How Not To Be Popular (19 page)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just leave me alone.” I push past him, but not before I see a triumphant grin wriggle across his face.
Wonderful.
Of all the people I’ve met in Austin, it has to be Miles who figures out I’m up to something.

In my hurry to skirt him, a few of the flyers fall from my grasp and zigzag lazily to the floor. I don’t bother picking them up. ’Cause that’s me. Maggie Dempsey. Liar and litterer extraordinaire.

But the Universe isn’t done with me yet. As I cross the checkered tiles, heading for the exit, who should sashay in but Caitlyn. She glances from me to Miles, quickly charts the direction I’m coming from, and gives me her sneeriest look.

Somehow, though, that makes me feel better. At least Caitlyn still hates me. She knows a weirdo when she sees one.

“Do they make these in extra-large?” I ask Penny as I try for the third time to shove all my hair under the swim cap she loaned me. I still can’t seem to get the hang of it.

“Maybe,” Penny says. “For people who have really big heads.” The other ladies giggle at this.

I wasn’t going to go to water aerobics, but then I decided that thrashing about in liquid that isn’t slimy might do me some good.

Even Helen is here, hobbling about on crutches. It’s still too early for her to restart her exercise program, but she said she was going nuts sitting at home all day and decided to come in for a visit.

“And I wanted to thank you in person,” Helen says to Penny. “That was very sweet of you to mow my lawn.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know who’d done it,” Barb calls from across the locker room.

“I didn’t. But my neighbor described her and I figured it out. Why didn’t you just tell me, Penelope?”

“I don’t know. I forgot.”

“Wait a minute.” I give up on my swim cap and face Penny. “You mowed Helen’s lawn?” Penny nods. “My dad and I did. I remembered her saying how hard it was with her knee hurting, and that her son was going out of town for a while.”

“Wow,” I exclaim. “That was really nice of you, Penny.”

“Such a good girl.” Doris trots over and pats her on both shoulders.

“A real sweetie.” Mabel pinches Penny’s left cheek.

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“Hell, I’m not surprised,” bellows Barb. “She brought me so much food when I had the flu, even I couldn’t eat it all.”

Penny’s ears have turned bright red, and she’s staring down at the floor, panting hard. Suddenly she straightens up and blurts, “Maggie was nominated for homecoming queen!” Now all eyes are on me.

“She was?”

“My, my!”

“Congratulations!”

“And she was in the school paper, too.” Penny pulls a neatly folded copy of the paper out of her backpack. “Here, look.”

The ladies swarm around our bench and stoop forward for a better view.

“Well, now. How about that?” Doris exclaims, standing on her tiptoes to look over Penny’s shoulders.

“My, my!”

Barb lets out a whistle. “Just look at that picture.”

“Horrible, isn’t it?” I say with a chuckle, unable to hide the pride in my voice.

“Actually, I think you look nice,” Helen says.

“But…but I’m in that hideous jumpsuit,” I point out—rather needlessly, I think. Is Helen having problems with her vision too?

“You know,” Mabel says, “it
is
rather becoming on you.”

“Hugs your curves,” Barb remarks.

I frown down at the photo, wondering if some sort of group hysteria could be taking place. That outfit was my greatest accomplishment in the art of dressing like a loser. Not only was it weird, it was gross-ugly. How can they possibly think it’s flattering?

“Okay, girlfriends,” Barb shouts. “Time to get our heinies down to the pool.” She opens the locker-room door and gestures toward the hallway. “Move it! You too, hop-along.” Once again, I’m running behind. “You go ahead,” I say to Penny.

“That’s okay. I’ll stay. We’ll see you guys down there,” she calls to the ladies.

They nod and scurry out the door, Helen tottering after them on her crutches.

“Go on,” I say to Penny. “I know you hate being late.”
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“Yeah, but we’re a team. We should go together.”

