Adorkable Page 5

  “Well,” she muttered, turning away, “learn something new every day. Bye, Spitz.”

  “Bye.” Well, that was weird, I thought, putting in my combination quickly. The warning bell had sounded sometime while Shelia/Shelly was talking, and I didn’t want to be late. Opening my locker, I found a box of Goobers with a little note attached. It said: Sorry about last night. Hope you accept my peace offering, Hooker. And right below her name, there was a P.S. Heard something, really need to talk to you. The last part was scribbled, almost illegible, looking like it’d been hastily tacked onto the end.

  Scooping up my books and the Goobers, I hurried into first and made it to my seat seconds before the final bell. Across the classroom Hooker tried to flag me down, but after a glare from Ms. Vega, she settled down. Her eyes were tense as she locked gazes with me from across the room.

  I didn’t know why she was taking this so seriously. Goobers were my favorite, but she had to know that I’d forgive her. Chaz Neely was not about to end our friendship. There was no reason for her to look so anxious.

  I smiled at her, making a big show of hugging the candy to my chest, but her expression didn’t change. The whole class she kept shooting me uneasy looks. And that was strange because Hooker never got anxious over anything.

  She jumped out her seat when class was over and was next to me before I could shut my textbook.

  “Tell me it’s not true,” she demanded. “Tell me this whole freaking school has gone bat-shit, taken too-many-happy-pills bananas because I’m about to have a heart attack over here.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  Hooker looked at me like I was the one acting crazy. “I’m talking about—”

  “Sally, can I see you for a second.”

  It wasn’t really a question. Ms. Vega’s tone said she expected you to do what she asked, right then, to her complete satisfaction, no buts about it. My German teacher was an assertive, take-charge kind of woman and my favorite because of that. I was her best student; we’d become friends over the years.

  Hooker looked pained, but she said, “We’ll talk later. Don’t avoid me,” then left.

  I rolled my eyes. Avoid her? What was up with everyone today?

  Ms. Vega was sitting at her desk, head down, brandishing her red pen like a sword till the essays before her were bloodied and bruised. I sincerely hoped mine wasn’t one of the fallen. Skimming the pile, I noticed my cover page sticking out near the bottom and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  “Yes, Ms. Vega?”

  She took a final stab, crossing through a sentence three times, and looked up at me, eyes enlarged by coke bottle glasses, silver gray hair catching the light. “How are you, Sally?”

  “Fine,” I said, “And you?”

  She sat back in her chair, rolled the red pen between her fingers. “I have been hearing some things.”

  With her unique accent, a mixture of Spanish, French and German roots—all three subjects she taught by the way—the “things” sounded more like “tings.”

  “Like what?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t anything bad.

  “You have yourself a new boyfriend.”

  Taken aback, it took me a second to reply. “Oh really? Who told you that?”

  “I hear things.” She shrugged, but her eyes were shrewd. “Many times I hear the new rumors, the gossip flying about. You are not usually the topic of such talk. Today was different.”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, people typically didn’t bad mouth me behind my back. This was a good thing. On the other, they might’ve been recently. Not so thrilled about that.

  Standing, Ms. Vega came around her desk and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “You are a good girl, Sally. Never late to class, always do your homework, assignments turned in on time.” She ushered me to the door as the first bell rang and class started filling up. “Just be sure this boy is worthy of you.”

  The conversation was peculiar on several levels, but I appreciated her comments even if I didn’t actually have a boyfriend. It reminded me to start thinking about who could play my F.B.F.

  “Thanks, Ms. Vega,” I said. “But—”

  “And you make sure this Becks person knows that you are his girlfriend and no one else.” She pursed her lips as I stood there speechless. “Men seem to have trouble with this concept—just ask my first two husbands.”

  Turning away, Ms. Vega started mumbling to herself about the many odd names today, but I was still in shock. Did she just imply that Becks—Becks of all people—and I were going out? How ridiculous. Why would anybody believe such an obviously made-up story?

