7 Clues to Winning You

by Kristin Walker

  Profmarvel: no. not yet anyway

  WHATDIDTHATMEAN? Did it mean he never had and never would? Or that he hadn’t YET but was in danger of doing so soon? Either he was the king of innuendo and double entendre or he was really just talking about journalism and I was the queen of reading too much into things. My brain was whirring and my stomach was as tight as a stone. Before I could send a response, he typed,

  profmarvel: someone’s here. gotta run

  His user name logged out of IM.

  No! I reached out for the screen like I could grab him through it and stop him. He was gone. I was left searching for deeper meanings in his words. Could he possibly be implying that he was in danger of becoming impartial when it came to the Senior Scramble because he was feeling strongly about … me? Was that crazy? It had to be. Luke Pavel didn’t like me. In that way.

  I could almost convince myself that he’d been talking about journalism if not for the fact that journalists truly are supposed to be impartial. Remain objective. There was never a “depends” scenario. Luke would know that.

  I decided a run-in was definitely called for. I’d “accidentally” bump into him in the hall at school tomorrow and see if his face told me anything his words weren’t saying. Until then, all I could do was wonder.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE NEXT MORNING, I GOT TO SCHOOL A FEW MINUTES early. I found a parking spot fairly close to the door for a change. I took that as a good omen and strode into school with anticipation tickling the inside of my chest like a thousand fairy fingers. I dumped my coat in my locker and then backtracked to the senior hallway. Along the way I fluffed the perfectly styled curls I had set in my hair and rubbed my lips together to even out my lip gloss. I ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure nothing was stuck on them. I straightened my top and my posture and smiled. No need for the lady look here.

  I figured the best place to find Luke would be by his locker, so I hung out in the doorway of one of the classrooms down the senior hallway, where I had a clear view of it. After a few minutes of waiting, I saw him turn down the hallway and head in my direction.

  He was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt with a silk-screened picture of the Ramones on it. It was cool and edgy, like something Cy would wear. It fit Luke perfectly, too. He wasn’t nearly as skinny as I’d thought he was at first. He had lean but seriously noticeable muscles that filled out that T-shirt like it was tailored just to show them off. I couldn’t help watching him for a few seconds. His wavy blond hair was tousled from the wind outside. Or it just naturally had a flawless, windblown look.

  He bent down to drop some books in the bottom of his locker. It was the perfect chance to walk up to him without him noticing that I’d been lurking in one of the classrooms. I stepped out of the doorway, a smile still firmly set on my face, and started to supermodel runway walk toward him. I got no more than three feet when a tall blonde in skinny jeans and a tight, orange V-neck stepped out from the crowd. She walked up behind Luke and tickled his sides with her talon-like fingernails. When he jumped up and whirled around, the girl pushed him against the bank of lockers. She pressed her body against him, grabbed the back of his head, and slipped her tongue down his throat, mashing her mouth against his.

  I halted mid-stride, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t bear to watch. I couldn’t believe that all this time, Luke Pavel had a girlfriend.

  Luke had a girlfriend.

  What an idiot I was.

  I had to move. I forced my legs to propel my body forward. I needed maybe five steps to get past them. I started to count as I walked, but when I got to three, Luke saw me out of the corner of his eye. He pushed himself out of the girl’s embrace and reached toward me.

  I launched a level-five lady look. Eyes wide, smile wide, heart collapsed. It must have looked completely fake because Luke’s expression was sickened. I managed to flip him a quick wave and chirp, “Hi!” as I charged past. I hoped he hadn’t seen what I was really feeling. This was definitely a time for decoration. A girl has the right to keep her dignity. Or try to.

  I sped around the corner and bolted for my locker. The lump that had congealed in the base of my throat rose up behind my eyes and tried to push itself out through my tear ducts. I swallowed hard to force it back down. Pinched away the bit of wetness that had gathered in the corners and rims of my eyelids.

