Swoon at Your Own Risk (16 page)

Akim screams, "Run!"

"Get in the car!"

We all scramble toward Rowdy's van, picking up random shoes. I manage to grab one sandal before Jane screams at me to "Hurry! Hurry!" Razor takes my hand and pulls me into the van, onto his lap. We peel out of there just as the security guy pulls over to investigate. Everyone speculates about the potential chase that's about to ensue, but the security guy simply gets out, shakes his head at the stray shoes littering the pavement, and gets back into his car.

"Damn," says Akim. "There goes my opportunity for a decent story to tell the ladies."

"What ladies?" Sulu laughs. "You're going to need a lot more than that, my little Akim."

My arm throbs. Bad. I bite my lip. "Um, Akim? Could you maybe move your knee?" He jams his patella into my butt cheek. "Maybe not quite like that." I shift, groaning with pain.

"Ooh, Polyamide, that's quite a superficial scrape on your dermis." Akim's hand hovers above my arm before he changes his mind and puts it back on the armrest.

"You think? Serves me right for spending my evening acting like an uber dork."

Silence. The entire van goes silent.

"Polly," Jane whispers.

Now
I
feel like a lower life form. "I didn't mean it." I bite my lip, hoping that will keep my tears in check. My arm really hurts, almost as much as my lame social life. "Maybe I just have low blood sugar."

"Mmm," Akim murmurs, jamming his other bony knee into my butt, before going into a long explanation about glucose levels.

"Maybe we do need to stop at Hamburger Heaven," I say. "I really should eat something, I guess."

"But who pays?" Helium asks. "Since we didn't finish the rematch?"

"We'll all pay for ourselves," Jane says. She sounds way too happy for a girl who just lost a grocery cart race and got chased out of a mall parking lot by a rent-a-cop.

Cars crowd the Hamburger Heaven parking lot even though it's nearly 11:00
P.M.
Don't these people have responsible parents who give them appropriate curfews? Not that I'm exactly on Mom's radar screen these days. Everyone leaps out of the van, but I'm still sitting on Akim's lap. We've parked between Mom's car—and Hayden's!

"I think I'll wait here." Do I really want to be seen on a Friday night with the geek squad? Not to mention that my mother will probably be my server, I may bleed to death before my order arrives, and Hayden might try to get me to sign a petition or something.

"You should wash your arm in the bathroom," Akim says, but I think he wants me to get off his lap. We
are
the only ones still sitting in the van.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Good idea, I guess."

My leg hurts as I limp out of the van. I've got another long cut on my upper thigh. When Rowdy opens the restaurant door, it sounds louder than a school assembly. Mom spots me right away and smiles enthusiastically. "Kids! I've got just the table for you."

"Hey, Mrs. Martin!" Rowdy says. "I didn't know you worked here."

"How else am I going to see my favorite students?"

"Aw, but you always made me stay for detention."

"Laugh and the class laughs with you, but you get detention alone."

Rowdy laughs. "I wish you taught high school."

Everyone slides into the big booth that's way too close to the door, the bathroom, the bar area—practically everyone in the restaurant has to pass by us.

Mom leans down, angel halo bobbing. "I'll give you all a discount, and let me just tell you that the chocolate shakes are particularly delicious tonight."

Jane grins. "Your mom is the best."

Akim's eyes widen. "Mrs. Martin is your mom?"

"Like, duh." I roll my eyes.

He looks me up and down. "I suppose I see some genetic similarities."

"Uh, thank you? I'm kind of recessive?"

He nods his head real slow. "Don't say it like it's a bad thing."

"She looks like her dad, stupid," Jane says.

I don't like where this discussion is heading. "Uh, okay. I'm going to the restroom."

As I scoot out of the booth, making Helium move, Jane finally notices my wounds. "Omigosh, Polly. Your arm. And your leg!"

I wince. "Anything for the team."

On the way to the bathroom, hobbling around in my one squashed sandal, I spot Hayden sitting with a bunch of student government types: girls who sport serious haircuts and wear preppy outfits to hamburger places on Friday nights. They never show up at parties because a single incriminating photo
on the Internet could derail their future careers. I backtrack down the aisle and walk out of my way to avoid Hayden. A few kids sitting at tables greet me cheerfully before giving me funny looks when they notice my gaping—okay, bleeding—wounds.

