“Oh?”
“This guy Dave.”
“Who’s Dave?” Mr. Slater says. “The new kid?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Mr. Slater sits down on the stool next to me. “Why’s he making you nervous? Did something happen?”
“No . . . it’s just . . . it’s not really him, it’s more like . . . the idea of him.”
He waits.
“Like, I want him to be who I imagine he is.” I reposition my T-square. “But what if he’s not really like that? What if he’s just some guy?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not what I’m looking for.”
Mr. Slater scratches his chin. “Tell me again what happened with your dad?”
I’m used to Mr. Slater’s non sequiturs by now. I’ve had art classes with him every year. He has this special talent for remembering the most mundane details of our lives and then showing them to us when we least expect it in this way that makes us understand our lives better.
“I don’t really know,” I say. “I think they were too young. My mom was only sixteen when she had me. Remember?” He nods. “My dad was a senior, but his parents took him out of school, and they moved away before I was born. I don’t remember ever seeing him.”
“Do you want to find him?”
“No.”
“Well, the only way to know who Dave is for sure is to get to know him.”
“True.”
“Mr. Slater!” erupts a screech from across the room. “My T-square broke!”
Mr. Slater smiles. “Good luck,” he tells me.
“Thanks.” It’s not that he said anything astounding. But his chill approach to life always helps me minimize stress.
But two corroded sketches later, I’m back to feeling nervous. When it was all just a fantasy with Dave, I was so impatient and excited. Now that he asked me out for real, it’s like I still want it to happen but at the same time I don’t. And I have lunch soon. With Dave.
And I have an actual date this weekend.
With Dave.
By the time Laila and I are walking to lunch, I’m a nervous wreck.
“So,” I say. “Do you think Dave’s sitting with us again?”
“That boy is completely infatuated with you,” Laila says. “Wild horses couldn’t keep him away.”
“What?”
“I have no idea what I just said. I think Mr. Carver permanently damaged my medulla oblongata.”
“What?”
“Hey,” Dave says. He’s waiting for me by the door.
“Hey,” I go. But I can’t really make eye contact with him. Even though we’ve talked on the phone the past two nights for a really long time, talking in person is way different. There’s something about him that’s like looking at the sun. He just looks
so
good. It’s a miracle I don’t spontaneously combust whenever I get within thirty feet of him.
Dave leans toward me and whispers, “Can I talk to you?”
"Uh... sure.” I look over at Laila. "I’ll be right in.”
“Take your time,” she says.
Laila goes in and sits down at our usual table. Maggie’s there, saving us seats. I love how we already have a usual table.
Dave says, “I was wondering if you want to sit with my friends today.”
“Um . . .” I look in at Maggie and Laila.
“’Cause last night? We were all hanging out at the mall, and Caitlin was saying how you seem cool but, like . . . she doesn’t really know you and stuff.”
“Oh.” I’m trying to look like it’s no big deal. But everyone knows when the boy you like wants you to meet his friends, it’s a big freaking deal. Particularly if it’s Caitlin, who is normally oblivious to the fact that you exist. So of course I want to sit with him! But then I remind myself of the first rule of sisterhood: best friends before boyfriends. I can’t just bail on Laila and Maggie like that. I decide to compromise. “What about next week? I promised Maggie and Laila—”
“No problem,” Dave says. “Are you buying?”
I wave my lunch bag in his face.
“That would be your lunch.” He smiles. His dirty-blond hair falls over his eyes. He flips it back in this sexy way.
“That would be, yeah.” My mouth is all dry.
“I’ll be right back.” He goes to get in line.
I sit down across from Maggie.
“Watch out, guys,” Maggie says. “It looks like octopus today.”
“What
is
that stuff?” Laila examines her tray.
“I told you,” Maggie says. “Octopus.”
“Is it noodles?” I ask.
“You guys aren’t listening!
Oc-to-pus!
” Maggie screams. “It’s octopus!”
“Appetizing,” I say.
Laila goes, “Could Mr. Perry be a bigger asshole?”
