Only the Lonely (17 page)

Egg backed himself up against a bank of lockers. “But I am the one who taught you how to go online, Madison. It should be me who gets this, not you!”

“Egg, just chill out,” Aimee said. “It is no big deal.”

“It is a deal,” Egg said. “This is a big, fat,
hairy
deal.”

“I’m sorry, Egg.” Madison stood there for a moment waiting for Egg to say something else, but he didn’t.

The second bell rang, echoing in the hall.

“Look, you guys, I gotta run!” Drew waved as he wandered away. “Got a class …”

“See ya. Drew.” Madison waved back. “Egg?”

Egg was already walking in the other direction.

“What a pain,” Aimee said.

Madison hated the fact that Egg was annoyed, but she also knew that no matter what was said right now, tomorrow he would get over it and they’d be friends just as before. She hoped.

As she, Aimee, and Fiona moved off toward their next class, a voice called out from near the water fountain.

“Hey, Finnster!”

Finnster was a nickname Hart Jones had called Madison way back when they had been in first grade. It was a dorky name and she hated it, but he did it anyway. After second grade, Hart had moved away, but now he was back and the name was back, too.

Aimee chuckled under her breath. She elbowed Madison in the side. “Hey, I think he likes you.”

Fiona was giggling.

“Hart?” Madison groaned. “Get real.”

“Just like a fairy tale,” Aimee laughed. “Once he was a frog and now he’s a prince.”

“Ribbit.” Fiona laughed some more.

Madison walked faster. She heard Hart call out again, “Hey, Finnster!” but breezed on by pretending not to hear.

Aimee and Fiona heard and responded at the exact same time, however.

“Hi, Hart. ’Bye, Hart.”

“Isn’t Hart cousins with Drew?” Fiona asked Aimee as they walked away.

“You know he really has gotten sooooo cute.” Aimee teased Madison some more.

“And he’s really tall for a seventh grader.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Madison moaned. “I don’t hang out with him anymore.”

“Maybe you should,” Fiona said.

“No thank you very much,” Madison replied.

“I forgot you think all boys are just idiots,” Aimee said.

Fiona laughed. “Maybe that’s true. I know my brother Chet is.”

Aimee stopped and grabbed one of Madison’s hands. “Maddie, what are you gonna do if this boy really does like you? What then?” She looked down at Madison’s fingers. “Hey, what happened to the nail polish I put on last week? It’s all chewed off.”

“Oh, that,” Madison said, glancing down at whatever was left of the glitter polish. “It was delicious,” she said walking toward study hall.

Boys


Is
something wrong with me? I cannot believe the way life works these days. I spend all summer stressing out about being a seventh grader. Now that I’m here I am just stressing out about something else.


Is Egg right? Am I a total stress puppy? No wait, my dog, Phinnie, is the stress puppy. I’m the stress
person.
Ha ha.


I’m just not like Aimee or Fiona. I just don’t see the point in wasting time trying to get some stupid boy to like me. Every time Aimee likes someone she always changes her mind anyhow. It’s not real. I don’t want to pretend. I want the real thing when I have it. I would rather just stay friends anyway. That is easier.


Aimee doesn’t even know what it’s like because she always can talk to boys. And Fiona is good at flirting too, even if Egg is the one she flirts with.


NO BOYS FOR ME.


I have to worry about other stuff like the election Web site and not boys. I have to make sure the school election is the best ever. Mrs. Wing is counting on me.


Madison spent the entire study hall period working at a computer station up in the library. Students were allowed to work in the classroom, the library, or the media center. Madison liked to escape to the top floor of the school’s main building whenever she could. It seemed like no one else ever came up here, so Madison had it scoped out as
her
secret place—a place where she could go to hide, think, do homework, and even update her files. Mr. Books, the librarian, knew Madison by sight, since she came up at least twice a week.

