“I don't think she knows about it,” Lina said. “And I'm not going to tell her.”
“Good thinking,” Mads said. “She might lure him away by dying her hair pink.”
Ramona Fernandez was in love with Dan, too. She was an out-there Goth girl who had no shame, which drove Lina crazy. Lina loved the way Dan dressed, in early-sixties suits, skinny vintage ties, and the occasional hat. But Ramona and her friends took their admiration a step further—
in the wrong direction,
Lina thought. They all wore skinny ties like Dan's and called themselves the Dan Shulman Cult. It was so embarrassing. Lina kind of liked Ramona, the more she got to know her. Ramona understood a side of Lina that her other friends never quite saw. But then Ramona would do something cringe-worthy, like sucking up to Dan in class, and Lina would shudder. She hoped she never came off the way Ramona did.
“So when are you going to write him back?” Mads asked. “Can I help you? ‘Beauregard, my darling. Like you, I, too, am an admirer of Pepe Le Pew. His funny French accent, the white stripe down his back, his enticing
odeur,
to me it all adds up to Romance with a capital R.’” She and Holly giggled again.
“Very funny,” Lina said. “You're too late. I've already written something. Not that I'd trust it to you.”
Lina called up an e-mail from her “Mail waiting to be sent” file. She'd been working on the e-mail for days, trying to get the tone exactly right. “What do you think?”
Dear Beauregard,
I found your ad intriguing. I've never answered an ad or done anything like this before. I'm a 22-year-old graduate student studying film. I love to read and I'm a terrible cook but I do like blueberry pie, Nutter Butters, Scrabble, and James Joyce. If you have time to write back, I'd love to hear from you. I'm up for any spur-of-the-moment adventures you have in mind.
—Larissa
“It's not nearly as funny as mine would have been,” Mads said. “Who's Larissa?”
“I made her up,” Lina said. “I can't use my real name or he might suspect it's me.” Lina had chosen the name Larissa because it started with an L, like Lina, and it had a romantic, exotic quality she thought might appeal to Dan.
“Why is Larissa a film student?” Holly asked.
Lina shrugged. “I tried to come up with something easy to fake. If I said ‘organic chemistry’ he'd figure out I was lying pretty fast. But I've been to the movies. What's the big deal? I think I can fake being a film student.”
“Just think,” Mads said. “If he writes back, we can find out all kinds of stuff about him! You can ask him if he has favorite students or if he actually hates us! We can find out what he does after school. Maybe he's got a secret identity as a punk rocker—or a cross-dresser!”
“Mads, he's not a cross-dresser,” Lina said.
“Send the e-mail, Lina,” Holly said. “See what happens.”
“Now? Should I do it now?” Lina asked, suddenly nervous.
She hesitated. The last time they did something like this it ended in a kind of disaster. They'd filled out a love quiz with jokey, sexy answers, signed it “Boobmeister Holly,” and e-mailed it to Rebecca Hulse. The quiz spread all over the school and everyone started teasing Holly and calling her “the Boobmeister.” Of course,
that
led to them starting The Dating Game, which had led to lots of other things, good and bad.…So had sending the quiz been good or bad, in the end? Lina couldn't say. It was too confusing.
“What if the e-mail isn't perfect?” Lina said. “I could probably make it better.….”
“You'll never send it if it has to be perfect,” Holly said. “It's fine. Send it!”
“A week from now we'll all be laughing about his cross-dressing tendencies,” Mads predicted. “He wears size thirteen pumps. You wait and see.”
Lina ignored her. “Okay. Here goes.” She pressed SEND and “Larissa” came to life.
Nuclear Autumn
To: hollygolitely
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Today your parents will embarrass you. (This one is a no-brainer—it works for every sign, every day of the year.)
A
utumn is unmatchable!” Mads complained. Holly had Mads and Lina over after school on Friday to work on matchmaking. Subject #1: Autumn Nelson.
“No one is unmatchable,” Holly declared. She was surprised to hear herself say this. She wasn't quite sure she believed it.
