I'm So Sure (2009)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I did pick one out—with Felicity. You said it was too revealing. I’m having a hard time finding one with a turtleneck.”

  I bite my lip on a smile.

  “And I don’t want you going over to Felicity’s anymore. Not while her little boyfriend’s there.” His voice is angry.

  “Him? Are you jealous of him? You are so ridiculous, Joshua. This is out of control.”

  “I’m not jealous, Callie. He’s . . . weird. I don’t like him. Why can’t you hang out with some new friends?”

  I inch up closer, straining to hear.

  “There’s nothing wrong with—”

  “Kirkwood!”

  Ugh! I slow down as Ruthie catches up with me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I bite back a sigh. “Eavesdropping, if you must know.”

  “You got someone you want me to bug? I can totally set you up. Say the word.”

  “No!” Tempting though. “No bugs.”

  “Hey, um, will you tell Budge that my computer has a thingie, and I need him to take a look at it?”

  “You got another bad e-mail?”

  “No.”

  “It has a thingie?”

  She averts her eyes. “Yeah. On the dooma-flachie. It’s broken. It’s making it hard to—”

  “Print do-hickies and send dealie-whoppers?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sounds serious. I’ll pass that on. But you know, you could talk to him like he’s just another boy. He could be interested in you as more than just a computer to fix.”

  She stiffens. “I didn’t say I liked him.”

  “Right. Okay, I’ll pass on the urgent computer request.” Sometimes I think she’s had one too many piercings.

  At lunch I’m called into the office and find I have a huge floral arrangement. I open the card, half expecting to see another scary note.

  New York is less without you. But my life is more with your friendship.

  See you soon,

  Hunter

  Aw. Isn’t that sweet? I smell the roses and lilies and grin. Plucking one of the blooms, I leave to find Lindy so I can help her pass out the Match-and-Catch forms. She hands me a single envelope.

  “What is this? I’m not getting one.” I don’t have ten extra bucks.

  Lindy refuses to take it back. “It’s on the house. You’ve been helping me with all of this, so consider it a thank-you.”

  “Oh.” My fingers tingle to open it. But I can’t. I don’t want to know. Oh, yes, I do.

  “Looks like you don’t need Cupid’s help.”

  I set all my stuff on the ground and look up to find Luke. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you paid to get matched. That probably wouldn’t thrill your girlfriend.”

  He lifts and lowers a brow. “Lindy asked me to come and help.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’m an idiot. Why do I always come off sounding like a jealous harpy? I’m not. I’m totally not. I’m sure if his Harvard girl and I got to know each other, I’d love her and want to be her very best friend. We’d probably wear each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair.

  No, actually I want to rip her hair out. She’s so stinkin’ smart! And pretty! And—“Luke, here’s your Match-and-Catch results.” Lindy passes him an envelope.

  He stares at it like it’s a tarantula. “Um, you can just keep it. I’m really not interested.”

  “Suit yourself.” With a shrug Lindy returns to handing out envelopes and collecting money. “It’s in appreciation of the articles you did in the paper on the fund-raiser. It’s helped a lot.”

  “Just take it,” I say. “I won’t tell Taylor.” Oh! There I go again. God, what is wrong with me? I’ve been watching too much Gossip Girl. Reading too many snarky books. Maybe I should listen to a bunch of Christian music or watch some Hannah Montana with Budge. I know, I’ll view VeggieTales until the evil is purged out of me, and all that comes out of my mouth is goodness, light, and songs about cucumbers.

  Luke just smiles and grabs some Match-and-Catch results to hand out.

  “Lindy!” Felicity Weeks shoves her way through the crowd, her blonde curls jiving all over her head. “Guess what! My dad found us a place for prom.”

  The entire crowd stops and cheers. Two girls burst into tears. Luke and I lock gazes and share an eye roll.

  Felicity high-fives a senior. “My dad’s rented some huge event canopies. We can have it outside at our house.”

  “She has a huge home.” Luke whispers near my ear. “We could probably have prom in her living room.”

