The Boy Project

by Kami Kinard

  The minute I got home

  As soon as I stepped off of the bus, my cell rang. It was Maybelline! That girl has rotten timing.

  “Hey, Kara. This is Colleen. I heard you left school upset and I just wanted to know what’s wrong. All those A’s not helping you get a boyfriend?”

  Click.

  After dinner

  After Maybelline’s call, I went straight to Mom’s craft corner, which is down in the basement along with our old sofa, old TV, and old everything else. You know, stuff that isn’t good enough to keep upstairs but is too good to throw away. I felt like breaking something, and there’s a lot of old junk stashed with the craft supplies. I grabbed a loop of wire and twisted it, twisted it, twisted it until it looked like an angry blob. But the blob also kinda looked like a fish. So I added fins and threaded a blue bead on for an eye.

  In the end, the fish looked really cool! And you know what? I felt a lot better. Mom always says that creating is a form of healing. I think she’s right!

  Bedtime. For real.

  Just got a text from Tabbi.

  Plz 4giv me.

  She’s probably afraid to call. I’m glad. I don’t want to talk to her. But I do forgive her.

  So just before I turned out the lights, after I knew her mom had taken her phone away (she’s waaay strict about bedtime), I texted Tabbi back.

  OK

  Wednesday, January 17

  First period

  Evan smiled at me when he passed by just now. At one point I would have thought this was a great sign, but now I do not.

  Lunch

  Whew. Everyone seems to have forgotten about what Tabbi said in band, probably because there’s bigger news. Phillip Bernard (of gorgeous eyebrow fame) got — and then lost — his first official girlfriend last night.

  Phillip is really cute, but he’s also so shy that he’s never actually gone out with anyone. We’ve all been wondering who he liked. Apparently, he texted Elizabeth R and asked her to go out. Then ten minutes after she said yes, he changed his mind and broke it off. With another text. Yep, they got together and broke up without seeing each other OR actually talking. Now she hates him, supposedly. I hope she wasn’t supposed to be his one and only soul mate!

  After school

  Well. I’ve certainly gathered more information on Mr. DeLacey than I ever wanted to know. I know so much about him now that I need to scrap my first index card and make a new one.

  Apparently, replacing real names with funny fake names is not equally funny to all people. At first I figured Mr. DeLacey wasn’t too upset about our prank because he acted completely normal during algebra. But after class he handed me a note that I was momentarily, I admit, just a bit excited about taking. Then I opened it.

  By the time I got to science, the note had gotten damp in my nervous, sweaty hands. But I felt a little better when I saw Chip smiling and waving his little white note like a flag of surrender. We’d underestimated what an important fueling station the teacher’s lounge is on the information highway. Mrs. Hill squealed on us!

  Somehow I could tell detention wasn’t going to be as much fun this time. I think that’s because Mr. DeLacey used the phrase “contacted your parents” in his note, and one thing’s for sure: Nothing is as much fun when your parents are involved.

  Later, in detention, I learned that in addition to being good at explaining math, Mr. DeLacey can also really deliver a lecture. And not the fun kind like Why gummy worms grow three times their size when soaked in water. The kind you usually hear coming out of a parent’s mouth. He started with what a hard job substitutes have, got louder when he asked if we knew how difficult it is to get a sub when kids don’t behave, and then veered into how extremely rude and disrespectful we were to force someone to read crude names like Monk E. Butts! (Good thing he didn’t know about the names that didn’t make the list.)

  He ended the lecture with “Do you get it now?” (Let me tell you, that phrase is never going to mean the same thing to me in algebra.) I just nodded my head and knew that I was going to have to do a lot of explaining to my mom when we got home.

  And I knew something else, too. I’d never look into those big blue eyes again and think they’re really nice. But the experience did teach me something:

  Don’t try to pull one over on a math teacher. They’re too good at figuring things out.

  Bedtime

  Mom made me hand over my cell phone as soon as we got in the car. She said instead of talking to my friends, I should be thinking about the fact that “misbehaving for a substitute is actually disrespecting the regular teacher.” I guess when she came to pick me up she saw what I used to see in Mr. DeLacey’s big blue eyes while he explained how Chip and I had “violated the teacher-student bonds of trust.” All I know is she sure was nodding a lot while he talked to her. He was probably hoping she’d lay an additional punishment on me, too. She did. Kind of. She de-phoned me.

  I don’t really mind this punishment because I’m pretty sure it just saved the life of my cell phone. I swear I’m going to throw it in the toilet if Tabbi calls me one more time to tell me that Evan Carlson is perfect and that she is absolutely positively in love. She thinks it’s “the real thing.” They have now been together for the six longest days of my life.

  I don’t want to think about it. Instead, I’ll think about the fact that a ton of middle-school romances last less than a week. So there’s a pretty good chance that one day they’ll break up. Maybe tomorrow, even. Then I’ll still have a chance with Evan. Because, you know, you never know. . . .

