Mission (Un)Popular (19 page)

“How's school going this year, huh?” Amir's mom asked me. I knew she was politely referring to the glazed ham, and hinting that I could always come talk to her if I needed to. I still had the embarrassing lavender-scented note she'd sent to school with Amir, tucked into my top drawer. Not that I ever really planned to call her.

“Good, thanks,” I said quickly. “I'm sorry. I have to go.” I looked off down the sidewalk. “I babysit my sisters after school.”

His mother nodded, then put her hands on Maida's bouncing shoulders. “Okay then, Miss Ballerina. Let's go.” Maida grinned, jumped a few more times, then started for the stairs. “Bye, Margot,” Amir's mom said. “Take care. I hope we'll see you again soon.” The rest of the family waved and started to follow—everyone except Amir, who was looking at me with worry.

“You're not going to tell Andrew I said any of that stuff, though, right?” he asked. “About him, you know”—he seemed too mortified to get the words out—“liking you,” he finally managed.

And if I thought I'd been embarrassed talking to his mom, now my cheeks felt
really
flushed. “No,” I said, looking down at the ground. Obviously, I wouldn't.

“Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow,” Amir said, turning.

“Yeah, see you,” I answered.

Then he jogged up the community center steps behind his family, leaving me feeling weirdly scared and alone as I started to wind my way down the sidewalk, dodging small bouncing ballerinas. All I could think about was Andrew, and how on earth I was going to make things right.

I
THINK IT'S WEIRD HOW YOU
can't choose who you love. I mean, you can choose pretty much everything else in life. Chocolate or vanilla? Walk or take the bus? Sitcoms or the shopping network? But the really important stuff, like love—it's totally out of your control. Also, it's totally confusing.

When I got to school the next morning I found Andrew sitting alone on a bench, bent over an open notebook. I knew I had to talk to him and somehow let him know I didn't think of him like that. Not really. What happened in his basement last June had been nice, but my heart belonged to Gorgeous George—especially now that things were changing for me at school, and I might actually have a chance with him. I knew Andrew would understand in the long run. He's the most understanding person I know.…

“Finishing your homework?” I asked, sinking down a few feet away from him, planning to start off casual and find a way into the important stuff.

“I wish.” He looked up, sticking his pencil behind his ear. “My mom asked me to write a letter to my grandma in Barbados. She says it will light up her life.”

I leaned over to read what he had so far.

Dear Grandma. I am fine. How are you? How is lawn bowling? I hope it's fun.
I grinned. “Well, I know that would light up my life.”

Andrew gave an exaggerated sigh before sitting back. “What do
you
think I should write?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Tell her something exciting.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” I said again, then I took the paper, grabbed the pencil from behind his ear, erased his last two sentences, and started to read aloud as I wrote. “How about: ‘Dear Grandma. How are you? I am fine'?”

“I think I already had that,” he pointed out.

“Shhh. Give me a sec, okay?” I cleared my throat. “‘Yesterday, my class went on a field trip to the zoo.'”

“We didn't go on a field trip.”

“Like she's going to know! Now, if you don't mind…” I brushed some eraser bits off the paper.
Or at least we tried to go to the zoo, but an alien spacecraft landed on the highway directly in front of the bus. Everyone was very frightened.
Andrew was leaning in now, watching me write.
But not me, because, thankfully, I spent the summer learning how to lawn bowl. I picked a giant boulder up off a nearby hill and rolled it right over the spacecraft, flattening it like a buckwheat pancake and saving the entire world. All the kids yelled “STRIKE,” and it was awesome. Yours truly, Andrew.
He was laughing now.
P.S.,
I added,
I just made that all up. I hope you are fine.

“You're kind of weird, Margot Button, you know that, right?” he said, smiling.

“Yeah. But at least I'm not boring.”

“No. You're definitely not boring.” He reached out to take his pencil back, but my hand was still on it. Our fingers overlapped, and we both looked down and froze. A second later I let go. But it was a second too late. Sarah, Maggie, and Joyce just so happened to be walking past, and Sarah stopped and stared.

“Sorry, Andrew,” she called out. “Don't get your hopes up. You must have heard by now that she's a lesbian.” When I ignored her, she narrowed her eyes, adding, “And no offense, Margot, but your eyebrows still look retarded.”