In the bathroom I discover that fluorescent lighting doesn't do much for road rash. I look like I tried to run myself through the Hamburger Heaven meat grinder—not that they don't completely use frozen patties, but whatever. I soak a few paper towels and rest them on my injured arm and leg, and I try to brush some of the dirt stains off my shirt and shorts. I'm a mess.

Emmy Winters, our next class secretary, comes bounding into the bathroom. "Omigod, Pol. The whole restaurant is buzzing. What happened to you? Did you jump out of a moving car?" She drops her voice. "You're not back with Kurt again, are you? Because Sonnet Silverman wrote this totally mysterious poem about you on her blog."

"No, I'm not with Kurt." I gently remove the wet paper towels from my skin. The air stings. "And Sonnet apparently has a death wish."

Emmy's eyebrows rise above her eyeglass frames.

"Joking. Look, the whole thing's a silly—Whatever." I flap
my hand. "It's stupid, really. And since I'm kind of bleeding to death here, you know?"

"Fine. Fine." She holds her hands up. "But you've got to promise to tell me all about this sometime. I'll keep it a
top
student government secret."

I flash her a smile. "You betcha!" I catch my big cheesy grin in the mirror and blush. Polyamide. I
am
completely synthetic.

"Bye, Polly. Let's hang out sometime; we can start brainstorming prom themes."

I raise my arm.
Ow
! "What about prom horror movies?"

"You're, like, so funny! See ya, Pol." Laughing, Emmy leaves the bathroom.

After spending far too much time patching my wounds, I head back to our table. Mom's setting down platters of food. The guys gush, "Thanks again for the free wings and everything, Mrs. M!"

"Okay," Mom says. "Why did the student eat his homework?" Thankfully she doesn't give them time to guess. "His teacher told him it was a piece of cake."

Everyone laughs. I can't take this. I'm about to slide next to Jane, avoiding the whole Akim situation—I do not want to run the risk of physical contact again—when Rowdy calls out, "X-Man!"

I turn around, confused. Xander strides toward the table, smiling. "Guys! Thought you'd still be setting world speed records and generally—"

Xander sees me and stops talking mid-sentence. I hover, halfway sitting and standing, even though the gash on my leg hurts.

"Ouch!" That's so not what I wanted to say.

"Polly, your leg. It's bleeding pretty bad," Jane says. "And it's kind of getting on stuff." She uses my supposedly profuse bleeding as an excuse to climb into Rowdy's lap.

I stand up in a rickety-old-man kind of way. My leg throbs. My arm throbs. My heart does
not
throb! Xander stares at me, brown eyes wide, mouth turned down in a sympathetic-looking frown.

"Polly, you didn't?" Xander looks at Akim.

Akim nods. "Oh yeah. She did."

"Thought you were the bonfire party type," Xander says.

"Oh, she is," Akim says. "We completely stretched her capacity.

"What does
that
mean?" I watch blood seep through my shorts. "I'm the one who told you to go with trajectory."

"True. But you also made it clear that we were kind of lame."

I sigh.

Mom swings back around, holding a heavy tray of drinks. "Excuse me, X-Man," she says slipping behind Xander. She knows Xander Cooper?
She
calls him X-Man? "You kids going to be here tomorrow for academic team practice? I'll have the mozzarella sticks waiting."

"Sure thing, Mrs. M." Xander grins at her.

I'm standing there gaping: mouth, wounds, hole in my shorts, brain...

Mom finally grabs a clue and notices me. "Oh my goodness, Polly. What's happened to you? You look like you've been through the meat grinder—not that we have one, but you know what I mean. Sweetheart, you need to get home and clean up right away."

Across the room a server drops an entire tray full of dishes, sending a huge clatter echoing through the restaurant. Mom rushes over, halo bobbing, to help. Someone yells, "You go, girl, Mrs. M!"

The entire academic team digs into their greasy refreshments. Jane's not even looking at me because she's eating the french fries flapping out of, you know, Rowdy's mouth. Disgusting! She once lectured me about public displays of affection when Jack and I ate the opposite ends of a licorice stick at the movies. The double standard, the hypocrisy, the—hot
guy staring at me, looking all concerned and doe-eyed like freaking Bambi or something.

"I can give you a ride," Xander says. "Not on my skateboard." He smiles.

