I shut my book. “Yeah, thanks. How was the rest of the dance?”
“Boring. Oh, except when Principal Miller started dirty-dancing with Mr. Evans.”
Mr. Evans was the janitor. Old-school style. He wouldn’t let you call him anything but janitor, not some wussy title like sanitation engineer or custodian. Rumor was, he’d worked at the high school ever since the day he graduated from it thirty years ago. He was one of those guys who looked like he’d been born with a crew cut, muscles, and a lit Marlboro hanging out of his mouth. But he’d do anything for a student, especially if it meant putting one over on the administration. So to picture him grinding with Principal Miller was, well . . . a stretch of the imagination, to say the least.
“Mr. Evans?” I asked.
Johnny scratched at one of his long sideburns. “Well, it was only one dance. Part of one dance, actually. She kind of grabbed him and started dancing and he went along with it. Pretty funny.”
“Maybe I should’ve stayed.”
“Next time,” Johnny said.
Suddenly, Maggie Klein’s office door clicked open. “Oh, Fiona. I thought I heard voices.”
I waved to Johnny. He gave me a nod, popped in his earphones, and took off.
Maggie Klein said, “Come on in. Todd’s inside already. He and I have been having a little chat about your . . . interactions last week.”
Interactions? Right. Try war games. And what was he doing here early? Soaping up Maggie Klein, no doubt.
“Now, I understand that you two have been . . . shall we say, at loggerheads? I think we need to address the situation.” She looked at me for some response. “Fiona? Would you like to begin this time?”
Argh. I rolled my eyes. I shrugged my shoulders. I gave her all the little cues that said I didn’t want to talk, but she just stared at me with an expression of utter compassion and persistence. Fine.
“He started it,” I said.
“I did not.”
I gaped at Todd. “The mock wedding?”
“You threw a hot dog at me first.”
“After your little drawing on the bulletin board.”
“That was just a joke.”
I snorted. “Yeah, well, I missed the punch line.”
“What about what you did at the dance?”
“You deserved it.”
Maggie Klein clapped twice. “Todd, Fiona, this is serious. I understand that there is some resistance to this course. However, I believe strongly in its merits, and so does the school board. And until they say otherwise, this course will continue. You two must find some common ground. Like it or not, you’re marriage partners. Now, I want you to look at each other. Really look. And then I’d like you each to say something positive about the other person.” Todd and I both sighed and shifted in our seats. I looked past Maggie Klein and watched a squirrel with an acorn in its mouth climbing the tree outside her window. “Come on,” she said. “Turn and face each other. Now Todd, you go first.”
Todd eyeballed me up and down. “She appears to have all her teeth.”
“Ooh, good one, Todd,” I cooed. I turned to Maggie Klein and smiled sweetly. “And Todd smells very little like a pile of goat crap.”
Maggie Klein shook her head. “Kids—”
“Fiona has enough self-esteem to not care about the condition of her wardrobe.”
“And Todd is kind enough to volunteer his time with mentally deficient students. Like his girlfriend, Amanda.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“How can I? She’s practically surgically attached to your groin.”
“Kids.”
“At least I have a girlfriend. Oh, wait. I forgot about your lesbian lover, Marcie.”
“In your dreams.”
“You mean nightmares.”
“TODD! FIONA! ENOUGH!” Maggie Klein rubbed her face and sighed. “Right. Look.” She laced her fingers together like she was praying for us to stop. “I know neither of you is happy about this situation. But this course is important. Finding, choosing, and maintaining a life partner isn’t easy, you know. Believe me; it can be scary out there. Some people . . .” She drifted off and shook her head. “What I mean is, this is a skill that can be learned and should be learned, for your own good. Do you see?”
We responded with dead silence.
She threw her hands in the air. “Okay, look at it this way,” she said. “If you want to graduate and get into college and get as far away from each other as possible, you need to finish this course, got it?” She looked at us each in turn as we sulked like a couple of three-year-olds. “Okay. Now, what’s the status on your budget and your shared activity? Are you on the same page?”
