by Meg Cabot
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Sorry about that. Jason’s just in a bad mood.”
“Did he say anything about me?” Becca asked hopefully.
“Um,” I said. “Not really.”
Becca slumped in her seat, disappointed. “Dang.”
But I knew the truth would have disappointed her even more.
* * *
Reputation rebuild
If you once committed a serious social error (or are simply rumored to have done so), don’t panic. Your reputation can be repaired. Even the most tarnished pot can be polished to a sheen once more!
In order to make others forget your faux pas, it’s important to become even more helpful and enthusiastic than usual. Go out of your way for others for a while. Whatever you did (or are rumored to have done) that offended your social circle, it’s important to make amends.
Believe it or not, people WILL forgive and forget!
But be more careful in the future!
* * *
Eighteen
STILL DAY THREE OF POPULARITY
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30, 1 P.M.
I was late getting to lunch because I’d been running around, enlisting the aid of teachers for tomorrow night’s auction—Mr. Schneck, the drama director, has agreed to act as auctioneer, which should lend just the right note of campy fun to the proceedings…in my opinion, anyway, though probably not his—so I was kind of surprised when I got to my seat at Darlene’s table and saw Becca sitting there, looking distinctly miserable.
She brightened up a little when she saw me, though.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Can I sit here? I mean, is it all right? I asked these guys”—she nodded toward Darlene, who was eating a banana, to the rapture of her entourage—“and they said it was, but—”
“Of course it’s okay,” I said, sitting down with my tray of tuna salad. “But what happened to having lunch out with Jason?”
“Oh,” Becca said, poking her burger (bunless…Becca has been on the South Beach Diet forever) with her fork and not looking me in the eye. “I talked to Stuckey.”
I felt murderous rage sweep over me. If Stuckey had said anything to hurt her feelings—which I could totally see him doing, since he’s so clueless about anything not having to do with basketball—he was a dead man.
“What did he say?” I asked, trying to sound calm.
“Just that if I wanted Jason to like me, I should make myself less available.” Becca slurped sadly on her Diet Coke. “Stuckey says Jason’s the kind of guy who likes a girl who plays hard to get.”
Todd Rubin snorted, even though neither of us had been speaking to him. “Not me, man,” he said. “I like a woman who knows her place.” He indicated where that place was with a tilt of his pelvis, to the amusement of his buddies.
“Oh, really?” Darlene had finished her banana, and now she stretched, bringing every gaze at the table to her chest. “And what place would that be, Todd?”
“Um,” Todd said, his mouth slightly ajar. “Any…place…you want. At all.”
Darlene picked up her Diet Coke can and shook it, indicating it was empty. “Oh no. All gone! Can you be a sweetie and go get me another?”
Todd practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to get her another soda. Darlene glanced at Becca and me with a knowing smile. It was hard not to crack up.
And suddenly I realized Darlene isn’t half as dumb as she pretends to be.
“I think Stuckey’s probably right,” I said, turning back to Becca.
“I know,” Becca said with a sigh. “He really was very helpful. Stuckey, I mean. He said he doesn’t think it’s serious between Jason and Kirsten.”
It was my own turn to snort. “Of course it’s not serious,” I said. “Because there’s nothing actually going on between them. Except maybe in Jason’s head. And even if there was, Kirsten’s not right for him. Have you ever checked out her elbows?”
“Her elbows?” Becca echoed.
“Yeah. They’re all gross and scaly.”
“I hate that,” Darlene said. “That’s why I rub pure cocoa butter on mine every night.” She pulled back her sleeve to show us. Darlene really did have the nicest elbows I’d ever seen, a sentiment with which every guy at the table, including Todd, who’d returned with Darlene’s soda, agreed.
I’m going to have to remember that pure cocoa butter trick.
“Well, Stuckey said he doesn’t think Jason even likes Kirsten—you know, in that way,” Becca went on. “He says he thinks Jason just pretends to like Kirsten, so people won’t figure out who he really likes.”
