B006K5TA1E EBOK (18 page)

He disappears into the crowd, and I treat everyone to french fries with my winnings, knowing it’s the best way to cleanse the tainted money.

Tyler and Ella are standing beside the food truck, feeding each other. They’re so entranced that they barely notice us. Clearly Scoop wasn’t exaggerating about his relationship reaching ignition point. I wait until Tyler looks up before standing on tiptoe to kiss Joey on the lips. He has no idea I’m Newshound, but I want Scoop to see that Luisa Perez’s Forever Boyfriend is no eunuch.

“Holy PDA,” Izzy says.

Joey grins. “What was that about?”

“Just thanking you for getting money out of the cheater.”

“Hey, look, the circus just rolled into town,” Rachel says, pointing to Mariah, who’s approaching with her film crew. “Only, someone’s had a make
under
.”

Mariah’s jeans are topped with a simple turtleneck sweater and a down coat that covers her butt. Her hair is twisted in a bun at the nape of her neck, and most shocking of all, she’s wearing glasses.

When she sees us, she comes over. “Coconut, I liked it so much better when you stayed in the grease pit, where you belong.”

“What’s with the new look?” I ask. “Does Mac have a thing for librarians?”

“I just realized that with this body, I don’t have to go around proving anything. A little mystery is where it’s at.”

“That’s exactly what Newshound said. It’s sweet the way you look up to her.”

She stares down at me. “Mariah Mendes looks up to
no one
, at least not in this school. But if Newshound is hanging with Solana G., obviously she’s almost as cool as I am. I might even give her my VIP phone number.”

“Wow, that’s quite an offer.”

“It’s incomprehensible.”

“It sure is,” I say.

“I think she means incomparable,” Joey suggests.

Mariah notices him for the first time. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

Turning to Joey, I wordlessly remind him whose side he’s on. Interpreting my look correctly, he hastily offers me his fries. I don’t really like chili sauce, but I sample them anyway and offer mine in return.

Mariah observes this exchange, but before she gets to lob her next shot, Mr. Sparling joins us, marshaling two young Sparlings through the crowd.

“Well, well,” he says. “If it isn’t some of my favorite students.” His eyes flit from our little circle over to Tyler and back. The same odd expression crosses his face that I saw in his office, only this time it’s more pronounced.

“Hi, Mr. Sparling. Where’s
Mrs.
Sparling today?” I ask.

“Happy to have some time to herself,” he says. “Besides, she knew my students would be checking her out and wondering what she’s doing with a guy like me.”

I laugh. “She chose you for your sense of humor, sir.”

“Sorry to break up the party,” Mariah says, “but I have to do my time in the kissing booth.” She points to a booth in which a cheerleader is paying lip service to a lineup of guys and tugs on Joey’s arm. “Come on, cutie. I’ll give you a two-for-one special.”

Joey allows himself to be towed away, and Rachel, Izzy, and I stare after him. Waving a hasty good-bye to Mr. Sparling, we follow them.

By the time we reach the kissing booth, Mariah has taken off her glasses and pulled the pins out of her hair. She assists the cheerleader from the booth and takes the hot seat. The lineup doubles instantly, and Mariah holds up a hand. “Settle down, guys.” She takes out a compact and pouts to apply lip gloss. Then she points to Joey and summons him. “You first.”

Joey steps out of the line and walks to the booth. My tray of fries slips out of my hand. Surely my soul mate is not going to throw what we have away for a single kiss from Mariah Mendes?

“He can’t,” I moan, and Rachel squeezes my hand. The alarm on her face is surpassed only by the alarm on Izzy’s.

“I can’t,” someone echoes. It’s Joey’s voice, and he’s talking to Mariah. “I’m only interested in kissing Luisa. But I’d be happy to donate a couple of bucks to get you started. Since it’s for a good cause.”

I fiddle with the remote control for the DVD player, trying unsuccessfully to get the movie to start.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Joey says, taking it from me.

I’ve used it a hundred times, but my fingers aren’t working quite right tonight. I guess I’m nervous about being alone in the apartment with Joey. We were supposed to meet some of his friends, but Joey suggested hanging out here instead. I didn’t want to say no, because A) I wanted to have him all to myself, and B) I didn’t want to look like I was afraid to be alone with him.

