“Oh no!” said Becky in a frightened whisper. “It’s my father!”
“I thought his car was broken,” I said.
“He’s driving my mother’s car. She must have come home early.”
She suddenly looked at me and we both realized that she never told me about her father’s car being in the shop. I had read it on Chuck’s computer screen.
She looked at me quizzically. “How did you know—”
“Becky!” Her dad walked up with a big smile. He was an imposing six foot three with a youthful, handsome face but completely silver hair. “I’m so glad I caught you. You called a cab—”
He cut off abruptly when he saw Chuck. He turned toward Becky. His whole face changed. What had been open and friendly was now closed and steaming mad.
“What is he doing here?” he demanded.
“He’s a student in this school, Dad!” Becky said, exasperated.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. You know that your mother and I forbade you from seeing him anymore.”
Chuck stepped up to her father. “Dr. Phillips, we broke up last June like you wanted. We just happened to have detention today.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You also just happened to be at Ben and Jerry’s that night I saw both of you. And at the Gap. And at the footbridge by the lake.”
Becky looked nervous. “Dad, stop! Chuck lives in this town. I can’t help it if he sometimes goes for ice cream or to the mall.”
Her father was silent. Then it looked like he made a decision.
“No, Becky, you can’t control the fact that he’s always nearby. However, I can.” He pointed his finger at her. “I’m taking you out of this school and enrolling you somewhere you can focus on your academics and not on the local quarterback.”
Becky looked stricken. So did I. If she transferred, it meant that Chuck would transfer, too. I couldn’t lose my boyfriend before I stole him.
“Dr. Phillips,” I said desperately, “you have to believe that Becky isn’t dating Chuck anymore.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Aren’t you Dr. Goldblatt’s son?”
I smiled. “Yes, sir. I am.”
He looked pleased. “I see your father at conferences often. Apparently”—he winked at me—“you’re a bio whiz.”
Oy. I hated it when my father bragged about my bio grades. Especially since I didn’t care about that crap at all. I wanted the Great White Way, not the alimentary canal.
He looked me up and down. “You’re a nice kid. Academically sound, obviously a gentleman … unlike some students.” He glared at Chuck and then looked back at me. “But why should I believe you?”
I looked at Chuck. He looked blank.
I looked at Becky. She looked devastated.
I realized what I had to do.
I stood next to Becky. “I know for a fact that Becky is through dating Chuck because”—I gave Becky an intense look, hoping she knew where I was going with this—“your daughter is now dating me!”
I turned toward her and immediately pulled her into our stage kiss. We held it for ten seconds and disengaged. Becky grabbed my hand and turned toward her father.
He was smiling.
RIGHT AFTER I “KISSED” BECKY, I said a quick goodbye to her and excused myself to her dad by saying that I had a big bio exam to study for. I called my mom and told her I didn’t need a lift, and sprinted home. I had to make an emergency escape before her dad could question me. What if he asked me if I was serious about Becky? Or if we were going to the Spring Fling together? I didn’t want to give the wrong answer, so I skedaddled. I assumed her dad would very quickly see through our charade, but hopefully I had impressed Chuck with my quick thinking so that he’d feel he owed me something … something like a night on the town or a severe make-out session.
I stayed in my room for hours waiting for the phone to ring, my thoughts alternating between fear of Dr. Phillips yelling at me for lying and hope that Chuck would want to thank me. Finally I decided to go to bed and fell asleep replaying everything that had happened in front of the school, sometimes substituting Chuck’s face for Becky’s in the final embrace. And by “sometimes” I mean “every time.”
Walking to school the next morning, I saw Becky waiting in front of the Roasted Bean.
“Here,” she said with a big grin while holding out a large to-go cup.
I took a sip and smiled. “How’d you know I love vanilla lattes?”
“How would I not know what my boyfriend drinks?” she asked.
Ha ha. I thought it was sweet that she wanted to thank me for yesterday.
I took another sip. Wow! She even put in six packets of Sugar in the Raw, just the way I like it. “OK, spill. How long did it take your father to figure it out?”
