Invasion of the Boy Snatchers

by Lisi Harrison

  “Do I look like Bozo?” He touched his nose lightly. It was so swollen, his full lips seemed tiny.

  “You wish,” Massie said.

  Derrington chuckled and then held his jaw. “Ow.”

  Massie clenched her teeth to stop herself from smiling. She didn’t want Derrington to know she was happy he’d laughed at her joke.

  The crowd started booing. Massie assumed Grayson had scored another goal.

  Derrington looked down at his brown Pumas and rubbed his forehead until his sweaty bangs stuck straight up in the air.

  Why did she find him so ahdorable? He was actually kind of dirty.

  “It wasn’t even worth it.” Derrington lifted his hands toward his chest and yanked on the straps of his backpack.

  Massie had no idea what he was talking about.

  When she didn’t respond, he raised his eyes without lifting his head and looked at her.

  “What?” Massie knew she sounded impatient but didn’t care. She had every right to. “What wasn’t worth it?”

  “The Spanish soccer spell,” Derrington said flatly, as if Massie should have known exactly what he was talking about.

  “Are you poor?” Massie asked.

  “No,” Derrington said. “Why?”

  “Because you’re not making any cents,” Massie said.

  Derrington grabbed his jaw again when he smiled.

  “You know, the spell Nina put on me, Cam, and Josh before the game,” he explained.

  Massie shook her head.

  “We couldn’t talk to our … . Well, you know, we couldn’t talk to you guys before the game. If we did, we’d lose the finals. If we stayed away from you, we’d win. It’s the same spell Becks uses.”

  “Huh?” was all Massie could say. Her brain was trying to catch up to his mouth.

  “Apparently David Beckham doesn’t talk to Posh Spice for weeks before a big game. But it works for him. It totally didn’t work for us. Grayson is kicking our butts.” He paused. “And my face.”

  “You actually bought that?” Massie wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug Derrington or smack him for being so stupid.

  “What do you mean?” Derrington asked. “Nina said you, Claire, and Alicia were all for it.”

  “Oh yeah. We were. You know, if it works for Beckham, then …” Massie let her voice trail off. There was nothing left to say. Everything suddenly made sense.

  “Except it didn’t work for us,” Derrington mumbled. His brown eyes looked childlike and sad. “Not only are we losing the game, but I’ll never get the MVP pin now that I’ve been taken out.

  “And we couldn’t go to the dance together.” Massie couldn’t resist.

  “Yeah,” Derrington said. “That was the worst part.”

  That was all he needed to say. Massie’s insides started to tingle, like an electrical current was running through her veins making her feel alive and squirmy at the same time.

  “At least you won the Cupid Award.”

  “Oh yeah.” Derrington slid his backpack off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. “I almost forgot.” He reached inside and pulled out the gold statue. “This belongs to you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.” Massie grabbed the cold statue from his warm hands. Then her smile faded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that … well, no one will know I have it. So it’s not like I really won it.”

  “You’ll know.” Derrington put his hand on his heart. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It would be if this was the end of a cheesy Disney movie,” Massie said.

  Derrington chuckled with his mouth closed and Massie could tell he was hurt.

  “OMG, I’m totally kidding,” she lied. “Of course it’s enough.” She reached for the M brooch on her lapel and unpinned it. Then she leaned in toward Derrington and grabbed him by his soccer jersey. It was wet with sweat, but she pinned it on him anyway.

  “What’s this?” Derrington pulled his shirt away from his chest and looked down at the brooch.

  “It’s your MVP pin. Just without the V or the P. Its way cuter than the boring silver ones your coach gives out.”

  “Thanks.” Derrington managed to smile without holding his face. “I’ll wear it forever.”

  “Promise?” Massie asked.

  “Promise,” Derrington said.

  And she believed him.

  BRIARWOOD ACADEMY

  THE FINALS

  Saturday, February 14th 3:02 P.M.

  There was a spilt second between the time when their faces met and their lips actually touched, during which Claire was strangely aware of her thoughts.

  Should I tilt my head first and then close my eyes? Or close, then tilt? How will Massie react when she finds out? How many times will I be asked to retell this story? Will anyone believe me? What are the chances of his lips tasting like grape Big League Chew? Am I supposed to stick my tongue out now? What about now? What about—?

  Suddenly the questions fell away and Claire’s entire body felt like it was filling up with hot maple syrup. She was actually pressing her lips against his. It was happening. It was totally happening.

  So what if they weren’t at a Valentine’s Day dance. So what if he was shorter. So what if his armpits smelled like sour cream ’n’ onion chips because he’d just played soccer for two hours. I am getting my first kiss, she told herself as his wet tongue tried to poke through her closed mouth. Nothing else matters.

  But that wasn’t entirely true.

  Suddenly, Claire heard the sound of footsteps crunching on the frozen grass. She pulled away so fast, her eyes were still closed. When she opened them, she found herself staring at Cam, just like the hearts said.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. His expression was blank, his tone flat. His voice reminded Claire of the AOL “You’ve Got Mail” guy.

  “Uh …” was all Claire could say.

  “Hey, Cam,” said Josh Hotz. He wiped his lips and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his navy sweats.

  “So much for the Spanish soccer spell.” Cam looked at his Adidas cleats. Then he sighed. “And my friends.” He turned his back on Claire and Josh and shuffled away slowly, kicking up patches of grass with every step he took.

  “Cam, wait!” Claire shouted after him. “What soccer spell? What are you talking about?”

  He started running, just like he had during the Love Struck dash. Only this time Claire understood why.