Adorkable (12 page)

The more time I spent with my new F.B.F., the harder it was for me to tell fact from fiction.

Like right now.

He was walking with me to German, my hand tucked in his as if we’d walked this way for years. Schmuck that I was, I couldn’t help thinking our hands fit just right.

Nowadays everyone, even Hooker, recognized us as a couple. I was still Spitz the dorky girl who cursed in German when she got really upset or angry. And he was still Becks the soccer phenom who pretended not to see girls throwing him inviting glances they thought I didn’t see (which I did). But even those skeezy skeezes thought Becks and I were the real thing. They just didn’t like it. It was like it was okay to flirt with him because, in their eyes, I was replaceable. Any day now Becks would realize his mistake and drop me. They thought they could break us up with a short skirt, a coy glance, a well-executed hair flip. It was frustrating.

First, could I get a little sisterly solidarity, please? And second, what the heck was wrong with everyone? The whole point of this plan had been to convince people, but I hadn’t expected it to go this well. Didn’t
anyone
get it? None of it was real. Becks was only going through the motions of being a boyfriend; it was all just a game.

More importantly: Didn’t
I
get it?

As he faced me, lifted my hand and delivered a heart-stopping kiss to my knuckles, the answer was as embarrassing as it was telling.

God, I was such an idiot.

“I’ll see you at assembly,” he said, eyes growing concerned. “Don’t worry, okay? He says anything offensive, cop or not, I’ll give him five across the face.”

The tingles shooting up my arm momentarily stole my hearing, so what he said didn’t sink in until I walked into class (early for once), took a seat and found Hooker, the same concern written on her face.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” she said. “You two might not even have to speak. He’ll be too busy getting his ass kissed by everyone else.”

Before I could ask what she meant, a voice sounded over the intercom.

“Seniors please report to the auditorium for today’s Crack Down on Crime assembly. We’ll be calling juniors in the next few minutes, and then sophomores and freshmen subsequently.”

I shut my eyes.

“What,” Hooker said, “don’t tell me you forgot? Spitz, you dread this day.”

She was right. I usually planned ahead, arranged to be “sick” on CDOC day. My untimely forgetfulness showed how distracting Becks and the F.B.F. plan truly were. I considered telling Ms. Vega I was ill—my rolling stomach was a recent development, but it was real enough. She’d probably let me duck out of assembly, go to the nurse.

But then I would have let him scare me off.

That was something I couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—let happen. Taking a mental health day was one thing, but hiding in the nurse’s station while he preened in front of my peers was plain out yellow-bellied.

There was only one thing to do.

“
Scheisse
,” I cursed.

“
Scheisse
,” Hooker agreed. “Your Dad’s a total
scheisse
head full of
scheisse
. He’s just one big piece of
scheisse
with a badge.”

I forced a smile but couldn’t make it stick.

Time to go watch Deputy Dad play the hero for a crowd of unsuspectings, I thought.

Dad was a good showman; I’d give him that. For the kids and most of the teachers, it was love at first sight. Him, the shiny black uniform, his stories of crime and capture, they bought it all. About thirty minutes in, a girl from my class leaned over and said, “Man, Spitz, your Dad is awesome.” That was when he was demonstrating the different ways to take down an assailant on the run. The tackle had been impressive, I supposed, but not unexpected. The guy was half his size, and Dad, a former linebacker, had attacked from behind. Hardly fair, if you ask me.

Hearing this, stats teacher Mr. Woodruff spun around in his chair a row in front of us, stars in his eyes.

“Are you telling me that’s your father up there?” Mr. Woodruff was obviously under Nick Spitz’s spell.

“That’s right,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.

“You’re one lucky girl,” he remarked then turned back around.

I grimaced.

Dad and the other officers had moved on to the PowerPoint portion. There were multiple slides, one displaying a pie chart of casualty rates for the city, another with definitions for the different types of crime and prison sentences for each, a promo for the department, including traits they looked for in potential candidates, and the last outlining the ways citizens could help by upholding the law and cracking down on crime in their own neighborhoods. It ended with my dad spouting off some nonsense about how the youth was our future and could change the world.

