All's Fair in Love, War, and High School

by Janette Rallison

  For the rest of the evening, while I tried to do my homework I listened for the phone to ring.

  7:15 Certainly he was home by now. Why hadn't he called?

  7:30 Maybe he hadn't gone upstairs to his room yet. Maybe he was one of those guys who liked to come home, eat, and unwind in front of the TV.

  7:45 Okay. Maybe he was still in front of the TV, but wasn't anybody else home yet? Hadn't anyone noticed my candy arrow and called down, "Hey Josh, you might want to come upstairs and check this out."

  8:00 Maybe Elise had come home and done something diabolical to my invitation. I wouldn't put it past her.

  8:15 Maybe he wasn't calling because he just didn't want to go to the prom with me.

  8:30 He was probably now rehearsing his speech about how he'd decided to become a monk and had thus given up dating.

  8:45 Josh hated me and wasn't even going to give me the benefit of a poorly thought out and obviously transparent excuse. I would never hear from him again.

  At 9:00 the doorbell rang, and Mom called out, "Samantha, there's someone here to see you."

  I padded down the stairs and found Josh waiting by the front door. His hair was tousled, as though he'd been running his fingers through it (or trying to rip it out?), and he wore a beleaguered expression. (He was having a hard time coming up with even a transparent excuse?)

  "Hi, Samantha," he said slowly.

  "Hi, Josh." I gripped the edge of the banister. If it couldn't be painless, I hoped it would at least be quick.

  "Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. I had to take my dog to the vet."

  Of course, why hadn't I thought of that before? Usually, when a guy doesn't call you at 7:00 P.M., it's because he's taking his dog to the vet. Those are the vet's busiest hours.

  And then a horrible thought slammed into me. In my mind I could suddenly see my candy arrow on Josh's floor and Goliath loping toward it. All of that candy—and put so conveniently at dog level. "Um, why did you have to take your dog to the vet?"

  "Well, he sort of ate your invitation."

  "He ate it? All of it?"

  "Not your note, but it was kind of hard to read after he threw up on it."

  "He threw up on it?" I suddenly had a flashback to Frisky in Brad's car. Another animal had vomited on my love life— and this time it was my fault. Why hadn't I just chosen the underwear invitation instead?

  "Chocolate is pretty hard on a dog's system," Josh said tiredly. "And those little plastic wrappers don't help."

  "He ate the wrappers too?" It was a stupid question. What had I expected—that Goliath had sat down and unwrapped each piece with his paws? "I am so sorry."

  "It's not your fault. My mom was the one who let him inside, and she knew about the candy on the floor. She just didn't think Goliath was stupid enough to eat it." His eyes got a faraway look. "Although you'd think she'd have known better after last year, when he ate Abby's entire Polly Pocket village."

  "Goliath ate a village?"

  "It was made up of miniature marshmallows glued to cardboard. We never did recover Polly. The vet said she would come out of Goliath eventually, but there are some things you just don't want to search through."

  "I'm so sorry," I said again. "Is Goliath going to be all right?"

  "Yeah. Although you don't want to be around a ninety-pound dog on a sugar high."

  "I'm so sorry." And then because the three times I'd already said it didn't seem like enough—"I'm really sorry."

  The faraway look faded from his eyes, and Josh seemed to remember he was standing in my house. "About your note. I couldn't actually read it, but my mom said it was from you. What did it say?"

  Which meant I was going to have to ask him to the prom face-to-face anyway. I swallowed hard and tried to say the words as if they formed any other sentence. "The note said, 'It would be Mounds of fun to go to the prom with a Big Hunk like you. I'm Bursting to know your answer. Don't blow it and give me a call.'" And although it had been cute when written in Candygram form, it sounded really stupid when you said it out loud.

  "Prom?" He looked at me with uncertainty.

  Uncertainty is not the facial expression you want to see a guy wear when you've just asked him out, and I started to prepare myself for the latest round of rejection from Josh.

