Authors: Mandy Hubbard
Tags: #Teen & Young Adult, #Literature & Fiction, #Social & Family Issues, #Friendship, #Romance, #Contemporary
“Damn.” He clearly underestimates Jess Hill.
I wonder if maybe Dave is a softer guy than I expected. Maybe this prank will be harder to pull off than originally planned. He’s supposed to be a competitive football maniac, meaning he should be ready and willing to be my accomplice in any game. But by the way he’s staring at me, he looks like he wants no part of this. It’s going to take more to convince him.
“You have no idea how hard I prepared or how excited I was. And then I get there and the whole thing is a joke and he asks me what I’d do if I were Hulk Hogan.”
“Huh?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “I don’t know. Something like that. But anyway, she can’t get away with it. You have to help me.”
He still looks worried. “That’s just not my style, though. Why involve me at all? You can get someone else to do it.”
“It has to be you. She’s had a crush on you since sixth or seventh grade.”
“Yeah, but that was like, five years ago.” He narrows his pale blue eyes and starts rubbing his hands together. It’s a nervous move. I’ve seen him do it on the football field between plays. “I thought you two didn’t talk anymore.”
“We don’t. But I can tell she’s not over it. The whole week while you guys were wrestling, she’s stared at you all googly-eyed. She never babbles like she does around you. And she looks all stiff and robotic. It’s just like middle school.”
He groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t like it. It doesn’t seem right. Even though, I have to admit, she did do something pretty nasty to you. Can’t you just take the high road?”
I shake my head. “No way. She is not getting away with her prank. Please, I’m begging you. You owe me this. You know you do.”
He looks up at me and we maintain eye contact for one long, lingering moment. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I know.”
I’m talking about the fact that I’ve been his math tutor for three years, since freshman year. He’s completely useless with numbers, so I stepped in and have been single-handedly helping him keep his GPA high enough to stay on the football and baseball team. And sports are his passion. Without them, he wouldn’t be Dave Ashworth.
And he knows it.
“Look,” I say softly, “I’m not trying to force you. But you’ve always asked me how you could return the favor, and I’ve never asked anything from you. I’m asking you now.”
The room is quiet, and he’s not looking at me. I can tell he’s considering my proposition, so I wait for him to break the silence. But he doesn’t. I stand up and come nearer to him. Then I give him my best puppy-dog expression. “
Please
?”
He looks at me, and when his expression softens, I know I’ve got him. “How long do I have to date her?”
“Just until graduation.”
His eyes widen. “That’s almost three
months!”
“I know,” I rush, “But it needs to end then so she can’t retaliate with another prank, at least not one as big as this. You can put it off a few more weeks and then start out really slowly. Just flirt with her a little and stretch it out. You’ll only actually date for like a month. And you’ll be playing baseball and all that anyway. You’ll hardly have time to see her. I swear, it’ll be really easy.”
He shakes his head, but I know he’s going to help me. He already looks like he’s ready to surrender. “Fine. I’ll do it. But only because of what you’ve done for me.”
I grin. “Thanks. You have no idea what this means to me.”
He shakes his head but he’s smiling just a little bit. “But after this, we’re even.”
“Deal.”
Dave walks out of my room, and I throw a huge smile and a double thumbs-up toward Bryn, who I’m sure is smiling back at me through the closet door. I can’t help but feel this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership.
Chapter Twelve
Jess
I’m trying to scoop a fake bloody index finger out of the goldfish tank when Gavin rushes in, screaming. He has a red-stained tissue covering his hand. “Hospital,” he gasps.
I chuck the finger at him and go back to sweeping the floor as it skids, slimy and wet, across the linoleum. “I got it out before the fish could eat it.”
“Oh, you found it!” he sighs, relieved. “I’ve been looking—”
“Gav, give it up,” I mutter, not even bothering to take my eyes off the floor I’m cleaning.
He grimaces. “You do
not
have a pulse.”
“You do
not
have an imagination,” I shoot back.
“Oh, so a fake Harvard interview makes you Prank Goddess?”
“I must be. After the lame retaliation I got from Peyton a couple weeks ago, it’s clear who the winner is.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. She put a message on the scoreboard in the gym about how I have B.O.”
He looks down at his wounded hand then stretches out all five of his perfectly fine fingers, tosses the tissue in the garbage, and runs his hand under the faucet. “Damn. That makes a bloody stump joke look like pure genius.”
I nod and run a hand through my hair, which I dyed the color of red wine yesterday. It was a little more traditional, but then I bleached some strands in the front platinum. “It’s a definite step back. She was supposed to outdo me. But maybe she couldn’t think of anything better. She may be book-smart, but when it comes to creativity she’s totally limited. I’d declare myself the winner now, but we still have almost three months left of school. Without our war, life would be incredibly boring.”
He leans against the counter behind the register and crosses his arms in front of him. “So, what’s your plan for the next prank?”
A devious grin spreads over my face. “
I’m
not stepping back. That’s for sure.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Do tell.”
“Well, Willow High’s production of
Grease
is next weekend, and guess who’s playing Patty Simcox?”
He seems excited. “Peyton Brentwood?”
I shake my head. “No, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean?”
“The part of Patty Simcox will be played by ‘Pays For Bent Wood’,” I say proudly, enunciating every word.
“You little minx,” he says breathily, raising his eyebrows, urging me to go on.
I do a little twirl in my destroyed denim mini and purple tights, then bat my eyelashes at him like a supermodel. “That’s me. Remember last week when you sent me to the Kinko’s across the mall to pick up your business cards?”
He nods.
