B006K5TA1E EBOK (13 page)

“Let me,” he says, and leans across me to release the seat belt. He pauses, his face close to mine. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Does green makeup bother you?”

I laugh. “Nope. Does lime Jell-O bother
you
?”

“Lime is my favorite flavor,” he says, and kisses me. I’m sort of trapped, but even if I could leave, I wouldn’t.

When he pulls away, I ask, “Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I didn’t think you really wanted me to. I thought you were just grateful that I’d saved you from that loser at the dance.”

“I was grateful. But I really wanted you to call.”

Tyler kisses me again. I close my eyes and forget about everything for a moment. He may look like Frankenstein on the outside, but he’s still Mr. Fantastic on the inside. Maybe I should swear back on to guys and give Arty FB another try. After all, the chances of his being Scoop are slim. Even ruling out freshmen, there must be hundreds of guys who could conceivably write that column. What are my chances of kissing any of them?

Jason has pulled up behind us. “Hey, Tyler,” he calls. “Got her resuscitated?”

“She inhaled a lot of Jell-O,” Tyler says. “But I think she’s going to pull through.”

Tyler’s bathroom is the nicest I’ve ever been in. The shower stall alone is bigger than our entire bathroom. It has glass walls and a huge copper showerhead that sprinkles a gentle mist. And the most amazing thing is that it’s not the family bathroom, but the en suite attached to Tyler’s room. I could totally get used to this. My only complaint is that his products are decidedly masculine. I smell like a cedar forest, but it’s better than lime.

After lingering in the shower, I dry myself with a fluffy white towel and pull my gingham work uniform out of my backpack. Rolling up my spider outfit, I stuff it into a plastic bag for later disposal. There’s no sign of a blow dryer, so I comb out my hair and hope for the best.

Tyler is gone when I step back into his bedroom. I left him checking his e-mails, but he must be downstairs now with the rest of the gang.

Crossing to the desk, I notice a stack of
Dunfield Bulletins
. Oddly, there are multiple copies of each. I have a stack like that at home. Grace says I’m hoarding them to drag out when I’m old and withered, to relive my glory days.

I can’t imagine why Tyler would keep so many, unless he really is Scoop. Maybe a little judicious investigation could put this matter to rest once and for all.

Nudging the computer mouse, I make the screen saver disappear. It’s not really snooping if I barely touch it. It’s practically an accident.

Another accident takes me to Tyler’s e-mail inbox. And that’s all I really need to do, because my eyes immediately land on a string of e-mails from Mr. Sparling bearing the subject lines, “The Bulletin,”

“Revisions,” or most damning, “Scoop.”

As my hand moves to the mouse for one last accident, Tyler calls, “Lu? Are you all right up there?”

I stand upright so quickly that my head spins. “Coming,” I call. And with that, Lu Perez retires to the stands again, determined to keep a safe distance from the arena of love.

Dan’s Diner is packed with Halloween revelers. It’s always a busy night, and I am always on duty because Grace refuses to work. Halloween is the worst night for tips and manners. When people put on a costume they think it grants them a license to misbehave. I’ve had my butt grabbed more on Halloween than the whole year put together. In fact, I’ve learned to wear shorts under my uniform because some guy dressed as an angel or a nun will inevitably flip my crinoline.

“Where’s your costume?” Dan asks, leaning into the pass-through as I arrive. “You promised to dress as a spider.”

Dan himself has augmented his usual Stetson with chaps, a bandanna, and spurs that jingle when he walks.

“The tarantula came to a bad end,” I say, telling him about the haunted house. “I was going to change into my uniform after you saw the costume anyway. I couldn’t serve very well with eight arms.”

“That Mariah deserves to be lassoed and horsewhipped,” Dan says, “If she ever comes in here—”

“I’ll cast a spell on her,” interrupts Shirley, who is dressed as a real witch in a flowing black dress. A pointy hat sits atop her backcombed hair, tipping perilously to one side, and there’s a very realistic wart on her nose.

I mention that we went to Tyler’s house, skipping the part about my snooping on his computer. That’s something that must stay between my friends and me. Rachel was pretty shocked when I called her after Tyler dropped me off—shocked at what I did, shocked at what I found, and shocked that I was able to hide how I felt while I was still at Tyler’s. Obviously I’ve gained some valuable skills through writing an anonymous column. The old Lu was totally transparent; the new one is a master of obfuscation. Still, I think Tyler suspected something was amiss when he kissed me good-bye. I couldn’t quite rise to the enthusiasm I’d shown earlier.

