Ready or Not

by Meg Cabot

  “Parents should have the right to know what their children are doing behind their backs,” the president declared.

  “Why?” David wanted to know. “So they can act like you’re acting now about it? What’s the point, Dad? They’re just going to freak, the way you are.”

  “If they find out BEFORE their child goes ahead and HAS sex,” the president said, “they MIGHT be able to try to stop him, to open up the lines of communication so that they can keep that child from making the worst mistake of his or her life—”

  “Let’s not get too dramatic here, shall we?” My mom’s tone was steady—the same one she uses in the courtroom. “Sam has apologized for what she did, and explained that she was speaking hyperbolically.” (SAT word meaning “an exaggerated statement uttered in excitement”). “I think the real issue now is what we are going to do about it.”

  “I’ll tell you what WE’re going to do about it,” the president said. “Boarding school.”

  David lifted his gaze to the ceiling with a bored expression. “Dad,” he said.

  “I’m serious,” the president said. “I don’t care if you only have a year of high school to go. I’m sending you to military school, and that’s final.”

  I glanced, panic-stricken, at David.

  But he looked calm…much calmer, as a matter of fact, than you would think, considering that he was about to be enrolled in some boot camp in the Ozarks.

  “You’re not sending me anywhere, Dad,” David said. “Because I haven’t DONE anything. Instead of jumping to conclusions like a reactionary, why don’t you try to understand what Sam was saying during the town hall meeting…that there has to be a balance within families in order for them to work. Everyone is entitled to his or her rights, but only so long as they don’t infringe on the rights of another. Just because they aren’t old enough to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to strip teens of their rights.”

  David’s dad glowered. “That is an oversimplification of—”

  “Is it?” David asked. “You might want to keep in mind that in a few short years, those teens will be old enough to vote. And how kindly do you think they’re going to feel toward the guy who made the law that rats them out to their mom and dad every time they want to buy a rubber?”

  “Enough,” my mother said emphatically, before the president, who looked madder than ever, could open his mouth. “We’re not solving all of society’s problems tonight.” She sent the president her best courtroom look—the one her coworkers over at the EPA called Death to the Industrialist. “And no one is getting sent to boarding school. Let us, for the moment, be grateful that we have two smart, healthy children, who have always made the right decisions in the past. I, for one, intend to trust them to continue to make the right decisions in the future.”

  “But—” the president began.

  But this time it was his wife who cut him off.

  “I agree with Carol,” the first lady said. “I think we should just put this whole, unfortunate incident behind us, and try to look on the bright side.”

  “Which is?” the president wanted to know.

  “Well.” David’s mom had to think a minute. Then she brightened. “At least our children aren’t suffering from teen apathy, like so many of their peers. I mean, David and Sam really do seem to care about the issues.”

  The president didn’t seem to think this was anything to be thankful for. He sank, with a gusty sigh, back down into his chair.

  “This,” he said, to no one in particular, “just hasn’t been my day.”

  Suddenly—even though I was still really mad at him for trying to pull one over on me…because that’s exactly what he’d tried to do, just as Dauntra had warned—I felt a little sorry for David’s dad. I mean, after all, his program really did have some good points.

  “Return to Family is a nice idea,” I said, to make him feel a little better. “If it means, you know…this. Families talking stuff out. But if it means violating someone else’s rights…well, how is that helping anybody?”

  He gave me a very sour look. “I got the message, Sam,” he said. “Loud and clear. I think all of America did.”

  Taking that as my cue that maybe David’s dad had seen enough of me for one day, I crawled off the couch and slunk from the living room…

  …and was relieved when David joined me in the silent kitchen, Lucy and Rebecca having long since been banished to their rooms…though I didn’t doubt there’d been some surreptitious eavesdropping going on at the top of the stairs.

  “You okay?” David asked, when we were alone together at last.

  Instead of replying, I threw my arms around his neck and just stood there, my face buried against his chest, breathing in his Davidy scent and trying not to cry.

  “There, there,” David said, stroking my Midnight Ebony hair. “Everything’ll be all right, Sharona.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling. “I don’t know what came over me back there at the gym.” I stood there with my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth I could feel through his sweater, wishing I never had to let go.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You were just doing what you always do…standing up for what you believe in.”

  It made me blink to hear him say that. Because it so isn’t true. I don’t stand up for what I believe in. Not with Kris at school. Not with Stan at work. And especially not with David. I mean, if I had, I wouldn’t still be going to Camp David with him for Thanksgiving.

  “Listen, David,” I said, after taking a deep breath. “About Thanksgiving—”

  “You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

  Only it wasn’t David who asked it. It was his mother, the first lady, who came into the kitchen at that very moment. David and I sprang apart.

  What was I supposed to say? I mean, she looked really concerned. Like all she could think about was all that turkey that was going to go to waste if I didn’t show up.

  “Um, yes,” I said. “Yes, of course I am.”

  “Good,” the first lady said. “I’m so glad. Come on, David. It’s time to go. Good night, Sam.”