  Thursday, January 18

  Fourth period

  Dear Mr. DeLacey,

  I know what you’re doing even though I’m not looking at you. I try to avoid looking at you now because I’ve realized your soul is mean. And somehow seeing the mean side of a person’s soul changes the way his face looks, too. That’s right. The number of girls in our class who think you are cute has just been reduced by one. You do the math!

  I know what you’re doing because you do the same exact things every day. I can hear the drrrrrrrrrr of your right-hand desk drawer, so I know you’re putting away your thermal lunch bag. Now I hear steps. You’re walking to the file cabinet to get out lesson plans. You just walked back across the room and stopped, which means you’re placing them in the middle of your very clean desk. Click! The top drawer of your desk has just closed, which means you’ve pulled out a green ballpoint pen and are scribbling a green circle on the note cube on your desk.

  In my eyes you’ve changed, Mr. DeLacey, but you’re still following the same old routine. And now that I’m not watching you follow it anymore, I have time to do other things. Like describe how torturous lunch period has become. See, Tabbi is determined to prove her loyalty to me by making sure I still sit with her even though she’s sitting with the guy I secretly like. It is more torturous than afternoon detention with you. More torturous than having to eat Mimi’s asparagus soup “or else,” and that’s something I have to choke down one tiny little mouthful at a time. Not that you care about love and relationships and how painful it is to have your best friend drooling over your crush while all you have to drool over is your PB&J. If you cared about stuff like that you’d probably be married by now. And you’d be nicer.

  When I’m with Tabs and Evan, my only option is to focus on something else. Unfortunately, there aren’t many great things to look at in the cafeteria. Today I observed The Vine and James sneaking a kiss when the teacher on duty was writing up a kid for dumping food on his friend. Mashed potatoes look bad enough when they’re served in a section of green plastic tray. They look even worse when they’re served on a bed of human hair. Yet even that sight is more appetizing than The Vine and James intertwined. (Asparagus soup is more appetizing than that!) So I looked away and spotted Richie.

  I haven’t done any unobtrusive observati
ons of Richie yet, so I watched him for a while.

  He always smiles! (Maybe if you took a moment to study him, some of that smiling would rub off on you.) Richie smiles when he knows the answers in class. He smiles when he doesn’t. He’s been smiling since he moved here, but he doesn’t talk much.

  It’s hard to image how Richie could possibly be my one and only true soul mate, because we don’t hang out in the same group at all and we’ve never really talked. But I need to include him in my research. Because, like I always say . . . you never know.

  I’m still not looking at you, Mr. DeLacey, but I can tell you’re ready to start class because you’re tapping that green pen against your palm. Time to pull out the algebra homework.

  Signed, but never to be delivered by,

  Kara McAllister

  P.S. You can give me those surveys for my science fair project any time now.

  Sixth period

  We have a sub in band, which is great because most subs don’t know anything about waving a baton. (Heck, most people don’t know anything about waving a baton.) So we’re basically having study hall in the band room. I’ve been trying to concentrate on solving for x, but thinking about algebra makes me think about Mr. DeLacey, which makes me think about my science project surveys, which makes me think about the fact that Mr. DeLacey hasn’t given them back to me, which makes me think about how I’m afraid to ask for them since he was so angry about the funny fake-name list and all. But the clock is ticking (< three weeks until the due date) and I need to get them in time to create a chart and a science board. I’ll ask for them right after school. I won’t be afraid. I won’t be afraid. . . .

  Bus ride home

  So after school, I asked Mr. DeLacey in my sweetest possible voice if he’d had time to distribute my surveys.

  He said, “Yes, Kara, I took your little ‘survey.’ ” When he said “survey,” he used air quotes. I hate air quotes. Nothing good ever happens between air quotes.

  “Can you give them back to me so I can finish my project?” I asked.

  Mr. DeLacey turned his back to me and acted like he was straightening his desk, but come on, he has the neatest desk you’ve ever seen. It probably qualifies as a sterile environment. Like, surgery could be performed on that desk. “No,” he said to his desk.

  I didn’t think I’d heard him right. “When can I get them?” I asked.

  “Kara, you need to accept the fact that there’s nothing scientific about those surveys. Take my advice and come up with a new project. You’ll thank me when you get a grade higher than an F.”

  At that point, I was glad Mr. DeLacey had his back to me because water was pooling in my eyes. I couldn’t tell whether anger or embarrassment caused this reaction. See, I don’t think Mr. DeLacey was acting purely in my best interests to help me make a better science grade. I think he was being a jerk because he could be. Because he is a teacher and I am not, and he is mad that I embarrassed him in front of the substitute. Or maybe he’s just a mean person who’s only nice if you do everything one-hundred-percent exactly right. Maybe that’s why he’s still single. I don’t know. Do mean people get to have soul mates?

  After dinner

  Mom and Dad always want us to tell them about our day when we have family dinners, which my mom likes to think happens every night. Actually, we only all manage to make it around the table three or four nights a week. Of course the number of nights I’m present, unfortunately, is something close to . . . I’d say . . . every single night. But Julie is so busy with track and her fabulous social life that she doesn’t frequent the McAllister Café as often as I do. Lucky me.

