Do-Over (13 page)

Yep, that’s right. You’re e-mailing me at what hour over there? Get your delirious self to sleep!!

Jules, who knows better about all that clean living stuff you’re spouting, because I know you’re using it as an excuse to procrastinate on the David Issue.

PS-BTW, I just got home from school and you won’t believe what I saw on the way out of VWHS. Natalie was talking to that John guy in the parking lot. (She pointed him out to me at school right after the incident at the Giant, so I know it was him.) What’s with that??

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
Trying to stay positive . . .

Hi Valerie,

So Jeremy just cancelled our Friday night plans—for the THIRD time in a row. The ones he promised he wouldn’t back out on. We were going to go bowling, but he says his quads are really sore and he just can’t crouch down with a bowling ball without risking injury to himself.

I wanted to point out that it’s probably not the smartest thing to try running a marathon if he’s so sore he can’t even bowl, but I am trying to be positive.

Anyway—I won’t see him on Saturday, either, because my grandparents are coming up from Tennessee and I promised Mom and Dad I’d stay home all day. Then Saturday night’s the annual Oscar party at Jules’s place. Since Georg said you’ll
be at a school dance, I guess you won’t even be able to IM us, will you?

This is just awful all around.

Remind me again that Jeremy loves me,

Christie

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: SHEESH!

Christie,

Get it through your head already: Jeremy loves you. He’s just being stupid right now. I bet all that running is messing with his electrolyte levels and making him act all weird. He’ll get over it soon enough. Forget about him for now and enjoy the Oscars.

And, more important than your Jeremy issue. . . YOU E-MAILED GEORG?!?!?

Val

I swear, I am going to have a freaking coronary, right here at my desk. Dad will knock on my door in the morning to harass me to eat a healthy breakfast before I head out to school. He might even whip up some oatmeal or an omelet before coming back
and knocking a second time. He’ll open the door, intent on reading me the riot act, only to find me slumped over my monitor, mouse in hand, dead from shock.

What the hell is Georg doing e-mailing with Christie? How would they even have each other’s e-mail address? What is this all about?

Oh, no. No, no, no. Could the girls be feeling him out about David? This is the last, last thing I need right now!

I know Christie wouldn’t be sneaky that way, but for all I know he’s also e-mailing Jules and Natalie. I don’t think they’d tell him about David, either, but they might drop hints if they thought it’d push me to tell Georg about David myself.

I do
not
want them dropping hints. I do not want them to have anything to do with this.

OMG—I wonder if he knows already? Maybe that’s why he suddenly had this Oscar party thing. . . .

I’m just about to IM Christie, since if she’s online I simply
must
know about the Georg thing, when a new e-mail from her pops up in my box.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
RE: SHEESH!

Hi again, Val! (you’re up late, aren’t you?)

NO, I didn’t e-mail Prince Georg. And he sure hasn’t e-mailed me. Could you imagine, getting an e-mail from a real prince?? (Okay, maybe YOU could. But I sure can’t!)

I am obviously so stressed out by the Jeremy thing, I must’ve put “Georg” in that e-mail when I was thinking about YOU telling me about your school dance.

Sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out!

Christie, clearly needing to decompress . . .

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: RE: SHEESH!

WHEW! Geez, Christie. Please don’t do that again Val, also clearly needing to decompress

“So, did you call the DJ yet?”

I should have known Ulrike would pounce first thing in the morning. It’s Wednesday,
and since I managed to avoid her all day yesterday (it’s amazing how something can come up, say, in the computer lab, right at lunchtime, therefore saving me from a solid hour of listening to Ulrike wig out over the tiniest details of this dance), I knew I couldn’t hide from her today. Not without being really obvious, and the whole point of helping her was to keep her from having hurt feelings.

Now that she’s nabbed me at my locker between first and second period, I figure the only reason it’s taken her this long is because I didn’t stop here before school. Five bucks says she was waiting for me then, too.