After study hall, Madison wandered into the newspaper office to pick up some photos and bios of class presidential candidates. It was for the Web site, of course. This was Mrs. Wing’s first “official” assignment for her.

Madison loved the way the newspaper room smelled like ink and glue and copy paper, even though the “old-fashioned” newspaper making wasn’t done much anymore. Maybe she should try out for the newspaper staff? Madison was having trouble figuring out which after-school activities were the most important. She loved technology, but Madison wanted to try other things, too.

There on the desk at the front of the room was a rubber-banded pile of envelopes with a simple note: “For Mrs. Wing: 7th-grade candidates.”

Madison picked up the envelopes.

In envelope number one was a photo of Madison’s enemy number one, Ivy Daly, also known as Poison Ivy. Madison had been calling her that for a few years now, ever since they had their major falling-out in third grade.

So far, Ivy was the only girl at Far Hills Junior High running for class president. She was going to win. Everyone knew Ivy.

For one thing, Ivy was pretty smart.

For another thing, she was pretty pretty.

Ivy was also wicked good at talking to boys. She was even better at it than Aimee, which was saying a lot. With those talents, how could she lose a seventh-grade election?

Ivy also surrounded herself with influential supporters like Roseanne Snyder and Joan Kenyon. They were two drones who stuck to Ivy like superglue and made fun of all the people who weren’t just like them. Rose and Joan were intimidating even when they didn’t speak. Madison knew deep down they were fakers. She called them Rose
Thorn
and
Phony
Joanie behind their backs. But even if they were obnoxious, they would still help Ivy win.

Safety in numbers.

As she stared at Ivy’s face, Madison felt a twinge of disappointment.

At first it seemed so exciting, being picked to be in charge of the election site. Madison could be the boss for once. But now, looking at Ivy, Madison felt discouraged.

How could she enjoy any election when she
hated
the number one candidate?

“M
ISS FINN, YOU’LL BE
working with Miss Daly.”

In science class, Mr. Danehy was assigning lab partners.

Madison got Poison Ivy.

Was the universe conspiring against her?

“So is it true that you’re like in charge of the election?” Ivy asked as they paired off together and sat on their stools at the lab counter.

“It’s true,” Madison mumbled, trying to say as little as possible.

“I heard from Mrs. Wing that you’re the one doing the school Web site or something.”

News travels fast around junior high, Madison thought, pasting on her best plastic smile. “Yes, I am in charge of the Web site. Mrs. Wing asked me.”

“Oh,” Ivy said with a perplexed look on her face.

“Why should you care, Ivy?”

“Care?” Ivy said. “Because I am only like the number-one candidate for seventh-grade president. Like, where have you been? Didn’t you see my posters in the cafeteria?”

Madison pretended like she’d swallowed something the wrong way and cleared her throat. Ivy kept talking.

“So far it’s just me and Montrell Morris and Tommy Kwong. Should be an easy election, really.”

Madison stared down at the lab’s black counter-top, feeling like she’d been drop-kicked. Everything seemed so rosy first period. Now she had gone from being singled out by Mrs. Wing to being
bummed
out by Poison Ivy. What fun would it be working on an election when the enemy had the distinct advantage?

“You
are
gonna vote for me, right?” Ivy said.

“Well,” Madison said, gritting her teeth. “I’m not sure who I’m voting for yet.”

“Whatever,” Ivy said, opening her science book.

The clock said 11:22. Could Madison make it through the other forty-eight minutes until science class ended?

She wasn’t so sure.

Right now Madison Finn wanted to slam her science teacher Mr. Danehy for putting her in this position, at this table, with Ivy Daly. She would have preferred being matched up with
anyone
else on the planet. Even Hart Jones would have been an okay lab partner.

Madison looked across the class at Hart. He and Fiona’s twin brother, Chet, had been paired off together. They were becoming fast friends; Madison could tell by the way they goofed around. Madison looked at Hart’s hair, combed back off his face. His black glasses were slipping down his nose and he looked nerdy, but he also looked cute.

