After math class, I find another folded note in my locker. This one says, “4 p.m., Bookends Bookstore, Travel section. Let’s chat.” Ha. Yeah, right. Gee, I wonder what Cassie wants to chat about. I’m about to crumple it up when I decide, no, I’ll write her back this time. I take a pen out of my purse and scribble on the bottom, “Can’t. Dentist appointment.” There. I feel like skipping to Cassie’s locker in the senior hallway but decide to just walk quickly to it and shove the paper into one of the slots at the top of her locker.
This is awesome. I’m like a whole new, non-nerdy, big busted, brave Brooke. Standing up to the oh so popular Cassie. What could she have to say to me anyway? Does she want to tell me to stay away from Carter? Well she can’t do that, per her own rules.
We spend the duration of French class taking turns ordering food in pairs from a pretend café in French. I keep ordering a croissant and café au lait each time it’s my turn and Madame Barton doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. Our assignment for next week is to make our own café menu. Which actually sounds kinda fun. I’m only serving croissants and café au lait at my café though.
The final school bell rings and I’m ready to head home. Carrying around such a big chest is kinda hard. Even though I know it’s only water or some kind of funky solution inside the bra cups that makes my chest so big, it actually is hurting my back.
I head for my locker and just before I reach it, I stop dead in my tracks. Cassie is waiting for me. I look around, trying to find an escape route, but she’s already spotted me. Shoot. What is she doing? She’s not going to try and talk BSC business out in the open like this, is she?
“Hi, Brooke,” Cassie sings as I approach my locker.
“Hey, Cassie,” I say.
“Got a minute?”
“Not really. If I miss the bus, I’m screwed. My mom is waiting for me at home and then it’s off to that dentist appointment.” I mentally cross my fingers.
“Then I’ll walk you to the bus. Come on.”
Ugh. Fine. “Okay,” I say in the cheeriest voice I can muster. I drop my French books in my locker and grab the books I need for tonight’s homework. “Ready.”
Cassie and I walk down the hallway toward the front doors. She’s smiling, nodding, and occasionally giving a wave to just about everyone in the hallway. Everyone who is not at nerd status, that is. Hmph. I can do that too. I start nodding and waving myself. And people are responding with a wave or a “Hey, Brooke” back. We must look like we are in a parade minus the float. I wish I had some candy to throw. Cassie gives me a sideways glance and twitches her nose. She probably thinks I’m making fun of her. Ha.
I push open one of the heavy school doors and hold it open for Cassie to pass. We walk through the grass in the direction of the busses and she finally speaks.
“So Brooke, I just wanted to know, how are you doing?” Cassie says, feigning concern.
“Fantastic.”
“Really?” she asks, stopping abruptly mid-lawn and turning to look at me. “You can tell me, Brooke. We’re sisters.” She places one hand on my forearm and turns her perfectly pink shaded lips down in a slight frown.
She’s still singing that “Sisters” tune, huh? This would almost be touching if I believed her.
“Really, Cassie, I’m absolutely fantastic! Super, super happy,” I give her a big toothy grin.
“Oh, Brooke.” She shakes her head and keeps the frown firmly in place. “I wish you’d trust me. I know it must be so difficult watching Chris and I date. I mean, having your boyfriend want me so badly has to sting. I wish there was something I could do to make this transition easier on you.”
Oooh. The little witch! Well, she’s not going to rattle me.
“You know, Cassie, you’d think it would bother me but it really doesn’t. In fact, I love Boy Swap. I mean, having this access to dating so many fabulous guys is just incredible. I actually already have my sights on one very, very sexy guy.”
She narrows her eyes and sucks her teeth, undoubtedly trying to come up with a snappy reply. “I just don’t know. Maybe Delaney was right.”
My eyes burn at her name and my smile disappears. “About what?” I tentatively ask.
She looks like she’s considering whether or not to tell me. “Well, she had a lot of reservations. Delaney didn’t want us to ask you into the club.”
Of course.