“I know!” He actually gave us a pop quiz today in calc, and it’s only the third day of school. Who does that? “And then he acts all shocked when no one’s ready? Please.”
“We really have to watch out for that guy,” Laila says. “I have a feeling he may be even more sadistic than Mr. Carver.”
“Like that’s even possible,” I say. “Wait. Let me tell you how—”
“Sara?”
I look up to see that Caitlin has graced me with her presence. And that would be the royal plural, since the two most popular guys are with her. Even though Dave told me what she said, it’s still hard to believe she’s not here on some twisted mission to humiliate me.
I glance over at Maggie. She’s looking at them like she’s my bodyguard and they’ve just threatened to kill me.
“Yeah?” I cautiously say to Caitlin.
She goes, “You’re talking to Dave, right?”
The way she smiles at me seems so legit you would think she’s being nice. I want to believe what Dave said, but any second now she’ll probably tell me to lay off him because he’s already reserved for a gorgeous girl who actually deserves him. Instead of a nobody nerd like me.
“Yeah?” I say. Alex, who’s captain of the basketball team, and Caitlin’s boyfriend, Matt, smile down at me.
Alex goes, “Sweet. I always thought you were cool.”
“Totally,” Matt adds. “Just, you know, shy.”
Did the most popular guys in school just call me cool?
Caitlin is still smiling at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. Maybe she doesn’t even realize how she usually ignores me. “You should come sit with us,” she says.
Is the most popular girl in school really asking me to hang with her? This can’t be real. But I say, “Yeah,” anyway. It appears to be the only word I know.
Dave comes back with his lunch. He puts his hand on my shoulder and sits down next to me. While he’s talking to Alex and Matt, I look over at Laila. She gives me this disapproving glare. I don’t even look at Maggie. I’m sure I already know what she’s thinking.
“So I was about to tell Sara that we should all hang out sometime,” Caitlin says to Dave.
“Sure,” he says.
“Cool.” Caitlin smiles. “We’ll talk.”
“Later, dude,” Matt says to Dave.
“Later.”
Caitlin grabs Matt’s hand. “Let’s go, Pooky.”
I’m like,
Pooky?
They drift off with an air of importance.
Laila looks over at Dave. “Well, Pooky,” she says, “you better start eating. Your octopus is getting cold.”
Dave gives Laila a strange look. Like he’s annoyed or something. It’s only for a second, but it’s like he’s mad at her for making fun of his friends.
He takes a huge bite of whatever it is and gags. “Uh! What is this stuff ?”
“I thought octopus was your favorite,” I say.
“Yeah, but this is something else. Ostrich strips, maybe.”
“No, no,” Laila says. She samples another bite. “Eel skins. Definitely eel skins.”
“You guys are weird,” Maggie announces. “I’m getting a sandwich.”
“Chicken,” Laila says.
“I don’t think there’s chicken,” Maggie says.
“I’ll go,” I say. “I need a new sandwich. The jelly totally leaked through on mine.”
“Get me one? Here.” Dave takes out a twenty and hands it to me. “My treat.”
As I’m walking to the line, I have to pass a table of jocks. I hold my breath, speed up, and watch the floor. But then I glance over at them anyway. One of the girls grabs another girl’s arm and points to me. Then she whispers something, and they smile at me. One of them even says, “Hey, Sara,” as I walk by.
I know Laila and Maggie aren’t feeling me right now. Snobs who ignore you forever and then suddenly start acting like they’ve been your friends all along don’t interest them. And somewhere deep down, I know they shouldn’t interest me, either.
But after being a nobody for so long, it feels awesome to be a somebody. A girl could get addicted to being treated like she matters.
CHAPTER 8
not that i’m desperate
september 4, 7:23 p.m.
“I don’t fucking believe this.”
The Cure’s
Disintegration
plays on repeat mode.
Mike examines the chess board.
"I just don’t fucking believe this happened,” I say. "How did this happen again? What exactly did I do wrong?”
