A Match Made in High School

by Kristin Walker

  A block later, he said, “You know what would be worse? She could sell dead frogs.”

  I laughed a bit too loud and nodded. “Eww, yes. For dissection, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  We smiled and spent the rest of the ride trying to one-up each other on the most revolting things his mother could sell. I thought I’d had him with “buckets of chum” but he pulled out “raw pork skin” just as we got to Gino’s East.

  As we got out of the car, I tried to tug my coat down over my miniskirted butt. “I wish I had something else to wear. I feel like a dork in my uniform.”

  Johnny held open the door to the restaurant for me. “Are you kidding? You look hot. Besides, do you know the odds of a guy like me being seen with a cheerleader? You’re lucky I’m letting you wear the coat.”

  I laughed and said, “Letting me? As if.” But what I was really thinking was, he thinks I look hot? And what did he mean by “seen with?” Did he mean that this was a date? Were Johnny Mercer and I on a date? And tell me this, would it have been totally bizarre-o, crazy, insane for me to want it to be? Not that I did. I just meant would it? In a philosophical sense. That’s all I’m saying. Hypothetically! Whatever.

  We sat in a booth by the window and ordered a pepperoni pizza and two Cokes. Johnny said, “I was totally impressed by you today.”

  “What?” I said, thinking I should keep things light, just in case it wasn’t a date. Which it probably wasn’t. I mean, I knew it wasn’t. “You mean by my sparkly jazz hands?” I treated him to his own personal showing of my jazz hands.

  He took my hands and lowered them to the table. His touch made my throat feel tight and furry. The waitress brought the Cokes and I pulled my hands out of his. I picked up my straw and started slowly peeling the end off its paper wrapper.

  “Seriously, Fiona,” he said. “You should be proud of yourself. You stepped way out of the box, and lived.”

  “Unfortunately, as I stepped out of the box, my foot landed on Amanda’s skull. I’m pretty sure that means I royally failed.”

  “No, you didn’t. I mean, yes, you booted Amanda in the head. But it wasn’t a failure, because you didn’t back down. You were out there. Not everyone could do what you did. That takes some courage.”

  As Johnny finished talking, I put the opened straw end in my mouth and blew. The paper shot off the straw and pinged Johnny in the forehead. I tried not to laugh, but I didn’t try too hard.

  Johnny touched his head where the paper had hit. I giggled. He frowned, knit his brows, leaned forward, and said, “Why can’t you take a compliment, Fiona? I’m trying to be serious, here. Why do you always have to turn everything into a joke?”

  Same question I’d asked myself in the car.

  I stopped giggling. I hung my head and examined my straw. I turned it end over end in my hands. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just what I’m comfortable with. I dunno. I guess it’s a defense mecha—”

  Ping.

  Johnny’s straw paper had thwacked me in the head. I looked up, and he sat there grinning, with the straw sticking out of his mouth. I couldn’t believe it.

  He’d pranked me.

  Johnny had gotten me all serious just so he could get back at me with his straw. Brilliant. I reached out to snatch his straw from his perfect teeth, and at that exact moment, right there, the precise instant I grabbed that straw . . . that was the moment I wanted this to be a date. It was the moment that, from that point in time onward, I would see, and think about, and feel about Johnny Mercer differently.

  Even though he’d been right there with me, all along.

  Or maybe because of it.

  And there were the bees again. More of them. Big ones. The size of small cars. Buzzing in my ears. Buzzing in my cheeks. Buzzing in my chest. Buzzing in my fingers.

  I handed Johnny his straw back and concentrated very hard on folding the paper wrapper into an accordion. Fold and fold. Back and forth. Fold and fold. Do not think. About the fact. THAT YOU LIKE. JOHNNY MERCER. JUST KEEP FOLDING. KEEP ON FOLDING.

  “Embalming fluid,” Johnny said.

  My fingers froze midfold. “Huh?” It sounded like I had an air leak.

  “That would be worse. If she sold embalming fluid.”

  And, like a magic trick, the bees vanished. Flew away to buzz up some other girl. I scrunched the paper between my fingers and pointed in the air. “Fish guts. For shrimp farms.”

