So Not Happening (10 page)
Luke stands to his feet and towers over me. I inhale a light, musky cologne. “The only thing that makes me angry is having to work with some debutante just because the counselor has nowhere else to put you. I have Ivy League schools watching my work, Bella. And when I graduate next year, I don't want to have to go to the community college just because the princess here brought our paper down and I lost all my scholarship opportunities.” He takes a step closer until I can smell his Dentyne. “See, my daddy isn't on
E!
on a regular basis and he isn't going to write me a check for college. Do you think you can wrap your little brain around that?”
My cheeks are hotter than a flatiron. “Gee, I don't know. You use such big words.” I pout my glossy lips. “They make my head hurt.”
“I'm warning you, Kirkwood. One misstep, and I'll see that you're transferred to advanced competitive weightlifting.”
I grind my teeth together to keep from totally unleashing on this pompous pig.
“Do you know what the inverted pyramid is?”
I snap my gum. “Um . . . something in Egypt?”
Luke glowers behind his glasses and tosses me a binder. “Read this. It's my tutorial on the basics of journalism. I'll quiz you tomorrow.”
“I
can
do this, you know.”
“Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” He points to a desk. “Go study, rich girl. Writing is more than just cheap shots and a cutely turned phrase or two. You can't buy your status in here. You gotta earn it.”
Straightening my spine, I pivot on my heel and walk away. Will I ever live down the Great Humiliation? Everyone thinks I'm some sort of celebutante with nothing in my head but hundred-dollar bills.
“He's intense.” A dark-complected girl sits down beside me. “But he's good.”
Yeah, good at being perfectly horrible.
“I'm Cheyenne, by the way.”
I force a smile. “Bella Kirkwood.”
“I know. Good luck—with everything.” She glances at Luke's back. “You're gonna need it.”
Twenty minutes later, Luke's shadow falls over my binder. I take my sweet time looking up. “Yes?”
He hands me a sheet of paper. “Here's your first assignment.”
“Already?” My heart flutters with excitement. “I knew you'd come around. I really am responsible and a hard worker, and I—” My eyes focus on the description on the page. “The cafeteria Dumpster?” I read it again. A story on the excessive waste at Truman High? You want me to investigate the school trash heap?”
He lifts a coal black brow. “What's the matter, princess? I thought you could handle it.”
I'd like to
handle
my fist up your nose.
“It will be my pleasure to observe the activity surrounding the Dumpster.”
He laughs and it lights up his eyes. “Surrounding the Dumpster? Oh no, Bella. You'll be observing
in
it.”
My.
Life.
Stinks.
I
s there anything lonelier than eating lunch by yourself?
I might as well be the only girl on the planet for all the attention I'm getting. The embers of anger have died down, and now instead of battering me with insults, everyone is just flat-out ignoring me. Looking through me.
I take my yogurt and apple outside and sit under a distant tree, where the occasional ant scurries by.
My favorite song plays in my pocket, and I reach in and grab my phone. “Hunter!” I instantly feel better.
“How's my favorite Oklahoman?” His familiar voice has my lips curving into a smile. I fill him in on the latest. “Can you believe I have to give Moxie away?” Pain shoots through my heart.
“So you're basically friendless, carless, and catless?”
“And those are the bright spots in my life.” I lean back into the big elm and sigh. “I miss you. I'll be home in a few weeks though. Not that Dad cares. I think somebody used the cellulite sucker on his brain.”
“Things definitely haven't been the same since you left.”
“I know—it's like I took all the cool out of New York, right?” I laugh. “Hunter, tell me what to do. Give me some advice. How do I win these people over?”
“Why would you want to?”
I frown and pik a weed. “Because I live in their town. Go to their school.”
“They're obviously beneath you. Get over it. Find some people to hang out with that are more like you. Have some class.”
“Hunter, you haven't even met them.”
“I read about them on your blog.”
Yeah, you and the rest of the northern hemisphere.
“I was mad when I wrote that. Angry.”
“So they're none of those things you said?”
“Well...”
“Exactly. You can do better than that.”
“I don't think you understand. Are you hearing yourself? You can't just discount these people because they dress differently or don't know the significance of Forty-second Street.”
“All I know is the Truman folks are making you miserable. And I don't like to see my girl unhappy. It makes me unhappy.”
Aw. Hunter's mad on my behalf. Isn't that cute? Like a knight in shining armor, he wants to defend me. Slay my dragons.
“Your girl's unhappy because every person in this town wants to torture me—like pluck out my nose hairs or force-feed me pig snouts. I'm not used to
not
having friends.” I hear the whine in my voice. “People usually like me, Hunter.”
“I know they do.”
“But I need
these
people to like me.”
“There's my bell. I'll talk to you later, okay? Hang in there. I'll tell Mia you said hi.”
“Oh, are you going to be seeing her?”
“Yeah, there's a back-to-school party at Viva's.”
My bottom lip pooches out like I'm two. “Have a good time.”
“You know it won't be any fun without you.”
Right.
We hang up. After I scoop the last bite of yogurt, I rest my head on my knees and send up another S-O-S to God.
All right, Lord
—me
again.
I need a miracle. Anything
—
I'll do anything to get back in good
graces with everyone I've offended. I can't stand this—being hated. I
want to be popular again. And I want to show them who I really am.
Please ...just one miracle?
“You Bella?”
I lift my head so fast it hits tree bark. “Ow.” A girl with the body of an Olympic hopeful stands before me, looking none too pleased to be there. “Um . . . yeah.” I look around and survey the area. Are you here to beat me up?”
“Depends. Are you gonna say something stupid?”
