Everybody Bugs Out (10 page)

chapter sixteen

no candy, no balloons, no nuts, and no carrots

S
o then they were all, ‘I can't believe she bowled another gutter ball,' ” Rachel said at lunch on Tuesday.

Of the four of us, only Claire laughed. Rachel didn't notice and kept talking. “And Claire was like, ‘Excuse me for not being an expert bowler. But who wants to be great at bowling? People who like wearing used shoes? And—”

“And Oliver was taking a sip of root beer when she said it, and he cracked up and sprayed soda everywhere,” Claire finished, smiling triumphantly.

“It would've been gross if it wasn't so funny,” Rachel added as the two of them giggled.

Yumi ignored them because she was texting Nathan under the table.

And Emma just looked away, her mouth set in a straight line and a bored expression on her face, like she was sick of this story.

I didn't blame her. It's the third time they'd told us about how Oliver sprayed root beer out of his mouth. We were tired of hearing about their fabulous double date.

“Know what's so weird about Caleb?” asked Rachel. “And I mean weird in a good way.”

“How he acts like a clueless surfer dude, but he's really into animals and he even volunteers to clean out the rabbit cages at the local shelter, which is the grossest job there is,” said Emma.

“How did you know?” asked Rachel.

“Because you told us yesterday,” Emma replied.

“Oh.” Rachel took a bite of her tuna fish sandwich. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I heard the no-Candygrams go on sale next week,” said Claire.

“What's a no-Candygram?” I asked.

“Well, you know what a regular Candygram is, right?” asked Claire.

After I shook my head, she went on to explain. “It's when you pay a dollar and you get to write a message on a card that will be delivered with some candy to the person of your choice on Valentine's Day.”

“They hand them out in homeroom,” Rachel added.

“And the no-Candygram is just the card?” I guessed.

Emma nodded. “Exactly. They took away our candy after some parents complained that childhood obesity is on the rise. They wanted to send balloons instead. But then the environmentalists asked, ‘Why bring more nonrecyclable waste into the area?' So someone thought trail mix would be better, but then the parents of kids with nut allergies got together and protested. Which is how everyone came to agree on carrot sticks, but that seemed like way too much work. So now we're just doing grams.”

“No candy, no carrots, no nothing,” said Yumi.

“Except for the cards and message, which is the best part anyway,” Rachel said.

“Huh. Guess I don't need to worry about any of that, since I don't have a date for the dance.” I didn't mean to sound all sour cherries about it. It just came out that way.

“They're not just for dates. You're supposed to get them for all your best friends, too,” Claire said.

“Are you sending one to Caleb?” Yumi asked Rachel.

“I probably should,” said Rachel. “Since he's so nice to rabbits and all, but I don't want him to get the wrong idea.”

“What's the wrong idea?” I asked.

“That's the problem.” Rachel frowned. “I mean, I kind of like him and I'm sure we'll have fun at the dance, but it'll also be weird seeing Erik there with Hannah.”

“If they end up going,” Yumi said.

Rachel perked up. “What do you mean ‘if'?”

“Nothing,” said Yumi. “Just—we ran into Hannah at the mall on Saturday, and we found out he hasn't asked her yet.”

“As of Saturday or as of today?” Rachel wondered.

No one answered her, so she looked at me. “Annabelle? What do you know? This is important!”

“She told us on Saturday and I haven't heard anything since, but we don't really talk about it, so maybe he's asked her by now.”

Rachel munched on her celery stick in contemplation. “Maybe I should send him a gram.”

“Erik?” I asked.

She nodded. “Of course, Erik.”

“That's bold,” said Claire.

“If you do send him one, you've got to get one for Caleb, too. He's your date, so it's only fair,” said Emma.

“Anyway, just sending one isn't the main issue,” said Claire. “It's all about what you write in the note.”

“Dear Erik,” said Rachel, pretending to write in the air with her celery stick. “Why go out with Hannah when you can have me instead?”

Everyone giggled. Sure it was a tad mean-spirited, but it was funny, too.

“And Dear Caleb,” Rachel continued. “You're a great second choice. Thanks for being my backup date.”

“What if I send one to Oliver and he doesn't send one to me?” Claire said.

“He will,” said Rachel. “Oliver is way too polite not to.”

“I don't want him to send me one because he's polite,” said Claire. “I want him to send me one because he likes me.”

“Obviously he likes you,” I said. “You guys had the best time bowling.”