“You take the mermaids and Abe Lincoln,” Shirley says, handing me a stack of menus. “I’ve got Cleopatra, Elvis, and the swamp monster.”

The rest of the shift passes in a blur, and at midnight I walk out to the bus stop. Someone has already claimed the old, wooden bench, and when I get closer I see that it’s Joey Carella. Like me, he’s traded his costume for his uniform.

He doesn’t look surprised to see me, which makes me wonder if he’s been waiting for me. “You’ve been de-slimed,” he says.

I settle beside him on the bench. “What are you doing here? Didn’t your shift end an hour ago?”

He shrugs. “Buses are slow tonight.”

It’s usually the reverse on Halloween, but I don’t say so.

“Plenty of freaks around, too,” I say. “At least, there were at the diner.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had better days. There’s a stiletto mark on my chest.”

He fights a grin and fails. “I don’t suppose you’d care to show it to me?”

“Can’t risk exciting the freaks. What did Mariah do after we left?”

“Danced around as usual and gloated. I didn’t stay long. Someone was covering for me at work.”

There will be even more gloating at school on Monday. “I underestimated Mariah. I didn’t really think she’d follow through.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Either keep a lower profile or bribe Grace to beat her up.”

He laughs. “Was this your first fund-raiser event?”

“I’ve been to a few. But I was surprised to see you there. You don’t seem like the school-spirit type.”

“I’m not. It’s the first year I’ve participated in any school activities, but it’s for a good cause. And a good end: I’d really like the two extra weeks off.”

“I bet you’d just take more shifts. Like I would.”

This sparks a joint lament about how hard it is to work and go to school. It’s a relief to be honest about it for a change. I can’t complain much to Izzy and Rachel because I don’t want them to feel sorry for me, and it’s even harder to talk to my mom.

Joey understands, but I still feel the need to add, “Of course, it could be so much worse. I’m lucky to have what I have.”

He nods. “I know. But it would be nice not to worry sometimes, wouldn’t it?”

That’s it, exactly. I don’t mind wearing Grace’s castoffs, and I actually like working at Dan’s, but it would be nice not to worry—about my mom, our finances, my grades, and everything else.

Joey sees me glance at my worn jacket and reads my mind. “Try wearing your father’s hand-me-downs.” He explains that his mother used to buy clothes for his father that he never wore. They sat untouched for years, and after Joey hit a growth spurt, the clothes started appearing, gift wrapped, at Christmas and birthdays. “I guess Dad didn’t think I’d recognize them,” he concludes. “But it’s hard to forget an acrylic sweater with a snarling wolf on it.”

“Did you wear it?”

“Not that one. A son’s love does have its limits. But I’ve worn some of the other stuff so that he wouldn’t feel bad.”

Obviously mine isn’t the only family where much goes unsaid.

The bus arrives and we take a seat at the back, chatting easily. He doesn’t seem in the least interested in me, and it’s a huge relief. I can just be myself. After all, he’s seen me at my worst—knocked down and slimed by the hottest girl in school.

“Where’s your stop?” I ask as we approach mine.

“Three streets back,” he says. “But I’m going to a Halloween party. Want to come?”

“I’d better not. It’s late.”

“We’ll only stay an hour. It’s close to your place.”

“But my costume is in the Dumpster behind Dan’s.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead at this party dressed as a potato,” Joey says. “So we’ll go as we are: a waitress and a factory worker.”

It would be nice to have a positive end to one of the worst days of my life, so I stand and smooth my crinoline. “Okay. But in case you get any big ideas, I’m wearing shorts under here.”

Joey leads me to the door. “Life is full of disappointments.”

“Imagine my surprise,” Grace says, watching me pull out the sofa and spread my duvet on the bed, “to see my kid sister walk into a party with Joey Carella.”

“Imagine
my
surprise to see my sister sitting on the lap of her ex-boyfriend at that same party.”

“There were no other seats,” she says. “I had to sit somewhere.”

“Is that how we ended up with Keira?”

She throws a pillow at me. “If you think so, someone should teach you the facts of life.”

“It probably shouldn’t be you.”