  The shock lasted until about the time Hannah Thackeray, a fairly good friend of mine, nudged my shoulder. “Hey Spitz, glad you finally got your guy.”

  “What?” I said dumbly.

  “You and Becks,” she said, smiling. “I’m happy for you. It was inevitable, really.”

  Was everyone here delusional? “Hannah, that’s absurd. Who told you that?”

  “Absurd?” she repeated, her smile faltering. “But I saw the two of you...at Paula’s last night.”

  “And?”

  Hannah blushed. “Well, you guys looked pretty cozy. Becks was holding you like he might never see you again.”

  I remembered Becks hugging me, but Hannah’s view was completely different from mine.

  “He just caught me as I fell,” I explained. “I slipped on some water, and he grabbed me so I wouldn’t hurt myself.”

  She looked unconvinced. “It looked pretty serious to me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.” At her frown, I immediately regretted my tone. “Hannah, I’m sorry. But really, what you saw was nothing more than Becks saving me from a busted lip. We’ve been best friends since grade school for goodness’ sake. Becks would never even look at me that way, let alone ask me out.”

  “Whatever you say,” she muttered and walked past me into the hall.

  “You’ll never be able to keep him, you know.”

  Quinn Howell, queen bee and Varsity cheer captain, was suddenly there, her long blonde hair tied together in a loose braid, her makeup perfection. Becks had told me they made out last Friday, but there wasn’t any “chemistry.” Sounded like she disagreed.

  “He’ll figure it out sooner or later,” she said, a curl to her lips. “I mean, how could Becks go from me to someone like you? It just doesn’t…make sense.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  Quinn shrugged her lean shoulders. “Just remember I called it first, Spitz. You and Becks? It’ll never last.”

  “Okaaay,” I said. That’d been the weirdest interaction yet. Quinn was your classic mean girl, but she wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t truly think Becks and I were together.

  As she walked off, I caught other people—most everyone—looking at me, or whispering to someone else and then looking at me. A strange sensation, having that many eyes on you at once. It made me wonder if this was the way Becks felt every time he was on the field.

  Becks, my boyfriend? Now that was a laugh.

  Like anyone would ever believe that.

  And yet—the thought struck me as Quinn and her crew kept shooting me the stank eye—people had believed. Bought the lie, told it to their friends and their friends’ friends, repeated it so often that it had even managed to reach the ears of Ms. Vega.

  The effect of one small, innocent hug was extraordinary.

  And I’m not going to lie and say it took me a long time to come to a decision.

  Nope. The light bulb hit about thirty seconds later when Becks called out, “Sal” and I saw Hooker striding toward me from the opposite direction, face pinched.

  I didn’t think. Acting on impulse, I grabbed Becks by the front of his jersey, dragged him to the storeroom not far away and pushed him inside, which earned us a few catcalls.

  “Sal,” he said again, laughing, but there was no time.

  Hooker
had stepped up the pace and was nearly upon us.

  Without a thought, I threw myself in right after Becks and jerked the door shut behind me, heart pounding as I heard the final bell ring.

  “Lillian, are you coming to class?”

  The voice was Mr. Caroll’s, the Political Science teacher, and I’d never been so happy to hear it in my life.

  Hooker mumbled something back that I couldn’t quite make out. Through the little window in the door, I saw them arguing, Hooker pointing toward our hiding place, Mr. Caroll’s frown getting more and more pronounced. With one final glance, where Hooker and I actually locked eyes but only for a moment, she turned stiff-backed and walked to class.

  I exhaled.

  “So, you want to tell me why you’re running away from Lillian, not to mention pushing me into old storerooms? What’s the deal, Sal?”

  “The deal,” I said, placing my back against the door, “is I need a boyfriend. And everyone thinks you’re it.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard that.” Becks made his way to an overturned bucket and took a seat. “Don’t worry, I told them it wasn’t true.”

  “No!”

  Becks gave me a look.

