Pack of Dorks

by Beth Vrabel

  Copyright © 2014 by Beth Vrabel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Brian Peterson

  Cover image credit Shutterstock

  Print ISBN: 978-1-62914-623-2

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63220-222-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Jon, Emma, and Benny

  Chapter One

  This was the biggest recess of my life.

  Today, I would become—officially—the bravest, most daring, and by far the most mature fourth-grader at Autumn Grove Intermediate School.

  Today, as soon as that bell rang, I was on my way to becoming a legend.

  Today, I was going to kiss Tom Lemming.

  Here’s the plan: The whole class will run outside. Tom will head straight to the ball shed with Henry. Becky and I will check and double check that Ms. Drake and Mr. Peverell aren’t paying attention. Then we’ll sneak behind the shed, too.

  And then . . . the kiss! Me and Tom. Becky and Henry.

  Five minutes. I stared at the back of Tom’s red ears from my seat in the middle of the room. When he’s excited or nervous, his whole face turns red. It’s really cute. (Actually, honestly, it’s sort of weird-looking.) Beside me, Becky bounced in her seat, her red curls springing along with her. She thrust her hand toward me, and I automatically reached out to grab the note. But it was Chapstick instead, cherry flavored. My best friend is brilliant!

  Becky narrowed her eyes at me until I smeared on some Chapstick and handed the tube back to her. Then she went back to bouncing.

  Ms. Drake crossed her arms at the front of the room, glaring at each student in turn, her skinny neck stretched forward like a turtle. “What’s going on?” she snapped. “You’re all squirming more than the students I taught during the Great Lice Infestation of 1994.”

  Ms. Drake talks about the year when more than half her students got lice a lot. Like every couple of days, she reminds us not to borrow hats and to never bring a hairbrush to school.

  Someone giggled, probably April Chester who giggles all the time. Well, anytime she’s not digging in her nose for a booger, that is. She eats them. It’s disgusting.

  “Something is definitely up.” Ms. Drake stood behind her desk.

  “How long until recess, Ms. Drake?” Sheldon asked.

  “So, recess, huh?” Ms. Drake’s eyes narrowed, and she stared us down again. Now she looked more like an eagle than a turtle. “You’re all unusually excited for recess.”

  Silence. The whole class knew about The Kiss. If anyone told, I would die. I mean it. Right there on my seat, I’d turn into liquid Lucy and be a puddle of embarrassment on the floor. I’d die having never been kissed.

  The bell rang!

  “I’ll see you all outside!” Ms. Drake called. It sounded like a warning.

  As soon as my penny loafers touched the asphalt, I scanned the crowd for Tom. I caught a glimpse of him and Henry as they ducked behind the ball shed. Step one: Complete.

  And now for Becky and me. I clung to her hand, which meant I was bouncing along with her, though my brown hair flopped instead of bounced. Becky’s lips were goopy with too much cherry Chapstick. I hastily licked my lips clean, then swiped my jacket sleeve across my mouth. Who wants to kiss goopy lips?

  “We should’ve gone there first,” Becky whined. “Ms. Drake is on to us. We’re doomed.”

  “We’re not doomed.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re fine. We just need . . . a distraction.” I chewed on my lip for a second, until I realized bloody lips were even worse for kissing than slobbery ones. “Distraction, distraction, distraction,” I muttered.

  April stood a few feet away, holding a jump rope limply in her hands. Her mouth hung open a little and she sniffed back something horrible in her nose. I fought off a shudder. “Um, hi!” I called to her.

  She glanced behind her and back to me. Becky rolled her eyes. April closed her mouth, but didn’t answer. We sort of stared at each other a minute, then she said, “Are you going to kiss Tom Lemming today?”

  “Yeah,” I said. My heart hammered. “But, um, I really need help. You know, from someone trustworthy and smart. Thought of you right away.” Sometimes I am such a good liar it scares me.

  April’s face lit up. “Really? Like how? How do you need help with the kissing?”

  “Ew,” I said automatically. Becky giggled again. “I don’t need help with the kissing! I need help getting to the kissing without Ms. Drake spotting us. Can you, I don’t know, distract her for me?”

  April cocked her head to the side and stared at me down her long shiny nose. “Okay.” Then she opened her mouth as wide as it could go and screamed. She sounded like a dying cat.

  “That’ll work!” I yelled, and her mouth stretched into a weird screaming smile.

  Becky and I raced down the hill toward the ball shed. A group of fourth graders already was gathered around the sides of the shed. Some people were running up the hill because of the screaming, but anyone who was anyone in fourth grade didn’t budge. Tom was waiting for me back there. To kiss me.

  I noticed that none of the other couples in class stood together around the ball shed. They were too busy carefully ignoring each other, I guess. I rolled my eyes just thinking about it. I could never be part of such an immature relationship. And then I got a flash of Becky’s goopy lips. Was I ready for such a mature relationship, though?

  Suddenly my stomach hurt, like the time I ate bad pasta salad at the family reunion. “Becky, I don’t know if I want to do this.” I stopped, dragging Becky to a halt, too, even though we were still a couple feet from the back of the shed.

