Tried, tried, tried.
And, of course, failed miserably.
When I was in kindergarten, I had a traumatic monkey bars experience. I’d been halfway across, my legs swinging beneath me,
when my hands got sweaty and made me slip. I fell for what seemed like a mile before landing on the ground in a heap. All
the other five-year-olds laughed at me and my scraped, bloody knee. All of them but one.
Casey Blithe walked out of the gawking group of grade-schoolers and came to stand in front of me. Even back then, I knew she
was beautiful. Blond locks, hazel eyes, rosy cheeks… the epitome of five-year-old perfection. She could have been in pageants.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I said through thick, hot tears. I wasn’t sure whether I was crying because of the pain in my knee or because
of the way all my classmates were laughing at me.
“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. Let me help.” She reached
out a hand and pulled me up. Then she turned and yelled at the kids who were making fun of me.
After that, she basically appointed herself my personal caretaker, never letting me out of her sight, determined to keep me
out of trouble. From that moment on, we were best friends.
Of course, that was before popularity and Duffs got involved. She wound up being tall (almost six one—the girl was an Amazon!)
and thin and gorgeous. I wound up looking like… well, the opposite. To see us separately, no one would ever think we were
close. No one would guess the pretty Homecoming Queen was with the chubby mousy-haired girl in the corner.
But we were best friends. She’d been there for me through everything. She’d even stuck by me freshman year, after I’d had
my heart broken for the first—and if I had anything to do with it,
only
—time. She never let me isolate myself or drown in my own misery. Despite the fact that she could easily find prettier, cooler,
more popular friends, she stayed with me.
So when she asked me to drive her home after cheerleading practice on Wednesday afternoon, I agreed. I mean, after all she’d
done for me over the past twelve years, the least I could do was give her a lift every now and then.
I waited in the cafeteria, staring at the psychedelic blue-and-orange walls (the guy who picked our school colors must have
been on some serious drugs), attempting to finish my calculus homework. I was in the middle of asking myself the age-old question—
where will I use this in real life?
—when I felt a hand on my shoulder. That skin-crawly thing happened, and I knew exactly who was behind me.
Great. Just fucking great.
I jerked out from under Wesley’s hand and spun around to face him, gripping my pencil like a dart and aiming it right at his
Adam’s apple.
He didn’t even flinch. His gray eyes examined the pencil with feigned curiosity and he said, “Interesting. Is this how you
greet all the boys you like?”
“I
don’t
like you.”
“Does that mean you love me, then?”
I hated the smooth, confident way he spoke. A lot of girls thought it was sexy, but it was really just stalker-ish. Everything
about him screamed
date rape!
to me. Ugh.
“It means that I
hate
you,” I snapped. “And if you don’t stay the fuck away from me, I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
“Might be a hard case,” Wesley mused. He swiped the pencil from me and began twirling it between his fingers. “Especially
considering you’re the one who kissed me. Technically, I could report
you
for harassment.”
I gritted my teeth, still hating to even think about it, not even bothering to remind him that he’d been more than willing
to participate. “Give me back my pencil,” I muttered.
“I don’t know,” he said. “With you, this could be classified as a dangerous weapon… along with glasses of cherry soda. Interesting
choice, by the way. I’d always pegged you for more of a Sprite girl. You know…
plain
.”
I just glared at him, hoping he would spontaneously combust before I grabbed my textbooks and notepads off the table. He dodged
my attempt to stomp on his foot and stared after me
as I marched down the hallway. I was halfway to the gym, where Casey, the cheerleading captain, should have been wrapping
up practice, when he caught up with me.
“Oh, come on, Duffy. That was just a joke. Lighten up.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Your sense of humor needs some work, then,” Wesley suggested. “Most girls find my jokes charming.”
“Those girls must have IQs low enough to trip over.”
He laughed.
Apparently,
I
was the funny one.
“Hey, you never told me why you were upset the other night,” he said. “You were too busy shoving your tongue down my throat.
So what was the problem?”
“None of your—” I began, but I stopped suddenly. “Hey! I didn’t… there was no tongue!” A shiver of rage ran through me as
I noticed his mischievous smile. “You son of a bitch! Get the fuck out of here. God, why are you stalking me? I thought Wesley
Rush didn’t chase girls. I thought they chased him, right?”
