Dating on the Dork Side

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Dating on the Dork Side Page 26

by Charity Tahmaseb


  I looked around, at kids in the bleachers, at the section where the teachers were sitting. All of them looked a little shocked. “Thank you,” I said before returning the mic to its stand. “Thank you for listening.”

  I took a step back and bumped into something solid and warm. Gavin was standing behind me, then moved to my side. He slipped his hand into mine and gave my fingers a squeeze.

  A clattering came from the stands. Jason landed with a thud on the gym floor, then strolled over to stand next to Gavin.

  “Dog.” He shook his head and shoved Gavin’s shoulder.

  Even after all this time, I still didn’t speak Ab.

  Next, Elle picked her way out of the cheerleaders, followed by Mercedes. Sophie’s boots thunked their way down the stands until she landed next to me. To my surprise, Clarissa came up next. Our eyes met and something shifted between us. We’d never be friends again. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure we ever were, not really. But in that moment, at least we understood each other.

  Rhino slouched his way down the bleachers. He held out his hand, not to me, but to Elle. The tears streaming down her face made my own eyes sting all over again. She took his hand. He must have been too close to the mic, because his whisper reached us all.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  I think we all were. I know I was.

  Up on the screen, the wiki blurred and faded. At first I thought it was from the tears in my eyes. But I caught Rhino gazing at the projection over Elle’s shoulder and I knew.

  The wiki was gone.

  I gave Gavin’s hand a final squeeze, and his fingers slipped through mine as I started for the gym doors. I was amazed they let me leave. Amazed that, when I reached the threshold, applause was thundering behind me.

  For the second time in a week, I found myself sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in the world. I waited in the office for hours. A ridiculous number of people passed by me while I squirmed on the seat. I recognized a few members of the school board, the superintendent, Ms. Wilson, Coach Cutter.

  Dad.

  I started crying when he came in. He knelt beside my chair. “You okay?” he asked.

  “That depends,” I said. “Am I grounded forever?”

  “Probably.” At least he kissed the top of my head before following the crowd down the hall.

  I thought I heard his voice once. I thought I heard Mom’s, but that had to be my guilty conscience. I was sure she would have plenty to say about what happened, but there was no way I could hear her all the way from Iowa. I heard a lot of other voices too. A few of them did get loud enough to hear from Iowa.

  Finally, Ms. Bentley sent me in. We were in a different room this time, a larger one, with enough seats that no one had to perch on the radiator. I looked around at all the sober faces. Someone was missing. “Ms. Pender—” I started to say under my breath.

  Principal Miller looked at me and said, “Ms. Pendergast will not be with us today. She is on a leave of absence. Ms. Cavanaugh, I want you to know that at Olympia High School we believe that all students can change for the better and we do not single out students for special negative attention. That wouldn’t be fair.”

  Of course, a few minutes after that, she did single me out for special negative attention. How fair was that?

  In the end, I got a whole lot of lecturing and five days’ detention for failure to cooperate with an investigation of behavior that could prove harmful to (a) student(s) or the school environment.

  Whatever.

  And I had heard my mom. They’d Skyped her in for the meeting. It was both wonderful and terrible to see her, and I realized how much I missed her.

  Dad filled me in on the details on the way home. Principal Miller had pushed for a massive suspension for everyone who’d been involved, but Rhino had made the images we’d used at the pep rally—and the rest of the wiki—vanish. There was no evidence that The Hotties of Troy had ever existed. Without that, the school board members felt they couldn’t hand out any punishment. Except to me, of course.

  Dad said he wasn’t sure what would have happened even if there was still proof. A lot of people at the meeting had thought the wiki was just “boys being boys.” He breathed heavily out of his nostrils when he said that part.

  He also said that he and Mom had agreed I should have some “special negative attention” at home too. I’d have to talk to Mom on the phone later. She had her own lecture she wanted to deliver. Plus, I had to write an essay for them. The topic was: How to tell when a problem is too big to solve on your own. (Insert eye rolling here.) And I was grounded. I couldn’t go anywhere, have friends over, or use my phone or the Internet until I’d served all of my detention.