  Becky fluffed her hair. It fell in long thick curls and she was always separating them. Otherwise she ended up with four huge corkscrews instead of lots of little ones. She smeared on more cherry Chapstick. Her lips looked gloppy and huge. How had I never noticed her enormous mouth before? Did Tom have a huge mouth, too? I stood on tiptoes and tried peeking over Becky’s shoulder. I couldn’t see Tom’s lips, just that his face was red as a stop sign. Would his fat lips smoother my entire mouth? Becky rolled her eyes, almost like she could hear me thinking.

  “I don’t think we should do this,” I whispered again.

  “You are so doing this,” she snapped. For all the bouncing and giggling, Becky could be pretty fierce. She turned the full force of her angry eyes on me. “Remember when you decided penny loafers were cool, so I bought a pair, too?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. After Becky and I wore our new shoes to school at the beginning of the year, every girl in our class now sported a pair.

  “Well, I never thought they were cool. But I still wear them. Every day.” She leaned in close. “You are going to do this for me.”

  “I don’t want
to anymore,” I whispered. “Let’s just call it off.”

  Becky crossed her arms and rolled her eyes all at once, like she was talking to the stupidest person alive. Maybe she was. “If you want to be popular—and my best friend—you sometimes have to do things you don’t want to do.”

  “Why should I?” I blurted.

  She glared at me, her cheeks flushing. “It’s what separates us from them.” Becky jerked her thumb to the clusters of kids waiting to see The Kiss.

  Becky marched ahead, the crowd parting like she was some kind of queen. I followed behind her. It was the first time I followed her. April still was screaming.

  Becky strutted over to Henry, who had pushed back his ball cap in preparation for The Kiss. She turned around, waiting for me to strut up to Tom, who stood with his back against the shed. The whole crowd hushed, like they do when the teacher flips the lights.

  Becky glared at me now, since I still hadn’t walked toward Tom. Her mouth crumpled into a line and then she, weirdly, giggled even though her eyes were fierce. The sound rattled around in my head, but I was relieved to hear something other than my own heartbeat going crazy. I took a step toward Tom, and everyone around us almost hummed. He dropped his arms.

  In the background, April’s screeching suddenly stopped. It was now or never.

  I leaned in to Tom. Just as I was about to touch his lips with mine, I got this super weird image. It was of a raw chicken breast, all peachy and wet, just before Mom dipped it in bread crumbs. My stomach rolled, and I felt a burp, smelly and gross, bubble. Quick as a clap, I pressed my lips against his, careful not to breathe. When I backed up, Tom was smiling, but not at me. He was smiling at everyone else, his fists raised like he had just made a soccer goal.

  Someone in the crowd hooted, and Tom’s smile grew two sizes. But then he followed the crowd’s eyes to Becky and Henry. Becky held Henry’s shoulders, and her mouth was still shoved against his. It looked like he couldn’t breathe; his whole face was smooched against hers and his eyes were huge and panicky looking. Finally, with a sound like a suction cup being yanked free, Becky backed off. Everyone clapped, and Becky beamed. She fluffed her hair again. All around me, I heard people whispering her name. Not mine. Not Tom’s.

  Tom crossed his arms.

  I let out my breath (okay, my burp) in a slow push, like I was blowing up a balloon. It was over. This kissing thing was so overrated. So, why was my heart still hammering?

  Henry stumbled over toward us, his face still red. He nudged Tom with his elbow, and then they both reached into their pants pockets. They had rings, the kind that you can squeeze to fit onto your finger, with a tiny diamond in the middle. I’ve seen them at the Dollar General, right next to the register, for two dollars. I know Mom says they aren’t real diamonds, but I don’t see the difference. Even in the shadowy sunlight behind the ball shed, the small stone sparkled just as much as the diamond Mom wore on her finger. (Well, actually, now she wore it on a chain around her neck since her fingers are so fat.)

  Tom handed his ring to me, but still didn’t look at my face. I pulled it onto my suddenly sweaty finger and squeezed it to fit. The wiry band scratched the skin between my fingers. “Thanks,” I whispered.

  All around us, other fourth graders giggled, gasped, or hooted. Tom nodded. Beside us, Becky flexed her fingers to watch the ring catch the light. Then she leaned forward and pecked Henry on the cheek. The crowd went nutso. Tom glanced at me, but my stubborn legs wouldn’t step forward. My lips wouldn’t pucker. He crossed his arms again.

  After what felt like a year or two of standing there, not looking at each other, listening to everyone whisper about Becky, the bell rang. Usually Tom walked with me back to class; it was one of the things that made us so special. Every other so-called couple barely looked at each other, let alone walked back to class after recess so close that their hands brushed. But today, after this most important recess ever, Tom seemed to be gulped by the crowd of other fourth graders and carried away with them back to Ms. Drake’s classroom.

  Becky threw an arm around my shoulder as I stood there, watching the back of Tom’s head disappear ahead of me. “Wasn’t that amazing?” she said loudly. She yanked her arm tight across my neck so she could make her ring sparkle in the sunlight.

