by Piper Banks
“Mutant Monkeys? That’s not one of yours, is it?” I asked Finn.
“No, it’s an online RPG,” Finn said. As though I had any idea what an RPG was. “Tate, did you get as far as Death Wish Island?”
Finn sat down in the desk next to Tate’s so that they could discuss the mutant monkey game. Charlie and I took the two empty desks next to Finn.
“Do you want to go to Grounded after school?” Charlie asked.
“I can’t. I have Mu Alpha Theta practice. Sorry,” I said, although I wasn’t at all sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was spend yet another afternoon sitting by myself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable while Charlie canoodled with her boyfriend. Besides, she only wanted me there so she’d have someone to talk to if Grounded got busy and Mitch had to work. I didn’t like being her backup plan.
“That’s too bad. You and I haven’t had a chance to catch up since you’ve gotten back,” Charlie continued.
I looked at her. Is she serious? I wondered.
“What?” Charlie asked, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.
“Um . . . I’ve been around,” I said.
“I know. It just feels like we haven’t really had a chance to talk,” Charlie continued.
I decided to just let it go. After all, what was the point? Finn muttered mutinously every time Charlie brought up Mitch’s name—in other words, every time the three of us were together—and Charlie just ignored him. She didn’t seem to care that her two best friends weren’t at all thrilled by how drastically she’d changed in such a short period of time. Or maybe she was so caught up in her new relationship, she hadn’t noticed.
This is temporary, I told myself. The newness of it will wear off, and eventually she’ll go back to being the same old Charlie. And I’ve never had a boyfriend. Maybe this is just what it’s like.
So instead, I just said, “Yeah, I know. It does feel like that.”
Felicity Glen and Morgan Simpson came in, their heads bent together, as they whispered intently about something. Felicity was thin with green eyes, petite features, full, pouty lips, and dark brown hair that fell in sleek waves around her pretty face. Morgan, on the other hand, was a short, squat girl with piggish features and an unflattering bob of limp dirty-blond hair.
I watched them warily. Felicity and I had never gotten along— she’d pretty much hated me from the moment she set eyes on me on my first day at Geek Middle—and she rarely passed up the opportunity to say something nasty to me. My nickname for her was the Felimonster, and it was well deserved. But last semester, she and I had been on the Snowflake Gala committee together, along with Morgan, Finn, and Charlie. We’d all pulled together to make the dance a success. I’d wondered if this shared experience would permanently defrost relations between us. Felicity glanced over at me. There was a familiar malicious gleam in her moss-green eyes.
I braced myself. Apparently, the hostilities were back on.
“Miranda,” she said, tossing back her shiny hair. “I forgot to ask you yesterday—how was your trip to London?”
“It was fine,” I said warily.
“Real-ly,” Felicity said, drawing out the two syllables. “Because I heard that your boyfriend dumped you, like, five minutes after you left.”
I instantly flushed, my cheeks going hot with embarrassment. How had Felicity found out about Dex? The only person at Geek High who knew he’d blown me off was . . .
I glanced at Charlie. Surely, she hadn’t told Felicity. . . . Had she? I wouldn’t even have had to wonder about the old Charlie, but with this new Charlie, I wasn’t so sure.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said to Felicity, trying to keep my voice cool and calm and above her petty nastiness.
“You know. That guy you were at the Snowflake with. I thought he was your boyfriend,” she continued with an evil grin. “No? My mistake. I guess it was just a pity date for him.”
Morgan giggled in sycophantic glee. “A pity date,” she repeated rapturously.
As angry as I was, this remark cut way, way too close to the truth. Furious, I opened my mouth, ready to blast Felicity, but before I could say anything, Mrs. Gordon came in calling out, “Good morning, class. I hope everyone read the first two chapters of Tender Is the Night and came prepared to discuss them. I’d like to begin with some of the themes that Fitzgerald focused on in these early chapters.”
Felicity and Morgan, still smirking, took their seats. Charlie whispered, “Ignore her. She’s such a troll.”
