This Is So Not Happening

by Kieran Scott

  “That dude’s a total loser,” I said. “You have to pretend to be in love with him? Good luck.”

  Ally put her fork down. “Why’s he a total loser? Because he puked in public?”

  “No. It’s not just that. I mean, I just don’t like him,” I said.

  She looked confused. “Have you ever actually talked to him?”

  “No. But who cares? I can tell if somebody’s a tool without talking to them.” I shoved a huge forkful of pasta in my mouth, feeling like a tool myself. Why was I getting so worked up? It wasn’t like that scrawny freak was a threat. But then again, why was she defending him so much?

  “Do you have to, like, kiss him?” I asked. My mouth was so full that some tomato sauce shot out and landed on the white tablecloth.

  “Unbelievable,” Ally said, sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. More alarm bells.

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and swallowed. The food felt like a baseball going down my throat. “What?”

  “You’re jealous,” she whispered. “You’re jealous and acting like I’m doing something wrong when all I’m doing is playing a part in a play. Meanwhile you got naked with Chloe and now you’re walking around school acting like you two are a couple and I’m just supposed to sit back and be fine with it.”

  My neck got hot at the words “naked” and “Chloe.” I tried to focus.

  “I don’t act like me and Chloe are a couple!” I hissed back.

  “Yes, you do!” Ally said, leaning so far forward that her dress almost took on some tomato sauce. “The other day you two were—”

  “Well, hello, Jake!”

  Mrs. Corcoran, Connor Shale’s grandmother, stopped next to our table on her way back from the bathroom, wearing a black sparkly dress that showed too much wrinkled, old-lady cleavage. Her white hair was piled up on top of her head like a pyramid and her teeth looked yellower than ever. I immediately tensed. Mrs. C was known for acting buddy-buddy with me and my friends, and even flirting sometimes. It was totally yack-worthy.

  “Hi, Mrs. Corcoran,” I said as Ally clamped her jaw shut.

  “Well, don’t you look handsome tonight?” she said, running her age-spotted hand down the arm of my suit jacket. “Where’s Chloe?”

  My eyes darted to Ally, who looked like she was about to either burst into tears or scream.

  “Um, Chloe?” I said.

  Mrs. Corcoran’s eyes flicked to Ally dismissively. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you two break up?”

  Would it be wrong to strangle an old person?

  “Chloe and I were never going out,” I said quickly.

  “Oh. Oh, my. How embarrassing.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “I’d heard that the two of you were … and then I saw you two the other day at the mall looking adorably cozy.” She put her hand on my shoulder this time and squeezed. “I didn’t stop to say hello because I didn’t want to interrupt anything intimate, but I—”

  I was going to kill her. Right here and now. I was going to commit murder.

  “We’re not intimate or cozy,” I said, staring at Ally. “We’re just friends.”

  “My mistake,” Mrs. Corcoran said, fiddling with her earring. “Well. Congratulations to your father. I hope you and your friend here have a lovely time.”

  And then, mercifully, she was gone. But Ally had already pushed her chair back from the table.

  “Al, come on. The woman’s, like, senile,” I said under my breath. “Last year she thought me and Hammond were a closeted couple.”

  “I need some air,” she replied. “I think I’m gonna take that dessert by the pool early.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I started to get up.

  “Alone,” she added pointedly.

  I sat back down so quickly I bruised my ass. Ally walked across the room, dumped a huge slice of cake onto a china plate, and strode out the door. I sat for a second and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. Clearly Ally was jealous I’d hooked up with Chloe, even though she’d said she wasn’t. But what was I supposed to do about it? I couldn’t take it back. And I couldn’t ignore Chloe at school either. Ally was the one who had told me to be there for her, right? So what the fuck was the problem?

  There was only one thing I knew for sure. This had just become the worst date ever.

  ally

  I was walking through the wings in the auditorium, on my way back from my first costume fitting, when I heard a noise that made me stop in my tracks. On the stage, my cast-mates were running through one of the Bottom-and-the-tinkers scenes, but I could have sworn the noise I’d heard had come from overhead.