“I mean, I want him to
like
me like me,” said Claire. “But half the time he talked about stupid stuff, like cricket or your science fair project.”

“He mentioned our project?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” Claire nodded.

I leaned a little closer. “What did he say?”

“He talked about how much fun it was, learning about bugs and stuff. And that if you weren't on the team, he and Tobias would never get anything done. And I was like, ‘Please can we not talk about school on Saturday night?' ”

“You should see the bug drawings he's doing. They're incredible. He's so talented.”

Claire gave me this look—like she could read my mind and wasn't exactly thrilled with what she found there. So I quickly asked her, “How's your project coming along?”

“Fine.” Claire shrugged. “We're almost done.”

I turned to Emma and Rachel. “What about you guys?”

“It's crazy,” said Rachel. “You wouldn't believe the high fat and sugar content in the food here. It's all so processed and prepackaged. The only real actual fruit they sell are apples, and half the time they're mushy.”

“Or at least they have mushy spots,” Emma added. “But Phil doesn't think we can win because my project is anti-school.”

“How is it anti-school?” I asked. “It's science. You're just reporting the facts.”

“Right.” Emma nodded.

“I think he's just trying to psych you out,” said Rachel.

“But why would he do that?” asked Emma. “He's my boyfriend.”

It was a good question, but not one that any of us could answer.

chapter seventeen

to no-candygram or not to no-candygram? that is the question …

T
oday is the last day to buy no-Candy grams,” Rachel informed me on our walk to school a couple of days later. “So I'm taking a vote. Should I send one to Erik or not?”

“I say no,” I replied. “Which is what I already told you three, no, four times.”

“What about you?” Rachel asked Yumi.

“Huh?” Yumi looked up from her phone.

“It's dangerous to text while walking,” Rachel said. “You could trip and hurt yourself. Or you could hurt your best friend's feelings by not paying attention to what she's saying.”

“Sorry.” Yumi flashed a sheepish smile and then put her phone away.

“So?” asked Rachel. “Erik—should I send him a gram or not?”

“I thought we covered this ages ago. If you send one to Erik, you've gotta send one to Caleb, too. Otherwise, it's mean.”

“But that's two whole dollars.”

“It's all or nothing,” said Yumi.

Rachel threw up her hands. “You guys are no help! You'll be lucky if you get any no-Candygrams from me.”

“You mean you haven't already sent them?” asked Yumi.

“No, I'm just kidding. Of course I have.”

“Me too,” said Yumi.

I stayed silent because I'd been avoiding the no-Candygram table all week. The problem? Besides wanting to send them to Rachel, Emma, Yumi, and Claire, I really wanted to get one for Oliver, too.

We were lab partners, after all. And he totally deserved one, since he was always sneaking ginger cookies into class for me. We were friends, just like me and Claire and Emma and Yumi and Rachel. So I don't know why I hesitated.

But I did. And it's not like I could ask for any advice. That would make things way too obvious.

As soon as we got to school I checked my wallet for the five dollars my mom gave me. It was still there, so I headed over to the no-Candygram table.

A bored-looking eighth grader sat behind the booth. It had a red tablecloth and some balloons on either side, and I wondered what the environmentalists thought of that. Maybe not much, since it was only a handful.

By the time I got to the front of the line I still hadn't decided, so I asked for four grams and handed her my money.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me the cards along with my change. I stared at the single dollar, thinking I should've just bought five and then decided later. Now I'd have to wait in line all over again. If I were to get one for Oliver, that is.

“Hello?” She waved the money at me impatiently.

“Sorry, I'll take another one. Unless. Well, no. Never mind.” I grabbed the dollar and shoved it into my back pocket.

Then I wrote messages to my friends.

To Emma, aka “Ms. Smarty-Brain” (I'd say pants, but I know you have a problem with that): According to the U.S. Greeting Card Association, over 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are sent out every year. And I guess that makes this 1 billion and 1. (Okay, it only took a Wikipedia search to come up with that statistic, and I know how you feel about online source material, but too bad!)

Annabelle

To Rachel: So glad we get to walk to school together every day and that we're always so early! Happy Valentine's Day! You were my first real friend in Westlake. That is cool.

Annabelle

To Yumi: This is not as good as a card from your darling Nathan, but since he doesn't go to school here, you'll have to settle for second best! Here's to a winning season for my favorite pitcher! And if you do go to Hawaii this summer, do you think I might fit in your suitcase?

Annabelle

To Claire: Happy Valentine's Day to my most fashion-forward friend. Thanks for being so stylish.

