I was totally minding my own business, when the cheerleaders walked by the table I was arranging for the bake-sale. (We were having it during the boy’s basketball game.) (Apparently we always do that.) (I wouldn’t know because I never go.)
I was un-boxing condiments for the hotdogs, when one of the cheerleaders—I’m not exactly sure which one, since my back was to them and there are two witches on the squad—but one of them—either Becca or Chloe—said super loud for the basketball players to hear, “Yuck! I’m not going to buy any snacks from this bake-sale—not with sleazy, scuzzy Mandy working at it.”
I’d had all I could take from those two. Seriously, they couldn’t stop attacking me.
I whipped around. “I’ll give you sleazy and scuzzy!”
I squirted the mustard bottle I was holding at them. Mustard squirted everywhere. Everywhere! It got in Becca’s perfect hair and on Chloe’s cheerleader uniform.
“Put that on your toast!!” I yelled, squirting and squirting (and squirting).
They both shrieked with shrill screams and ran for the girl’s bathroom.
It was so hilarious. I wished so bad I had it on video to show Grady. But then—ouch!—my stomach twisted. ‘Cause I suddenly remembered Grady wouldn’t think it was funny. Duh. Grady wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. Becca—the girl I had just squirted with mustard—was Grady’s girlfriend now. Becca!! So, Grady probably wouldn’t think it was funny that I squirted her with mustard and made her scream. It would probably make him mad.
Geez.
Realizing that shredded my heart. There was no way Grady and I could stay friends—even if I wasn’t all hurt from him dumping me. Still, even then, no way. Not with his always going to take Becca’s side because she was his girlfriend.
This bit so bad.
Though okay, I knew Grady had no clue about half the evil things Becca did—since Becca was always all purry and kitten-girl when Grady was around.
Biting my lip, I groaned. Then I noticed Mrs. Woods, my favorite teacher, shake her head at me about the mustard-massacre. But she didn’t yell at me (probably because she heard what the witches said to me—totally unprovoked—and she probably knew they did more than just that one thing to get me so trigger-happy).
Instead of yelling, she sighed. “Mandy, please clean that up.”
“Okay.” I ducked my head, embarrassed for making such a terrible mess when I was supposed to be helping. Especially because when I first arrived at the school Mrs. Woods had seemed so pleased that I was going to help. And now I’d made a huge, freak-show mess.
I cringed looking at it.
So did Mrs. Woods.
I wet a whole bunch of paper towels and was on my hands and knees, scrubbing up the mustard mess on the floor when a big, frosted cookie from the bake-sale was held in front of my face—I mean, right in front of it.
What the—?
I looked up from the cookie to see who was holding it out to me. Then I did a double take, almost choking on my gum.
It was Grady.
My heart exploded.
He grinned at my gaping mouth—that fell open from shock.
“I bought this for you,” he said. Then he looked around at the mess on the floor. “What’s with the mustard?”
“You don’t want to know,” I mumbled.
“No, probably not,” he said with a grin.
He got on his hands and knees and grabbed some of my wet paper towels.
He was helping me clean up the mess when Becca sashayed up to him (or more like marched up to him, but she was wearing a cheerleading uniform, so it looked more like a sashay—only a fuming mad one).
“You Bought. Her. A. Cookie???” Becca turned purple, looking like she was going to explode.
Grady’s hands stilled.
“Well,” he peeked from Becca to Sabrina, who obviously sold Grady the cookie—and then immediately ratted him out to Becca.
Grady’s eyes hesitantly went back to his furious girlfriend. “Yeah. I bought her a cookie.”
He sounded kind of like ‘What are you going to do about it?’ But also like, ‘Sorry.’
Becca glared at him. She clenched her teeth, hissing out, “And you’re helping her clean up the mess she made when she squirted me with mustard?”
She made it sound like the act (Grady helping me) was absolutely horrendous and completely unfathomable and totally unforgivable.
Grady gave me a look, like Really? You really went there? You squirted my new girlfriend with mustard?
