The Boy Project (7 page)

Evan smiled at me when he passed by just now. At one point I would have thought this was a great sign, but now I do not.

Whew. Everyone seems to have forgotten about what Tabbi said in band, probably because there's bigger news. Phillip Bernard (of gorgeous eyebrow fame) got — and then lost — his first official girlfriend last night.

Phillip is really cute, but he's also so shy that he's never actually gone out with anyone. We've all been wondering who he liked. Apparently, he texted Elizabeth R and asked her to go out. Then ten minutes after she said yes, he changed his mind and broke it off. With another text. Yep, they got together and broke up without seeing each other OR actually talking. Now she
hates
him, supposedly. I hope she wasn't supposed to be his one and only soul mate!

Well. I've certainly gathered more information on Mr. DeLacey than I ever wanted to know. I know so much about him now that I need to scrap my first index card and make a new one.

Apparently, replacing real names with funny fake names is not equally funny to all people. At first I figured Mr. DeLacey wasn't too upset about our prank because he acted completely normal during algebra. But after class he handed me a note that I was momentarily, I admit, just a bit excited about taking. Then I opened it.

By the time I got to science, the note had gotten damp in my nervous, sweaty hands. But I felt a little better when I saw Chip smiling and waving his little white note like a flag of surrender. We'd underestimated what an important fueling station the teacher's lounge is on the information highway. Mrs. Hill squealed on us!

Somehow I could tell detention wasn't going to be as much fun this time. I think that's because Mr. DeLacey used the phrase “contacted your parents” in his note, and one thing's for sure: Nothing is as much fun when your parents are involved.

Later, in detention, I learned that in addition to being good at explaining math, Mr. DeLacey can also really deliver a lecture. And not the fun kind like
Why gummy worms grow three times their size when
soaked in water
. The kind you usually hear coming out of a parent's mouth. He started with what a hard job substitutes have, got louder when he asked if we knew how difficult it is to get a sub when kids don't behave, and then veered into how extremely rude and disrespectful we were to force someone to read crude names like Monk E. Butts! (Good thing he didn't know about the names that
didn't
make the list.)

He ended the lecture with “Do you get it now?” (Let me tell you, that phrase is
never
going to mean the same thing to me in algebra.) I just nodded my head and knew that I was going to have to do a lot of explaining to my mom when we got home.

And I knew something else, too. I'd never look into those big blue eyes again and think they're really nice. But the experience did teach me something:

Don't try to pull one over on a math teacher. They're too good at figuring things out.

Mom made me hand over my cell phone as soon as we got in the car. She said instead of talking to my friends, I should be thinking about the fact that “misbehaving for a substitute is actually disrespecting the regular teacher.” I guess when she came to pick me up she saw what I used to see in Mr. DeLacey's big blue eyes while he explained how Chip and I had “violated the teacher-student bonds of trust.” All I know is she sure was nodding a lot while he talked to her. He was probably hoping she'd lay an additional punishment on me, too. She did. Kind of. She de-phoned me.

I don't really mind this punishment because I'm pretty sure it just saved the life of my cell phone. I swear I'm going to throw it in the toilet if Tabbi calls me one more time to tell me that Evan Carlson is perfect and that she is absolutely positively in love. She thinks it's “the real thing.” They have now been together for the six longest days of my life.

I don't want to think about it. Instead, I'll think about the fact that a ton of middle-school romances last less than a week. So there's a pretty good chance that one day they'll break up. Maybe tomorrow, even. Then I'll still have a chance with Evan. Because, you know, you never know. . . .

Dear Mr. DeLacey,

I know what you're doing even though I'm not looking at you. I try to avoid looking at you now because I've realized your soul is mean. And somehow seeing the mean side of a person's soul changes the way his face looks, too. That's right. The number of girls in our class who think you are cute has just been reduced by one. You do the math!

I know
what you're doing because you do the same exact things every day. I can hear the
drrrrrrrrrr
of your right-hand desk drawer, so I know you're putting away your thermal lunch bag. Now I hear steps. You're walking to the file cabinet to get out lesson plans. You just walked back across the room and stopped, which means you're placing them in the middle of your very clean desk.
Click!
The top drawer of your desk has just closed, which means you've pulled out a green ballpoint pen and are scribbling a green circle on the note cube on your desk.

In my eyes you've changed, Mr. DeLacey, but you're still following the same old routine. And now that I'm not watching you follow it anymore, I have time to do other things. Like describe how torturous lunch period has become. See, Tabbi is determined to prove her loyalty to me by making sure I still sit with her even though she's sitting with the guy I secretly like. It is more torturous than afternoon detention with you. More torturous than having to eat Mimi's asparagus soup “or else,” and
that's
something I have to choke down one tiny little mouthful at a time. Not that you care about love and relationships and how painful it is to have your best friend drooling over your crush while all you have to drool over is your PB&J. If you cared about stuff like that you'd probably be married by now. And you'd be nicer.