  I was still second-best. Or worse yet, I was third or fourth, or perhaps even in the only-if-you-were-the-last-woman-on-earth category.

  Josh said, "But aren't you going out with Logan?"

  "Logan?"

  "Yeah, I thought you two were a couple."

  "We're not dating. Why would you think that?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess every time I see you, you're hanging out together."

  Well, that explained why he never flirted back with me. He thought I was taken. Now that this little misconception was cleared up, everything would be different between us.

  I tried not to blush. "No, I'm not seeing anyone right now."

  "Oh." Josh cracked a small smile, and I wondered if I was blushing despite myself. "Well, then I'd be happy to go with you."

  We discussed the details, the day and time—that sort of thing, and all the while I kept hearing his sentence, "I'd be happy to go with you."

  He was happy. And I was blissful.

  On Friday morning, as I dropped a bagel into the toaster for breakfast Mom walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

  "We need to have a talk "

  A talk. Oh, no. Those were always bad words when they came from a parent's mouth. Before I could say anything, Mom went on. "During our post-fair meeting Isabelle Woodruff told me she was sorry to hear about the flyers somebody made about you. She asked me how you were doing." Here, Mom tapped her fingers on the counter in a quick, angry rhythm. "I of course had to tell her I had no idea what she was talking about."

  My bagel popped up, but I didn't reach for it. At the moment it wasn't the only thing that was toast.

  "Why didn't you tell me about those flyers?" Mom went on. "I mean, somebody at school spreads vicious rumors about you, and you don't even mention it in passing to your parents? We care about you, Samantha. These are the type of things we want to know about."

  Vicious rumors. The words rang in my ears. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. How could I now, how could I ever, tell her the truth? Finally I stuttered out, "It was just campaigning stuff. Everyone expects that kind of thing."

  "Well, I hope you marched right into the office and complained."

  I took the bagel out of the toaster and put it on my plate, even though I didn't feel hungry anymore. "I took care of it."

  "Anyone who does that sort of campaigning ought to be thrown out of the race."

  I didn't say anything. I just dipped my knife into the butter and slowly spread it across my bagel.

  Mom looked off into the distance and shook her head. "Of course I let everyone know those flyers weren't true. I told them that you hadn't even got your test scores back yet. Eight ten. Honestly." Now Mom looked back over at me. "Maybe it will come today."

  "Maybe." If someone at the SAT board had a really cruel sense of humor and sent a second copy, that was.

  Chapter 12

  In art class the teacher told us to find a magazine picture that depicted an emotion and draw it. While I was in the supply room flipping through a Better Homes and Gardens, Elise and Cassidy came in. Elise dropped a stack of magazines beside me, then leaned up against the counter. "So tell me, Samantha, when you asked Josh to the prom, were you trying to kill our dog or just ruin our carpet?"

  I looked at my magazine, and not at her. "How was I supposed to know your dog would eat my invitation? It's not like I spelled it out in Alpo."

  "Some people use the phone to hold conversations. It's cleaner that way."

  I refrained from an insult. It took superhuman powers.

  Cassidy turned a page of her magazine with such force she nearly ripped it in half. "You know, Samantha, I
really had nothing to do with those flyers. You didn't have to go and . . . " but she didn't finish her sentence. She just flipped over another page.

  "Go and what?" I asked.

  "Go and do things to purposely upset me."

  "I didn't ask Josh out to upset you."

  Elise ignored me and nodded knowingly at Cassidy. "See, it wouldn't bother you that Samantha is throwing herself at Josh if you were really over him. This proves it."

  "This doesn't prove anything," Cassidy said.

  "I'm not throwing myself at Josh," I said. "I just asked him to a dance."

  Cassidy rolled her eyes.

  "See," Elise told Cassidy. "Admit it. You're upset."

  "I am not upset," Cassidy said, then to me added, "If you want to ask him out, fine. Marry him for all I care."