  “Nice,” he said. His hazel eyes flashed as he smiled. “Well played.”

  The pizza came and we split it. I ate as much as Johnny, which impressed him for some reason. I guess he thought girls were supposed to be dainty eaters or something.

  The waitress walked by with a basket of fries, and Johnny said, “Did you know that if you strain old fryer grease, you can use it in a diesel engine instead of diesel fuel?”

  Not exactly what you’d call sweet talk. Not exactly an appetizing subject for a restaurant. But totally and utterly cool. “No way!” I said.

  “Yeah. I saw it on this science show. These guys got a vat of fryer grease from some restaurant, strained the chunks out, and poured it into the tank of a diesel car. It ran as well as on diesel fuel. Too bad it doesn’t work in cars that run on gasoline, though.”

  “Yeah, otherwise your mom could sell vats of used fryer grease out of the guest room. That would be worse.”

  Johnny laughed. I loved making him laugh. And it seemed so easy to do. Talking to him was different than talking to Todd. It was all of the fun without the effort of maintaining it. Just totally organic. Johnny made me feel like I was clever without trying to be. And pretty. And valued. He made everything about me seem more special.

  Like, say I was a song. Well, Johnny made me feel as though I’d been remixed. The melody didn’t change, but it wasn’t just the same one-dimensional sequence of notes anymore. Instead, he brought out all these harmonies—these low and high notes—that made the music fuller. No more discord or dissonance. Around Johnny, I was the best possible rendition of myself.

  When the check came, he paid for the pizza, even though I offered to cover my half. Normally, I’d have felt bad not paying, but the fact that he paid provided further evidence that this might be a date, so I was okay with it.

  We played “What would be worse?” all the way back to my house. Johnny pulled into our driveway but left the engine idling.

  “Thanks for the pizza,” I said. “And the ride.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Anytime.”

  Now, if this had been a date in a romantic movie, then that would’ve been the point where we leaned into each other and kissed. But this wasn’t a romantic movie. And apparently this wasn’t even a date. Because here’s what happened: I sat there for a few seconds and he made absolutely no move toward me. So I got out of his car. He watched me walk to the door and waved goodbye. I let myself in and slammed the door behind me. Not a date. Not a romantic movie. Just my own lousy, unlucky life.

  CHAPTER 33

  I SPENT THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON READING. I finished Pride and Prejudice and decided Elizabeth Bennett was a moron. She’d fallen in love with Darcy just because he did a few nice things on the sly. Did that make up for the fact that he’d been a prick to her all along?

  She should’ve married the guy who was taking over her father’s estate. Okay, so he was her cousin. That was a little gross. But he was a nice guy. Probably not too bad-looking. Polite. And, in the end, good enough for Elizabeth’s friend. It seemed to me that Elizabeth Bennett was a bit of a snob herself. She and Darcy were both a bit jerky.

  But maybe that was the point. That they realized the error of their jerky snob ways just in time. And Darcy fixing everything for Elizabeth’s sister without anyone knowing was pretty cool. All right, so maybe it was a bit romantic after all. I couldn’t exactly blame Jane Austen for being a romantic. What the hell else was there to do back then for fun?

  On Sunday, I put off calling Todd about our apology letter as long a
s I could. When I finally got around to it, Mom was just finishing up on the phone in the kitchen as she stirred a bubbling pot of meatballs and sauce for dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs was my favorite. It would be a nice concession for having had to do this stupid letter. Mom said, “Great, Cybil. Everything’s all set. See you tomorrow,” and hung up. I asked her for the phone and took it up to my room for privacy. I hadn’t told my parents about getting in trouble at school, and I didn’t plan to.

  I dialed Todd’s number. He answered. “Yo, hello?”

  “Hola, Señor.”

  “Hey there, Princess. Calling about the letter?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hey, I heard you were with Mercer yesterday,” he said.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve got spies everywhere,” he said. “Are you two going out?”

