Dante looked over at me but didn’t comment.
Skipper kept staring. “Can I have it then?”
Skipper loves putting on makeup, with or without permission. “I wouldn’t want it to make your eyes puffy,” I said.
“Oh.” She went back to eating her Cheerios, clearly disappointed by this outcome and probably scheming to get into my makeup as soon as I walked out the door.
Dante looked over at me again. “Is it that Jesse brand of mascara you’ve been using?”
I didn’t answer him. “Can you drive me to school about a half an hour early?”
He glanced at the clock, then at his bowl full of cereal. “Why so early?”
I shrugged. “No reason.”
“I won’t be ready that soon.”
“All right.” I took another bite of my cereal. “I’ll wait for Raine then. She mentioned she would stop by our house and offer us both a ride to school.”
Dante held up one hand and shoveled cereal into his mouth. “Five minutes,” he sputtered between mouthfuls. “Give me five.”
You see, when used in the right way, logic can be a very effective tool.
When I walked into the library, no one else was there. This was because Dante had become so eager to leave the house before Raine supposedly showed up that he practically dragged me out the door on the spot. When he got to the school, he hurried off, I wasn’t sure to where. Maybe he planned on hiding out in the boys’ bathroom until school started or something. It made me feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough that I wanted to tell him the truth.
I went to the library, parked myself behind the biography shelf, and pulled out a book on Galileo. As soon as Jesse walked through the library doors, I would come out of my spot. I tried to go over casual opening lines in my mind.
Except what if he noticed my puffy eyes? I mean, I couldn’t count on all guys to be less observant than my five-year-old sister. Maybe I should wait until another day when I didn’t look like I’d spent last night crying. I could get Dante to take me early again if I mentioned Raine was stopping by tomorrow morning too. In fact, who knew how much stuff I could get Dante to do for me simply to avoid my friend? I may have stumbled upon the mother lode of motivators.
I peered at my reflection on the metal book shelf, trying to tell how bad my eyes looked. That’s when I noticed Wilson and Luke walk in. They walked toward the back of the room, but Alex McCarthy intercepted them halfway there. Alex is the type of guy I’m well acquainted with, because I spent thirty days in the alternative learning center with people just like him. If he wasn’t currently in trouble with the law, he’d be there soon. I wouldn’t have thought much about Wilson stopping to talk to him, because Wilson in campaign mode talked to everybody, but Alex was a senior. Seniors couldn’t vote. So Alex wouldn’t have anything to say to Wilson about the election, and Wilson had no reason to try and win his vote.
While I watched, Wilson pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out some bills, and handed them to Alex. Alex tucked them into his jeans, then without an acknowledgment or good-bye, he turned and strode out the library door. The whole thing happened so quickly that a moment later I asked myself if I’d really seen it. But I had, and I had no idea what it meant. Why would the mayor’s son give someone like Alex McCarthy money? It seemed so sinister.
Wilson and Luke sat down at the table directly in front of my bookshelf. Instead of waiting for anyone else, they talked about Wilson’s speech for the election assembly on Friday, and what he should and shouldn’t say to the student body.
I gazed past them at the doors. I should have taken into consideration that Jesse probably wouldn’t be the first one to come to the meeting. Now it would be awkward to walk out when he came. It would seem like I’d been spying on their meeting. Which I totally wasn’t because, really, the talk was boring even in outline form.
Another thing I hadn’t considered: What if Jesse walked in with Bridget? I couldn’t tell him I wanted to talk to him with her standing right there.
Apparently this logic stuff took some practice, and I had failed miserably at my first attempt.
Wilson and Luke went on, and no one else came. I couldn’t walk out of the library unless I walked right past them. Which meant I was stuck here until they left. So I listened to them, because that was slightly more interesting than reading about where Galileo was born.
Wilson wondered if he should emphasize the dependability factor more blah blah blah, because he could get the job done better than Dante blah blah blah.
I was about to opt for Galileo after all when Luke said, “Dude, you’ve way overworked this campaign. You could have won without doing half the stuff you’ve done.”
Wilson’s grip on his paper tensed. “But people love an underdog, and in this election Dante is David and I’m Goliath. More than a few people would love to see me crash face-first into the dirt.” He laid his speech back on the table, smoothing it out where he’d gripped it too hard. “Besides, if I lose, my dad will never let me live it down. He controls the whole city, and I couldn’t win a stupid school election? It would be less humiliating to come home and tell him I want to enroll in ballet school.”
Luke smirked at him. “Maybe, but think how spiffy you’d look in tights.”
Wilson smacked Luke across the shoulder, and I ducked farther behind a row of books in case one of them looked in my direction. I couldn’t see them anymore, but I still heard their voices.
“Just leave Dante alone,” Luke said. “He’s doing a fine job of driving away voters with stupid stunts like he pulled last Saturday. Come this Friday he’ll have the word ‘Loser’ stamped on his forehead for good.”
Wilson let out a sigh. “Should I put that joke about financing our ten-year reunion into my speech, or is that too much?”
“You know what you need to win by a landslide? Just don’t ask anyone to prom before Friday. You’ve got every dateless girl in school voting for you.”
