“Thanks,” he says. He leans in close to me. “They’re doing a diorama,” he whispers, motioning to Randy Weisman and Laina Peterson, who are sitting next to us. “How lame.” He smiles. Right.
“Don’t get mad,” Lexi says to me at the end of the day as we walk out of school and toward the buses. “But your boyfriend was totally mean to me today!” She puffs out her lip and puts a pouty look on her face.
“ Whaddya mean?” I ask, and glance around quickly, just in case anyone’s overheard her and is going to burst out with, “What boyfriend? Devon doesn’t have a boyfriend.” But then I relax slightly when I realize that Lexi thinks Jared is my secret boyfriend, so if anyone were to say “What boyfriend? Devon doesn’t have a boyfriend,” it would actually be okay since no one but Lexi is supposed to know.
“I was walking out of math, and I passed him in the hall, and I said, ‘Hey, Jared, what’s up? Should be a fun weekend,’ and he completely ignored me!” She sighs and runs her hands through her hair.
“Oh,” I say. “Maybe he didn’t hear you?”
“Oh, he heard me all right,” she says. She swings her pink backpack over her shoulder and quickens her pace. The shoes she’s wearing make slapping noises against the concrete.
“He was probably in a bad mood,” I say, not sure if I’m supposed to be thankful that Jared is taking my advice and blowing Lexi off, or upset because what’s the use of having a secret boyfriend if everyone thinks he’s a jerk?
“Maybe,” Lexi says. She looks thoughtful. “Or maybe he’s pretending to be mean to your friends in an effort to throw everyone off track.”
“Probably,” I say nonchalantly “He’s very good at respecting our secret.”
“Yeah, well, you may want to talk to him about that again,” Lexi says. “Because I saw Mel rolling her eyes at you when you got up to talk to him in the caf. It was totally obvious you two were having some sort of secret conference!” She winks at me. “Is she coming this weekend?”
“Is who coming this weekend?” I ask. It’s starting to become hard to keep all my lies straight, and Lexi talks so fast that it’s hard for me to focus on her words.
“Mel,” Lexi says. “Ohmigod, we have to go shopping!”
“Wait, what?” I say. Head. Spinning. It feels like I have my own personal merry-go-round in my brain.
“We have to go shopping,” Lexi says. “And get something for this weekend. I know it’s just a school project and all, but it’s still going to be fun. And everyone here dresses a little bit different than they did in my old school.” She blows her bangs out of her face.
“This weekend,” I say. “What’s going on this weekend?”
“Hello!” she says. “The video? At Jared’s house? God, Devi, it’s your project!”
“Oh,” I say. “I just didn’t know you knew about it, that’s all.” Geez. What is up with this girl? She is PLUGGED IN.
“Of course I know about it,” she says. “Kim invited me last period.” Oh, good. So now not only is Lexi coming, but Kim is coming too. Great. For some reason, I have a feeling things will be more complicated with Kim around. I can fool Lexi around the boys, but with Kim, it could be trickier.
“So do you want to?” Lexi asks. We’re at her bus now, and we stop walking. Her shoes stop clacking. “Go shopping for something to wear?”
“Sure,” I say. I should get some new, glam clothes. Something to wear to Jared’s, and then, I don’t know, like a whole other wardrobe, perhaps? I wonder how I’m going to get my mom to give me money for the clothes.
“Call ya later, Devi,” Lexi says, and then hops onto her bus.
chapter five
“Absolutely not,” my mom says later that night when I ask my parents if I can have money for new clothes. “You got a lot of new clothes this summer.”
“But I can’t wear my summer clothes now,” I say. Duh. “And I don’t really have any nice school clothes.” I’m trying to play the “I have nothing to wear to school” angle, figuring “new school clothes” sounds way better than “new clothes to convince people I’m popular.”
“What exactly do you need, Devon?” my dad asks from the kitchen table, where he’s reading the paper. Katie’s sitting next to him, drawing a picture of a soccer player.
