7 Clues to Winning You (21 page)

When I got to town, I parked on the street near the coffee shop. I was already a few minutes late, but I couldn’t help stopping to take pictures of all the license plates with letters that I passed. I got
A
,
E,
and
T
ones. I knew some letters were going to be easy to find and some would be brutal. Who the heck would have a license plate with an
X
or
Z
? I had to hope for vanity plates and luck.

I opened the door to the Daily Grind and spotted Tara at a small table beside the window. She saw me and waved, and I filled up with happiness. I’d forgotten to miss that. I remembered it now, though.

“Where’ve you been, girl? It’s quarter to five,” she said. She stood up and stepped toward me, smiling. “You’ve never been late in your life. One week at Ass Grove and your whole world falls to hell, huh?”

I wrapped my arms around her and let her hug the past seven days out of me. “Pretty much,” I said.

“Sit. Talk,” she said.

“Let me grab a coffee and I will.” When I got to the counter, I opted for a hot cocoa with lots of whipped cream and chocolate shavings instead. It was definitely a day for chocolate.

“Sorry about bailing on you this weekend,” I said, sitting down. “It’s been crazy.” I told her all about canceling the Senior Scramble, but I didn’t tell her that we were taking it underground. I kept that secret locked up in the vault. I did mention Luke to Tara, but not in any particularly noticeable
way. As far as I was concerned, he was negligible. That’s what I kept telling myself.

“So by the third day, everyone pretty much hated me,” I said.

Tara waved it off. “So what? Who cares what those freaks think about you? You don’t belong there anyway.”

“But Tara, I’m stuck there, whether I belong or not. You don’t understand what it’s like to have no friends. It wasn’t even ‘no friends’ either, it was ‘all enemies.’ I’m not exaggerating when I say they hated me. And let me tell you, being despised and thought of as a loser? It sucks. It’s awful.”

“You’re not a loser. Not at Meriton, anyway.”

“Tara, I’m not anything at Meriton.” Why couldn’t she get that?

“Well, you should be,” she muttered, circling the rim of her coffee cup with her perfectly French-manicured finger.

On the one hand, it was sweet that she clung to the idea that I was a Meriton student. On the other hand, it was absolutely no help to me.

Tara couldn’t comprehend why I would possibly want to gain the respect of anyone at Ash Grove. That’s because she wasn’t on the front lines. She didn’t see that I was in a survival situation. Had she always been that shortsighted? Or had I never noticed because I was that shortsighted too?

I’d always considered myself a fairly sympathetic person, but maybe I was only sympathetic to certain things I chose to see. Had I ever walked up to any of the so-called wasteoids at Meriton and asked what their story was? Had I ever spoken up when someone in my group started name-calling? Oh,
sure, it was so easy for me to brag about being charitable and doing volunteer work, but had I ever done a true kindness to anyone fighting on their own personal front lines at Meriton? Had I even acknowledged those people at all?

I know Tara hadn’t. She couldn’t, even though one of them was sitting right in front of her. It was no use trying to explain more. I loved Tara, but she was just an oasis; she couldn’t be a healing place for me when it came to this.

I steered the conversation toward Meriton and listened to her gossip for a while. When a car pulled into a parking spot right outside the window, I noticed its license plate began with a
Z
. I wrapped up our chat and told Tara I had to run. We hugged and I left, feeling more alone than ever.

I WALKED THROUGH THE NEXT FEW DAYS IN FULL-ON zombie mode. You know when you go from home to school and home again and it’s not until you’re lying in bed that night that you finally realize you have no idea how you got there? That was my general state of being for the rest of that week.

There were a few landmarks. My parents decided to sell to the yuppies. Dad finally relented when they came back with an offer to close quickly on the sale. We’d be moving on April Fools’ Day. What a joke.

In Senior Scramble news, I found twenty-four of the twenty-six letters on license plates. I still needed
Q
and
X
. Cy and Jenna had found them all by Wednesday. They were rocking the scavenger hunt. They told me their screen name was sid&nancy, and according to the stats and Luke’s updates on the website, they were in first place.