Normally I’m
not
afraid to be alone with him; it’s just that we’re usually alone surrounded by people. I trust Joey, but things have been speeding up between us lately. It’s like someone pressed the
FAST FORWARD
button the minute I realized he was my soul mate.

Mom would be all over the
PAUSE
button if she were here. I finally told her about Joey a few days ago, and although she didn’t say much, I can tell she’s rattled. Well, she can relax. I have no intention of making the same mistakes she and Grace did. But I still want to be close to my boyfriend.

Last night at the bus stop we were a little
too
close for Dan’s liking. He drove past us, slammed on the brakes, and hit reverse. Then he basically took us hostage, sticking Joey in the backseat alone. After dropping him off, Dan gave me a painfully awkward lecture about the birds and the bees. If I didn’t already know the biology behind procreation, that discussion certainly wouldn’t have enlightened me. Still, I appreciated that Dan cared enough about me to put himself through it.

Joey brings up the DVD’s main menu and asks, “Are you free next Thursday?”

“I’m free after work.”

He looks at me. “Actually, I meant in the afternoon. School lets out at noon because of the Literacy Gala.”

“I know,” I say. “But I’ve already made plans.”

This is my chance to invite him, or at least tell him about Newshound, but I chicken out.

“Could you change your plans? There’s something I’d really like to do.”

I shake my head. “I made a commitment. Sorry.”

I wait for him to press, hoping he’ll force me to disclose my plans. Instead he turns silently to the television. Away from me.

Wanting everything to be right between us, I put my arms around his neck and pull him down onto the couch. If he’s annoyed at me, he gets over it enough to slide a hand up my T-shirt.

It’s still there when the overhead light flicks on. “Hey!”

We shoot apart like balls breaking on a pool table. Grace is standing at the door, balancing Keira on one hip. “What the hell is going on here?”

It’s perfectly obvious what’s going on here. “We’re watching a movie.”

“Couldn’t you watch it with your shirt on? Joey, you’d better get going. It’s late.”

“It’s 9:15,” I protest, tucking in my T-shirt. “And you’re not my mother.”

Joey finds his voice. “We weren’t doing anything wrong, Grace.”

“No? Tell it to Paz. He’s on his way over.”

Joey scrambles to his feet and grabs his jacket.

“Don’t go,” I say, following him to the door. “I made popcorn.”

“I’ll call you later,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Don’t worry.”

“Are you insane?” Grace asks as the door closes behind him. “Is my life so glamorous you want the same thing?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say.

“I didn’t think it was like that either. Then all of a sudden it was.”

The fight drains out of me. “Grace, I’m not you.”

“I know: you’re smarter. Stay that way.”

The Literacy Challenge is drawing to a close, and I think we’re all amazed at how we pulled together to raise so much money. I’m not the only one who started this year with the usual Dunfield apathy, and I certainly never expected to be on a winning team. Okay, so we haven’t quite won that vacation yet, but in other ways we’re already victors. Our performance has impressed everyone from our parents to celebrities like Solana G. Even Principal Alvarez has been caught smiling lately. But no one should be happier about our achievement than we are. We proved our ability to achieve liftoff.


On the romantic front, it turns out that liftoff is more elusive. I started this term thinking that chemistry and good intentions were enough to get a relationship airborne. I’ve found out that it takes a lot more than that.


Communication is definitely key. If you can’t—or won’t—talk about problems and work through them, you’re destined to crash and burn. Ironically, with all the mechanisms we have at our disposal to communicate 24/7—cell phone, text messages, instant message, e-mails—somehow it’s easier than ever to avoid it. Anyone can hide behind technology to avoid hearing harsh words like, “I’m not into you,” or “We’re over.”


Who knows, maybe Scoop was right about hookups being the way to go. It’s definitely simpler. If you don’t expect much, you won’t be disappointed. And when you hit a rough patch, you can disappear without even going through the trouble of breaking up.


I’d like to continue to share my insights from the front line, but “The Word” is winding down. It’s been quite an eye-opener for me. Thanks to Scoop, I’ve learned a lot about how the male mind works, and as a result I’ve been having nightmares for months. I think I speak for all Dunfield women in saying that I hope his personality is unique.


Newshound still stands by her view that mature, respectful guys are out there and worth waiting for, but concedes they’re hard to find. I’ve decided to take a hiatus from romance and focus on friends, work, and study. One day, when I’ve shaken off the dust of this old dump, I’ll give it another try.


