chapter five:
dylan
This is the thing about geeks: they may
look
all innocent and goofy—like raccoons or squirrels—but once you get close to them you realize they’re super dangerous, to the point where they can give you rabies or something equally disgusting.
“I cannot
believe
I was dumb enough to let my dad force me into this thing in the first place.” I was sitting with Lola at Pinkberry after she came to get me at the gas station. I inhaled my green-tea yogurt with mango and coconut. It was bad enough that I had been insulted the way I had, but the fact that Josh had upset me to the point that I was stress eating like this was even worse.
“Did he really call you selfish to your face?” Lola asked as I dug my spoon into her yogurt as well.
“Um,
yeah
. Can you believe that anyone would say something so viciously untrue like that?” I replied. “I’m telling you, I knew something was wrong that very first day when he brought up that question about whether there was a time when I wasn’t popular.”
I’m one of those people who tries really hard to stay in the moment rather than live in the past. So because I try to live in the now, I don’t find it necessary to bring up the fact that when I started at Curtis Middle School in fifth grade I was a dead ringer for a Jewish Ugly Betty and spent every lunch period for the first month hiding out in the girls’ bathroom.
Lola shrugged. “I don’t know—I think the from-unpopular-to-popular angle is good. It makes it like one of those from-rags-to-riches stories that my mom used to read me when I was little about Chinese people so I wouldn’t feel ashamed of where I came from.”
“Okay, so maybe I know what it’s like to spend recess inside reading a Judy Blume book instead of playing kick-ball with the other kids,” I admitted as I dug in my wallet for some money so I could get another yogurt. This is why I didn’t like talking about the past—more stress eating. “But all that was so long ago, why bring it up? It would be like if he had asked you on camera about those few months in eighth grade when your mother made you wear those satin embroidered shirts every day so you’d feel more connected to your heritage.”
Lola cringed. “I guess you’re right.”
“And I’m certainly not giving Amy Loubalu credit for my popularity on camera,” I announced.
Lola shrugged. “I know you hate her, but she did help you out a lot.”
“Are you kidding? How so?”
“Let’s see—inviting you to sit with us at lunch,” she replied. “Taking you to the Beverly Center and telling you what to buy so you stopped looking like the poster child for What Not to Wear If You’d Like to Have a Social Life.”
“Okay, fine, maybe that
was
kind of nice of her,” I said, “but it was
me
who spent all those hours reading books like
101 Ways to Become Popular!
and
Up the Social Ladder in Ten Easy Steps!
And I think anyone with half a brain would agree that the way she then stabbed me in the back with an ice pick by stealing Michael Rosenberg away from me in eighth grade cancels out all of that.
Especially
since, as my best best friend, she knew full well how madly in love with him I was.”
Lola looked hurt. “I thought
I’ve
always been your best best friend.”
“You are,” I quickly said. “I mean, you
were
. You were and are.” With everything I had just gone through, I didn’t need to risk having someone
else
turn on me. I stood up, hopping on my good foot. “I’ll be right back. I need more yogurt.”
As I waited for the girl with the pierced eyebrow and lip behind the counter (did Pinkberry not care about the image they were giving off to potential customers? Talk about an appetite suppressant) to add the real chocolate chips to my large cup of yogurt, instead of the yogurt ones, I thought about how tough it was to be me. No matter how nice I was to people, there was always going to be someone looking to take me down just because I was good-looking and had great fashion sense and a really hot boyfriend, even if he wasn’t as available during crises as I’d like him to be.
I was glad that Josh had agreed with me that we should call the documentary off. That way Daddy couldn’t accuse me of reneging on the deal. And even if Josh
hadn’t
agreed with me, I’m sure Daddy would’ve understood once I explained to him what happened. I mean, to put someone’s life in jeopardy by driving around with no gas and then almost leave them by the side of the road with a semisprained ankle, which meant that it would have been next to impossible for them to get away from a psychopathic killer? That, as far as I was concerned, was beyond unacceptable.
Not to mention then saying I was selfish and self-centered.