“No, I wanted to do it when I got home from school today.” It’s sort of the truth. I was
thinking
about calling then, but I don’t exactly
want
to. “Though, are you sure you want me to make the call? It might be better—”

“No, you’re the best person for the job. My hands are full, and I just know the guys wouldn’t ask the right questions. Even when they have a list, they don’t do what they’re supposed to.”

I close my locker and spin the combo lock, but Ulrike puts a hand on my wrist to
stop me from leaving. Her face is earnest as she speaks. “Val, this really means a lot to me. Thank you. It’s a relief knowing I can count on you. You’re such a great friend.”

Well, crap. Now I have to call the DJ.

“Thanks, Ulrike. I’m happy to do it.” I even keep a straight face as I say the word “happy.”

“Great. Promise to call or e-mail me after you talk to him, okay?”

As soon as I promise, she blasts off in the direction of senior hall—well, year twelve hall—presumably to harass the guys.

I glance at my watch and realize I have all kinds of time before I have to be at my next class. Since it’s only a few feet down the hall, I walk to a quiet spot near the doors to the quad so I can pull out my cell phone and the scrap of paper with the phone number.

Maybe if I call the DJ now, he won’t be there. I can see if his voice mail is in German or English, plus I’ll know I’ve done my duty for Ulrike (at least for the moment), and I won’t have to think about it all day.

I’m just about to dial when I hear Ulrike calling my name. I look up to see her jogging back down the hall toward me, her
white-blond hair bouncing all over the place and her backpack smacking against her shoulder.

Great. She probably thought of more DJ questions.

“What’s up?”

“I forgot to tell you!” she says on a gasp. “You won’t believe who’s coming to the dance!”

“Really?” Please, please let her say Georg. Maybe she talked to him during first period? Heard some juicy bit of news that he’s canceling his party appearance so he can come be with me? I force my breathing to remain as calm as possible and ask, “Who?”

“Well, I was talking to my dad yesterday—you know he’s coming as a chaperone, right?—Well, he said he ran into your father yesterday at the palace. I guess Dad had some kind of economic meeting there.”

Since Ulrike’s dad is a German diplomat and he’s at the palace a lot, this isn’t really a shocker. “So what happened?”

Her grin gets even bigger. “He told your father about the dance and mentioned that they needed more chaperones. And your dad said he could do it. Volunteered on the spot,
just like that! He even said he knew someone else from the palace who’d be able to come—this woman from the public relations office my dad’s worked with a few times before who’s got all kinds of security clearance—so now I have all the chaperones lined up. Isn’t that great? I was so worried we wouldn’t get enough and I’d have to go begging teachers.”

“That’s great, Ulrike!” Man, can I fake enthusiasm. “One less thing on your to-do list, huh?”

She says something appropriately giddy, then flounces off toward her class once more. Me, I just sink against the wall.

Not only is Georg not coming, but now I have to endure a dance with my father there? I guess it’s not that bad, since it’s not like I’m going to be dancing with anyone.

But I can just guess who else from the palace is coming.

They’re going to be at a dance. Together. With slow music and glowing crystal chandeliers and a general aura of romance all around them.

If Dad gets all kissy-face with his girlfriend at this dance, I’m gonna be
humiliated. Not that he’s gotten kissy-face with her in public yet, but there’s always a first time. I mean, he’s not in the same situation I am—it’s not like Fraulein Predator is being followed by tabloids.

Dad might be one of the world’s leading experts on protocol, but with my luck, he’ll get all starry-eyed over The Fraulein, forget his professional training, and do something stupid at the exact moment my new friends are there to see it. Like planting a big one on The Fraulein.

Or worse, he’ll do it when Steffi’s around, since it’ll give her the perfect opportunity to make a comment about how wonderful it is that someone in my family is getting some action—though she’ll say it in a much less crass way, one that’ll make it impossible for me to say anything back without looking like I’m just another American lacking in good taste.

“Hi, Valerie!” Speak of the she-devil.