When the never-ending PSA was over, everyone cheered. Hooker and I kept our hands planted in our laps. I was sure she did it more to support me than anything, but I appreciated the gesture.

Seniors got to stay behind and ask questions while the cops made their way down to the audience. Dad didn’t look at me once. Not even when there was a question from the guy directly to my right, Everett Ponce, a total brownnoser. It was like I was invisible—which was fine with me so long as I got out of there without having to trade words with the jerk.

Classes started filing out. I thought I was in the clear when a familiar voice said, “Not even going to say hi to me, huh?”

I took a deep breath then pivoted around.

“Hey, Dad.”

My voice sounded stiff, but it couldn’t be helped. There he was, Deputy Nick Spitz, crime fighter, revered cop, award-winning officer and crap-tastic father of the decade. The last was my own personal award. He was a hero to everyone but me and for good reason.

“Hi there, Sally girl,” he said like we chatted every day. “How’s your mother?”

“Mom’s fantastic.” I hated when he called me that.

“Still working at that bridal place?”

“Yeah,” I said, happy for the first time since I’d seen him. “She actually got a big promotion two months ago.”

His smile widened. “Well, that’s great. Not much farther she can go in that place, but that’s just terrific. I’m glad to hear she’s moving up in the world.”

That’s right, I thought. Moving up and doing fine without any help from you.

It’d taken a lot of courage for Mom to leave the great Nick Spitz when I was just five, but she’d gotten out of a bad relationship, raised me on her own, and was thriving in a job she loved. Despite Dad’s insults and his constant put-downs, she was a fighter. It had to eat him up how successful Mom was in her job. I hoped it did.

“I see you’re still wearing those odd clothes of yours.” He gestured to my green “Yoda Knows Best” tee and shook his head. “Don’t see how you’re ever going attract a man wearing all that nonsense.”

And suddenly Becks was there.

“Sal,” he said, laying a gentle hand on my elbow, “you alright?”

“Fine,” I said. This time his touch seemed to give me strength.

Hooker muttered, “Want me to give him five across the face?”

I shook my head, wondering when that expression had gotten so popular.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” Dad said, giving Becks a long look. “You dating my daughter? Seems a little strange if you ask me.”

“Yeah, I am,” Becks said in a hard tone. “And nobody did ask you.”

Dad held up his hands. “Easy there son, I was just stating facts.”

Becks didn’t fall for it. “I’m not your son.”

“Okay, okay,” Dad said, his smile a tight line. “No need to get angry. I’m just saying Sally girl isn’t your typical Southern beauty. Has too much of her momma in her for that.”

Alright, now even I wanted to give him five across the face, but before I could lift a hand, before I could form a fist, the Sheriff stepped in.

“How’s it going over here, Nick?” His old eyes passed from one face to the other and stopped on me. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, looking from me to my Dad and back again. “I never knew you had a child.”

“Yes, sir,” Dad smiled as if he hadn’t just told my F.B.F. I was ugly. “This is my Sally girl, the only one I’ve got.”

Lucky me, I thought.

The Sherriff, hands on hips, puffed out his big barrel chest. “You must be pretty proud. I just cannot believe this. Nick here’s prone to practical jokes. So tell me young woman, are you really Deputy Spitz’s daughter?”

“No.”

The word was out of my mouth before I could think. I didn’t know what came over me...but it felt really good.

“Sally,” Dad hissed, but I ignored him.

“No,” I repeated, “I’m Martha Nicholls’s daughter.”

Brows contracted, the Sheriff asked, “But isn’t Nick your father?”

I had a true
Star Wars
moment. The urge to scream “Nooooo!” at the top of my lungs, just as Luke had when Darth Vader revealed his parentage, was tempting. The possibility of seeing Dad’s face was nearly too much to resist. Instead I decided to take the high road.

“I guess.” I shrugged then looked over at my friends. They were both smiling. “We should get back to class.”

“You’re just like your mother,” Dad said to my back.

Stopping, I turned. “You better believe it.”

Hooker was so proud she called me Super Spitz the rest of the day; Becks couldn’t stop grinning; and I was walking on air. Standing up to him, for my mom, for myself, it sent me on the best kind of power trip. I was free, liberated. For a second there I even considered burning my bra. Hours later adrenaline still coursed through my veins. There had to be some major endorphins going on there too because I was far too giddy for there not to be. What happened between fifth and sixth period was a result of this feeling—or at least, that’s what I told myself.