Wilson gave a laugh that was almost a snort. “That’s not what I have to worry about. What I have to worry about is how many of them will ask me to prom before the election.”
Luke’s voice lost its serious edge. “Man, they were all over you on Saturday. I nearly had to issue them numbers and make them stand in line.”
“You think I should tone it down?”
“Nah, keep it up and let them all ask you to prom. In fact, turn the whole thing into a bidding war. Whoever offers the best deal gets you as their date.” They both laughed at this, and then Luke added, “Low-cut dress and limo required.”
“What will I do with the rest of my offers?”
“Keep one as a backup and cut the others loose.”
More laughter. I peeked over the books and saw Wilson leaning forward in his chair. “No, I’ll write them rejection letters like Mrs. Pembroke’s.”
“For their own personal bulletin boards,” Luke said.
Wilson ripped a page of paper out of his notebook and placed it in front of him. “Dear Prom applicant . . .” He didn’t say anything else, but whatever he wrote must have been funny, because Luke laughed so hard the librarian sent them one of those You’d-better-be-quiet-or-I’ll-smack-you-with-your-own-book sorts of looks.
After that they laughed more quietly, but Wilson kept writing. I craned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of his words, but I was too far away. Then Luke glanced toward the front of the library. “Ditch the letter. Here comes Bridget.”
I looked and then took a step over to where the books completely hid me. It wasn’t just Bridget.
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilson said, but he crumpled up the paper anyway. “She’s the only girl in school who doesn’t want me to ask her.” I heard the thud of paper hitting metal, and then Wilson said with forced lightness, “Two points.”
“Bridget’s just ticked off that you’re flirting with other girls, so she’s trying to make you jealous,” Luke said. “That’s the only reason she hangs off of Jesse like she was some
kind of a Christmas tree ornament.”
A moment later I heard them all say hello to each other—Bridget, Stacey, and Mr. Christmas Tree himself.
“Sorry we’re late,” Jesse said. “We passed out the rest of the ‘Vote for Wilson’ buttons.”
“We didn’t think you’d miss us,” Bridget said, and I could tell there was another meaning to her words.
Wilson answered her unemotionally. “We didn’t. We were going over my speech.”
Was Luke right about her? And how would Jesse feel when he found out she only trailed around him to make Wilson jealous? I smiled, despite myself.
Wilson gave them a rundown of his speech—still just as boring—and then the bell rang. I heard them pick up their books and move their chairs. I listened as their voices and footsteps grew distant. And even then I didn’t come out of my hiding place. I waited another minute until I knew they weren’t coming back. Then I walked over to the garbage can, sorted through the trash, and pulled out a wadded piece of paper with Wilson’s handwriting.
Dear Prom applicant,
Thank you for your interest and for throwing yourself at me, multiple times, like some love starved stork during mating season. After careful consideration of your work, I have decided that your face, body, and in all probability your ugly dress, don’t meet my current Prom needs. We wish you all the luck in securing a date with some poor slob.
Yours truly,
Wilson Montgomery jr.
Maybe it wasn’t the logical thing to do. I mean, I’d been trying to stay out of trouble with the school since last semester’s suspension. But as I walked out of the library, I stole a roll of tape from the librarian’s desk. I didn’t even look back to see if she’d seen me do it. I grabbed it and kept walking.
You see, it’s just so easy to fall back into your criminal ways once you’ve done suspension time.
Instead of going to trig, I waited until all the girls in PE class had dressed down and gone out to the gym, then I walked into the locker room. Right in the middle of the mirror, where every girl was bound to see it, I taped up Wilson’s rejection letter.
I got a tardy slip for first period. But it was worth it. I mean, seriously, I smiled all through the lecture on inverse sine and cosine because I knew what was coming.
And it came. It came in a big way.
By the end of second period I heard snippets in the hallway. Girls talking about Wilson. “Did he really write that?”
“It was in his handwriting.”
“What an absolutely conceited pig.”
“I hope whoever he asks to prom turns him down.”
By the end of third period the girls started a new election trend. They’d taken their “Vote for Wilson” buttons and drawn a red circle and a big slash across the words.
At lunchtime no less than five girls came up to me and asked who Dante was taking to prom. They all volunteered to go with him. I said I’d tell him, but to tell you the truth, I couldn’t get near him. Everywhere he went, girls surrounded him. Wilson backlash had firmly set in.
And it was gratifying, really, to see the bewildered look on Wilson’s face as he ate lunch. Luke, Jesse, Bridget, and Stacey tried to do damage control. Luke swore up and down that Wilson hadn’t written the letter. He claimed it had been a frame job. But that’s the disadvantage of having really distinctive handwriting, and then using it on your election posters.
Everyone knew he’d done it.
When I sat down in English class, I went out of my way to give Jesse a big, friendly hello.
He let out a sigh, and shook his head sullenly. “Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what?” I asked.
“Whatever it is you’re planning to say, because I don’t want to hear it.”
