Limos, Lattes and My Life on the Fringe

by Nancy N. Rue

  “Yes, about twelve times. I’m serious, Patrick. Why are we meeting with him anyway?”

  “Because Egan didn’t go for it.” Patrick caught my arm again and resumed the towing down the hall. “First he blew off my phone calls. When I finally went to his house, he told me I was a traitor and I had to choose between the campaign or my friends.” He slowed us down as we approached the office. “I asked him which ‘friends’ he meant, and he shut the door in my face.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, it bites, but either he’ll get over it or I’ll know he wasn’t my friend in the first place.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re dragging me into the principal’s office.”

  “Because we need a way to present our plan to the juniors and seniors. We’re going to see if he’ll let us speak at an assembly.”

  He pushed the door open but I yanked him back. “You’ll have a lot better luck doing this without me. Trust me. I tried this. He’s going to take one look at me and the answer’s going to be no before you even open your mouth.”

  “Not if you follow my lead. Mr. B and I go way back. Just do what I do.” He all but licked his chops. “Trust me.”

  The secretary who always viewed me with suspicion was all smiles when she saw Patrick. I wasn’t even sure she realized I was with him.

  “He’s ready for you,” she said. “You want some juice or anything?”

  Juice? I had never been offered a beverage, unless a metaphorical spit in the eye counted.

  “We’re good,” Patrick said, “unless you’re making lattes. That’s a cool watch, by the way.”

  I looked at her wrist. It actually was. But come on — flattery?

  “If you’re expecting me to compliment Mr. Baumgarten on his tie, forget about it,” I muttered to Patrick as she let us into his office.

  “Don’t say anything unless I scratch my nose,” he muttered back. “Hey, Mr. B!”

  “How’s it going, Patrick?” Mr. Baumgarten beamed at him like a grandfather at the airport.

  “I’m good. You know Tyler Bonning.”

  He nodded and gave me a polite smile. Patrick’s hand was nowhere near his nose, so I just nodded too and sat in the same seat I’d occupied before. Patrick took the one across from me, and Mr. Baumgarten pulled up a chair. The last time I’d been there he’d leaned against his desk and looked down on me like a Salem judge. It would only be a matter of minutes before he was there again, unless I kept my mouth shut. If I’d known we were coming here, I’d have brought duct tape.

  “Nice job on the article,” Mr. Baumgarten said.

  Patrick looked at me. “I had good material. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Oh?”

  Patrick scooted to the edge of his seat and told “Mr. B” everything we’d come up with on Saturday. His hands shaped each idea in the space in front of him, and his eyes sparkled and shone with the nuances. It was like watching somebody create art. I was so fascinated, I almost missed the first nose scratch.

  “Tyler can tell you where this is all coming from,” Patrick said. “She’s done all the background work.”

  Mr. Baumgarten looked at me. I tried not to focus on the doubt in his eyes.

  “I’ve done some statistical research,” I said, “but it’s my talks with some of the students that have really spurred me on.”

  I talked about Candace and Ryleigh and Noelle and Fred and Kenny. My father would have called it “anecdotal,” but to my surprise, it seemed to be working. At least Mr. Baumgarten’s scalp was still creamy white.

  When I was through, Patrick held out a hand as if I’d just flawlessly recited the entire Constitution.

  “You can see this is for real, Mr. B. It’s not just about the prom.” His finger rubbed his nose. “It’s about — what did you call it, Tyler?”

  “Helping people not only find perspective, but giving them an opportunity to raise their self-worth.”

  Apparently that made more sense to the principal than it did to my father, because, miraculously, he nodded.

  “Now see, Miss Bonning?” he said. “You’re so much more effective when you don’t come in here telling me how to do my job.”

  He was lucky Patrick was currently leaving his nostrils alone.

  “So what do you need from me?” he said.

