Ready or Not (10 page)

She grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her face as she wailed into it.

“Well,” I said, blinking uncomprehendingly, “maybe he did. Have other plans, I mean.”

“He didn't,” Lucy sobbed. “I could tell he didn't.”

“Well…maybe he doesn't like Adam Sandler. Lots of people don't.”

“That's not it,” Lucy said. “It's me. He just doesn't like ME.”

“Lucy,” I said, “everybody likes you. Okay? Every guy who isn't taken or likes guys and not girls likes you. It has to be something else. Who
is
this guy, anyway?”

But Lucy just shook her head and wailed, “What does it matter? What does any of it matter when he doesn't even know I'm alive?”

Lucy flopped back across the bed, weeping stormily. I stared down at her prone figure, trying to make sense of what I'd just heard. My sister—the cheerleader; the Bare Essentials salesgirl; the titian-haired goddess; the most popular girl at Adams Prep—was in love with some guy who didn't like her back.

No. No, that was just all wrong. That did not compute.

I sat there, trying to digest all this. It didn't make any sense. What kind of boy, asked out by the prettiest girl in school, said NO? She had said he was smart…well, how smart could he be if he turned down my sister? Unless he—

Suddenly, I gasped, as the full horror of what she was trying to tell me sank in.

“Lucy!” I cried. “Is it HAROLD? You like HAROLD MINSKY?”

Her only response to this was to weep harder.

And I knew. I knew it all.

“Oh, Lucy,” I said, trying not to laugh. I knew I shouldn't have found the situation funny. I mean, after all, Lucy was genuinely upset. But my sister and Harold Minsky? “You know, Harold probably isn't all that used to girls asking him out. Maybe you, you know. Surprised him. And that's why he said he had other plans. I mean, maybe he just said the first thing he thought of.”

This made her raise her head and blink at me tearfully.

“What do you mean, he isn't used to girls asking him out?” she wanted to know. “Harold's so smart. Girls must ask him out all the time.”

Now it was REALLY hard not to laugh.

“Um, Luce,” I said, not quite believing I was having to explain this to my older sister—the girl who had just informed me of an alternative use for the bathtub faucet, “not all girls are attracted to boys like Harold. I mean, a lot of girls like boys for their, um, bodies and personalities, and not so much for their minds.”

Lucy threw me an outraged look. “What are you talking about? Harold has a great body. Underneath those floppy shirts. I know, he spilled some of Theresa's paella on one and he had to take it off for her to put in the wash and I saw him in just his undershirt.”

Whoa. Harold must have been working out or something in his basement, because if he had a good bod, it certainly wasn't from playing on any of Adams Prep's sports teams.

“It's just,” she went on, “I mean, I watched
Hellboy
. I
told
him I watched
Hellboy
. And we had, you know, a nice conversation about how difficult it must be to defend others against the forces of darkness when you yourself are the prince of darkness. I would have thought, from that, that he would have realized—”

When her voice trailed off, I asked gently, “Realized what, Luce?”

“Well, that he shouldn't judge ME by the way
I
look,” she said, her eyes very blue and indignant. “I mean, I can't help looking like
this
any more than Hellboy can help looking the way he does. I may look like a stuck-up popular girl, but I'm not. Why can't Harold see that? WHY? I mean, Liz saw past Hellboy's horns.”

I had never heard Lucy speak so passionately about anything. Not even cheerleading. Not even Bonne Bell Lip Smackers. Not even Bare Essentials' new fall line of bikini briefs.

It didn't seem possible, but…she might actually really be in love with Harold. I mean…
really
in love with him.

I wondered if Harold has the slightest idea of the feelings he's awakened in my sister's 34C demi-cup underwire.

“Maybe,” I said carefully, since a cheerleader—even an ex-cheerleader—in love is a volatile thing, “you should give Harold the benefit of the doubt. I mean, maybe he
does
see the real you, under your, um, horns, and just can't believe someone as…horny as you would ever like him back.”

That didn't come out at all right, and Lucy's wide-eyed glance told me I'd screwed it up, big time.

So I said, “Look, maybe you should just ask him out again for this coming weekend, and see what he says.”

“You think?” Lucy peered at me through swollen—but still beautiful—eyes. “You think he might just be…shy or something?”

“It's possible,” I said. Although shy wasn't the word for it. Oblivious, maybe. Or possibly afraid Lucy had only asked him out as a joke. “You never know.”

“Because I was thinking it might be because…because I'm so stupid.”

