that Les and Rosie would agree to that if I really wanted it.

Staying behind would have meant I’d get to be with Trevor and keep building the life I’d started there.

But I knew I’d miss Les and Rosie. And living with Lorraine would have had its problems. Her parents had gone through a warlike divorce and most of the time she stayed with her mom—who bought red wine by the case and flirted with all Lorraine’s boyfriends.

After a lot of sleepless nights, I finally decided to go with my family. Trevor was really disappointed, but I truly felt that even though it would be tough, our relationship was strong enough to handle a year apart.

So I left.

Now I completely understand what my parents were trying to tell me about Gladys. I don’t belong here.

And maybe, even though I would have been at the mercy of strangers, I could have been happier as a stray in Portland.

T
IP: Be seen at all the wrong places with all the wrong people.

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Or…

Threaten the crotch of the most popular boy in school with a sharp metal instrument.

This morning is
Operation Green Clean, when the Helping Hands and other service organizations help clean up local parkland. Our club has been assigned a section of Zilker Park, a mongo green space next to the lake where lovers of the outdoors come to frolic. According to Mrs. Pratt, it’s the largest park in the city, with a winding trail for joggers, walkers, and cyclists; a big open area for playing soccer or flying kites; and even a natural spring-fed pool for more amphibious types.

It’s a glittery, sunshiny day. The kind when you almost have to be outside. The kind that, unfortunately, brings out hordes of loving couples.

I would have much preferred rain.

Each time I see a happy, hand-holding pair, something rips in my gut. Just a couple of months ago, that was me and Trevor. On a day like this, we’d be out paddling a canoe or hiking through Forest Park.

We’d hold hands, tease each other, then find our tree and make out for a nice long while.

How can it be possible that I’ll never do that again? I lived for those days. Now that they’re gone, everything else seems so…beside the point. Life has become an endless parade of schoolwork, ugly clothes, and Penny ramblings, with nothing that really brings me joy.

But I guess that’s okay for the time being, because I don’t plan to leave any happy marks here in Austin.

I coast down a hill, following a map Penny drew for me, and start looking for our meeting place. Luckily I got a bike yesterday. Norm knows a guy who fixes them out of his garage, so Les and I went there and picked out a used Raleigh for only fifty bucks. The guy was cute too. Long blond ponytail. Bugs Bunny tattoo on his left shoulder. He reeked of pot and said “dude” a little too often, but that didn’t bother me as much as his mom coming out and telling him to wash up for supper. I really hope I’m not still living with Les and Rosie when I’m twenty-five. When we got back home, I started filling out another university application—this one for UC Berkeley, Trevor’s second choice.

Thanks to Penny’s sketch, I find the bicycle rack exactly where she said it would be—right in front of the playground area. (She even included tiny stick figure kids so there would be no confusion.) As I take off my helmet and slip it into my backpack, a lady walking her Labrador gives me the once-over. Following my new vow of never dressing normally in Austin, I managed to cobble together a practical yet wacky enough outfit from the shop: pink satin shorts with a matching satin jacket (which I’ve tied around my waist, because it’s pit-of-hell hot), white tee with a unicorn design on it, white headband, and tube socks pulled up to the knee. My hair is in two long braids.

Penny’s cartoon map is so detailed I have no problem finding the meeting place. She’s already there, keeping a knock-kneed, mouth-breathing guard over a picnic table.

“I like your shirt,” she says as I jog up.

“Thanks,” I reply. “I like yours too.” She has on a short-sleeved blouse with huge plastic buttons shaped like butterflies, big pleated khaki shorts held up by a white belt, and socks very similar to mine, also pulled up to the knee. On top of her head is a wide-brimmed gardening hat about the same width as the hood of a car. Between the two of us, it’s a toss-up who looks more geeky. I find myself almost jealous of her effortless lack of style.

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“Here,” she says, handing me a tube of sunscreen. “Sunburn at our age increases the risk of skin cancer later on. Did you know that melanoma is the third most common cancer for people aged fifteen to thirty-nine?”

“No,” I reply truthfully. I unscrew the cap and begin shellacking my arms with the greasy stuff. Penny has a way of reminding me of my mortality.

“Here come the others.” Penny points to the top of the hill, where Jack, Drip, Carter, and the twins are loping toward us, each carrying various tools and supplies. Jack looks like a more athletic version of himself. His gray shorts reveal legs that are pale but surprisingly muscular, and his chest looks extra-broad in the RunTex T-shirt he has on. I wonder why he can’t dress like this more often, instead of like an ad executive.