I notice she didn’t use the word “friend,” which makes me feel better. Still, I have to wonder. Maybe all the positive attention I’ve been getting at school makes her worried that she’ll lose my company.

“Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I suddenly popular?”

She mouth-breathes for a moment, considering. “Because you’re real.”

“I’m what?”

“Real. You know. You don’t act like you’re better than everyone.” Strange. Just two hours ago Miles accused me of doing exactly that.

“And you have nice hair,” she adds.

I start laughing, then realize she’s totally serious. “Thanks,” I reply.

“You’re welcome.”

I stop stuffing my hair into the cap and stare at her. “You know, you have pretty skin,” I observe. She really does. Her complexion is creamy white with pale pink shadings, like the inside of a seashell, with not a single blemish in sight.

Penny’s cheeks and ears turn a deeper shade of coral. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

“You’re welcome.”

I hear the door creak open behind me, followed by some swishing sounds. An expensive citrusy smell wafts over us—the same scent I picked up this morning in the restroom.

“Hi, y’all!” Caitlyn greets in a slushy, fake-sweet voice.

“Hi,” Penny says.

“It’s
rully
good to see y’all.” Caitlyn continues gushing. “Isn’t it, guys?” She glances back at her cohorts.

“Oh yeah,” adds Sharla, incapable of disguising her sneer. “Real good.” Shanna, of course, just lurks behind them like a sulky little mannequin. For some reason, she hacks me off the most today.

“We want to invite you guys to a party!” Caitlyn squeals.

Penny’s eyebrows fly up to the edge of her swim cap. “A party?”
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“Yeah! The Belles are having their annual Fall Ball on the Saturday before Halloween! You just
have
to go!
Everyone
will be there!”

“Saturday before Halloween?” repeats Penny, her face going saggy. “But…that’s when we’re having our dance.”

Caitlyn lets out a loud gasp. “
Rully
? I didn’t know that. Did you, Sharla?”

“No,” Sharla replies, little snorts of laughter escaping through her nose.

A staticky sensation sweeps over me. I suddenly remember dropping the flyers in the café…the look on Caitlyn’s face when she saw me with Miles…

“You did this on purpose!” I shout, leaping to my feet.

Caitlyn places her hand on her chest, which is bulging out of her trampy athletic top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just inviting you to our party.”

“Yeah. We’re being nice,” Sharla adds.

“But the dance is a fund-raiser!” I continue. “It’s for a good cause!” Caitlyn drops her act. She throws her hands on her hips and takes a couple of sashaying steps toward me. “So? What do you guys pull in? Twenty bucks in Coke money? Please!” She tosses her ponytail and lets out a tweedling laugh.

“You’re so full of crap!” I shout, making everyone go quiet. I’ve really lost it now. I’ve never wanted to smack someone so much in my life. If Rosie and Les could see me, they’d be heartbroken. “The Helping Hands are actually trying to do something good! All you guys want to do is hang around with your snob friends!”

“Rully?” Caitlyn rapidly taps her right tennis shoe, making her smug-looking head bobble around.

“Well…you’ve got your thing coming up, and the Belles have theirs. We’ll see who has the better turnout.” She turns to leave and then pauses. “Oh, and also,” she adds, glancing back with an evil grin,

“we just got a rully cool DJ. His name is Master-Man. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He thought he was booked, but some dweeby club still hadn’t paid down a deposit. So we did.” At that, she heads out of the locker room with a flouncy twirl, closely followed by her sidekicks.

I glance over at Penny and find her practically hyperventilating on the bench.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?”

No. Not rully.

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T
IP: Align yourself with the lowly and meek.

Piss off the powerful.

“It’s going
to be a disaster,” whines Hank, holding the top of his head as if he’s afraid it’ll pop off.

“We’ll be totally humiliated,” says Frank, clutching his skull too.

“Maybe we should just call it off.” Carter also looks sad and deflated. And he hasn’t made a single bad pun since we started the emergency meeting fifteen minutes ago.