Grace thinks about pursuing this but remembers she has an ax to grind. “What were you doing there with Joey? I thought you hated the Donner guys.”

“What were you doing there with Paz? I thought you’d broken up.”

“You don’t want to go out with Joey Carella.”

“We’re just friends.” And barely that. We spent an hour chatting with some of his coworkers and he walked me home. End of story.

“I hope so, because Joey isn’t your type. He’s one of Paz’s guys.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he’s going nowhere.”

“Grace! You’re the one who’s always accusing me of being a snob. Besides, I’m sure Joey’s going somewhere. He’s smart.”

“So’s Paz,” she says. “And look where that got us.” She comes around the sofa to harass me from closer range. “Of all the guys you could go out with—”

I cut her off. “You don’t want me seeing
anyone
.” At least, that’s how it’s starting to seem.

“How about listening to me for a change?” Grace asks, her voice rising.

“How about staying out of my love life?”

“What love life?” another voice asks.

It’s my mother, standing in the doorway in her pajamas.

“I don’t have one,” I say. “Thanks to Grace.”

“Can we discuss this tomorrow?” Mom asks. “You’ll wake Keira.”

“Yeah,” Grace says. “You’ll wake Keira.”

“And, Lu,” Mom continues, “that singer called. Solana? She says she’ll meet with you.”

The news is so exciting that Grace actually squeals—a sound I haven’t heard since before her first tattoo.

Rachel gives my hand a squeeze as we walk toward Letizia’s Bakery. “Thanks for letting Izzy and me tag along,” she says.

“You’re doing me a favor,” I say. “It’s nice to have some moral support.”

“I’m surprised Grace didn’t insist on coming.”

“She wanted to, but she has to work.”

“Huh,” Rachel says. “I guess she has changed a lot lately. The old Grace would have made you work her shift and met Solana
for
you.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “I haven’t had to cover for her at the diner in weeks—or even babysit. Still, it’s not like she’s completely lost her edge.” I spot the sign for Letizia’s. “Wish I had a bit of it right now.”

“You’re worrying too much,” Rachel says. “I’m sure Solana’s friendly. Otherwise, why would she agree to meet you?”

“She didn’t sound that nice on the phone. I bet her agent made her do it.”

Stepping inside, we scan the small café for Izzy, not quite sure what to look for, since she planned to update her hair color for the occasion.

The room is cozy, with its wooden tables and exposed brick wall, but it’s not the kind of place I expected. Since Solana says she comes here all the time, I thought it would be trendier.

We have nearly an hour before Solana is due to arrive, so Rachel and I choose a table near the back of the café and order a pizza.

“I hope Izzy managed to get the new
Bulletin
,” I say.

“I don’t see why Sparling won’t just give you an advance copy,” Rachel says.

“He wants me to ‘experience’ Scoop’s column like everyone else. But I’m the only one whose weekend is ruined because of it. Especially now that I know Tyler is behind the byline.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Rachel says.

After initially accepting the evidence I found on Tyler’s computer, Rachel lapsed into denial. I love that she tries to see the best in people, but how she can ignore the cold hard facts is beyond me.

“I saw the proof with my own eyes, Rach. And I’m glad I did. Now I don’t have to waste another second thinking of Tyler as my FB.”

Rachel studies me for a long moment and then performs one of those best friend mind-reading feats. “He called you, didn’t he?”

There’s no point in protesting since she can read me like an open book.

“You didn’t even call him back, did you?” Now her tone is accusing. “Lu, that’s so mean.”

“Do you even need me in this conversation?” I ask, hoping she won’t pick up on the fact that there’s more. Tyler e-mailed a couple of times, too. “He didn’t return my call last month, remember? Besides, it’s only Friday. I could still call him.” But I won’t. That door is closed, locked, and bolted.

Rachel seems more upset about this than she should be, so I do a little mind reading of my own. “Did something happen with Jason?”

Her eyes well up instantly. “We broke up. I didn’t want to say anything until after your meeting.” She describes how her parents ambushed Jason last night when he dropped her off. “They totally flipped out, and they won’t let me see him again.”

“Did you tell them about the Jewish blood?”

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “It wasn’t good enough. Still, if it were just that, I’d find a way to keep seeing him. We’ve managed this long. But Jason’s mad at me, too.”

