Class Favorite (7 page)

“Really?”

“Yeah. It's almost embarrassing. I was actually voted Most Popular.”

“Seriously? And you were only there for one year?” I asked. “That's amazing. Here, we call it Class Favorite, but it's the same thing.” In fact, it was like being a school celebrity. You got two pages of pictures in the yearbook, including fun candid shots, whereas everyone else—Most Academic, Most Versatile, etc.—only got half a page. There wasn't a ceremony announcing your win or anything, but I'd always wondered what picture day was like. All those popular and accomplished people gathered in one place, dressed up nicer than in their school picture. I wondered if they served cheese and Cokes while everyone waited their turn.

“It's no big deal,” Kirstie said. “It's not like I won the Nobel Prize, just some dumb award.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. I thought about Haden Prescott and her Academy Award nomination. “You know Haden Prescott, the actress?”

“From
The Silent Widow
? Sure. She didn't have a chance at the Oscar, but how pretty was she in that golden gown?”

“Amazing,” I said. “Did you know she was also voted for a Golden Raspberry?” When Kirstie gave me a confused look, I said, “It's this spoof award thing for the worst movies and acting and stuff. The anti-Oscars.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, when I was watching the Academy Awards this year, I couldn't believe how Haden Prescott had been a laughingstock a few months earlier with
Demon's Lover
.”

“Oh, my God, how bad did that movie look?” Kirstie said.

“I know! And then she does
The Silent Widow
and everyone thinks she's brilliant. I've just been thinking, maybe I could do that.”

“What, act?”

“No, turn it around. From Razzie to Oscar, or the laughingstock of Valentine's Day to Class Favorite nominee.” I paused, trying to gauge her reaction. Arlene had said that Haden Prescott proved that any loser could turn it around, and I wondered if Kirstie would agree.

She merely shrugged her shoulders.

“Think about it,” I continued. “She didn't even win, but
now she's taken as seriously as Meryl Streep. I think it's the same with Class Favorite. Like, people respect you more. They don't laugh at you and tease you. As it is now, my school will remember me as the baby who got roses from her mother for getting her period. Not to mention all the other ridiculous things I do to make a fool of myself.”

“I guess,” she said, clearly unsure. “I'm not totally sure about the Academy Awards connection, but you can at least go for a Class Favorite nomination. There's still a couple of months left before the end of the year. Maybe just going for the nomination will make you act more confident—even if you don't feel like you are. Then, people will take you more seriously. Fame and fortune will follow,” she added.

“Maybe,” I said, my confidence already beginning to waver. “But what am I supposed to do? Put up a bunch of posters and hand out buttons?”

“No, look,” she said, sitting up on her knees. “You just have to”—she cocked her head—“fake confidence. Do yourself up. Be like them. In all the schools I've gone to, I've learned that there are certain characteristics all popular people have across the entire country. Like poise, or who you date. I guess it's kind of the same with movie stars. You got a boyfriend?”

“No.” Of course, I immediately thought of Jason. He wasn't the most popular guy in school. In fact, he used to be pretty
much like me—neither here nor there. But since he made the basketball team, he was hanging out with people like Richie Adams and Sean Hurley, upping his status. I wondered why hanging out with Arlene, who was somewhere in the middle of the social food chain, hadn't done much for me.

“Then what about a crush?” Kirstie asked, plopping back down on her stomach.

“Well, actually . . .”

“Aha! You must tell!”

“It's embarrassing. You don't even know him.”

“I might. Who is he? Class president? Quarterback of the football team?” She stared back at me and waited, kicking her feet behind her like she was on a kickboard in the Wave Pool at Wet 'n Wild.

“Fine. His name is Jason Andersen,” I confessed, feeling the hot flush on my cheeks from saying his name.

“Okay, that's a start. What else? He's probably completely gorgeous, right?”

“Oh, my gosh, totally,” I said, feeling the words ready to tumble out of my mouth. “I mean, you might not think he's good-looking, but I think he is. He has these clear hazel eyes, and he's all tall and lanky. He plays basketball, but he's not a dumb jock.”

“So what are you going to do about him? You love him, right?” She grinned.

“I don't love him!”

She laughed and I couldn't help but smile with her. “Seriously, what's the game plan for this guy?”

“I don't know. Maybe a satanic cult will kidnap me and he'll come to my rescue?” All I had done so far was let my mouth drag on the ground every time he passed me in the halls. I loved watching him at his locker as he and Richie talked about plays and the previous night's game. I loved English class because I could stare at the back of his head without anyone knowing I was totally lusting.

Kirstie said, “You gotta have a goal if you want to go out with this guy. Even if your goal is to just walk up to him, tell him he's completely beautiful, then walk away mysteriously. I know! We could make up a list of things that make popular people popular, and you just make sure you do those things. The nomination will just fall into your lap then.”

“A list like . . . what? What did you do at your last school that I can do too?” I asked.

“Hmmm, good question,” she said, grinning happily at me. “Okay, so, I guess I would start by glaming myself up. Not that you're not gorgeous already, but you could benefit by stepping it up a notch.” I tried not to cringe, looking down at my standard-issue jeans and nondescript top. “A little lip gloss goes a long way. And then, infiltrate this Jason's world. Sit where he sits at lunch. Find out where he hangs out, then we'll start hanging out there. Make him notice you.”