Until then, dear readers, I wish you all the best in love and literacy.


Newshound, let me be the first to offer my condolences. It sounds like Mr. Dreamboat has already capsized. I hate to say I told you so, but I so called this one. Actually, anyone could have seen this coming. Your rose-colored glasses were six inches thick, girlfriend. Like I keep telling you, teenage guys and fairy-tale romance do not mix.


It’s my last column, and I don’t want to waste it gloating, so I’ll get straight to the point: do not use your current disappointment as an excuse to become more bitter than ever. Get back in that saddle, only this time don’t confuse a mule for a white charger. Enjoy the mule for what it offers—a good ride and a few laughs.


Since poor Newshound is howling the blues, I will toss her one bone: she’s absolutely right about avoidance being the easiest way out of a relationship. Sure, there are a few guys out there brave enough to say, “Look, this is too much work.” But it’s so much easier to leave a voice mail when you know she’s busy. To send the blasé text message promising to get together soon. To delete her from your friends list so that she can’t tell if you’re online.


Not that Scoop would do any of those things. He doesn’t have to, because he’s smart enough not to get involved. He keeps his relationships at arm’s length. It isn’t always as easy as it sounds. If you actually like the girl, you feel the weight of her expectations and you feel bad about yourself every time you let her down. Still, you have to know when you are not ready for a relationship. And anyone who likes violent video games as much as Scoop does is in no position to look out for someone else’s feelings.


Maybe it will be different down the road. With so many great movies based on true love instead of casual hookups, there must be something to it. But this isn’t the time to find out. Surviving Dunfield has to be my first priority, and it’s been tough. This column has actually helped, even though apparently I had more rewrites than Newshound. I like to think that’s because my ideas are more complex than hers.


Anyway, no hard feelings, Newshound. It’s been a pleasure sparring with you, and I look forward to meeting you at the gala.


“What’s up?” I ask, slumping into the seat across from Mr. Sparling.

“Just wanted to check in,” he says. “Newshound seems a little down.”

“I guess she’s bummed that the column’s ending.”

“Well, ‘The Word’ might end, but there will be plenty of opportunities to write in the future—under your own byline.”

“Really?”

“Sure. You’ve done very well, Luisa. I predict great things to come for you.” This should make me happy, but I’m incapable of happiness right now. “Thanks.” He watches me for a moment. “I gather things aren’t going well with your boyfriend?”

I doodle an ax on my notepad, alongside the broken heart I drew earlier. “It didn’t work out.”

Sadly, this appears to be true. After Grace chased Joey out of our apartment last weekend, he vanished from my life. I exaggerate only slightly. He left a voice mail about an hour after he left, saying, “Sorry about what happened. We’ll talk about it soon.” But we didn’t talk about it, because we didn’t walk to school together, or meet in the halls, or walk home together. I’d have worried about foul play if he hadn’t shown up at the diner. Three nights he came in with the crew. Three nights they sat in Shirley’s section. Three nights he acknowledged me only with a wave as Paz glowered at him. Three nights he text messaged me afterward saying I looked great. I do not look great; I look like I haven’t slept in ages. But I thanked him and said, “See you soon.”

Grace obviously told Paz about the whole hand-up-the-shirt thing, and I assume Paz overreacted. Still, Joey has four inches and twenty pounds on Paz. If he really loved me, he’d fight for me. I guess the Perfect FB decided that Lu Perez comes with too much baggage.

After Scoop’s final column ran in the
Bulletin
, it finally sunk in that that I was the victim of a cowardly, passive-aggressive offload. Joey didn’t even have the decency to do it face-to-face. He’s taking his cue from Scoop, and that somehow makes this more humiliating.

Well, if he can be this callous, he’s not the guy for me. Soul mates don’t bolt at the first sign of trouble. My hypothesis has been disproved. All a kiss can reveal is whether a guy has good oral hygiene.

“Relationships are never easy,” Mr. Sparling says. “Are you doing all right?”

I nod. What else am I going to say? That I’m devastated? That I can’t believe I’ve gone from no B to Forever B to Ex-B in the space of three months? I may admit this to Izzy and Rachel but not Mr. Sparling.

He looks relieved, in the way Dan always looks relieved when I refuse to talk about girl stuff. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, Luisa, and you’re really too young to get serious anyway. When I met Mrs. Sparling, I—”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“That isn’t going to help.”