  Lindy resumes her work. “We can’t pay for that. Except for the wad in my hand, we have no money. Zero. Nada.”

  “But that’s the best part. It’s free! Daddy’s footing the bill. He wants to help us.”

  More woo-hoos from our growing audience.

  “Felicity, that’s awesome.” Lindy looks at me. She’s beaming, and I can see a load of stress has been relieved.

  “Gimme my results.” Anna Deason holds out her hand, and I dig through my stack. “This better be good. I want to see if my man’s name is on here. Plus, if things don’t work out, I’ll know who the alternates are.”

  “Did you hear we have a prom location now?” I ask.

  She sniffs. “Whatever. I could’ve found us another location. I don’t know what everyone is so excited about. It’s not like she donated a kidney.”

  Before I can respond, something catches my eye. “Luke, look.”

  Mr. Sutter stands across the hall with Callie. She’s agitated. Red-faced. Her hands move at warp speed.

  “Let’s take a walk.” His hand moves to my back as we migrate to a spot within hearing distance of the principal.

  “—but I didn’t call the Truman Inn. Why would I do that? I’m a senior, for crying out loud. Of course I want prom.”

  “Miss Drake, the inn gave us your phone number. That’s where the call came from. They have a record of it.”

  “Well, they’re wrong. Someone probably got into my purse at lunch. I’m in the running for prom queen, Mr. Sutter. Think about it. Why would I do such a thing?”

  He crosses his arms. “Last year’s Miss Truman High comes to mind.”

  “Hey, I protested peacefully. I’m not the one who brought the eggs and the squirt guns.”

  “Unless you can prove someone used your phone, I have no choice but to suspend you for a week.”

  Mr. Sutter escorts Callie down the hall, and I turn to Luke. “When did you tell the principal?”

  “This morning. I talked to some people, and the Miss Truman High wasn’t the first pageant Callie protested. I think she’s our girl, but we still need to find out who’s working with her.”

  “The boyfriend?”

  He nods. “It’s definitely something to pursue.”

  An odd silence falls between us. Like neither one of us wants to move.

  “So do you have your prom date?” Luke asks.

  I pull a ponytail holder out of my pocket and make a loose knot. “I’m keeping my options open.”

  Luke tucks a rogue piece of hair behind my ear. “Hunter?”

  I struggle to focus beyond the chills on my neck. “What if I do bring Hunter?”

  “What if you do?” His face is impassive. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “He’s changing, Luke. I can tell. He’s just . . . different.”

  “How convenient.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? What’s with all these cryptic comments about Hunter?”

  “I just think you should be cautious is all. It wasn’t so long ago that you thought he was a total snake.”

  The crowd around Lindy grows, nudging me and Luke closer.

  “Like I said, I’ve forgiven him.”

  “Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean blind trust.”

  “Look—” Someone bumps my shoulder, and Luke reaches out to steady me. I stare back into his piercing eyes.

  What was I saying?
/>   “Yes?”

  “Um . . .” He has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. “How about you take care of your relationship, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  “I’m just concerned. I would hope by now you consider me a friend.”

  “I don’t get in fights with my friends. My friends don’t boss me around.”

  An arrogant smile tugs at his mouth. “Then what am I?”

  I can’t read his signal here. Is there an innuendo? A current of something? Is my brain malfunctioning due to lack of lunch?

  Luke removes his hands and checks his silver watch. “I have to meet a senior for an interview. Think about what I said.”

  “Which part?”

  But my voice gets lost in the roar of students as he walks away.

  When I rejoin Lindy, a cloud of gloom hangs over her brown head. “Hey, why the sad face, madam president? You have one less thing to worry about with Felicity’s dad coming through for us.”

  She hands a classmate the last envelope, then drags her hound dog eyes back to me. “What did your results say?”

  “Um, haven’t read it yet.” Not sure I want to.

  “I opened mine. Matt Sparks and I are a match.”

  “Lindy, that’s so totally cool. Do you think he’s read his yet?”