It couldn’t have been jealousy. No way, I was above all that, a rock of strength and conviction. My sense of justice was tested when I saw Twyla Cornish plastered all over Becks in the hall, her hands clinging to his right arm, body pressed to his side. Anger flared hot in my gut. I’d had about enough of women throwing themselves at my boyfriend—correction
fake
boyfriend...but the fake part wasn’t common knowledge. This wasn’t about the green-eyed monster, I assured myself as I strode directly to Becks and the bespectacled home wrecker, ripped her hands away and shoved Becks into the storeroom where we’d started this thing over a week ago. It was about self-respect.

As the bell rang, I glared at him. I was missing the first part of British Lit, my favorite class.

“Something wrong?” Becks asked.

Yeah, like he didn’t know.

“Why’re you looking at me like that, Sal?”

“Baldwin Eugene Charles Kent, ich kann es nicht fassen,” I huffed, letting my anger carry me away. “Wir hatten eine Abmachung, kannst Du Dich daran noch erinnern?”

Becks looked confused. “What?”

“Oh, hör auf, so zu tun. Du weisst genau, was ich meine.”

“No, Sal, really,” he said. “Yo no habla German. Remember?”

The innocent act didn’t fool me. Full of indignation, I jabbed a finger at him, making sure to say it in English so he’d get it this time. “Now, I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen good.” I enunciated each word, spelling it out clear as day. “I will not be cheated on, Becks, and I most certainly will not be cheated on with the likes of Twyla Cornish.”

Stunned, he said, “How could I cheat? We’re not even really going out.”

I sniffed. “Still. I won’t be made a fool of Becks. Not by you, not by anyone.”

“Jeez, Sal, alright—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “—Let it go already.”

“No, I want your word.”

“My what?”

“Your word that you won’t see anyone else for the duration of our agreement.” Man, this power thing was addictive. I knew it was a lot to ask, and I also knew it was hard for Becks to say no to members of the female persuasion. But seeing Twyla glued to Becks’s hip, watching her bat her eyelashes, pout her lips, had caused something inside me to snap.

There was a glint in Becks’s eyes. He almost seemed pleased. “That wasn’t part of the deal. A month’s a long time to be tied down. There are girls who want to date me for real, you know.”

I did know. I was one of them.

Crossing my arms, I waited. There was nothing I could do if he didn’t agree, but I wouldn’t let him see how nervous I was—or how desperate.

“Okay, Sal,” he said finally, and I exhaled, “but I want something in return.”

I was immediately on my guard. “What might that be?”

Becks shrugged. “Just a favor.”

“Want to be a little more specific?”

“No can do,” he said, grinning. “One day I’ll ask for something. You won’t know when or where or what that something’s going to be, but you’ll have to give it no questions asked.”

“Been watching
The Godfather
recently?” I said.

Becks wouldn’t be sidetracked. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” I replied, holding out a hand. “But if this involves nudity in any way, I’m telling your mother.”

We shook on it, and Becks’s laughter was infectious. As we walked into the hall, the two of us were smiling like idiots.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The sharp female voice belonged to Roxy Culpepper. She was standing there, hip cocked to full capacity, short skirt riding high on her thighs, and a look of pure disdain on her face.

“This has to be a joke, right,” she said again. “Becks, what is going on here?”

Becks was no longer smiling. “What do you mean?”

“I’m out a few days with Mono and come back to find you and Spitz are hooking up. I don’t believe it.” Roxy gestured in my direction. “You can’t be serious, Becks. Look at her. She’s not even pretty.”

It was amazing how statements like that said by beautiful girls like Roxy could slice right through a person. I didn’t even like the girl, and I still felt gutted.

“You’re right,” Becks said, bringing a hand to my cheek. My head snapped up in reflex. “She’s not pretty.”

He was speaking to her but looking at me. Though his words were insulting, the heat in his eyes made me flush and not from humiliation. How could he look at me like that in front of someone like Roxy? It defied logic.