So basically it wasn’t a good time to bring up the we-need-to-talk discussion. It might have helped if I’d been able to wipe the so-Dante-doesn’t-stand-a-chance-huh? smile off my face, but really, there wasn’t much possibility of that.
When I went to PE class fifth period, the letter was still there, but all along its borders girls had scribbled in angry comments. Many of them the four-letter variety.
Yeah, someone would be eating their footwear soon, but it wouldn’t be me.
Chapter 14
The next day I had Dante bring me to school early again. I’d had enough time to get the happiness and basic gloating out of my system, and wanted to try to talk to Jesse again. Instead of going into the library this time, I hung out at the water fountain en route to the library, hoping to intercept him before he got there. But I didn’t ever see him. I did notice that someone—not me, though I wished I’d thought of it—had taken Wilson’s rejection letter off of the mirror and taped it onto the front of his locker.
I’m sure it gave the authors of those comments a lot of satisfaction to know Wilson could now read what they thought of his rejection letter, and I wondered if Mrs. Pembroke might try something along the same lines. I didn’t suggest it, though.
In English class I smiled at Jesse in my old, flirty manner. “Hey, Cowboy.”
“I still don’t want to hear it,” he said.
“Hear what?”
“Whatever it is you’re dying to say to me.”
“What if I’m just being friendly? What if I’m shooting the breeze?”
He watched me for a moment with narrow eyes, then turned back forward. “Nope, you’re smiling too big.”
“But—”
Bill leaned over toward me. “He doesn’t want to talk, Giovanna. Respect his wishes.”
Jesse let out a grunt and stretched his legs underneath his desk. “She didn’t respect my wishes when she was my girlfriend. You expect her to do it now?”
I leaned over until my elbows rested on Bill’s desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” Jesse said.
“No, I don’t.”
Bill slapped his hands down on his desk. “What is the deal with you two? Even when you’re not speaking, you can’t stop speaking to each other.”
“Tell me what you mean,” I said to Jesse, “because I always remember respecting your wishes.”
Jesse’s expression turned hard. “You didn’t trust me about Wilson’s campaign. I told you I had good reasons for supporting Wilson, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I believed you. I just thought you were wrong.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“Why? Because Wilson turned out to be such a stellar candidate? Mr. ‘I’m too good to go with anybody to prom’?”
Bill raked a hand through his hair. “Haven’t you all ever heard of the silent treatment? Maybe you should give it a try.”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed again. He shook his head as though trying to figure something out. “Tell me, Giovanna, how did that letter of Wilson’s make its way to the girls’ locker room?”
I shrugged. “Why ask me?”
“Because the day it happened, I thought I saw you in the library. For a second as I walked in, I thought I saw your face through one of the shelves.”
A shiver ran down my back. My breath caught in my throat. I had to remind myself I hadn’t really done anything wrong. Wilson wrote the letter; I’d just made it public. I forced myself to smile at Jesse. “That’s so sweet. You see my face everywhere you go.”
He nodded his head slowly, letting his gaze penetrate into my eyes. I knew, even though he didn’t come out and say it, that he’d figured out the truth.
The heat of a blush spread across my face, and I hated myself for being so transparent. “Are you really going to defend Wilson for what he did?”
Jesse’s voice took on an edge. “I don’t know. It seems like I’ve been so busy defending you lately that I’m not sure how much time I have left over to defend Wilson.”
His words made me do a double take. “When have you ever defended me?”
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter but his gaze just as
penetrating. “I defend you every time I hear somebody talk about how you went joyriding around with Rich, Shane, and Brett, and every time I hear how no one should expect more from someone who burglarized the biology room.”
My blush deepened. I sat stunned and silent as my mind shifted Jesse from the category of rival to defender. I wanted to thank him, to tell him exactly how I felt about everything, but even if I’d been able to conjure up the right words, I couldn’t have said them here in the middle of English class. So all that escaped my lips was an inadequate, “Oh.”
Then Mrs. Pembroke stood up and began her lecture. I turned away from Jesse, I had to, but even though I watched Mrs. Pembroke, I didn’t hear a word she said. My emotions ping-ponged around my insides, and I thought of all the things I wished I had said to Jesse.
I tried again the next day—tried to find a time when I could talk to Jesse. I only saw him once outside of English class. He passed me in the hallway, walking alone, but when I said hi, he only nodded curtly at me and walked on. In English class he sat silently gripping his pencil with one hand and made a fist in his lap with the other. He never looked at me.
I sat miserably in my chair, wishing he’d say something, wishing I’d never gotten involved in this election, and basically developing a resentment of democracy altogether.
If only we had lived in a country ruled by some hostile dictator, none of this would have happened.
I kept glancing at him until the bell rang. Was he completely over me now? The thought made my throat ache.
After school Daphne picked me up and took me to her hairdresser to have him “shape” my hair. This involved cutting layers into it, and to tell you the truth, I panicked when I saw strips of my hair falling to the floor. I kept thinking about our short-lived career as musicians, and why in the world had I let Daphne talk me into cutting my hair? I’d probably end up looking like I was wearing an angry porcupine on my head, and far from wanting me back, Jesse would laugh himself silly when he saw me.