“David!” my mom says. She starts pulling plates down from the cabinets, setting the table for dinner. “She got enough clothes over the summer.”
“I know,” my dad says. “But she can’t wear those now.” My mom frowns, and I start to get worried. If my parents are going to get in a fight over this, it’s so not worth it. I can’t really remember the last time they had a fight, but I do remember they fought a lot before Katie and I went away for the summer. No way I want to go back to that. “Maybe we can compromise,” my dad says, and I relax. It seems like that’s a big part of their counseling appointments. The whole compromise thing.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s compromise.” My dad winks at me over his paper, and I wink back.
“What kind of compromise?” my mom asks. She sets a plate down on the table.
“Well,” my dad says, folding his paper and standing up. “Maybe Devon could be allowed to get a few new things, as long as she doesn’t spend too much money. There’s no reason she needs to spend as much money as she did this summer, but she should have the things she needs.” He starts collecting silverware from the silverware drawer. My dad is really trying to show my mom that he takes her new job seriously, even though she’s working from home. He’s constantly helping around the house.
“Well,” my mom says, looking thoughtful.
“Mo-om,” I say. “Come onnn. I watched Katie all last night.” I’m not above whining.
“Yes,” my mom says, “and you got to go out anyway.”
“So?” I say. “It’s not like we were doing anything bad. We went to the mall.”
“We played DDR,” Katie says from her spot at the kitchen table.
“What is DDR?” my mom asks, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. Every day at four o’clock, my mom takes a break from her work and settles into the living room couch with a cup of tea to watch Oprah and Dr. Phil. Because of this, she knows about all the scary teen trends that are going on throughout middle-class America and is therefore nervous whenever she hears a term that she doesn’t know the definition of.
“It’s nothing,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s just this game they have at the arcade.”
“Yes.” Katie nods in agreement. “It’s a dance game.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of it,” my mom says, looking at me closely. Probably for signs that it’s not really a dance game but something else, something that involves internet predators or street gangs.
“What does ‘DDR’ stand for?” my dad asks.
“Dance Dance Revolution,” I tell him.
“How do you play?” he asks, looking intrigued. My dad loves arcades and video games. Sometimes on Sundays we drive out to this place in Hartford called Blinky’s. It’s a huge arcade with tons of games. We spend all afternoon there, just hanging out and playing, and then we go to lunch and order two entrées each, and bring home whatever’s left over. I wonder if my dad would be good at DDR.
“I told you,” Katie says. “It’s for dancing. Like this.” She gets up off her chair and starts hitting her feet against the floor.
“Yes, great, Katie, that’s how you do it,” I say, trying to keep my patience. I remind myself Katie is only five years old, and someday may become a famous Olympian and I might need to borrow money from her.
“Don’t be mean to me, Devon,” Katie says. “Thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t being mean to you,” I say “But I’m trying to talk to Mom and Dad about something, and you keep interrupting. You interrupt a lot.”
“I do not,” Katie says. She puts her hands on her hips. “I did not interrupt last night when you were playing the dancing game with your boyfriend.”
“Boyfrien
d?” my mom gasps. “What is she talking about?”
“I have no idea,” I say, shrugging. I put an innocent look on my face. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” This is not a lie. Well, depending on who you ask, anyway. My mom and dad exchange a look, one of those “Who’s going to talk to her about this?” looks.
The phone rings, saving me, but Katie gets to it first. “Hello, Delaney household, this is Katie speaking, how may I help you today?” I don’t understand why my mom lets her answer the phone like that. You’d think Oprah would have had a show about not letting your five-year-old give her name out to any random stranger who happens to call your house.
“It’s for you,” Katie says to me, thrusting the phone in my face.
It’s Mel.
“Hey,” she says. “Is everything all right? I waited for you after school today.” Whoops. I completely forgot Mel and I were supposed to walk to our buses together.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I ran into Lexi and then things just got completely out of control.”
“Oh,” she says. Silence.
“I’m really sorry,” I say again.
“It’s okay,” she says, not sounding like it is. “I was just worried.”