  “That starts now,” Dad said.

  “But tonight is the last home game of the year,” I said. It might be the last time I’d ever get to see Gavin play. I felt like crying all over again.

  “I don’t think you’ll be missing much,” Dad said. Then he told me that, even though there wouldn’t be any formal punishment, Coach Cutter had decided to bench all the players on the Varsity team for that night’s game.

  Maybe I could have counted on Coach to do the right thing.

  There was a bright side. Sort of. Actually, there were two bright sides.

  First, the plagiarism investigation against Sophie, me, and the other kids that I’d tutored was over. They hadn’t found a single incident of cheating. That meant Sophie would pass English and I could go back to tutoring as soon as I’d served my detention.

  Second, apparently Aiden Tuttle hadn’t thought saying hurtful things on the wiki was quite enough. He’d been caught passing an actual paper note about Clarissa in homeroom that morning. “You can look forward to seeing that young man sitting detention with you, Camy,” Dad said.

  Like I’d look forward to anything that involved Aiden.

  Things were weird between Dad and me in the car. They were even stranger when we got home. Even though I knew I had disappointed him by getting into trouble, I caught him grinning at me. And twice he sort of punched my shoulder.

  We were in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for dinner, when he said, “Look, Cams, you should have told someone about the wiki earlier. The principal, a teacher … your father, maybe?” He raised his eyebrows at me and gave me his most serious dad look then. “But I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't a little bit proud of the way you handled yourself today, princess.”

  “Dad, I’m not the princess, remember?”

  “Queen, then.”

  “I’m not the queen, either.”

  “Right here you are.” He tapped the spot over his heart. “You’re the queen of right here.” And he gave me a hug.

  Serving detention wasn’t as bad as you’d think. Really. Except for having to see Aiden’s face every afternoon, it was a lot like tutoring. The only thing missing was the skybox view. On the first day, I worked on the essay for my parents. The next day, I did some extra-credit work for my classes, hoping it would be enough to bring me back to my pre-wiki honor roll nerd status. The rest of the time, I helped the other detention students.

  Outside of detention, I kept to myself. I didn’t volunteer answers in class, and I spent my lunch periods in the hallway outside the science labs. If someone tried to get my attention, I pretended I was blind and deaf and walked on. It was a little lonely. The truth is, it was a whole lot lonely, but it was easier that way.

  I didn’t know what to expect from the kids at school. Sure, there had been a show of support at the pep rally, but what if they’d changed their minds once they’d really thought things through? Retreating to the sidelines felt familiar, comfortable, and safe.

  On Thursday after detention, I spotted a piece of printer paper, folded in thirds, sticking out of my locker’s air vents. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t say exactly what, not until I noticed Clarissa standing in front of her own locker, a few yards down the hall. The combination of girl and note brough
t back memories of Clarissa’s over-the-top campaign for homecoming queen, with its posters, pins, and flyers stuck everywhere, and I almost laughed.

  But the homecoming contest was long over. I pulled the note from the vent and opened it carefully.

  I still didn’t know what I was looking at. It appeared to be a screenshot, off a website like YouTube. The title at the top read: Hotties v. Notties Ep. 7. The picture beneath it looked sort of like a diorama, the kind we’d made in sixth grade social studies class. You know, with shoeboxes and stuff? But this one didn’t depict a random capitol of Europe. It looked more like a crude representation of a boxing ring.

  And inside the ring?

  Dolls. One tall, thin, blonde Barbie type in a cheerleader outfit and one shorter doll, flat-chested, with big dark eyes. The second one was naked except for the toy football helmet scotch-taped into its crazy black hair. I’d seen that kind of doll before; I think they’re called trolls.