This was intriguing. I had no idea Stuckey was such a keen observer of his fellow man.
“Well?” I said. “Who does Stuckey say Jason really likes?”
Becca shrugged. “That’s just it. Stuckey doesn’t know. He says Jason never talks about that kind of thing—girls—with him. But I couldn’t help thinking…well, do you think the girl Jason really likes could be, possibly, well…me?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. Because I really didn’t. I was careful not to add, “But I highly doubt it.” Instead, I asked, “What else did Stuckey say?” Because the idea of Stuckey having a conversation with anyone that didn’t involve Indiana college basketball was stunning to me.
“Oh, let’s see.” Becca thought for a minute, then brightened. “He said if I ever wanted to take a tour of the Indiana University campus to let him know, and he’d drive me over there and show me Assembly Hall, which is where the Hoosiers play basketball.”
That sounded more like the Stuckey I knew.
Mark and Lauren chose that moment to make what seemed to be developing into a daily visitation to our table.
“Everything coming into place for tomorrow night, Steph?” Mark asked as Lauren twined an arm around his waist and sort of draped herself across him like a poncho. As usual, Alyssa Krueger lurked behind them…sort of Tinkerbell to Lauren’s Paris.
“Looking good,” I said, flipping open my official Bloomville High Talent Auction binder. “The ad should run in tonight’s paper. We’ve got more than a hundred kids signed up. Depending on how many people show up, we stand to take in way more than any school-sponsored car wash has ever made.”
“Hey,” Mark said, his hazel eyes twinkling. “That’s great! Good job.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was unable, of course, to repress a blush. Some things you just have no control over.
Like what happened next. Which was that as Mark, Lauren, and Alyssa passed by, a tightly folded note fell, seemingly from the air, and landed on my open binder.
No one but me noticed. Well, no one but me and Becca, who eyed me curiously as I picked the note up. It had the words TO STEFF written on it in block letters, indicating it was for me…or at least for someone named Steph, but who spelled it with two Fs instead of a P-H. I started to unfold it.
I only had to see the first few words—U STUPID HO, Y DON’T U GET A LIFE—before I figured out what it was.
And who it came from.
The blush that had crept over my cheeks at Mark’s compliment turned into full-on flames. My face felt as if it were on fire.
But that didn’t stop me from pushing my chair back and following after Mark and Lauren, the note in my hands.
“Um, guys,” I said, catching the couple just as they—with Alyssa—were about to exit the caf, into the courtyard by the flagpole outside. “One of you dropped this. It says it’s for someone named Steff, but that’s not how you spell my name, so you must have meant it to go to someone else.”
And I handed the note to Mark.
Alyssa immediately started going, “What’s that? I didn’t drop that. I’ve never seen it before. Have you, Lauren?”
But Lauren just stood there, staring daggers at me.
And I stared them right back at her. Don’t even start with me, Lauren, I tried to make my stare say. Because I’ve got The Book now. And that means that you, Lauren Moffat, are GOING DOWN.
> Mark’s face, as he read the note—who knew what it said after the first line? I had no idea, and I didn’t actually care, either—changed. I saw his jaw set, and his cheeks slowly turn the same color as mine. Only on him, it looked good.
He looked directly at Lauren. And she immediately turned to face Alyssa.
“God, Al,” she said. “Could you be more immature?”
Alyssa’s jaw fell. I could actually see a piece of chewed up Extra gum in her mouth.
“Lauren,” she cried. “It was your—how could you—”
“How could you?” Lauren snatched the note from Mark’s fingers and started tearing it up. “Why would you write something like this to poor Steph? She’s only trying to help raise money for Mark’s class. What’s wrong with you?”
Mark, staring at Alyssa with narrowed eyes, slowly shook his head.
“That’s low, Alyssa,” he said in his deep voice. “Real low.”
