Class Favorite (20 page)

“Anyway,” Jason continued, “I'll have this thing on for five weeks, though, which sucks. No more basketball for me this year.”

“Are you bummed?”

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah. I guess so. There's only two more games in the season, anyway. Maybe you're right about the walk,” he said as we approached the glass doors leading out to the courtyard and across to the other side of the school. “I should probably cut across here, get off this ankle.”

“Okay. I guess I'll see you in algebra.”

“Yeah, see you then. Hey,” he said, “how are you doing on those equations, anyway?”

“Not so good, actually. I'm pretty good at solving them through elimination, but the substitution thing keeps tripping me up.”

“Huh, that's funny,” he said. “I'm just the opposite. Substitutions are a breeze for me, but man, I hate solving by elimination.”

“Really?” I wondered how I could possibly be better than him at anything. And how could he not know how to do the eliminations? They're so easy!

“Listen,” he began. “This might sound kind of lame but, you want to maybe help each other out with it? We've got that exam next week you know.”

Holy freaking crap.
Help each other out?
I'm not an expert on guys' language, but that was a total ask-out. Sure, it's an algebra date—not exactly romantic, but . . . then I realized I hadn't responded. “I know, I'm totally dreading it.”

“You want to meet in the library after school? We don't
have basketball practice since there was a game last night.”

“Oh, well, yeah then. That'd be cool.”

“Cool. Then I guess I'll see you in class, anyway.”

I could feel bursts of happiness beaming from my face. Studying with Jason Andersen—that took care of Nos. 6 and 4 on my list: working on my grades and getting a boyfriend. How perfect was that? And I didn't need some schoolgirl outfit to grab his attention. Destroying our school's relic was a small price to pay.

As I turned to go up the hall, past the courtyard, I thought it'd be cool to flip my hair all flirty-like to give Jason something to remember during his next class. And instead of accidentally banging my forehead on a door or something, I got it just right. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, gave him my best million-buck smile, and said, “See ya.”

 

I was totally dying. After school I dug in my locker nervously as Kirstie lazily twisted her hair into a spiral and then let it unwind.

“Relax, girl,” she said. “This is a good thing—don't ruin the moment by freaking out.”

“I know, I know. You're right.”
Be poised
, I thought.
Be confident
. After seeing Jason I had searched the halls for Kirstie to tell her what happened. I wondered what Arlene would think of my change of luck.

“You got your list?” she asked.

“Never leave home without it. Although, I'm not sure why—I have the whole thing memorized.”

“It's good to have it, though, just as a reminder,” Kirstie said.

“I'm going to show him a little one, five, six, and seven!”

After Kirstie shoved me along, I made a pit stop in the bathroom to get gorgeous, but realized that I didn't have any makeup or even a brush in my bag. Instead, I combed my fingers through my hair and tried pinching my cheeks à la Scarlett O'Hara (which hurt like heck for what good it did), then used the pay phone by the front office to call Mom at work, letting her know I'd be a little late.

“Just make sure you're home for dinner,” she cheered.

When I got to the library after school, I looked around anxiously for Jason, feeling totally exposed standing in the doorway. All afternoon I had avoided thinking about being alone in a quiet place with Jason Andersen and the hundreds of things that could go wrong . . . or right. But as I stood in the doorway of the library, wondering if he would even show, I knew I had to be cool—as in not such a freak—for once in my life. Then, a set of hands grabbed me around my waist, surprising me into making this really horrible high-pitched squeal. Jason laughed and said, “I guess you're ticklish,” and I could feel my cheeks flush hot with the feel of his hands on me.

“Excuse you, children,” said Mrs. Franklin, the librarian. “But please keep it down. And no screaming?” She said it like a question, her hefty figure perched permanently on a high chair behind the desk as if she hadn't stopped stamping due dates since Tom Hanks last made a comedy.

“Sorry,” I whispered to her.

Jason laughed again and said, “Come on, Sara,” and I followed him to a back table, near the U.S. and world history section and by the window that looked out on the courtyard he had crossed earlier in the day.

When we sat down, Jason immediately began rubbing his leg just above where the cast ended. “This thing is killing me,” he said. “It throbs like crazy.”

I shuffled in my bag for my algebra book and notebook. As I opened my notebook, a loose piece of paper went fluttering out—my Class Favorite qualities list. I sucked in my breath, and tried to snatch it before it hit the floor. If Jason saw it, it'd be over forever. I was so spazzed to get the list just before it landed that, as I bent to catch it, I slammed my head on the edge of the table. I didn't feel the pain until the paper was safely in my hands—facedown—and was jammed into my bag that I realized Jason was laughing. “Stop laughing,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

“Never a dull moment, Sara. Not one.” He gave a final chuckle and shook his head, looking down at his book. “Well, I guess we should start. I've got all night.”

“Actually,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “my mom wants me home for dinner.”

“Yeah? That's cool. I didn't think families actually had dinner together anymore.” He rubbed the spot just above his boot again, his eyes focused down on his unopened book.

“It's my mom's idea. She thinks it's, like, important or something for us to eat together since she and my dad split. I don't know what good it does.”