She laughed-snorted. “Are you kidding me? He’s so desperate for me to be with a future doctor, he’d believe I was dating Dr. Phil.”
She clutched my hand.
Wait a minute. Did she think we were dating?
She looked apologetic. “I know you usually like a double shot in the latte, but I ran out of money.”
What was happening? How did she know so much about me? Was I starring in an M. Night Shyamalan flick? And is that how you spell his last name? And does the M. stand for “Mid”?
She laughed. “Don’t look so scared. Chuck and I went to your Facebook page last night, and he quizzed me until I memorized everything.” She started counting off things on her fingers. “Favorite drink: vanilla latte. Favorite all-time comedienne: Lucille Ball. Favorite all-time Broadway star: Patti LuPone.”
Not quite …
“… tied with Betty Buckley.”
Wow! She was good. “I’m impressed!” I said. “And confused.”
She grabbed my hand again. “Listen, Justin,” she said as we started walking, “I know it’s a big imposition, but if you and I could pretend that we’re dating, even for just a little while, it would really help me out.” Her pleading face looked so beautiful in the early-morning sunlight, I could see why Chuck loved her. “If my dad thinks we’re dating, he won’t keep checking up on me.”
The latte started to make sense. “I get it now. You were memorizing my Facebook profile so if your dad asks you questions about me, you’ll know how to answer.”
Her eyes lit up—that is, they went from shining to sparkling. “Exactly!”
We passed by the park where Spencer and I first revealed to each other that we were gay. There was a group of young moms wheeling their babies in expensive carriages while wearing designer sweatpants and ankle weights.
I thought about it. I liked her. She’d always been nice to me. But I didn’t feel like spending a month, or however long she wanted, tricking her dad. It would definitely require some work on my part and take me away from my real goals—leaving my loser status and snagging Chuck. How would being her pretend boyfriend help me become his real one?
She kept talking. “Every time I leave the house, I’m scrutinized. But if my dad thinks I’m meeting you, he won’t care. I can go out every night.”
“And you’ll meet Chuck instead,” I said enviously.
“Well, I’ll meet both of you.”
WHAT?
“Both of us?” I managed to get out.
“Well, I can say I’m meeting you for dinner with some friends. Those ‘friends’ will be Chuck.”
I’d be hanging out with Chuck every night? “Um …,” I said slowly. I didn’t want to sound too desperate. Plus it’s hard to talk with drool in your mouth.
I swallowed. “What if your dad finds out Chuck is with us?”
She shook her head. “I actually don’t think he’d care. He is so certain you’re perfect for me, an actual bio whiz, he couldn’t imagine I’d still be interested in Chuck.” She looked me up and down. “You represent total trustworthiness to him. I don’t think he sees you as a threat to my virginity.”
That was truer than he even thought.
“A
s long as people think we’re dating, he’ll let me off his tight leash.”
“What do you mean ‘people’? Who besides your parents?”
“Justin! The only way to make this valid is for everyone to believe it … not just my dad.”
All the kids in school were supposed to believe I’m dating Becky? I’m known as the school poster boy for gayness. And out-of-shapeness. No one would believe that Becky was into me.
She snapped in front of my face to bring me out of my trance. “I know what you’re thinking, and we just have to do that Nazi shtick.”
What? I’m Jewish! I’m certainly willing to pretend I’m straight to gain popularity, but a member of the Third Reich? Am I that desperate?
“What kind of a Nazi shtick?” I asked. “The fun Mel Brooks kind? Or the unfun Joseph Goebbels kind?”
Becky laughed. And an angel got her wings. “I don’t literally mean be a Nazi, silly!” She said it kind of loudly, prompting a glare from a passing elderly couple. “I mean we have to adopt that technique we just learned about in social studies.”
Oh! She meant the Nazi Big Lie technique. The Nazis would make up a lie and repeat it over and over fervently, without wavering, until people started believing it. We also learned that it was a technique used by our own Bush administration. Hmm … I guess that was one way they kicked it old-school. I tried it only once on my mom (“I was not on YouTube watching old Tony Award clips until three a.m. on a school night!”) but discovered that it doesn’t work when your mom literally walks in on you watching said Tony Award clips at three a.m. on a school night. That was my only foray into using that technique and it had failed miserably. Dare I try it again? Would any kid in this school buy me as being straight? Or believe that Becky would choose me after the hotness that is Chuck?
