Then she turns and walks off. Halfway down the hall, she turns around. “Make a plan,” she calls back. “Facebook me the details. Pick me up at eight.”
77.
First date.
Adam spends a week’s worth of homework money on a new outfit at Abercrombie & Fitch.
Buys that new Hugo Boss cologne.
He smells . . .
Boss.
Doesn’t calm the nerves, though.
This is Victoria Lemieux we’re talking about. She has five hundred friends on Facebook. Adam has . . .
Twenty-three.
Huge talent disparity. Adam’s out of his league. And he knows it.
78.
“What if I screw everything up?” Adam asks Sam. “What if she realizes what a loser I am?”
They’re pregaming at Sam’s apartment. Adam’s nervous as hell. He’s shaky. He’s hoping Sam has some last-second tips.
“You’re not a loser,” Sam says. “And you’re not going to screw everything up. Just be yourself. Be normal.”
“Those are two totally opposite instructions,” Adam tells him. “What if she wants to kiss me? What do I do?”
Sam bursts out laughing. “What do you do if she wants to kiss you? You go with it, obviously. Lean in and kiss her.”
“But how am I supposed to know if she wants to or not?” Adam says. “What if she’s not cool with it?”
Sam just laughs.
“I’ve never done this before,” Adam says. He’s starting to freak out in earnest now. “What if I screw up?”
“You won’t screw up,” Sam tells him. Sam watches him pace. Sam’s grinning wide.
“Damn it, Adam,” Sam says. “I’m proud of you.”
79.
Adam meets Victoria at the bus loop downtown.
(“I don’t have a car,” he tells her. “Yet.”)
She’s cool with it.
That dope new Italian joint loses his reservation.
(“We’re sorry, sir, we just can’t find you a table.”)
She’s cool with it.
He takes her to Tunnel Barbecue and they load up on ribs instead. Guzzle Pepsis and get messy.
She’s cool with it.
Takes her to a horror movie, something standard. A bunch of teenagers alone in the woods. They drink. They hook up. They die.
She’s cool with it.
(Better than cool, in fact: she’s all over it, screaming at the scary bits, burying her face in Adam’s coat, gripping on his arm for dear life.)
Adam walks her to the bus loop after the movie. Victoria’s bus pulls up. She lingers. Bites her lip. Looks away.
(“What do you do if she wants to kiss you? You go with it, obviously.”)
Adam leans in and kisses her.
She’s cool with it.
80.
Achievement unlocked: First Kiss.
81.
Sam claps his hands. “Damn right you kissed her,” he says. “What did I tell you?”
They’re on the riverfront trail, looking out across the water at the Detroit skyline beyond. They’re just a few blocks away from the movie theater, Tunnel Barbecue, and the bus loop, and the air feels
infused
with Victoria.
(Adam’s still buzzing.)
“It was just like you said,” Adam says. “She looked at me and I knew she wanted me to kiss her and—”
“And you went with it,” Sam says.
“It was so good,” Adam says.
Sam grins like he knows exactly what Adam’s going through. Like he’s loving every minute.
“I told you,” he says. “Didn’t I?”
82.
Second date.
“So what’s the deal with you?” Victoria wants to know. “You’re always hanging out with these pretty girls in the hall. Are you, like, a player or something?”
Adam laughs. “Are you kidding?”
“I was talking about you with Steph,” Victoria says. “We can’t figure it out.”
Then she blushes.
“Not that, I mean, you shouldn’t be hanging out with pretty girls. Your sister just doesn’t seem to think it’s your style.”
“It’s not,” Adam tells her. “It’s just business.”
Victoria frowns. “Business?”
Adam looks at her. Adam pauses.
(Adam doesn’t want to tell her about the homework scheme. Not Victoria Lemieux. He’s getting the sense she’s a good girl.
He’s getting the sense that she
would
not
approve.)
So:
“Sometimes I tutor people,” he says. “Help them out with their homework, that kind of thing.”
“So you’re a nerd,” Victoria says. “You’re just a really big nerd.”
“Fuck no,” Adam says, harder than he means to. “I mean, no, I’m not a nerd.”
Victoria laughs. “I take it back, jeez. Didn’t mean to insult you or anything, Mr. Big-Shot Cool Guy.”
“Ha,” Adam says. “I’m not that, either.”
(Yet.)
83.
Victoria’s story:
Freshman.
Only child.
Both parents work at the Chrysler plant.
(Adam doesn’t say anything when she tells him this. Doesn’t tell her how lucky he thinks she is that her folks kept their jobs. How much he envies her life.)
Victoria’s family lives in Walkerville, the old distillery district down by the river. The trendy part of town.
(Adam doesn’t say anything when she tells him this, either. Doesn’t tell her about how he lives in a shithole in Remington Park. How envious he is. What he says is:)
“Why didn’t you go to Walkerville High?”
Victoria screws up her face. “It’s all stoners and burnouts and losers.”
“Yeah,” Adam says—
(conveniently omitting the fact that he himself
has pretty much
always been a stoner
and a burnout
and a . . .
well, you know)—
“but Nixon’s like three miles away.”
