How to Be Popular (11 page)

STILL DAY TWO OF POPULARITY
TUESDAY
,
AUGUST
29, 11
P
.
M
.

Not everyone thinks Jason bailing on us is such a good thing. Becca is fit to be tied over it.

Except that this, of course, was a lie. I had actually seen him getting undressed in his bedroom just half an hour earlier.

But since this wasn’t even something I was going to mention to Father Chuck, to whom I tell everything (almost), I certainly wasn’t going to mention it to Becca.

I could tell Becca had been reading some of Kitty’s romance novels, which I’d lent her. I hoped she hadn’t gotten to the Turkish-style part yet. Because I knew she’d ask her parents what it meant, and somehow, I’d be the one to get in trouble.

But Becca was actually one of the few people who was of that opinion—that I was the best, I mean. Because I was still getting e-mails from SteffMustDie.

Nice. Real nice.

I swear, if I didn’t have Jason’s window to look through every night, I think I’d have gone completely insane by now.

And I know it’s wrong to spy on him like that. I KNOW.

But the sight of him—especially in his boxer shorts—just fills me with a deep inner calm unlike nothing I have ever known.

Actually, it’s sort of like the deep inner calm I felt that night I had to wear his Batman underwear because I’d wet mine.

I wonder what that means, if anything?

DAY THREE OF POPULARITY
WEDNESDAY
,
AUGUST
30, 9
A
.
M
.

Jason actually pulled over in front of my house while I was standing there this morning, waiting for Mr. Taylor to come by with Becca to pick me up for school.

The driver’s side window rolled down, and I was assailed by the vocals of Roberta Flack.

“Nice pants,” Jason said, apparently in reference to my dark-rinse stretch jeans, in which, I don’t mind saying myself, I looked pretty good.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Well,” he said sort of impatiently, after a minute, “are you getting in, or what? Where’s Bex?”

“Becca’s dad is driving us to school this morning,” I said. “We figured after yesterday, you were no longer interested in the position.”

“What position?”

“Of our chauffeur.”

Jason brushed some hair from his face. Kitty is right. He DOES need to get his hair cut before the wedding.

“I told Becca,” he said with what seemed like forced composure, “that I had some errands to run. That doesn’t mean I never want to give you guys rides, ever. I just couldn’t do it yesterday afternoon.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unconvinced, and sounding it.

“I had to pick up the place cards from the calligrapher for Grandma,” Jason went on. “For the tables at the reception.”

“Sure you did,” I said.

“And then I had to drop some stuff off at the printer. And I mean, it’s not like you guys couldn’t take the bus. It drops you off in front of your house, practically.”

“Of course it does,” I said. “I mean, if you’d told us enough in advance, then we could have gotten in front of the school to pick it up.”

Jason stared at me. “You missed the bus?”

“Yes,” I said. “But that’s okay. We got a ride in Lauren Moffat’s car.”

Jason paled. “Not the 645Ci.”

“That’d be the one.”

Jason smacked the side of his fist against his steering wheel.

“What is going on?” he practically screamed. Which wasn’t very cool, because we don’t live on a very screamy street. I mean, there are a lot of rich elderly people on our street—even if my family isn’t exactly what you’d call
well off, let alone elderly. I could see a lace curtain move in Mrs. Hoadley’s front room as she tried to figure out what was going on outside my house (it hasn’t been easy for her, living across the street from a family of seven…soon-to-be eight. In fact, at Halloween, my mom makes us throw out anything she gives us, thinking it’s probably poisoned. But since, for a rich person, Mrs. Hoadley is a total cheapskate and only gives out saltines, we’ve never minded).

But Jason seemed to neither notice nor care that his outburst was attracting the interest of our geriatric neighbors.

“What
happened
to you?” he yelled. “Why are you acting so
weird
?”

“I could ask you the very same question,” I said calmly.

“I’m not the one acting weird,” Jason yelled. “
You
are! And Becca—she won’t quit following me around! It’s like having a freakin’ puppy on my heels all the damned time! And you—since when do you get rides home from LAUREN MOFFAT?”

At that moment I saw the Taylors’ Cadillac pull up behind The B. Fortunately the windows were all rolled up, so it was doubtful Becca had overheard what Jason had shouted about her. Through the windshield, I saw Mr. Taylor, looking sleepy and confused, stare at Jason’s car, stopped in the middle of the street, then tap gently on the horn.

“That’s my ride,” I said to Jason. “I gotta go.”

And I left him to slip into the air-conditioned backseat of the Taylors’ car. No one inside of it was complaining about anyone killing them softly with his song, which was a relief. Mr. Taylor only listens to talk radio.

“What’s Jason doing here?” Becca asked all excitedly. “Did he come to pick us up? Should we ride with him? Oh, gee, sorry, Dad, but—”

“Wait,” I said as Becca reached for the door handle. “Don’t. Just—”

“But if he wants to drive us, we might as well—”

Fortunately at that moment Jason put the pedal to the metal (in the vernacular of his favorite musical time period) and took off.