  Patrick told him about the assembly idea, making it sound like an educational opportunity surpassing entrance into Harvard. By the time he was through, I was sure Mr. Baumgarten thought he himself had come up with the whole thing.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “We have an assembly tomorrow to go over all the end-of-the-year things. We’ll just keep the juniors and seniors after and I’ll give you ten minutes to talk about your campaign. Does that work for you?”

  “Sweet,” Patrick said.

  He went after his nose, and I said, “That will definitely give us the opportunity we need.”

  Mr. Baumgarten cocked his head. “How in the world did the two of you ever get together?”

  “I think it was fate, Mr. B,” Patrick said.

  He started for the nasal area again. Mr. Baumgarten reached behind him and pulled out a Kleenex.

  “Allergies, son?” he said. “It’s that time of year, isn’t it?”

  I managed to contain myself until we got all the way out into the hall, where I stopped and laughed until a juicy sound came out of my nose. Patrick almost doubled over.

  “Did you just snort?”

  “That was a guffaw,” I said. “Could you have been a little more obvious with the nose thing?”

  “Did it work or did it work?”

  “Uh, you were flawless.”

  “We. We were flawless. We’re a team.”

  He put up a hand to high-five me. When I slapped his palm, he held on and squeezed. I had no idea what to do with that, and I froze. Even with Patrick’s eyes inviting mine to dance, all I could do was hang there like an icicle until he let go.

  “So — um — tomorrow,” I said. “We have a lot of work to do before then.”

  “See you at lunch?”

  “Where?”

  “How ‘bout the lunchroom?”

  “Aren’t you afraid —”

  “No. So don’t even go there.”

  As he strode off down the hall he virtually owned, I wondered how I could help “going there.” Three girls from the Ruling Class were already staring openly beside the trophy case. One of them was Joanna, who, unless I missed my guess, would be going for the tissues any time now.

  But the sight of Valleri in English lifted me again. I gave her my notes to read while Ms. Dalloway took roll, and I brought her up to speed on the meeting with Mr. Baumgarten in bits and pieces between Red Badge of Courage assignments and looking up rites of passage in other cultures, which, again, had absolutely nothing to do with us. It wasn’t that hard; Ms. Dalloway seemed to be cutting me even more slack since the photo shoot.

  By the time third block was over, Valleri was totally filled in, and she’d nodded so many times in agreement I was sure she’d need a chiropractor soon.

  “Which part do you want to take in the assembly?” I said as we headed for the lunchroom.

  Her blue eyes turned to saucers. “I don’t,” she said. “I mean, not speaking. Getting up in front of people freaks me out.”

  “Really,” I said. “You seem so confident.”

  “Until I have more than five people looking at me at the same time. Even that thing about imagining the audience naked doesn’t help.” She tucked a curl behind her ear; it popped right back out. “What kind of visuals are you using?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far.”

  “I could put together a PowerPoint.”

  “The assembly’s tomorrow.”

  “I know. I do them all the time for our church. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you — “ “Tyler!”

  Valleri’s eyes graduated to dinner plates as tw
o dark arms came around my neck from behind, and a pair of hands with a ring on every finger squeezed me in.

  “Hey, Candace,” I said. “Valleri, this is my cousin.”

  Candace gave her a hug too, which Valleri returned like they were BFFs.

  “You two know each other?” I said. “No,” they said in unison.

  Candace turned to me and rubbed my forearms. “I was so proud of you when I read that thing in the paper. And that picture — you looked hot. Didn’t she look hot?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Valleri said.

  “You should wear red more often — we need to go shopping again. Ooh, you need a red prom dress. She needs one.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Valleri said.

  “Okay, speaking of dresses,” I said. “Did you get yours yet?”

  Candace was immediately despondent. “No. I still don’t have the money for what I want.”

  I bit back a warning that a gown wouldn’t fit in her purse. “What if there was an almost-free way to get a fabulous dress?”

  I described our idea for a “dress shop” and found myself shaping the whole thing with my hands. I didn’t have Patrick’s finesse — I actually felt a little bit like a robot — but she watched, mouth slightly open in concentration.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “I think I’d feel like a charity case.”