  My stomach shriveled up into a nut when I realized I couldn’t say yes. “I dunno. I mean . . . no. I dunno. I guess not. No.”

  “You should,” Todd said. “Mercer’s a good guy. Much better than that tool Webber.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  “I tried to warn you. Amanda can’t stand him. She says he’s a selfish bastard.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said.

  “Listen, what are we going to write for this letter?”

  “I don’t know. Every time I think of apologizing, I get pissed. We didn’t do anything wrong. Technically.”

  “So let’s not write it,” he said.

  “What? Just blow it off?”

  “Yeah. Screw the letter. How can they keep us from graduating? Our parents would raise even more hell. God, your mom would probably get Principal Miller fired and she knows it. I don’t give a damn if I fail marriage ed. I’m not sorry for anything that happened. They’re the ones who forced us into this.”

  “And I think we did a pretty good goddamn job of it considering how much we hate each other,” I added. “I’m not sorry for anything either.”

  Todd laughed. “I’m really not sorry for that blow-up doll.”

  “And I’m not sorry for the hot dog. Or your shitslacks. I’m a little sorry for the fake announcement, but only because Johnny got in trouble.”

  “Yeah, but that was a good one. You definitely should not be sorry for that.”

  “Okay, then, I’m not.”

  “And I’m not sorry that you had to fill in on the squad.”

  “And I’m not sorry that you had to take so much time to teach me to cheer.”

  We just sat there together for a few seconds. Not sorry at all.

  “All right, so we don’t do the letter?” Todd said.

  “Nope. But I think we should let them know why. Stand our ground, and all.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Todd said. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Not if I smell you first.”

  Click.

  I didn’t get much sleep that night, trying to think about what we were going to say to Principal Miller and Maggie Klein. Even spaghetti and meatballs didn’t make me feel better. But whenever I thought about caving and writing the damn letter, I felt even worse. So I knew Todd and I were doing the right thing.

  I hoped so, anyway.

  First thing the next morning, Todd and I marched into Principal Miller’s office. Todd slapped the counter, and Mrs. DelNero jumped and clutched her chest so violently that the light-up red-nosed reindeer on her sweater stopped blinking. “All right, hons. Take a breath, now.” Her fat fingers trembled on the phone keypad. “Principal Miller, the kids are here to see you,” she said all breathily into the phone. She hung it up. “Go right in.”

  Maggie Klein was in the office already, standing behind Principal Miller’s desk.

  Principal Miller sat in the chair next to her. “Hello, Ms. Sheehan and Mr. Harding. I assume you’re here to turn in your letter of apology this morning.”

  Maggie Klein sneered. She extended her hand open-palmed to us to take the letter.

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  Todd said, “There is no letter.”

  Maggie Klein curled her fingers into a fist and slowly withdrew her hand. Principal Miller drew herself upright. “Explain yourselves,” she said. Outside, the POMME bullhorns started to blare their chant-o’-the-week: “Marriage is a choice! Give our kids a voice!”

  “We haven’t done anything to apologize for,” I said. Maggie Klein huffed her disagreement in the most undignified manner. I ignored her. “We played along with this course. Followed the rules. Did everything you asked because you dangled our diplomas above our heads. And yeah, we made fun of it. But come on, did you really think you were going to spare us some future heartbreak by making us fake it first?” Principal Miller broke my gaze and looked above my head. “Because, from what I’ve seen of marriages and relationships, there aren’t any rules. You deal with what comes, like anything else in life. There’s no template. No freaking outline. And that’s what makes relationships interesting, right? The element of surprise.”

  Todd added, “Like finding love in the janitor’s closet.”

  My stomach dropped. I couldn’t believe he’d said that, but I didn’t flinch. Whatever Todd said, I’d back up. I looked at Principal Miller, expecting her to steam with rage. But her face wasn’t angry. It was something else. Something softer.

  Not Maggie Klein, though. She shook. Her jaw clenched, her eye twitched. Then she blew. “How dare you voice such accusations? You two have been nothing but insolent and juvenile!”

  Principal Miller raised one hand and closed her eyes. “Maggie, that’s enough.”