The call waiting beeps in my ear. “Can you hang on a second?” I ask Mel.
“Sure,” Mel says, sounding slightly exasperated, like my dad does when Katie asks him to put the gold medal around her neck. (Katie has a gold medal that’s made out of tinfoil and cardboard. Which makes it look silver even though it’s supposed to be the gold medal. Katie got around this little detail by writing “GOLD MEDAL” on it in black Sharpie, in case there’s any confusion.)
“Hello,” I say. “Delaney residence, this is Devon speaking, how many I help you?” I stick my tongue out at Katie to show her how ridiculous I think her phone greeting is.
“Hey, Devi,” a male voice says in my ear. “It’s Luke.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to think of what I could say to make up for the fact that I just answered the phone in the same way my slightly delusional five-year-old sister does. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” he says easily. “Listen, I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Jared, and he’s fine with us using his camera and his house this weekend. Can you do it Saturday at around two?”
“Oh, definitely,” I say. I make a mental note to ask my mom if it’s okay. Which it will have to be, since I’ve already said yes, and everyone knows it’s quite rude to cancel plans.
“Who’s that?” Katie asks. She starts pulling on my shirt. “Who’s that on the phone?”
I ignore her and move to the other side of the refrigerator, out of her sight. I consider switching to the cordless phone but realize that to do so, I will have to leave this phone while I go get the cordless phone, and whoever hangs it up for me (i.e., Katie or one of my parents) might realize I’m on the phone with a boy and/or say something potentially embarrassing.
“Great,” Luke says. “So we should probably get together at some point before that, to go over the script and figure out who’s going to play what parts. I’m pretty sure everyone wants to do it—Jared, Kim, Lexi, Matt O’Connor …”
“Good idea,” I say.
“Mo-oomm,” Katie says. “Devon’s being mean to me.”
“Devon, I’d like you to get off the phone now,” my mom says. “We were in the middle of a discussion.” I ignore them both.
“Do you have to go?” Luke asks. He sounds concerned.
“Oh,” I say. “No, why?” The last thing I want is Luke thinking I’m not allowed to use the phone like a normal person. Not to mention the way I answered it.
“I thought I heard your mom say you had to get off the phone.”
“Oh, no,” I say, “She was talking to my sister.” I cover the mouthpiece with my hand. “Mom,” I whisper. “I’ll be off in a second, I’m talking about schoolwork.” Why is it when I’m lying, people believe me, and when I’m telling the truth, they don’t? Is it possible I’ve wrecked my karma so badly that now no one will believe me when I tell the truth? Am I The Girl Who Cried Boyfriend?
“So when do you want to do it?” Luke asks. “It’s probably better to do it outside of school.”
“Do you want to come over here?” I ask. “Maybe tomorrow afternoon or something? That way, we could write the script, and we could kind of go over it with everybody on Thursday and Friday at lunch.” I say the last part nonchalantly, like it’s a given that I’ll be sitting at the A-list lunch table.
“Cool,” he says. “So we’ll talk more about this tomorrow?” His voice sounds deeper on the phone than it does in person. I wonder if it’s like that with all boys. I’ve never really talked to a boy on the phone before. Well, except my dad when he calls from work. But I’ve never really noticed a difference in his voice. Oh, and one time Mel and I called Brent Madison’s house last year to see if he would maybe go to the sixth-grade dance with Mel. But we chickened out and hung up on him pretty much as soon as he answered, so I never really got a chance to see if his voice sounded different or not.
“Yeah,” I say. “See ya tomorrow, Luke.” I turn around to hang up the phone and almost slam into my mother, who is standing right behind me. “Whoa,” I say. Her shoulder is pressed up against my nose. I take a step back.
“Was that a boy?” she asks. She takes the phone out of my hand and crosses the kitchen to set it back on the receiver. Her ponytail swings back and forth as she walks.
“Yes,” I say. No sense in lying to her since I’m going to have to ask permission to have him over. “That was Luke Nichols. We’re working together on a social studies project.”