Victoria blushes. “Okay, confession time,” she says. “I was in advanced placement in grade school. They bussed us out of district. All my friends graduated to Nixon, so that’s where I went too. I really am just a big nerd.”
Adam looks at her. “You’re not a nerd,” he says.
“Oh, no?” Victoria says. “And why is that?”
“You’re pretty,” Adam tells her. “And popular. People think you’re cool. Nerds hang out in the library all the time and play chess and stuff. Nerds don’t have any friends.”
“Wow,” Victoria says. “You’ve thought a lot about this, huh?”
“Nerds are losers,” Adam tells her. “You’re most definitely not a nerd.”
Victoria laughs. “Okay, Mr. Big-Shot Cool Guy. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a nerd. Popularity isn’t everything.”
Adam looks at Victoria with her creamy skin and sparkling green eyes and her adorable little smirk.
Easy for you to say, he thinks.
84.
“Steph says you have a brother,” Victoria says. “He doesn’t live with you guys?”
Adam shakes his head. “He moved out a year ago, I guess,” he says. “He’s big into independence and stuff. He wanted to be on his own.”
“What does he do?” Victoria says.
“He works at the doughnut shop across from city hall,” Adam tells her. “He, uh—” He looks at her. “Did Steph tell you about the accident?”
“A little,” Victoria says. “Just that he got hurt.”
“He’s a paraplegic,” Adam tells her. “He was playing hockey, against Nixon, actually, and he got body-checked the wrong way. He has to be in a wheelchair now.”
Victoria frowns. “That’s awful,” she says, because that’s what people always say, but Adam can see that
she means it. “That must be really hard for him.”
(It’s hard on everybody, Adam thinks.)
“It is,” he says. “But he’s doing okay. He has his own apartment and he does most things himself. I think he’s happy.”
She looks at him. “Do you?”
Adam pauses. “I hope so,” he says.
They’re both quiet. Then: “We should see him,” Victoria says. “I’d like to meet him.”
Adam looks at her. “What, like, now?”
“No,” she says, reaching for his hand. “Not now, but sometime. I mean, if you think he would be cool with it.”
Adam laces his fingers between hers. Thinks about taking her to meet Sam. Showing her off to him.
“Yeah,” he tells Victoria. “I think he’d like that.”
85.
Adam kisses Victoria again at the end of their second date. A little longer, this time.
She’s still cool with it.
86.
So things are going well with Victoria—
(they’re going great)
—except
—except—
things are going great with the homework stuff, too.
Too great.
87.
Adam rolls up to his locker on a Friday afternoon.
Mr. Powers just dropped another lab assignment. Mrs. Stewart has an English paper brewing. And Mr. Shoemaker wants a chapter summary on his desk first thing Monday.
It’s the weekend. Everybody has plans.
(“I’m going skiing,” says Leanne Grayson.)
(“Swim meet,” says Paul Nolan.)
(“I’m getting drunk,” says Rob Thigpen. “Screw the rest of you guys.”)
They’re crowded around Adam’s locker like drug fiends, jostling one another, shoving their homework in his face.
(Practically begging Adam to help them.)
It’s not an unpleasant feeling. But then Adam snaps back to reality.
Sara Bryant’s already cornered him about physics.
Jessie McGill’s already cornered him about English.
He’s supposed to take Victoria out again on Saturday, and he has to visit Sam, too.
But Adam can’t tell the gods he won’t do their homework. Gods don’t know the word no. It’s not in their vocab.
And Adam isn’t going to be the guy to teach it to them.
88.
“I’m screwed,” Adam tells Brian O’Donnell.
He should be at home right now, working on homework, but he needs a quick jay and some conversation.
He’s stressing, man.
Bugging out.
And he can’t talk to Sam about it, because it’s all about the homework scheme, which he still hasn’t copped to.
(In fact, Adam’s supposed to be hanging with Sam right now. He told Sam he had a date with Victoria, told him he was double-booked and had to bail.
Sam was cool with it.
“Call me later,” Sam told him. “Give me the play-by-play.”)
Brian passes the jay. Brian listens as Adam lays out the situation. “Why don’t you just quit?” Brian says. “You got a hot chick who wants to be seen with you. What more do you need?”
“Victoria?” Adam shakes his head. “Way out of my league. She’ll bolt the minute the gods forget my name. Besides, I have to do homework to make money to take her on dates.”
Brian takes the jay back. “It’s like that, huh?”
“It’s like that,” Adam says. He thinks for a minute. Paces a little. “I need the cash to take Victoria out. But I can’t take Victoria out if I’m working too much.”
“So cut back,” Brian says. “Turn down a few projects.”
Adam shakes his head.
Adam has a better idea.
“What I need,” Adam says, “is to get paid without doing the work.”
Brian laughs. “Don’t we all.”
But Adam’s serious.
Adam has a plan.
89.
Adam slaves away all weekend. Somehow finishes every last assignment. Somehow manages to carve out a few hours with Victoria—
(spends those hours making out with her in the park. Slides his hand halfway up her shirt before she pushes it away.)
