The Boy Recession (5 page)

“No, that’s not the right angle,” Diva says to Amy Schiffer, the redheaded senior spandexer who’s taking the picture. “Give it to me.”

Diva grabs Amy’s digital camera out of her hand and changes the setting. After that, Amy tries again. When the flash goes off, Diva grabs the camera.

“Ew! That is
so
gross,” Diva says. “Amy, you suck at taking pictures. We need someone tall—where’s Josh?”

Josh Long is another cute, tall senior. In fact, Josh and Chung are two of the only cute tall Julius boys left. There are always more girls than boys at stuff like this, but this year is extreme, and Josh and Chung look like the only two redwoods left standing after a forest fire.

Aviva stands up to watch Diva pose.

“Be careful, Josh!” Aviva calls out across the fire, as Josh takes the camera. “Those things tend to break around Diva!”

Through the bonfire smoke, Diva glares at Aviva and sticks out her tongue, at which point Josh snaps the picture.

“
Joshhhh!
” Diva whines.

That cheers Aviva up.

“Hey, is anyone covering this for the paper?” I ask her.

“Oh, good news!” Aviva says. “They stopped printing the school newspaper!”

“What?” Darcy asks. “No one told me about that!”

“Ms. Graham just told us today,” Aviva says. “She gave us this whole speech about going green and saving paper. But chances are, the cheap-ass gene kicked in.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I say. “They can’t do this to you, Viva. Journalism is the only class in which you can make use of the hours you spend reading
Cosmo
and
Teen Vogue
instead of doing your homework.”

“Well, I was pissed at first,” Aviva says, taking her last bite of marshmallow. “But remember that rant I posted on my blog about all the guys leaving our school? I got tons of hits and thought, why don’t we just put the newspaper online? So we are! Ms. Graham liked my idea so much that she gave me my own column! And then she kinda looked like she regretted it….”

Aviva writes about the social scene for
The Julius Journal
. Last year she submitted a Valentine’s Day article titled “Fourteen Fun Things to Do with Whipped Cream” to Ms. Graham, the journalism teacher. Let’s just say there was not one mention of cake in it.

“What’s your column gonna be about?” Darcy asks.

“I don’t know,” Aviva says. “I need a catchy title, or a concept, like…
Ow!
”

Aviva whips her head around.

“Did you just throw a stick at me?” she demands. Diva, who’s trying to sit on a blanket in a tiny denim skirt without flashing everyone—or maybe not trying that hard—just shrugs.

“Oops,” she says, and gives Aviva a fake smile.

Aviva turns back to us, growling. “Maybe I should write a column about arch nemesises.”

“Arch neme
ses
,” Darcy corrects her. “But yeah, if you do, you can include mine.”

Darcy nods toward Diva’s blanket, where Bobbi Novak is bending over to kiss each of her fellow spandexers on the cheek. Bobbi Novak is the social chair of the student senate—and the reason so many people show up to events like this. Bobbi looks like a cross between a Barbie doll and a Kardashian—she’s blond and tiny but with big boobs and a bubble butt. Bobbi’s boobs and butt are real, but everything else about her is fake—her hair extensions, her tan, and the glitter all over her skin. Actually, I’m not sure about the glitter. Judging by Bobbi’s personality, she could have been born, literally, sparkly. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“Hi, girlies!” She waves as she passes our blanket. “Hope you’re having fun! Have some s’mores—they’re yummy!”

Darcy considers Bobbi to be the second most annoying ditz in the world, after Elle Woods in
Legally Blonde
, but Aviva and I don’t mind her too much. She’s one of the better spandexers, in my opinion. Diva, Amy, and Amy’s best
frenemy Pam Bausch-Farber can all be super-fake and manipulative, and Bobbi isn’t like that. At least she’s friendly.

“What about you, Kell?” Aviva asks, standing up and brushing off her shorts. “Any arch neme
sees
you want me to write about?”

I don’t have any, because I get along with everyone, even the meanest spandexers. Last year in Spanish class, Pam asked me to cover for her when she went into Milwaukee to meet up with a college guy. I asked her why she didn’t use Amy as her cover, seeing as she and Amy were actually friends (except when they were fighting), and Pam said, “My mom likes you. My mom is always like, ‘Kelly Robbins is such a
nice
girl.’ ”

When Pam said
nice
, she rolled her eyes and pronounced it like it was an annoying skin disease she didn’t want to catch from me. Being nice is boring.