That was about the full extent of my interaction (or lack of) with Luke Pavel. He kept trying to talk to me, but I dodged him every chance I got. I bumped into him outside the cafeteria again one day, but I plastered on ye olde lady look and pretended I was extremely busy and important. I didn’t want him to know he’d rattled me. I didn’t want to let
on that I knew what a manipulative player he was. Probably was, anyway. I mean, all signs pointed to it. I even saw his slutty girlfriend accost him again Friday after school in the parking lot. It was so undignified. Luke must’ve thought so too because he ducked his head and wouldn’t let her kiss him in front of everyone.

As far as Tara went, I texted and e-mailed her as usual, even though things weren’t exactly “usual” between us. We made plans to go shopping with Veronica, Cerise, and Melissa at the mall on Sunday at four, though. I was looking forward to playing make-believe normalcy with them.

Even so, that Sunday afternoon I was running late yet again. I’d been chasing down a car whose license plate said XTRA SXY. I finally got the picture in the parking lot of that same convenience store that sells the porno mags. Coincidence? I think not.

I decided to take the shortcut through the alley behind the mini-mall on my way to meet the girls. I wheeled behind the buildings, and as I neared the back of the grocery store, an enormous black garbage bag shot out of a Dumpster and crashed to the ground in front of my car. I hit the brakes and slammed into my seat belt. Before I had a chance to wonder what kind of animal could possibly be throwing bags out of the Dumpster, a person’s head popped up.

Luke Pavel’s head.

I swear to God, this guy had some kind of evil cosmic tether to me. Only, this was in my neighborhood, not Ash Grove. He was the trespasser now. A flood of anger rushed through me and provoked this sinister desire to get back at
him for toying with me when he had a girlfriend. I grabbed my phone, zoomed in, and snapped a perfect picture of him Dumpster-diving.

Eat that, Luke-Luke-who-makes-me-puke. Now who’s got an embarrassing picture?
I saved my fine example of photographic skill, tossed my phone on the passenger seat, and glanced up to see Luke staring at me and waving. Waving me over.

What choice did I have? Even in the throes of rage and vengeance, I was trained to remain civil and polite. Dignity, Blythe. Dignity. Besides, I was insanely curious.

I got out and strolled as far as my front bumper. I shaded the glare of the slanted afternoon sun with one hand. I stuck the other hand on my hip and struck an assertive pose. I said nothing.

“Blythe! Perfect timing. Can you give me a hand?”

I had always found it difficult to say no to someone who’d asked for my help. I recognized that this made me a perfect mark for scam artists and machinators, but I couldn’t stop myself. Nevertheless, I didn’t walk over to Luke right away. “A hand with what?” I called, without moving an inch.

“There’s a whole case of eggs in here, but if I throw them, they’ll break. Can I hand them to you?”

“You want to hand me filthy, rotten eggs out of the garbage?” I dramatically eyeballed my adorable green linen capris and matching wedge heels. “I don’t think so.”

Luke sighed equally as dramatically. “They’re not filthy or rotten. They’ve just reached their sell-by date. They’re good for at least another week.”

“So?”

“Can you just take them? I’m standing in something soggy.”

I reluctantly sauntered over to him as slowly as possible. He lifted down a case of about sixteen dozen eggs, which I took—touching as little as possible—and set on the ground. The case was still completely enveloped in plastic wrap as though it was right from the egg distributor. I didn’t understand why it was in the garbage. “These eggs aren’t even unwrapped.”

“No kidding,” Luke said. “There are three more cases in here.” He handed each one down to me and I lined them up on the dirty pavement.

“Why did the grocery store throw them out?”

“I told you. The sell-by date was yesterday. They have to throw them out, even though the eggs aren’t bad yet.” He disappeared into the Dumpster and resurfaced a few seconds later with four unopened boxes of cereal that he handed to me.

“They just throw all this stuff out even though it’s still good?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“Why don’t they donate it somewhere?”

“Bingo,” was his answer.

“Bingo what?” I asked. He handed me a full bag of pre-washed spinach.

“Bingo, that’s the question: Why don’t they donate it somewhere?” He ducked down and popped back up with four loaves of perfectly good bread in his hands. “It’s too
much of a liability for the grocery store. If someone at a shelter got sick or hurt, the store could get sued. Here, can you reach these?” He dropped the bread into my hands.

“So you’re picking the stuff out of the trash and then, what? Take it to a shelter or somewhere yourself?” I asked.