Todd dug into his back pocket and pulled out the cash from Saturday night. He handed it to Maggie Klein. “Here ya go. Twenty-five big ones we made this weekend.”
She looked at the money like it was about to burst into flames in her hands. “You’ve already started the babysitting job?” Todd and I nodded. “How did it go?” She looked back and forth between us like a Labrador retriever at an egg-toss. I figured Todd would take this opportunity to suck up, and he didn’t disappoint.
“It went very well, Maggie,” he crooned. “She’s a sweetie.”
“Fiona is?”
Todd snorted and bent double like it was so funny it hurt. “No. The kid. The kid is a sweetie.”
I opened my mouth to say something back, but Maggie Klein cut me off. “Okay, well, still quite encouraging.” She plucked out one of the identical pens she kept in a clean terra-cotta flowerpot on her desk, and scribbled in our file. “I’ve made a note that you’re the first couple to turn in some income. Well done. Just don’t forget to get a note from the parents validating your payment. You can turn that in with the budget at the end of the month. And how is the theoretical earning of the income divided? Do you both work? One of you?”
“I’m the one with the job,” Todd said. Maggie Klein gazed at him like a teenage groupie after her first beer. “Oh, Todd, I figured as much,” she lilted.
I pretended to cough.
Todd scooted up in his seat. “Yeah, I like to take care of my woman. Keep her at home. Barefoot in the kitchen, where she belongs. I’d say barefoot and pregnant, but unfortunately, my wife is frigid and infertile.”
I kicked Todd in the shin. “You are such a jackass.”
“Fiona!” Maggie Klein exclaimed.
“Me?” I cried. “Aren’t you going to yell at him?”
She tilted her head at Todd and giggled. “Well, we know he’s kidding.”
“Oh, do we?” I said.
Maggie Klein sighed. “Fiona, you must get in touch with your partner’s personality. His quirks and foibles.”
Todd muttered, “Yeah, Princess, you should touch my quirk.”
I gagged loudly, but Maggie Klein ignored Todd’s lewd innuendo. “Now, what about the shared activity? Any news on that front?”
“We haven’t started it yet,” I said, glaring sideways at Todd.
He put his finger in the air, “Actually, Maggie,” he said, “cheerleading tryouts start today after school.”
I swiveled. “Tryouts? Why do I have to go to tryouts?”
Todd mocked sipping through a straw again. “We might get thirsty, Water Girl.”
“Don’t call me Water Girl.”
“You’re right. Your name is Princess P—”
“Shut up.”
Maggie Klein shot up out of her seat and yanked open her office door. “Okay, it looks like our time’s up. You may return to class. Don’t forget to write in your journals and work on your budget. ’Bye now.”
We stood up and filed out of her office. I peeled off without a word, but Todd called after me, “Don’t forget. Football field. Three o’clock. See you there, Princess.” I gave him an over-the-shoulder-finger. He chuckled and walked away.
My only consolation was that this was going to make one hell of a college application essay. “How I Learned About
Diplomacy from Señor Shitslacks, the No-Necked Neanderthal.”
CHAPTER 12
AFTER SCHOOL I CALLED MY MOM TO LET HER KNOW I’d be late, and then I headed down to the football field for the cheerleading tryouts. The official cheer coach was this ancient history teacher named Mrs. O’Toole. And I don’t mean the history was ancient; Mrs. O’Toole was. She started coaching cheerleading at ECHS in the late 1950s when cheerleaders wore those bowling-style shoes and said things like “peachy-keen.” But as the decades passed, she couldn’t get on board with all the new mounts and skills that evolved, so her coaching became less and less hands-on. Now, she mostly just sat somewhere and snoozed through tryouts or practices. I guess the administration didn’t have the heart to fire her after so many years. Or maybe she hadn’t thought to ask for a raise in half a century, so her “coaching” was insanely cheap. At any rate, for tryouts Mrs. O’Toole did nothing more than sit at the end of the football stands with an umbrella over her face for shade. Whether she was awake or asleep was anyone’s guess. Hell, she could have been dead and no one would have noticed until the flies started swarming.