“I will sincerely go out of my way not to.” And then I see a flash from last Friday. “You're the girl in art class—the one who took up for me. That was really nice of you. I know you didn't—”
“I'm Lindy Miller. Do you mind?” She points to a giant root sticking out next to me and sits down.
“If you're here to tell me off, you probably need to take a number. You might get a turn about mid-December.”
She shakes her head and her ponytail bounces with hair the color of an Oklahoma wheat field. “I... um ...” Lindy traces a pattern in the dirt with her Nike running shoe. “I need your help.”
I drop my apple. “I'm sorry . . . I didn't hear you right.”
Her brow furrows and she stares at me. Hard. “I said I need your help.”
I lean in. “Look, if you need money, there's not much I can do for you. I've been cut off like Lindsay Lohan and the booze, you know what I'm saying?”
Her voice booms. “I don't need your money.” She glances behind her, like she's afraid our conversation is being bugged. “I need you to make me more girly.”
“Whoa—“ I hold up a hand. “Just because my dad is a plastic surgeon—”
She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Forget it. I knew you were a waste of my time.” And she jumps up and stomps away.
That girl may be weird, but she also could be my only ray of hope here. I mean, she did actually speak to me.
“Wait!” I run after her. “Stop! Lindy!” At this point I would totally hit my dad up for a boob job for her. Anything. “Please—“ I catch up to her and tug on her shirt.
She spins around, her eyes burning hotter than a campfire. “I said forget it.”
“No, come on.” I brave a smile. “Look, I'm going to be honest with you. I've got no one here. My home life is a disaster, the bathroom walls are filling up with my name and number, and not because I'm a good time. And I can't get a soul to so much as look at me—well, not without flipping me off. The only people left on the planet for me to talk to are in a totally different time zone. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”
“That you're a pathetic loser?”
I bite my lip. “Okay, do you understand what else I'm telling you?”
She draws in a deep breath and contemplates the sky. “My problem's name is Matt Sparks.”
“Is he harassing you?”
“No.” Lindy almost smiles. “I wish. Matt Sparks is the running back for the Truman Tigers. And . . . he's my best friend.”
And you're afraid all his head injuries are affecting your friendship?”
“No.” Her hazel eyes drop to the ground. “I... Look, it's obvious that you know a thing or two about fashion and crap like that.”
“It's true. I know both fashion
and
crap.”
“I want you to teach me how to be all girly so Matt will notice me—really notice me.”
I study this girl in front of me-her checks colored a pink shade of embarrassed, her baggv athletic shorts revealing toned leg muscles, and her school t-shirt hiding who knows what beneath it.
“I don't know ...” I twist my hair around my finger. “Have you tried just being yourself?”
She snorts. All my life. It's time for drastic action. Whatever it takes.”
“Anything?”
“Except that waxing business.”
And what do I get in return?”
“The satisfaction of helping a sister in trouble?”
I shake my head. “Nah.”
“You get friends. I'll need you to hang around me so you can get to know Matt and me better. We're not exactly on the bottom of the social food chain around here, so I think you'll see some benefit to associating with us.” She looks across the courtyard at all the students
not
paying attention to me. “Your scandal will blow over eventually. People will forgive you.”
“Not likely.”
“You just need to . . . I don't know, do something to get b a c on their good side. Maybe show them you're serious about getting to know them and Truman a bit better.”
And if I'm not?
“It's not as if you
really
meant all that stuff you said on the Internet, right?”
“Right.” Well, maybe .OI percent right.
“Think about it. But whatever you decide, keep this to yourself I'm trusting you with this information—I don't know why, but I am. But if you tell anyone about our conversation, I will sic the entire Truman cheerleading squad on you.”
I draw a cross over my heart. “I won't say anything.”
“If you're up for the challenge, call me.” She hands me a piece of paper with her number on it. “See ya, New York.” Lindy walks away, her steps quick and efficient. And not an ounce of grace to be found.
The three o'clock bell rings, and I jump out of my seat and am the first in the hall. Still leery of the full-size lockers and my nightmares of being shoved into one, I adjust the weight of my four-hundred-pound backpack and—
“Oomph!”
Plow right into an argyle sweater. “Sorry.”
Luke Sullivan glares down at me, his hands clutching my shoulders. “Going somewhere?”
His eyes cloud, and I notice they're a strange, deep blue. Like spilled ink. “I...”
Focus, Bella.
“I'm going home.”
“You have an assignment to do. That's an ongoing investigation, and it starts today.”
“I think the stinky Dumpster can wait a day. I'm not wearing my 'sit in trash outfit, but I'll be sure and pack it tomorrow. And get your hands off me.”
“Only if you remove yours.”
I startle as I realize my palms are splayed across his chest. His surprisingly hard chest. I tuck my hands behind my back, and Luke releases my shoulders, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Luke, seriously, I need a little notice. My mother is waiting in the parking lot, and I have things to do at home.” Like lie on the floor and scream until Mom says I can keep Moxie.
“I knew you couldn't do this. You don't have it in you.”
“No! I totally have it in me.” I have no idea what we're talking about here. “Tomorrow. Really, I'll investigate your Dumpster tomorrow. I think one day won't hurt our foray into the many things I'm sure the cafeteria is covering up.” I wince when I hear the mockery seep into my tone.
“Forget it. I'd hate for you to miss a nail appointment or something.”
“I don't have a nail appointment!”
You jerk.
“Um, but if I did . .. where would that appointment be?”
He growls low and pivots on his heels. “Consider your assignment revoked.”
I'm so sick of everyone's low opinion of me. If it's going to change, I'm going to have to
make
it change. Whatever it takes.
You
can do it, Bella. You can do it.
“Fine!”
Luke stops and walks back my way. “What's that?”
I swallow. “I said fine. I'll do it.”