  “Um,” I said. “Good night, ma’am. And…I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” David’s mother said with a sigh. “Tell Sam you’ll pick her up Thursday morning, David.”

  David grinned at me. “I’ll pick you up Thursday morning, Sam,” he said and, after giving my hand a squeeze, dropped it, and followed his mother out into the foyer.

  Thursday. Great.

  “Well,” my mother said, when we’d finally closed the front door behind our guests, “that was nice. Too bad they took their Secret Service agents with them. I could really use a bullet in the head right about now.”

  Even though I sort of felt the same way, I decided it was time to recite the speech I’d been mentally rehearsing since we’d all left the gym.

  “Mom, Dad,” I said, “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you both for raising me in such a warm, supportive atmosphere, and for providing me with the kind of positive role models that a young girl such as myself really needs if she’s going to make her way in this complex and ever-changing urban landscape—”

  “Sam,” my dad interrupted me, “I realize you were merely trying to make a point tonight. However, I think it’s time we made some changes in this house. Some BIG ones. With that in mind, I would really like it if you would go to your room right now. And stay there,” he added, sounding, for the first time in a long time, like he was actually doing some parenting.

  “Um,” I said. “Okay.” And scurried up the stairs to my room….

  Where I found my sister Lucy waiting, her eyes wide.

  “Oh my God,” she cried, after making sure our parents had closed the door to their own room, and couldn’t overhear us. “That was…that was…that was INSANE.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, feeling suddenly exhausted.

  “I mean, I have never seen Mom and Dad so…so…so the way they wer
e.”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring up at my wedding photo of Gwen.

  “So are you totally grounded?”

  “No.”

  Lucy looked shocked. “Not at ALL?”

  “No,” I said. “But Dad said there were going to be some changes around here. Some BIG ones.”

  Lucy sank down onto my clothes hamper, clearly shaken to her core.

  “Wow,” she said. “You killed Carol and Richard.”

  “I don’t think I killed them,” I said. “I think they just, like…trust me.”

  “I know,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “That’s the beauty of it. They have no idea what you’ve REALLY got planned. For the day after tomorrow.”

  I fully did not need the reminder. I clutched my stomach, suddenly convinced I was going to heave.

  “Lucy,” I said, “could we talk about this some other time? Because I think I need to be alone right now.”

  “I hear you,” Lucy said, and rose to leave. “But I just want to say, for teenage girls everywhere, way…to…go.”

  Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

  And I looked up at Gwen, and burst into tears.

  Top ten reasons I hate my school:

  10. The people who go to it totally judge you by what you wear. If, for instance, you like to wear black, you are called a freak—to your face—by nearly everyone who passes you in the hallway.

  9. If you happen to have dyed your hair black, you are not only called a freak, but a goth or punk freak as well. Some people also might ask you where you parked your broom, assuming you are a practitioner of Wicca, not, of course, realizing that Wicca is an ancient religion pre-dating Christianity that is based on the appreciation of nature and the celebration of life forces and has little if anything to do with brooms, which are only used as ceremonial tools in a few Wiccan rituals.

  Not that I have ever studied Wicca. Much.

  8. All anybody ever talks about is who won on American Idol or which school athletic team is going to which final. No one ever talks about art or ideas, just TV and sports. This seems exactly the opposite of what school is supposed to be about, which is opening the mind to new things and embracing knowledge (NOT of the latest Juicy Couture designs).

  7. People totally litter. Like, they just throw their gum wrappers wherever. It’s sick.

  6. If, for instance, you happen to mention that you like a certain kind of music that isn’t Limp Bizkit or Eminem, you are routinely shunned and called a ska-lovin’ skank.

  5. One word: P.E.

  Or is that two words? Well, whatever. It sucks. I hear in some school districts, they’ve started having cool things like self-defense classes and Outward Bound–type adventures in lieu of endless games of dodgeball.

  I so wish I could go to a school like that.

  4. Everyone thinks they have to know everyone else’s business. Gossip is practically a religion at Adams Prep. All you ever hear in the hallways is, “And then she said…and then he said…and then she said….” It’s mind-boggling.

  3. Even though everyone is so sanctimonious and holier than thou, it seems like the raunchier a reputation you have, the more popular you are. Like the football player who got drunk at that one party and Did It with a girl who turned out to be in Special Ed. He got voted Prom King that year. Yeah. Real nice role model.

  2. The main hallways are filled with case after case of sports trophies, with only one case devoted to students who have won art awards, and that case is in the basement by the art room where no one goes but other people taking art.

  And the number-one reason I hate my school:

  1. My parents wouldn’t let me stay home from it the day after I announced on MTV that I’ve said yes to sex.

  13

  Theresa had to drive us to school the next day, because there were so many reporters outside the house, my parents wouldn’t let us take the bus.

  Which was probably just as well, since, judging by the kinds of questions the reporters were shouting (“Sam! Were you and David ever intimate in the Lincoln Bedroom?”), the kids on the bus weren’t exactly going to be super understanding of the situation, if you know what I mean.

  Theresa, of course, was blaming herself.

