“How much does it cost?” he asks.
“Ten thousand dollars,” I say.
Max’s jaw drops. I kind of like impressing him. It gives me cred. “Do you have that much?” he asks. “To enter on your own?”
“Uh, no,” I say. “Actually, that’s not true. I have almost that much, and maybe I could have it by the time the tournament starts in two weeks. But I need that money for school.”
“Then you have to go along with it,” Max says seriously. “One tournament. Go along with it, and then get out.”
“But if I get caught, I could get in a lot of trouble,” I say. The whole situation is so hopeless that I almost start crying again.
Max comes over to my side of the table and puts his arms around me. “So make sure you don’t get caught.”
? ? ? ?
Okay. New plan. Pretend to go along with what Aces Up is doing, but don’t actually cheat. That way, if they get caught, I can just be like, “Oh, I wasn’t involved.” This will take a little bit of finagling on my part—trying to get knocked out of the tournament as quickly as possible, pretending to have forgotten the signals, etc. But I can do it.
I can totally do it. I can call Cole and convince him that I’m on board with the plan. I’m not that bad of an actress. In seventh grade I even got a callback for You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. So he probably won’t be able to tell I’m lying.
Still, though.
I don’t call Cole when I leave the IHOP, like I told Max I would.
I don’t call him when I get home.
I don’t call him the next morning before school.
And by the time I’m in the library, trying to cram for a social studies test before first period, I still haven’t called him. PHONE CALL FAIL.
“Did you call him yet?” Max asks, popping up behind me.
I scream and drop my history book onto the floor. Two random people sitting at a table across from me shoot me a dirty look.
“Don’t,” I say, “sneak up on me like that. Don’t you know that I could be offed at any moment for messing with the most powerful poker society in the world?”
“I forgot,” Max says. He lowers his voice. “Should I talk in some kind of code, perhaps?” He’s wearing a black sweater and jeans, and his hair is wet from the shower, like it is most mornings.
“Maybe,” I say, picking up my backpack. “They may have bugged my bag or something.” I look suspiciously at the kids who shushed me. “Or they might have spies.” It feels nice to joke around about it a little bit.
“Answer my question,” Max says. He pulls out the chair next to me and slides into it. His leg brushes against mine, and I pull away, not because I want to, but because it suddenly feels like my leg is on fire.
“No,” I say. “I haven’t called.”
Max reaches into my bag and pulls out my phone. “Call,” he says.
“I’m scared,” I whine. “What if he—” Max puts his finger up to my lips, and my pulse starts racing about a million miles a minute.
“Fine,” I say, mostly to distract myself from the reaction I’m having to his closeness. I take the cell phone out of his hands, and our fingers touch. Ahh! With all the touching, it’s a good thing I’m pretty much done with Cole. Or about to be. Even though we’re not officially broken up, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that lying to the guy you’ve been making out with, taking ten thousand dollars from him, and tricking him into thinking you’re going to go along with his crazy scheme to fix the National Championship of Poker constitute a breakup of sorts.
I dial the number, my fingers shaking. Actually, they’re not shaking as much as they could be, because (Max doesn’t know this) there’s no way that Cole is going to be awake this early. I mean, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Cole is a night owl. He likes to stay up late, playing poker, making plans, and partying the night away. And making out with me, although I guess that might change now. Will I still have to kiss him? Do I have to wait until after the tournament to break up with him? Do I have to be his, like, fake girlfriend? The thought makes my stomach turn. That would be so—
“Hello?” What is up with people answering their phones when they should be sleeping or out? Seriously, doesn’t anyone ever screen anymore?
“Hey,” I say. “It’s me.”
“Oh,” he says. Wow. Totally unfriendly.