“Autumn is,” Lina said. “For one thing, she writes every detail of her life on Nuclear Autumn.” Autumn didn't hold anything back: She ranted, she raved, she insulted people, she had hissy fits. “What boy wants every detail of his love life made public?”
“And she's such a drama queen,” Mads said. “She has a fit if she loses an eyelash.”
“She's pretty cute, though,” Holly said.
“Her personality totally negates it,” Lina said. “Boys don't like her. She's too high-maintenance.”
“Well, we don't have much choice,” Holly said. “Read this.” She logged on to Nuclear Autumn.
“This?” Mads asked. She read out loud in a whiny Autumn voice. “‘The stepmonster-in-waiting did it again. She always has to have her way. Just because it's
her
birthday and
her
parents are visiting, we have to eat her fat mother's homemade lasagna? Hello? It has
eggplant
in it. I hate eggplant! Could she be more selfish?’”
“No, not that,” Holly said. “Further down.”
Why is everybody so into the stupid Dating Game? Or should I call it The Waiting Game? Those girls have no idea what they're doing! I asked them to match me up three weeks ago but have I heard word one from those byatches? No! If they're all such love experts and such great matchmakers, then what's the holdup? I'm the easiest case they've got! I want someone who's, super-cute, smart, popular, athletic, funny, nice—did I say cute? That's all I ask. If those losers can't find a date for someone like me, then I say the whole thing is a sham! Boycott The Dating Game!
“Ouch,” Lina said.
“She's so mean,” Mads said. “Her ass is grass—and I'm the lawnmower.” Mads struck a karate pose to indicate she was ready to get rough.
“There's no time for that,” Holly said. “We've got to find her a date before she ruins our reps for good.”
They scanned the questionnaires of available boys. “Who will be our sacrificial lamb?” Lina asked.
“I hate to do it to any of them,” Holly said.
Most of the applicants used screen names, but a few used their real names and even sent in photos of themselves. Holly zeroed-in on a boy she recognized from last year's science lab but didn't know well—Vince Overbeck. He had a placid face, an unruffled air about him. He was a wrestler—quiet, highly disciplined. In short, nothing like Autumn.
“What about this guy?” Holly asked.
“Vince Overbeck? Who's he?” Mads asked.
“I had him in my Algebra class last year,” Lina said. “Quiet guy. The type you don't notice. He never talked in class but he got an A. Real smart.”
“That sounds bad, Holly,” Mads said. “Autumn will eat him alive!”
“I'm not so sure,” Holly said. “Maybe Vince is just the guy she needs—someone quiet and nice, whose life could use a little shaking up. He might like the drama.”
Lina and Mads stared at her, unconvinced.
“Do you guys have a better suggestion?”
“No,” Mads admitted. “But can you deal with the consequences? What happens when we find poor Vince's bones in Autumn's locker—picked clean?”
“That won't happen,” Holly said, but she sounded surer than she felt.
Quiz: Are You a Drama Queen?
Do you friends call you Your Royal Hissy Fit behind your back? Take this quiz and find out if you're easy-going or a touch too touchy.
1. You break a nail on your way to school. You:
_
a don't notice.
_
b. stop at a nail salon to fix it—homeroom can wait.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d scream bloody murder.
2. Your best friend goes to a party without you. You:
_
a hope she had a good time.
_
b resolve to do the same to her next time.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d threaten to slit your wrists with a nail file.
3. Your little sister ate the last Oreo (and they're your favorite). You:
_
a shrug and figure you'll have some another time.
_
b tell on her to your mother.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d take her favorite doll hostage until someone meets your Oreo demands.
4. You got an F on an exam because you were partying instead of studying. You:
_
a vow to do better next time,
_
b ask to take a makeup exam.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d threaten to sue the school for discrimination against the handicapped—people with overactive social lives.
5. You go to a party and another girl is wearing the same dress as you. You:
_
a laugh it off.
_
b go home and change.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d push her into the pool.
6. Your boyfriend says he doesn't like the sweater you're wearing. You:
_
a tell him you like it and that's all that matters.
_
b take it off immediately.
_
c sob quietly.
_
d cut it into tiny pieces and mail it to him covered in fake blood.