  “Yeah. Read it and laughed about it. He said, ‘Can you believe this thing says we’d be perfect together?’”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  She throws hers in the trash can next to her. “I give up, Bella. I’m done. It’s time to start looking for a prom date instead of just hoping Matt will wise up. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Um . . . Budge has this brainy friend named Newton.”

  She nods once. “I’ll take him.”

  chapter twenty-one

  I can hear it now.

  “How did you spend your Valentine’s Day, Bella?”

  “At Mickey Patrick’s gym with thirty grown men and a roomful of Lycra, watching my stepdad pound someone into the ground. Gosh, who needs a date?”

  “Isn’t Mason the sweetest thing?” Mom holds Dolly’s sleeping son in her arms. “Robbie, can you believe you used to be this small?”

  My stepbrother sits between us and nods his head absently.

  “How’s my little guy doing?” Dolly stops by for the hundredth time in five minutes. “Are you sure you don’t mind holding him, Jillian? I’ve got to bring in ten more cheesecakes, then I can take him.”

  “I’ll help you, Dolly.”

  The room goes into a shocked silence as Mickey stands by the door.

  Dolly lifts her chin a notch. “Fine. They’re in the Jeep.”

  They return carrying handfuls of food, but neither says a word. A few minutes later Pile Driver of Dreams starts.

  “It’s down to five wrestlers, America. Your vote tonight will put one more down for the count. This week we begin announcing the elimination at the weekly wrestling matches. So cast your votes this evening, and tune back in tomorrow night as we announce who’s getting a permanent body-slam.”

  The show begins to highlight the remaining lady wrestler, and some of us get up to fill our plates. Not surprisingly, most of the men stay planted in front of the TV as they show pieces of Cinnamon’s life. Especially those pieces in the leather bustier. Her boobs are like weapons barely contained in her top. Who needs wrestling moves when you could knock someone out with those?

  As a favor to Mom, Dolly agreed to cater the event. She has tables set up with a Mexican food theme. Honestly, I haven’t so much as touched a nacho since my last night at Pancho’s Mexican Villa.

  “Just put the cheesecake there.” Dolly points to the few empty spots on the tables.

  Across the room little Mason whimpers. Then it crescendos into a full-scale wail. Mom stands up and pats his back. “I’ve tried the bottle. I checked his diaper.” Mason’s tiny arms flail, and his shaky cry even gets the attention of the guys watching Cinnamon. Mom brings him over to Dolly and places the baby in her arms.

  “He’s been so fussy all week, and I haven’t slept in days. I think he has colic.” Dolly says sweet things to Mason in hushed tones.

  “Can I try?”

  My eyes bug at Mickey’s hesitant request.

  Dolly starts to wave him off, but the baby doubles his volume. “I guess. But be gentle with him.”

  “I know, Dolly.”

  “Well, it’s been a long time since either one of us has had a baby to hold.” She sucks in her lips like she wants to stop any more words from escaping.

  Mickey extends his sinewy arm and places the baby on it like a cradle. He gently rocks Mason, singing a lullaby so low I can’t make out the words. The baby peers up at Mickey but continues to yell.

  “Maybe you should give him back to me.” Dolly holds out her arms.

  “No.” Mickey continues to rock. “He just wants a different song, don’t you, Mason?”

  Mickey starts a new tune, and though I still can’t hear it, I’m mesmerized by his expressive face. And so is Mason. The baby’s volume descends until it’s just a whimper. Then nothing. We all stand there and watch as Mickey rocks and sings Mason to sleep within minutes.

  “Thank you.” Dolly studies Mickey’s face for a brief moment, then returns to gazing at her son.

  “What was the lullaby you were singing?” I ask as Mickey continues to rock.

  “AC/DC.”

  A cold blast of air filters though the room as I see Lindy, Matt, and Ruthie come through the door. Budge glances their way, then does a double take. He jumps up to the food tables and butts in next to me.

  “Did you invite her?”