“Bingo,” he said again. “Garbage is public property. I do the dirty work and take the food that’s still good to a soup kitchen and a food bank over in Ash Grove. They decide whether to use it or not.”

“Why don’t you go Dumpster-diving in Ash Grove, then?”

He stared down at me and pushed up his glasses. “I do. The grocery stores there switch stock on Fridays, though. This store gets new shipments on Sundays and clears out the old stock. So I hit this one every Sunday afternoon before stuff gets too gross or freezes or gets too hot if it’s summer. I’ve gotta book, though, because the garbage truck comes at five to empty the Dumpster.” He checked his watch.

Hold on a sec. Luke Pavel had been Dumpster-diving for charity for months? Maybe years? How could this be the same Mr. Charming who strung me along when he already had a girlfriend?

I glared at him. “So, what do you get out of it?”

He paused with a huge, lumpy, clear plastic bag in his arms. “Me? What? Nothing.” He tossed the knotted bag over the side and it landed on the ground. It was stuffed with leftover bagels and buns from the bakery section. “Why would you think I was trying to get something out of it?” he asked.

Because you’re a two-faced jerk, that’s why,
I said to myself.
All I said out loud was, “It just seems kind of extreme. For charity.”

“Isn’t that the point of charity?” he said. “A hardship for you to ease someone else’s struggle? I suppose you’re more used to the check-writing form of charity.”

“No …” I tried to say.

“You probably think charity only extends ‘so’ far.” He squeezed an inch of air between his forefinger and thumb.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You’re all for charity, just as long as you don’t have to get dirty doing it.”

“NO,” I said. “Stop putting words into my mouth. That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant that … this is kind of … an enormous job. Especially for one person to be doing all alone.”

He chuckled and tossed me a case of instant noodle soup. “You’re right, it is. So climb on up and help.” He examined the contents of a black garbage bag, cringed, tossed it aside, and grabbed another bag.

I opened my mouth to decline politely but instead blurted, “Why doesn’t your
girlfriend
help?” It had come out too quickly for me to muffle the twang of jealousy in my voice. Lately, my brain wasn’t acting faster than my feelings.

He paused again with a bottle of ketchup in each hand and was silent for a few seconds. Then his expression softened and he handed me the ketchup. “Ex-girlfriend. As of yesterday.” He passed a few boxes of croutons down to me.

“Yesterday?” I said with plenty of sarcastic disbelief in my voice.

He glanced at me but kept talking. “It’s been over between us for a while.”

“It didn’t look like it was over between you two on Monday,” I said. “It didn’t look like there was
anything
between you two. Including oxygen.” Luke laughed. I scowled at him. I didn’t think it was so hilarious.

He folded his arms on the rim of the Dumpster. “Karly and I were together for almost a year. I care about her. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I felt terrible about stringing her along too. I guess I was just waiting for a reason to actually do it. To make the break.”

“So why did you?” I asked.

He set his chin on his arms and stared fixedly at me. “I found a reason.”

I didn’t show it on my face, but inside, I turned into warm honey. Could he … did that … did he possibly mean me? Could I dare to trust my feelings for him? Or should I listen to the levelheaded reasoning that said Luke Pavel was a selfish jerk?

As if he could read my thoughts, Luke reached out his hand. “Get in here with me, Blythe. Come on. It’s not as bad as you think. Trust me.”

I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t figure out what to do. I needed time. I muttered, “I’ll get filthy.”

“So?” Luke’s smile was wide and inviting. I wasn’t getting any suspicious signals from it. It seemed honest. I couldn’t possibly be that bad a judge of character and he couldn’t possibly be that good a liar. Right?

“I’m wearing linen,” I said, stalling. “And two-hundred-dollar
shoes.” Gran had bought them for me when I visited last month. In three different spring colors.

Luke nodded like a bobble head. “Oh, sure. I understand,” he said teasingly. He held up his hands in pretend surrender. “Of course you shouldn’t help the poor if it means soiling your designer clothes.” I let out a laugh. He kept rolling. “Or maybe you’re just chicken.” He flapped his elbows a few times and then beamed at me like I was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. His eyes were steady on mine. Daring me to join him. Wanting me to join him.