I whispered to him, like to explain, “She called me sleazy and scuzzy.”
Grady squinted his eyes. “Why do you guys have to fight?”
“Because she’s a witch to me,” I said.
Becca narrowed her eyes at me into tiny slits. “Grady, she’s pathetic. She’s obviously trying to cling to you—and she obviously paid Smith to try to make you jealous.”
Grady closed his eyes. “No she didn’t,” he said. “Look, people should stop saying that. She didn’t pay Smith. And she’s not sleazy and pathetic.” Grady gritted his teeth. “She’s my best friend.”
“Well, you should really get new ones,” Becca said. “Seriously. You’re really popular and an amazing artist. And you have me now. But you can’t have me if you’re going to hang out with her. You have to choose, Grady—me or her.”
Grady shook his head. He grumbled, like she was being stupid, “I’m not going to choose.”
Becca put her hands on her hips, fuming. She stomped her foot and hissed bitterly, “Then I guess you just chose.”
Grady scrunched up his brow, not looking pleased. “Okay. If you say so.”
Becca’s jaw dropped, so not expecting that to be his answer. Obviously. But instead of stomping away in a huff, like one would expect, she whispered, sounding almost like she was going to cry, “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?—alone?”
She said the ‘alone’ twice, glaring at me each time she said it—like she wished I would disappear. Well, back at you babe.
Grady cocked his head, taking in Becca’s big eyes pooling with tears.
Inside I was begging him to say no. Pleading with him. Not only to say, ‘no’; but ‘No way.’ But he didn’t say that. He said, “Sure.”
Ugh!
My heart died as I watched Becca take Grady’s hand and lead him to the janitor’s closet. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
When they finally came out, they were both smiling. Big.
Groan!!!
They obviously made up. Big time.
Gag.
And sob.
Becca skipped off to the basketball game to do her cheering and Grady sauntered over to me. Silently, he slung himself into the chair beside me at the bake-sale table.
“You guys made up, I see.”
“Oh yeah,” he said with a huge smile, raising eyebrows, like they made up big time—which I already knew. Again, gag.
Why he thought he could share this without ripping out my heart, I have no idea. I’d say he was ‘heartless’ … if it were any other boy. But this was sweet Grady. He seemed to really believe we could ‘just be friends’ or ‘still be friends.’ Or whatever his delusional, desperate mind was trying to come up with.
It was baffling.
And painful.
Everyone was inside watching the game. There was absolutely no one else around. No one. Grady didn’t seem to notice or care. He was reminding me about the last time we played the video game Kill Everything and how the mock documentary we did about it afterwards was our most hilarious ever. (As I’ve probably already said, we like making mock documentaries about the games we like (or don’t like) and then we post them for our friends to see. You know, so they can get a glimpse of our hilariousness.) (We crack ourselves up.)
Grady kept bringing up stuff like that now—all the funny stuff we used to do. All of it—even the stuff from back in middle school. It seemed like he was trying to remind me we were deep close friends. And that our friendship was worth all
the drama going on right now.
It was sweet of him to try, I guess.
But I was feeling heartbroken and not exactly in a ‘Yeah, we’re awesome friends!’ kind of mood. I was more in an I-want-to-cry mood.
“Grady, you can go watch the game,” I said.
He gave me a look.
“It’s alright. I’m not going to cry.” Then I added, trying to fake a smile, “I’m just going to eat all of the cookies.”
He gave me a wan lift of his lips, the weakest of smiles. “I want to stay.” He nudged me playfully, “I like you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling. A little.
So, Grady went on reminding me how awesome we are, and all the great video games we’re going to make together someday—if we don’t become rich, famous mock-documentarians first. He was going on and on and on and making it sound like I’m fabulous, so finally I called him on it. “It seems like you still love me.”
“I do—obviously.”
“I mean, a lot. Like, for real.”
“Mandy, I do.”
My stomach swooped.