Like I could ever trust someone like that.
“Hey, Josh,” Hannah said with a smile the next day during lunch as I was in the middle of trying to convince her and Lola that, yes, I did need the cane I had been using all day because, yes, my foot was swollen even if they couldn’t see it. I don’t know
what
she was putting in her Red Bulls, but somehow she had gotten it into her head that Josh was a nice guy and that I was being too hard on him about the running-out-of-gas thing.
I turned around to see Mr. Irresponsible Driver himself standing behind me looking as nervous as ever. “Hey, guys,” he said. He pointed to my foot. “How is it?”
“Like
you
care,” I sniffed.
“I do care. I left you a few voice mails and texts last night to check on you.”
A
few
? Try like ten. First he had insulted me—now he was stalking me. Asher should’ve been the one checking in on me, but when I texted him to tell him about how mean Josh had been to me, he didn’t even respond. I know some people would think that was rude, but I’m sure it’s just because he was really worried about the geometry midterm he had coming up the following week, seeing that he had already failed the class twice. Being the only senior in a class of sophomores couldn’t have been easy, especially when you’re as sensitive as Asher is.
“It’s fine,” said Lola. “It’s not even swollen.”
I shot her a dirty look. It was exactly this kind of traitorlike behavior that explained why Amy had had best-best-friend status over her back in the day. “It is, too,” I insisted.
“Well, like I said in my messages,” Josh said, “I’m really sorry, and if there’s anything I can do—”
“I think you’ve done enough,” I snapped.
He took a deep breath. “Um, do you think I could talk to you alone for a second?”
Hannah stood up. “Come on, Lola—let’s go look at that ‘Twenty Years of Fall Fling Fashion’ photo exhibit they just put up outside of the auditorium.” Even though Hannah was definitely the sweeter one, and I could usually count on her to be a lot more understanding than Lola, when I told her what had happened with Josh and how he had called me selfish and self-centered, all she had said was “Wow. He really had the nerve to say that to your face?”
After they walked away, Josh sat down and took out his inhaler. Honestly, he was going to end up in Inhalers Anonymous if he didn’t watch out. “I know that yesterday I got a little upset, but the truth is—” He stopped for a second and looked down at the crowd. “I still can’t get over how undramatic the view is from up here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because we’re popular doesn’t mean we live on another
planet
, Josh.”
“I guess,” he agreed. “Anyway, so as I was saying, the truth is that I’ve been thinking a lot about the documentary and I know I said that I agreed with you that we should just forget about it, but the more I think about it, the more I feel it can really . . .
help
people.”
“Me? Help people? But I’m so self-centered,” I said sarcastically.
“Like I said in my e-mail, I don’t know what came over me yesterday,” Josh said. He held up his inhaler. “I think maybe the inhaler I was using yesterday was past its expiration date or something and I had some sort of psychotic reaction that made me start spouting lies.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I may not get as good grades as you, but I’m not a total idiot, Josh. Don’t think you can talk yourself out of the damage you’ve done.”
He held up his hand. “Just hear me out,” he said. “You know how sometimes girls who are really popular get a bad rap for being snotty or stuck-up?”
I glared at him. “Of course. That’s the story of my life.”
“Okay, so through this, you’ll be able to help the reputation of
all
popular girls by showing the world that that’s not true.”
I sighed. “Look, Josh, I’m all about being of service to my fellow humankind, but I’m sorry—in this case I just don’t feel I can trust you.”
“Okay, I get it.” He sighed. “I just thought that with what’s going on with Dakota Greene and all, it might have come in handy . . .”
As I stopped examining my invisible swollen ankle, my head snapped up so fast I’m surprised I didn’t sprain my neck as well. “What are you talking about?” Next to Amy Loubalu, there was no one I disliked more in school than Dakota Greene. Talk about willing to go to any lengths to take away my queen/princess status at every school function. Last year she had tried to set up a raffle where everyone who voted for her for junior prom queen was entered to win a $250 gift certificate to Bloomingdale’s until the principal found out and threatened to expel her.