  How could I ever have thought Luke Pavel might like me? Of course he wouldn’t find some over-dressed snob attractive. I truly was a snob because it had never crossed my mind that a geek like Luke would have a girlfriend. Of course he would. Did I think I was the only person who noticed he was good-looking and intelligent and funny and mysterious? Did I really think that just because I was from Meriton and my father was the principal I could have my pick of guys? That any guy here would be lucky to go out with me? That I was better than everyone at Ash Grove?

  I laughed at myself for thinking that maybe he’d been flirting with me yesterday online. Or with his e-mail. Or with the way he had spoken to me close and low when we talked about the Revolting Phoenix. Or the way he had looked at me in the parking lot last week, as if I were interesting. As if he were interested.

  As if.

  I was pretty good at reading guys’ signals, so how could I have been so off base with Luke? Unless he really was flirting with me, all the while knowing he had a girlfriend. Would he do that? Maybe his all-important integrity only stretched as far as journalism. Maybe he really was a player. How would I know? I met him a week ago.

  I was sure that he’d been flirting with me at least a bit. And now I also knew he’d had a girlfriend the whole time. So the only conclusion I could draw was that Luke Pavel was a dirtbag. A manipulative egotist. Throwing Shakespeare quotes and literary references at me … come on, anybody could have looked that stuff up on the Internet in five minutes. Did I seriously think we’d shared some kind of connection? Like kindred spirits or something? What an idiot I was. Luke Pavel had never really cared about me. All I’d ever been to him was some girl in a photo. Some kid of the principal’s. Something he could use. Something he could hurt if he wanted to.

  Oh my God, maybe that was it. Maybe hurting me had been his motive all along. Maybe that was his reason for charming me with e-mails: it was all just part of a plan to get back at me for ruining his online newspaper and his senior year. Or to punish me for being a stuck-up daddy’s girl from Meriton. Or both. Was Luke that Machiavellian? He was smart enough; that was for sure. Was he that cruel? Was he that malicious and vengeful? Was I that naive and blind? Or gullible, like Cy had said?

  My heart throbbed and crashed against the inside of my chest. It felt three times too big. Swollen and sore. I was so confused and hurt and angry that I made four wrong turns on the way to my locker and barely made it into homeroom by the first bell. I took a seat in the back left corner. The loser spot. The spot where, at Meriton, the wasteoids would crowd together looking hungover and neglected. The place where people with something to hide sat. The place where no one would bother trying to connect with you.

  I discovered that it wasn’t the loser spot at all. It was the private spot. It was the only island in the room. I swiveled in my chair so that my back was to the critical eyes that had shot silent curses at me last week. There weren’t any dirty looks today—due to the scavenger hunt, I was sure. It was the one positive thing about my life in Ash Grove. Mom had always told me to focus on the positives, so I clung to it like a starving refugee with a hunk of bread. I was the one who brought the scavenger hunt back. It was me. Of course, it was also me who made it disappear in the first place.

  Focus on the positives, I told myself, because I still had the entire day ahead of me. And the rest of my days at Ash Grove. They stretched out in front of me like an endless path littered with rocks and thorns. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t belong there. On that point, the Ash Grove student body and I agreed.

  I pushed that thought from my mind and replaced it with Tara. She
liked me. She loved me. She thought I was perfect.

  I grabbed my phone out of my bag and crouched over it so the teacher wouldn’t see. Phones were supposed to be off during school hours. The first-period bell hadn’t rung yet, so I considered it before school hours. Not only was I getting better at lying, I was getting better at lying to myself.

  I texted: hey grl, whats up? I miss you. wish I was there. I hit Send and waited.

  And waited.

  Then: hey b! miss you too. so stupid w/o u here. let’s meet up today.

  I had Shady Acres that afternoon but was totally free afterward. I wanted Tara all to myself, so I typed: YES. I def. need some bff time. just you and me. coffee shop? 4:30?

  She sent: perfect. See you then. SMILE.

  See? Even with just a few abbreviated texts, she knew I was feeling down. Tara truly was my best friend. I resolved to tell her everything about Ash Grove and my dad and Luke and whatever else I felt like saying about the past week. She’d make me feel better, just like always. That’s what we did for each other.