  “Psssssst!”

  I looked up. The stage lights momentarily blinded me, but then I saw someone waving at me from the rafters. As the spots cleared from my vision, I could make out long legs dangling down, a striped vest, and a bright white candy bag.

  “Lincoln?” I whispered. “What are you doing up there?”

  “This is the best view in the house,” he hissed back. “Come see.”

  I glanced out toward the seats in the auditorium, where Mrs. Thompson was growing increasingly frustrated with one of the tinkers’ inability to pronounce the word “Pyramus.” He kept saying “Paramus,” which is a town near Orchard Hill that almost has more stores than people.

  “How?” I asked, looking around for a ladder.

  “It’s over by the wall,” he whispered, chucking his chin in that direction.

  I turned around. The ladder in question was skinny, rickety, and seriously tall. Even if I could get to the top without slipping, I’d have to swing myself up onto the crisscrossing metal beams and crawl over to Lincoln without falling to my death.

  “Come on. If I can do it, you can do it,” he said.

  I took a deep breath. My plan for the afternoon had been to go home, sit down at my desk, and crack open the book I’d taken out of the library about wedding etiquette and speeches. This, suddenly, seemed far more appealing. I brushed my sweaty palms off on the butt of my jeans and started to climb. The ladder made some ominous creaking noises but was surprisingly sturdy. When I got to the lowest rafter, the one Lincoln was sitting on like it was nothing but a big old log, I grasped the rails for dear life and crawled, realizing with a quiet laugh that I was more worried about looking inept in front of him than I was about actually falling. Finally, I managed to sit down next to him, letting my feet dangle over the heads of the actors below. From the bird’s-eye position, I could see the parts in their hair and the top of one guy’s butt crack above the waistband of his baggy jeans.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I thought you said this was a good view.”

  Lincoln sighed and dug some caramel out of his tooth with his fingernail. “I know. I was hoping for real cleavage, not butt cleavage.”

  I snorted a laugh and he held out the candy bag for me. I took a caramel and tried to unwrap it silently. Didn’t work. But no one seemed to notice.

  “So what happens if we get caught up here?” I asked.

  “Immediate expulsion,” he replied.

  “Really?” I almost choked on my caramel.

  He smirked and tilted his head. “No.”

  I rolled my eyes, which threw me off. My stomach swooped and I grabbed on to Lincoln to keep from falling.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, clinging to me.

  “Fine. Fine.” Except that my heart was pounding in my eyeballs.

  He let out a nervous laugh, then put his arm around me and hooked his thumb through one of the belt loops on my jeans. I froze. That was kind of intimate, no?

  “Um, what’re you doing?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

  Now my heart was pounding for a whole other reason. Lincoln was not unattractive. He was, in fact, pretty damn cute. But that didn’t mean it was okay for him to have his arm around me.

  “What? Are you afraid Jake Graydon’s gonna come in here and pound me?” he asked.

  I blinked. “So you do kn
ow I have a boyfriend.”

  “Everyone knows you have a boyfriend,” he replied, glancing casually into the candy bag in his other hand. “But I’d like to think he’d thank me for keeping you from going splat.”

  I grinned. “You think?”

  He turned and looked me directly in the eye. “If you were my girl, I’d thank anyone who kept you from going splat.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Guys didn’t look you in the eye like that unless they were going to kiss you. But if I moved, I was definitely going to fall. And also, there was this part of me—this teeny, tiny part—that didn’t want to move. That tasted the danger of the moment and kind of liked it. Jake had had sex with Chloe. So what if I let this guy kiss me?

  This was very not good. Very not me.

  But then, suddenly, he looked away. “Anyway, I’m not worried.”

  “Why not?” I asked, my palms prickly. That was a near miss. Too near.