I sank down onto one of the bleachers and opened my copy of P&P. I was just at the part where Mr. Darcy first recognizes his feelings for Elizabeth. I didn’t get very far, though. I couldn’t help daydreaming that I was Elizabeth and Gabe was Mr. Darcy, fighting against his blossoming feelings for me. Discovering that his passion was beyond his control and finding me more and more desirable each time we met. I, of course, was coy and witty and said all the right things at all the right times and filled out the top of my empire-style dress quite nicely. I played the pianoforte as he listened and watched me with sultry eyes. It was a love that would grow despite the denial of both parties. Despite the opposition of others. It was simply irrefutable. But we would have to wait for it. Wait. Because you can’t hurry love. You just have to wait. Love don’t come easy. It’s a game of give and take.
Oh, dammit. Now I had a song from one of my father’s crappy old vinyl records stuck in my head.
I set my book down and watched Todd, Amanda, and a whole gaggle of girls squawk around. There were even a couple of guys waiting to try out, too. I guess Todd had degeeked cheerleading enough for them. Or maybe the whole “looking up girls’ skirts” thing had finally caught on. Jamar Douglass was there. And Oskar Leahy. And who was the guy on the opposite bleachers? Was it . . . ? Hold the phone.
I jumped up and “casually” strolled a bit closer. I blinked my eyes in the sun. It couldn’t be, could it? But it was.
Gabe.
Why was he here? He couldn’t be trying out. He was just sitting there. Watching. With sultry eyes like Darcy’s. And suddenly it hit me. The girls. One of the girls was the one he was dating. Had to be. Then Amanda went over and sat next to him, and I did a mental head-smack. Of course. He was only there because they were fake-married. That was it. Right? But there was a girl, somewhere, who he was seeing. Maybe she was here. Wait a minute; did he just smile at Sonja Pressman?
“You know, if you’re going to stalk someone, you should be less obvious.”
I wheeled around. It was Todd. He’d snuck up on me.
He said, “For starters, try not standing in the middle of a field, gawking at your prey,” he said.
I kicked at a dusty clump of grass. “Gawking? I . . . I’m . . . not gawking. I was just watching your girlfriend putting the moves on someone else. Jealous?”
“Of Gabe Webber?” Todd laughed. “Uh . . . no.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun. “Why? What’s wrong with Gabe Webber?”
“Nothing. As in, there’s nothing there. He has the personality of dry toast.”
How dare he insult my Gabe? “Oh yes. I forgot. You prefer the company of assholes and jerks. As they say, ‘Birds of a feather . . .’”
“That must be why you hang around.”
I opened my mouth to come back with a zinger, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Blank. I just stood there with my yap hanging wide open.
Todd smiled and shook his head. “Ya got nothing?”
I did the only thing I could. I shut my mouth, shrugged my shoulders and said, “Nope. Nothing.”
Todd laughed again. A real laugh, though. Not an evil one or a suspicious one. A real, hearty-type chortle with his face all loose and bright. “Give it time. You’ll think of something,” he said. He started walking back to the crowd, but said over his shoulder, “I’ll wait.”
I stood rock-still in the field as tryouts began. The sun scorched the top of my forehead, but I didn’t budge. I needed every ounce of energy in my body to figure something out. Something was familiar. Something about the way Todd looked at me and spoke to me reminded me of . . . what?
Then it clicked.
My parents. The verbal sparring. That’s what they did. They liked it, but why?
Because it was exciting. And Todd probably liked it for the same reason. That was why he hadn’t really freaked out at the dance. And why he’d come over to Sam’s. It was fun for him. He liked fighting. But what was worse was that he seemed to like fighting with me. Oh, barf. I slunk back to the bleachers and sat with my head between my knees. I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and looked up. “Mar! Johnny? What are you guys doing here?”
“We have an hour to kill before dance class,” Mar said. (Mar had gotten to pick their shared activity. Ballroom dance lessons. All I could say was, poor Johnny.)
“We came down here to give you some moral support,” Johnny said. “Or extra spit in their water. Whichever.”