  My inflamed heart started to cool and shrink back to normal size. I slipped my phone back into my bag just as the first-period bell blared. I listed my positive things. I had four thirty with Tara, I had Shady Acres, and I had the Senior Scramble. Those three things would have to be enough to get me through the day.

  Miraculously, they did.

  By the last bell, I’d survived what had been a fairly uneventful day. I went to my classes, ate lunch with Cy and Jenna, and avoided Luke-Luke-who-makes-me-want-to-puke, as I now called him. There’d been a couple of times in the halls when he tried to catch my eye, but I disappeared into the crowd like an auburn-haired ninja. I narrowly missed running into him in the parking lot after school. Luckily, I had that great spot, so I jumped in my car and took off just as he got outside. I know he watched me drive past. Okay, I watched him too. But only to send him eye daggers to let him know I was on to him and his deceptive, charming ways. For that reason only. I swear.

  As I drove over to Shady Acres, I devised my plan to get item number three in the Senior Scramble. I had to convince the ladies to help me out again. That would be easy. The hard part would be dealing with Darlene. I’d be putting my burgeoning lying skills to the test.

  “A what kind of magazine?” Ms. Eulalie asked after I’d filled them in on the details.

  “An … adult magazine,” I said. “The kind you have to be eighteen to buy.” I’d opted to leave out the gay part, for now. Baby steps.

  Ms. Eulalie scrunched up her ashen face and tipped her head. She still didn’t understand.

  “A dirty magazine, you old prude!” Ms. Franny cried. “A nudie mag!”

  Ms. Eulalie got it then. She gasped like it was her last breath and clutched the base of her throat. “Oh, sweet Jesus, no!” she cried. “That’s sinful!”

  “Oh, get over your holy self,” Ms. Franny said. “Don’t you want to get out of this dungeon for a while?”

  Ms. Eulalie paused to consider it. “Nurse Darlene did mention something about a sponge bath,” she muttered to the air. “That woman is about as gentle as a gator with a toothache.” She closed her eyes and hummed a few bars of a hymn. “Lord forgive me,” she said. “I’m in.”

  Ms. Franny slapped her hands together. “Crackerjack!” She started unbuttoning her nightgown. “Open that closet there, Blythe. Get out our human being clothes. I can’t wait to get out of this prison uniform.”

  “Amen,” Ms. Eulalie agreed.

  I helped each of them into their street clothes, being careful to preserve their modesty by looking away whenever I could. Then we put their nightgowns on over their clothes so we could sneak out without suspicion. I tucked their shoes in my messenger bag and latched the clasp. Once the ladies were ready, I eased them into their wheelchairs. Their nightgowns were a bit bulky, but for the most part, you couldn’t tell they were fully dressed underneath.

  We wheeled down the hall to Darlene’s head floor nurse desk. Her pudgy mouth frowned. “Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was nasal and accusatory.

  “I thought I’d take them out for a spin around the garden,” I said. As I spoke, I imagined myself doing just that and discovered that I sounded quite convincing. Fourth rule of lying: Picture the lie in your head as if it were the truth. “They want to see how it’s coming up.”

  “I just love to see the first crocuses of spring,” Ms. Eulalie added. Go, Ms. Eulalie!

  Darlene narrowed her suspicious eyes. “Hold it,” she said. “Stay here.” Uh-oh. Her desk chair creaked as she pushed herself out of it. She waddled over to a door, pulled it open, and dragged down two wool blankets. She waddled back to us and thrust the blankets at me. “Put these on them,” she said, like the ladies weren’t even there. “They’re not getting pneumonia on my shift.” She circled her desk and lowered herself into her chair again. It squeaked loudly with complaint. She picked up a pen and started filling out some paperwork.

  “Good idea,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Darlene didn’t even look up, so we wheeled past her and headed for the front door. I told the front desk attendant the same thing I’d told Darlene, and she showed the same lack of concern. She made me sign them out, though, which was nothing more than standard policy. I could have signed Sleeping Beauty and she wouldn’t have noticed. We got outside and turned toward the garden. Instead of stopping there, however, we kept going until we reached my car parked on the other side.