Pretty much all anyone has done so far is sit around and heave noisy sighs. Not even Mrs. Pratt is her typical cheerful self. The whole classroom has a dank atmosphere about it—like one of those rainy graveside funeral scenes in an epic drama. But there is one bright spot, at least for me. Because the meeting was last-minute, Jack couldn’t get off work from his internship. This means I don’t have to feel his moony eyes on me every few seconds or make up some reason to sprint down the hall when he asks to talk to me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pay Master-Man his deposit yet,” Drip says morosely. “I was going to this weekend.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, patting her on the arm.

We lapse into another sigh-filled silence with no one knowing what to say.

Eventually Drip lets out an exasperated grunt. “I don’t understand,” she says. “Their ball is always in November. Why’d they move it up?”

“To mess with us,” I grumble.

“But why?” Drip continues. “And how’d they know when our dance is? Or find out about Master-Man?

We haven’t even put up the flyers.”

I chomp down on my bottom lip to prevent my guilt from spouting out.

“If we haven’t put the flyers up, and they’re all wrong about the DJ now anyway, maybe we should just…you know…move it? Or even cancel it?” Frank suggests.

“That’s not possible,” Mrs. Pratt says. “We’ve had this hall rented for months now. We probably won’t be able to reschedule.”

“And the Arts Outreach people are counting on us,” Penny adds.

We hang our heads and process this.

“Okay, but…if no one comes to the dance, we won’t make any money anyway,” Hank points out.

“What makes you so certain no one will come?” Mrs. Pratt asks.

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“Hmmm…” Drip taps her chin in a phony deep-thought gesture. “Our dance is in a bingo parlor, probably with homemade mix CDs and a boom box. Their thing is in a renovated mansion with a really cool DJ, fog machine, light display, catering…”

“And lots of rich beautiful people,” Carter adds.

Again we sit silently, listening to the
chug-a-chug-a
of the building’s old air-conditioning.

Mrs. Pratt studies each of our faces. “Well, if you really think it’s not worth it…I suppose we could cancel it this year.”

We all exchange pained expressions, but no one speaks. I feel like a grub. Lower, even. Like I’ve devolved into the same primordial swill I fell into at the pond. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“No!” I shout, finding myself on my feet. “We have to do it!” Drip rolls her eyes. “Come on, get real.”

“I mean it. We can’t just fall on the ground and let those snots walk all over us. This is a good thing we’re trying to do here! It’s
our
thing. We should fight for it.” They all look as if they’re trying to figure out how to medicate me. Then suddenly Penny stands up too.

“She’s right. We can do this. We have to!”

Penny’s pink-tinged expression is both ferocious and frantic. I’ve never seen her so worked up. And judging by the others’ bulging eyes, I don’t think they have either.

“You know…I bet I could get some people to come,” Drip says.

“Me too.”

“The other tuba guys won’t go to their thing. They hate Miles.”

“So do the oboes.”

Gradually they all pull out of their funk and start chatting and planning. Mrs. Pratt nudges me and smiles.

“All right, let’s give this some thought over the weekend and reconvene next Tuesday,” she shouts over the din.

We all start walking toward the exit, strategizing as we go. But as soon as we reach the doorway, someone blocks our path.

It’s Jack.

“I got here as soon as I could,” he says, panting. “What did I miss?”
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Major emergency here. I’m in an empty classroom with Jack. Mrs. Pratt apparently puts so much stock in his honor-roll-kid reputation that she’s letting him lock up after we’re done. I really hated the knowing grins on everyone’s faces as they filed out the door, leaving us in privacy. Even Jack seemed a little smug.

Now I’m staring at the wavy pattern on his forehead so I don’t have to meet his gaze. I’m breathing through my mouth so I don’t catch a whiff of his pencil-eraser-and-fresh-laundry scent. And I’m gripping the insides of my checkered apron dress’s pockets so my hands won’t impulsively reach out for him.