“Hey,” he says, nodding at Penny and me. “Been waiting long?” I shake my head.

“Eight minutes,” Penny says, glancing at her watch. She scans the assembled crowd and frowns.

“Where’s Mrs. Pratt?”

“Not coming,” Jack says. “Her back is acting up, so she’s leaving the hard labor to us. But we’re all invited to her house afterward for lunch. You all are coming, right?” he asks, looking right at me.

“Sounds great, but I came on my bike,” I reply, trying to sound disappointed. I’ll put in my hours of service for college requirements, but any extra socializing is totally against my rules. Especially if Jack is going to be there. I’m scared he might think I joined the club just to get near him.

“That’s okay,” Drip says, spraying bug repellent on her legs. “She only lives—what?” She looks over at the twins. “Two or three blocks from here?”

“Three and a half,” answers Frank.

“More like four if you count the park trail,” Hank counters.

“Or I can put your bike in the back of my truck,” Jack offers. I’m sure to anyone else his smile is of the typical friendly-guy variety. But to me it seems like…wrapping paper. There are a whole lot of meanings hidden there; I just know it.

“Okay. Great.” I haven’t lifted a single tool yet and already I’m worn out. I have a feeling this sudden weariness is the prelude to something bigger—like that stretchy sensation that comes over you right before you get sick.

Suddenly I just know the day won’t end well.

“What about this one?” Drip asks, holding up an empty Fritos bag in her gloved fingers.

“Uhhh…I know,” Hank says. “Guy robs a gas station, but he’s hungry too. So along with the cash register money, he grabs a large bag of chips. As part of his getaway, he detours through the park, sits on
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the grass, and eats them.”

“Did he hide the money here too?” Frank asks.

“Nah. As he ate the chips and looked out over the empty playground, he had an epiphany and realized he was wasting his life. So he decided to become a law-abiding citizen and returned all the money.”

“Didn’t stop him from littering,” Drip mutters, shoving the chip wrapper inside her garbage sack.

We’ve been here only an hour and already we’ve filled up six Hefty bags with trash. To make it more fun, the twins started up a game in which we try to guess how certain discarded items came to be here.

Fortunately, Jack is on the other side of the clearing, helping a park official remove a dead tree. With him gone, it’s easier to relax and have fun.

“Your turn, Penny,” Frank says, holding out a half-crushed Coca-Cola can. “Tell us about this guy.”

“There are ants on it,” she says. “Watch out. They bite.” Frank studies the can more closely. “Funny how they go in a line,” he says. “Like they’re having a parade or something.”

“Maybe they’re singing their national ant-them,” Carter quips.

We all boo and hiss. Drip tosses a Styrofoam cup at him.

“Hey!” Carter shields his head with his arms. “Stop bio-degrading me!”

“It’s still your turn, Penny,” Frank says. He holds up the Coke can as if it were the sword Excalibur.

“Tell us, O Wise One. How did this get here?”

Penny hunches her shoulders and frowns down at the ground. “I don’t know. Some person on a picnic dropped it,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, but who?” Frank prods. “And who was he with?”

She gives an awkward shrug. “People who aren’t very healthy, probably. Carbonated drinks are bad for you.”

“Maybe they were carbon dating.”

This time we all toss trash at Carter.

“Aw, come on!” he cries, protecting his head again. “We’re supposed to be picking up here!”

“Eeeeuuuw!”
Drip shouts suddenly. She steps into a clump of bushes and bends over something.

“Maggie? Can you come get this with your stick-thingie?” Even though we have tons of garbage bags, several pairs of work gloves, and a whole pack of bug repellent, we were only given two of those trash-picker-upper poles with the pointy ends. To make it fair, we’re all taking turns using them. Penny and I have them right now.

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“Stick-thingie coming through,” I say, pushing past the twins toward Drip. “What did you find?”

“I think it’s a dirty diaper,” she replies, scrunching up her nose.

The guys make disgusted sounds and take a couple of steps back. Penny seems unconcerned.

“No, it isn’t,” I say in my best stage voice as I skewer the fly-infested plastic mound and dump it into Drip’s sack. “It’s an alien carcass.”

The others laugh.