“Anyway, I wanted to, uh, say sorry again for what happened yesterday.” I wait for him to say that he’s sorry, too, but he doesn’t. And then I hear voices in the background. Is he … Could Cole actually be in class? Or at the library studying? That would be a first. And then it hits me. Cole’s up so early because he never went to sleep. He stayed up all night having fun, not even caring about me or what I was doing! And granted, it’s not like I was at home crying into my pillow or anything, but he doesn’t know that. What a jerk.
But then Cole switches gears.
“Me too,” he says, his voice getting low. “I didn’t mean to upset you, and I should have talked to you before I sprang everything on you like that.” He sighs, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he really was sorry. “Are you gonna come over tonight, Shannon Card?” he asks, his voice hopeful.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I say. “I’m kind of in trouble with my parents.”
“I hope you can,” he says. “We need to talk more about everything.”
“Okay,” I say uncertainly. Max is looking at me, making hand motions like I should keep going, keep talking, but I’m starting to get rattled. So much for my great acting skills. “And I want you to know that I’m totally on board. With everything. In fact, I’m excited.”
“Awesome,” Cole says. “And, Shannon?” His voice sounds all smoky.
“Yes?” I whisper.
“I miss you.” He hangs up the phone before I have a chance to answer. And thank goodness, too, because hello? How am I supposed to respond to that with Max sitting right next to me?
“So?” Max demands as I close my cell phone and slide it back into my bag. “What’s going on? What did he say?”
“He said, uh … he said that he wants to get together and talk.”
“Talk?” Again with the skeptical eyebrows.
“Yes,” I say, more firmly. “Talk.” There’s nothing wrong with talking. Talking is perfectly fine. Talking is what people do every single day.
“So basically he wants to make sure you’re really in,” Max sighs.
“Yes,” I say. “He’s going to try to sweet-talk me, but whatever. I mean, I told him I’m going along with it, and so I’m going to have to let him think that he’s completely won me over, and that I’ll do whatever he wants.”
“Riiight,” Max says. “Except that you have to make sure that he doesn’t win you over, and actually get you to go along with it.”
“Max!” I say, shocked. “Do you really think I’m that weak? That he could get me to go along with his dumb cheating plan?”
“Do you think you’re that weak?”
“Well, he did say that he missed me,” I say, just to mess with him a little.
Max thunks his head down on the table in front of him.
“Mmmhmm,” he says. “I knew it. He’s totally trying to play you.”
“But I’m not going to fall for it!” I say. “Seriously, I’m not! I’m scared of him now. I’m afraid he might be a super-psycho killer—there’s no way I’m going to be pulled in by him. If anything, I’m afraid of being alone with him. I just have to make him think everything’s okay for a little while.”
Max looks at me seriously. “Does that mean you have to still hook up with him?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, looking at the floor. Neither one of us says anything for a minute.
“Do you want me to go with you when you have to see him?” Max finally asks, breaking the silence. “I could wait for you outside the casino or something, make sure he doesn’t see us together.”
“Too risky,” I say. “Besides, I have tremendous w
illpower.”
“You do?”
“Totally,” I say. And then I look him right in the eye. “I’m somehow able to keep myself from kissing you, aren’t I?” The bell rings, so I calmly gather my stuff and head out of the library.
? ? ? ?
Ohmigod. I can’t believe I said that. I mean, where did that come from? Am I a vixen? Am I some kind of flirtatious goddess and I didn’t even know it? Probably not. More likely it was just sort of lucky. I mean, the bell rang at exactly the right time; otherwise it probably would have been pretty awkward. This way, I was able to scoop up all my stuff and get out of there without having to talk about it. In fact, I can just kind of pretend that it didn’t happen.
Except when Parvati saunters up to my desk in math.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, hi.” Max isn’t in the classroom yet. (Maybe he’s back at the library, fanning himself before he can see me in math—either that or he had to, you know, stop at his locker.)
“I saw you and Max in the library,” Parvati says. “And I’m not going to lie, Shannon, it didn’t look good.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger and looks a little sad. “You guys were getting really cozy.” The Parvati who had a breakdown has gone back to wherever she came from, and the old Parvati is back. “I mean, I don’t want to believe it, but … I don’t know, what would you think if you saw what I saw?”