It would be scary easy to fall in major like with this guy. But I can’t. I don’t want him to be just another one of those rolling stops in my life. A faded entry in an address book, or an e-mail folder that eventually becomes a string of unanswered
Sent
s.

I can handle this. All I have to do is avoid his gaze and be cool….

“So, what’s been going on?” he asks.

Augh! I just met his eye! Look away! Look away
now!

“Not a lot,” I mumble.

“Listen, uh…” He pushes a renegade strand of hair back off his forehead and shuffles his feet. “You want to try the dinner thing again tomorrow night? I found a vegetarian restaurant called Mother’s that’s—”

“No.”

“No? Uh. Okay.” He pauses and I realize he’s waiting for an explanation.

“I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Gotta help my dad with the shop. Busy time right now. You know.

Halloween and all.”

“Right.” He nods quickly.

“Maybe some other night?”

“Maybe.”
No!
What am I doing?

“Okay. So…” He hesitates. His eyes lock on to mine and his body tilts ever so slightly forward.

Suddenly I get it:
he’s coming for a kiss!

Of course he is. Wasn’t like I fought him off the last time.

“See ya,” I say, quickly backing toward the exit.

Jack catches himself. I have just enough time to see his surprise switch to disappointment before I head out the door.

Okay. Good save. But not totally. I still have that swoopy feeling I get around him. In fact, it’s stronger.

And Jack still doesn’t seem all that discouraged yet.

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I’ve got to do something major. Something that will make him give up on me for good.

But what?

In a way, I wasn’t lying to Jack. The store
is
wacky busy lately. Part of it is due to upcoming Halloween celebrations, but it’s also because Les has made some pretty cool changes.

The shop feels more open since he rearranged it. Crystal sun catchers hang in the front window, plants are everywhere, and old forty-fives hang in groups like mobiles. He even set up a small table in the middle, between two zigzag-patterned easy chairs, where customers can help themselves to hot tea. For background music he keeps the old stereo system set to a seventies-era album-rock station. The whole place has a funky-cool vibe—like a fun but eccentric relative you always love to visit.

After the meeting I came home and found Les trying to assist five different people by himself, since Rosie was off at class. I jumped in and helped a couple of university students find some Western-style shirts to wear to their gigs. Seems like every third person in Austin is in a band.

“You’ve got to hire some people to help you,” I say to Les when the last two guys walk out the door.

“Yeah, I know. But everyone I talk to needs evenings and weekends off.” He arches his back and starts rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for pitching in like that.”

“No problem. I need to find something to wear for tomorrow, anyway.” I head to my favorite rack and start flipping through my size. “What happened to all the work jumpsuits?”

“Been selling them.”

“Really? For Halloween?”

He shrugs. “I don’t ask.”

Damn. I really liked them—even if what Barb says is true and they do emphasize my minor curves. They were weird yet comfy. I just figured I’d get baggier ones.

I hear the back door open and Rosie breezes in, her crystal and magnet jewelry rattling with each step.

“Hello, loved ones!” she sings. She walks over to Les and the two start up some major aerobic kissing.

“How was your day?” she asks when she finally comes up for breath.

“Excellent!” Les exclaims. “Finally figured out something to do when the customers don’t know what costume they want. I just ask them their birthday and go by their sun sign. Aquarians really like the superhero stuff.”

“How clever of you!” She smooches him on the cheek and then turns toward me. “Oh, doodle! Why so stressed?”

I didn’t even realize my tension was that obvious. But here comes Rosie, swooping in with a bear hug and a scalp massage. I have to admit it does help.

“What’s wrong, bee-bee?” she asks. “Is it school?”

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“Sorta,” I say, my head bobbing under her expert fingertips. “Just club stuff.”

“Like what?” Les asks.

I hesitate, not sure I want to tell them. I’ve been keeping so many secrets from my parents over the past few weeks, I’m scared I might say something that will reveal too much.

