The Boy Project (14 page)

Chip sat in Maybelline's seat in English today. He probably wouldn't have done it if The Vine hadn't been absent. He tugged my hair but I didn't turn around. He said, “Hey, we never finished talking about
Inkheart
.” Doesn't he realize that I'm acutely (new vocab word) aware of the specific reason we didn't get to finish that conversation?

So I told him I'd moved on to other books. To prove my point, I opened
Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy,
which is a book about a girl who goes to an all-girl spy school where you can't have boyfriends, but somehow
she
still manages to get one
.
I heard him get up and go back to his seat.

I'm sitting here stranded, once again, in my private office cubicle. That's right. The last stall in the boys' room. What a romantic place to spend lunch on Valentine's Day. This probably tops the list of “Stupid Things Kara Has Done.” At least last time I was kind of forced in here by survival instinct. I had to flee Maybelline. I was lucky to escape then with no one seeing me. Why did I risk possible detention and definite humiliation again?

Actually, I know why. But knowing something is a lot easier than forcing yourself to admit it to someone else. See, I heard Chip tell The Vine
he'd meet her at lunch after he used the restroom. Then, without really thinking about what I was doing, I ran in here ahead of him and locked myself in my now favorite stall. I guess I thought I'd hear him tell someone
something
while he was in here that would clue me in on how serious he is about The Vine. WHY DO I CARE?

Anyway, my plan totally backfired because not only has Chip failed to come in and start revealing information, Jonah Nate has not. I can tell it's him because he's talking about the Civil War. What other middle school boy uses lunch period to do that? He has poor Richie Lopez, whose accent gives him away, cornered as he rambles on and on. I can't leave unless they leave first, obviously.

Wait . . . I just heard my name. They're talking about
ME
!!!!! I'm writing this down.

Richie:
Really? You think Kara likes you? (What? Surely he's talking about some other Kara.)

Jonah Nate:
She
begged
to borrow one of my Civil War books. (Okay, it has to be me. But I NEVER begged. Asked. Did NOT beg.)

Richie:
Oh? (Sounds surprised. I admit, it is pretty surprising.)

Jonah Nate:
Yeah. I think she wanted to sleep with it under her pillow. (EWW and YUCK!)

Sound Effect:
Door opens. Guys grunt greeting to each other. Can't tell who entered. Water in sink is running.

Jonah Nate:
Anyway, since I'm pretty sure Kara likes me, I'm thinking about asking her to the spring dance. (!)

Person who just entered:
Kara McAllister?

Jonah Nate:
Yeah.

Person:
Dude, Kara is
way
out of your league. (True! But I feel flattered to hear someone else say it. Could it be Chip? Oh, to be a fly on the wall instead of a girl in a stall!)

Jonah Nate:
Shut up, Chip! (It
is
Chip!)

Chip:
Whatever.

Sound Effect:
Feet leaving.

Jonah Nate:
He's jealous.

Richie:
No, man. He has a pretty girl already. Gina. (
Cringe!
)

Jonah Nate:
She's not as pretty as Kara. (At least he's got good taste.)

There's no point writing down the rest of what they said, because the discussion went right back to the Civil War.
Blah blah blah
Civil War relics.
Blah blah
metal detectors.
Blah
fifteen and a half rusting musket balls. It was a pretty one-sided conversation, of course, with Jonah Nate doing most of the talking, but I'm pretty sure Richie was nodding his head. And smiling.

I just looked at my watch. Richie and Jonah Nate have spent almost the entire lunch period hanging out in the boys' room. Who does that? Besides me, I mean.

Why — won't — they — leave? Leave! Please leave! Please do not wait until the bell rings to walk out of that door.

They're still talking. I am
so
going to be tardy. . . .

Tardy. Definitely tardy. But that's not the worst bathroom-related thing that happened to me today. Not even close. See, as soon as I heard the door shut behind Jonah Nate and Richie, I made a break for it. But just as I stepped out of the stall, someone stepped into the bathroom. And it was Evan, of all people.

I had been ignoring Evan for the past two days, but it's hard to ignore a guy when he's the only other person in the room.

“Kara!” he said, looking surprised. Shocked, actually. “What are you
doing
in here?”

I didn't say anything.

He smiled that gorgeous smile and walked toward me.

I couldn't get my feet to move.

The bell started ringing.

I still couldn't get my feet to move.

“Why didn't you answer my note?”

Bell still ringing. Me still not speaking. What could I say?

“You know,” he said, moving even closer, “I think I picked the wrong one.” Then he leaned forward and kissed me. My first kiss!

I may never be able to forgive Evan for it either. Because he ruined it. You only get one first kiss and when that happens, you are supposed to be able to:

(a) tell your best friend about it.

(b) always remember exactly where it happened.

And thanks to Evan, these are the sensory experiences that I will forever associate with that moment.

SIGHT: urinal

SMELL: you don't want to know

TASTE: peanut butter

TOUCH: too panicked to enjoy

SOUND: bell ringing like some sort of cosmic alarm — letting me know I was going to be in trouble
no matter what

Finally both my voice and feet started working. I squeaked something that sounded a lot like “EEEP!” and bolted. Which ended up being the worst possible thing I could have done, because I was so panicked about the whole situation that I forgot to peek around the door before running out into the hall. So I ran smack into Maybelline, who's always going to class at the last chime of the bell.