“But I didn’t do it!” Alyssa insisted. “Well, I mean, I did, but it was—”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” Mark interrupted, in a tone that made it clear why he was voted last year’s most valuable player and was chosen this year’s quarterback. He would not tolerate any disrespect on his team. “I’d like for you to leave now.”
Alyssa had started to cry.
“Leave…sch-school?” she hiccuped.
“No.” Mark looked heavenward for patience. “Not school. My sight. Get out of here.”
Alyssa, with a final, stricken glance in Lauren’s direction, flung a hand over her face and hurried away, in the direction of the girls’ room. Mark watched her go dispassionately, then looked down at Lauren.
“Why would she do something like that?” he asked her, seeming genuinely bewildered.
“I don’t know,” Lauren said, shrugging innocently. “Maybe she’s jealous? You know, because I gave Steph that ride home last night? Maybe she’s worried Steph and I are becoming friends and she’s going to be left out, or something. You know how insecure she is.”
My own jaw dropped at that one. I had never heard a bigger whopper in my life.
You had to hand it to Lauren: Whatever else you could say about her, she was a master manipulator.
“I better go make sure she’s all right,” Lauren said. “I don’t want her to do herself an injury, or anything.”
Do herself an injury? Classic.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mark said, nodding. “Go on.” Then, when Lauren did—with a final I’ll Get You for This glance in my direction—he put out a hand and very gently touched me.
On my bare arm. Mark Finley. Touched me.
“Hey,” he asked softly. “You okay?”
I couldn’t believe Mark Finley had touched me. And asked if I was okay.
“I’m fine,” I said, nodding. Somehow, I managed to figure out how to make my mouth work again. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t believe she did that,” Mark said. “I’m really sorry. I hope you won’t take it personally, or anything.”
Take it personally? I’d been hearing Alyssa Krueger—along with most of the rest of the under-eighteen population of Greene County—tell people not to be such a Steph Landry for the past five years. And here was the most popular guy in school—a guy who’d never been mocked or made fun of a day in his life—telling me not to take it personally. Yeah, no problem, Mark. Whatever you say.
“I won’t,” I said, giving him a tremulous smile…tremulous because I was really afraid, at that moment, that I might start to cry.
“Great,” Mark said.
And laid a finger on my cheek. Just one finger.
But that was all it took. All it took for me to know with one hundred percent certainty that he was My One.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
* * *
Best friends
Best friends are great. But if you want to be popular, you can’t limit yourself—or your time—to just one person.
It’s important to make time for many new friends—but don’t forget the old ones!
* * *
Nineteen
STILL DAY THREE OF POPULARITY
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30, 4 P.M.
The Bloomville Gazette is an afternoon paper, so I could check to see how the ad looked as soon as I got to Courthouse Square Books, where I work the four-to-nine shift every Wednesday.
Before I turned to the section where I’d had the ad placed (across from the cartoons and Ann Landers—I know everyone in town reads those first), I noticed a picture of the observatory on the front page, with the headline, LOCAL MAN DONATES OBSERVATORY, DEDICATES IT TO BRIDE-TO-BE. There was a picture of Grandpa inside the observatory, his arms spread wide at the domed ceiling, smiling.
I called him from the phone next to the cash register right away.
“Nice story,” I said when he picked up.
“Kitty,” Grandpa said, sounding smug, “is pleased.”
“She should be,” I said. “Not many guys build something in your honor.”
“Well,” Grandpa said, “Kitty’s worth it.”
“Of course she is,” I said. I truly believed that, too.
“Haven’t heard from you in a few days,” Grandpa said. “How’s the popularity thing going?”
I thought about the way Mark’s finger had felt against my cheek. He’d only rested it there for a moment. But it had felt like the longest moment of my entire life.
“Excellent,” I said.
“Really?” Was it my imagination, or did Grandpa sound surprised? “Very good, then. Things are going well for both of us at the same time, for a change. And how’s your mother?”