“The second wave of people is arriving!” Darcy says, popping up from the blanket. “Do you think there’s enough soda? I’m gonna go check the tables.”

Making our way back to the snack table, we check out the second-wavers, who probably showed up late to prove they’re too cool for school events. Most of them are standing on the edge of the woods trying to smoke without getting caught by the school chaperones, and a few of the boys we call the gas-station gang, because they spend Friday nights hanging out on the corner by the gas station, look
like they might be drunk. Hunter is with them, but he doesn’t look drunk and he’s eating a s’more.

“Look over at the drinks table!” Aviva gasps. “Oh my God! Look at them!”

“What?” I ask, turning back to the tables. And then I see them.

Behind the drinks table, Bobbi Novak takes a really big bite of a really big cupcake and squeals, “These are, like, super-delish! Like,
super-
delish!”

“I baked them myself,” Eugene Pluskota tells her proudly, peeling the tinfoil back from the tray to reveal three rows of perfectly frosted cupcakes.

I’m surprised that Eugene is even at the back-to-school barbecue, and I’m even more surprised that he’s brought baked goods. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eugene with a girl before. Actually, that’s not true. Eugene has hit on girls, but it was always in such a creepy, perverted way that the girls ran away immediately. Like during the freshman laser-tag trip, when Eugene kept groping Aviva in the dark and asking, “Is this base? Is this base?”

But it doesn’t look like Bobbi is getting creeped out, because she’s licking frosting off her pinky finger and admitting with a giggle, “I don’t even know what red velvet
is
. It’s my favorite flavor, and I don’t even know what it
is
! I know there’s not real
velvet
in there, but…”

“Dutch cocoa,” Eugene informs her. “And the red is food coloring. They’re not naturally red.”

“No way!” Bobbi says, batting her fake eyelashes in surprise.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Are Bobbi and Eugene
flirting
?” I ask Darcy and Aviva.

“No way,” Darcy says immediately, neatly capping her s’more with a perfectly square graham cracker. “Eugene is being a pervert, and Bobbi is being nicer than she should be.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It actually looks like Bobbi is flirting with
him
.”

As I say that, Bobbi lifts her cupcake up to Eugene’s mouth, and he takes a bite. Then Bobbi brings it to her mouth and takes a bite, right from the
same side of the cupcake
. I turn and hiss at Darcy, “She just took a bite out of his bite!”

Darcy looks disgusted and alarmed, like Eugene’s carrying the swine flu and this is the start of a worldwide epidemic.

Having read at least fifty magazine articles on decoding body language, Aviva considers herself to be an expert, and she’s been analyzing Bobbi and Eugene carefully.

“Look at her twirling her hair,” Aviva says. “That could be flirting. But if she touches him, she’s
definitely
flirting.”

It’s getting crowded on this side of the fire, so we can’t hear what either of them is saying, but Eugene is talking a lot, and Bobbi is twirling her ponytail so hard I’m scared her extensions will fall out. Then Eugene says something
and Bobbi starts to giggle… and she puts her hand on his arm.
Yup. Definitely flirting.

Aviva fishes her yellow reporter’s notepad out of her giant purse and turns to me.

“Kelly, go find out what’s happening between Bobbi and Eugene. Just ask Hunter,” Aviva insists.

“What?” I say.

“He’s always with Eugene. He must know what’s going on.”

“Why do I have to ask him?”

“You guys are friends,” Darcy says. “Aren’t you in band together?”

“Band doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“But you’ve seen”—Aviva wiggles her fingers in front of my face like she’s casting a spell on me—“
the face beneath the hair
.”

I give in, but I refuse to bring the reporter’s notebook over. Hunter is near the bonfire with his friends Derek Palewski and Dave Cheney, who we call Pirate Dave because he always wears a red-and-white striped shirt. As I walk over now, Derek takes advantage of the fact that the chaperones are busting someone for smoking in the woods, and throws a soda can into the fire. When it shoots up a bunch of sparks, Derek yells hoarsely in triumph and Hunter laughs.

“Hey, Hunter.”

