Although she always acts put out by her weekly phantom maladies, she obviously enjoys each one because her normal depressed personality seems to come alive only when talking about them. I’m used to seeing her with her arm in a sling gesticulating wildly to some fellow teacher and grimacing about her “bum fibula” or scurrying to her acupuncture session while loudly proclaiming to random passersby, “Those painful needles are simply not helping my colon do its job regularly.” I dreaded what today’s physical duress would be. As soon as I walked in, she waved me frantically over to her desk. I approached warily, and she promptly handed me a preprinted 5 × 7 card from a stack she had next to her. I read it quickly:
I have LOST MY VOICE. My doctor thinks it will return if I’m on complete vocal rest. Also, my sciatica is flaring up so I am not able to leave this chair without EXTREME pain to my lower back.
I nodded sympathetically and muttered, “Sorry.” She started to say “Thank you,” but all I heard was a raspy version of the word thank that was quickly cut off by a dramatic coughing fit, interrupted only by her looking up to see if I was taking in her star turn. She finished with a noisy spit into a tissue, and then quickly wrote something on a pad, which she handed to me.
It HURTS!
I didn’t quite know if she meant her voice or the sciatica but found no need to ask since she was one step ahead of me and answered my unasked question by jabbing her fingers simultaneously at her throat and lower back. Thankfully, the bell rang and I told her to feel better and turned around to zero in on my prey. Score! Chuck was sitting in the back of the room, and even though Becky was across from him, the seat behind him was blissfully empty! I started to walk down the row when I locked eyes with the only other detentionee: Pamela Austin. She was in her signature matching skirt and sweater ensemble with a piano-key scarf wrapped casually around her neck. Pamela had a pretty face but it was overshadowed by her “I haven’t had a haircut since I was six” hair that hung straight down her back. I suddenly did a double take: Pamela was such a Goody Two-shoes.… Why the hell was she here? She must have seen the quizzical expression in my eyes because she whispered, “I’m doing an undercover report on detention for the next student council meeting.”
Pamela Austin and I have been in chorus together since the seventh grade. We get along, but the last thing I wanted to do was get into what would likely be a lengthy whispered conversation about who was gonna get the alto solo in the Fall Madrigal concert. I needed to focus all my energy on snagging my new boyfriend. I quickly broke eye contact and started walking toward Chuck when she stage-whispered, “Justin! Sit here!” madly patting the computer chair next to her. I didn’t turn back and simply responded with a noncommittal “Hey, Pamela” as I kept moving to the back of the room where Chuck and Becky were. The whole time I was walking down the length of the row, I heard Pamela behind me still patting the seat. Finally I sat down and heard two more soft pats and then silence.
Chuck was at the computer directly in front of me, and Becky was next to him.
I looked at her objectively. Wow. She was so crazily pretty. Long neck, lips she only used ChapStick on because they were naturally the color of an expensive lipstick, reddish gold hair that literally glowed, and a nose all the girls wanted to copy when they got their nose jobs. Her most striking feature was her catlike eyes. Almond shaped and a shade of green that was always changing depending on the light. Add to that a perfectly toned body from years of gymnastics.
Chuck and Becky were the golden couple of our high school. Until they broke up, that is. The student body still hasn’t fully recovered from it. Chuck transferred here from Colorado last year, and as soon as they met, they became a steady couple. No matter what time of day, you could always see them making out in all areas of the school: hallway, lunchroom, classroom, football field … and once, awkwardly, the boys’ locker room (Chuck had smuggled her in there on a dare). I say “awkwardly” because it was the one day I decided to take a shower after gym and I walked, dripping wet, out of the shower and into the locker area wrapped in one of the skimpy school-supplied towels, only to find myself suddenly next to the making-out couple as they were being videotaped for posterity by Doug Gool. That’s right, videotaped. As of today, there’ve been over a thousand YouTube views of them deeply kissing next to a row of gym lockers and then me stumbling up to them with a wet Afro and severe love handles.