It was a stupid, random Sarah-J.-style insult that would have normally had me fumbling for words, but—I don't know, maybe it was thanks to Andrew's letter—my creative juices were flowing. Or maybe it was Em's influence, and I'd picked up great comebacks by osmosis. Whatever the reason, like some kind of magical brain gift, the perfect insult came to me. I only hesitated a second—because this never happens to me.

“That lesbian rumor is really old,” I said. “Don't you have anything better?” She looked at me in shock, but I went on, not giving her the chance to answer. “Also, I know my eyebrows don't look great. But they're growing back. At least my nose isn't crooked. That kind of deformity is permanent.”

She paused. “Is she talking to me?” Sarah asked Joyce.

I turned to Andrew and said loudly, “I can't believe I never noticed it before”—I squinted at Sarah carefully—“but it curves to the left, doesn't it? Maybe it got knocked loose when Em hit her with that sandwich.”

“What is she talking about?” Sarah turned to Maggie and Joyce, who shrugged before giving me dirty looks. “You don't know what you're talking about,” she said lamely, then they walked off toward the concrete ledge. But as I watched them go, I swear to God, I saw Sarah put her hand up (just quickly) to touch her nose.

“Did you really just say that to her?” Andrew asked in awe, or shock, or maybe both.

“I really just did,” I said, hardly believing it myself.

“Wow,” he said. “Now, that's one side of you I've never seen before. You just lawn bowled Sarah J. flat.” And I smiled, because I actually had.

As if to celebrate, Andrew bent down, scooped up a pile of bright leaves, and threw them up in the air. They floated down on us like confetti, and we never did end up having that important talk. But I figured it was okay. Why ruin the great feeling? We'd talk later.

After that, I spent the whole morning feeling pretty proud of myself for the hit I'd gotten in at Sarah J. (I'd even caught her checking her nose again in her locker mirror), but as good as it had felt, it still wasn't anywhere near enough to make her cry. Em was about to take care of that, and to win our bet.

It all started when Michelle showed up to English class wearing kitten-heel boots, which she was actually doing a pretty decent job of walking in. I admit I was impressed. I'd tried on a pair of Grandma Betty's chunky beige old-lady heels once and nearly tripped through a screen door.

“Aren't those a little formal for a school day?” Sarah said, taking Michelle in as she came down the aisle. “And no offense, but they almost make you look too tall. I don't think heels are meant for everyone. Just because Emily Warner from
New York
wears them doesn't make them stylish.…”

Obviously, Sarah was talking loudly enough to be overheard, like always, and Em wasn't about to take that one lying down.

“Right,” she said from across the room. “Because Darling, Ontario, is a fashion mecca, so Sarah would know.” Michelle kind of slid into her desk, crossing her legs underneath to hide the boots. “Don't listen to her, Michelle,” Em said. “Most runway models are six feet tall, minimum. You look great in heels.”

“Yeah, but Michelle's not a runway model.” Sarah J. looked pointedly at Michelle's solid build.

“She's probably just jealous because you're an athlete, Michelle. And she's well…not.”

“Excuse me?” Sarah J. stood up from her desk. “If you're trying to say that I'm fat, I'm not. I haven't gained a pound since the beginning of sixth grade.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I got confused. Maggie's the one who's fat.…Or at least that's what you've been telling people. No offense”—Em imitated Sarah's tone exactly—“but it's not very nice to talk about your friends like that.”

Maggie looked down at her desk. Sarah J. glared at Em. Em smiled. Then Gorgeous George walked in with his earphones on, oblivious to it all.

Sarah J. waited until he'd almost reached his desk before walking over. “Hi, George,” she said. He slid off his earphones. “I just thought I should let you know. There's no way Margot and Em have the new SubSonic single. Think about it. Everyone is waiting to hear ‘Velocity.' K.wack'ed isn't going to hand it to some seventh grader with bad roots, even if she does know him, which I doubt.” She fixed Em with a steady stare. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but she's a liar and a big fake.”

George looked from one girl to the other.

Sarah continued. “If you don't want to waste your time, why don't you just ask out my cousin's friend Shawna—that girl from the pool party? You guys can double with me and Matt at the movie on Saturday.”

Em stood up. “Dude,” Ken called from across the room. “Duck! You're about to get caught in a catfight.”

Em ignored him, walked forward, and smiled warmly at George. “Besides the single, K.wack'ed sent a whole box of autographed promotional posters. Obviously, you don't have to come, but I hope you will. I'm only going to play the song once.” She turned and walked back to her seat, leaving Sarah J. to roll her eyes while George just stood there looking stunned.