  Even with the speech bubble above the troll’s head saying, “Hut! Hut!” I still didn’t understand. But things became devastatingly clear when I read the subtitle printed in bright blue across the bottom: Elle Emerson v. Camy Cavanaugh.

  The video had received two hundred and thirty-seven views since it was uploaded last spring. Someone had wanted me to know that; the date was circled in green marker. It was one of a series of eight. You could see them all by subscribing to the channel TrojanMan.

  I wondered if this was the type of video that could be reached by typing my name in Google. I thought about college admissions offices and scholarship boards doing searches. I thought of every last employer I might work for. Everyone I might meet. Even my own children in some far-flung future. Heat rose in my face. If the Internet really was forever, I didn’t want to go through life as the Troll Doll Girl.

  Another thought occurred to me. Since I was obviously the Nottie in the picture, did the other seven episodes feature me as well? How many views did those videos have? And who else was I “hut-hutting” against? Lexy? Clarissa?

  Speaking of Clarissa, I’d been so focused on the printout that I hadn’t even noticed her moving in my direction. She’d almost passed me when she stopped and touched my arm.

  “Don’t bother looking it up,” she said. “You won’t find them anymore.”

  “How would you know?” I choked out.

  But instead of answering, Clarissa pointed upward and said, “Hey! I guess we forgot one.”

  I looked up. Above our heads, a CD 4 HQ poster was still hanging, those jade eyes looking down on me with mock benevolence.

  “Damn, I look good,” she said. With that, she sashayed down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

  I fought the urge to chase her and show her what a real Hotties v. Notties throwdown would look like. Not that it would change anything. I folded the screenshot and was about to stick it into my calc book when I noticed writing on the other side.

  Once again in green, someone had carefully penned: You might have overlooked something about your nosy friend.

  Now I was totally lost. The only “nosy” friend I could think of was Rhino. Besides the fact that we weren’t actually friendly these days, what could he possibly have to do with this latest humiliation? He might not be the superhero I’d thought he was, but I still couldn’t imagine him doing something so deliberately cruel.

  The next day in French class, Madame Bourg-Schmidt assigned partners for conversation practice. “Mademoiselle Cavanaugh et Mademoiselle Emerson,” she commanded.

  “Merde,” I said under my breath, but when I glanced at Elle she didn’t seem too upset about the pairing. We scooted our desks together.

  “Bonjour, Camy,” Elle said, giving me that dazzling I-should-have-been-homecoming-queen smile.

  “Bonjour,” I said back.

  “Ça fait longtemps,” Elle said. (Long time, no see.)

  “Oui.”

  “Il s'est passé beaucoup,” she said. (A lot has happened.)

  “Oui.” I figured it was best to stick to one-word answers.

  “Au de sujet, je regrette rien.” (By the way, I have no regrets.)

  “Really?” I said, reverting back to English. “That’s not what you said a couple of weeks ago. I seem to recall a few tears and plenty of regrets.” I pointed toward the classroom door. “It was just down the hall. Remember?”

  For a second, Elle frowned. But the dazzle returned for Madame Bourg-Schmidt when she said, “En francais, les filles.” (In French, girls.)

  “Parlez-vous de Rhino?” Elle asked as Madame walked away.

  “Oui.”

  “Well, okay, yes,” she started. “We should have taken more time to really get to know each other and trust each other before we … how do you say it?” She shrugged, and even that looked French. “You know. But I’m not sorry about the rest. Not one bit.”

  At least I think that’s what she said. It was in French and, like just about everything else, Elle’s grasp of the language was a lot better than mine.

  “Et vous? Des regrets?” she went on. (Did I have any regrets?)

  I sighed. “Oui.”

  “Que?”

  What did I regret? It wasn’t taking down the wiki. Looking across the desks at her now, I couldn’t say I regretted my friendship with Elle, either. And as pathetic as it might sound, I wouldn’t take back a single moment I’d spent with Gavin. Not the plotting and scheming. And definitely not the kiss.

