My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan (10 page)

All alone with the
(sharp)
mem’ry

(inaudible)
of my days in the
(cracks)
sun
.

And
whenever she did a show where she didn’t have to
sing, her acting would be riveting in rehearsal but onstage she’d forget complete sections of dialogue. And the lines she did remember she would recite like a robot. It was maddening.

I was going to tell her dad that she actually has a lot of talent but needs to work on her performing skills. Unfortunately, he didn’t give me a chance.

“Justin, listen. I have two tickets to the new musical at Lincoln Center. Are you interested?”

YES!!!!!
I wanted to scream but didn’t want to destroy Becky’s cell phone with my loudness. I took a breath and said calmly, “Yes, sir. I am. That show is sold out for months.”

He laughed. “I know. The producer’s mom has been my patient for years. She offered me two tickets, and you were the first person I thought of.”

Wow! Maybe he’s not as bad as Becky thinks. “Thank you,” I said, then added nervously, “Uh … when is it?” If it was two tickets, did that mean he’d be my “date” for the evening? Oy. It’s awful enough to spend a night with your own father but devastating to spend it with someone else’s.

“The first Saturday of next month. And don’t worry, you can have both tickets.”

Both
tickets? Was there a catch?

“I just need you to do one thing.…”

Aha. I held the phone and waited for the perfunctory “Please respect my daughter’s boundaries” speech he felt he had to say. I prepared for a five-minute stretch of time to tune
him out and then I’d say a “yes, sir” as I came out of my stupor. Unfortunately, instead of the “my daughter is a delicate flower” oratory, I got “I need you to make sure Becky doesn’t try out for
Rock and Roll High School
.”

What?

Background:
Rock and Roll High School
is the big musical coming up in April. Last year for the spring show, Mrs. Hall chose a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta that none of the theater kids had heard of. Everyone was so devastated that Mrs. H promised she would choose a show with a rock score for the next year if everyone stopped complaining before auditions even began. Well, she didn’t quite phrase it like that. It was more: “If you kids promise to stop your yammering about hating a brilliant show, which, by the way, you know
nothing
about, I’ll do one of those horrible high school pop shows next year. Now, all of you get on some antidepressants and shut the hell up.” Of course, we wound up loving
H.M.S. Pinafore
because the music is fantastic and the lyrics are hilarious, but I’m glad we hated it at first because now we get to do a show where the lead role has to sing
and
play the piano.

YES! Who else at our school can sing and really play the piano?

And Zelda Chung doesn’t count because the role is for a boy. But there are amazing parts for girls, too. If Becky got over her performance awfulness, she’d be perfect for the cheerleader lead.

I didn’t know what to say to Becky’s dad. I wanted those
tickets. But wouldn’t it be wrong to make Becky not audition? I mean, it’s true I’d be saving her the embarrassment of a bad performance because that’s probably what would happen. Wait a minute … the more I think about it, the more I feel I’d actually be doing her a favor.

No, you wouldn’t. You’d be using her in order to get a material possession you want
.

AH! I not only have to deal with Spencer in real life but also in my head? That area is reserved solely for Chuck.

I saw Becky walking back from the bathroom.

“Oh, here comes Becky now,” I said. “I’ll be sure to talk to her,” I added, without specifying what I’d be talking to her about.

“Good boy!” he said to me … or possibly to his dog. “I’ll hold those tickets for you.”

“Thanks!” I said.

As I was about to hand the phone back to Becky, he added, “If.”

That’s all he said. Literally “If” followed by a period. Hmph. Not only was that vaguely threatening, but it’s also a sentence fragment. Hadn’t he ever taken Mr. Fabry’s English grammar intensive?

Becky took the phone and said bye and a perfunctory “I love you” to him.

We started to walk toward Sushi Yummy. “What did he want to talk to you about?” she asked, and her catlike eyes
looked so innocent. Oh no. I hadn’t had enough time to work out a lie.

“Um …,” I started.

She smirked. “Probably asking you to help me get into AP bio …”

“YES!” I said, much too loudly, grateful that she thought of the lie for me. “I can do flash cards with you if you want.”

She looked annoyed. “I don’t want.
He
wants.”

She started getting in line and I looked around. Where was Chuck?

“Um … Becky. Aren’t we supposed to wait for Chuck?”

“Oh,” she said while getting her tray, “don’t worry. He always comes late. Either practice goes over or he decides to spend an extra half hour on the treadmill.”

That’s annoying. But, frankly, he’s worth waiting for.

Becky saw me hesitating by the trays. “Don’t wait for him.” I got my tray and we started moving past all the delicious sushi choices. “The sad part is, he might have eaten already. He’s always shoveling protein bars down his gut and calling it a meal.”

Protein bars? So
that’s
how he stays so muscular. Well, muscular and lean. Not too muscley. Just the right amount. His biceps don’t necessarily bulge, they—

“What do you look so happy about?” Becky suddenly asked.

Caught!

I said the first thing I could think of.

“Eel rolls!”

“You’re in luck!” she said with a beautiful smile. “They have them.”

I know. I saw them near the California rolls.

“Here.” She put three on my plate.

Great. The first thing that came to me was eel rolls but not because I love them; they were on my mind because I hate them. UCK. Eels are so ugly. They look like creatures from hell. That sushi recipe is like cutting up evil and serving it rolled in rice.

Of course, they’re more expensive than other rolls, so I only had enough money left over for a side salad. Becky and I sat down at one of the food court tables with umbrellas, and I chose the side where I could see the escalator Chuck would have to take.

Becky and I started eating (delicious sushi for her and lettuce for me).

We chewed.

No sign of Chuck.

We swallowed.

Was that Chuck on the escalator?

No …

“So …,” she said.

