Mission (Un)Popular (11 page)

H
AVE YOU EVER HAD ONE
of those moments when your karma just changes? One second you're wandering around like a total disaster, getting stared at by strangers in Costco, blurting out swear words and accidentally insulting people who lisp, and the next thing you know, you're actually a little bit cool? No? Well, me neither.

Except for this one time…

Determined to get things off to a better, more normal start, and not to give my English teacher the satisfaction of pinching up her lips and going, “Oh, Margot, soooo nice of you to join us,” I actually left for school on time the next Monday morning.

And when I walked into English class I practically let out a yodel of joy. Because unless Mrs. Collins had had a sex change operation, gone bald, and gained one hundred pounds…we had a substitute. “Mr. Learner” was written across the board in big sloppy letters, and a short hairy man was reading a paperback novel at Mrs. Collins's desk.

Amir, who was talking to Erik at the back of the room, gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled and slid into my chair
.
Gorgeous George, looking totally hot in a new black-and-red-striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, was there already too. He was across the room, talking to Sarah J., but I swear he looked up at me when I walked in.

“Matt was, like, no way. She's with me. And then they totally had to let me in,” Sarah was saying in a loud voice. George just nodded. “And, honestly, high school parties are so much cooler. There were eleventh graders there, even, who were totally nice.”

Em sighed. “Does she ever shut up about her boyfriend?”

“No,” I answered. “He's in
high school
, by the way.”

“Yeah. I heard. About a hundred times.” Suddenly her face lit up. “I know. Let's talk about the cool things
we
did this weekend.” She flipped her hair, Sarah-style. “Oh my God, Margot,” she said loudly, drowning out Sarah J.'s voice. “That go-see in Toronto on Saturday was the coolest. I can't believe how much the casting agent loved your book. You're definitely getting that catalog shoot. I'm really jealous.” I stared at her, my eyes going wide. Toronto? Saturday? Me? A book? What was a go-see? The coolest thing I'd done on Saturday was play solitaire online.

Sarah J. had fallen silent. She was staring at us, which, I realized, was exactly what Em had been aiming for.

“I hope so,” I answered awkwardly. “I mean. You know me. I love modeling. All the free clothes and stuff.”

Just then, the bell rang and a hush fell over the room as we waited for Mr. Learner to stand up or say something. He held up his index finger and, without even looking up from his book, said, “Give me a minute, guys. I'm almost at the end of this chapter.”

Everyone hesitated, then slowly started talking again. After making sure that Sarah J. had gone back to ignoring us, Em shot me a look like,
Really? “All the free clothes and stuff.” That's the best you could do?
I shrugged in response.

Finally, Mr. Learner put his book down.

“Done now,” he announced, laying his hands flat against the desk and leaning forward. “Quiet, please.” Nobody paid much attention. “I said DONE NOW,” he yelled in a huge, booming voice. “QUIET, please.” That worked.

“I'm sure you've noticed,” he continued, stepping out from behind the desk, “that Mrs. Collins isn't here today.” His pants were all wrinkled and part of his shirt was hanging out. He obviously wasn't married. “She's dealing with a family emergency. She'll be away for the rest of this week, at least, so we'll be getting to know each other.”

I felt like jumping up and cheering. A family emergency! Despite how mean she'd been to me, I still hoped nothing
really
bad had happened to her family…but, still, an entire week Collins-free sounded kind of like heaven.

“Since I assume you can all read, you know that my name is Mr. Learner.” He didn't smile. “And let me say up front that I can read your predictable preteen minds. In fact, I can hear the wheels in your brains turning as you imagine how you're going to get away with murder this week, so here's fair warning: I know every trick in the book. And I'm watching you.” I could see a few people exchanging glances. “And now”—he walked over to a trolley full of books and grabbed one off the top—“we'll be leaving the poetry unit behind until Mrs. Collins returns.” There were a few cheers. “I'd like to introduce you to William Golding's modern classic,
Lord of the Flies
.” There were a few groans. “It's a story about the downfall of a society run entirely by children,” he said. The cover had a picture of a bleeding pig's head covered in flies. Lovely. A story about rotting meat.

