My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan (18 page)

Of course, Spencer was on to me, so he made it a dare I couldn’t manipulate. “You’re not allowed to say something and then take it back.”

Hmm … well, maybe I could—

“And you can’t say it like you’d say it to a friend.”

Argh! Why can he still read my mind?

Doug Gool was still lurking, so Spencer kept up the code.

“Justin, you need to give ‘them’ a kiss.”

Thankfully, Doug Gool slowly started walking away. He was probably looking for his favorite target: Mary Ann. Maybe Spencer was there as her protector. If he was, he wasn’t doing a very good job. Regardless, I had to figure out how to deal with this public dare.

“Tonight?” I asked, even though I knew that’s what he wanted.

“Yes, Justin.” Then he added the obvious: “In front of the school.”

Well, my plan
was
to win Chuck over tonight. I had assumed we’d meet up after the dance, he’d tell me how impressed he was with my performance, and we’d end up smooching. I guess I could make it happen quicker. Right after I perform, I could pull Chuck onstage and just go for it.

Unless … what if my song works even better than I thought and Chuck can’t control himself?
That
would be an amazing way to bust Spencer. Here he is, trying to bust me in front of the school, but what if the joke’s on him?

“Spencer,” I asked slowly, “what if
he
kisses
me
first? Does that count?”

It was one of the only times I’ve seen Spencer at a loss for words.

“Uh …” He thought about it. “I guess so.”

Then he paused again before adding, “Good luck, Justin.”

And with that, he walked away toward the “bar.”

And suddenly I was face to face with Becky.

The impossibility of the dare suddenly hit me. I was supposed to kiss her boyfriend in front of her? Even I wasn’t willing to do that. It’s one thing to do it behind her back, but I didn’t want to publicly humiliate her. I’d have to renege on doing a public dare for the first time in the history of my friendship with Spencer. But before I told Spencer to forget it, I knew I had to clear the air.

“Becky,” I said, “I need to talk to you.”

“Really?” she asked angrily. “After not talking to me for weeks?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Is that what you say after you could barely stand to touch me when we had our photo taken outside the dance?”

“What? No.” Now she thought everything was a rejection from me. “It wasn’t that I could barely stand to touch you. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.”

“Oh, come off it, Justin,” she said. “You’re just a tease. You get me to like you and then when I finally do, you act like I’m disgusting.” And with that, she ran out of the gym. I went after her (first stopping to finally get a handful of chips) and caught up with her in the parking lot.

She was sitting on her father’s car. “Becky, I don’t think you’re disgusting,” I said while still chewing. And panting. “I think you’re beautiful.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. “You think I’m beautiful? Then why did you cut me off after that night at the pond? We used to have fun hanging out … and then nothing.” She started crying. “Why would you hurt me like that?”

“Becky …,” I began, and then stopped. I could make up some lie about having a cold sore and not wanting to spread it, or I could tell her the truth.

You should tell her the truth
.

Good ol’ Spencer. Just as intrusive as ever.

I took a deep breath. How was she going to take this? Would we be friends past this next minute?

“Becky,” I began again, “don’t you think Rachel Deena is beautiful?” Rachel graduated last year but was hardly around all senior year because she got “discovered” in a mall and after that was always flying to some far-off country to do a modeling shoot.

“Yes, I think she’s beautiful,” she said, annoyed. “Why? Are you dating
her
?”

“No,” I said. “My point is, just ’cause you think she’s beautiful, do you want to kiss her?”

“Of course I don’t,” she said, as if I were a moron.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Justin,” she said, frustrated, “you’re not making sense. I wouldn’t want to kiss her because I wouldn’t want to kiss any girl. I like boys.”

I was silent.

She gave me a look like
And????

I stayed silent.

Then an expression came on her face and I knew she knew.

“Ohhhh …,” she finally said. I raised my eyebrows. “But …,” she began, “but …”

“But what?” I asked nervously. Was she about to tell me she didn’t ever want to speak to me again?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She wasn’t crying anymore, but she somehow looked more hurt. “I thought we were close.”

Why didn’t I tell her? “Well, I was scared,” I admitted. I realized I was the same as a lot of kids in that book. “I didn’t want you not to like me.”

“I could
never
not like you,” she said warmly. “Even when I hated you, I still liked you.”

It made no sense, but I knew what she meant.

She got off the car to give me a hug, and when she did, I felt a big weight lift off my shoulders.

“So, you’ve never told anyone?” she asked.

“Only one other person,” I explained. “My friend Spencer.” Then I added, “Who’s not really my friend anymore …”

“Hmph,” she snorted, “like Chuck’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

WHAT?!?!

“Becky! For … for real?” I sputtered.

She nodded.

“Since when?”

She got back onto her dad’s car. “Since around a week ago. I began thinking about breaking up last month. Right after the concert when you helped me realize my dad was ruining my performances.”

I certainly remembered that night. It ended with the infamous kiss.

“I began to realize who I wanted to be with.”

“Me?” I asked nervously.

“Well”—she smiled—“yes. Or at least, someone like you. Who listens to me and worries about me and tries to help me.”

I nodded. She went on. “Chuck is a lot like my father—he cares mostly about himself and what he wants. He’s a terrible boyfriend.”

I nodded again, but inside I thought that maybe he sucked as a boyfriend because he didn’t really want a girlfriend.

“So, if you broke up with Chuck, why did we have to go to the dance tonight?” I asked. “You don’t need to cover up for your father anymore.”

She looked at me like I didn’t get anything. “Justin. I wanted a chance to spend time with you. The past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me nonstop.” She laughed. “I guess you were afraid I was going to attack you again.”

“Well, it wasn’t really an attack,” I said as I got up onto the car with her.