  “Because, Jake Graydon has never graced this auditorium with his presence unless it was for a mandatory assembly,” he said. “And I doubt he ever will.”

  A hundred different replies jammed up my brain space. That Jake would be here for our play, to see me. That Jake wasn’t as big a Neanderthal as Lincoln made him out to be. That there was every possibility that Jake could walk in here right now to surprise me and take me out for pizza or coffee or something and when he saw Lincoln’s arm around me, he would pound him.

  But then I thought that would actually never happen. Because Jake was probably off with Chloe somewhere, shopping or eating or planning or just being. And just thinking about that made me feel like the decades of crud wedged between the floorboards on the stage below.

  So I didn’t move Lincoln’s arm. And an hour later, we’d finished the entire bag of caramels. Together.

  jake

  When I turned onto Vista View Lane on Monday afternoon, I was singing as loud as I could. It was warm for October and I had the top down on the Jeep, but I wasn’t in the best mood. Ally and I had made up on Sunday after the Saturday night date from hell, but I’d felt weird around her today. It was like I was so afraid to do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing that we’d barely talked. Then I’d had a pop quiz in Spanish, practice had sucked, and tonight Chloe and I were finally getting our parents together to tell them. So I wasn’t singing out of joy or anything. I was singing out of terror.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone sitting on the curb and I slammed on the brakes. It was Chloe. She was doubled over with her head between her knees and it looked like she was heaving. I put the Jeep in park in the middle of the road—our houses were the only two on the street anyway, so who gave a shit—and ran over to her.

  “Chloe! Are you okay?” I crouched down next to her.

  She shook her head, keeping it down, the tip of her ponytail dragging through a pile of broken acorns near the curb.

  “What happened? Is it the baby?” I asked. I went to put my hand on her back, but wasn’t sure I should touch her.

  “Do you … have any … water?” she said between gasps.

  “Um, yeah! Hang on!” I ran back to the Jeep and grabbed the half-empty Vitamin Water I’d opened after practice. “Here,” I said, sliding it between her legs under her hair.

  She picked it up shakily and lifted her head very slowly. With her eyes closed she took a small sip. Then she took some more. She leaned into my side and soon she started to breathe normally again.

  “What happened?” I repeated.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. She breathed in and out slowly, like she was testing it out for the first time. “I went for a jog and I was totally fine, but then when I started up the hill I got dizzy.”

  “You went for a jog? Are you supposed to do that with the, I mean in your—”

  Chloe let out a small laugh. “Charlotte did it in Sex and the City. Her doctor told her it was totally fine because she’d always been a runner, so I figured …”

  Sex and the City? Seriously? That was where she was getting her medical advice?

  “Did you ask your doctor?” I asked her, kneading my fingers together between my knees.

  Chloe sat up straight. Her eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not gonna call her just because I want to go for a run. I felt fine. What’s the big deal?”

  “Okay, okay!” I said, raising my hands. “I was just asking.” I licked my lips and looked down at her belly, which was starting to push out a little bit. “Maybe you’re just nervous about tonight or something and it stressed you out.”

  “Maybe,” she said, slumping. “I mean, I’m definitely scared out of my mind, so it’s possible.”

  She drained the rest of the Vitamin Water and handed me back the empty bottle. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “So you and your parents are coming over at eight, right?” she asked hopefully.

  I nodded, my heart pounding all over again. “We’ll be there.”

  Chloe blew out a sigh. “I can’t believe we’re finally going to do this.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  I turned my head to look into her eyes and she looked right back at me, completely determined. I hoped I looked the same way, but I had a feeling I looked how I felt.

  Like I would do anything to be anywhere but here.

  ally

  “What do you think? Will people be comfortable buying coffee from a face like this?”

  My dad turned to look at me. Faith had painted his face with all shades of gray, radiating black veins out from around his eyes and coloring his lips black as well. He was the perfect zombie.

  “What? Is something different?” I joked.