Anyway, their breakup last June sent shock waves throughout the entire freshman class, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that Becky’s dad caused it all. From my signature eavesdropping on various conversations around school and the mall, I found out that he didn’t like Chuck from the start. Becky had told him it wasn’t a serious relationship, but once he saw the make-out video on YouTube (Becky never cared that it was up because she thought her father was Internet handicapped), he made Becky end their affair stat. He picked her up from school that day as usual but didn’t wait to get home to start his tirade. No eavesdropping was required on my part because everyone in the building was able to hear him yell from the parking lot, “No daughter of mine is going to ruin her future by having a baby in high school!”
Baby? I thought. It’s not like they were caught having sex. But apparently seeing his daughter kissing a boy caused visions of teen pregnancy to dance in his head. He made her break up with Chuck that night, and by first period the next day, everyone knew. Chuck and Becky were the power couple of the school and then suddenly it was over. Even the teachers seemed to go through a period of mourning. I don’t think her dad actually feared them going all the way, but the real reason he insisted they break up was because Becky was super-smart and her parents have been grooming her for Columbia Medical School (their alma mater) since she was in kindergarten. Instead of going to Jewish summer day camp like I did in elementary school, Becky was enrolled in biology camp. Apparently, they have lab in the morning, flash cards at noon, and then one period in the afternoon for swimming or dissection. Dating a jock was not what her dad envisioned for her. He’s an internist and his wife’s a pediatrician, and they want to make sure that Becky grows up just like them—that is, marry someone she meets in medical school. I heard Becky talking all about it at lunch one day. No, we were not hanging out; she was with her clutch of beautiful, popular girls and I was one table away, by myself, eating a fluffernutter. (Stop judging my unhealthiness. It was on wheat bread. Well, one piece of wheat and one piece of Wonder.) She said her dad hauled out the saying “A jock retires at age thirty, but a doctor earns forever.” I guess that’s true, but is money the most important thing in a relationship? Because from what I’ve seen, a jock’s body doesn’t retire at age thirty. They stay fit for life, as opposed to most doctors. Quite frankly, have you ever checked out the bod on your family doctor? Let’s just say most examining rooms don’t have free weights.
Poor Becky. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to go into medicine. My dad is a doctor as well (different hospital from Becky’s parents), but he’s never pushed me to follow in his footsteps. He knows I want to be on Broadway one day. I not only love musical theater, but I also think that a career is only worth it if you have to struggle, like Mariah Carey did in Glitter or Christina Aguilera in Burlesque. I always get As in biology without even trying, and medical school seems like it wouldn’t be a challenge to me … except the staying awake part during boring-ass lectures. I am actually looking forward to the initial rejection after rejection, the struggle to fight my way out of the chorus and become a lead, and finally the reluctant acceptance of all the people who tried to hold me down as they watch me win a Tony Award.
Regardless, Becky’s father did not approve of his daughter making out with some studly quarterback who maintained a B-plus average and who was probably going to go to college on a sports scholarship. His daughter was marrying a doctor and that was that.
I sat at the desk and noticed that Chuck and Becky had no schoolbooks open. Students were supposed to do their homework in detention and weren’t al
lowed to use the Internet to check personal email, but we all knew that E.R. and her crippling sciatica wouldn’t be able to get up to see what we were actually doing. As I sat down, I noticed that Chuck was logged on to his email. Hmm, I thought. Maybe an old-school instant message is the way to connect with him.
I typed in my screen name “Broadway4ever” and my password “IheartBroadway” but, like an idiot, forgot to lower the volume of the computer so a booming “You’ve got mail” filled the room.
I looked up guiltily, waiting to hear the sound of E.R.’s shrill reprimand. I was confused when I saw her simply glaring and waving me up to her desk. Oh yes, I remembered as I walked toward her. Total vocal rest. As soon as I stood up, she began writing an obviously hostile note to me. I got to the edge of her desk and started reading the note upside down.