“Lucy!” I looked down at her, my heart swelling with pity for her. Pity! For Lucy! The girl who had always gotten everything she ever wanted…until now, apparently.

Because the thing was…well, there's a really good chance she's right. About Harold not liking her because she isn't exactly class valedictorian. I mean, what do the two of them even have in common? Lucy is all about capped sleeves and Juicy Couture jeans. Harold's all about…well, megabytes.

“That can't be true,” I said, even though, of course, a part of me thought there was a pretty good chance it could be. “I mean, you aren't, you know,
book
smart, like Harold. But you know a lot of stuff I bet he doesn't know. Like about…um—”

But the only thing I could think of that Lucy might know about that Harold wouldn't was, well, birth control.

“I memorized all those stupid vocabulary words he gave me,” she said bitterly. “
Estuary
and
plinth
. Hoping it would make him realize, you know, that I'm really trying. I mean, I
want
to be smart like him. I
do
. Just like Hellboy wants to be good. But Harold barely even noticed. He was just like
, Good. Now memorize these other words.
”

“Oh, Luce,” I said. “You know…you really should ask him out again. It may never have occurred to him that you like him…you know. The way you do. He may just think you like him as a friend.” I hoped.

Lucy gazed unseeingly at my giant poster of Gwen in her wedding gown—taken from
Us Weekly
and blown up on the White House color copier—and sighed. “Well. All right. I guess I could ask him out again. God.”

“God, what?”

“Well, I mean…” Lucy looked thoughtful. “Now I know how all those girls in school must feel.”

“What girls?”

“The ones who ask guys out,” she said. “And the guys always say no. I had no idea it felt like
this
.”

“Rejection?” I tried not to look too amused. “Yeah. It can really suck.”

“Tell me about it.” She looked at the clock. “God. I have to do like ten more pages of vocab before I can even think about bed. Thanks for the pep talk, but I gotta motor.”

I stopped her in the doorway, though. “Lucy?”

She paused and looked over her shoulder, her face impossibly beautiful, in spite of the tears and the pieces of Manet's fur she hadn't picked off yet. “Yeah?”

“I'm glad you and Jack broke up,” I said. “You deserve better. Even if he was, you know. Your first.”

“My first,” Lucy said. “But hopefully not my last.”

“He won't be,” I said. “And Lucy?”

“Mmm?” she said.

“You do realize,” I added awkwardly, “that the same guy who played the Count of Monte Cristo played Jesus in that movie Mel Gibson directed.”

It was finally Lucy's turn to look shocked. “He did not!”

“Um, yeah, he did. So, in a way, all those times in the bathtub, you've been—”

“DON'T SAY IT!” Lucy said. And then ran for her room.

I can't say I blamed her, either, really. For slamming the door so hard behind her, I mean.

Top ten things that suck about being the sister of the most popular girl in school:

  10.   When the phone rings, it is never, ever for you.

    9.   Ditto the doorbell.

    8.   The door to the refrigerator in the kitchen is completely covered in newspaper clippings featuring her. The only thing about you that's up there is a postcard from the dentist, reminding you about your six month's appointment.

    7.   She will never, ever be off the phone long enough for you to make a call.

    6.   Everyone expects
you
to want to be on the cheerleading squad, too, and then when you don't, they act like there's something wrong with you.

    5.   She always gets to do everything first, whether it's go out with a boy, drive, see an NC-17 movie, spend Winter Break skiing in Aspen with a friend and her parents, you name it, Lucy's already gotten to do it, way before me, and probably better.

    4.   When people compare us to characters in John Hughes movies, Lucy always gets to be Molly Ringwald, and I always have to be Eric Stoltz. Who isn't even a girl.

    3.   There is nothing more demoralizing to a disestablishmentarian like myself than having to sit and listen to your sister's chipper voice reading off the morning announcements in homeroom during Spirit Week.

    2.   She gets elected Homecoming Queen. I get elected art room trash monitor.

And the number-one thing that sucks about being the sister of the most popular girl in school:

    1.   I can't even hate her. Because the truth is, she kind of rocks.

So I called him.

I don't know why, really. Well, okay, I guess I do know why.

And it wasn't because of Lucy's breaking up with Jack, and me realizing how great David is, in comparison with her loser ex. I mean, I've always known David is great.

And it wasn't because her impassioned speech about Hellboy made me more aware that the love David and I share—like the love Hellboy and Liz have for each other—is precious and a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. I already know all that.