  I turned my head to see Ryleigh standing at Valleri’s elbow. Noelle and Fred were right behind her.

  “Why don’t I just raise my hand and say, ‘Hey, I’m poor. How ‘bout a dress for me?’”

  “Anybody can get one,” I said. “It’s not just for —”

  “The Kmart Kids?”

  I took in a sharp breath.

  “You think we don’t know people call us that?” Ryleigh said.

  “Do I look like I shop at Hollister?” Valleri said, voice quiet. “It’s not about that.”

  I actually could have hugged her at that point. “And there’s more to it than that,” I said. “We’re having a contest for a free tux rental, and we’re getting restaurants to offer prom specials. It’s so you can have everything you said you wanted.”

  Ryleigh shrugged and shifted her eyes to the wall just beyond my shoulder. I looked at Candace, but she had already closed her face off. Noelle and Fred were whispering to each other. I could feel my spirit sinking.

  “It still seems like the Goodwill Prom or something,” Ryleigh said.

  Valleri nudged me. “I think he’s waiting for us.”

  Ryleigh followed my gaze to Patrick, who was waving from the cafeteria door.

  “He’s in on it?” she said. “Now I know it’s going to be the Charity Ball. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  When we got to the corner table Patrick was saving for us, he pushed two pieces of pizza on grease-soaked paper plates into our places.

  “I just lost my appetite,” I said.

  Valleri and I told him about Ryleigh’s reaction.

  “Maybe if you had explained it, it would have been different,” I said to Patrick.

  “Or maybe the plan just needs more work.”

  “We have to present it tomorrow!”

  “Then where’s the notebook?” he said, nodding and grinning toward my bag.

  I pulled out the spiral, but I felt like somebody had stuck a pin in my party balloon. Just when I was starting to see the magic in balloons.

  “Uh, here they come again,” Valleri whispered.

  I expected to see Joanna — Alyssa — Egan — somebody with the proverbial pin, but it was Noelle and Fred, minus Ryleigh.

  “Could we talk to you?” Noelle said. She looked like she was asking for an audience with the pope.

  “Absolutely,” Patrick said. He stood up and motioned for her to take his chair.

  There was no way he just did that. The only guy I’d ever seen give up his chair for a female was my father. Noelle didn’t seem to know what her next move was supposed to be. Fred jerked his chin at her, a splotch of red forming on each cheekbone. Evidently he’d never done that for her, either.

  “We just wanted to talk to you about the prom thing,” Fred said.

  “I got it,” I said. “You don’t want to be a charity case.”

  “See, that was just Ryleigh.” Noelle looked at Fred. “We don’t think that’s what you’re trying to do at all. I’m not too proud to take a nice dress if somebody wants to give it away.”

  “But what about everybody else?” I said.

  “We kind of had an idea about that?” Noelle said.

  I was still deciding if that was a question or a statement when Patrick leaned on the table and said, “Talk to us.” He glanced at me; I touched my nose, and he nodded. Time to shut up and let him do his thing.

  “So what if — “ Fred said.

  “And we’re just saying ‘what if,’ “ Noelle put in.

  “What if it wasn’t totally free? Say you had to, like, earn a coupon by doing something?”

  “You mean, to help the whole campaign,” Patrick said.

  Noelle nodded. “Maybe it wouldn’t be anything big, just, like, a bottle of nail polish or a lipstick or whatever somebody else might need. That way, nobody would feel like it was a total handout.”

  “That idea rocks,” Patrick said. “What do you guys think?”

  Valleri looked up from the sketchpad she’d pulled out at some point and said, “Awesome.”

  I waited for Patrick to scratch his nose before I said, “I think it has potential. Do you two want to help us flesh it out?”

  I could see Fred stiffening. Noelle pulled her shoulders in so far they almost touched each other.

  “It was just an idea,” Fred said. “You guys can work out the details.”