“Aw,” Becca said, her hand still on the door handle. “He left!”

“Believe me,” I said. “It’s better this way.”

“I do not understand what is going on with you girls,” Mr. Taylor said in his slow, sleepy voice. “But can I take ya’ll to school so I can get home and get back to bed?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Sorry about that. Jason’s just in a bad mood.”

“Did he say anything about me?” Becca asked hopefully.

“Um,” I said. “Not really.”

Becca slumped in her seat, disappointed. “Dang.”

But I knew the truth would have disappointed her even more.

STILL DAY THREE OF POPULARITY
WEDNESDAY
,
AUGUST
30, 1
P
.
M
.

I was late getting to lunch because I’d been running around, enlisting the aid of teachers for tomorrow night’s auction—Mr. Schneck, the drama director, has agreed to act as auctioneer, which should lend just the right note of campy fun to the proceedings…in my opinion, anyway, though probably not his—so I was kind of surprised when I got to my seat at Darlene’s table and saw Becca sitting there, looking distinctly miserable.

She brightened up a little when she saw me, though.

“Oh, hi,” she said. “Can I sit here? I mean, is it all right? I asked these guys”—she nodded toward Darlene, who was eating a banana, to the rapture of her entourage—“and they said it was, but—”

“Of course it’s okay,” I said, sitting down with my tray
of tuna salad. “But what happened to having lunch out with Jason?”

“Oh,” Becca said, poking her burger (bunless…Becca has been on the South Beach Diet forever) with her fork and not looking me in the eye. “I talked to Stuckey.”

I felt murderous rage sweep over me. If Stuckey had said anything to hurt her feelings—which I could totally see him doing, since he’s so clueless about anything not having to do with basketball—he was a dead man.

“What did he say?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

“Just that if I wanted Jason to like me, I should make myself less available.” Becca slurped sadly on her Diet Coke. “Stuckey says Jason’s the kind of guy who likes a girl who plays hard to get.”

Todd Rubin snorted, even though neither of us had been speaking to him. “Not me, man,” he said. “I like a woman who knows her place.” He indicated where that place was with a tilt of his pelvis, to the amusement of his buddies.

“Oh, really?” Darlene had finished her banana, and now she stretched, bringing every gaze at the table to her chest. “And what place would that be, Todd?”

“Um,” Todd said, his mouth slightly ajar. “Any…place…you want. At all.”

Darlene picked up her Diet Coke can and shook it, indicating it was empty. “Oh no. All gone! Can you be a sweetie and go get me another?”

Todd practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to get her another soda. Darlene glanced at Becca and
me with a knowing smile. It was hard not to crack up.

And suddenly I realized Darlene isn’t half as dumb as she pretends to be.

“I think Stuckey’s probably right,” I said, turning back to Becca.

“I know,” Becca said with a sigh. “He really was very helpful. Stuckey, I mean. He said he doesn’t think it’s serious between Jason and Kirsten.”

It was my own turn to snort. “Of course it’s not serious,” I said. “Because there’s nothing actually going on between them. Except maybe in Jason’s head. And even if there was, Kirsten’s not right for him. Have you ever checked out her elbows?”

“Her elbows?” Becca echoed.

“Yeah. They’re all gross and scaly.”

“I hate that,” Darlene said. “That’s why I rub pure cocoa butter on mine every night.” She pulled back her sleeve to show us. Darlene really did have the nicest elbows I’d ever seen, a sentiment with which every guy at the table, including Todd, who’d returned with Darlene’s soda, agreed.

I’m going to have to remember that pure cocoa butter trick.

“Well, Stuckey said he doesn’t think Jason even likes Kirsten—you know, in that way,” Becca went on. “He says he thinks Jason just pretends to like Kirsten, so people won’t figure out who he
really
likes.”

This was intriguing. I had no idea Stuckey was such a keen observer of his fellow man.

“Well?” I said. “Who does Stuckey say Jason really likes?”

Becca shrugged. “That’s just it. Stuckey doesn’t know. He says Jason never talks about that kind of thing—girls—with him. But I couldn’t help thinking…well, do you think the girl Jason really likes could be, possibly, well…me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. Because I really didn’t. I was careful not to add, “But I highly doubt it.” Instead, I asked, “What else did Stuckey say?” Because the idea of Stuckey having a conversation with anyone that didn’t involve Indiana college basketball was stunning to me.

“Oh, let’s see.” Becca thought for a minute, then brightened. “He said if I ever wanted to take a tour of the Indiana University campus to let him know, and he’d drive me over there and show me Assembly Hall, which is where the Hoosiers play basketball.”

That sounded more like the Stuckey I knew.

Mark and Lauren chose
that
moment to make what seemed to be developing into a daily visitation to our table.

“Everything coming into place for tomorrow night, Steph?” Mark asked as Lauren twined an arm around his waist and sort of draped herself across him like a poncho. As usual, Alyssa Krueger lurked behind them…sort of Tinkerbell to Lauren’s Paris.