On the other hand, I really could use some advice. After my little locker-room pep talk with the Helping Hands, I left school wondering,
what now?
At the time all I cared about was not letting Caitlyn win. Now I’m not sure how to keep us from failing abysmally.

“Well, see…I’m in this club…and we’re having this dance…” As Rosie strokes out my tension with her fingers, I manage to tell the whole story one phrase at a time—careful that I don’t launch into how the whole mess got started.

“I don’t understand,” Les says, stroking his goatee in that wise-old-man way of his. “Why are you so sure the students will go to this other party instead of your dance?” He sounds just like Mrs. Pratt. I swear, sometimes adults can be so naive.

“Because they’re popular,” I explain.

“Popular?” Rosie stops massaging. She and Les stare back at me, totally confused. You’d think I’d said

“uffnerblatt.”

“Yes!” I take a yogic breath, trying to hold on to the effects of Rosie’s rubdown as long as possible.

“Those kids are going to have a DJ and all kinds of cool things. We just have…us. And whatever music the twins download. And a few cases of Coke.”

“But that doesn’t mean the
people
at the other party will be more fun than you,” Rosie says.

Obviously she has never hung out with the Helping Hands.

“Whatever.” I shake my head, letting go of the idea of gaining insight from them. “It’ll work out. No big deal.”

“Well, I’m going to have a drink on the roof and watch the sun go down,” Rosie croons, doing a backward dance toward the stairs. “Who wants to join me?”

“You go ahead,” I say to Les. “I’ll close up. I still need to find something to wear.”

“Okay, sugar pie. Thanks for the help.” He charges up the stairs, and I hear Rosie let out a girly shriek.

I rummage through the inventory for twenty minutes, searching for the right wrong clothes. It looks like there’s nothing left except for way-too-big or way-too-small things. I’m finally at a point where I have to repeat outfits. The kimono is still there, but I don’t think my organs have recovered from being squished up the last time. Too bad Jack was the only person to see the wool suit before I trashed it. That thing was perfectly ugly.

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I hear a customer come in. I quickly toss the prairie-girl dress and some puff-ball pants behind the counter—on the off chance this person will want to buy them—and head to the front.

It’s Shanna. And man, if anyone’s in need of an emergency Rosie session, it’s this girl. Her face is all bent up and creased—almost Sharla-like. And her posture is so stiff her shoulders practically reach her ears.

“Hi,” I say.

“Please, please, please don’t tell anyone I was here,” she says in a strained voice.

“You know I won’t.”

Shanna nods. She steps forward, nervously weaving a lock of hair through her fingers. The strawberry pink polish on her nails is all chipped and tacky-looking, and her honey highlights have grown out about an inch. Her big round eyes, which used to appear empty to me, now just seem full of fear. Has she changed? Or am I just really seeing her for the first time?

“Um…listen. I’m sorry about all that stuff Caitlyn’s doing,” she says. “She’s just…really threatened by you.”

“Threatened by
me
?” I let out a snort. “Why?”

“Because you’re real and people love that.”

Real. There was that word again. If only people knew I’ve been a total phony since day one.

“Even Miles really likes you,” she adds.

“Miles doesn’t like me. He just wants to conquer me the way he has everything else in that school.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’m just sorry Caitlyn and Sharla are being such bitches. I want to say something, but I can’t. I’ve got to stick by my friends, you know?” She gives me a pleading look.

“Yeah,” I mumble, suddenly jealous that she gets to make friends and stick by them for more than three months.

“Besides”—she pauses, biting her chapped-looking bottom lip—“I’m not brave like you are.” I think about my hiding in the bathrooms and let out another snort. Yep, I’m brave all right.

“Is that why you came by? To tell me all that?” I ask.

“Yeah. And also…” She smiles sheepishly. “I need to buy a dress for the dance. You know, the one that…that…”