Hunter turns around. “Hey, Kelly. What’s up?”

“Not much. What are you guys doing?”

“Just enjoying Derek’s, uh, pyromaniac antics.”

Hunter’s been standing close to the fire and he’s kinda sweaty. As he pushes his damp hair off his forehead, I notice that he’s actually kind of cute underneath all that hair, and his blue eyes are really bright in the light from the bonfire.

“Darcy and Viva wanna know what Eugene’s doing with Bobbi,” I say. “They sent me over here to be nosy.”

“Oh, man, yeah! Are they still talking?”

Hunter leans back to get a better view of the drinks table, where Bobbi is collecting empty soda cans and Eugene is holding the recycling bin for her. Seeing that, Hunter shakes his head and lets out a long whistle.

“I can’t believe she’s falling for his bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

Hunter pushes his hair back again. “Eugene’s got this whole plan to get Bobbi.”

“A plan? Did he put something in the cupcakes?” I ask, lowering my voice.

Hunter lowers his voice, too, and sounds completely amazed when he says, “He put
Dutch cocoa
in them. He seriously baked them all by himself!”

He’s so serious that I burst out laughing. I was talking about roofies, and Hunter is impressed by Eugene’s baking skills.

“So that’s Eugene’s plan?” I ask. “The way to a girl’s heart is through her stomach?”

“I dunno if he’s going for her heart,” Hunter says. “But
he thinks she’ll be willing to go out with him because of the boy recession.”

“Wait, because of the
recession
?”

“The boy recession,” Hunter corrects me, kicking a stick toward the fire. His sneakers have no laces in them.

“What is the boy recession?”

“You know how all those dudes left our school? Like, the football guys? Eugene calls it the boy recession.”

“And he thinks he has a chance with Bobbi because…”

“He thinks girls are gonna, like, take what they can get, now that there aren’t that many dudes hanging around.”

Well, that part is definitely true—there aren’t too many dudes hanging around. I see only Derek, who’s begging people for coins to throw into the bonfire; Pirate Dave, who’s threatening Derek with a stick; and Damian Weiss, a nice nerdy boy. But for every boy, there are at least three girls. And over on their beach towels, Josh and Chung are completely surrounded by girls. “I thought Eugene was an idiot,” Hunter admits, stretching his arms over his head so far that his T-shirt pulls up, revealing his flat, almost hairless stomach. “I never think anything really changes like that. But now, I mean, I dunno. Look at them!”

Bobbi and Eugene are toasting marshmallows, and their shoulders are touching as they hold their sticks close to the fire. Everyone is watching them now. Behind me, a spandexer stops texting to stare at Bobbi and Eugene.

“Oh my God,” she says, in a hushed whisper. “She
gave him her marshmallow
.”

Her friend turns to her and asks, “Is it me, or does Eugene look a little cuter this year?”

I tell Hunter I’ll see him later. I’ve gotta get back to Darcy and Aviva and let them know that the situation is bigger than just Eugene and Bobbi.
The Boy Recession.
I think I’ve got a name for Aviva’s column, too.

W
ow. There are a lot of active people out here.

I’m on my longboard, heading out to the football field behind Julius, and I see all these people running, sweating, and hitting one another with sticks. The cross-country runners are coming at me in this huge pack, huffing and puffing like crazy, and on the tennis court, Bobbi Novak is practicing her killer serve.

I’m not usually out on the sports fields after school, but a few minutes ago, Derek texted me
You gotta see this
, and told me to come out to the football field. I’m betting fifty bucks he’s trying to skateboard off the bleachers again. Last time he broke his arm in two places.

Derek is on the bleachers, but he’s not jumping off them. He’s just lounging, hanging out with Dave and Damian. The three of them are in this nonexistent band
called the D-Bags. Freshman year, the three of them decided it would be cool to start a band, but they never actually bothered to learn to play any instruments.

“What’s up?” I say, climbing onto the bleachers.

“We’re watching football tryouts,” Derek tells me, squinting up at me from under the brim of his hat.

“This sucks,” Dave adds. “They need to put pads on. No one is hitting each other.”

Dave’s always muttering under his breath, but we’re used to it and just ignore him.

“Tryouts?” I say. “What the hell? Doesn’t the season start, like, next week?”