  Elise turned to me and in a lower voice said, "It won't do you any good to keep chasing Josh. He likes Cassidy. He always has."

  "Thanks for the warning," I said sweetly. If Josh and I ever did get married, I definitely wouldn't ask Elise to be a bridesmaid.

  After lunch Logan came up to me while I got my biology book from my locker. He'd made a habit of checking up on me in between classes, and as he leaned against the locker next to mine he said, "I hear you and Josh Benson are going to the prom."

  "Yep." I wanted to see a twinge of jealousy on Logan's face, but he only nodded. "So what ever happened to you and Brad?"

  As if he didn't know. By now the entire junior class knew how Brad had dumped me. I just smiled at Logan. "It didn't work out."

  "But you still think fondly of Brad anyway, right?"

  "I think it would be fond if Brad—" I stopped myself only a moment before I blurted out an insult.

  He broke into a big grin. "I almost had you there."

  I shut my locker door with a thud. "You know, you really ought to give up this silly bet because I doubt you're Veronica's type."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're a—" I stopped myself again, and then simply shook my head to show him I wasn't speaking to him any longer. I leaned against my locker and waited for him to leave, but he stayed where he was, watching me.

  His eyes actually twinkled. It was odd, it really was, how jovial he'd become since our wager. It was like tormenting me had become the most fun thing in his life. "You still have one more long week until you're able to insult me," he said. "Why not just give up now and save yourself the inner turmoil?"

  "You're the one who ought to give up this bet. Do you know what people are saying about us?"

  He shrugged. "That we're the gambling sort?"

  "No. That we like each other."

  He tilted his face back in astonishment. "Why?"

  "Because we're always talking to each other, and because— look, you're doing it right now."

  "Doing what?" he asked with real alarm.

  "You're standing too close to me."

  He looked at where I stood and then down at his own feet. "What's wrong with the way I'm standing? I'm at least two feet away from you."

  "Yeah, but you're leaning toward me."

  "Only because you speak so softly, and besides, you're leaning toward me too."

  I hadn't noticed it before, and now I straightened up, but just a little. "You're either going to have to stop walking me to class every day or do the honorable thing and ask me out, because otherwise people will think you're just toying with my affections."

  "Toying with your affections?" He out and out guffawed. "No one would think that."

  "Josh and my friends all told me they thought we had something going on."

  "That's only a few people."

  "If my friends think it, then other people do too . . . " I shrugged a bit uncomfortably. "If for no other reason than my friends don't keep their opinions to themselves."

  Logan crossed his arms, but didn't move away from me. "Well, then tell your friends to stop spreading wild rumors about our love life."

  As Logan said this, two guys from our class rounded the corner and walked close by us. They looked at us with raised eyebrows, and one snickered, but neither said anything.

  I waited until they'd passed, then whispered to Logan, "See, there go two more misinformed people. And by the way, you're leaning toward me again."

  He stood up straight and took a step away from me. "I am not, and those guys are only misinformed because I just said that stuff about our love life."

  "Exactly my point. You have to stop doing that kind of thing."

  For a moment he looked like he didn't know what to say, and then he shook a finger at me. "You're only saying all of this because you don't want me to be around you at school—because you know if I talk to you, you're going to lose our bet."

  "I just think it would be better because of all the gossip if you didn't hang around me for a while . . . say a week."

  "Not a chance. I'm going to be your second shadow." And then he took two steps toward me and purposely leaned over until he was almost touching me.

  I'm not sure why, but I felt myself blush. I hadn't been this close to Logan since the eighth grade. If I reached out my fingertips just a bit, I could touch his hand. I had held his hand once at a junior-high dance, but the funny thing was, it had never made me blush back then.

  I couldn't help my smile. "If you'd just stop hanging around me for a while, I'm sure I'd let my guard down and slip up."

  "No way. I'm sticking so close to you that by the end of the week the rumor mill will have predicted our engagement date, named our children, and picked out the family dog."