Tabitha Stone immediately raised her hand. I gave a mental eye roll. Tabitha was the resident literary wunderkind at Geek High, and had been ever since her book of poetry had been published the previous year. But there was something about Tabitha that had always rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was that she always took herself way too seriously.
Mrs. Gordon beamed at her. “Yes, Tabitha,” she said.
Tabitha cleared her throat importantly. “Fitzgerald’s main theme is youth. It’s especially noticeable in his descriptions of Rosemary. For example, he writes that ‘the dew was still on her.’ And he describes her cheeks as being flushed like a child’s after a bath. Not to mention that the motion picture she starred in was called Daddy’s Girl.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Gordon said. She turned to the white dry-erase board, uncapped a black magic marker, and wrote down the word YOUTH. “Anyone else?”
I stared down at my laptop, trying to keep my face stony as I began taking notes. I don’t know what bothered me more—Felicity having discovered that Dex had unceremoniously dumped me before we even really started dating, a piece of knowledge she would doubtless torment me with into the indefinite future. . . . Or the possibility that Charlie was the one who had told Felicity about it.
I glanced at Charlie, thinking I’d send her a quick IM to ask her what she’d said to Felicity. But then I noticed that Charlie was already IM’ing someone. And from the goofy, love-dazed expression on her face, it didn’t take a genius to figure out just who that was.
The period seemed to last forever. When the bell finally rang, Mrs. Gordon said, “All right, everyone, your homework assignment is to read the next two chapters of Tender Is the Night. Miranda, stay after class for a moment, please.”
I packed up my bag, and as the rest of the class filed out of the room, I heard Felicity say “pity date” to Morgan, who snickered. Once everyone had left, I walked up to Mrs. Gordon’s desk. She had her back to me as she wiped down the blackboard.
“You wanted to talk to me, Mrs. Gordon?” I said.
She turned around and smiled. She was short and plump, with intelligent eyes and a ready smile. As usual, she looked a bit unkempt. Today, her hair was falling out of a loose bun, and there was a stain on the front of her cardigan.
“Yes, Miranda. I forgot to give this to you yesterday.” She handed me two pieces of paper, stapled together. The top was a letter, congratulating me on being chosen as a finalist in the Alfred Q. Winston Creative Writing Contest, and included a brief history of the contest, naming some of the past winners who’d gone on to become famous writers. It was an impressive list, and as I read it, my stomach felt wriggly with nerves.
I was pretty sure I wanted to be a writer, but I seriously doubted if I had the talent. Even if I didn’t particularly enjoy math, I figured it was my destiny. Why would I have this extraordinary gift if I wasn’t meant to use it? But then Mrs. Gordon had talked me into submitting one of my short stories to the Winston Creative Writing Contest. . . . And somehow, I’d actually made the finals. It was the first real sign I’d had that maybe I could be—would be—a writer.
“Great, thanks,” I said.
“Make sure you fill out that second sheet and send it in to the address listed there,” Mrs. Gordon said. “It’s to notify the Winston people that you’re planning to attend the finals.”
“I will.”
“Congratulations again,” Mrs. Gordon said, smiling brightly at me.
“Thanks!”
I returned her smile as I slung my knapsack up on my shoulder and left the classroom. Outside, Finn and Charlie were waiting for me to walk to Latin with them. From the dreamy look on Charlie’s face, and the pained expression on Finn’s, I instantly knew what—or, rather, who—they were discussing.
“You should really talk to Mitch. The two of you have a lot in common,” Charlie was saying as I joined them.
Finn looked like he’d smelled something particularly nasty. “I truly doubt that,” he said.
“No, you do. Mitch is into computer games, too,” Charlie said.
“What sort of games?” Finn asked suspiciously.
I should have warned Charlie then not to say whatever it was she was about to say. Finn had strong views on gaming. More precisely, he had strong views on which computer games were worthwhile and which were garbage, and the sort of losers—his word, not mine—who wasted their time playing the latter. I had a feeling that Mitch would not pass this test.