As if Becky read my mind, she said, “Let’s see if it works. Here comes Savannah Lichtenstein.”
Savannah is wealthy and gorgeous, with perfectly highlighted blond hair, but despite her money and looks, she’s stuck in a high-middle social echelon because her mom fancies herself an undiscovered designer and makes all of Savannah’s school outfits. Her clothes are actually always great-looking but obviously never have any of the designer labels that the girls at our school covet. In fact, the only label her clothes sport is a big Lichtenstein that her mother sews onto every outfit, always in a different spot. It doesn’t quite carry the same clout as, say, Versace. But it does have almost double the letters for maximum awkwardness. This time I spotted the Lichtenstein on the bottom left cuff of her flared pants. She was coming down the block perpendicular to us and we were all approaching the same corner.
“Hey, Savannah!” Becky said as she waved.
“Hey, Becky …”
As Savannah walked up to us, I could tell she trying to decide whether to just say hello to Becky or if she also had to say hello to me. If I had just happened to walk by at that moment, she would have ignored me, but since I really was walking with Becky, she knew she had to acknowledge me. She looked back and forth between Becky and me and suddenly—
“Hi, Justin,” she finally said.
Wow. Already my social standing went up a notch. I don’t think Savannah’s spoken to me since the sixth-grade production of Grease. And that was only onstage because she was Frenchie to my Doody. Before “Hi, Justin,” the last words she spoke directly to me were “Sandy and Danny belong together!”
Becky admired her outfit. “I love the flare in the pants, don’t you?”
“My mom—” Savannah started to answer, but then realized that Becky was asking me.
I let the moment of shock register on her face and then turned toward Becky and answered, “Yeah … very eighties.”
Becky playfully hit my arm. “Seventies, you ninny!” She turned to Savannah and pointed at me playfully. “This one doesn’t know anything about fashion.” She grabbed my hand. “Thank God he’s so cute.”
Savannah’s face was frozen, mouth agape and upper eyelids as far away from the lower lids as possible. Becky ignored the fact that Savannah’s eyes were now as flared as her pants and asked her, “You wanna walk to school with us?”
“With … both of you?” she asked. She looked at our intertwined hands. “I didn’t know you guys were …” She faded out. She started again. “Are you guys …?” Needing clarification, she spoke slowly. “Shouldn’t we wait for Chuck?”
“For what?” asked Becky, with a combination of innocence, sweetness, and a sprinkling of pixie dust.
Savannah was now acting as if a gasket had blown inside her logic area. She kept opening and closing her mouth and finally sputtered, “Aren’t you …? Isn’t Chuck your …?”
“My boyfriend?” Becky finished the sentence for her. “Not for a loooong time. Where have you been?” She laughed with a slightly mocking edge to make Savannah feel out of the loop.
“But you faked—” Savannah lowered her voice. “I know you pretended to break up last year to get your father off your case.…”
Becky nodded.
“But,” Savannah continued, “I thought you were still dating.”
Becky looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Savannah, Chuck and I broke up for real back in …” She let her sentence die off and then laughed. “I’ve been dating Justin for a while now. I can’t believe you didn’t know.” She gave Savannah a slightly pitying shake of her head.
“I had no i— I mean, no one told me.…” Savannah didn’t know how to play it. Up until one minute ago, she had thought Chuck and Becky were still secretly dating. But now, if she acknowledged that she had no idea about Becky dating me, it would imply that she wasn’t hanging out with the “cool” kids who supposedly did know. I could see her make a decision in her mind.
Savannah motioned toward both of us. “I mean, I knew about you and Justin.…”
She did?
“I just didn’t know how serious it was.” She smiled warmly.
Becky kissed my cheek. “It’s very serious.”
Savannah grinned. “Duh!”
Wow. I was in awe of Becky’s technique. She just made a person claim they had always known something that had, in fact, never been true. I guess having a crazy father whom you’re constantly trying to trick has some benefits.
