Take Me There (22 page)

“Oh.” The thing is, I don’t really want to ask Rhiannon anymore. “I don’t know.”

“Now that Jessica’s out of the picture, you’re free, bro.”

“And?”

“And . . . what are you waiting for?” Danny’s looking at something behind me. It’s the third time he’s looked.

“What’s up?”

He leans over the table. “Those girls over there? Have been checking us out since they got here.”

“Word?”

“Dead ass.”

I turn halfway around. He’s right. They do that thing where they snap their heads back so fast you know they were just looking at you.

“Nice,” I say. I take an onion ring from the pile between us.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“About what?”

“Man.” Danny chews his veggie burger. “You’re hopeless.”

“If you’re talking about those girls, they’re not my type.”

“Not your
type
?”

“No.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What does it sound like it means?”

“It sounds like an excuse to be miserable. What happened with Jessica anyway?”

“I told you.”

“Well, I wasn’t convinced.”

“She was . . .” I pick up another onion ring. “She was jealous of Rhiannon.”

Danny watches me.

I give him an exasperated look. “She didn’t get how we’re just friends.”

“So why didn’t you explain it?”

“I tried.”

“Right.”

“Whatever. I wasn’t that into her anyway.”

Danny glances over at the girls. There’s a burst of giggling from their booth. “Let’s see. Jessica is gorgeous. And smart. And funny. And interesting.”

“And your point is?”

“She’s all those things, but you weren’t that into her.”

“Exactly.”

“Unbelievable, man.”

Danny is the smartest person I know. So I really don’t get why he consistently evades grasping this simple concept. Just because some girl is girlfriend material to him shouldn’t imply that I have to agree. I mean, the guy derives equations to predict future climate change due to global warming for fun, and he can’t get
this
?

“I’m setting you up with someone for the dance,” Danny mentions.

“Who?”

“Just someone from Millennium.”

I really don’t want to start something up with another girl right now. And I’m sure this fix-up will be a disaster.

The girls from the other table get up to leave. They stare at us as they walk by our table. Slowly. Staring.

Danny and I attack the pile of onion rings.

THE WHOLE THING
looks awesome the next morning. Huge and exciting and scary. Like something that would only happen in a movie.

Kids crowd around it, trying to figure out what it means.

Someone says it’s a bomb threat.

Someone says school was canceled.

Someone else says the police were already here and it’s not.

This other girl says how it’s the terrorists.

So now I’m nervous about getting in some serious trouble. I’ve never been in any kind of trouble, so possibly getting suspended is really scaring me. But I don’t think I’ll get caught. There’s another Steve in this school who’s a sophomore, so there’s the possibility that people will think it’s for him instead. And as far as the school is concerned, Steve and I are ancient history that people can hardly remember. So much drama has happened with other people since we broke up that our relationship is like something from way back in the Cretaceous Period. Plus, it’s not like I signed it or anything.

I walk right over the message and push open the door like it doesn’t even interest me. Like I didn’t even notice it. I’m too nervous to stop by Steve’s locker. I keep walking to Earth Science. Did he see it by now? He must have seen it by now. Unless he’s late. I wish I knew what he was thinking right this second.

By second period, a lot of people are talking about it. I’m pretending to stretch in my squad on the gym floor, but I’m listening to Joni and Maria talking behind me.

“It’s pathetic,” Maria seethes.

“How desperate can a girl be?” Joni adds.

“Which Steve do you think it is?”

“The sophomore. Mamusu totally likes him.”

“Totally.”

“I bet she did it.”

“He’s not even that cute, though.”

“Well, it can’t be Steve Cannavale,” Joni says. “Unless . . .”

Silence.

I stretch my leg out to the side and grab my sneaker. I peek at them from between my leg and my arm.

It’s obvious that they’re not only talking about me but they’re talking about me behind my back. Literally.

I twist around. “What?”

Maria is inspecting her nails. Joni gives me this look like she feels sorry for me.

“Don’t you know?” Joni says.

“About what?”