  Taking a moment to order my thoughts, I placed my books on a nearby desk, making sure they were perfectly straight, grabbed the Goobers off the top for moral support, and then returned to my place by the door.

  “What I meant was you don’t have to do that. There’s no need.”

  “Sal, they’re saying we’re together.” He paused to make sure I was getting it. “Like together together.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just say you need a boyfriend? This isn’t exactly going to help your cause.”

  “Actually, it’ll help a lot.”

  He crossed his arms. “How?”

  Ah, and wasn’t that the question of the day. Popping open the Goobers, I poured a handful, chucked it into my mouth and chewed slowly. Becks met all my criteria, exceeded it. With this new rumor going around, it was almost like it was destiny. It had to be him, that’s all there was to it.

  Deep breath, I thought. Then I let the dice fly.

  “Becks, I need you to be my fake boyfriend for a month.”

  His semi-hysterical laughter was not encouraging.

  “I’m serious,” I said. “I can’t take another mystery date, and Hooker refuses to give up. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope. This is the only way I can think of to stop the madness.”

  After he got himself somewhat under control, he said, “Yeah, okay. A fake boyfriend, great plan, Sal. I’m sure that’d solve all your problems.”

  “You don’t get it.” I slumped. “I can’t take it anymore. I’ve reached the end. It’s getting to the point where I can’t go anywhere without being scared. Everywhere I go, she’s trying to fix me up. Hooker’s telling people I’m desperate.” Shaking my head, I forced myself to rally. “These dates have to end, and they have to end now.”

  “Why don’t you just find a real boyfriend?”

  “Of course,” I said sarcastically, “Why didn’t I think of it before? Thanks to Hooker, I’ve got my choice of guys who either a) end the date when they realize I don’t look anything like Hooker and am, as we’ve established, quite the dork or b) start decent but turn out to be I-love-you-even-if-I-don’t-know-you crazy ala Austin. Come on, Becks, be serious. You’ve got to help me.” Taking one last shot, not caring if he laughed in my face, I simply spoke the truth. “Becks, you’re all I’ve got.”

  Instead of laughing, he frowned. “Sal, you could get a boyfriend if you wanted to. You’re a great girl, the best. Who wouldn’t want that?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “because there are so many guys willingly lined up to go out with a girl everyone calls Spitz.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “A fake boyfriend, huh?”

  Hope ignited in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, “a fake boyfriend.”

  “So, what would I have to do?”

  I couldn’t help but be incredulous at that.

  “Do?” I repeated. “You’d do what you always do. Pretend I’m your latest girl Friday.”

  Becks’s brow furrowed. “You want me to French and feel you up in the janitor’s closet?”

  Maybe, a treacherous part of my brain whispered, but I swallowed the impulse, afraid I’d scare him away. “No. We’d just have to play for the crowds, parents, friends, etc. In private, we’d be just like we’ve always been.”

  “Just friends?” he asked.

  I nodded. Just friends.

  “You said a month?”

  “Yeah,” I swallowed again. Man, even with Becks—especially with Becks—this was embarrassing. “At the end, we’ll just tell them we decided to call it off because of irreconcilable differences. I’d pretend to be devastated. The dates would end; you’d be off the hook. No harm done. So—” I tried not to let my nerves show, hoped my voice wouldn’t waver. “—what do you think?”

  I held my breath the entire time Becks thought it over.

  Finally, he said, “Okay, I’m in.”

  I blinked. “You’re in?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “You will?”

  Becks looked up at me and grinned. “Sure. You didn’t think I’d say no, did you?”

  “No,” I said, but it came out more like a question.

  He laughed. “Sal, I just want to help. You’re my best friend. How could I possibly refuse?”

  “So, that’s it?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, and I began to breathe a bit easier.

  Good old Becks. A guy any girl would want in her corner. My entire body was floating on a cloud of relief. The best friend I could ever ask for...

  “Now, about what I’m getting in return.”