But just then Becca popped her head out of the gym and purred to Grady, “Are you going to come watch? I’m cheering for you.”
Indecision flickered in his eager eyes as he turned back to me. “Do you want to come watch?”
“Are you insane?”
He ducked his head, getting up. “Maybe.”
Once he was gone, he texted me, “But it doesn’t mean I don’t still love you Mandy.”
I texted him back, “But it means I don’t love you.”
Chapter 72
A hand waved in front of my face.
I flicked my eyes off my phone. I’d been in a daze, staring at—wishing the words I typed to Grady were true. I mean, they sort of were, of course. But I wished I could feel them more strongly. And confidently. And that they didn’t demolish my heart.
The person that had their hand waving in front of my face was Sara. She smiled when I blinked up at her, coming out of my daze.
“Your phone looks off,” she told me.
I sighed. “It is.”
After enjoying her quizzical look, I explained, “I told Grady I don’t love him. I don’t want to read his reply. Also, I’m glad you’re here because I’m sure any second he’s going to come out the door and twist up my heart some more.”
Sara looked sympathetic. “Okay, hurry and make your escape,” she said. “Go home and have a bubble bath.”
“Right. I’m going to. With a tub of chocolate cake-batter.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.
I quickly scrambled out the exit before Grady could do more damage to my heart. But instead of going home, where he could easily find me, I went to my aunt’s apartment instead.
I knew she went away for the week with her latest boyfriend, David. So, I knew her apartment would be empty. I needed that—an empty, safe place to hide away and lick my wounds where I wouldn’t have to worry about facing sympathetic, concerned, (stupid!) Grady. Or my mom. I didn’t want her fretting over me any more than I wanted Grady doing it. I wanted no one’s concerned eyes on me.
I just wanted to be alone.
Don’t get the wrong idea, though. If he found me, Grady would try to be helpful—soothe things over, give me comfort or whatever warped kindness he thought he could give me (which he can’t). But since none of it would be him saying he dumped Becca, I didn’t want to see him. Ever again, actually. And even if he dumped Becca I couldn’t take him back—not now. Not ever. Things would never be the same. Of course.
So … my aunt’s.
At her house, I took a long, long bubble bath. Aww, nice.
Afterwards, I stood around naked in her fancy bathroom, waiting for the sun-less tan stuff I slathered on my body to dry. I never used the stuff before, but I thought, “Hey, why not?”
After all, I was going to be kissing Smith tomorrow. (Well, okay, probably not … but a girl can dream, right?) I’d been doing a lot of that today—dreaming. Dreaming about Smith kissing me—and hey, now I could be tan for it.
Well, anyway, I’d be tan—whether I got kissed or not.
While I stood around naked, waiting for the sticky lotion to sink into my pale, pale skin, and work some sort of freaky magic—I painted my toenails.
Yes, naked in my aunt’s bathroom, I was painting my toenails—then whoa! Suddenly, the bathroom door was opened—and—and—
—there stood Smith.
Chapter 73
I’m naked … and there’s Smith.
His eyes are glued to me like he’s in a trance.
His lips part slightly as his eyes wash over me, up and down.
“Um …” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Or move.
I desperately try covering myself as he continues to stare like he’s in a hypnotized daze.
Though I’m shocked and stupefied that he’s here, what I blurt out is, “Can’t you knock?”
Without taking his eyes off me he knocks (ever so slightly) on the door he just came through—as he’s still standing unmoved inside it, staring at me.
Gah!
I growl, “Get out!”
“Right. Sorry,” he murmurs seeming to snap out of his daze.
He opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something else, but instead he quickly leaves. No joking from him. Not a word. In fact, he looked flustered. Flustered! Smith Cross—flustered. From seeing a naked girl.
Too weird.
Actually, the whole thing was beyond weird.
I quickly text my aunt, “Um … Smith Cross is in your house.”
Then I add: “???”