“Did you write it?” Maria digs.

I lean over to stretch again. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I insist.

I try to look unaffected, but my heart is pounding so hard. Don’t I know about
what
? It can’t be the whole Gloria thing, because there’s nothing to know. It was just a kiss. Which means absolutely nothing. Steve and I have a history together and what do they have? Some sleazy groping in the hall? Big whoop.

But then why was Joni looking at me like that? I could ask her, but I’m too afraid of what she might tell me. Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t think the message is going to work. But that’s only because she doesn’t know how it was with us.

I stretch out my other leg. A group of three girls is whispering, all of them looking over at me. I know the look they have. It’s the look where you know something about someone but you don’t want to be the one to tell them what it is.

So people
are
assuming it’s me.

It’s official. I’m mortified.

I just hope I’m mortified with a really sweet payoff.

Question: Why can’t I just stay in bed, where it’s safe?

We’re supposed to be working with our neighbor on this math worksheet. But I’m not paying attention to any of the problems. Because I’m trying to hear if anyone else is talking about what I wrote.

“. . . You’re supposed to minus point A from point B.”

“Let me see your calculator?”

“You don’t need a calculator for twelve minus five.”

“What is it then? . . .”

“. . . Clements gave homework?”
“Not in my world.”
“Nice. . . .”

“. . . Do it like how he did on the board.”

“That
is
how he did it.”

“Oh snap. . . .”

It all sounds like normal conversation. But I keep listening just in case.

Today Mr. Farrell is wearing his light blue shirt with the dark purple tie and navy pants. Someone needs to sit the man down and have a serious conversation about color coordination.

I glance back at Nicole’s desk. I want to give her a look like,
Get me out of here. Now.
But she’s weaving through the desks up to the front. Then I hear her tell Mr. Farrell that her pencil ran out.

“So you’d like to borrow another one?” he says.

Okay. This is weird. Nicole knows I always have a whole row of mechanical pencils, plus sharpened ones, all lined up in my bag. And a pencil sharpener in my pencil case, which also has erasers and mini glitter pens. So why is she even up there? She always asks me for a pencil or my sharpener or whatever else she needs. Since when does she go to someone else? Especially a teacher? Plus, a few minutes ago she was totally zoning out, which she never does in math.

I swear, between this and everything in gym and Steve avoiding me all day, I’m seriously angsting. At least, I think he’s avoiding me. I didn’t see him at any of our usual places. Even though it’s only third period. But whatever. We have lunch next. There’s no way he won’t want to make up by then.

And maybe I’m just being paranoid about the people-talking-about-me thing, because I still don’t hear anything. All I hear is a group arguing about the answer to number four.

“OD! Why you beastin’, son?”

“That’s it. No more answers for Lemarr.”

“You’re fired!”

“Except you can’t be fired from school, genius.”

That would be so cool. If the same rules applied to school as they do to jobs. I could really use a personal day. You can take personal days at work. Which would only be fair, since we’re forced to do all this work and we don’t even get paid for it.

Thunder rumbles. Everyone looks out the window. The sky is all dark. Great. I just had to wear my new sparkly flip-flops today. And I didn’t bring my umbrella. The sidewalk chalk is going to be washed away soon. I hope Steve saw it. But like duh. Of course he saw it. Everyone’s probably been interrogating him about it all day. And as much as I want to pretend the queer looks I’ve been getting from people are just a figment of my imagination, I should probably admit that they’re real.

Nicole passes my desk on the way back to hers. She’s been talking to Mr. Farrell this whole time, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying because everyone else was talking too loud. She glances at me and then looks away quickly. I get that bad feeling again. Maybe she’s heard stuff about me.

I look over at Mr. Farrell. He’s staring out the window.

When I get to the cafeteria and see Steve, I don’t even look for James or put my stuff down. I just go over to his table.

But right before I get there, Gloria slinks over. And all of a sudden I get it. Everything that’s been happening comes rushing in at me. I know before I know. I know she’s going to sit down next to him.