“Oh, please, it was exactly like my first kiss,” she said with an eye roll.

Huh?

“Your first kiss?” I asked, confused. “I thought that happened in Michelle’s garden and it was perfect.”

“Oh, it was,” she confirmed. “I’m talking about my
literal
first kiss, not what I consider my first kiss,” she explained, making me more confused.

She must have seen my expression because she launched into an explanation. “Justin, everybody knows that you can get kissed a lot of times before having your first kiss.”

“Meaning?” I was hoping something would finally make sense.

“Meaning,” she said, as if I were a little slow, “your
first kiss
is the one where you feel fireworks. The one where you think you’re in love, or you could be in love. The one or ones you get before that don’t count. Your actual first kiss is the one you’ll always remember.”

Ohhhh!!!

I smiled because I think I got it. And because there was hope for me.

She went on. “When I was in summer camp, I had to team up with one of the guys in the other bunk during Color War. When we won the rowing competition, he leaned across the boat and kissed me.” She shuddered with the memory. “I was totally not into him, but I couldn’t escape him in that tiny boat.”

Hmm. Sounds like a certain bench in a gazebo I’ve experienced.

She went on. “It was technically my first kiss but it doesn’t count. I got kissed a few more times since then, but it wasn’t until Chuck that I felt I
really
had my first kiss.”

Wow.

So that means I’m still waiting for mine.

And, hopefully, Chuck’s going to give it to me tonight!

WELL, SO FAR A FEW
things had gone wrong at the dance, but I felt like I was managing them all. After our talk, Becky and I left the parking lot and headed back to the gym. It was weird to be with her and have her know everything. Well, not everything. She still didn’t know that I’d been trying all year to get Chuck to date me. I thought I’d save
that
reveal for a more appropriate time. Like in a letter from college. Hopefully, when Chuck and I smooch tonight, Becky’ll think it was one of those spontaneous, crazy things and not because I’d been scheming since fall. I walked back into the dance and saw that the big glass jar near the punch bowl was getting filled up with the ballots for the Spring King and May Queen.

Then I noticed Mary Ann getting punch. Spencer, her supposed date/protector, was nowhere to be seen, but horrible Doug Gool was lurking. Ever since New Year’s, I’ve been
swooping in and saving her from him. Maybe it’s been my way of staying close to Spencer. I know I upset him when I didn’t sit with them the day Gool put chocolate on her pants, and I guess I’ve felt like I’ve been making up for it with my vigilantism. Sometimes I’d see her waiting in front of the school and Gool’d be turning the corner, so I’d run up, frantically tell her to follow me, and bring her back into the school and out the side exit. Once, I was at the mall (the day I was shopping for my Spring Fling outfit) and I saw Mary Ann sitting depressingly by herself at the food court. Then I caught sight of Doug in line at the Rockin’ Wok. It’s one thing to be harassed at school, but I think it’s doubly embarrassing to have it happen in public. I did a preemptive strike by grabbing her hand and running with her to the elevators.

I was happy that I could look out for her. No one ever helped me when I was Doug’s biggest target, and I would have loved someone like me getting me out of his way. I noticed that Mary Ann’s dress was completely white (dye would probably ruin the organicness of it), and I could just imagine Doug “accidentally” spilling some red punch all over it. I didn’t want her to always carry around a horrible memory of this dance, so I made a beeline over to her.

“Come with me!” I said forcefully, and put my arm around her.

“But—” she started.

“You’ll thank me later,” I said as we hurried away. I saw
Spencer by the food, deposited Mary Ann next to him, took another handful of chips (all right, two), and went to the boys’ room to start prepping (aka flossing) for my performance.

Right when I was gargling, in walked Becky’s dad. I braced myself for another boring conversation. Hopefully he was sick of the pituitary gland and would move on to the lymph nodes.

“Well, well, well,” he began, “fancy meeting you here!” He laughed at his own unfunniness, which led into his signature coughing fit.

I smiled politely and maneuvered past him to leave. I was thankful to see him go toward the urinal as I was walking out, but then he had the nerve to continue the conversation! I was at the door when he said, “Justin …”

I slowly turned around and soon heard the unmistakable sound of liquid flowing. “Yes?” I said uncomfortably.

“What are your plans for the summer?” he asked while continuing at the urinal. It seemed like forever. How much did he drink before he entered?

“Um, I’m going to go back to Usdan. It’s an arts camp.” I turned to go again. “See ya.”

“That’s too bad,” he continued, talking
and
peeing. “I thought maybe you could join Becky at the hospital.”

Hospital? Is she sick?

“What’s the matter?” I asked nervously as I turned back around.

“Oh, nothing’s the matter. Quite the opposite.”
Finally
he started to zip up. “I got Becky an internship in the endocrinology research laboratory starting in July.”

Oh. So that’s why he wouldn’t stop talking about the pituitary gland. It was obviously on his mind. Wait a minute. I didn’t remember Becky telling me anything about it. During chorus rehearsals last month, I told her how great Usdan was, and she told me she was thinking of going to the May auditions.

“When did she apply?” I asked. It must have been during the weeks I was avoiding her.

“Oh,” he said as he flushed. “She didn’t apply. I called Dr. Markowitz, who runs the unit, and told him a little about her and he agreed to take her as an intern.”

What a depressing way to spend your summer.

“Is it a morning or afternoon internship?” I asked. Maybe she could do Usdan for a half day.

“Both,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every day from eight to six.”

It sounded awful.

“How do you know Becky wants to go?”

He had the nerve to look at me like I was bizarre … after having just had a full conversation with me while peeing!

“Justin,” he said as he walked to the sink, “it doesn’t matter if she wants to go. Her mother and I decide what’s right and wrong for her.”