At lunch, Ken came up to ask us if he could have any leftover autographed posters after the party to sell on eBay. Michelle got Em's phone number to give to her mom, and Zoe Daniels, an eighth grader, asked if she and her friend Kiki could sleep over. It didn't seem like Sarah J.'s little outburst had changed anybody's mind about showing up, which is why I don't know if I'll ever understand why Em did what she did next.

We were in the locker room, getting ready for gym class. I'd just finished tying my shoelaces when Em's phone buzzed. She took it out of her bag and read the text before handing it to me.

“Ew,” Em said. “He remembered.”

“What are you going to tell him?” After all, we
had
kind of invited him that day at the 7-Eleven.

“I'm going to tell him it got canceled,” Em said. “But wait. He goes to Sterling High, right? First I'm going to see if he knows Sarah's boyfriend.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don't know. Why not?” She keyed in a message with lightning-fast thumbs. Honestly, Em would have been awesome at War of the Druids if she'd ever given it a chance. The phone buzzed again and I leaned in to read the display.

We exchanged a look. Three texts later, we knew this: Matt's
other
girlfriend's name was Tania Baker. The 7-Eleven guy wasn't positive they were going out, but they definitely made out sometimes. Also, she hated dissecting worms. That last part wasn't especially enlightening, but the rest was absolutely shocking.

“Do you think Sarah knows?” I whispered, feeling a little sorry for her, despite everything.

“Are you texting on school property?” I jumped when I heard Sarah J.'s voice behind me. She walked by with Maggie and Joyce, who were wearing nearly identical Lululemon Athletica outfits. “Don't make me report you.”

Suddenly I didn't feel that sorry for her anymore. “Of course she doesn't know,” Em whispered back as The Group girls pushed through the door and walked out into the hall, talking about how much they loved each other's groove pants.

“Should we tell her?” I asked.

Em looked at me like I was crazy. “Do you think she'd believe it, coming from us?” She had a point.

I shoved my stuff into my gym cubby. “Okay, then, we just act like we never found out Matt was cheating?”

“Well, we can't do that either,” Em said.

“So?” I turned to her. We were the only two people left in the locker room now. “What
do
we do?”

She seemed to think about it for a second, then marched across the room. “We kill two birds with one cell phone.” By the time I caught up with her, Em's arm was already deep inside Sarah J.'s backpack. “Found it,” she said, lifting out a pink phone. She flipped it open and started pressing buttons.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. She passed me Sarah's phone. A sent text message was on the display.

“What?” I shrieked, closing the phone and quickly wiping it on my shirt. The last thing we needed was for Sarah to find it covered in our fingerprints.

Em took it from me, flipped it open, and deleted the message history.

“She's going to find out we sent that to Matt, and then she's going to kill us!!” I said.

“Relax,” Em said, passing me the phone. “It's going to be fine. Better than fine. Matt, the scumbag cheater, doesn't get his make-out date with Sarah J., and Sarah J. gets what she deserves. Justice has been done.”

Sarah's phone started vibrating just then. It scared me so badly I almost dropped it on the floor.

Em walked over, read it, deleted the message, then dropped the phone into Sarah's bag. She glanced at the clock. “You should go, or you'll be late for class. I'll be a minute. Can you tell Mrs. Rivera I just started my period or something? I'll be there in a sec.”

“I don't mind being late,” I said. I didn't want to walk into the gym alone. I was too scared Sarah would see the guilty look on my face, guess what we'd done, and strangle me with a jump rope from the equipment room. “I can wait.”

“Really. Go,” Em insisted. “I have to take care of one more thing.”

I don't know what I thought.…Maybe she was going to text 7-Eleven guy back to say the party was canceled, or call her dad to arrange for the SubSonic autographs. So I went. It didn't seem like a big deal.

And it wasn't until we were changing back into our clothes after gym that I started to suspect something else might be up. Sarah J. was on the other side of the locker room, touching up her makeup when the freak-out started. “Oh my God,” she said to Maggie and Joyce. “My face cream smells weird. Smell this.”

She held it out, and both girls sniffed obediently.

“Ew. That's nasty.”

“Do you think it went bad?”

“Check the expiration date.”

“It doesn't have an expiration date.”