He smiles, rolling with it as always. The best teachers are pretty hard to offend, I’ve discovered. Dealing with people like me all day toughens them up.

Dan pulls up in front of the Harold Washington Library Center and cuts the engine on his SUV. “Last stop, ladies.”

Solana continues to fumble through her purse, clearly in no hurry to go inside. I’m not sure whether she’s really forgotten something or is just nervous.

“Did you bring your speech?” I ask. I printed a copy on note cards, and Grace delivered it to her two days ago. They went for coffee, and I wasn’t even jealous. It helps that my brain has been so busy mulling over every detail of my failed romance.

She nods. “But I wish I were just singing today.”

“You’re going to knock ’em dead,” I reassure her. She certainly looks the part of a VIP, in her funky suit and stiletto boots. “You were perfect in our run-through.”

“But that wasn’t in front of a crowd—a crowd that includes teachers who thought I was stupid.”

“I bet they’re ashamed of letting you fall through the cracks. Mr. Sparling feels bad about what happened with Grace. If he’d handled it differently, she might not have dropped out.”

“I don’t know,” Solana says thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s better to let things work out in their own time. I wouldn’t be leaving on my first tour next week if I’d stayed in school.”

“And we wouldn’t have as good a chance to win the Literacy Challenge,” I say.

Dunfield is still in second place behind Turnbull and ahead of Warwick, but the proceeds from the Fun Fair helped close the gap to five grand. Today, guests at the gala will be depositing checks in drop boxes at the door, and while bands from each school entertain the crowd, the teachers will tabulate the final results. Then the mayor of Chicago will announce a winner and invite Scoop and Newshound to say a few words and introduce the speakers and performers.

“So the dropout with the learning disability might win the literacy competition for the school that exiled her,” Solana says. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“It’s not ironic,” Dan says, turning in his seat. “It’s downright poetic.”

The rear door opens, and Grace slides in beside Solana. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black sweater and black pants, and there’s not a bit of ink showing. “Lu, you can’t sit out here chatting,” she says. “People might figure out that it’s Newshound with her special guest.”

She hands Solana a bag containing a compact, tissues, lip gloss, a pen, a small bottle of water, and a stack of promotional postcards for her CD.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Solana says.

Grace beams as she climbs out of the truck. “It’s easier to keep your cool when you’re fully prepared. I even got the Center’s piano tuned and billed it to Dunfield.”

“Is she always this organized?” Solana asks when Grace is gone.

“Beats me,” I say, realizing I don’t know my sister as well as I thought.

Dan hops out, opens Solana’s door, and offers her his arm.

Once he’s escorted her into the Library Center, he returns for me. “You look very nice today,” he says as we walk to the door. “I’m going to have to beat that Joey off with a stick.”

“Actually, he won’t be here.”

“You did ask him.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“I haven’t seen him. In case you haven’t heard, Paz decided we should take a breather.”

Dan isn’t easily thrown off the trail. “Joey
does
know you’re Newshound.”

Another statement. “Not exactly.”

“Luisa, I may not know much about romance, but I can say for sure that what you sweep under the rug tends to come back and bite you in the butt.”

“If Joey can’t handle some flak from Grace and Paz, he definitely can’t handle hearing about the column, Dan.”

Dan’s expression is shaded by his cowboy hat, but I can tell he’s disappointed in me. “Joey’s a nice guy,” he says. “He’d have come around.”

There it is: the past tense. Even Dan thinks we’re history.

More than four hundred people are milling in the lobby, including teachers and student reps from all three schools, friends and families, business people and community members. Judging by all the cameras and notepads I see, the press has come out in full force. That has less to do with literacy than with the presence of high-profile guests. Turnbull and Warwick have recruited an artist, an entrepreneur, a football player, and a cellist from the Philharmonic. They’re all good scores, but not as good as Solana.

I’m so glad the event is taking place here, and not in a grungy school auditorium. The organizers have created a makeshift stage beneath a mosaic mural that depicts the life of Harold Washington, the city’s first African American mayor. Maroon velvet curtains hang from either side, creating two “backstage” areas. Midstage is a wide podium wired with two microphones, and behind that a grand piano.

Seeing those mikes makes me nervous, but not as nervous as I expected to be. Here again, a broken heart keeps you from getting caught up in the small stuff, such as stage fright.