Justin! I’m writing this because my voice is GONE. Yet, each word I write puts an unbelievable strain on my wrist, which is directly connected to my arm, shoulder, neck, and trunk, which therefore makes my sciatica flare up and cause SEVERE lower back pain. But, at the risk of having to get a morphine drip, which my insurance doesn’t cover, I will reiterate the detention rules you already know:
NO PERSONAL EMAILS ARE ALLOWED DURING DETEN
Suddenly, another coughing fit started. Hmm … somehow writing hurt her throat? Also, if every word put further strain on her sciatica condition, why did she write me a novel? I took the note from the desk during her coughing spasm and finished the word detention for her. She shook her head and pointed at me to keep writing. Huh? What was I supposed to add? Love, Ms. Horvath? I was momentarily frozen but then took a guess and put an underline beneath NO. She nodded yes but then shook her head no, which I took to mean You’re on the right track but not there yet, so I added two more lines underneath it. She nodded curtly and I returned to my seat.
As I passed Pamela, I heard her patting the desk next to her again. What was with her? I sat down behind Chuck once more and saw on his computer screen that he and Becky had been writing to each other the whole time I was with Ms. Horvath.
I decided to eavesdrop. Hmm … eavesread?
He wrote: What time are you meeting me?
She wrote: Not till after my dad goes to sleep … 11?
Meeting? I thought they broke up! Rumor had it that Chuck had met some girl over the summer while he was in Europe with his folks.
Becky’s cell phone began to vibrate. She picked it up and whispered “Hello” so Ms. Horvath wouldn’t hear. She murmured something, then hung up.
That was Dad. His car is in the shop and he can’t pick me up.
Excellent! Let’s go out somewhere after detention … I want to see you at a normal hour.
Are you crazy? He’ll find out. I have to call a cab to take me right home.
C’mon, Becky! Is this gonna go on till we graduate?
It has to. I heard him to say to Mom when they thought I was asleep that if he had to, he’d transfer me to an all-girls school.
Sounds hot.
Ha ha. He means St. Ann’s boarding school. You won’t be laughing when I’m three towns away!
Don’t worry, Beck. If you transferred, I’d go to St. Vincent’s.
But what about all our friends? And we won’t get any real time alone together. My cousin goes there and said those nuns watch you like hawks.
Wow. My eyes were killing me from reading his screen from my desk. I had to digest it all. So they were still together behind her father’s back. It seemed kind of tenuous. If they broke up, then I’d have Chuck to myself. Well, let’s just say I’d have more of an opportunity to get Chuck to myself. But I couldn’t see myself ratting them out to her father just to give me an opening. Even I wasn’t that devious. Besides, Spencer would have a field day describing the karma I’d get. Maybe I just needed to be patient and let nature take its course. But it was already October, and I vowed this year would be different! This is supposed to be the year of my first kiss. I’m almost sixteen! I’ve watched the Chuck and Becky video many times, fantasizing that I was the one in his embrace, and it’s time for my fantasy to become a reality. I let my mind wander. How cool would it be to date Chuck? If anyone made fun of us, he’d kick their butt. Also, I’d finally be in the popular group, and judging from what I’ve seen of his make-out technique, my first kiss would be full of fireworks. Of course, I’d feel a little bad for Becky when their thing ends. She’s actually a great girl. She’s one of the few popular ones who’s nice to everyone. Even me. We’re both in my favorite class together (theater, natch), and we had a great time last week when we were teamed up together to work on stage kissing. PS, it’s easy: If you’re the guy, you put your lips to the side of the girl’s face and turn her away from the audience so it looks like you’re both going at it, but no lips actually touch.
I sat there trying to figure out a way to get to Chuck without being directly responsible for their breakup. Every scenario ended with me getting some divine retribution that caused both mental and physical pain. Why did I ever let Spencer explain karma to me?
Finally, I got it! I’d always been too scared to talk to him, but I realized that I could ease myself into his life without having to actually walk up to him and start an awkward conversation. I knew his screen name from looking over his shoulder.