  He got up from his stool and made like he was going to give me a big smooch, and I shrieked and ducked away. A few of the Harvest Festival patrons saw us and laughed, probably thinking we were a carefree father and daughter, just having a good time at the school’s annual autumn fund-raiser. Little did they know I was basically dying inside. Heck, my dad didn’t even know that.

  But tonight was the night. Chloe and Jake were finally going to tell their parents. Tomorrow, I could be planning my boyfriend’s funeral. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how many pumpkins I painted onto little kids’ cheeks, no matter how beautiful and sunny a fall day it was.

  “Thanks, Faith,” my father said, finally giving up on painting me with his face. He handed her a five-dollar bill and told her to keep the change. “I’ll see you for dinner tonight, Ally?”

  “I’ll be there,” I replied, retaking my seat at the face-painting booth.

  My dad waved and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Your dad is so sweet,” Faith said, watching him go. She was standing next to my chair, wearing skinny jeans and a white turtleneck. As soon as we’d opened for business, she had painted a bunny face on herself, complete with a pink nose and whiskers. “I feel bad that I hated him for so long.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for that,” I said, fiddling with the set of wax crayons in front of me.

  It was nice that my dad had shown up to support the Drama Club’s Harvest Fest booth, something my mother, who worked at the school that was two hundred yards away, hadn’t bothered to do. She was, of course, out with Gray somewhere doing wedding stuff. Sometimes I felt as if Jake had replaced me with Chloe and my mom had replaced me with Gray. It was a good thing my dad didn’t have a girlfriend or I might have started to feel like a seventh wheel.

  “Does he know? About Jake and Chloe?” Faith asked.

  My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. I felt like I’d been lying to both my parents for weeks. But was it really lying if you just weren’t telling them something?

  “Nope.” I sighed.

  “Okay, what is your deal?” Faith demanded, slamming the lockbox closed. “You just sighed three times in a row.”

  “Just wondering how, exactly, Mr. Appleby is going to execute my boyfriend,” I said lightly, resting my chin on my hand. I had a ghost painted on one ch
eek, and made sure to keep my fingertips away from it so it wouldn’t smudge. “Is he more of a gun person or a knife person?”

  Faith clucked her tongue and reached back to check her braided bun, adjusting a bobby pin near the base. “And they call me a drama queen.”

  “Aren’t you even a teeny bit worried?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over some girl who was shrieking about her win at the dart booth. “I mean, that man is scary.”

  “Okay, yes.” Faith sat down next to me and straightened our tools on the table. “I can’t even imagine how they’re dealing. But no one’s actually going to strangle Jake, right? I mean, Mr. Appleby isn’t certifiable. Just … intimidating. And besides, he forgave your father, right?”

  Somehow her logic was not improving my mood. Part of the reason Mr. Appleby had been the first Crestie to forgive my dad for losing scads of money was because he was the only one smart enough not to invest with my dad, or so I assumed. My guess was Jake wasn’t about to get the same kind of leniency. I was about to sigh again, but I caught myself just in time. Kids from school crowded the football field, gathering around the kettle corn booth and clamoring for the next shot at the strongman test. There were some younger moms there with their kids in strollers, most of whom had already dropped a buck for balloons, so colorful orbs bobbed around everywhere. It was festive in that quaint, autumnal Orchard Hill way.

  I stared out at the happy faces surrounding me and couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit jealous. This was my senior year. My last Harvest Festival. Potentially my last fall in Orchard Hill. Shouldn’t I be having fun instead of obsessing about my boyfriend and the girl he’d gotten preggers?

  “This sucks,” I muttered, picking at a piece of lint on my cords.

  “Well, we’re not making any money being depressing and pouty,” Faith said. Then she stood up, plastered on a grin, and started shouting. “Face painting! Two dollars! Two dollars to be transformed into a totally original walking piece of art!”

  Faith was just roping in a second grader and her mom when Annie came bounding over to us wearing her black-and-white-striped tights, a black tulle skirt, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, and a witch’s hat.