“Uh,” I say. “I mean, we were in the library, but we weren’t, uh, getting cozy.” I open my math book and pretend I’m working on some problems so that she’ll go away. But she doesn’t.
“It looked cozy,” she says, and I’m afraid that Crazy Parvati is going to start to come out.
“It wasn’t,” I say.
“That’s what it looked like,” she says.
“It wasn’t,” I repeat. For some reason I can’t come up with anything better, and I guess I’m kind of hoping that if I keep saying it, she’ll believe me.
“Well, it looked cozy,” she says again. Apparently Parvati is using the same technique I am. I see Max come into the classroom out of the corner of my eye, and when he sees me talking to Parvati, his eyes widen and he keeps walking to his seat.
“See?” I say. “Do you really think that if we were being all cozy, he would have just headed to his seat without even talking to me?”
“Obviously,” she says, “since I’m standing here talking to you, and I am the person from whom the coziness should be kept.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone,” she demands.
“What?” I’m sure I’ve misheard her. “I’m sure I’ve misheard you.”
“No, you didn’t,” she says. “Let me just look in your phone.”
“I’m not giving you my phone!” I say. “Why would I do something like that?”
“So that I can check to see if there are any calls between you and Max.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot.
“That’s not any of your business,” I say. “And even if it was, I would not give you my phone, because right now you are acting like a crazy person and who knows what you would do with it?”
“But we’re friends,” Parvati says. She looks shocked. “And friends don’t keep secrets from each other.” I want to tell her that we’re not really friends, but Parvati’s already on her way back to her seat, yelling over her shoulder, “You know, I thought you’d changed after you lent me your iPod.”
And so then of course I start to feel a little bad. Because we did kind of girl bond in the hall that day. And I did just lie to her. And even though I know that there’s absolutely nothing romantic going on between me and Max, I still feel a little bad.
I feel bad all during math, and I’m actually thinking that maybe I’ll try to talk to Parvati after class and apologize. But then, a few minutes before the bell rings, Ms. Kellogg stands up and looks at everyone.
“Class,” she says, “I have a special announcement to make.”
We all turn to look at her, and I pray that she’s not going to announce that we’re having another pop quiz. I am so not up for that.
“The recipient of the math award for this year has been chosen.” I can tell that most of the kids are tuning out, because a) they’re not in the running for it, and b) they don’t really care. But I perk up, because a) I do care, and b) it’s way too early for the math award to be given out. Usually they do it at the end of the year. But maybe something happened and they decided to do it early this year, so all my not-so-great grades aren’t going to count, and I’ll have won the math scholarship.
I pay attention and sit up in my seat.
But Ms. Kellogg says, “After a careful review, it’s been determined that it’s now statistically impossible for anyone other than this year’s recipient to win the math award. So everyone please congratulate Parvati Carlson for her amazing work this year.”
A few people clap, and a guy named Tyler Mansoon yells, “Way to go, Parvati, you work that math, girl!” but other than that, no one seems to care. Except for me. It’s weird, because it’s not like I really expected to win. In fact, deep down, I kind of knew I didn’t have that much of a chance. But now, hearing it being taken away already, I kind of … I feel like I let myself down.
“Now, Parvati is very excited about this, and I hope you will all give her the recognition she deserves and use her example and work ethic as something to strive for.” I’m not sure, but I think that last part might be just for me. Great. Add Ms. Kellogg to the list of people I’ve disappointed, right after my parents, Mackenzie, and my sister.
“Thank you,” Parvati says, standing up. Ms. Kellogg looks a little shocked, since it soon becomes apparent that Parvati intends to give some sort of speech, like she thinks she just won a Grammy or an Oscar or something. “I really couldn’t have done it without the support of my parents, and Ms. Kellogg here, and my new boyfriend, Josh.” She beams at all of us. “When Ms. Kellogg told me I won this morning, I was so thrilled. I’m finally going to be able to afford that new car I wanted, and I hope everyone will keep in touch when I’m at Harvard or Wellesley next year.”