  As we walked together to the cafeteria I kept telling Logan he should leave me alone for the next week, and he kept insisting he wasn't going to leave my side. Which, somehow, didn't seem all that bad of an arrangement.

  You know, I'd never put much stock in reverse psychology, but suddenly, suddenly I'd gained a newfound respect for the idea.

  On Monday a girl from the journalism class took the candidates' pictures for the school newspaper. She also asked each of us what our main goal as president would be. I said I wanted to promote school unity.

  Amy said she wanted to organize class projects, and then went on to explain our need to be financially solvent and our obligation to provide community service. Technically, I thought this counted as listing more than one goal, but the reporter busily wrote it all down anyway. I wished I'd come up with something that could have branched off into other goals like Amy had, because it made her sound like she had an active agenda planned, which, come to think of it, she probably did.

  Rick said if elected president his main goal would be to change our mascot to something besides a greyhound because greyhounds are skinny little dogs that other dogs would beat up if they could. No one, Rick insisted, is afraid of greyhounds; so he thought we should be, like, the Pullman High deranged postal workers. Classic Rick.

  All through the week Logan was good to his word about being my shadow. I saw him at lunch, twice between classes, and after school. On Wednesday and Thursday I saw him not only at school but at work too. He was frequently at my side asking questions. "Do we have any more copies of that great Wrestlemania book in stock?" or "Do you think it's too early to remind Mr. Donaldson to order the Hot Babes calendars?"

  I wasn't even tempted into uttering an insult, though. I actually liked all the attention he gave me. After all, he was Cassidy's prom date, and he was ignoring her and by my side every free moment. Who wouldn't like that? And all of the extra time I took to choose my clothes and do my hair, well, that was just because of the campaign.

  On Friday, just to annoy Logan, I called him some term of endearment every time I saw him. I also constantly reminded him this was the last day of our wager.

  "Three more hours until our bet is through, darling," I told him as we walked together to lunch.

  He sighed. "I know."

  "You'll just have to kiss the thought of Veronica goodbye."

  "I know."

  "She wasn't good enough
for you anyway, snookums."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "Have I mentioned when you take me out, I'll be ordering several appetizers?"

  "Six or seven times."

  "See you after next period, O devoted one."

  I sat down at my table, and Logan walked over to the one where he sat. As I took the sandwich from my lunch sack my friends all stared at me icily.

  "What?" I asked.

  " 'O devoted one'?" Chelsea said. "We've sunk to 'O devoted one'?"

  "And I thought all those perky 'have-a-nice-day' comments were annoying," Rachel said.

  I held my sandwich up and nibbled on the crust. "It's the last day of the bet. I'm going to wait until three o'clock and then tell Logan my opinion on everything from his taste in women to rap music."

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Just be back to normal when we see you tomorrow, okay?"

  "Oh, definitely," I said. "I'll be as normal as ever."

  After school I waited by Logan's locker. As he picked up his books I stared at my watch and gave him the countdown. "Fifteen minutes and thirty-five seconds left until our bet is over. Fifteen minutes and ten seconds until our bet is over."

  "I can't wait around for the outcome," he said. "You'll just have to let me know how it turns out."

  "What do you mean you can't stick around? You've been positively following me around for two weeks, and now you're not going to stick it out for the next—" I looked back at my watch—"fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds?"

  "I've got errands to run. Cassidy and I are doubling with Elise and Tyson, so Tyson and I have to pick up our tuxes. But I'll see you tomorrow night. You can rub it in then."

  "Oh." I wasn't sure why his answer stung. "Well, why don't you just concede the bet now then? You know you're a loser."

  His mouth dropped open. "I'm a what?"

  "That wasn't an insult, just a prediction on the outcome of our bet."

  "Samantha, you're such a cheater."

  "Tell it to the lobster," I said, and walked away.

  Chapter 13