“As you read chapter one to yourselves, I want you to think about how you would organize a society if you found yourselves in the same situation as the characters. That's right. Picture an entire island of hormonal preteens with no parental supervision. A terrifying thought, I know.”

I had to admit, even though the book looked horrible, I liked the question. We all started to read. It was a bit confusing in parts, but not as bad as I was expecting.

Almost the whole hour went by before Mr. Learner stopped us. “Books down,” he instructed. “Thoughts, anyone?”

Nobody raised their hand, but Sarah J. made the mistake of leaning across the aisle at that moment to pass a note to Joyce. “Note passer,” Mr. Learner said, “in the blue shirt.”

Sarah looked up. “What was the question again?” she asked.

“If you found yourself stranded on an island, what's the first step you'd take in organizing your society?”

“Nothing,” she answered. “Everyone could do whatever. It'd be like a big bush party.”

“Ingenious,” Mr. Learner said. Sarah shrugged like it was nothing. “A bush party. And what would you eat?”

“Just, like, whatever food was on the island, I guess.”

“And what food is on the island?”

“Ummm…” She stalled. “Pig,” she said finally, sounding all pleased with herself. She pointed to the book cover. It was pretty obvious that she'd barely gotten past page one. “It'd be like a pork party,” she added with a giggle.

“I see.” Mr. Learner stroked his chin. “And who would like to come to”—he paused—“your name, please.”

“Sarah.”

“And who would like to come to Sarah's pork party?” Almost everyone except me, Em, Amir, and Erik Frallen raised their hands.

“What if there was a typhoon?” he asked. “What if you were stranded on the island for more than a year, and there was only enough pork for a week? What if there was no fresh water to drink? Would you still want to come to Sarah's pork party?”

Most people put their hands down. As cool as being at one of The Group's parties might have been, the starving-to-death part probably put them off.

“For next Monday, you'll each write five hundred words about the steps you'd take to organize your society. Then we'll talk about which of you would survive the year. Obviously, the people at the pork party need to do some rethinking.” He gave Sarah a condescending look.

“Any questions?” he asked. There weren't any. “Good.” Then he said, almost cheerfully, “Now get lost. I'm already sick of looking at you.”

You know what I hate? People who make out in public places.

It's disgusting. And not only is it disgusting, it's rude (especially to those of us who've never had anyone to make out with). And not only is it rude, it's unsanitary, considering all the spit involved. And not only that, but it's also disgusting, which I know I've already mentioned, but I think it's probably worth saying again because it explains why, thanks to Sarah J.'s noon make-out session, I literally lost my lunch.

Em had another mysterious “personal thing” to take care of when the bell rang, but she came to get me right after, from the side of the basketball court, where Amir, Mike, and Andrew were shooting hoops, while I almost passed level two of War of the Druids.

“Come on,” she said, taking the DS from me and shoving it into Andrew's bag. “Let's go over there.”

“Why don't we just stay here?” I suggested, motioning toward the court. “They're almost done, I think.”

“Yeah, but they'll be all sweaty. Anyway, we have girl stuff to discuss. Let's go where it's quieter.”

I stood up, looking toward Andrew. “Okay, well, just let me say bye, then.”

“Why? We're just going over there.” She pointed to the red maple. “They'll be able to see us.” She was right. And anyway, the guys were busy, so I nodded and followed her.

But unfortunately, even though it
was
quieter, our new lunch spot put us directly in view of Sarah J., who was French-kissing Matt, her high school boyfriend, on the sidewalk.

From all her talk, I'd been expecting some kind of ultra-cool surfer dude with a six-pack. He didn't look anything like that. For one thing, Matt was kind of skinny. He was also shorter than Sarah, but to make up for it, he had very tall hair that rose from his forehead in a stiff wave. Still, he was well dressed in a gray Abercrombie sweatshirt and worn-in jeans, which Sarah must have liked, and he seemed to know what he was doing when it came to kissing.