He shrugged. “I heard she’s starting to campaign for prom queen.”
“But prom’s still eight months, one week, and three days away,” I said.
“Yeah, but she hired some sort of political consultant that her dad knows and he came up with a plan of action. Supposedly she’s started handing out questionnaires about what people look for in a prom queen.”
“I cannot
believe
her,” I said as I paced around the table. Miraculously, my ankle seemed to be fine. “I mean, it’s pathetic how seriously some girls take these things, don’t you think?”
A small smile started to creep over his face as he nodded. “And I was thinking if we did the documentary, then I could cut together a short trailer for you to post online and hand out to people so you can start campaigning, too.”
As I thought about it, I realized that Josh was onto something. Not only had I been looking for an opportunity to be of service to my fellow humankind that didn’t involve picking up garbage, but this one didn’t even involve having to change my schedule around in any way. I just had to keep being me. Forget using the documentary in place of my college application essay—more importantly, I’d have a ninety-minute prom campaign ad.
I held out my hand. “It’s a deal,” I said.
That Tuesday night, while hunting around in the freezer for something low-calorie yet delicious, I came up with a brilliant idea; a way to show voters a whole other side to myself that would be sure to melt their hearts.
I picked up the phone to call Josh.
“Hello?” said the woman who answered the phone as some folk music played in the background.
“Hi, is Josh there please?” I asked, settling myself on the stool in front of the island in the kitchen with a pint of Mint Carob Chip Rice Dream. It wasn’t
that
low-calorie, but it
was
nondairy, so it wasn’t as bad as regular ice cream.
“Why yes, he is,” the woman said, sounding like she had just won the lottery or something. “May I ask who’s calling?”
It was so weird to talk to a nanny or housekeeper who was American. “This is Dylan Schoenfield.”
“Just one second. Josh!” I heard her scream, even though she had covered the receiver. “It’s for you. It’s
Dylan
.”
“Hey, Dylan,” he said when he picked up.
“Hi.”
“Did he pick up?” the woman said. “Josh? Are you there? Did you pick up?”
“Mom, I have it. You can hang up now,” he said.
“Okay, honey. Well, Dylan, I hope we get the chance to meet at some point. Josh has told me
so
much about you.”
“
Mom
, please. Hang up now, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie. Bye, Dylan.”
“Bye, Mrs. Rosen,” I said, speed-walking around the perimeter of the kitchen to burn off the Rice Dream. Our kitchen is pretty big, so I figured it was decent exercise.
“Actually, it’s Goodstein. When I married Josh’s father, I kept my name, which turned out to be a good thing on so many levels, especially since we’re now divorced—”
“
Good-bye
, Mom,” Josh said.
“But I always tell Josh’s friends to call me Sandy anyway. How can I expect to really get to know you kids if we’re starting our relationship with such a wall between us?”
“Okay, you really need to hang up now, Mom.”
“I am. Bye, kids,”
“Bye . . . Sandy,” I said.
We waited to hear the click of the phone being hung up, but it didn’t come.
“Mom, I can hear you breathing,” Josh said.
Finally the click came.
“Omigod—she’s hysterical,” I said, plopping myself back down on the stool and eating what was left of the pint.
“Yeah, well, I’ll trade you. I’m sure your mother is a million times closer to normal than mine is.”
“Actually, mine’s dead,” I said.
“Oh. That’s right. I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay. So listen—the reason I’m calling is because I thought that maybe after school tomorrow you’d like to come with me to the Amanda Foundation.”
“Isn’t that an animal rescue organization?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh. Are you getting a dog?”
“Nope.”
“A cat?”
“Uh-uh.”
“A rabbit?”
“A
rabbit
? Who would get a rabbit for a pet? No. I’m not big on things that shed—I just thought it would be good for the documentary. Especially since Lola heard from Beth Lapkin who heard from Shelley McCrory that Dakota just placed an order for a hundred bedazzled ‘Dakota Greene for Prom Queen’ T-shirts. I’m thinking maybe some footage of me playing with a bundle of fluffy kittens is the way to go.”