  “Enough? What do you mean, ‘that’s enough’? Why isn’t anyone on my side? When do my feelings start to matter? What about me? Why does everyone hate me?”

  Principal Miller whispered, “Maggie! Enough. Go to your office and compose yourself!”

  Maggie Klein clearly did not want to be stifled. She had some serious pressure that needed release. She huffed and squeaked and finally stormed out. It dawned on me that what she probably needed was to get laid.

  Principal Miller opened her eyes, and then her mouth to speak, but suddenly, a booming electric drumbeat shattered the droning bullhorn chant. The principal wheeled around and flicked open the shade.

  I stopped breathing.

  A huge group of rainbow-T-shirt-clad POMME picketers, led by Mom, Mrs. Beaufort, and PTA president Cybil Hutton, were marching—well, dancing, really—and waving rainbow flags and rainbow banners. Just behind Mom, Dad was pulling a rainbow-painted wagon holding his stereo equipment on a long extension cord: a techno remix of “It’s Raining Men” blasted from the speakers.

  See you tomorrow, Mom had said yesterday. Everything’s all set.

  I’d had no idea.

  As much as I had to admit that it was brave of my mother and father to do this—as altruistic as it was—there was simply no way I could ever live this down. How do you socially survive your parents leading a gay pride parade in front of your high school?

  Todd put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Well, at least now I know where you get it from.”

  Principal Miller reached up and drew the blind shut again. “Fiona and Todd, you are excused. Please return to your classroom. The homeroom bell is about to ring.”

  Todd and I walked like zombies out of the office, through the reception area, and down the hall. In every room we passed, the students and teachers were plastered to the windows like sticker decals.

  We made it to homeroom just as the bell rang and Mr. Tambor started hollering for everyone to get away from the window and sit. I dropped next to Mar. Todd sat with his buddies. I steeled myself for the whispers and stares about my freak-show family. When it didn’t happen, I realized . . . pretty much everyone’s parents were out there. I think even Callie Brooks’s mom was.

  Maybe I’d live through this after all.

  After attendance, Principal Miller’s voice came over the PA system.

  “Good morning, students. First, a remin
der that Friday night is the senior winter formal, and I hope to see all seniors and guests in attendance.” She paused, and the PA clicked and squealed as she turned it off and on. “In a related matter, I have decided to cancel the program on marriage education. It has come to my attention that the course is somewhat . . . redundant in its skill development and narrow in its scope. Therefore, I hereby declare the senior class marriages annulled. All the money collected for the prize pool will be returned in full.”

  A cheer rose through the school that could’ve blown the roof off. We were death-row prisoners just paroled. POW camp detainees finally freed. Wriggling fish let off the hook and tossed back into the churning sea. And, because the PA also transmitted outside, the protesters cheered too.

  We were free. I looked at Todd. He winked at me. I winked back, smiled, and gave him the finger. He laughed.

  CHAPTER 34

  LIKE I SAID, AROUND HERE, NEWS TRAVELS FASTER than mono, and by the end of the day, the whole school had heard about Todd’s and my standoff with Principal Miller and Maggie Klein. By the time the story circulated and came back around to me, I had apparently bitch-slapped Maggie Klein and then tongued Todd in front of Principal Miller.

  Oh, and Mom was a former showgirl in an all-gay revue.

  Everything became a legend. A made-up one, sure, but most legends are.

  Mar told me that Johnny got excused from his interpersonal-skills-slash-anger-management workshop. I hoped he’d tell me about it himself. I also hoped he’d ask me to the winter formal, too. But neither one of those things happened. Once again, luck was not on my side.

  So Mar and I decided to go to the formal together. I decided that if Johnny happened to be at the dance, and I happened to look hot, well, that was a coincidence that couldn’t be avoided.

  The problem was, the night of the formal, I was having a hard time putting “hot” together. It was seven-thirty. The dance started in half an hour. And I was buck-naked. Which probably would have made for an interesting night, but the last time I’d checked I was neither a porn star nor a prostitute. So I had to dress. In something. Aye, there was the freaking rub.