“Is that your boyfriend?” my mom asks. Katie’s still sitting at the table, working on her picture, but my dad is nowhere to be found. This makes me instantly nervous, since this probably means my mom told him to go upstairs while she talks to me about this whole boyfriend thing. I can tell she’s trying to play it casual, get me to admit something by luring me into a false sense of security.
“No, Mom,” I say. “Luke’s not my boyfriend.”
“He’s not,” Katie agrees. She reaches into an open box of macaroni that’s sitting on the table and takes out a piece of ziti. “Her boyfriend’s name is Jared, and I would like to make a macaroni necklace, please.”
“Not right now, Kates,” my mom says. She takes the box of macaroni from Katie and sets it by the stove. “Maybe after dinner.”
“Okay,” Katie says, shrugging, which I find slightly disappointing. I was half-hoping Katie would start pitching a fit, therefore sparing me any more embarrassing questions from my mom about my love life.
“So your boyfriend’s name is Jared,” my mom says, studying me. She wanders over to the stove and pulls a pan down from the cabinet overhead, then heads to the sink and starts filling it with water.
“No,” I say. “Jared is not my boyfriend.” Again, depending on who you ask.
“But he went to the mall with you,” my mom says slowly. She sets the pot on the stove and turns on the burner.
“Yup,” Katie says. “He went to the mall.” Since when did my sister become Page Six? She pulls her gold medal out of the pocket of her shorts and hands it to me. “Devon,” she instructs, “crown me the winner.”
“Yes, he went to the mall with me,” I tell my mom. I slip the piece of cardboard around Katie’s neck. “Katherine Grace Delaney, I now pronounce you winner of the gold medal in soccer for the third year in row. The United States thanks you for being such a good athlete and bestowing this honor upon our nation.” Katie puts her hand over her heart and starts humming the national anthem softly to herself. “Anyway,” I say, turning back to my mom. “Luke is going to come over tomorrow so we can work on our project, okay?”
“I guess it’s okay,” my mom says. She bites her lip. “Devon, if you’re interested in boys, that’s okay. It’s normal at your age.”
“Mom,” I say, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
?
??Okay,” she says, sounding doubtful. I wonder what my mom would think if she knew what was really going on, all the lying and the manipulating. I don’t think she’d be too pleased. I take a deep breath and try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. It’s going to be fine. In fact, things are going great. I just have to give it a few days, keep Jared away from Lexi, stage a fake breakup, and everything will go back to the way it was. I have everything under control.
The phone rings again, and Katie hops down from the kitchen chair that she’s using as a podium and grabs it. “Delaney household, this is Katie speaking, how may I help you please?” She pauses and then holds the phone out to me. “It’s for you Devon. It’s Melissa. You left her on the other line. Not very nice.” She hands me the phone and hops away happily. Everything under control. Right.
“This afternoon is going to be so fun, Devi!” Lexi squeals the next morning before homeroom. I’m standing in front of my locker, trying to figure out what books I need for the morning. My eyes feel scratchy and tired, like someone rubbed them with sandpaper. I had a hard time sleeping last night. Probably because of all the stress. Plus I got to bed late. I was up trying to find something to wear to school. I went through all my clothes at least a thousand times, but I couldn’t find anything that seemed cool enough. I couldn’t even find a way to make any of my summer clothes warmer. They should really teach us more about sewing our own clothes in home and careers. Right now all we learn how to do is hem and sew on buttons. Which is useless, because I’m trying to make my clothes warmer, not shorter.
“Yes, Lexi,” I say, my voice purposely low so maybe she’ll get the hint that it’s good to be quiet. Speaking of voices, my Devi voice still comes and goes. Sometimes I remember to use it, sometimes I don’t. I sound like guys do when their voice is changing. Except I’m a girl. So it’s not exactly the best sound. No one’s said anything yet, but I’m just waiting for one of them to bust out with, “DEVON, WHY DO YOU KEEP SWITCHING YOUR VOICE?” It’s like pretending to have an accent or something. “It’s going to be fun.”