“Hey, Steffi!” She looks all perky and tiny and perfect. Her brunette hair has every curl in place, but it’s not obvious she spent the time on herself I know she must take.

False advertising, if you ask me. Any guy
who asks her out is gonna think she’s low maintenance and find out pretty fast that she’s not.

“Just saw Ulrike,” she says, playing with the shoulder strap on her designer—no, really,
designer
—backpack. “She said your dad volunteered to chaperone at the dance. That’s so cute!”

I thank her, then head past her to class. I can feel her staring at my back as I walk, like she’s checking to see if she’s mortally wounded me with her “cute” comment.

I have to pay better attention to who’s around me in the halls so I can take evasive action next time.

Seven

“Guten Tag. Darf ich ihn hilfen?”

“Um, hello?” I can tell already this is going to rot. After the “good day” part, I have no idea what the guy said. “Is Helmut there?”

I know it’s pronounced like “Hell-moot” and not like “Helmet,” but I still don’t like saying it aloud. I can’t fathom how anyone gives their kids these wacko names non-German-speaking people can’t begin to say without wanting to crack up.

It’s taken me weeks to get used to
Georg
and
Manfred
. Adding
Helmut
to the mix is like God daring me to say something snarky aloud—probably at whatever time it can get me into the most trouble.

Still, I figured it’d be best if I got on the phone and got the whole call over with the second I got home from school, before I gave myself any more time to think about the joke potential of the guy’s name. Or to think too much about the call itself and what I’ll do if Helmut the DJ doesn’t speak English.

If I tell Ulrike she’s going to have to do this herself, I think her stress meter will smash right through the red zone.

There’s some mumbling in German on the other end of the line—maybe the equivalent of telling me to hold on?—and then the voice comes back on.
“Entschuldigung
. . . uh, sorry. My dog was scratching for outside. May I help you?”

YAY! His accent is pretty thick, but he’s understandable.

I quickly introduce myself and run through Ulrike’s list. The guy seems friendly enough—as if he was expecting all the questions—and he doesn’t act like I’m being obnoxious for speaking in English to him, even though I sure feel that way. Before I know it, I’m set. And since Helmut has apparently worked on dances for Ulrike
before, he even asks me to tell her he’ll be there for the sound check in plenty of time, so she shouldn’t worry.

I immediately fire off an e-mail to her. It’s a quarter to four, so she’s probably just getting home from school herself. She’s going to be relieved to know she can put a check mark next to one of her to-do list items. (Namely, the one that says
Make sure Val calls DJ.)
I know I’m relieved. The only items I have left are things I have to do at the dance itself.

The real question, of course, is whether those are going to be enough to distract me from everything that’s going on—or
not
going on—around me.

It’s so pathetic when the most successful ten minutes of my day consist of making a phone call to a guy named Helmut.

To
:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
RE: Another thought . . .

Hi Val,

I’ll take your word for it on the schnitzel. I really have no desire to try the stuff. I’m not that big a fan of
chicken nuggets, so I can’t imagine I’m missing out.

I called Brad, but I’m not sure how well the whole conversation went over. I told him that if he’s in a serious relationship, I should probably live elsewhere. Nearby, if I can afford a place close to his, but not in the same apartment.

He was pretty quiet and said he’d think it all over and call me tomorrow. He has an important accounting exam this week, and I know he’s stressed out about that (I caught him in the middle of studying) so I’m not sure how much of the “call you tomorrow” was exam-related and how much was him being pissed off at me. Guess I’ll find out soon enough. But no matter what he says, I’m glad I called and told him. Thanks for pushing me in the right direction.

And . . . you probably already heard it from her, but I talked to Natalie Monschroeder yesterday after school. Even asked her out. She said her parents are ticked off about her getting her tongue pierced and that they’ve been keeping her in the “maximum security block” (her exact words!) but that they’re offering her a few furloughs. So she’s going to ask them if she can go out this weekend.