“The UFO landed about where Carter is standing and they sent this poor scout out to investigate the surroundings. Unfortunately he was hit in the head by a Coke can tossed by some careless, sugared-up picnicker and died instantly. Fearing for their lives, the others returned to their homeworld and immediately branded us a hostile race. They are currently debating whether to call a preemptive strike against us.”

“Okay. Maggie wins,” Carter says.

The twins are giving me looks that border on reverential.

“That was awesome,” Frank breathes.

“Heavenly, I’d say,” quips Carter. “Out of this world, even.”

“Will someone
please
shut him up?” Drip shouts to the sky.

“Try putting one of those twisty-tie things on his mouth,” suggests Frank.

“Uh…guys?”

We’re having so much fun giving Carter grief that we don’t hear Hank.

“Guys? Guys, listen,” he repeats. This time there’s a quality to his voice, all high and buzzy like an alarm, that makes us stop and look at him.

“We’ve got company,” he says, staring over my shoulder.

I spin around and see a group of people standing on the hill behind us. Shielding my eyes, I’m able to make out Miles, Caitlyn, Shanna, Sharla, and a few other nameless Bippies, their silhouettes haloed by the shimmery sunshine, making them look like descended gods. All appear to be wearing swimsuits and carrying tote bags.

“What are you guys doing here?” Caitlyn asks as they stride down toward us. “Having some sort of dorkfest? Is it Geek Pride Week?”

The rest of them laugh a rather bloodthirsty laugh—all except Shanna, who again hangs back with her scared-rabbit stare.

I look around at my fellow Helping Hands. Almost everyone is in the same pose: back slumped, eyes
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averted, cheeks the color of pomegranate seeds. Only Drip and Penny dare to make eye contact with the tormentors. Penny just seems dumbfounded, but Drip’s hands and jaw—hell, her whole body—are clenched and ready for battle. She looks like the fiercest, angriest, most ill-tempered sugarplum fairy you could ever meet.

“What are those?” Caitlyn continues, pointing to Frank’s garbage sack. “Are they your sleeping bags?” More hellish laughter follows.

I watch as Caitlyn smiles and tosses her hair triumphantly. She’s so enjoying this. I think about her stealing Penny’s Ho Ho and making fun of her bad leg in middle school. And I remember the way she cackled at Penny in her swimsuit the other day. This girl totally abuses her power.

A tight, steamy sensation builds up inside me, igniting my organs. I have never hated anyone in my life.

Not ever. There are people I’ve been disappointed in and annoyed with, and many I couldn’t be good friends with, but there has never been an individual I’ve wanted to completely rub out of existence with a giant eraser.

Until this very moment.

“Actually we’re picking up trash, Caitlyn,” I say, waving my Hefty bag in my left hand. “So why don’t you climb on in?”

A stereophonic gasp wells up from the crowd.

“What did you say?” Caitlyn hisses, her tangerine skin turning red and blotchy. “What did you say, you freaky-looking bitch?”

I don’t reply. I halfway realize that I’m setting stuff in motion—stuff I really don’t want to take on—but it’s too late now.

Miles steps up beside Caitlyn. At first I think it’s a show of solidarity with his Bippy princess, but then I realize he just wants a better view. Unlike the others, he doesn’t seem the least bit shocked. Instead, his mouth has swiveled sideways, revealing his left dimple. He folds his bronzed arms across his chest and stands there gleaming like a life-sized Oscar statue.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of gathering tension. Caitlyn’s face is all tough on the outside, but something about her eyes is a little off. They look more sad—or is it scared?—than angry.

Even so, there’s no telling what she might do.

“Come on, guys. Why are we wasting time with these dorks?” Shanna whines. “Let’s go swim.” The less murderous-looking Bippies nod in agreement and twist their upper bodies toward the pool, waiting for a signal from their leader.

“Yeah, come on, Cait,” Sharla urges. “Who cares about these nobodies?” She looks right at me, screwing up her already severe features into a gargoyle-like expression.

“Fine,” Caitlyn mutters, not taking her eyes off me. “Let’s go.” Sharla and a couple of other bikini-clad Barbies lead a still seething Caitlyn off toward the pool. The rest of the group parade after them, each giving me a parting glance. Some look livid, others confused. Most
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just seem stunned. Shanna brings up the rear without regarding me at all.

Only Miles remains behind. He waits until his friends are out of range and then swaggers toward me.