My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan (13 page)

But I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to ask in front of Becky.

He then handed me his French take-home quiz.

“I already signed it,” he said as he pointed to the honor pledge at the end promising that he hadn’t cheated. “You can just fold it up and slip it into my locker tomorrow.”

Oh.

He wasn’t asking me to “help” him with his homework; he wanted me to “do” his homework.
That’s
why he didn’t want Becky to know. I remembered hearing that Becky found out last year that he had bought a research paper from someone he met online and she forced him to throw it out and write it
himself. She was a stickler for honesty. Except, of course, when it came to her dating life.

I thought about it. Do his homework for him? Hmm. Unfortunately, Spencer had rubbed off on me throughout the years, and I, too, would never consider cheating on anything. I made my decision. Even though I wanted Chuck to be the Edward to my Bella, I had to say no. But before I did, he looked me right in the eye, just like he had at my house, and said, “Please, Justin.”

Then … he winked! It wasn’t just a “dude” wink. It reeked of sexiness. Suddenly, we both heard Becky shout us out a big hello from near the Gap. She was walking to meet us, and Chuck grabbed his homework, shoved it at me, and said, “Quick, before she gets here!” I was about to weakly protest when he whispered, “Justin. You know I think you’re the best.”

That’s all it took. I grabbed the homework and put it into my bag. Now we have a ritual that after French class, he walks out right behind me and slips the homework into my backpack. Then I do it and slip it into his locker right after study hall. I just have to copy all the answers I write down in my version of his handwriting. It’s not that hard … and you should have seen the sexiness of that wink. It plays in my mind more times than Hannah Montana reruns on the Disney Channel.

This whole vacation week I pretty much vegged out at my house. My mom didn’t ask me how my dates with Becky were going because she knew Becky was off skiing with her family. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any private Chuck time because he
was with his parents in New Hampshire where they have a house. There aren’t a lot of Christmas parties in my school, since the majority of the kids are Jewish.

But New Year’s Eve is a BIG deal, and if you’re not actually having a party, you’re invited to one. My parents, however, are the exception. They always spend New Year’s Eve having what they call a romantic dinner with dancing in Manhattan. They took a semester of ballroom dancing in college together, and this is the one night a year where they use their skills (not counting weddings and Bar Mitzvahs). They go out to some fancy restaurant that has a big band and, according to them, spend the night making everyone jealous of their moves. Since it’s their yearly “night to reconnect,” I’m never invited.

I had a babysitter up until fifth grade, but after that I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve at Spencer’s house. We order in pizza and then at eight o’clock we play a board game. However, it’s never something like Uno or Battleship. We want it to be something that will take hours to play and keep us up until midnight. At first it was Risk, but for the past four years it’s been Monopoly. Not everyday Monopoly and not any of the themed ones you can buy, like The Wizard of Oz or New York or something horrible like sports. Instead, we make it themed with stuff related to us! Last year I was in charge and designed one all about school lunches. My playing piece was a miniature lunch tray and Spencer’s was a tiny lunch plate with a meticulously placed hair glued across it (Spencer once got a plate with a hair on it and returned it, horrified, and then the
next one
also
had a hair on it!). I turned all properties into meals—aka expensive Boardwalk and Park Place became Cheese Quesadillas and Caesar Salad (our favorites) and cheap Baltic Avenue became Tuna Fish (the most disgusting). Instead of “Go to Jail” cards, it was “Sit at Toughs ‘R’ Us” (Doug Gool’s table), and when you passed GO, you collected 200 calories. The goal was to have the most calories and become morbidly obese.

This year was Spencer’s turn to make the Monopoly game. I went over to his place at six, we ordered our signature pizza (double-cheese Sicilian), and he unveiled the game. He told me it was dedicated to me and then ceremonially took off the towel lying across it. It was Broadway-themed! Yay! He showed me my playing piece, which was a mini Evita with arms raised Patti LuPone–style, and his was Tracy Turnblad from
Hairspray
. He doesn’t know that much about Broadway, but he obviously did his research. Every property was a different Broadway show, and instead of “Go to Jail” it was “Go on a Non-Union Tour.” Inwardly, I was sad that this New Year’s Eve was going to be different because I couldn’t stay the whole night. I’d told Becky I’d pick her up at her house at nine to go to Michelle Edelton’s party. I was not only sad, but I was anxious, too. I hadn’t gotten around to telling Spencer. I didn’t want to deal with him being disappointed or giving me a lecture, but because I put it off, it was now going to be that much worse.