  I helped the ladies out of their nighties and into the backseat. I laid the blankets over them because I didn’t want them to get pneumonia either, and it was a bit chilly. I folded the wheelchairs and stuffed them in the trunk. I felt like a secret agent. I jumped in the driver’s seat and we sped off around the corner to the nearest seedy-looking convenience store. “Sped off” might be exaggerating a bit, to be honest. I don’t think I got above thirty-five miles per hour. Even so, we got there in less than a minute. It literally was around the corner.

  For Ms. Franny and Ms. Eulalie, it might as well have been on the moon. They couldn’t stop grinning and chatting about this or that store or car or person or whatever they happened to notice. They couldn’t get over the smell of the air: the fresh spring breeze mixed with car exhaust and deep-fried food from a nearby takeout restaurant. The ladies kept sucking it in like they were drinking it. I never thought how good it must be to get out of that stale medicinal smell of impending death back at the nursing home.

  I helped them both into their wheelchairs, but before we went in, I crouched down and said, “There’s just one more thing. The adult magazine we have to buy is … oriented … around men.”

  Ms. Franny went, “Psssh!” and said, “Honey, all of them are for men.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “But what I mean is … it’s for men … and it features men.”

  “Oh, my Lord,” Ms. Eulalie whispered hoarsely.

  Ms. Franny, however, got even perkier and said, “Terrific! I can send it to my grandson, Darren, when you’re done with it. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

  I couldn’t imagine that anyone would appreciate getting porn from their grandmother, but I agreed anyway. We wheeled into the store and parked ourselves in front of the counter. The pornographic magazines were kept behind the cashier. The pimply redhead at the register didn’t even make eye contact with us. Instead, he stood at the counter flipping through a comic book and chomping a wad of gum.

  I stepped forward. “Excuse me. We’re looking for a magazine …”

  “Aisle three,” he interrupted without looking up.

  Two men entered the store and went over to the coffee station. I leaned over the counter, closer to the cashier. “No, the kind of magazine we want is … behind you.”

  The pimply kid looked up. He stopped chewing his gum. He eyed us up and down and looked like he might vomit. “Ohhhhkay,” he said. He reached up toward the rack behind him. “Which one?” He had his hand near the porno mags for women,
which would’ve been a logical choice, but I waved him over. His eyes widened as he slid his hand to the typical straight men’s porn magazines. I shook my head and waved even harder. A look of utter shock and horror came over his face as he reached for one of the mags for gay men. I nodded.

  He lifted down a magazine and held it out to me. Ms. Franny snatched it out of my reach. She examined it, turning it back and forth. “Nah,” she said. “I don’t like this guy. He looks like he got hit in the face with a sack of ugly. Get me that one up there that was next to it.”

  Ms. Eulalie piped up, “Oh, sure, get the one with the white man on the cover. There’s three of them up there with beautiful black men looking right out at you, but you go for the skinny white guy. Typical.”

  “I happen to like white men,” Ms. Franny said.

  “Well, I happen to like vanilla ice cream, but that don’t mean I don’t like a taste of chocolate once in a while.”

  The cashier stood there with his mouth open like a dead fish. His eyes were wide as pie plates. His already pale face had turned almost translucent.

  “All right, fine,” Ms. Franny said. “Get me one of those black guys up there.” The pimply redhead got a magazine and held it up, as if he wasn’t sure who to give it to. Ms. Franny took it and squinted at the cover. It showed a medium build, dark-skinned man in his twenties, oiled up, on all fours, and snarling at the camera. Ms. Franny tipped her head from side to side. “Not bad. What do you think, Ukulele?”

  “Oh, don’t ask me! I’m not involved!” Ms. Eulalie turned her head and tried not to look, but she couldn’t help glancing at the magazine. She did a double take and peered more closely. She scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “Oh, no, not that one. His momma didn’t feed him good enough. Looky there, you can see his rib bones poking right out! Poor child.”

  Ms. Franny slapped the magazine onto the counter. “No sale.” She pointed her crooked index finger at the shelf. “Try that one with that muscle-y black fellow wearing the dog collar and leash, with the white guy behind him holding a whip. See, Ukulele? Vanilla and chocolate to make us both happy.”