If you circled mostly A's, you're a DRAMA PEASANT, also known as a Cool Customer. Nothing bothers you too much because you've got your priorities straight. Sure, your friends secretly call you an ice queen behind your back, but even that doesn't rile you.
If you circled mostly B's, you're a PROBLEM SOLVER. When something goes wrong, you try to fix it—whether it's worth the trouble or not.
If you circled mostly C's, you're a SILENT SOBBER. You may not be a Drama Queen, but you've got bigger problems. Consider antidepressants or therapy.
If you circled mostly D's, start the hissy fit now because you're a full-blown DRAMA QUEEN. Congratulations, Your Highness.
“Rob! It's nice to see you again.” Holly's mother, Eugenia, greeted Rob at the front door of the Andersons’ house. Holly hovered behind her, hoping to snatch Rob away and escape. It was Friday night. The Andersons were having a cocktail party, and Holly's parents had told her to have Rob stop by when he picked up Holly for the movies that night. Rob, thank god, was not wearing a t-shirt of any kind but a freshly pressed white button-down and khakis. Holly's mother, a thin, striking brunette, wore a long silk caftan and Holly wore a white cotton party dress printed with small yellow pineapples.
“Hello, Mrs. Anderson.” Rob shook her hand.
“I told you before—call me Jen,” Eugenia said. Holly's parents insisted on being called by their first names, Jen and Curt (short for Curtis), even by their own daughters. “You look so nice! Come in. I'll get Holly.”
“I'm right here,” Holly said.
“Hey, Holly.” He made a move toward her, as if he might kiss her, then stopped, probably because her mother was standing there.
“Oh, go ahead and kiss her, it's okay,” Jen said.
Rob looked uncertainly at Holly, who said, “Maybe later, Jen. Come on, Rob. Say hi to Curt.” She took Rob's hand and led him into the spacious great room, which was filled with laughing, chattering adults. Ice clinked in their glasses as they nibbled canapés. The great room, which took up most of the first floor, had wooden beams and an angled ceiling like a fancy ski lodge.
“Hey, Rob!” Curt said warmly. “How are you, buddy?” He pumped Rob's hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered with curly, thinning blond hair, a ruddy face, and a thickening waist. He wore a blue blazer over his jeans and a pale-green polo shirt.
“Holly, the Fowlers want to say hello to you,” Jen said, leading Holly toward the kitchen. Rob started to follow, but Curt said, “Stay here and chat a minute, Rob. You don't want to meet the Fowlers. They're dullsville.”
“Curt! Not so loud!” Jen whispered. “Rob, maybe you could see if anyone needs a fresh drink.”
“All right, Mrs. Anderson,” Rob said.
“Jen,” she said. “You'll get used to it.”
“Jen, we're going to the movies,” Holly protested. If she let her mother get them all caught up in the party, they'd never get out of there. Jen parked Holly in front of Gordon and Peggy Fowler, a tall, round-faced couple. Their daughter, Britta, was a junior at Rosewood.
Peggy gave Holly a hello kiss. “Hi, sweetie. You look blonder. Are you highlighting?”
“Not yet,” Holly said. “It's still natural.”
“She's lucky,” Jen said. “If you saw what I go through to keep the gray from showing—” Peggy nodded knowingly.
“Britta tells us you've got a pretty high profile at Rosewood these days,” Gordon said. “Some kind of dating Web site?”
Jen said, “She showed it to me one night. It's really very clever.”
“It was a school project,” Holly said. She scanned the room to see how Rob was doing. Curt was showing him how to pour a proper glass of Scotch.
“Well, listen, Holly,” Peggy said. “I have a favor to ask you. You know, Britta's a junior now, and she's—well, she studies so much—”
“She's never had a boyfriend,” Gordon finished. “Just hasn't been interested. Maybe you could take her along to a party or something one night? You two used to have fun together when you were little.”
Holly vaguely remembered a five-year-old Britta swatting her and refusing to share her toys. “Uh, sure, I'll do what I can,” Holly said.
“Nothing too wild,” Peggy said. “She's still got her college applications to think of. Just something to help her relax a little bit, enjoy high school, maybe meet some nice new friends.”