My aunt quickly types: “Well, yeah. He was in my house. But he just mumbled something incoherent to me then ran out like my house is on fire. What was that about? And how did you know he was here at my house? And how do you know him?”
My heart slams against my chest. “Wait. You’re at your house?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be at my house?”
“Um, because you were going to Belize with David?”
“Yeah, no. We broke up. So I went out to drown my sorrows with friends—and then I met luscious Smith and brought him home with me and planned to have my naughty way with him … until he used my bathroom—then he shot out of my house like he was being chased by an axe wielding maniac.”
“Uh, no. Just me.”
“???”
“I’m in your bathroom—and I was NAKED.”
“OHHHH!”
Then she adds, like it’s her fault: “Sorry. I didn’t know. I hope you’re not permanently traumatized—being gazed upon by a beautiful, yet unexpected god.”
Then she adds “Please don’t tell your mom. She’ll kill me.”
“I won’t tell her. I will tell no one. Ever!!!”
My cheeks going up in flames, I add: “However, he might tell people.”
Though as I type this, I know he won’t. He just won’t. He’s not like that. He’s so ultra cool. (Though the dude had looked flustered as he scrambled out of the room.) (He did!) (I swear.)
My aunt questions again: “How do you know Smith??”
I know she’s going to die. With a wicked smile I inform her: “He goes to my school.”
“Ack!!!!!!”
After a moment she types: “Well, thank you. Your traumatic encounter has saved me from committing a felony.”
“Well, I think he’s eighteen. Possibly.”
“Mandy, please, PLEASE don’t tell your mother.”
Chapter 74
Okay, so I once again didn’t get much sleep. But this time it didn’t have to do with Grady.
…well hardly, anyway.
It was mostly Smith. The way he had looked at me. His eyes on fire.
So, you know, there was that.
It had me on fire.
However I went up in flames for a totally different reason as well—the fact he s
aw me naked. I mean, how embarrassing!
I keep thinking about that all through first period. It has my face red as a tomato, I’m sure. I’d kind of like to tell Sara why I’m so flushed, since she keeps glancing at me all concerned-like, but alas, I can’t say a word. Since I promised my aunt I wouldn’t tell anyone about the Smith thing. So, it’s hard, since I blab to my friends everything.
Also, we have a sub right now, Ms. Becker. So, we’re truly free to blab. I mean, she told the class to partner up and quietly discuss in pairs the chapter’s overall arc so far. But really, she just doesn’t know what to do with us, so Sara and I are discussing last night’s bake-sale fiasco, and Becca’s unrelenting claim that I’m paying Smith to give me love.
I scoff, “Yeah, like I even have the funds to pay Smith for some fake lovin.’ I’m totally broke. Since I quit my job—thanks to dear, sweet Todd—bleck! I’ve been putting out resumes like crazy, but I’m getting zero interest, and so the sum of my funds is—zero. Sadly, I have no money for fake love.”
Sara smiles mischievously, “How much do you think it would cost for fake loving from Smith?”
“Tons, I bet,” I muse. “I mean, I would pay to have him kiss me—in heartbeat. Those lips, I dream about them.”
She beams, raising her eyebrows and looking all kinds of excited. “Well, you get to kiss him tonight—at ‘Show Your Love.’”
“Yeah, no. I’m definitely sure that’s not happening. It costs a hundred bucks, remember? Like I said, I’m broke.”
She raises her eyebrows with a huge smile, “Maybe he’ll pay?”
I scoff, “Right, pay to kiss me.”
Actually, he’s a sweetie, so he might would do that for me—as a favor. But come on, a hundred bucks? That’s a steep favor.
Plus, alas, let’s not forget, there’s still the middle school crush fiasco to think about. I’m sure Smith is still a little nervous/apprehensive about that. I mean, the dude collects stalkers (such as Crazy Chloe). He has to be cautious, obviously. And I’m probably on his ‘do not entice’ list. (For good reason.) So, he’s not going to voluntarily kiss me—let alone pay a hundred bucks to do it.
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