Gimme a Call

by Sarah Mlynowski

  I stare at my class schedule, which is taped to the inside of my locker. I used to be in regular classes. Now? All AP. La, la, la, la, la.

  Sure, it’s confusing, but … well done, Frosh! It’s a good thing AP exams were two weeks ago, or I would be in serious trouble. But post-exam classes are the best. We watched Romeo and Juliet in AP English.

  I’m walking on cloud eleven right until lunch, when I spot Celia and Bryan.

  Kissing. In the middle of the hallway. Their arms around each other. Her hands on his back.

  “Ugh,” I say, looking away. I hope their saliva coagulates and chokes them. I like her better when she’s insulting people.

  “What’s wrong?” Karin asks.

  “I’m a little nauseated.”

  “’Cause of Bryan and Celia’s PDA? Me too.”

  “You don’t still like him, do you?” I ask. I don’t think I can deal with that.

  “Noooooo. I’m crazy about Stevey.”

  “Thank God. I mean—good.” I pat her shoulder. “Um, how long have they been going out again?” I motion to the vile couple with my chin.

  “Hmmm, maybe since February?”

  Only three months. Take that, Celia. They don’t have what we had.

  “There’s no way it will last,” Karin adds. “He’s such a player.”

  Now I really stop in my tracks. What? He is? How did that happen? I smile to myself. So does that mean the only girl he could have a four-year relationship with was me?

  As we pass them in the hall, Celia’s hand lowers to the top of his jeans, and the smile is quickly wiped off my face. Slutbag.

  “So, tell me about prom,” I say. In other words, do I have a date?

  “What about it?”

  Must tread carefully. “Remind me what the plans are?”

  “The limo is going to pick Stevey and me up first, and then we’re going to get you and Harry, and then we’ll pick up Tash and then Joelle.”

  Me and Harry. I’m going to prom with Harry Travis. Insane. There will be no kissing though. I don’t want a face rash in my prom pics.

  We pick up two trays of cheese ravioli (at least Karin’s eating!) and sit down at our table beside Tash, who’s already deep into a chicken salad.

  “What’s up, ladies?” she asks.

  “Just discussing prom plans,” I tell her.

  “Can’t wait,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe you guys are making me go.”

  Karin elbows her in the side. “Of course we’re making you go!”

  “Yeah,” I add. “It’ll be fun. Karin, Stevey, you and Joelle, me and … Harry.” Me and Harry!

  “I don’t know why you won’t let me find you a date,” Karin tells Tash. “It could be fun.”

  “I don’t want to be forced to spend the night making small talk with some random person,” Tash says, shaking her head.

  “But random boys can be fun,” Karin says, looking around the room. “And the cute ones look good in pictures.”

  Let’s hope.

  Karin subtly lifts her chin toward a guy in the corner. “What about Nick Dennings? You have a few AP classes with him, right? You guys could talk science experiments. Plus, he could probably take you in a stretch limo.”

  Nick Dennings’s mom sold her Internet business for a gazillion dollars last year. Plus his acne cleared up over the summer. He went from Not to Hot overnight.

  Tash shakes her head. “He’s taking his girlfriend. Some sophomore.”

  “Never mind, then.” Karin keeps looking. “Jonah Stoller?”

  “His tongue ring gives me the creeps.”

  I can play this game too! “What about …” I spot Sean Puttin in the lunch line. “Sean Puttin! He’s pretty cute if you like the Connecticut look.”

  Karin drops her fork into her ravioli. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Why?” I ask. “What’s the problem?”

  Tash looks intently at my face and laughs. “It’s like you have amnesia or something.”

  “Right. Amnesia. Ha-ha.” I squirm in my seat.

  “He’s an ass,” Karin says. “We hate him.”

  “Of course we do!” I laugh nervously. “Why do we hate him again?”

  “Because of what he said,” Tash explains, “about you.”

  I put down my fork. “What did he say about me?”

  “You seriously don’t remember?” Karin asks in amazement.