  That put an end to all the light and fuzzy.

  “I thought you said you just wanted to help,” I said incredulously.

  He shrugged. “You know what they say: You can’t get something without giving a little something, Sal.”

  That wasn’t quite what “they” say, but I got it.

  Cutting him off before he could get going, I said, “Okay, Becks. You now have ten seconds to tell me your demands.”

  His jumped off his bucket in protest. “But, Sal, you can’t—”

  “Eight seconds,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “But—”

  “Five, fo—”

  “A month’s worth of Calc homework and hand over the Goobers,” he said in a rush.

  I gaped at him, forgetting the counting altogether.

  “But you’re great at Calculus, nearly as good as me.”

  “So?” he said. “It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

  “Becks, it’s unethical.”

  “Sal, I’ll check over the work. I just want you to do it first.”

  “Why?” I asked, truly dumbfounded.

  “Like I said,” he repeated, “you’ve got to give a little. It’s only fair.”

  “Okay,” I said, picking up my books, turning to the door in a daze. I couldn’t believe we’d skipped half of second period. I’d never played hooky a day in my life. Even more unbelievable I’d just gotten my first boyfriend for a month’s worth of Calc and a box of Goobers. The whole thing seemed surreal. The fact that the boyfriend, real or fake, was Becks was just too impossible to take in.

  “Hey, Sal.”

  When I turned back around, Becks was holding his hand out, palm up.

  “Goobers?” he said.

  Still reeling, I handed them over, watching as he emptied the entire box into his mouth in one go. I was seriously considering the possibility that this was a dream when I opened the door and saw Hooker scowling on the other side, bathroom pass dangling from one hand.

  “Spitz, you cannot be serious,” she said flatly. “This is Becks we’re talking about.”

  And that’s when I knew it was real.

  CHAPTER 5
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  Could this situation be more awkward?

  Answer: Yes.

  Backing away from Hooker, I nailed Becks right in the chin. He groaned and stumbled, tripping over the bucket he’d been sitting on, taking out a few mops along the way. Luckily, Janitor Gibbens showed up, drawn by all the noise, and told us to get to class.

  “This isn’t over,” Hooker had warned. But I’d dodged that bullet. At least for now.

  Becks was waiting for me at the end of second period.

  “What’s up?” I asked as he walked over.

  “Want me to carry your books?”

  “Huh?”

  Grabbing my binder and books, he grinned. “I’m your boyfriend now. Remember?”

  “Oh.” He said that so easily.

  “Girls let their boyfriends carry their books,” he said slowly as if I needed it explained.

  “Sure,” I said. “Okay, then. Have at it.”

  Hooker knew my schedule, but I knew hers, too, so I led him the long way to my class. The upside was we didn’t run into Hooker. The bad part? We walked right into Eden Vice—or rather, she nearly knocked me over in her haste to get to Becks. Fingers gripping the front of his shirt, eyes wide, the girl was in a state.

  “Becks, it can’t be true,” Eden said. “This is just some lame rumor, right? You’re not really dating that Spitz girl.”

  “Her name is Sally,” Becks said. I jolted as one of his hands landed on my waist, drawing me to his side. Crossing her arms, Eden pouted while I tried to ignore the warmth of that hand. “And yes, I am.”

  “But why? I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “But Becks,” she whined, “I don’t understand. Why her?”

  “Nothing to understand really,” he said, smiling down at me. “Sal’s my girl. Always has been.”

  As he squeezed my hip, I swear I stopped breathing. Eden was a dip, but she walked away at the clear dismissal. I was having trouble getting my lungs to work. And Becks was just standing there, smiling like all was right with the world, like this was all normal.

  “Man, I tell you it’s a lie. Becks wouldn’t waste his time.”

  I was so close I actually felt Becks’s body stiffen. Loud and obnoxious, the voice brought back bad memories of last night’s wandering hands. I knew I should’ve punched Chaz Neely when I had the chance.