Annabelle

After signing the last card, I went back to the table. “Is today really the last day?” I asked as I handed her the notes.

The eighth grader nodded. “Yup.”

“Does that mean you're here after school, too? Or just through lunch?”

“Look,” she said impatiently, “if you want to send another gram, you should do it now because we're almost out.” She pointed to a small stack of blank cards.

“That's all that's left?” I asked.

“Yup.”

I stared at the pile. This was my last chance. Do I send one to Oliver or would that be wrong? No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No. Wait a minute. Does no mean it wouldn't be wrong so it would actually be okay? Or does no mean no gram? Of course, since they're no-Candygrams maybe the double negative cancels out my negative answer, which means that yes, I should definitely buy him one.

I pulled the dollar out of my pocket and slammed it down on the counter. “I need one more, please.”

“Here you go.” The girl pushed a blank card my way.

I clicked open my pen and hovered over the card, wanting to change my mind but knowing it was too late. The eighth grader was staring and I'd already acted too wishy-washy. This was getting embarrassing!

But what was I supposed to write? I mean, besides the obvious
Dear Oliver.

Since the grams were being delivered on February 14, I quickly scrawled
Happy Valentine's Day!

But then I couldn't think of anything else to say so I just signed the note
Sincerely, Annabelle Stevens.

As soon as I finished I realized my message sounded kind of dumb, not to mention generic and boring. And why did I use my last name? There's no other Annabelle in school. Not one who spells her name like me, anyway, and not one who is friends with Oliver, as far as I know.

I couldn't write,
Hey, Oliver. I've got a massive crush on you so how about you ditch Claire, one of my very best friends, who's extra kind to animals and people, too, and beautiful (but lousy at bowling), and go to the dance with me instead? Love (in a friendly, not-totally-obsessed-with-you way because I'm only a smidgen obsessed), Annabelle.

No, that might scare him. It scared
me
a little.

Yet the message I did write was so boring, I got sleepy just rereading it. No way could I send it. I turned back to the eighth grader. “Um, I messed up. Think I can have another?”

“Sure. For another dollar,” she replied.

“But I don't have any more money,” I cried.

“Okay, fine. Here you go.” She pushed over another blank card and I crumpled the one I'd already written. Then I uncrumpled it and tore it into a bunch of little pieces instead. And shoved them into the bottom of my backpack because it seemed safer to dispose of them at home. If lighting matches didn't make me nervous I'd burn them, but maybe that was too extreme, anyway.

I stood there trying to come up with a better message and wishing I'd written something ahead of time, but I hadn't. And nothing new came to me, so I just wrote the same boring thing all over again, minus my last name.

As I handed it over, I glanced around just to make sure none of my friends were nearby. And that's when I got this funny feeling in my stomach. Not quite regret—just a twinge of strangeness, like I was being sneaky.

I didn't want anyone to know I'd sent Oliver a gram, and it felt weird keeping it a secret. But I justified it to myself. No one said I had to share my every move with my friends. True, they'd been talking about the no-Candygrams all week, and I knew exactly who was sending grams to whom, but I certainly wasn't required to share this information.

Anyway, it's not like I kept it from them on purpose. No one asked if I was sending a no-Candygram to Oliver. If they had, I'd have fessed up. Probably.

Well, maybe.

Okay, no, but that didn't matter because no one asked and no one ever would. My friends would never find out, and even if they did, there's nothing wrong with sending Oliver a no-Candygram.

Which is why I didn't understand the weird feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. Because it felt like I was doing something wrong. Something very, very wrong …

Once I handed over the gram, I spun around to leave and ran right into Hannah. Literally.

“Are you okay?” I bent down to help her pick up the books I'd knocked out of her arms.

“Fine,” she sniffed. “Great.” She marched past me to the no-Candygram table and asked, “Is it too late to get one of my grams back?”

“We don't offer refunds,” the girl replied.

“I don't need my money back. All I need is the gram.”

The eighth grader rolled her eyes and said, “You sixth graders and all your drama! Who's the card to?”

Hannah sniffed again. “Erik Wilson,” she said.

The eighth grader began riffling through her box of already-filled-in grams.

Meanwhile, I hung around—partly out of curiosity but mostly to make sure Hannah was all right.

After she got back her gram—and tore it up—I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she sniffed. “Great now.”

“Um, was that gram for Erik your boyfriend?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Hannah. “It was for Erik my ex.”