  “I do, I do … it’s just …” I need to come up with an explanation for my severe memory lapses. Pronto. “It’s just that I was … in a car accident.”

  “What?” they scream.

  “When?” Karin asks, putting her arm around my shoulders, concern etched all over her face.

  “Over the weekend,” I continue. “I’m fine, but I hit my head. And the doctor said that I may experience some memory issues. For a few days.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Karin asks.

  “I didn’t want to worry you,” I say, looking down at my hands. I can’t believe they’re buying this. But I guess it sounds more plausible than time travel. “But anyway, I’m going to be fine. You’ll just have to indulge me and fill in the blanks for a bit. Like with Sean Puttin. What happened again?”

  Tash shrugs. “Maybe some things are better blocked out.”

  “I have some things I’d like to block out,” Karin says. “Did I tell you that I saw my mom and dad doing it last week?”

  “Yes,” Tash says. “You’ve told us multiple times. And now I can’t block it out either.”

  “Please spill it,” I beg.

  Karin hesitates. “It was about your kissing technique.”

  “What’s wrong with my kissing technique?” Bryan had no issues with my kissing technique. At least, he never said anything about my kissing technique.

  She hesitates again. “He said you kiss like a fish.”

  Jaw drops. “He said what? How does he even know what I kiss like?”

  Karin and Tash give each other a Devi’s-an-alien look. “Because you kissed him. Last year. Have you blocked that out too?”

  Yes. Apparently I have. What does a fish even kiss like? Fish don’t kiss. Sean Puttin is a preppy moron! I do not kiss like a fish. Unless that’s why Bryan broke up with me. Because I kiss like a fish.

  I look up. Karin and Tash are both staring at me.

  I guess I should say something. “Forget Sean, then. We definitely don’t want him in our limo.” I send a quick text to Frosh: Do not kiss Sean Puttin. And beware of Harry’s beard! It hurts! xo Ivy

  “Forget me having a date,” Tash says, going back to her chicken salad. “Joelle doesn’t have one, so what do I need one for?”

  Didn’t Joelle mention in the car the other day something about waiting for Jerome Cohen to ask her? And aren’t I supposed to find out what happened with Jerome Cohen anyway? “Any chance Jerome Cohen asks her?” I ask, hoping that they won’t give me another Devi’s-insane look.

  They give me another Devi’s-insane look.

  Tash snorts. “If Joelle mentions Jerome Cohen one more time, I may have to strangle her.”

  Karin nods. “She really needs to get over him.”

  Aha! So they did go out. “They went out so long ago … when we were freshmen, right?” I hope that’s still true.

  “Yes,” Tash grumbles. “A million years ago.”

  “And she’s still hung up on him,” I say. I think I’m getting it.

  Tash rolls her eyes. “You think?”

  “She should have said yes to Kellerman,” Karin says. “He would have made a decent prom date. As long as he changed out of his sweatpants. Do you think he even owns a pair of jeans?”

  “No, she’d prefer to remain uncommitted on the zero chance that Jerome asks her.” Tash shakes her head. “I bet he’s not even going. Hipsters like Jerome don’t go to prom.”

  I look around the room. “Where is Joelle, anyway?”

  Tash takes another forkful of her salad. “Yearbook, I think
. Hey, shouldn’t you be there too?”

  “Should I?” I ask.

  Karin laughs. “Aren’t you the coeditor?”

  “Try it on for me!” Karin says, lying across my bed. “What color is it again?”

  “Red,” I say, and open my closet.

  “Really? I thought you hated red.”

  “I do but—” Bryan thought red was sexy. Never mind. The dress that stares up at me from my closet is not red. It’s silver, ankle-length, and drapey. Cinderella-y but without the puff. Wow. It’s perfect. “I forgot. My dress is silver.” I giggle weirdly.

  “Your memory is seriously whacked. But I love the dress. Is it Izzy Simpson?”

  I peek at the tag. “Knockoff. It’s from Raffles.”

  “Good find.”

  I dump my clothes onto the floor and slip on the new dress.