She smiles and then sits down daintily in her seat.
So she knew. She knew she had won the whole time she was giving me crap about being in the library with Max. And then Parvati turns around and gives me a big smile.
Okay, maybe I don’t feel so bad after all.
? ? ? ?
When I get to work, Mackenzie is sitting in the employee lounge, eating a salad of olives and goat cheese.
“Hey,” I say. I stopped off at Adrienne’s office before I came in here, and told her I was supposed to have informed her that Mackenzie wouldn’t be at work yesterday. Adrienne was surprisingly cool about it, I think mostly because it was kind of dead in here last night, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.
It could also be because Mackenzie’s absence yesterday was the least of Adrienne’s worries after I told her I had to quit immediately because of a “family emergency.” She was more focused on being pissed about that than about Mackenzie.
“Hi,” Mackenzie sniffs. She takes a big bite of salad and shoves it into her mouth. “I would offer you some of my salad, but I know how much you hate goat cheese.” She doesn’t say it in an “I want to make up with you by offering you some of my salad” kind of way, though. It’s more of an “I intentionally ordered my food with goat cheese just because I know you hate it” kind of way.
“That’s okay,” I say. I sit down next to her. “But, um, listen, I talked to Adrienne, and it’s fine, it’s cool, she doesn’t care that you weren’t here.”
“Fine,” Mackenzie says. She doesn’t look up from her magazine.
“That’s it?” I ask. “Fine?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and try to think of a way to tell Mackenzie that I’m not going to be working here anymore.
“You know,” Mackenzie says before I can think of anything better than “family emergency.” She slams her magazine shut. “You coul
d have at least said you were sorry.”
“I did say I was sorry,” I reply, shifting slightly in my seat. “I am so sorry, really, I am. But Adrienne doesn’t care, she’s not even mad!”
“You think I care about Adrienne?” Mackenzie asks. She throws her hands up in exasperation and regards me over the table, her blue eyes flashing. “Since when have I ever cared about what Adrienne thinks?”
I frown. “I don’t get it,” I say. “Weren’t you mad because I forgot to tell Adrienne you weren’t coming to work, therefore putting your job in jeopardy?”
“You think I care about this job?” Mackenzie hisses.
“Well, yeah,” I say.
“I was mad,” Mackenzie says, “because we are supposed to be friends. And you didn’t come through for me, and I got my feelings hurt.”
Oh. Suddenly, I feel like a complete and total jerk. And I’m kind of flattered, too. I mean, when I first started working here, I felt like Mackenzie hated me. And now she’s more worried about my hurting her feelings than she is about keeping her job.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I’ve been kind of flaky lately.”
“Uh, ya think?” she says. “Is this about that guy you’ve been seeing? Because honestly, Shannon, you shouldn’t be ignoring your girls for some guy.” She wrinkles her nose. “And really, I should know, because I totally did the same thing with Lance.”
“Look,” I say, leaning in close to her, “can you keep a secret?” And then I tell her the whole story.
? ? ? ?
When I get home, there’s music coming from my parents’ room, which is weird. My parents don’t really do music. They don’t have iPods, they’ve never even heard of iTunes, and they have a very limited CD collection and an old boom box that sometimes gets pulled out if they’re having a Christmas party or something.
But now some Billy Joel is blasting from their room. Sounds like “Only the Good Die Young.” I take it as a good sign, like maybe they’ve decided that even though I did something bad, they need to let me live my life to the fullest.
“Hey,” I say, stepping into their bedroom. “What’s going on?” My mom is standing in front of the mirror in a long flowing black dress. She’s sliding big silver hoop earrings through her ears. My dad sticks his head out of the closet. He’s wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt with a tie.