“So, one of the drama geeks was in there, dropping off the program. It was pure serendipity. I couldn’t
not
take advantage.”
“So, you…”
“I just waited until the drama geek left, then told the girl at the counter I needed to make some changes. She gets paid minimum wage and couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Voila.”
There was a chance that I could get caught, but it was small, and despite the obvious risks there was no way I was missing out on this kind of opportunity. Public humiliation is high on my list of priorities.
Her
humiliation. I mean,
hello
, this is a prank war. Like I can pass this up.
“Brilliant,” Gavin says, nodding. “However, not as good as Harvard, I’m afraid.”
I rub my palms together. “Do you think I’m stopping there?”
“You’re not?”
“Of course not. What do you take me for? If she’s going to be up on stage, I can’t waste that opportunity. You see, I’m going to—”
I’m silenced by the bell above the door jingling. The Pet Pantry is a cute store, but I can’t say we’ve ever had more than two customers in the place at once. On some Saturdays, we won’t get a single customer all morning. Even though it’s after 11:30, this is our first.
If
he
can be called a customer.
Gavin smoothly kicks the fake finger, which has fallen directly in the center of an aisle, under a cat food display and wipes his hands with a paper towel. I can tell he’s readying his friendly “How may I help you?” routine, oblivious to the fact that my heart has just stopped.
“Hey, you,” Dave says, as if he’s surprised to see me.
“Dave Ashworth,” I announce once I’ve found my voice, hoping Gavin will get the hint. After all, I’ve mentioned Dave’s name at least a dozen times in the past three years, but Gavin has never seen him in the flesh.
Until now.
It’s almost surreal. I’ve never expected him to be here, in the mall’s most vacant store. After three years, we’ve earned a small following of regular customers, but Dave isn’t one of them. Does he even have pets? The only “new” faces we ever see are preteen girls hoping to get a look at the puppies, and they always leave disappointed when we explain we aren’t a puppy mill and only keep a few at a time.
Gavin obviously recognizes the name because his mouth forms a giant O and he mumbles something about “sifting the kitty litter” in the back room, as if that’s a real job. Gavin shuffles off, but not before giving Dave a head-to-toe inspection that could’ve only been more thorough had he slapped on some rubber gloves and told him to bend over.
“Hey. You work here? I didn’t know that,” he says, coming over to me and inspecting my Pet Pantry badge. Mine says
Dr. Doolittle.
He grins. “Doctor.”
“Right, well, they say I shouldn’t waste my gifts, talking to animals and everything,” I say, wondering why I’m even daring to speak when I know it’ll just be a jumble. The wrestling section ended weeks ago, and unfortunately, the class has moved on to basketball. Though he’d pinned me a lot during those few blissful moments, our relationship had since dwindled to just about nothing. It was a total drag now, because during wrestling, I’d actually gotten comfortable talking to him. We never had any weighty discussions, but the back-and-forth jabs at one another had grown to be the highlight of my day. Week. Life, actually.
“Gotcha.” He rubs his chin, then points to a yellow bird, chirping next to the cash register. “What’s he saying?”
I pretend to concentrate on it. “‘I wonder how that guy’s nose tastes.’”
He tilts his head at it. “Seriously?”
I nod. “He’s not a nice bird.”
There’s a case on the counter, filled with nearly three-dozen white mice. He points at one of them. “What about that one?”
“She’s saying, ‘Are you my brother? Are you my brother? What the hell? We all look alike! Where’s my brother?’”
He laughs. “Hmm.” Then he points at a tropical fish in a tank. “And this one?”
I shrug. “‘Blub.’”
He grins. “Blub?”
“Fish don’t talk, dummy,” I say, to which he doubles over. As he stands there, shaking and laughing hysterically, I’m suddenly aware that once again I’m talking to Dave Ashworth.
Dave Ashworth!
Though I’ve been doing a good job of not stammering like a moron, I feel vulnerable, as if I’m two seconds away from blowing it. “Um, why are you here?”
He straightens and looks around. “Just wanted to get some food for my fish.”
I switch to business mode. “Oh. Okay. What kind of fish?”
He stands there, silent for a moment, then bursts out with a laugh. “Okay, no. I lied.”
I squint at him. “You lied about having fish?”
For once, Dave looks flustered. In front of me. Me! Finally he says, “Uh, yeah, because—”
“Is there a self-help group for people like you?”
“No. See. Listen. I knew you worked here.”
For the fifth time in the past five minutes, my heart stops. “You did?”
“Yeah. See, I asked around because—”
“You asked around to find out where I worked?”
“Yeah, because—”
“Wait. Why?” Suddenly my mouth won’t stop.
He holds out his hand for me to shut up. “Can you stop interrupting?”
“Sorry.” I cover my mouth with my hands.
“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you if you would like to go out.”
I stand there, silent, waiting for the punch line. As in,
I want to take you out. Like I take out the trash! Ha.
Instead, he’s just standing there, staring at me expectantly.
So I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Out, as in…like a date?”
He grins. “Well, yeah, goofball. I was thinking like, next weekend?”
“Where?” I’m numb. My whole body is like a pincushion.
“Whatever. Movies? Dinner?”
I take a deep breath. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, Dave, but we don’t have anything in common,” I squeak out. Why? Why am I saying this and not “
yes, yes, God yes?”
He shrugs. “How do you know?”
“I don’t,” I say softly, certain I’m having an out-of-body experience. I have somehow hopped into a cheerleader’s body.
“So, like, eight? Next Saturday?”
I nod, and am still nodding like my head is a yo-yo when Dave steps out the door.