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t tell him the truth about my parents, so it hit him like a tornado. And you know what? He just stood there. He didn’t say anything to them.”

“Did you?”

She nods, a faint grin appearing on her lips. “Enough that I lost my cell phone and computer privileges for a month. But that was after Jason left. I didn’t say much in front of him because we were all standing in the street, and the neighbors already think my parents are weird.”

“Have you called him?”

Rachel nods. “From a pay phone this morning. He said he loved me but he can’t deal with lies and bigotry. And then he broke up with me.”

I seize on the most important point. “He said he loves you? That’s fantastic!” Rachel is the first person in our group to hear those words from a guy. It’s a landmark.

“Loved.”
She scrapes her arm over her eyes again. “Past tense.”

We notice Izzy, newly blond, standing in the doorway.

Rachel excuses herself to freshen up before Solana arrives. Izzy stares after her, asking, “Is Rach all right?”

I tell her the story and suggest we do something special later to help her get over the breakup—another landmark.

“Guys,” Izzy says, exasperated. “Life was easier when none of us dated.” She tosses the
Bulletin
to me. “Would you believe I had to stop at Warwick Central to pick this up? There wasn’t a single copy left at Dunfield.”

“Wow, enemy territory,” I say. “That’s going above and beyond.”

Rachel emerges from the washroom composed, and asks me to read the column aloud to distract her from her troubles.

First, I want to solve a mystery for Newshound. If guys are watching TV or checking e-mail while they’re on the phone with you, there’s a simple explanation: you’re boring. I can barely get through your column without nodding off. With all the preaching, nagging, and guy-bashing you do, it’s a miracle guys call you at all. You must be hotter than I thought. Why else would someone put up with that attitude?


Take my advice, Newshound: if you want to improve your love life, loosen up. Try finding a role model. The girl Scoop has his eye on is a perfect example. She’s interesting, fun, and spontaneous—everything you are not. Obviously she’s brilliant too, because she’s crazy about me. So much so that I probably won’t have to deal with the sticky issue of commitment to get this beauty where I want her. One more blast of the Scoop charm and she’ll be begging me to hook up.


Dunfield men, ignore Newshound’s Top 10 unless you want to take care of your own needs for the rest of your life. I, on the other hand, will offer some useful advice to the ladies:


1. Don’t be so sensitive. If a guy calls while he’s watching TV or checking his e-mail, it isn’t disrespect, it’s multitasking.

2. Don’t be needy. If you don’t demand to hear from your guy every night, he won’t have to multitask.

3. Don’t hit the snooze button. Say something interesting and you’ll increase your chances of being heard. Save the details of your fight with mom for your best friend. Try talking sports.

4. Don’t rattle on endlessly. The best conversations are brief.

5. Don’t digress. If you jump from your math test to your new shampoo to your dog’s ear mites in the space of five minutes, your guy will jump to the TV remote.

6. Don’t expect an endless supply of news. If you saw your guy three hours ago, nothing worth telling has happened since.

7. Don’t complain about spending time with your guy’s friends. It means he’s willing to be seen with you. It’s a compliment.

8. Don’t expect this to last forever. It’s high school. What are the chances?

9. Don’t hesitate to dump your guy if you lose interest. Make it fast and make it clean. Don’t string us along while you look for your next victim.

10. Don’t get your friends to do your dirty work. Have some guts.


“Oh my God, he’s an idiot,” I say. “I can’t believe I let him kiss me.”

“Famous last words,” someone says.

We look up to see Solana G. standing beside our table. She’s smaller than she looks on her video, but prettier. With her dark hair in a ponytail and very little makeup, she could be anyone. Only the treble clef tattoo on her neck hints at her occupation.

I stand and offer my hand. “Hello, Ms. Gomez, I’m Luisa Perez, columnist for the
Dunfield Bulletin
. Thank you for meeting with me today.”

I expect her to tell me to call her Solana, but she doesn’t. Obviously I was right to adopt a mature and professional manner. Real journalists do not gush like groupies. Better to impress her with my composure.

Taking the seat opposite me, Solana nods at Izzy and Rachel as I introduce them. They smile at her, wordlessly, having been briefed in advance about my mature and professional strategy. They’re so worried about saying the wrong thing that they’re nearly paralyzed.

Solana’s dark eyes lock on mine. “So, what can I do for you?”