“I don't know. Sounds kind of pathetic—like stalking.”

“It's not pathetic,” she defended. “What's wrong with wanting him to like you, wanting other people to like and respect you? So you want people to dig you for being something other than a period-obsessed spaz. Who cares? Why do you think there're so many movies about being popular in school? It's like, part of our genetic code. There's no avoiding it.”

I thought about that. I guess there was some truth there.

“What about basketball?” Kirstie continued. “Since you don't play, do girls do anything else for the guys' teams? I don't know, like give them water or something?”

“Oh, man, that's it.” It was so brilliant. “Stat girl!”

“What's that?”

“They're the girls who write the statistics for the players. You know, how many baskets a guy makes, how many free throws, fouls, stuff like that. They have them all year, for all the sports. Stat girls get to hang out with the guys through every practice and every game. They're like part of the team. You know what?” I paused, thinking. “This one girl did stats until the girls' team complained that they needed her more. Her slot might still be open.”

“So there it is. Do that. How do you get to be one? Isn't the season almost over?”

“Yeah. There's only a few more games left, I think.” I thought for a moment and then remembered. “I could ask my sister. She and Coach Eckels are super tight. She still asks for
his advice on, like, a weekly basis. Maybe I could ask her if she could ask him?”

“That's so cool you have a sister you can turn to when you need stuff,” Kirstie said, tearing the edges of a
Cosmo
. “My mom is cool and all, but sometimes I wish I had a little sister to take care of.”

“Humph.” I thought about all the times my sister had sat on me and farted, or asked me to hang out in her room, then shut the door in my face. “Believe me, I'd rather be an only child any day.”

“You only say that because you don't know what it's like to be alone.”

“I guess.” I thought for a moment. Then I said, “And you're only saying so because you don't know otherwise.”

She laughed and said, “Okay. How about this: When we hang out, you can pretend like you're an only child and I'll pretend that you're my little sister. I can help you with things like getting hooked up with Jason Andersen and making Class Favorite. What do you say?”

She looked at me with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. Maybe it was completely horrible being an only child. Sure, I hated Elisabeth and all that stuff, but we did play together when we were kids. She had even given me some advice over the years.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds cool.”

 

Having a goal seemed like the productive thing to do. So, as soon as I got home, I decided to start right in on my Class Favorite–nominee quest before I could even think about what I was doing.

I saw Elisabeth sitting on her bed through her half-open door, her long, tanned legs bent as she painted her toenails cotton candy pink. I stuck my head through the door and asked, “Can I come in?”

She glanced up. “I guess.”

Elisabeth's room was always spotless, despite being cluttered with running trophies. She even made her bed in the mornings without Mom telling her to. At the edge of her bed was a copy of
Running
magazine, her biology textbook, a red folder, and her diary. She had a copy of
Us Weekly
under her foot to keep any nail polish from getting on her comforter.

I sat on the floor facing her, my back up against the wall next to her tennis shoes, my legs straight out in front of me.

“You're so lucky Mom doesn't humiliate you,” I began, referring to the flowers.

“She didn't mean to,” she said. It was just like her to be the good daughter, even when Mom wasn't around to notice.

“It's so embarrassing,” I said. “I'm surprised you didn't hear about it over at your school.”

“I can't believe you're still worrying about that. Listen.”
She screwed the cap back on the polish and set it on her nightstand. “I totally agree that what happened on Friday was humiliating, but it wasn't Mom's fault—she was just trying to be nice. And you said you already got teased for it. I'm sure everyone's moved on from it by now. You should too.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I just wish I knew how everyone found out.” I looked up at my sister and asked, “A school administrator could get fired for telling stuff about a student, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

Elisabeth leaned back against her headboard, gave me a look, and said, “Sara, if you want something, just ask.”

“Well, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor.”

“Obviously.”

“I'm just trying to think of ways to make my life a little easier. So I was just wondering, you know, since you're such good friends with Coach Eckels, and since he's the guys' basketball coach and you're so close to him and all, will you please, next time you see him, ask him if I can be a stat girl?
Please?
”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?”

“Because he likes you.”

She picked up a bottle of clear polish and rhythmically slapped it on her palm.

“Why didn't you tell me you started your period?” she suddenly asked.

“Why did you have to out me to Mom about it?” I retorted.

“Sara, you make too big a deal of things.”

“Oh, right. Like having guys offer me a tampon is no big deal.” I felt like no one understood what had happened. The worst thing that had ever happened to Elisabeth was the time she came in second in the 1,600-meter, and that was only because she was getting over the flu.

“Getting your period isn't a big deal. Don't let them make you think it is. They're just being immature.”

“It's just so humiliating having everyone know when I got it. Besides, why do you even care?”

“Sara,” she said, looking down at me. “I'm your
sister
.”

She didn't state it like it was the obvious, though. More like she just wanted to let me know that there were some things she would always be there for.

“So will you talk to Coach Eckels for me?”

She slowly opened the bottle, then continued with steady strokes across each toe, her chin resting on her knee. A heavy silence filled the room, one that I was pretty sure Elisabeth created for the sole purpose of torturing me with anticipation. It worked.

She exhaled dramatically, and I prepared for my boring days to change—or to stay the same way for eternity.

“Fine,” she finally said. “But you owe me.”

6