  “But you’ll support it, right?” Patrick said. “That’s what I’m hearing you say.”

  Valleri touched Noelle’s arm. “Would you rather we didn’t say anything about this to Ryleigh?”

  Noelle nodded. “I’m not as brave as you are. I don’t agree with her, but she’s still my best friend, and I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

  Patrick grinned at Fred. “Do you understand women?”

  “I don’t even try,” Fred said.

  He and Noelle left holding hands, and I stared after them.

  “What just happened?” I said.

  “They gave us a great idea,” Valleri said.

  “No, I mean, how did you two just make everything okay for them? How do you do that?”

  “I just think it’s a God thing,” Valleri said.

  “That’s cool.” Patrick dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. “I’m gonna get us drinks. I wish they’d put an espresso machine in here …”

  He didn’t get five feet from the table before he was accosted by Hayley. I was watching her put her face right up to his and wondering where girls learned to do that, when Valleri said, “Would you like to come to my church sometime?”

  Where had that come from?

  “No pressure,” she said quickly. She looked down at her sketchpad. “Any time you want to come, just let me know.” “Okay,” I said. I didn’t tell her about me and the bobolinks.

  By fifth block the next day, when everybody was herded into the auditorium for the assembly, Patrick, Valleri, and I were ready. We’d had to throw everything together so fast, Patrick and I didn’t get to look at the PowerPoint beforehand, but I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t even that concerned about my part. He and I had spent two hours after school over lattes — which I was starting to develop an uncanny taste for — and another hour and a half on the phone later dividing up the speaking. He said that was the best way to do it, so he wouldn’t have to be messing with his nose in front of the entire student body. I told him he was very amusing.

  The only thing that did give me anxiety — as in dry mouth, jittery knees, and more than my usual flood of sweat, even without caffeine — was wondering what kind of reaction we were going to get. So far the only pe
ople we had won over were Mr. Baumgarten, Noelle, and Fred — and Noelle had even made us swear not to tell anybody she was in. As prepared as we were, I still didn’t hold out much hope for a standing ovation.

  Patrick, on the other hand, was backstage with me, rubbing his hands together and dancing around like he had to go to the bathroom. He told me he was jazzed.

  “That makes one of us,” I said. “Aren’t you even just a little bit nervous that they’re going to start throwing stuff at us?” I shook my head. “Of course you’re not. It’s you. I bet you’ve never been made fun of in your life.”

  He didn’t give me the expected grin. In fact, he sort of squinted at me, like maybe he was experiencing a gas pain.

  “Why do you do that?” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Put yourself down. You’re, like, amazing, but you make it sound like all you do is turn people off.” “I’m starting to think I do.”

  “You don’t turn me off. I like it when you get all worked up about this and start talking like Martin Luther King.” “Martin Luther King?”

  “That was the only passionate person I could think of. You get what I mean, though.” He pushed his hair off his forehead and suddenly looked older than seventeen and more serious than Patrick Sykes. “I’m not the only one who can persuade people. You got me to stand up to kids I’ve been hanging out with since I was five. Just get up there and give them what you gave me.” The grin finally showed up. “We’ll kick some serious Ruling Class tail.”

  I didn’t know about that. But I did know the minute we went on stage to speak — and people stopped yelling the required things like, “What it is, Pat-rick?” so everybody would know they were there — Patrick and I clicked. We kept our spiel going, snapping it back and forth and never missing a beat. And even we were impressed with Valleri’s PowerPoint. Most of it was cartoons she’d obviously drawn herself to illustrate every piece of the Plan. They even got some laughs, not the ha-ha-look-at-Izzy kind, but the that-is-so-spot-on kind.

  Every time Patrick was talking, though, I checked out the crowd.

  The Fringe were incredulous. In spite of everything I’d said to them, Deidre, Matthew, and Yuri still looked at me like they were hearing the concept for the first time and were certain I’d lost my mind.