A light breeze blew down the football field. “Thanks,” I said. I scooted to my right and pulled Mar over for a bit of privacy. “I need to talk to you,” I whispered. Johnny must’ve gotten the hint, because he sat down a few feet away, pulled out his MP3 player, and popped in the earphones.
Mar sat. “What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “I have a problem. I think Todd actually enjoys my company.”
Mar reached out and fiddled with a curl at my hairline. “And that’s a problem because . . . ?”
“Because all this marriage has to go on is our hate for each other. That’s our one thing we have in common. Unwavering mutual disdain.”
She set her hands neatly in her lap. “But you just said he liked you.”
“No, I said he enjoys my company. That is, he enjoys hating me. Or pretending to hate me. I don’t know which. But I’m finding it difficult to completely dislike someone who gets pleasure from having me around.” The breeze died down and I felt sweat collecting under the nosepiece of my glasses. A dribble of it also ran down my cleavage. I dug in my backpack and got my clip-on sunglasses and a tissue. I snapped the sunglasses on my glasses and shoved the tissue down my shirt. Mar made a face, of course. But I didn’t care; I’d rather be comfortable.
“So he likes being mean to you,” she said. “And you like that he likes being mean to you.”
“And I like being mean to him, too, don’t forget.”
“Of course not. Pleasure from meanness. There’s a name for it: sadomasochism.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said, pressing my stomach in with both hands. “That’s just what I need. A mental picture of Todd Harding laced up in a black leather bodysuit with a whip in one hand and his wang in the other.”
“I hope he’s hitting you with the whip.”
I smacked her thigh. “I’m serious, Mar. I don’t know how to act around him now. I can’t be nice, because he’ll hate that. But I can’t be mean just to be nice.”
“You really need medication.”
“I’m in a quandary. A catch-22. I’m screwed. Help me, Mar, please.”
Marcie lifted her hair off the back of her neck for a few seconds and then let it fall. “Okay, you like fighting with him too—you said so yourself. So keep fighting with him.”
I shook my fists at her. “How?”
“Look, you don’t love the guy. There are plenty of reasons to hate Todd Harding. P
ick one.”
“Yes. Yes,” I said. “I just have to find one thing. One thing about him that I hate and focus on that. But what?”
Marcie glanced at the cheerleading tryouts. “How about his taste in women?”
I looked over to where Amanda was hooked onto Todd’s middle with her arms wrapped around his waist so tight that he actually crimped over sideways. “Brilliant, Mar,” I said. “I’ll funnel all my dislike for Amanda into Todd. You’re a genius. It’s refreshing to see you using your psychology skills for evil as well as for good. It adds character.” I stood up. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
I waltzed over to Todd and Amanda. Without releasing her death grip on Todd’s waist, Amanda sneered at me and said, “Hello, Water Girl. Or should I say, Water Bitch?”
I completely ignored her. Instead I addressed Todd, but tipped my head to indicate Amanda. “You know, you really should see a doctor and have that thing removed. It’s getting pretty nasty-looking.”
Todd’s eyes narrowed. His lip curled up and he said, “And you should get that ugly thing cut off your head, too. Oh, wait, it’s your face.”
Amanda snorted and guffawed. But I noticed Todd subtly remove her arms from his torso and step away from her just an inch.
Bingo.
I strolled back to the bleachers, looking forward to bragging to Mar, but she was gone. I reached over and plucked out one of Johnny’s earphones. “Where’d Mar go?” I asked.
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck where it was pink from the sun. “She had to run inside for something,” he said. He scrunched up his face. “Uh . . . some kind of brilliant gloss or something? Said she’d be right out.” He pulled out the other earphone and set the MP3 player in his lap.
I sat next to him. “Oh God, she forgot her Joico Brilliantine Spray Gloss? How can she possibly survive without it?”
“What is it?”
“This hair product she’s addicted to. Makes her hair shiny or polished or some such garbage. She keeps trying to get me to use it. She paid, like, sixteen dollars for one bottle. I told her I’d rather keep the sixteen bucks and spit on my own hair for free.”
A Match Made in High School Page 8