The pizza came around 6:45, and we started playing and eating at the same time. By 8:00, I already had two houses on
Wicked
and a hotel on
A Chorus Line
, and he owned Idina Menzel, Ethel Merman, and Bernadette Peters. (He changed the railroads to Broadway divas.) Even though we have fun, we actually take playing very seriously because whoever loses has to buy the winner lunch on the first day back at school. That was another thing I hadn’t brought up. How can we do the buying-lunch thing when we don’t even sit together at lunch anymore?

By 8:15, I knew I had to tell Spencer that I couldn’t spend the night. Which, of course, meant lying.

Spencer rolled a five and landed on
Mamma Mia!
He took a minute and then decided to buy it. Oy. As long as he didn’t decide to see it. That show is a headache.

He looked at me, and I knew this was my moment. I bent over and held my stomach.

“Ow!” I moaned, hoping my years of acting classes would pay off.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My stomach.” I moaned. “I think that pizza was bad.”

“Justin.” Spencer put seventy-five dollars in the bank and looked at me. “Do you remember when you wanted to miss your cousin’s wedding so you and I could see
The Simpsons
premiere on TV that night?”

“Yeah …,” I replied, doubled over. My cousin, who was
much older than me, had the nerve to schedule his wedding on the one Sunday in September I looked forward to all summer.

“How did you finally get out of going?”

I paused, then stopped doubling over and sat up. “By using the technique you taught me for faking a stomachache.”

“What are you trying to get out of?” he asked. “Losing the game? You can still buy Audra McDonald and stop me from having a diva dynasty.”

“That’s not it …,” I started, then faded out.

“Then what is it?”

I quickly looked at my watch, and when I looked back up, I knew he knew.

“Justin,” he said while putting his cash in piles, “let’s just count our money and decide who won based on that.” He looked at the wall clock. “Let’s see, if you started your stomachache now, you probably have to be somewhere by … eight forty-five?”

“Nine o’clock,” I clarified.

He just shook his head.

“Listen,” I tried to explain, “of course I’d rather spend the night here like I always do.…”

“But …?” he asked.

“But I have obligations now.”

“Obligations?” Spencer said, using major hand quotes. “You don’t have obligations—you have deceptions. You deceived Becky’s father into thinking you’re dating her; then
you deceived Becky to stop her from auditioning for the show.…”

“That’s not true—” I began.

“By omission,” he clarified. “As well as deceiving Becky into thinking you’re helping her by pretending to date her when you’re actually just doing it because you’re after Chuck. And, of course, deceiving Chuck by not telling him you like him.”

“
That’s
not true!” I said.

“What isn’t?”

“I don’t
like
Chuck. I love him!”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “That’s what you think love is? Thinking someone’s good-looking?”

“It’s not just that,” I retorted. “He’s good-looking
and
popular. Everyone likes him.”

Now he was really mad. “That’s not what love is! You don’t love someone’s attributes!” Spencer started counting on his fingers. “Love is enjoying spending time with someone, respecting each other’s feelings, being comfortable to be oneself with each other.…”

Oneself?
Who speaks like that? And why does Spencer have to make everything sound so boring? Who wants to make out with someone’s feelings?

Spencer seemed to calm down. “Justin, I know you don’t have to be at Becky’s until nine.” Then he took a deep breath and said, “But I think you should leave now.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d canceled plans with Spencer before. Once, I told him I was going to an all-day Clean Up Our
National Parks outing and I bailed after a half hour of raking leaves and took the bus to the mall. Why was tonight such a big deal?

“Can’t I be popular and still have you for a friend?”

“Justin, I know we’ll always be friends.”

Phew
.

“But I don’t think we can be friends right now.”

Oh.

I left my Monopoly money in a pile and picked up the overnight bag I came with that didn’t actually have any pajamas in it.