I’d planned to lob some getting-to-know-you questions before hitting her up with the literacy pitch, but I’ll follow her lead. “Dunfield is in the top three in the citywide literacy fund-raising competition. The winner is going to be chosen at a gala in December, and I was hoping you’d appear on behalf of Dunfield.”

Her eyes scan the café continuously as I’m talking and return to me when I stop. “Why me?”

I thought that was obvious. “Because of your connection with Dunfield?”

“More like a
dis
connection. You know they kicked me out?”

“Everything I read said you
dropped
out.”

“Promotional materials give things a positive spin. I got the boot.”

“From Mrs. Alvarez?” I ask, noticing that my voice doesn’t sound calm and professional anymore. Rachel and Izzy exchange nervous glances.

“Mr. Monteiro,” she says.

He reigned before my time, but I heard he was uptight, even by Buzzkill’s standards. “Why?” I ask.

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Attendance, mainly. I had better things to do than show up at Dunfield. I hated that dump. In fact, if the school burned down, I’d throw a barbeque.”

This is awful. If she feels this way, why did she agree to see me today? “So you won’t come to the gala?” The professionalism is totally gone now. I sound desperate. Mr. Sparling will be so disappointed if I blow this opportunity.

The waiter arrives with a pot of tea for Solana. For him she smiles, but it fades as she turns back to me. “I may not like Dumpfield, but I believe in literacy programs.”

Relief surges through me. “That’s great. We’ve raised more than a hundred thousand dollars already, and we still have a month to go.”

“But how are they going to
use
the money?”

It’s a good question, and I don’t really know the answer. I’ve been so caught up in the competition that I haven’t worried about what comes afterward. “I guess it’ll go to tutoring.”

Solana waits a few moments before responding. “If you can convince me that this money will be spent on programs that actually work, count me in. But if Dunfield is going to hire a couple of tutors and blow the rest of the cash on varsity sports, I’m out.”

“I’ll look into it right away and get back to you, Ms. Gomez,” I say.

She pours her tea in silence, and I notice when her sleeve rides up that she has as many tattoos as Grace, only hers all have a musical theme. It gives me an idea. “If you do the gala—” I begin.

“A big if,” she says, stirring her tea.

“—there’s a song I hope you’ll sing. I’ve listened to it over and over, and it’s so different from everything else on your CD. It’s beautiful, but also really sad.”

“Which one?” It may be my imagination, but her voice sounds slightly warmer.

“It’s called ‘Exiled.’ The liner notes said you write your own lyrics, and I was wondering what inspired the song.”

Solana sips her tea before answering. “Dumpfield, actually. I felt like I didn’t belong there.”

Izzy finds her voice at last. “We felt like that too.”

Solana gives her a withering glance. “I wasn’t like you guys. I wasn’t popular.” She looks us over. We’ve all worn our best in an effort to impress her, but it’s clearly had the opposite effect.

“You think we’re popular?” I ask in disbelief.

“I read the columns you sent,” she says. “They’re all about dances and parties and dating. That’s not how it was for me at Dunfield.”

I turn to Rachel. “How many dances or parties did we go to last year?”

Rachel joins her thumb and index finger to form a zero.

Turning to Izzy, I ask, “And how many dates did we have last year—collectively?”

Izzy repeats the zero sign and adds, “If it weren’t for having to go to the fund-raisers, it would probably still be that way. The column changed everything.”

“Okay,” Solana says, and now there’s a definite thaw. “I got the wrong impression.”

“You had to be cooler than we are,” I say. “You had music.”

“I also had a learning disability,” she says. “
Have
a learning disability. You don’t outgrow it, you just learn to deal with it.”

“Is that how you know which programs work?”

She nods. “You can’t just throw money at the problem. I found the right one, and I’ll be getting my diploma soon.”

“That’s great.” I’m careful not to overdo the enthusiasm, because it always rubs Grace the wrong way. “And I’m sure Mrs. Alvarez would be glad to talk to you about programs. Mr. Sparling, too. I think they really care about literacy.”

“If they want my advice now, that’s cool, but no one listened to me when I was there. Dumpfield needs to get its act together so that other kids don’t go through that.”

I get another idea. “Would you consider giving a talk at the literacy gala to share your experiences? It would be such an inspiration to kids who face the same challenge.”