No, the truth was, I took Lucy's advice. About the bathtub thing.

And it totally worked.

I mean,
way
worked.

And suddenly the whole idea of spending Thanksgiving weekend with David just started to seem a lot more, um…interesting.

Not that I was ready to say yes to it, or anything. His invitation, I mean. I was still totally freaked out by the whole thing. But I was definitely more…
interested
than before.

The only problem was that David, when I finally got through to him on his cell later that night, didn't seem quite as…
interested
.

Even when I explained to him that it wasn't him. It was me.

“Seriously,” I said. “I want to…to…” I didn't know quite how to put what I wanted to do.
Have sex with you?
Or should I use his vernacular (SAT word meaning “characteristic language of a particular group or person”) and say,
play Parcheesi with you?

I found I couldn't bring myself to do either, though, and ended up settling for, “…spend Thanksgiving with you, David. Honest, I do. But think about what people would
say
. If they found out, I mean.”

“Sam,” David said, in a voice I might almost have described as long-suffering. Only what was
he
suffering about? Boys have it so totally easy. “I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.”

Which was just so typically male of him.

“It's just that there's such a double standard if you're a girl,” I explained. Or tried to explain. “Do you know what I'm saying?”

“Truthfully,” David said, in the same non-interested voice he'd been using since he picked up the phone, “I haven't understood a single word you've said to me all week.”

God. I had really hurt his feelings. I definitely had some apologizing to do.

“Seriously, David,” I said, “it's just something I have to work through on my own. It doesn't have anything to do with you, really. It's like…” I tried to think how I could explain it to him in a way he could understand.

And suddenly, from out of nowhere, Deb Mullins popped into my head. Debra Mullins, in her tiny dance team miniskirt, and her big blue eyes, filled with hurt after another run-in with Kris Parks.

“It's like there's this girl at my school, and there's just a rumor she Did It—no one even knows for sure—and people call her all sorts of things to her face,” I said. “It's horrible, I feel so bad for her.”

“Um,” David said. “Okay.”

“I mean, what about at your school? The same sort of thing must go on.”

“Uh,” David said. “I don't know. I mean, I guess—”

“You
guess
?” My voice broke, I was so shocked.

“I don't know,” David said. “I mean, I never noticed anything like that.”

Oh my God. I couldn't believe it was so different at Horizon. But apparently, it was. Horizon must be like the Valhalla of private education, whereas Adams Prep is…well, hell.

“What about Right Way?” I demanded.

“Right Way? That dopey group your pal Kris Parks is in?”

“Yes,” I said, not bothering to mention that Kris Parks is hardly my pal, since he already knew that. At least, he
should
know that by now, after the number of times I've complained about her to him. “Because it gets
out
, David.” How could I make him understand? “No matter how discreet people are about it, eventually, it always gets out. And then they start in on you. Kris and the Right Wayers, I mean. Unless you're one of the elite—like Lucy. But I'm
not
one of the elite, David. Sure, I saved your dad and got on TV, and all, but I am hardly a member of the popular crowd. Or
any
crowd, for that matter. And I just know they'll be starting in on me next.”

“Who will?” David asked.

Oh my God. I really did think my head was going to explode.

“RIGHT WAY,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“But what do you care what these Right Way people say?” David wanted to know. “You don't even
like
them.”

“Well,” I said, “no. But—”

“Who are they to pass judgment on everyone else?” David wanted to know. “Are they the school's best and brightest?”

“Well,” I said, “no, they aren't, necessarily. But—”

“I didn't think so,” he went on. “Because if they were really all that smart, they'd know that abstinence programs, and all of that…study after study has shown they don't work.”

I thought I hadn't heard him right. “Wait…what?”

“It doesn't work,” David repeated. “Just Say No? Kids who went through Just Say No programs in school are just as likely to experiment with drugs and alcohol as kids who didn't, because those programs use hokey scare tactics no kid in his right mind is going to fall for. I mean, any moron knows you're not going to become a homeless crackhead from one puff of marijuana.”

“Right,” I said. Because, um, if that were true, all of the stars in Hollywood would be homeless crackheads. I've heard what goes down at those movie premieres.

“All those programs do is make people who go ahead and try whatever it is they're supposed to be saying no to—and believe me, more than half end up trying it—completely unequipped to deal with it,” David said. “Like couples who've pledged not to have sex. All that happens is that they end up having sex anyway, only they don't use protection, because they don't have any on hand, because all they planned on was just saying no. See? It doesn't work.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Is that…is that really true?”