“You’re right. Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, and I’m not chasing you,” he said. “I’m here waiting for my sister. She’s
making up a test for Mr. Rollins. I just saw you in the cafeteria and thought—”
“What? Thought you’d torture me a little more?” I clenched my fists. “Leave me the hell alone. You’ve already made me miserable.”
“How have I done that?” he asked, sounding a little surprised.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that
Duff’
was plaguing me because of him. He’d enjoy it too much.
Instead, I took off running to the gym doors as fast as I could. This time he didn’t follow me—thank God. I hurried into the
blue-and-orange gymnasium (Oh God. Bright colors… I could feel a headache coming already… ) and took a seat on the closest
bleacher.
“Great practice, girls!” Casey cried from the other side of the gym. “Okay, the next basketball game is Friday. I want you
all to practice the dance, and Vikki, work on those high kicks. All right?”
The Skinny Squad murmured in general agreement.
“Awesome,” said Casey. “See you later, guys. Go Panthers!”
“Go Panthers!” the other cheerleaders echoed as they separated. Most of the girls hurried to the locker room, but a few headed
for the doors, chatting excitedly with their friends.
Casey skipped over to me. “Hey, B,” she said. “Sorry we went a little overtime. Do you mind if I change before we get out
of here? I feel a little stinky.”
“I don’t care,” I murmured.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly suspicious.
“Nothing, Casey. Go change.”
“Bianca, I can tell—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I wasn’t about to get into another Wesley discussion with her. She’d probably wind up defending
him like last time. “I’m fine, okay?” I said, softening my voice. “Long day. Headache.”
Casey still looked skeptical when she walked, with considerably less pep, to the locker room.
Fantastic. I felt like a total bitch. She’d only wanted to make
sure I was okay, and I shut her out. I shouldn’t have taken my anger at Wesley out on her, even if she did think he was a
fucking prince.
But when she came out of the locker room in her hoodie and jeans, her usual cheer had returned. She swung her purse over her
shoulder and came to where I was sitting, a smile plastered across her spotless, smooth face. “Sometimes, I can’t believe
the shit I hear in the locker room,” she said. “You ready to go, B?”
“Sure.” I picked up my books and started toward the gym doors, hoping that Wesley wasn’t still lurking in the hallway.
Casey must have noticed my anxiety. I could see the tense, worried look on her face, but she didn’t bring it up again. Instead,
she said, “So, okay, Vikki is
totally
gonna get a reputation as a whore.”
“She already has one.”
“Well, yeah,” Casey admitted, “but it’s about to get worse. She’s dating that junior football player—you know, what’s-his-name—but
she told some guy from Oak Hill High that she’d take him to Basketball Homecoming. I don’t know why she does this stuff to
herself. You, Jess, and me will have a front-row seat for the drama when it all comes out that night. BTW, what are you wearing
to the dance?”
“Nothing.”
“Hot, but I doubt they’ll let you in naked, B.” We were walking through the maze of tables in the cafeteria on our way to
the parking lot.
“No. I mean, Jessica and I aren’t going to Homecoming,” I said.
“Of course you are,” Casey protested.
I shook my head. “Jessica is grounded. I promised her I’d come over and we’d watch girly movies.”
Casey looked stunned as we pushed through the blue door and entered the freezing student parking lot. “What? But Jess loves
Basketball Homecoming. It’s her favorite after prom and Football Homecoming.”
I smiled a little, in spite of myself. “And Sadie Hawkins.”
“Why didn’t I know about this? Homecoming is getting close. Why didn’t you all tell me?”
I shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t even think about it. And I guess Jessica is still moping. She might not want to talk about not
being able to go.”
“But… but who will I go to the dance with now?”
“Um, a boy,” I suggested. “Casey, it’s not as if it’ll be hard for you to get a date.” I fished the car keys out of my back
pocket and unlocked the doors of my Saturn.
“Right, who the hell wants to go with Sasquatch?”
“You are
not
Sasquatch.”
“Besides,” she said, ignoring me, “it’s way better to go with you guys.” She climbed into the passenger’s seat and wrapped
herself in the blanket Jessica had used a few nights earlier. “Damn it, B. You really need to get that fucking heater fixed.”