“He likes that game where you create houses and jobs and things for people,” Charlie said vaguely. “I can’t remember the name.”
“Sims?” Finn asked, his voice dripping with disdain. “He plays Sims?”
“I think that’s the one,” Charlie said, nodding.
“Only middle-aged women play Sims,” Finn said acidly. “The kind who have, like, five cats whom they’ve named after the T. S. Eliot poems. Only worse, they don’t even know the names were originally from a poem, since they got them from the musical Cats. Those are the sort of people who play Sims.”
The smile slid off Charlie’s face as though Finn had slapped her. She even took a step back from him.
“That’s a little judgmental,” she said coldly. “Especially coming from a guy who spends every spare moment shut up in his room playing on his computer. You’re the walking, breathing stereotype of a nerd. I think that’s a whole hell of a lot more pathetic than having a few cats.”
Finn’s face—already pale to begin with—went white with rage. His scar from the cleft-lip surgery he’d had as an infant stood out prominently against his blanched skin. “You really want to know what’s pathetic? Acting like a fool over your idiotic boyfriend.” Finn’s voice rose into a mocking falsetto. “Oh, Mitchy, you’re so big and strong and you brew coffee so well. Kiss, kiss, giggle, giggle.”
I glanced around nervously. Finn’s and Charlie’s raised voices were starting to attract curious glances from students passing by. Padma Paswan, who had been standing nearby, getting a book out of her locker, was staring at them, her mouth slightly open.
“Jealous much?” Charlie spat back. Her entire body was rigid with fury, and her hands were balled into fists at her sides.
“You think I’m jealous of that idiot?”
“Mitch is not an idiot!”
“In my game Nuclear Knights, there was a troll who was so stupid that if you talked to him long enough, he’d hit himself over the head with his club and knock himself out. That’s how dumb Mitchy is,” Finn sneered. He slung his knapsack onto his shoulder. “I am so out of here.”
With that, Finn turned on his heel and stalked off down the hall.
“Jerk!” Charlie called after him.
I had been just standing there, stunned into silence during this exchange. The last thing I wanted to do was to get in the middle of their fight. I agreed with Finn—the way Charlie behaved around Mitch was irritating—but I didn’t think yelling at her in the middle of the school corridor was the best way to broach the subject.
“I can’t believe him,” Charlie seethed, as we turned to walk toward our Latin classroom. “I had no idea he was such a snob!”
“Snob?” I repeated, surprised. Finn may be many things— devious, crafty, lacking a moral center—but he wasn’t at all snobbish.
“Yes! He’s a snob! You heard him. The only reason he doesn’t like Mitch is because he thinks Mitch isn’t as smart as he is. Which is just ridiculous,” Charlie snapped.
I stayed quiet. I didn’t know Mitch very well, and had no idea how smart he was. But Finn was insanely smart, probably in the top one-tenth of one percentile of all people who had ever lived. So the off chance that Mitch was as smart as Finn wasn’t great. But that wasn’t really the point, anyway. I’d long harbored the suspicion that Finn and Charlie had feelings for one another. . . .Feelings that went deeper than just friendship. I doubted if either of them would ever admit it—even to themselves—and especially not now that Charlie was dating Mitch. I wondered if that was what was really at the heart of this argument.
Luckily, Charlie was so incensed at Finn, she didn’t notice my silence.
“And why does it matter what computer games Mitch plays, anyway?” she continued angrily.
I shrugged. “Finn’s always had strong feelings on gaming,” I said. “You know that.”
“Yeah, but to decide he doesn’t like someone just because of the games they play. That’s ridiculous. It’s prejudiced,” she said.
“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “Doesn’t everyone do that? Judge people based on what they like and don’t like, I mean?”
“I don’t,” Charlie snapped.
“So you’d be friends with someone who had posters of kittens or Anne Geddes babies up in their room?” I teased her.
Charlie hated schmaltzy posters with a purple passion. Last year, she’d waged a war against the Geek High librarian, Mrs. Krandall, for hanging a sickly sweet poster featuring a pair of puppies reading a book together. Mrs. Krandall finally just took the poster down, worn out by Charlie’s tireless arguments that “bad art is visual pollution!”