“What, you think the Centers for Disease Control made it up? Because they're the ones who did the study. So where those Right Wayers of yours get off, acting so high and mighty, I don't know.”

“I don't know, either,” I said stunned by this piece of information.

“So…” David cleared his throat. “Are we okay now?”

“Totally,” I said happily. Just wait until the next time Kris started in on Deb! I was definitely bringing up that CDC thing.

“And did you have a chance to ask your mom and dad about Thanksgiving yet?” David wanted to know.

Yes! And they said yes!

That's what I wanted to say. Well, what a part of me wanted to say.

But another part of me—a bigger part of me—was all,
NO! Okay? No, I haven't. This is a huge decision and even though I'm slowly coming around to it, I still need time. It's true I'm deeply in love with you, and I'm totally positive you're my one true love, but I'm only sixteen and I still have action figures on top of my dresser and I'm not totally sure I'm ready to put them away yet….

“Uh, no, I forgot,” I said.

Hey, I kept my fingers crossed while I said it.

“Oh,” David said, sounding only a little disappointed. Like, not as disappointed as I would have thought he'd be. “Okay. Well, let me know. Because my mom wants to know how big a turkey she should order.”

Whoa. Was that some kind of code for
I need to know how many condoms to purchase
? I thought about telling him he didn't need to worry about that part of it. But then my call waiting went off.

“That's my other line,” I said, kind of startled because it was so late at night. I mean, the only other person who ever calls me on my cell is Catherine, and her parents make her go to bed at eleven on school nights.

“Okay,” David said. “I'll see you tomorrow, anyway.”

This kind of surprised me.

“Tomorrow?” Tomorrow was the Return to Family town meeting on MTV. “You're coming? With your dad?”

“Well, yeah,” David said. “But we have life drawing before that. Remember?”

Terry! How could I have forgotten Naked Terry?

“Right,” I said. “Yeah. Okay, see you then.”

Then I switched over to the other line. “Hello?”

“Sam?” Dauntra shouted my name. From the background noise, it sounded like she was calling from a nightclub. Where a murder was being committed.

Which, knowing Dauntra, was not out of the realm of the possible.

“Dauntra?” I wasn't sure she could hear me. Where
was
she? Then I was hit by a horrible thought. “Oh my God, are you still in
jail
?”

“No,” Dauntra said with a laugh. “I'm at a friend's house. Look, I just wanted to call and say thanks. For taking over my shift the other night. I totally owe you!”

“Oh,” I said. “No problem. I hope you, um, didn't have too bad a time in jail.”

“Are you kidding?” Dauntra said. “It was GREAT. I told 'em to keep my bunk warm for me since I expect I'll be back there real soon. But don't worry, I'll be out in time for my shift on Friday. Oh, right, you're going to your grandma's for Thanksgiving. Will you be back for your shift on Friday?”

“Uh,” I said. “I'm not really sure. I might not be going. To my grandma's, I mean.” I thought, once again, about asking Dauntra what she would do in my shoes…about going to Camp David, I mean.

But the thing was, I already had a pretty good idea. What Dauntra would do, I mean.

Dauntra would Just Do It.

“I haven't really decided yet,” was what I settled for saying.

“Well, it won't be the same without you,” Dauntra said, just as someone in the background of wherever she was let out a shriek, and said, “Kevin! Don't!”

“Um,” I said. “Is everything okay there?”

“Oh, sure,” Dauntra said with a giggle. “Kevin just stepped on the pizza. Again.”

I didn't even bother to ask what the pizza was doing on the floor. I sound like a big enough dork when I talk to Dauntra.

“So listen,” Dauntra said. “I was thinking. We should do a die-in at work. To protest Stan searching our bags.”

“Um,” I said. “I don't know about that.”

“Come on! It'll be fun.”

“I'm not sure a die-in is the most effective way to get our point across,” I said. I hated to be the one to burst her bubble, especially because in so many ways, I wanted to
be
her. I mean, Dauntra just didn't care what anybody said about her. I wished I could be like that. “The thing is, we might get. You know. Fired.”

“God,” she said. “You're probably right. Damn. Oh, well. I'll think of something.”

“Okay,” I said. “Well. See ya later.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow night,” Dauntra said. And hung up, just as someone screamed, “Kev-IN!”

Which is kind of funny. I mean, that she said,
See you tomorrow night.
Because I'm not working tomorrow night. I have the town hall meeting on MTV.