“She thought you weren’t cool enough to hang in BSC,” Cassie continues. “She said you were a loser and never could be popular.”
Ouch. I’m stunned silent. That hurts. I sort of want to curl up in a ball and cry. These girls are so mean. I should tell her she’s right and drop out of BSC right this very minute.
“But I didn’t agree,” Cassie quickly adds. “I thought you would totally fit in. I suppose I could have been wrong. There’s always a first time…” she trails off.
My back stiffens. You know what? Screw Delaney. And screw Cassie. They’re not going to put me in my place and make me feel bad about myself. I can do this. I already have a plan. I can stick to it. I fix a smile on my face. “You weren’t wrong, Cassie. I can totally handle this.”
“Yeah?” she asks. “Good. But you know, Brooke, you really should be careful. Most girls don’t try to attempt a swap in the first few months of being a member. Swapping,” she says, pausing and rubbing her thumb and fingers of her right hand together in the air like she is putting together the perfect combination of words, “takes a certain set of skills. You don’t want to embarrass yourself and be rejected again and again.” She widens her eyes on the last “again.”
I arch my back, sticking my chest out as far as I can. “I’m not worried about being rejected.”
She glances at my chest and then looks off to the left side, pinching her lips together.
I flip open my phone and glance at the time. “Oooh, I’ve really gotta run. I don’t want to miss my bus. Later, Sis.” I air kiss her cheek and jog to my bus before she can say anything else.
Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I just air-kissed Cassie Deegan. What has gotten into me? Whatever it is, I think I like it.
Chapter 15: On with the Plan
I’m sitting in my new favorite class, English, waiting for the rest of the students to file in. I carefully unfold my checklist inside my English book and re-read it for the fifth time this morning:
_ Work-out in weight room.
X Move seats in English class.
_ Start poetry conversation.
X Wear Dave Matthews concert t-shirt.
_ Mention pay-per-view wrestling on Sat.
_ Read video mag in class.
I’ve got a good start on the list. Two out of six isn’t bad. And I totally meant to wake up early and work out in the school weight room with Carter this morning but once again, I overslept. Maybe my mind is subconsciously telling me I am not meant to hold heavy weights over my head.
Carter walks into class and heads for his seat. I sit up straight in my chair and flash him a grin. I wish I had another concert or even a wrestling t-shirt to wear today, but I didn’t have anything that I was sure Carter would like. So I had to go with this low-cut navy v-neck shirt instead. With the bra again, of course.
Carter returns my smile. “Hey, Brooke. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. You?”
“Not bad, not bad.” He slides into his chair.
Yes! I love this easy casual conversation thing we’ve got established now. It won’t be much longer before we’re making out in the bed of his truck. Weather providing.
I look around at the people sitting closest to me, trying to locate someone that I can loudly tell about my purchasing of pay-per-view wrestling for this weekend. But I don’t see anyone who would care. Aside from Carter, but that’s too obvious. Hmm…Anna, the foreign exchange student from Sweden, is two rows up from me. Maybe I’ll just tell her. She’ll at least return with a polite response. Before I can get the words out, Mrs. Miller walks into class and claps her ha
nds loudly.
“All right class, listen up. We are moving on to our poetry unit,” she says in an excited voice. “And we are going to kick it off with you guys researching a poet and giving the class a three-minute oral report on him or her this Friday.”
The majority of the class groans.
“No, no. No groaning. You’ll love poetry. With all that rap you guys listen to, I’m sure you’ll just adore it. It’s very similar.”
“Does that mean we can do the report on a rapper?” this short guy with baggy pants named Billy asks from the front row.
“No,” Mrs. Miller says. I can see she is envisioning twenty-five reports on 50 Cent and it makes her cringe. “You can’t report on a musical artist.”
“Ohhh!” a bunch of people whine.
“Let me finish,” she says, holding her hands up to quiet the class.
The class quiets down and waits for Mrs. Miller to continue.
“You can’t report on a musical artist unless they also have published poetry. Like Jewel.”