  “Amazing,” I muttered.

  Becky giggled again. Her Chapstick was smeared on her upper lip, making it look like she had a runny nose. “You know everyone wants to be us now. Everyone,” Becky whispered. “With these rings, we are the most awesome girls in the school.”

  I shrugged, trying to shake the raw chicken lips image out of my mind. Becky’s eyes were super bright, like our diamonds reflected in them. “Who cares?” I muttered.

  Becky wrapped her arm tighter around me, whipping me around until we were practically nose to nose. “Who cares?” she repeated. “Everyone. Everyone wants to be popular. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get here?”

  I slowly shook my head. I realized I didn’t really know her super well after all. She moved to Autumn Grove last year and never talked about her old school. For the first week or so she was here, I thought she’d be another quiet kid like Sam Righter, who never speaks to anyone and just floats from class to class like a ghost. But one day she showed up wearing a shirt just like the one I had worn the day before, and we started talking. Turns out, she said she loved all the same stuff I did—music, shows, people. And then we were best friends.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked slowly, suddenly not sure I was going to like what she said. “People are either cool or they aren’t. You can’t make it happen.”

  Becky’s Chapstick-thick lips were so close to my ear that her whisper sounded like a shout. “What do you know? You’ve always been popular. That’s why I picked you to be my best friend. I was a dork once. And I’m never ever going to be one again.” She fluffed her curls. “And this ring proves it.”

  I squeezed my fingers together until the ring pinched my skin. “You were a dork?” I sort of laughed. The idea of Becky being like April? It was crazy.

  Becky glared at me. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she whisper-shouted again. “Everyone laughing at you. Worse, everyone ignoring you. Being alone. You would do anything—anything—to make it stop.”

  “Why would it happen to me?” I asked, still confused. “And what do you mean anything?”

  Becky smiled, but her eyes stayed crazy bright. She shrugged. The second bell rang, meaning we only had a few seconds to get to class. She squeezed my shoulder and marched ahead. Again, I followed her.

  Chapter Two

  Mom was home.

  Mom was never there when I got home from school. This was usually the time I had with Dad, just the two of us. Sometimes we’d go for a walk, never with any place in mind, just head out the door to wherever our feet took us. Sometimes, I’d come home and the whole kitchen countertop would be covered with ingredients that we’d whip into what Mom called “DDs”: “Daddy’s Delights.” Once that meant shrimp with oranges, pistachios, and jam. I ate every crunchy, sweet bite. Sometimes, we’d watch the news, and then Dad would point out the countries the newscasters talked about on the big world map taped to the cement wall in the basement. The whole time, I would talk, talk, talk. I told Dad all about Tom and how we were going to get married right after college and have three children (two girls and a boy). I told him about April picking her nose and about the time Sheldon threw up spaghetti all over the cafeteria and how he really needs to do a better job of chewing his food. And Dad would listen without really listening, just sort of murmuring at things I said, so I knew it would never get to Mom.

  Mom tended to make issues. Like once I told her that during lunchtime, Amanda Frankston, who’s always super angry, kicked a hot dog when it fell out of its bun. It flew across the cafeteria and hit me in the face. Mom was on the phone with Ms. Drake five minutes later, asking about lunchtime supervision and consequences for kicking hot dogs. She never even gave me a
chance to explain that Amanda Frankston is horrible to everyone. It wasn’t like she was trying to hit me with the hot dog. She was just kicking a hot dog. Dad would’ve laughed and never paused in chopping an onion or looking for Sarajevo on the map.

  It’s probably something to do with the baby, I told myself. I have a habit of talking to myself inside my head. Sometimes I even realize I’m thinking things such as “we need to work harder on math.” I mean, who does that? Who talks to themselves in the plural like that? Aside from us, of course.

  But anyway, Mom was probably home because of another doctor’s appointment. I went along with her to one of them. She thought it would be a good thing to prepare me “for the birth.” It was just a regular doctor’s appointment, except that the doctor also listened to the baby’s heartbeat and did a lot of weighing and measuring. The room smelled like a dirty diaper. I guess that helped prepare me. Pretty soon our house would smell like a dirty diaper.

  I tried to get out of going to her other appointments. It’s not that I didn’t care; I was pretty excited about having a baby sister. But everyone kept talking about me being a “built in babysitter.” Which pretty much stinks. I mean, we’re not even allowed to be home by ourselves, but everyone thinks we should be responsible for a baby! Seriously?

  Plus, Mom has about a million appointments a week. She’s high risk, since she’s so old. She had me when she was twenty-eight, and now she’s nearly forty. Dad keeps calling the baby “the little surprise.”

  I think a baby is a pretty big surprise.

  Mom stood at the kitchen table, her hands splayed across the shiny wooden top and her shoulders pitched high next to her ears. Dad sat in a chair beside her, his hand in the middle of her back. “Eight minutes since the last one,” he said. “I’ll grab the bag. We can leave a note for Lucy to go to the neighbor’s until your mom can pick her up.”

  “Not yet,” Mom muttered. Her shoulders slowly lowered again. “Wait for Lucy.”