"My friend"—I glare at Jane—"promised to give me a ride. Because I'm spending the night at her
house.
" But Jane's moved from french fries to, um, French kissing right in the middle of Hamburger Heaven.

"Jane!"

She looks at me, lips puffy, a moronic grin spreading across her face. "Hmm?"

"I'm spending the night at your house?"

"You sure? You're so hurt and all, and—"

Rowdy's got his hands in her hair, leaving behind an oily residue, and, yeah, ruining my appetite for cheese fries, probably forever. A drop of blood tickles as it runs down my leg.

Xander hands me a paper napkin. "That looks kind of bad—might need medical attention."

"It's just a flesh wound," I say, doing my best
Monty Python
. Even though I'm channeling my inner geek tonight, that reference embarrasses me more than anything else I've done in front of Xander, but he just starts laughing. He and Akim then do a whole
Monty Python
riff. I should've known.

Mom comes by carrying a tray full of broken glasses and
wet rags. "Oh, honey, if you're going to bleed to death, maybe you should do it in the ER. I think you might need stitches, and I left my sewing kit at home, so—"

"I could take her, Mrs. M." Xander straightens his shoulders, acting like the teacher's pet he used to be.

"Um, Mom. Maybe I should just call Dad."

Mom shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. "Don't go there. Not tonight. Not here."

So, next thing I know, I'm lurching out of Hamburger Heaven, on one shoe, bloody napkins stuck to my leg. Xander holds my arm tenderly,
not
that I'm noticing the way his fingers feel on my skin, what with the blood gushing painfully from my leg and all. Really I'd probably be better off dying a slow, painful death in the restroom that was last cleaned by K.W at 9:15 p.m. The only thing that makes my exit even kind of worth it is the look on Hayden's face—not to mention those of his little harem of Future Lawyers of America.

Dear Miss Swoon:
My friend has been accusing me of selling out just because I've started hanging out with some different, more popular people. I say I'm just making some new
friends. How do you know when you're hanging out with the wrong crowd?
—Wrong Crowd

Dear Wrong Crowd:
If you're happy, you're doing something right.
—Miss Swoon

Not Shakespeare's Sonnet
Blond Count: 8 (might be 9, tho)
Fantasy Love Poems:
Ode to a Siren
by XCish
Water gushes through the tubes,
But I gush about you, fair one,
Dark curls cascade across cherubic cheeks,
And your other cheeks ain't so bad either.
I hide out watching,
Wanting to speed things up with you.

Get out your little black notebooks, folks.
New contest: supercool prize to the best love poems!

Xander walks me over to a hard plastic chair in the Emergency Room waiting area. A few other people sit around in various states of bleeding, brokenness, and intoxication. Across from me a kid moans, clutching his arm. The air smells like rubbing alcohol.

"Wait here, and I'll check you in. Do you have your insurance card?"

I shake my head no. Where is Mom? She swore she'd rush right over here as soon as she got someone to cover for her at Hamburger Heaven—she's probably too busy joking around with Jane and Rowdy while I'm over here suffering. Xander shakes his hair back from his face as he strides toward the reception desk. I can't see his expression as he talks to the young receptionist woman; she smiles and bats her eyes as if she's at a
desperate speed-dating thing like The Sassy Sage recommended in her column the other day.

Xander jogs over to me and crouches next to my chair. "Hey, they need consent, and your mom isn't answering her phone. Do you have another guardian, like maybe your dad?" He sounds awkward and hesitant.

"Um, yeah." I wince with pain as I stand. "I can call my dad. I'll just—"

He rests his hand on my shoulder. "Just sit. I'll take care of it."

"
You're
going to call my dad?"

"Sure, why not?"

Part of me thinks,
Yeah, why not?
Maybe having a strange boy calling him from the ER might kick Dad into gear, remind him he still actually has, you know, biological spawn, parenting responsibilities.

Xander watches my face. "It'll be okay. Trust me."

I don't trust anyone.

But my leg's throbbing, bleeding, dripping all over the plastic seat in a contaminating way, so I give him my dad's phone number. Xander walks back to the reception desk, dialing his cell phone. He talks for a few seconds and then hands the phone to the receptionist. Dad doesn't even ask to talk to
me. Maybe he's rushing right over so I don't have to spend the night alone in the Emergency Room with the drunk freak, the kid with the broken arm, and the guy who makes my heart palpitate. With anxiety! Nothing else.