Like Jewel? Like “Who will sa-a-ave your soul…na na na na” Jewel? That’s poetry?
The class groans again.
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Miller says. “Now, you can do the report in pairs if you’d like but I do want to stress that each pair has to do a different poet. I do not want duplicates. So when you know which poet you would like to write about, please let me know and I will make a list.”
I glance over at Carter and back at Mrs. Miller. This is my chance. I have to take it. I shoot my hand into the air.
“Yes? Brooke?” Mrs. Miller says.
“Can I do my report on Robert Graves? He’s a mid-fifties British poet,” I add.
Mrs. Miller stares at me in astonishment for a moment. “Yes! Yes, Brooke. Great selection.” She walks to her desk, leans over, and writes down some information on a pad of paper. When she’s done, she looks back up at the class. “Anyone else?”
A quiet girl with braids, Sarah somebody, raises her hand and requests Maya Angelou. One of the guys, Tony Torelli, asks for Kurt Cobain, arguing that his personal journal was published after his death and it included some of his poetry, therefore making him a published poet. Mrs. Miller relents with a sigh and writes Kurt Cobain on her paper.
A few more students make requests for specific poets and I sit back in my seat with a happy sigh. I glance over in Carter’s direction and see him staring at me.
I turn up the right corner of my mouth in a half smile at him.
He holds up his notebook and I see a scribbled message. “Want to work together?”
Yes, yes, yes! This is what I was hoping for. Of course, I’m also hit with a wave of nerves. I can’t believe that I’m really doing this.
I raise my eyebrows and shrug, like I’m thinking about it and then nod my head like, sure. Why not?
Carter nods and mouths the word, “Cool.”
Oh yeah. VERY cool.
* * *
So, does meeting Carter after school today at the Rosehill Public Library to work on our oral report count as a date? Maybe not a romantic date (yet) but it’s at least a study date. God, I would pay the tiny remainder of my babysitting funds to get a .wav file of Carter telling Cassie that he can’t hang out with her today because he’s doing something with me. I could put it as my voicemail message on my cell phone. “Sorry, I can’t answer my phone right now but I’ll let Carter explain why…” then play the file. Or maybe put it as my ringtone. “I’m meeting Brooke after school. I’m meeting Brooke after school. I’m meeting Brooke after school.”
Of course I couldn’t do either of those things. It would be too obvious and Chris would freak out. It’s fun to think about though.
I slip into my seat next to Lizzie in Chemistry class.
“What are you so delirious about?” she asks.
“Do I look delirious?” I mean, I feel a bit delirious at how well this whole get a date with Carter plan is going. I feel so bold and brave. Like, I’m doing things that the pre-BSC, pre-pink scarf owning Brooke would never do. Saying things that the band nerd Brooke would never say. And it feels so good.
“A bit,” she says, nodding her head yes.
“I guess I am in a pretty good mood today.”
“No more Chris and Cassie problems?”
Thankfully Lizzie has been so preoccupied with her new relationship with Jacob that she has dropped the whole Cassie Patrol plan. This is the first time she’s even mentioned Cassie’s name to me in days.
“Uh-uh,” I say, feeling a teensy bit bad about lying to my best friend. But I am proactively dealing with the problem.
“Awesome! Maybe the whole Brooke and Lizzie Disney double-dating plan will actually happen then,” she says.
Ha! Yeah right. But I don’t have the heart to clear up her misconception now.
“So you and Jacob,” I start, “you’re moving ahead warp-speed, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” she says. “We’ve been talking on the phone every night and last night we went to a movie.”
“What did you guys see?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “I can’t remember,” she says sheepishly and I laugh.
Chris and I have been to a lot of movies where I couldn’t name the title, who was in it, or what it was about. Sigh. Chris. I feel a pang in my chest. How did things change for us so quickly? Why did he have to give in to Cassie’s advances? Why isn’t he the guy I thought he was when I fell in love?