  I ladle out some queso. “Who?”

  “Ruthie, that’s who.” His face burns barn red.

  “You invited your friends, and I invited mine.” I glance at his posse of gamer geeks, who are all but drooling at Cinnamon on the screen. Newt’s drink is spilling onto his shirt, and he hasn’t even noticed.

  “You could’ve at least warned me.” Budge runs a hand over his stubbly face. “I didn’t even shave.”

  I sniff. “You don’t smell. Nothing’s hanging out of your nose. I’d say that’s a pretty good day for you.”

  Budge looks to Ruthie, who’s chatting with my mom. He looks back to me. “I—I . . . Bella, this may come as a huge surprise, but as much as I talk about chicks, I’m actually not very, um, good with them.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah, I know. I really haven’t had all that much experience.”

  “Shocking.” I throw on some jalapeños. “Well, here’s a tip. Girls do not find talk of vortexes and bump-mapping the least bit romantic.”

  He shakes his head. “You and your kind are like from another planet. What do I talk about?”

  “You’ve been to her house a few times. What did you talk about then?”

  “She did all the talking. I just worked on the computer.”

  “Talk to her about her bike. Her church. Her . . . addiction to hair products. Just be yourself. Look what you have in common—school, um . . . and school.” I wave at Lindy and Matt. “Hey, Budge, does Newt need a date for prom?”

  “I guess. Newt said he was waiting for this girl to be his date, but I don’t know that it worked out. I do know he’s not going without a date.”

  “Send him over to the food table.”

  Across the room my mom calls out a greeting as my editor slides through the entryway. “Luke!”

  “Your boss is here.” Budge snorts and walks back to Newt and his friends.

  Luke high-fives and fist-pounds all the guys. He’s become a regular, and I can’t figure out if I like that or not.

  As he walks toward me, I can’t help but admire his slightly faded jeans and the steel gray Henley that lightly clings to the muscles beneath.

  I mentally shake myself. Focus on the fajitas.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he deadpans.

  “Yeah, sorry you’re here.” I hand him a plate. “And not at a
candlelit dinner for two.”

  “This is exactly where I want to be.” His frown is slight. “I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

  I feel like our conversation just forked in two different directions. In lieu of a response, I move on down the food table.

  Newt chooses that moment to stomp over, his Vans heavy on the concrete. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, Newt, I was wondering if you’d be interested in escorting my friend Lindy to prom.” I point in her direction.

  “Is she the one in the pink sparkles and mustache?”

  “No, he’s Betty the Bulldozer.”

  Newt squints behind his glasses. “Does he wrestle in those heels?”

  I grab Newt’s chin and angle his head toward Lindy.

  “Ohh.” He nods. “Uh-huh.”

  That’s his only response? How about, thank you. She’s so much hotter than any other girl I could get on my own. “Are you interested?”

  “I don’t know. I do want to go to prom . . .”

  I’m Sure “What’s not to know? Do you already have a prom date?”

  “I might have an option.”

  “Prom’s in six weeks. Do you have a date yet or not?”

  He scuffs the toe of his shoe. “I guess not.”

  “Do you have transportation?”

  “I should by then. I gotta get my mom’s car fixed.”

  “Tux?”

  “I’ll get one.”

  “Lindy has a strict no-hands, no-alochol policy. Can you adhere to that? Raise your right hand and repeat after me: no kissy, no drinkie.”

  “I got it, Bella.”

  “And don’t you get anywhere near her vortex.”

  With a glowing blush, Newt all but races back to his seat.

  Luke coughs to cover a laugh. “What was that about? He looked like he was about to cry.”

  “Just business.”

  “Want to go to the basketball game with me on Saturday?”

  I drop the ice tongs. “Game? Go? Together?” Dear God, please anoint me with the power of complete sentences.

  “Yeah, Anna Deason said she tried to call you tonight. She got some threatening e-mails.”

  I was on the phone with Hunter after school. “E-mails like Ruthie’s? Doctored pictures?”