“So, yeah,” I said.

What now? We knew each other from various rehearsals
but hadn’t ever spent any time alone. Except for the recent morning walk to school, and that was more of a planning session. What could we talk about? The only thing I could think of was her father’s scheme, and I couldn’t bear the thought of carrying it out. I tried to force it out of my mind so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Becky, are you trying out for
Rock and Roll High School
?”

Great. I forced it out of my mind, right into my mouth.

“Oh!” she said excitedly. “I need to ask you something about that.”

Well, the good news was we had something to talk about; the bad news was it was something I didn’t want to talk about.

“Lots of people don’t try out,” I said, which related to nothing she’d said.

Thankfully, at that moment her cell phone rang.

She looked at the screen. “It’s Chuck!” She flipped her hair back and answered it. “Hi, honey.” She listened for a while, nodding.

“OK,” she finally said. “See you then.”

Phew. At least he’d given an estimated time of arrival.

“How late is he gonna be?” I asked, trying to make it sound like I was frustrated because it was an inconvenience for me to have to wait for them to have their date and not because I’d expected to see Chuck’s stunningness and now had to wait.

“Oh, he’s not coming.”

WHAT?

She went on. “It’s like I thought. Practice went on longer and now he wants to hit the treadmill and then stretch. I’m going to see him tomorrow morning in geometry.”

Excellent. I left Spencer’s so I could eat a side of greens and stare at a plateful of food that made me gag.

Becky put her phone into her bag. “Let’s talk about the spring show.”

And
be forced to have a conversation I would do anything to avoid.

What an amazing first date with Chuck.

THAT ALL HAPPENED TWO WEEKS
ago.

I’m now in my Monday study hall. Usually I spend the period quietly sitting and studying, which usually deteriorates into me fantasizing about starring opposite Kristin Chenoweth in a Broadway musical that’s filmed for TV and then gets released as a major motion picture. Instead, I’ve spent the whole period today passing notes. And not like I used to, which was like this:

1. One of the cool kids would write a note.

2. They’d slip it to me while whispering to whom to pass it.

3. They’d then tell me NOT to open it.

4. I’d pass it to a cool kid and risk getting in trouble.

5. Repeat from opposite direction.

This time they didn’t want me to pass it to anyone; instead it was being passed to
me
! The notes were mostly making fun of E.R.’s (Ms. Horvath’s) neck brace. She apparently fell off the
treadmill she has to walk on, according to doctor’s orders, “every day for twenty
full
minutes.” She had been complaining about her regimen for weeks: “It’s supposed to be physical therapy, but it’s physical
agony
.” She informed us that last week she hadn’t been able to take the “torture” anymore, so she’d pushed the STOP button. Apparently the treadmill didn’t slow gradually; it just stopped and the abruptness of it made her neck snap “all the way forward and all the way back.” She told anyone who walked by that she now had “fifth-degree whiplash.”

First of all, I didn’t know whiplash came in degrees, and secondly, when things
are
registered in degrees, don’t they only go up to third? Also, is fifth degree the worst level or is it at the low end of the spectrum? No one dares ask her for fear of the personal medical history we’ll have to endure. Regardless, her injury has been the subject of most of the notes today, featuring pictures of her with arrows pointing to various body parts. Next to the arrows were written things like “seventh-degree halitosis” and “twelfth-degree hemorrhoid” (that was mine).

Usually when I looked around a classroom, my view would be mainly kids I wasn’t allowed to talk to (too cool) and kids I was too scared to talk to (too tough). But now, thanks to Becky, I can talk to
any
of the cool kids. Yes, it’s still for limited amounts of time (aka until someone cooler comes along and I get dropped), but it’s more words than I’ve spoken to them in
fifteen years! AND now the tough kids don’t call me fag, etc., anymore because my girlfriend is so “hot.”

Even Doug Gool stopped actively bothering me. Oddly enough, though, he’s stepped up his harassment of Mary Ann Cortale. It seems that ever since he put chocolate on her butt, he’s taken all the hatred he had toward me and directed it toward her. Whenever I’m at my locker, he’s in front of hers in the middle of writing
skank
or gluing her lock or taping up rolls of toilet paper. I feel bad that she’s bearing the brunt of him, but I can’t really do anything about it; plus I have too much other stuff to deal with.

My main issue is trying to get all my homework done and piano/violin practicing in while still having time every day for a Chuck-and-Becky rendezvous. I’ve started to wake up extra early so I can get my practicing done in the morning, because after school I have to be on call. So far I haven’t been able to work a whole lot on getting Chuck interested in me because we haven’t spent much time together. Normally what happens is I’ll get a last-minute phone call to meet at a location where I’ll show up early and meet Becky. We chat until Chuck shows up (at least twenty minutes late, sometimes up to an hour); then they’ll go off somewhere and make out while I keep a lookout. Also, in the last week alone, he’s canceled three times because of practice/the gym/the coach/the team. It’s not exactly what I’d envisioned, but at least it’s gotten me one item I can cross off my goals-for-the-year list: school-wide
popularity. Well, not exactly popularity, but no one’s being mean to my face.

Therefore, the next step is figuring out a way to amp up my popularity. Yes, kids don’t actively ignore/hate me, and they chat with me before and after class, but where are the invitations to parties? Where are the late-night, two-hour phone calls? Where are the bare-your-soul conversations while you walk through the park? In other words, where’s all the stuff I get from Spencer? I won’t feel truly popular until one of the cool kids calls me and we spend an hour watching a reality show together while on the phone. I’m trying to figure out what I need to do to make that happen since it seems that dating Becky and being funny aren’t enough to get to that next level.
And
while I’m figuring that out, I have to work on the other two items on my sophomore-year list: dating Chuck and getting my first kiss!