“Well, since you asked,” Mike says, “it’s like this: One, you were too much of a wimp to say anything to her. Two, you went back to school with no plan. Dave had a plan. He got Sara. You got
nada
.” Mike leans back, balancing on the back legs of the chair. "Zilch. Zero.You didn’t have the balls to go up to her. Dude. I warned you this would happen.”
“Thanks. I feel so much better now.” I move a pawn up two spaces.
“I don’t even get it. You had no problem with Cynthia, and any guy would kill to nail her. What’s so hard about talking to Sara?”
“She’s different. It’s complicated.”
“Okay,” Mike says. “You fucked up. But there’s hope.”
“There is?”
“Totally, man. Look, I’ll tell you what to do, but if I tell you, you have to swear that you’re gonna do it.”
Mike’s practically the only person I trust for advice on getting the girl. His whole philosophy of dating has been about quantity, not quality. So he’s had a wide variety of experiences. You can most definitely trust a person with experiences.
“And just what am I supposed to do?” I say.
“Promise you’ll do it first.”
“Whatever. She’s already going out with Dave.”
“Man, what’s with you? Why are you being such a pussy?”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
“You don’t get it. He just asked her out, what,
Tuesday
? It’s not like he’s suddenly her boyfriend in two days. You have just as much chance as he does.”
“Right. Only he’s the one who’s with her.” I move my rook. "Fucking asshole.”
“You have to play it like you’re the most incredible guy out there.” He moves his rook. “It’s all about strategy.”
Mike is so kicking my ass right now. He’s like this chess mastermind.We’re both smart types in general, but no one else really knows this. He tries to reject academic restraints like me. At least, until his mom threatens that we can’t practice at his place anymore. Then he’s forced to do his homework.
It’s this big mystery to everyone why I choose to be such a massive slacker. The guidance counselor is always like, "Your grades are not reflective of the work you could do,” and “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?” As if we’re actually going to encounter any of this in real life. Maybe if classes weren’t so useless I might work up an interest. They don’t get that the reason so many of us aren’t into school is simply because it’s boring. Why can’t they make it relevant to our lives? Anyway, I make decent grades by acing all the tests and quizzes. They’re always cake. Not doing homework kind of balances the whole thing out, and I end up with a B-minus or C average every year. Which is fine with me.
So now I’m trying to convince the ultimate class brain that I’m smart. Or at least smart enough for her to want to be with me.
I sigh in defeat. “Dave’s got her. I should just accept it and move on.” But the thought of moving on from something I never had in the first place is depressing. “I can’t move on.”
“Shit, man. Force her to notice you.”
“How?”
“You can strategize it so you just happen to run into her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like . . . you can see when she goes to her locker to switch books. Then you just figure out which way she walks after. And you can try to find out her schedule.”
“So that’s what I’m supposed to do? Pretend to run into her?”
"Just ... talk to her! The same way you talked to all the others, man!”
But that’s the thing. All the other girls I’ve been involved with approached me first. I didn’t really have to convince them to like me.
“See what she does,” Mike explains. “If she likes you, talk some more the next day. But if she’s totally repulsed, then you know she doesn’t like you.”
“This is your major plan?”
“No, dude. This is my typical chick-catching method. For single girls. In your case, we need something more extreme.”
“Like what?”
But Mike is hesitating. “I bet if I tell you, you won’t even do it.”
“I’ll try anything at this point.” I don’t have to look at the chess board to know I’m losing this game. “Not that I’m desperate.”
“No, of course not.You?” Mike snorts.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go already.”
“If you don’t do it, you have to wash my car.”
“I don’t even know what it is yet!”
“Too bad. That’s the deal.”
I’m so obviously desperate. “Okay, fine. Just tell me what to do.”
“And wax.”
“Fuck you!”
“And wax.”
I pick up my king. "Fine,” I tell him. "But it can’t be, like, some crazy shit you know I would never do anyway.”
Mike pretends to look hurt. “Am I not your best friend?”
“Let me try to remember.”
“Look, people pay for this kind of advice. Self-help books are written about this stuff, and I’m telling you for free.”
“That’s why I let you hang out with me,” I say.