“That's just nasty,” Em said, taking a bite of her sandwich and looking toward Sarah J.'s display of lip slurping.

“Tell me about it. I'm glad I'm not eating right now.”

“Forgot your lunch?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Yeah,” I said. “It's okay. I'm not really hungry.” The truth was, my mom had sent me to school with a VTV Power Pack lunch of organic vegetable stew, and I was not about to risk ridicule by heating it up in the cafeteria's kitchenette microwave.

“I'm not hungry either,” she said, and passed me half of her sandwich. “Eat this for me?”

I was starving, actually, so I took it. It looked like something you'd buy at an open-air deli in Venice. It was on a big fresh bun, with baby spinach, cold cuts, red onions sliced thin, tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese. Seriously gourmet. At first I figured her mom must be a great cook, or something, but then I glanced at the wrapper in her hand. It had a Whole Foods sticker on it.

“What does your mom do?” I asked.

“Gets her nails done and shops and stares at herself in the mirror,” Em said. “She's an actor.”

“Really?” I couldn't keep the tone of amazement out of my voice. “So's my stepdad. Well, he used to be, anyway. He did Shakespeare in the Park, and a bunch of commercial work. What has your mom acted in?”

“Soap operas mostly.”

I bit my lip to keep from gasping. I knew watching soap operas wasn't a cool thing to do, but if she was on
Charmed and Dazed
, I wouldn't be able to help myself. I'd definitely scream.

“Which ones?”

“
Destiny's World
for a while. Oh, and she played Chloe on
Chicago Dreams
for like, years.”

I'd never watched either of those. Still, it must have been pretty cool to have a soap opera actress for a mom. Way cooler than having a Shakespearian actor, or that bald-guy-in-the-travel-insurance-commercial for a stepdad. Now that I knew her mom was kind of famous, more and more things about Em were starting to make sense, too—like the black car with the tinted windows that had picked her up from the self-esteem workshop, how she was so good at hair and makeup, and probably even how she'd gotten into doing modeling work.

“Oh,” said Em, reaching for her bag, “I almost forgot. The girl stuff we have to take care of. I brought you something.”

“What?”

“Just something. Take off your coat.”

“Why?” I complained. It was kind of cold out.

“Because I said so.”

“No,” I said.

She fixed me with a serious stare. “Okay, Margot. I really like you…and that's why I have to be honest with you. Your coat is ugly.”

I took in both those bits of information at once. First, she
really
liked me? I tried not to let my face break into a smile, which was made easier by the fact that she'd just insulted my coat. “It's not that bad,” I said lamely. It was a white Gore-Tex jacket with blue stitching. My mom bought it for me last Christmas. I knew it must have practically killed her to pay almost a hundred dollars for it when there were perfectly good, affordable coats at Walmart. But everyone had a Gore-Tex jacket, and I'd begged. Of course, that was last year. I looked around the yard. Nobody was wearing their Gore-Tex jackets anymore.

“Margot,” Em said, halfway between kidding and serious, “this is an intervention. I'm rescuing you from your ugly jacket.

Give it to me.” I handed it over. “And now for the ceremonious banishing of the ugly coat.” She walked to the trash can on the other side of the yard and dropped it in, brushing her hands off as she came back.

“Close your eyes,” she said. All I could think about was how my mom was going to kill me when she found out I threw away my jacket. I could hear Em opening the zipper of her bag, then felt her put something around my shoulders. “Open!” she said.

I was wearing the coolest green army jacket ever made. It had a million zippered pockets in it. I put my arms into the sleeves. They were the perfect length for scrunching my fingers up inside. “Is this yours?” I asked.

“Yours now,” she said.

“For real?” I hugged the jacket around me. “Thanks!” I could hardly wait to show it to Erika.

“Don't mention it,” Em said. “Friends don't let friends wear bad clothes.”

While Em took another bite of the sandwich, I pretended like I was concentrating really hard on my fingernails so she wouldn't notice the big dorky smile on my face.