  Tonight, though, I was looking forward to the discussion because I wanted to get my dad’s take on Mr. DeLacey and my STOLEN surveys. Even if I can’t use them for a science fair project, they contain valuable information — especially if they prove my Hidden Agenda Soul Mate Project Hypothesis correct! I need them! And I figured my dad would know how I could get them back.

  Dad is an attorney. But he’s not the kind of attorney that makes a lot of money. See, he works for a human rights organization, and humanity is not a very valuable commodity compared to something like real estate. But why is humanity more important than his own flesh and blood? Well, at least he still gives me useful advice. Sometimes.

  As soon as we started passing the food, I told the Evil DeLacey Survey Stealer story.

  Julie said, “Mr. DeLacey? Isn’t that the teacher you think is so cute?”

  Thanks, Julie. I so appreciate your contribution to getting Mom and Dad to take my conversation seriously. And why’d you have to be home for dinner tonight of all nights?

  But luckily, Dad had his advice ready and he started giving it before I was forced to answer Julie’s dumb question. Not that she really needed the answer. She knew it before she asked.

  Anyway, Dad said, “You get the answers you want if you ask the right questions.”

  I gave him the usual response. “Huh?”

  “Just walk up to Mr. DeLacey and politely ask, ‘Is it legal for you to keep my surveys, which are my property, if I ask you for them back?’ ”

  “You really think I have the guts to do that?”

  “Depends on how bad you want the surveys.”

  I want them bad. Tune in tomorrow to see if it’s bad enough. . . .

  Friday, January 19

  Sixth period

  I now have the surveys in my hands and the memory of the look in Mr. DeLacey’s burning ice-blue eyes (after I asked the “Is it legal?” question) seared into my brain. I sure hope he doesn’t know how to make voodoo dolls or anything.

  After school

  Tabbi asked if I wanted to go out to eat pizza and go to a movie with her and Evan. Um . . . NO! I’d rather eat asparagus soup at Mimi’s. Besides, I really want to finish compiling my surveys. I’m done with the girls’ one. The results turned out a little differently than I expected.

  I thought that most of the girls would have circled at least eight or nine of the same letter, so that they would clearly fall into one group or the other. But that’s not what happened at all. A lot of girls picked almost even combinations of letters, like four As, three Bs, and three Cs. When that happened, I would put them in whatever group they had most of, but it made me wonder: Is a girl really Type A if she only picks four A answers? Maybe my test needed to have more questions.

  Out of sixty-three girls, here is the number of girls in each type:

  Type A: 22

  Type B: 13

  Type C: 28

  By the way, almost no one thinks their friends describe them as unusual (think again, girls!) and almost everyone has a cool laptop on their desk at home. Right.

  Late. Too late. So late it’s almost early. Too early.

  Well, I compiled the results of the boys’ survey. Then I did it again to make sure I’d calculated right the first time. Unfortunately, I had. Mr. D may be a jerk, but he has to be right about one thing. This “survey” (imagine air quotes around preceding word) cannot possibly be scientifically accurate! No way! Because here are what the results look like:

  And that’s not even the bad news! The bad news is that of the subjects who were secretly identified using my seating chart + number-for-initials code, here are the ones who liked Type B girls: Jonah Nate, Alex Langford, and Mr. D (I know because it was the only one in green ink). Only three! Since I’ve already ruled all three of those guys out as potential soul mates, this survey is just as worthless to my soul mate project as it is to my science fair project. Ugh! Now I have to come up with a totally new idea!

  Saturday, January 20

  Afternoon

  At least this week’s advice from Bebe gave me something to do for a change. Here is her latest e-mail:

  To: Kara M

  From: BebeTruelove <
bebe@bebetruelove.com>

  Subject: Tip #3

  Dear Soul Mate Seeker,

  Know what you want! Think about the qualities you would like to find in a soul mate. Now make a list. Once you know what you are looking for, it will be easier to find.

  Tip #3: Know what you want!

  Good Luck in Love,

  Bebe

  Buy Bebe’s Book!

  Don’t know what you want? Try reading Great Soul Mates. Bebe’s newest book has just been released by Truelove Publishing, Inc. Click here to order now! ♥ Great Soul Mates ♥

  (Must be 18 years of age to order.)

  Okay, Bebe. I can handle that one!

  The Perfect Soul Mate: A List

  by Kara McAllister

  My one and only soul mate will

  1. be a nice person.

  2. have a sense of humor.

  3. like to read.

  4. appreciate art.

  5. think I’m great.

  Well, that’s all I have so far. But that’s only because I don’t know enough about kissing or anything to have added “be a good kisser” for number 6.

  Sunday, January 21

  Bedtime

  Until around 3:30 this afternoon, there was only one word I could use to describe my weekend: depressing!

  My survey results were disastrous. My best friend is with the only guy I liked. And judging by the height-challenged middle column in the chart I made, I, Kara McAllister, am apparently the least attractive type of girl possible to the opposite sex.