  Karin zips up the back and I give her a twirl.

  “Wow. You look amazing. Seriously.”

  I admire my reflection in the mirror. It does look pretty good. What was I thinking with red? I must have been crazy.

  “What shoes did you get?” she asks.

  Good question. I rifle through my closet. I see my red prom heels. But no silver ones. How did that happen? That’s not going to look right. “I think I still need a pair,” I say.

  “Only a week and a half left to go. We should go shopping this week. Are you going to get four-inches?”

  “Are you crazy? Why would I do that? I won’t be able to walk.”

  “Isn’t Tom like six foot three?”

  Huh? “Tom? Who’s Tom?”

  Her forehead crinkles with concern. “Your amnesia is acting up again. Tom Kradowski? Your prom date?”

  My what? What happened? “Right … Tom Kradowski.” Apparently Frosh did something and I have a new prom date. What happened to Harry? Harry is hot! I catch my reflection again and see that I no longer have a chin rash. Does this mean that I no longer made out with Harry on Friday? Did the beard warning throw Frosh off?

  I barely know Tom Kradowski! I don’t think I’ve ever said two words to him. But I must have, right? At least to ask him to prom or to accept his invitation. At the moment, all I know about Tom is that he’s very tall. Like six foot three. Kind of reminds me of a giraffe. Boooooo. I want Hot Harry back! “I guess I will need higher heels.”

  “Unless you’re wearing stilettos, you’re still going to spend most of the night looking up.”

  After changing back into my clothes, I sit at the opposite end of my bed and glance at my bulletin board. Congratulations on your acceptance to Hofstra!

  New prom date, new school … pretty soon I’ll be an entirely brand-new me.

  chapter eighteen

  Tuesday, September 13 Freshman Year

  “Still doing homework?” Mom asks me. My work is spread across the kitchen table.

  “Yup,” I say, stifling a yawn.

  “It’s after ten. Shouldn’t you get to bed?”

  “Soon,” I tell her, wondering why Ivy hasn’t called to check in. “I just have to finish reading a chapter for economics. We have a quiz tomorrow.”

  “You’ve been at it for hours,” she says. “I’ve never seen you work so hard.”

  Because I’ve never worked so hard.

  “I know high school can be overwhelming, but you don’t want to overdo it,” she tells me.

  Even though everyone was going to the mall after school, I came home to study. Sure, I’m not ditching my friends for Bryan—I’m ditching them for homework. I didn’t want to—but I did it. Because that’s what Ivy told me to do. But if she doesn’t even bother to call—even though I sent two texts—then I’m not going to listen to her anymore.

  “Thanks for helping me with my song for the play tryouts,” I tell her.

  “No problem. I used to help Maya all the time. And you’re going to do great tomorrow.”

  Moms are the most unbiased judges, aren’t they? I’m singing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid. Since the play is Beauty and the Beast, I figure I might as well stay in the Disney family for the tryouts.

  Ivy finally calls a half hour later.

  “Where have you been?” I ask bitterly. I close my textbooks with a bang. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “Karin was over,” Ivy says.

  “She was? Glad you get to hang out with friends while I have to work.”

  “I had to work during lunch, thank you very much. Yearbook meeting.”

  I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder and carry my work up the stairs. “You’re still on yearbook! Fabo! Isn’t it fun? It’s a lot of work, going through all those photos and page layouts, but still fun.”

  “I wouldn’t know—I don’t remember doing any of it! But I must have, huh? Our page proofs are already in. We had a celebratory pizza party with the surplus from our ad sales and alumni pages. You would not believe how much former students give to get their names listed in the Where Are They Now section.”

  I’m too annoyed at her to be happy about my alumni idea still being around three years later. “So you have pizza parties and hang out with my friends while I study and practice singing ‘Kiss the Girl’ again and again until I sound like a scratched CD.”

  She laughs. “I guess. But it’s working, no? We got into Hofstra and I’m yearbook editor.”

  Huh? “You are? I thought Joelle was yearbook editor.” Oh, no. “Don’t tell me I stole her job!”