I put on my coat and scarf (no hat because I could deal with the flu but not with having my carefully arranged ’fro ruined before the party). I opened his front door and turned back around. He was standing by the Broadway Monopoly board. “Happy New Year, Spencer,” I said.

“I hope it will be, Justin.”

I walked out into the cold. I knew I could handle Spencer not being friends with me for the time being, but I decided that it
also
meant he didn’t get to be in my head anymore. No more ruining my fun with his “Are you really sure this is the right thing?” and “Why don’t you think this through?” echoing through my cranium. I stopped walking so I could use one of Spencer’s annoying spiritual techniques against him. I “visualized” (as he loves to say) him walking around inside my head, spouting off his killjoy comments. I then appeared inside my own head and walked up to him. I took his arm and escorted
him kindly to the side of my brain, which I visualized as a cliff overlooking a deep canyon. I then gently pushed him the hell off. Bye-bye, downer.

Feeling cleansed, I quickened my step. Becky’s house was four blocks away, and I wanted to get there soon so I wouldn’t freeze. When I turned onto Pearl Drive, I suddenly saw Mary Ann Cortale appear out of the snowy darkness. She was wearing what looked like a coat I had recently read about at Greenpeace.org. It was made from completely recycled tires and plastic. Unfortunately, it also looked like that’s what it was made from. I assumed she was walking to some low-echelon New Year’s party. I didn’t know whether to wave or not. We never really had been friends, and now that I was with the popular kids, we were very separated. While I was wondering what to do, I saw a figure step directly behind her. Doug Gool! I couldn’t believe he took his harassment off school grounds! I knew Mary Ann didn’t realize he was behind her. Popular or not, I had to help her.

“Mary Ann! Look behind you!”

Mary Ann turned around and saw Doug, who looked in shock. Not at Mary Ann seeing him, but at me warning her. He suddenly bent down, picked up some snow, and dumped it onto Mary Ann’s head. She just stood there and Doug ran away.

I rushed over to her. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, Justin. Uh … thanks.”

She kept standing there. I had assumed she was going
somewhere but then I thought maybe she was coming from somewhere. That would be depressing. Returning home so long before midnight. I didn’t want to ask and embarrass her, so I just muttered, “See ya,” and kept walking toward Becky’s house as Mary Ann stayed in the same spot. What a strange night.

I got to Becky’s house early, but of course she was ready. And looking beautiful. She had on a green top and jeans that managed to look casual
and
dressy and that brought out the emerald green in her cat eyes. Her dad came downstairs and was obviously also getting ready to go to a party.

“Justin, my boy!” he bellowed. “How’s my bio whiz?”

I smiled (with dead eyes). “Fine, sir. Thank you.”

He turned toward Becky. “He’s a keeper, Becky! This boy is polite
and
destined to be a doctor.”

“I don’t know, Dad,” Becky said, obviously annoyed. “He could easily go into theater. He’s really good, you know.”

Her father laughed. “I know he is! I’ve seen him perform.” Then he added, “And he always comes through. That’s the mark of a true professional.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, getting uncomfortable with the nonstop praise.

“It’s a hard field, Justin, as I’m sure you know. I’ve seen all of Becky’s performances, and I’ve always told her, ‘If you want to make it, you have to be perfect.’ ”

Huh?
“How can you perform perfectly?” I wanted to say.
Theater and music aren’t the Olympics
.

I knew I shouldn’t argue, so I just nodded a lot.

“Speaking of perfect,” he went on as he started tying his tie, “I heard you aced the mouth and larynx bio quiz.”

It creeped me out that he always knew stuff about me, but I understood that Becky had to keep him informed so he’d keep believing we were dating.

“Well,” I said, trying to make a joke, “I’ve always had a soft spot for the soft palate.”

He laughed so hard I thought he was going to cough up
his
soft palate. He pointed to me. “And he’s funny!” He finally stopped laughing and said, “You kids have a great time.” He gave Becky a quick kiss as he walked to the kitchen. “Becky, your mother and I are going to the Epsteins.”

Becky started to get her coat. “OK, Daddy,” she said stiffly. Even when she was in full shutdown mode around her father, she still had that Becky beauty glow.