“Yes, I would. If they were kind and worthwhile, I would be their friend no matter what sort of art they liked,” Charlie said loftily.
I snorted my disbelief. Charlie grinned, despite herself.
“Okay, so maybe I would judge them on their posters. But that’s different. Art is an expression of a person’s soul. Video games are just a way to pass the time. It’s like with TV shows . . . sometimes you’ll watch a bad one just for the sheer entertainment value of it,” Charlie argued.
“Maybe for you,” I said, shrugging. “But for Finn, computer games are his life. That is how he expresses his soul.”
“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” Charlie asked darkly.
“It is what it is. Finn is who he is,” I said.
“Finn is an idiot,” Charlie said. “Come on, we’re going to be late for Latin.”
Charlie and Finn’s fight had made me temporarily forget Felicity’s taunts about my breakup with Dex. I didn’t remember to bring it up with Charlie until lunch. Normally, she, Finn, and I ate lunch together in the school dining room, sitting at our favorite table in the corner. At Geek High, lunch isn’t served in the normal cafeteria style. Instead, platters of sandwiches, fruit, and cookies are put out on each table, and the students help themselves, family style.
But at lunch Finn was nowhere to be seen. I looked around for him, hoping he hadn’t cut school—Finn’s fondness for practical jokes kept him perilously close to being expelled, and so he really couldn’t risk skipping—but Charlie seemed unconcerned. In any event, Finn’s absence gave me a chance to finally question Charlie about whether she’d said anything to Felicity about the abrupt end of my romance with Dex.
“Have you talked to Felicity lately?” I asked casually as I selected a chicken salad sandwich from the platter.
“Ugh. Not if I can help it,” Charlie said, grabbing a ham and cheese, along with a handful of chips. “Why?”
“Because of what she said in class. About Dex, well, dumping me,” I said, trying to ignore the stab of pain I felt whenever I thought about Dex.
“I wouldn’t talk about that with her,” Charlie said, frowning at me. Then suddenly her face lit with understanding. “She was at the movies that night! The night I saw Dex out with, well, you know.”
“Laughing Girl,” I said darkly.
“Right. Anyway, Felicity was there
, too, with Morgan. I saw them in the popcorn line. They were going to see whatever the chick flick of the week was. She must have seen Dex there on his date,” Charlie said.
I felt guilty for doubting Charlie, and was glad that I’d been wrong. The image of Dex out with his new girlfriend was depressing enough. I wondered if he kissed her the same way he kissed me—resting one hand on her cheek, the other cupping the back of her neck, his warm lips somehow feeling both soft and hard as they pressed against hers. . . .
No, I thought, giving myself a mental shake. This is not a good thought path to wander down.
Because not only had Dex failed to e-mail me while I was in London, he also hadn’t called me in the two days since I’d gotten home. So even if there was some teeny-tiny chance that it had all been some huge mistake—like, maybe he’d lost my e-mail address, or maybe Laughing Girl had been the daughter of one of his mother’s friends, and she’d forced him to take her out—well, now there was no excuse. The phone number at the beach house was listed, and he went to school with my stepsister, who could have given him my cell phone number. So there was absolutely no reason why he couldn’t have gotten a hold of me. If he’d wanted to.
Which clearly meant he didn’t.
“Pass me the cookies,” Charlie said, interrupting my negative thought bog. As I handed her the plate of peanut butter cookies, her face took on the dreamy expression I’d already started to dread. “Did I tell you what Mitch said about my hair yesterday?”
“Yeah, I think you did,” I said. She hadn’t, but I didn’t want to encourage her.
But Charlie continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “He said that it smelled like roses. Can you believe that?”
“Sure,” I said, shrugging.
“Do you think it does?”
“I’ve never really noticed,” I said.
Charlie leaned forward, pointing the top of her head at me. “Smell it,” she insisted.
“I’m not going to smell your hair,” I said. “I’m eating.”