  “Relax. We’re coeditors. You didn’t usurp her.”

  I dump my books onto my desk. “Unsurp?”

  “No. ‘Usurp.’ Your SAT word for today, my little friend. It means ‘to seize by force, take possession of without right.’”

  Sounds like a brand of slushy. “Got it. Usurp.”

  “Can you use it in a sentence?”

  Ivy is usurping all my fun. “I’d feel really badly if I usurped Joelle’s position.”

  “Bad,” she says. “You’d feel bad. I think. I don’t know. Whatever. But let’s not forget about the essay portion of the SATs. You can’t sound illiterate. And what’s ‘coagulate’?”

  “To thicken,” I say, on autopilot.

  “Very good. You’re doing wonderfully. You’re obviously doing well in your classes.”

  “I definitely understood what was going on in algebra,” I say. “And Karin said I could come over whenever I want and listen to her tapes. And Tash said she’d explain to me what was going on in chemistry tomorrow at lunch.”

  “Cool! All you need is a few more activities and we’ll be there.”

  I close my eyes. “More activities? Are you kidding?”

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry. You must be overwhelmed, but … it’s the best thing for us. I swear.”

  “Ivy, I don’t know how much more I can do. Between yearbook and memorizing stuff for the play and keeping up with my schoolwork, I’m going to have a lot on my plate. Omigod, I missed the premiere of TTYL!” How did I forget about my favorite show?

  “I can tell you what happens,” she says. “They all—”

  “No spoilers!” I scream, covering my ears and dropping the phone onto the carpet. Whoops. “I’m only picking up if you promise not to tell me what happens!” I loosen my hands.

  I hear her muffled promise and pick up the phone again.

  “They all die,” she says.

  Ahhhh! “I’m going to kill you.”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. They don’t die. They get into a car accident and suffer from short-term amnesia.” She giggles.

  “That would never happen on TTYL! That’s way too hokey.”

  She giggles again. “You’d think. But I’m kidding with you. Honestly, I don’t even watch the show anymore, so I have no idea what’s going on.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Back to the real world. Colleges like applicants who are well rounded. I think you need a sport.”

  That does not sound fun. “Can we talk ab
out it tomorrow? I’m really tired.” I yawn. Loudly.

  “It’s only ten-thirty!”

  “That’s late! It’s a school night!”

  She laughs. “You’re so dimples.”

  I sigh and plant my head smack in the middle of my pillow. “What does that even mean?”

  “Oh, it’s just an expression we use—I use—to mean cute. Forget it.”

  “Will do.” I close my eyes. My eyelids are extra-heavy. “So can I go to bed now? Anything else?”

  “Yes, actually. One more. I know that I’m asking a lot, but I was thinking you should do some volunteer work.”

  “You mean we should try our Save the World list again.”

  “I meant more like licking envelopes for the Red Cross. Something to add to your application. Something small, no? I still think we need to fix all the stuff on the list eventually, but the plastic surgery thing still freaks me out. I don’t want to make anything worse.”

  “Yeah. I get it.”

  “We should probably get you all settled first, anyway. Before trying the big stuff, no? Safer to use ourselves as the test dummy until we’ve gotten all the wrinkles out.”

  I sigh. “Good point.” I guess saving the world can wait a few more days. It’s not like time is something we’re running out of. In fact, I kinda think we have too much of it. “So, how come you say ‘no’ after all your sentences?”

  “I do not!”

  “You do too. You just said, ‘Before trying the big stuff, no?’”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffs.

  Whatever. I yawn again. “Anything else?”

  “Yes! Did you get my text today?”

  “About Harry’s beard? Yeah. Why would he grow a beard? Gross.”

  “Just forget I said anything, ’kay? What about the Sean part?”

  “Not kissing him? Yes, I got it.” Was I planning on kissing Sean Puttin? No, I was not. Although he is kind of cute.

  “Good. He tells everyone you kiss like a fish.”

  I nibble on my lip. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a jerk-face.”