Maybelline looked at me, then at the pants-wearing figure on the door I'd just exited. She said one word: “Freak.” But I knew she'd have a lot more to say to a lot more people, and soon.

Geez, it's only been an hour since I arrived in fourth period (tardy). But when we were changing classes just now, Dylan Hudson — who has barely ever spoken to me besides the time I sat at Maybelline's lunch table — pointed right at me and yelled, “Hey! There's Peeping Thomasina!” (Peeping Thomasina! They think I was trying to look! Which is totally creepy. My reputation is ruined!)

Maybelline never showed up for algebra. She obviously roamed the halls broadcasting what she saw, which I hope didn't include Evan leaving the restroom right after me! It's bad enough that she saw
me
come out of those doors, but if she knew I'd been in there with a guy . . . and that I'd kissed him . . . (even if I hadn't meant to) . . . I may as well pack up and move to Alaska, because I'll be a permanent outcast without even a best friend to stand by me. Because the last place Tabs will stand if she finds out about me and Evan is anywhere near me.

Almost as soon as I got to science, a note from Tabbi landed on my desk.

What were you doing in the boys' room?

I didn't write back. But I was relieved. The note didn't say a word about Evan. Still, I avoided Tabs for the rest of the day.

My afternoon was miserable with worrying that everyone will think I'm a total weirdo. I wish I could tell Tabbi the real reason I went in there but, well, admitting something to yourself is a lot easier than admitting something to anyone else.

As far as Dylan Hudson goes, I think he must have a major character flaw if he feels like it's okay to yell something rude across a crowded hallway to someone he never usually bothers to speak to. I mean, he was already down pretty low on my list of possibilities, but now I know there is no further research needed on Subject #14.

How ironic is it that my realization that I'll never, ever find a soul mate, or even a boyfriend, occurs on Valentine's Day! All this research has done is wreck my life. As of today I am giving up this stupid research project!

And still no boyfriend!

These charts pretty much prove that my research project is a complete and total failure. It's a terrible thing to devote your life to science and come up empty-handed.

I feel sick. I woke up with the word
freak
bouncing around in my head. As it boinged from one side of my brain to the other, the word sounded just like it did when it exited Maybelline's mouth and journeyed down my ear canal. “Freak.”

How can I face my friends when they think I'm a Peeping Tom? Or something else. Something so bad that I can't make myself write it.

And how can I face Tabbi? Because even though I didn't kiss Evan back yesterday . . . I wanted to. It feels like I drank a concrete milk shake and my insides are turning hard and heavy.

I told Mom my stomach hurt too bad to go to school. She believed me after I downed a dose of Pepto-Bismol, because she knows I hate the stuff. (I do. But unfortunately, there are worse things in life than Pepto-Bismol.)

Normally I'd celebrate a free day off but I'm pretty weepy. I know Mom's concerned, but I just can't make myself tell her the real reason I'm feeling sick.
I don't want her to be disappointed in me and I don't think she'd understand.

My cell is ringing, but I'm not even going to look at who's calling. What's the use? I don't plan on talking to anyone EVER AGAIN. I'm a humiliation hermit.

Thanks to Julie's skill at using a paper clip to open locked doors (worthless privacy locks!), I was only able to maintain hermit status for a few hours. Julie forced herself into my room, then forced me into a conversation. She started with, “Phillip told Lyle what people are saying.”

This is apparently one of those phrases that trigger those terrible sobs. The type that causes burning in the space between your lungs so that it feels like you've been seared on the inside. I guess a good thing about being human is that you can only cry like that for so long, no matter how bad you feel.

Eventually, I spilled the whole story about my
S
ul Observations
notebook and how I was doing research and how I'd accidentally discovered that hiding in the boys' room was a great way to gather data. And I told her that I was worried that I was never going to find a soul mate. Especially now that I'm a social outcast and labeled a Peeping Thomasina.

“Look,” said Julie. “I know it doesn't seem like it, but the rumors will pass. Promise.”

“What are the rumors exactly?” I sniffed.

Julie winced. “Colleen is telling everyone that you were spying on the boys.”

Okay, maybe you
can
cry the inside-searing cry for all eternity. Maybe at some point when you burst into tears, you simultaneously burst into flames. I think I'd have been okay with that.

Julie put her arm around me. “Phillip doesn't believe that. He said Colleen was really mean. That's why he told Lyle. Lyle doesn't believe it either. That's why he told me. They're worried about you. Just tell anyone who asks that you really, really had to go. Say it was an emergency and that you couldn't make it all the way to the other end of the hall.”

Then I told Julie about the thing — the heavy thing — that was really bothering me. I told her about what had happened with Evan. She said no one had mentioned Evan, which was good. But she also said, “You're going to have to tell Tabbi about the kiss. You know that, right?” Which was bad, but true. I don't have the energy to do it today, though.