We started walking toward school, and I could tell Savannah was super-happy to be included in Becky’s presence. I felt the same way. It was a little like walking with the queen. Everyone smiled and waved as we passed … which was then followed by a double take when they saw Becky holding hands with me.
“What’s your social studies report gonna be about?” Savannah asked. “I’m doing the Civil War.”
I waited for Becky to answer. Then I realized they were both staring at me. Savannah was talking to me—uninitiated!
Immobilization overtook me. I wasn’t really sure how to chat with someone who was in a higher social stratum than myself. I’m used to having conversations with those in my own lowly status and being ignored by everyone else. I decided to answer like I normally would.
“I’m doing a report on McCarthyism in the fifties.”
“Oh …,” she said, trailing off.
Silence. UGH! I was so annoyed with myself! I finally had a chance to converse with someone who wasn’t considered a total loser by the whole school and I was blowing it. I felt like I was solidifying my lowly social standing. How could I make her think I had risen in the ranks? In my head, I ran through conversations I had eavesdropped on in the past. Hmm … it seemed the people at the top always had a certain style when they spoke to anyone lower than them. I decided to give it a try. “You’re doing the Civil War?” I asked while adopting a slight sneer. “Why’d you pick something stupid like that?”
Was I doing it right?
“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m an idiot sometimes.”
That was it! I had to be a little mean to show I was above her. Then she’d wanna keep talking.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t
know what I was thinking. Maybe I can still switch. What do you think I should write about?”
Uh-oh. In reality, I thought the Civil War was fascinating, so I didn’t have an immediate follow-up. “Um …” I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “The Nazi Big Lie technique.”
Becky quickly joined in the conversation. “Oh, just ignore him, Savannah. He thinks everything’s boring if it doesn’t involve biology.”
“Or Broadway,” I added.
“Or girls!” Becky added, probably to counteract my last comment. I didn’t know how that Nazi big lie was gonna fly until Savannah laughed and said, “Typical guy.”
Typical guy?! I’d always been the outcast, the loser, the weirdo. Never “typical.” My life seemed to be on a completely new path, and I was going to stay on it! God bless Mr. Plotnick’s social studies class. Because if we hadn’t spent that week on World War II, Becky and I wouldn’t have learned the theory that if you state something with full confidence, even a blatant lie, people will believe you.
Wow. I never imagined I would one day say this, but … thank you, Nazis!
COINCIDENTALLY, MY FIRST CLASS WAS social studies and nothing seemed different—aka I was ignored by the cool/popular/smart kids and harassed by the Doug Gool group. Today, class started with a lesson about World War II’s Axis of Evil, and not surprisingly, Doug taped a note to the back of my seat that said “Axis of Gayvil.” World War II has been especially ripe for Doug to find harassment material. Besides learning the Nazi Big Lie technique over the last few weeks, we also learned about the airplane that dropped the atomic bomb: the devastatingly named (for me) Enola Gay. As soon as class was out that day, Doug and his friends started calling me “Enola.” I, of course, made the mistake of asking them not to call me that, so they offered to be more polite and started calling me Miss Gay. I knew if I protested “Miss Gay,” it would then become “Ms. Gay,” so I quit before I was addressed as a feminist.
At the beginning of class, I saw Doug put a piece of chocolate on Mary Ann Cortale’s (the guidance counselor’s daughter) seat, and she sat down without seeing it. We spent the second half of class learning about Hitler’s girlfriend (Eva Braun). When the bell rang, Mary Ann got up with the chocolate flattened all across the left butt cheek of one of her two signature outfits. On the way out, I braced myself for a Doug Gool onslaught but thankfully he forgot about the Axis of Gayvil and instead stood behind Mary Ann and said, “Look, everyone. It’s Eva Brown!” Doug’s two cronies high-fived him and some kids not in Doug’s group started to laugh, too. Mary Ann looked around, confused. She knew they were making fun of her but didn’t know why, because she couldn’t see the chocolate. I didn’t want to attract any Doug attention, plus I was dying to know if word of my “relationship” with Becky had spread, so I started to sneak out.
My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan Page 4