When I'm with Tabs and Evan, my only option is to focus on something else. Unfortunately, there aren't many great things to look at in the cafeteria. Today I observed The Vine and James sneaking a kiss when the teacher on duty was writing up a kid for dumping food on his friend. Mashed potatoes look bad enough when they're served in a section of green plastic tray. They look even worse when they're served on a bed of human hair. Yet even
that
sight is more appetizing than The Vine and James intertwined. (Asparagus soup is more appetizing than that!) So I looked away and spotted Richie.

I haven't done any unobtrusive observations of Richie yet, so I watched him for a while.

He always smiles! (Maybe if you took a moment to study him, some of that smiling would rub off on you.) Richie smiles when he knows the answers in class. He smiles when he doesn't. He's been smiling since he moved here, but he doesn't talk much.

It's hard to image how Richie could possibly be my one and only true soul mate, because we don't hang out in the same group at all and we've never really talked. But I need to include him in my research. Because, like I always say . . . you never know.

I'm still not looking at you, Mr. DeLacey, but I can tell you're ready to start class because you're tapping that green pen against your palm. Time to pull out the algebra homework.

Signed, but never to be delivered by,

Kara McAllister

P.S. You can give me those surveys for my science fair project any time now.

We have a sub in band, which is great because most subs don't know anything about waving a baton. (Heck, most
people
don't know anything about waving a baton.) So we're basically having study hall in the band room. I've been trying to concentrate on solving for
x
, but thinking about algebra makes me think about Mr. DeLacey, which makes me think about my science project surveys, which makes me think about the fact that Mr. DeLacey hasn't given them back to me, which makes me think about how I'm afraid to ask for them since he was so angry about the funny fake-name list and all. But the clock is ticking (< three weeks until the due date) and I
need
to get them in time to create a chart and a science board. I'll ask for them right after school. I won't be afraid. I won't be afraid. . . .

So after school, I asked Mr. DeLacey in my
sweetest possible
voice if he'd had time to distribute my surveys.

He said, “Yes, Kara, I took your little ‘survey.' ” When he said “survey,” he used air quotes. I hate air quotes. Nothing good ever happens between air quotes.

“Can you give them back to me so I can finish my project?” I asked.

Mr. DeLacey turned his back to me and acted like he was straightening his desk, but come on, he has the neatest desk you've ever seen. It probably qualifies as a sterile environment. Like, surgery could be performed on that desk. “No,” he said to his desk.

I didn't think I'd heard him right. “When can I get them?” I asked.

“Kara, you need to accept the fact that there's nothing scientific about those surveys. Take my advice and come up with a new project. You'll thank me when you get a grade higher than an F.”

At that point, I was glad Mr. DeLacey had his back to me because water was pooling in my eyes. I couldn't tell whether anger or embarrassment caused this reaction. See, I don't think Mr. DeLacey was acting purely in my best interests to help me make a better science grade. I think he was being a jerk because he could be. Because he is a teacher and I am not, and he is mad that I embarrassed him in front of the substitute. Or maybe he's just a mean person who's only nice if you do everything one-hundred-percent exactly right. Maybe that's why he's still single. I don't know. Do mean people get to have soul mates?

Mom and Dad always want us to tell them about our day when we have family dinners, which my mom likes to think happens every night. Actually, we only all manage to make it around the table three or four nights a week. Of course the number of nights I'm present, unfortunately, is something close to . . . I'd say . . . every single night. But Julie is so busy with track and her fabulous social life that she doesn't frequent the McAllister Café as often as I do. Lucky me.

Tonight, though, I was looking forward to the discussion because I wanted to get my dad's take on Mr. DeLacey and my STOLEN surveys. Even if I can't use them for a science fair project, they contain
valuable
information — especially if they prove my Hidden Agenda Soul Mate Project Hypothesis correct! I need them! And I figured my dad would know how I could get them back.

Dad is an attorney. But he's not the kind of attorney that makes a lot of money. See, he works for a human rights organization, and humanity is not a very valuable commodity compared to something like real estate. But why is humanity more important than his own flesh and blood? Well, at least he still gives me useful advice. Sometimes.

As soon as we started passing the food, I told the Evil DeLacey Survey Stealer story.

Julie said, “Mr. DeLacey? Isn't that the teacher you think is so cute?”

Thanks, Julie. I
so
appreciate your contribution to getting Mom and Dad to take my conversation seriously. And why'd you have to be home for dinner tonight of all nights?

But luckily, Dad had his advice ready and he started giving it before I was forced to answer Julie's dumb question. Not that she really needed the answer. She knew it before she asked.

Anyway, Dad said, “You get the answers you want if you ask the right questions.”

I gave him the usual response. “Huh?”

“Just walk up to Mr. DeLacey and politely ask, ‘Is it legal for you to keep my surveys, which are my property, if I ask you for them back?' ”

“You really think I have the guts to do that?”

“Depends on how bad you want the surveys.”

I want them bad. Tune in tomorrow to see if it's bad enough. . . .