I had just seen Mom waddle out of the store, heading home to put her feet up. She was closing in on her ninth month, and her ankles looked like Lauren’s legs in her white thigh-highs.
“She’s good,” I said. “But no movement, you know, on the wedding front.”
Grandpa sighed. “Can’t say I really expected much. She’s a stubborn woman, your mother. Bit like you, in that way.”
“Me?” I couldn’t believe it. “I’m not stubborn.”
Grandpa whistled, low and long.
“I’m not,” I insisted.
Which was when the bell over the front door of the store tinkled, and Darren, my coworker for the evening, came back with Tasti D-Lites from Penguin for the two of us.
“Is it hot enough out there?” Darren wanted to know, handing over my fat-free, calorie-free, pretty much taste-free ice cream. “Can you say Indian summer or what?”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just gotta finish up this phone call.”
Darren waggled his fingers at me to show me he understood, and went over to the jewelry rack to organize the earrings, his favorite job-related activity.
“Um, Gramps,” I said. “Oh, hey, listen…I might need to borrow a bit more money. As part of the plan. But it’s to help the store this time. Not my social life.” Well, not totally, anyway.
“I see,” Grandpa said. “Well, I’ll have to take a look at the interest rates….”
“Understood,” I said. I’m not insulted that my own grandfather charges me interest on loans. I would do the same thing if someone borrowed money from me. People on TV, like Judge Judy and my idol, Suze Orman, always say family should never lend other family members money. But it can actually work, if you’re businesslike about it.
“Grandpa,” I said. “Remember how you told me that you always liked Kitty, even back when you guys were in high school? But she always liked someone else?”
“Ronald Hollenbach,” Grandpa said as if the name left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Right. Jason’s grandpa. Well, I was just wondering…how did you finally get her away from him? Mr. Hollenbach, I mean?”
“That’s easy,” Grandpa said. “He croaked.”
“Oh.” This wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped it would be. I was looking for some advice on how to steal Mark Finley away from Lauren. Which I did
n’t actually consider an underhanded thing to do. Because Lauren is just plain mean, and Mark is the nicest guy in town. He deserves someone better than Lauren. Even if, you know, he may not know it.
“Getting all that dough from the good people at Super Sav-Mart didn’t hurt much, either,” Grandpa went on. “Kitty appreciates a nice steak dinner at the country club every now and then.”
“Right,” I said. Steak. Check. “But, like, I’m sure you had to charm her, right? How did you do that?”
“I can’t tell you,” Grandpa said. “Your mother’d kill me.”
“Grandpa,” I said. “She already wants to kill you. How much more trouble can you get in with her?”
“True,” Grandpa said. “Well, the fact is, Steph, we Kazoulises, well, we’re a passionate bunch, and we know how to please a woman.”
I choked on a mouthful of Tasti D-Lite.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I said as soon as I could get the words out. “I think I get it.”
“Kitty’s a woman with needs, you know, Stephanie, and—”
“Oh, I know that, all right,” I said quickly. I mean, I’d pretty much figured that out by how easily Kitty’s copy of Wicked Loving Lies fell open to the Turkish-style scene. She’d obviously read that part a lot. “Thanks, Grandpa. That’s very helpful advice.”
“I know you’re half Landry,” Grandpa said. “But you’re a good fifty percent Kazoulis. So you shouldn’t have any problems in the—”
“Whoa, look at that, a customer just walked in,” I lied. “Gotta go, Gramps. Talk to you later. Buh-bye.”
I stared at the phone after I’d put it down. It was clear that, while Grandpa was a pro at giving financial advice, when it came to matters of the heart…well, I was on my own. I was going to have to figure out how to win Mark away from Lauren without his help.
“Oh my God,” Darren said, hurrying up to the counter with his ice cream. “D’you know what Shelley at the Penguin told me? The high school’s holding a slave auction tomorrow night.”