Was he really the same Hart Jones who used to chase her around at recess and try to pull her hair?

Madison suddenly realized she was staring.

“And one more thing! You will
NOT
leave science lab early under any conditions,” Mr. Danehy’s voice boomed. “If you and your partner finish up an assignment, simply move along to the extra-credit questions. I do not encourage loafing, is that clear? This is not a place to have conversations, this is a place to learn science. Clear?”

Mr. Danehy had set up microscopes all over the room. Lab partners were asked to record their simple observations as they viewed a series of slides.

Of course, Ivy didn’t feel like looking. “I’ll just copy your answers?” she said to Madison. “After all, we are partners, right?”

Madison bit her lip. She looked into the microscope and adjusted the magnification knob.

“What you are looking at right now,” Mr. Danehy said, “is a slide of human spit.”

A couple of girls and guys said, “Eeeeeew” but then leaned in to get a closer look. Madison took a look, too, while Ivy drummed her fingers against the lab table, impatient.

“This is so stupid. Spit? Gimme a break. What about cells or something a little more scientific?”

Madison pushed the microscope toward Ivy. “Why don’t you see for yourself? There’s science going on there. Science like
cells,
you know.”

Ivy scoffed. “I don’t think so. Get that spit away from me.”

Madison ignored Ivy and looked into the microscope. She adjusted it once again for the next slide.

Ivy jumped off her stool and walked to the front of the classroom. She needed a hall pass to use the bathroom. She said she had to pee, but Madison suspected she was going in there a) to apply more lip gloss; b) to make a call on her cell phone (a little pink phone she hid in her bag so teachers wouldn’t confiscate it); or c) to get away from the spit slide once and for all.

Mr. Danehy handed Ivy a hall pass and then disappeared into the science closet. Once he was gone, everyone started talking and moving around. Hart Jones wandered over to Madison’s table.

“Hey, there,” he said gruffly.

Madison rolled her eyes but didn’t speak.

“Uh, I seem to have lost my fruit fly. Have you seen him?”

Madison was mortified. Was anyone else listening? She couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at Hart’s stupid attempt at a joke, but she certainly didn’t want anyone else to hear it.

Hart cracked another joke about someone’s fruit fly being open.

Madison laughed a little more. She liked the way his hair twisted on top of his head. This was the first time she’d ever noticed that he had a cowlick. It looked like a wave of dark chocolate. She wondered why he had come over to talk to her. Why was he just standing there making jokes?

Mr. Danehy pulled out a large container from the closet. It was filled with hundreds of
living
fruit flies. Quickly, he dropped in a cotton ball with chloroform. In two minutes all the flies were knocked out. Chet yelled out, “Fruit flies dead! Details at eleven!” Everyone laughed.

When Mr. Danehy was almost done showing the flies to the room, Ivy walked back in. She walked in just in time to watch Hart slip off her stool and make his way back to his own seat as the class settled down.

“Did I miss much?” Ivy said, eyeing Hart and Chet across the room, and pushing Madison to the side a little bit so she could squeeze back into her chair.

Madison grabbed at the counter edge, but she lost her balance. She fell forward, knocking into a cardboard tray of glass beakers.

Crash.

“What did you do that for?” Ivy screeched. “I can’t believe you!”

The beaker of stunned flies survived. Unfortunately, Madison’s pride did not.

Mr. Danehy rushed over. “Nobody move. I’m gonna sweep up this mess. Watch the glass, girls.”

From across the room, Hart yelled out, “Way to go, Finnster!”

Madison turned beet purple as the class laughed.

“Finnster?” Ivy laughed. “Nice name, Madison. For a circus act, maybe.”

The last thing Madison wanted to do was to call attention to herself, and yet here she was, the center of the chaos. Everyone was staring and laughing. Ivy was pointing. And Hart was calling her Finnster.