  No, if I regretted anything, it was …

  “Rhino.” My voice caught in my throat when I tried to say his name.

  I missed him so much. Even through everything, I’d held out hope that somehow we could fix things and get back to what we had once been.

  “Il n'a pas à être de cette façon,” Elle said. (It doesn’t have to be that way.)

  And maybe it didn’t. At least not until yesterday, when that YouTube screen shot had shown up. The “nosy” friend couldn’t be anyone else but Rhino. The idea that he’d betrayed me for so long, even before the wiki had come into existence, was too much to get over. Too much to forgive.

  “Ici.” Elle handed me a tissue.

  I hadn’t even noticed I was crying.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, in English this time.

  I unzipped my book bag and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. I pushed it across the desks to her.

  She opened it and her jaw tensed. “Haven’t I told you that what people say about you doesn’t matter?”

  “Even when that person is Rhino?” I reached across both desks, turned the paper over, and pointed to the note in green marker. The one that said, You might have overlooked something about your nosy friend.

  Elle straightened in her seat and dropped the paper into her lap. “Les pomme frites sont délicieux.”

  The fries are delicious? Either my French was worse than I thought or Madame Bourg-Schmidt was standing right behind me. She walked past us, pausing to raise one eyebrow. Elle waited until she was a few desks away before leaning forward and whispering, again in English, “This doesn’t seem like something Rhino would do.”

  “Did the wiki?” I countered.

  “Who gave you this?”

  “Clarissa, I think.”

  Elle’s blue eyes went icy. But before she could say anything else, Madame Bourg-Schmidt clapped her hands together.

  “Exam improvisée,” she said.

  Pop quiz? Oh, sure. Why not?

  Jason showed up that afternoon, the last day of detention. He plopped into the desk next to mine.

  Mr. Moore picked up a piece of paper and looked at it twice. “Surprisingly, Mr. Abernathy, you are not on my list.”

  “I know,” Jason said. “Kind of amazing, isn’t it?”

  “So, why are you here?”

  “My mom’s going to kill me if I don’t bring up my grades, and I heard Camy’s a genius at that kind of stuff.”

  I’ve had five days to think about this (seven if you count the weekend), and if you
ask me, the last day of detention should come with a checklist:

  You find a jock asking for tutoring?

  It’s still a sign of the apocalypse.

  Or maybe not. After Mr. Moore dismissed us, Jason followed me back to my locker. “So, we’re okay and everything?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He held out a fist. My own fingers curled and I found myself bumping his fist back. Then Jason Abernathy did something I didn’t expect. But really, after everything, I should have. He leaned forward, head tipped toward me, and sniffed.

  He grinned. And then he was off, racing down the hall, body slamming lockers.

  Jason “The Ab” Abernathy: the jock that half the school loved and the other half feared. The jock that I kind of, sort of … thought was okay.

  I shoved the rest of my books into my bag. I was in a hurry to get home. A week is a long time to go without a phone or the Internet. I wanted to catch up with the world. Besides, I needed to check out that troll video. Clarissa might have given me her weird assurance that it was no longer available, but I wanted to see for myself. I’d almost made it to the doors when I heard the rustle of pom-poms.

  “Camy! There you are! Come on!” Lexy disappeared up the stairs.

  I was too curious to leave without following her. My knee hurt a little when I got to the second floor landing, so I slowed down. I took the last set of steps carefully. By the time I made it to the third floor, I didn’t see Lexy anywhere. The tutoring room was dark too. That made my heart hurt.

  In the days since the pep rally, Ms. Pendergast had decided she wasn’t coming back to teach at OHS, I had been banned from tutoring, then I’d spent a week in detention. I wasn’t sure there was a tutoring program left to go back to. But I missed my room. I missed my skybox view of the football field, even though that would be empty too. Tonight was an away game, the last of the season. According to the announcements this morning, there was hope that the team might even win.

 

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