Chapter 16: Study Buddies
I enter the public library at five to four and head for the classic literature section where Carter and I agreed we’d meet. I take a seat at one of the thick wood tables in a back corner where we won’t be disturbed by other patrons. Carter should be here any minute. I tug my shirt down a bit and check my makeup in my compact one last time.
“Hi, Brooke,” a female voice sings and I snap my compact shut. It’s Cassie. What the heck is she doing here? Carter walks up behind her a few seconds later.
“Sorry,” he says. “Just dropping off some books.”
“No problem,” I say, purposely directing my attention at him and not Cassie.
“I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along, Brooke. Carter told me he was meeting you at the library and it was such perfect timing because there were a few things I needed to look up online.” She narrows her eyes at me and flashes a wicked smile.
Right. Like she doesn’t have an Internet connection at home? Liar. I look at her and then look off to the side. And then do it again. Just like she did to me that day at the football game when she wanted me to leave so she could talk to Chris alone. But Cassie doesn’t budge.
“Are you okay, Brooke? Is there something in your eye?”
Witch, witch, witch!
“No, I’m fine, Cassie. Thanks for asking,” I reply sweetly. “I’m still getting used to my new contacts.”
“You should really get laser surgery.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about doing that.”
“Well, we gotta work, Cass. Why don’t you go do your online stuff?” Carter says.
Yes! You rock Carter!
“Oh. Well…okay,” Cassie says, looking the tiniest bit hurt that he asked her to take a hike.
Hee hee. I’m doing a mental happy dance.
“Nice talking to you, Cassie,” I add, feeling an incredible urge to get in a few last words.
Cassie slowly walks toward the row of computers at the front of the library, occasionally throwing glances over her shoulder until she is out of sight. I open up my paisley pink composition notebook and look at Carter expectantly.
“I couldn’t believe it when you asked to do Graves for the presentation,” he says. “He’s like, one of my favorite poets.” Chris closes his mouth and looks thoughtful for a moment. “But, don’t, like, let that get around. That I have a favorite poet. I’d get razzed by the guys pretty bad.”
“Oh, no problem,” I say, motioning like I’m zipping my lip. Which is totally
like a nine-year-old motion and probably makes me look L-A-M-E. But Carter doesn’t seem to notice this. “Robert Graves is one of my favorites too. I’d have to say, as far as the British poets go, my favorites are him, Dylan Thomas, and Thom Gunn. In that order.”
Carter gives me a super impressed look.
Yes! God bless you, Wikipedia.
“Nice list,” Carter says with a nod. “Gunn was a bit of a freak if I remember correctly. I think I read somewhere that he used to participate in huge wild orgies on some hill somewhere. Maybe in California.”
Great, Brooke. Tell him the orgy guy is your third favorite poet. Mental note, next time I prepare for a study date online, explore past the first page of hits.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “I think you’re right. That was a little interesting piece of his history, huh?” Please don’t think I’m a freak.
“Most poets are out there. Take Bukowski—he’s one of my favorite American poets. He was a raving drunk.”
Bukowski, Bukowski, Bukowski. Ugh. Who is that? Sounds like the name on a package of sausages. Try real homemade Bukowski Polish Sausage. Fresh in your grocer’s deli case. Mental note #2, look up Bukowski tonight. I’ll just nod and agree for now.
“Oh no doubt!” I say with a little laugh, like I’m part of some inside joke. “Total alchy.”
Carter laughs. I must have said the right thing. Whew.
“So should we start with like, an outline or something? Decide what the main parts of the presentation should be?” he asks.
“Great idea.” I pull a pen from my purse and write, “I.” at the top of a fresh page in my notebook. “We should start with some kind of intro and tell everyone what is going to be in the speech.”
Carter nods.
“Then what?” I say. “Go into his life? Like when he was born, where he worked, that type of stuff?”
“Definitely,” Carter says. “And we have to talk about his love life for sure.”
“Of course!” I agree, nodding eagerly. “He was a top love poet—we have to cover his actual love life. His inspirations. I can do that part if you want.”
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