  “I should have known,” she kept saying. “All those times he came over, and you told me you were studying. Studying. HA!”

  “Theresa,” I said. “David and I really were studying all those times he came over.”

  But it was like she wasn’t even listening.

  “What kind of example are you setting for your baby sister?” Theresa wanted to know. “What kind?”

  “For God’s sake,” Rebecca said disgustedly. “I’ve got an IQ of one seventy. I know all about sex. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen Showtime After Dark.”

  “Santa María!” Theresa said, to this.

  “Whatever,” Rebecca said. “It comes on right after National Geographic Explorer.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about it,” Theresa said darkly, as we pulled up in front of the school and saw Kris Parks there, holding court by the Adams Prep Minutemen sign. “You girls meet me here when school is out. And no skipping class to have sex!”

  “For God’s sake, Theresa,” I said. “I’m not a nympho.”

  “Just making sure,” Theresa said. Then she drove away.

  As long as it isn’t raining, people usually hang around outside on the steps of Adams Prep before the first bell, talking about whatever was on TV the night before, or who’s wearing what. Generally, if you aren’t meeting someone on the steps leading to the school, you have to shove your way through the crowd to get up them.

  Not today, though. Today, the crowd parted as if by magic to let Lucy and me through. As we trudged up them, clutching our books to our chests, conversations ceased, and voices fell silent, as everyone stared….

  Stared at the freak and her sister.

  “This,” I whispered to Lucy, as we made our way inside school, “totally sucks.”

  “What are you talking about?” she wanted to know. I saw her looking around the hall and knew she wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to what was happening around us. She was just looking for Harold.

  “This,” I said. “Everybody thinks David and I Did It.”

  “Well,” Lucy said, “aren’t you going to anyway?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said, through gritted teeth.

  Finally, Lucy glanced my way. “Really? I thought you’d decided to.”

  “I haven’t decided anything,” I said vehemently. “Everybody ELSE seems to have decided for me.”

  “Well,” Lucy said, suddenly seeming to spy someone in the crowd she needed to speak to. “Good luck with that. See you.”

  Then she bolted…straight toward Harold, who was just coming out of the computer lab, his head buried in a copy of a book called Algorithms for Automatic Dynamic Memory Management.

  The last book Lucy had left lying around in the bathroom had been called She Went All the Way. It was kind of hard to believe these two were a match made in heaven.

  Sighing, I went to my locker and fumbled with the combo, aware of how all around me, the usual cacophony (SAT word meaning “a combination of discordant sounds”) of the hallway had hushed as people dropped their voices to talk about me as they walked by. Eyes narrowed to heavily mascaraed slits as cliques of girls moved past me, and folders were raised over people’s mouths as they whispered about me to one another. I could feel a million gazes boring into my back as I twisted the dial on my combination lock.

  Why hadn’t I faked sick today? How could I have forgotten that, fond as the American public might be of me on account of saving the president and dating his son, my fellow students at Adams Prep have never liked me all that much….

  And now they have a brand-new reason to despise me.

  And could I blame them? I mean, what had I done last night, really, except make their school look like a joke by announcing on T
V that I’m no different than any of the public school kids they spend so much time looking down on?

  God, it’s no wonder none of them was speaking to me…that they were all whispering about me instead….

  “So. Were you ever going to tell me?”

  I jumped, startled by the soft voice, and whipped my head around to find myself staring into the soft brown eyes of Catherine.

  “Catherine,” I said. “Oh my God. Hi.”

  “Well?” Catherine’s eyebrows were raised. “WERE you?”

  “Was I what?”

  “Ever going to tell me,” she said. “About you and David. YOU know.”

  I felt my cheeks heating up redder than ever.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “Honest, Catherine. That whole thing last night—David and I have never—I mean, it was all a big misunderstanding.”

  Was it my imagination, or did Catherine’s face fall a little?

  “You didn’t?” she said, sounding disappointed.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, well…not yet. I mean—” I broke off and stared at her. “Would you have wanted me to tell you? If we had, I mean?”

  Catherine’s eyes grew wide. “OF COURSE I would,” she said. “Why WOULDN’T I?”

  “Because,” I said. “You know. On account of me having a boyfriend, and you—not having one anymore.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Catherine said, looking hurt. “You should know that. I mean, come on. Dish the dirt. Let me live vicariously!”

  She was teasing me. I couldn’t believe it. Catherine was teasing me.

  I had never been so happy to be teased in my life.

  “I wanted to tell you,” I said. “I mean, that David and I were…you know. Talking about it. But I just felt like it might be…I don’t know. Like I was bragging.”

  “BRAGGING?” Catherine grinned. “Are you kidding? You’re like Amelia Earhart, Sam.”

  I stared at her. “I am?”

  “Yeah. You’re blazing a trail for nerdy girls everywhere. You have to tell us all about it. Otherwise, how else are we going to know what to do when it’s our turn?” She snaked an arm through mine and said, “Now, start from the beginning. When did you first know he wanted to? How did he bring it up? Have you seen his you-know-what yet? And was it bigger than that Terry guy’s?”