I quickly typed: Hi, Chuck! It’s Justin! What’s today’s French homework? Forgot! :)
Chuck looked shocked when it appeared on his screen.
He angrily typed: Who are you?
I quickly sent: Look behind you!
He turned.
He turned back.
Who are you?
Oh.
I guess I wasn’t quite on his radar.
I reminded him: I’m Justin. I’m in your French class.
He kept staring at the screen.
I added: I was in it last year, too.
No movement.
I sort of got in trouble today for rapping.
He finally started typing: Are you that kid barely wearing the towel in the YouTube video?
That’s not the image I wanted in his head, but at least he recognized me.
Yes.
Dude, do some crunches.
Ouch! This wasn’t going as planned.
Suddenly, the bell rang. Chuck and Becky signed off and started walking out. Mothereffer! OK, the good news was that I finally conversed with Chuck. Now I had to move to the next level and do it while actually talking. I got my coat on and started running out of the room.
“Justin, wait for me!” It was Pamela, but she was busy wrapping up all of her fifty inches of hair to put underneath her beret.
I’ve seen this process before and it takes five to ten minutes. “No time!” I said, turning my head briefly, causing me to bump into Ms. Horvath’s desk.
“Ow, my sciatica!” she yelled raspily, which of course led her into a coughing fit. I had no time to wait around and read the angry note she was undoubtedly writing a rough draft of in her head.
Aha! As I raced outside, I saw the loving couple on the front steps of the school. Uh-oh, I thought as I skidded to a stop. Once I reached them, what would I do? Even if I asked Chuck for the homework assignment again, I’d get the answer in ten seconds. I needed a reason to hang out with them. I suddenly thought of one as I saw Becky pick up her cell phone and start dialing.
“Hey!” I panted as I walked over and stood next to them. “If either of you needs a lift home, my mom’s coming for me.”
Becky hung up her cell. “That’s sweet of you, Justin.” She looked over at Chuck, who shook his head, and then said, “I don’t think Chuck does ’cause he lives right behind the school, but I’d love one. If you’re sure your mom won’t mind.”
“Not at all!” I said, proud of my quick thinking.
“Thanks,” said Becky.
Silence.
I wanted to talk to Chuck but I couldn’t think of anything to say besides “I love you.”
“Hey, Becky,” I said, t
o prevent myself from declaring something that was, perhaps, too soon to say, “congrats on that A in Advanced Bio.”
She sighed. “I had to study so much for that test my eyes still hurt.”
“Really?” I asked. “I didn’t think it was that hard.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you didn’t. You always get As in bio, even on surprise quizzes.” She laughed without humor. “Maybe my father could adopt you so you can be the doctor in the family.” She looked over at Chuck and brightened. “Hey, Justin,” she said with a wink. “Wanna practice for Mrs. Hall’s class?” Mrs. Hall was our theater teacher. I knew immediately what she meant.
“Sure!” I said.
I aggressively grabbed her and dipped her for the fake make-out.
“What the hell!” Chuck yelled.
I suddenly felt on my body two hands I had been fantasizing about touching me. Unfortunately, instead of caressing me, they were forcefully pulling me away from Becky.
“Relax, Chuck!” Becky said, laughing as I caught my breath. “We’re practicing stage kissing … for acting class. It’s not real.”
Chuck looked embarrassed … and gorgeous.
“Anyway,” she said, obviously for my benefit, “why should you care? We’re broken up.”
I already knew the real deal but didn’t comment.
Chuck nodded and said stiffly, “You’re right, Becky. We are.”
Ouch. If that was his version of convincing, maybe he was the one who needed acting class.
“OK, Becks,” he said awkwardly. “So, uh … I guess I’ll see you when that report is due. Around eleven.”
That didn’t make any sense, but I knew what his clunky cover-up really meant. I was annoyed that he was about to leave. My plan was not to wait here with Becky but to get some quality time with Chuck. I heard a car turning into the school lot. I looked and saw that it wasn’t my mom’s. It was some kind of red sports car.
My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan Page 3