Stays up late Sunday night finishing off his own homework and nearly sleeps through first period Monday morning. Barely gets all those assignments back to their owners in time.
Barely avoids disaster.
(I need a change, Adam thinks. Now.)
Fortunately, change is coming.
Adam is on a mission.
He scours the school all week. He’s looking for somebody.
90.
First, Adam thinks:
Maybe Darren.
Darren’s pretty cool. Darren’s about the only guy who’s legitimately nice to Adam at Nixon. Even invites him out sometimes.
(“Can’t,” Adam tells him. “Too much homework.”)
But Darren’s a B-student. And Darren has friends.
Darren has a life.
Darren’s unsuitable.
91.
See, Adam has particular needs. He’s looking for a loner.
A nerd.
A genius.
A loser like him.
He searches the library, the computer lab, scouts out the debate team and the student council.
It takes all week, but Adam finds the perfect candidate.
His name is Wayne Tristovsky.
92.
Wayne Tristovsky:
Captain of the Academic Challenge team.
(Basically a bunch of nerds who meet in the history homeroom at lunchtime to answer trivia questions.)
Wayne Tristovsky:
Zero friends.
Wayne Tristovsky:
Perfect.
93.
The truth of the matter is that everyone at Nixon thinks Wayne’s a big asshole.
An arrogant prick.
Kind of a douchebag.
He wears Guess and Abercrombie and Lacoste like the rest of the school. But he’s too damn smart and full of himself for his own good.
Plus, someone said they saw him picking his nose in math class. And that kind of thing will make you a pariah.
Wayne’s a loser. Wayne’s a nobody. Wayne always eats lunch solo.
Adam corners Wayne in the hall after Academic Challenge practice. Introduces himself. Asks him, “You want a job?”
Wayne looks him up and down. Wayne’s eyes narrow. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Adam says, “but you want to. I’m the guy who’s going to put a hundred bucks in your hand every week. You interested?”
“I’m not selling drugs,” Wayne says. “Sorry.”
Adam laughs. “I’m not talking drugs, Wayne. I’m talking homework.”
“Homework,” Wayne says. “What the hell? I don’t even—”
“Locker two fourteen,” Adam tells him. “After school. Let me show you.”
94.
Adam thinks:
- Maybe I should have sold the program harder.
- Maybe Wayne will just blow me off.
- Maybe I’m back to square one.
But he’s wrong.
Wayne shows up at Adam’s locker after school. He looks a little less arrogant next to the collection of gods and goddesses who join him there.
“One second,” Adam tells him. “Gotta deal with my clientele first.”
It’s another busy day. Alton Di Sousa has an economics lab due. Paul Nolan has a geography paper.
(Adam isn’t taking geography, but he swiped an old textbook from Paul’s classroom. He’s been sleeping with it under his pillow all week. Figures, hey, osmosis.)
(Anyway, nobody’s expecting a master’s thesis from Paul Nolan.)
So Adam deals with Alton and Paul and the rest of them, and Wayne watches, kind of bored, half interested, like,
What the hell is this?
And then the gods and goddesses breeze off and Adam and Wa
yne look at each other. “Five bucks a page,” Adam tells him. “Ten-dollar bonus if you pull an A.”
Wayne hems and haws. Wayne isn’t so sure about this.
“Twenty pages a week, minimum,” Adam says. “That’s a hundred bucks, easy.”
Wayne’s still frowning. Wayne’s still not convinced.
Then Janie Ng breezes up.
“Hey, Adam,” she says.
Adam excuses himself from Wayne. “Hey, Janie,” he says. “What can I do for you?”
Janie tells him she’s good. “Still coasting off that history paper last month,” she says. “Just wanted to make sure you knew about the party.”
Adam blinks. Adam doesn’t know.
“My parents are going to Vegas in a couple weeks,” Janie says. “I figured we might as well celebrate.”
“Yeah,” Adam says. “Of course we should.”
“So you’re coming,” Janie says. “Right?”
Adam feels Wayne’s eyes on him. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course I am.”
Janie grins, big. “Awesome. I’ll IM you the address.”
Then she thinks of something. “And bring booze, if you can. My parents are being Nazis about their stash. I’m trying to hook up a connection, but we could always use more.”
“Oh, yeah,” Adam tells her. “I’m sure I can find something.”
“Awesome,” Janie says. “Next Friday. Don’t bail.”
95.
Wayne’s in Adam’s grill the moment Janie walks away. “Dude, I am so in.”
(Yeah, Adam thinks. I thought so.)
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Adam says. “You can’t just write an essay and hand it in. You’re not Paul Nolan. If Paul Nolan hands in a Wayne Tristovsky essay, Paul’s screwed. And if Paul’s screwed, we’re all screwed.”
Wayne’s hardly paying attention. Wayne’s still watching Janie Ng walk away. “Yeah,” he says, “but dude. Janie Ng just invited you to her party. Do you know what goes on at those things?”
How to Win at High School Page 7