“Looking good,” I said, flipping open my official Bloomville High Talent Auction binder. “The ad should run in tonight’s paper. We’ve got more than a hundred
kids signed up. Depending on how many people show up, we stand to take in way more than any school-sponsored car wash has ever made.”

“Hey,” Mark said, his hazel eyes twinkling. “That’s great! Good job.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was unable, of course, to repress a blush. Some things you just have no control over.

Like what happened next. Which was that as Mark, Lauren, and Alyssa passed by, a tightly folded note fell, seemingly from the air, and landed on my open binder.

No one but me noticed. Well, no one but me and Becca, who eyed me curiously as I picked the note up. It had the words
TO STEFF
written on it in block letters, indicating it was for me…or at least for someone named Steph, but who spelled it with two Fs instead of a P-H. I started to unfold it.

I only had to see the first few words—
U STUPID HO
,
Y DON
’
T U GET A LIFE
—before I figured out what it was.

And who it came from.

The blush that had crept over my cheeks at Mark’s compliment turned into full-on flames. My face felt as if it were on fire.

But that didn’t stop me from pushing my chair back and following after Mark and Lauren, the note in my hands.

“Um, guys,” I said, catching the couple just as they—with Alyssa—were about to exit the caf, into the courtyard by the flagpole outside. “One of you dropped this. It says it’s for someone named Steff, but that’s not how you
spell my name, so you must have meant it to go to someone else.”

And I handed the note to Mark.

Alyssa immediately started going, “What’s that? I didn’t drop that. I’ve never seen it before. Have you, Lauren?”

But Lauren just stood there, staring daggers at me.

And I stared them right back at her.
Don’t even start with me, Lauren,
I tried to make my stare say.
Because I’ve got The Book now. And that means that you, Lauren Moffat, are GOING DOWN.

Mark’s face, as he read the note—who knew what it said after the first line? I had no idea, and I didn’t actually care, either—changed. I saw his jaw set, and his cheeks slowly turn the same color as mine. Only on him, it looked good.

He looked directly at Lauren. And she immediately turned to face Alyssa.

“God, Al,” she said. “Could you
be
more immature?”

Alyssa’s jaw fell. I could actually see a piece of chewed up Extra gum in her mouth.

“Lauren,” she cried. “It was your—how could you—”

“How could
you
?” Lauren snatched the note from Mark’s fingers and started tearing it up. “Why would you write something like this to poor Steph? She’s only trying to help raise money for Mark’s class. What’s
wrong
with you?”

Mark, staring at Alyssa with narrowed eyes, slowly shook his head.

“That’s low, Alyssa,” he said in his deep voice. “
Real
low.”

“But I didn’t do it!” Alyssa insisted. “Well, I mean, I did, but it was—”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Mark interrupted, in a tone that made it clear why he was voted last year’s most valuable player and was chosen this year’s quarterback. He would not tolerate any disrespect on his team. “I’d like for you to leave now.”

Alyssa had started to cry.

“Leave…sch-school?” she hiccuped.

“No.” Mark looked heavenward for patience. “Not school. My sight. Get out of here.”

Alyssa, with a final, stricken glance in Lauren’s direction, flung a hand over her face and hurried away, in the direction of the girls’ room. Mark watched her go dispassionately, then looked down at Lauren.

“Why would she do something like that?” he asked her, seeming genuinely bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Lauren said, shrugging innocently. “Maybe she’s jealous? You know, because I gave Steph that ride home last night? Maybe she’s worried Steph and I are becoming friends and she’s going to be left out, or something. You know how insecure she is.”

My own jaw dropped at that one. I had never heard a bigger whopper in my life.

You had to hand it to Lauren: Whatever else you could say about her, she was a master manipulator.

“I better go make sure she’s all right,” Lauren said. “I
don’t want her to do herself an injury, or anything.”

Do herself an injury?
Classic.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark said, nodding. “Go on.” Then, when Lauren did—with a final
I’ll Get You for This
glance in my direction—he put out a hand and very gently touched me.

On my bare arm. Mark Finley. Touched me.

“Hey,” he asked softly. “You okay?”

I couldn’t believe Mark Finley had touched me. And asked if I was okay.

“I’m fine,” I said, nodding. Somehow, I managed to figure out how to make my mouth work again. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t believe she did that,” Mark said. “I’m really sorry. I hope you won’t take it personally, or anything.”

Take it personally? I’d been hearing Alyssa Krueger—along with most of the rest of the under-eighteen population of Greene County—tell people not to be such a Steph Landry for the past five years. And here was the most popular guy in school—a guy who’d never been mocked or made fun of a day in his life—telling me not to take it personally. Yeah, no problem, Mark. Whatever you say.

“I won’t,” I said, giving him a tremulous smile…tremulous because I was really afraid, at that moment, that I might start to cry.

“Great,” Mark said.

And laid a finger on my cheek. Just one finger.

But that was all it took. All it took for me to know with one hundred percent certainty that he was My One.

Even if he didn’t know it yet.