“You really need to get your own car.”
She changed the subject. “Okay, so back to the dance. If you two aren’t going… do you guys care if I crash your movie fest?
It could be a Girls’ Night In. We haven’t had one of those in a while.”
Despite my crappy mood, I smiled. Casey was right. We
hadn’t had a movie night together in a long time, and it would be nice to hang out without the drama of boys or loud techno
music. For once, I might actually have fun on a Friday night. So I reached for the volume on my stereo and said, “A week from
Friday, it’s a date.”
When the Friday of our Girls’ Night In finally rolled around, I was more than ready for a nice, relaxing evening with my best
friends—and the wonderfully Scottish James McAvoy, of course. I’d shoved the copy of
Becoming Jane
that Jessica had given me for Christmas, a pair of barely used pajamas (yeah, I sleep naked at home—so what?), and my toothbrush
into my backpack. Casey was bringing the popcorn, and Jessica promised us big bowls of chocolate swirl ice cream.
As if my ass wasn’t big enough.
But naturally, the day couldn’t be all good. Mrs. Perkins, my English teacher, made sure of that during fourth block.
“So, that’s
The Scarlet Letter,
” she said, closing her book. “Did you enjoy it, class?”
There was a low grumble in the negative, but Mrs. Perkins didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, because Hawthorne’s work is so extraordinary and applicable to contemporary society, I want each of you to write a
report pertaining to the novel.” She ignored the loud sighs. “The report can be about any part of the book—a character, a
scene, a theme—but I want it to be very well thought out. I will also be allowing you to work in pairs”—the class buzzed with
excitement—“which I will assign.” The excitement vanished.
I knew I was in trouble when Mrs. Perkins pulled out her roll sheet. That meant she would be assigning partners based on alphabetical
order, and since there were no kids whose last names started with Q in that class, my partner was bound to be—
“Bianca Piper will work with Wesley Rush.”
Shit.
I’d managed to steer clear of Wesley for a week and a half—since the day he’d harassed me after school—but Mrs. Perkins had
to go and screw that up.
She rattled off the last few names on her list before saying, “I expect the reports to be no fewer than five pages long—and
that’s twelve-point font, double-spaced, Vikki. Don’t pull that stunt again.” She laughed good-naturedly. “Now, I want partners
to work together. Both must contribute to the report. And be creative, people! Have fun!”
“Not likely,” I muttered to Jessica, who sat at the desk next to mine.
“Oh, I think you’re lucky, Bianca,” she said. “I’d be thrilled if Wesley was my partner. But my heart belongs to Harrison.
It is
so
unfair that Casey gets to work with him.” She glanced toward Casey’s assigned seat, all the way across the classroom. “She’ll
probably get to see his house and bedroom and everything. Do you think she’ll say some good things about me if I ask? Maybe
she’ll be, like, my wing girl.”
I didn’t bother answering.
“The reports are due in exactly one week!” Mrs. Perkins announced over the chatter. “So, please work on them this weekend.”
The bell rang and the whole class stood up at the same time. Tiny Mrs. Perkins scurried out of the way to avoid being trampled
by the stampede toward the door. Jessica and I joined the crowd, and Casey caught up to us just as we stepped into the hall.
“This is bullshit,” she hissed. “An essay over nothing? I don’t want to pick a topic. That’s her freaking job! What is the
point of this damn assignment if she can’t even give us something to write about? It’s ridiculous.”
“But you get to work with Harrison, and—”
“Please, Jess, don’t start with that crap.” Casey rolled her eyes. “He. Is. Gay. It isn’t gonna happen, okay?”
“You never know! So you won’t play wing girl for me?”
“I’ll meet you guys in the cafeteria,” I said, turning in the direction of my locker. “I need to grab a few things first.”
“Cool.” Casey grabbed Jessica by the wrist and pulled her toward the other hallway. “We’ll meet you by the snack machines,
’kay, B? Come on, Jess.” And they left me alone in the packed corridor. Okay, not really
packed
. Hamilton High had only around four hundred students or something, but considering the low numbers, the hallways seemed pretty
crowded that afternoon. Or
maybe I was just stressed out and getting claustrophobic. Anyway, my friends ran away, and I was left among the beasts.