Jason stopped rubbing and stared over at my open book. “Hmm . . . yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, then thoughtfully added, “Which do you think is the worst: the fighting or the silence?”

“Me? I don't know. I guess if it's quiet, at least my sister isn't saying something stupid to me or my mom isn't mad at me for something I did.” I didn't realize his parents were divorced, and was glad that we had something in common.

“True,” Jason said, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “But don't you hate that kind of silence when no one is saying anything but it's like everyone knows what everyone else is thinking? And you're all trying to avoid looking at one another but you can't help making glances around, anyway? And then, if you ask someone to pass the iced tea, everyone jumps up at once like they've been waiting there to serve you the whole time? You know what I mean?”

I thought about it for a moment; I could see what he
meant, although I never really saw my parents fight—they just ignored each other.

“Did your parents fight a lot or something?” I asked.

He sighed. “Constantly fighting, either by yelling or ignoring each other. When they're doing the silent thing, I think they think they're doing me and my sister a huge favor by not screaming at each other. But it's just as bad.”

I stared down at the table and said, “Before my parents split, they used to tell me and my sister to go outside to play when they were about to break into a big fight. My sister would dare me to stand underneath their bedroom window and listen to what they were fighting about. And then, when they called us back inside and my dad huffed and Mom sighed more than usual, it was so obvious what had been going on. If they were actors, they'd totally win a Razzie for best worst performance.”

“A what?” he asked, a smile forming on his lips.

“Oh,” I said, having forgotten myself. “The Golden Raspberry. It's this award thing for the worst movies and actors. It's kind of funny. Arlene and I used to rent really bad movies and watch them just to laugh at how awful they are. Anyway.” I immediately realized that I had spoken of Arlene in the past tense, like she was this friend I once had but never would again. Even though we hadn't spoken in so long, I had never fully believed that we would never be friends again. It
was something I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to accept. But I couldn't think about her then, though. I'd start crying for sure. “Is it better in your house with just your mom?”

Jason rubbed his hand across his forehead, and I noticed that his nails were cut properly, not all bitten down to the skin like most boys'. “I don't know. Since Dad moved out, Mom tries to be real nice to all of us. It's like she's trying too hard sometimes. I think that's why she's letting me have the party.”

“Sounds exactly like my mom. I mean, hello? The roses?” I couldn't believe I had just willingly brought up one of my most embarrassing moments to Jason. “Talk about trying too hard.”

He laughed and said, “Point taken. You definitely win on that front.”

We sat for a moment, and then, to kill the silence, I said, “So. Do you want to try to do these problems at the end of the chapter?”

He gave a little groan and flipped open his algebra book. “Yeah, sure. Equations, equations, equations . . . ,” he muttered as he thumbed through his textbook. “Let's do the substitutions first since you have to leave.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, but don't make fun of how little I know. I mean, aren't these things impossible to do unless you're a total genius?”

“Nah. You just have to make sure you do each step of the formula, and you're set.”

“Er . . . there's a formula to these things?”

He nudged me with his good foot. “Sara, you crack me up.”

As we sat together in the library going over our algebra—Jason was right: It was easy once you got the formula down—I realized that I wasn't so nervous around him anymore. He was a guy just like anyone else. Except he had chosen me, Nobody Sara Thurman, to do homework with while confessing dark family secrets.

Which made me wonder:
Is it possible that I'm not as bad as I thought?

16

Be Honest: Do You Love, Like, or Hate Gossip?

You have just been told that your economics teacher, Mr. Russo, has been performing in a play downtown. What do you do?

a) You e-mail the entire school directory with the news, including the when/where/cost of the play, and try to rally everyone to go see him—it'll be a huge laugh!

b) You tell your closest friends, giggle about it, but wonder if it's true.

c) You shrug off the information—there's nothing to back up its truth, and besides, even if it is true, he's still an awesome teacher.

 

Over the next few days, I bounded into school with renewed energy. Suddenly I didn't feel so lethargic. Thanks to the sort-of date I'd had with Jason and the fact that he had invited me to his party, I realized he wasn't as untouchable as I had
thought. He was just a boy. Who happened to be maddeningly gorgeous, but still.

Later that day I spotted Rosemary and Kayla standing by the vending machine outside the cafeteria just as I was going in to meet Kirstie. I thought of No. 8 on my Class Favorite list: friends. I was beginning to think of ways Arlene and I could reconcile (and I knew it would have to begin with me), but in the meantime, hanging with two of the most popular girls—even if one of them wasn't exactly my number-one fan—would help propel me even closer to my goal. We could hang out together at Jason's party, and by Monday after the party, surely we'd all be passing notes in algebra. Looking at them, I thought,
Rosemary Vickers is not so much better than me, right?
Besides, if Adam Sandler could bounce back in movies after
Little Nicky
—one of the last Golden Raspberries Arlene and I had watched—then I could come back from my own momentous disasters. If I were actually a Class Favorite nominee instead of just channeling their traits, then I would embrace No. 7 on my list—confidence—and walk right up to these girls and get in the conversation. So that's what I did.