Class Favorite Read online

  “On the rag!” he hacked into his balled fist.

  Richie Adams, a killer athlete and friend of Jason’s, laughed so hard, he doubled over.

  “Dude,” he gasped to Sean as he tried to control himself.

  I sat up straighter as if they had nothing to do with me, then I covered the wrapper with my shoe as if it weren’t even there. Everything was fine, I told myself. Just another day in algebra. It’d all be over soon, and then I could go home, slaughter my mother, and transfer schools. Then Shiner walked in.

  “Hello, Sara. Period,” he began in an oh-so-normal-but-not-really voice. “How’re you doing? Period. Have a good day. Period.”

  What an idiot. He couldn’t even get a mean joke right. A sick feeling came to my stomach as Shiner sat in his seat, and I could feel my heart pumping. Kayla Cane, whose skin was turning a weird orange the warmer the weather got, was giggling at something Richie said; when she caught me looking, her kohl-lined eyes glared back at me. Sean Hurley said from across the room, “Hey, Thurman. Need a quarter for the girls’ room machine?” And then he flicked one at me.

  It landed by my feet, and I stared down at it. My face burned hot red—a color I now absolutely hated. Everyone in class roared with laughter, which of course Mrs. Everly didn’t notice because the woman is so deaf, she needs a hearing aid to hear herself talk. Rosemary Vickers, last year’s Class Favorite, swatted Sean and told him to shut up, and I loved her for it. Right then I vowed that if she were nominated again this year, I’d totally vote for her.

  Keeping my foot covered over the tampon wrapper, I leaned over and retrieved the quarter. “Thanks,” I said. “I was one short for the Coke machine.” I shoved it in my pocket and sat back in my seat.

  When class started, I braved a look at Jason—he was looking right at me. He smiled a little smile and rolled his eyes. I rolled my eyes back, feigning indifference, but I could feel my chin quivering, a huge sob trying to bust through. Maybe he felt my pain, having gone through some major, school-wide embarrassment himself earlier this year at football tryouts. I heard from Arlene, who kept up with such things, that he had lobbed a football toward a wide receiver, slamming the ball into the water table, and later got the wind knocked out of him by Keith Robinson, who is so scrawny, he makes Shiner look like the Hulk. Like my attempt at basketball tryouts, Jason didn’t make the football team, but he’s on the basketball team, and Arlene says he’s pretty good. I took comfort in the fact that I had a fellow menace-in-arms when it comes to sports, at least a little bit.

  All through class, I was tormented by thoughts of how word had already escaped about why I got those roses. I’d told Arlene, but I knew that there was no way she would break my confidence. Sure, she had told my sister about my basketball tryout debacle, but that was different. I guess in a couple of years I’d agree with her that it had been funny. Arlene had a big mouth, but she’d never betray me like this. I just didn’t get it.

  Thank God it’s Friday, I thought. The weekend meant Saturday night and all of Sunday with Arlene, checking out the Razzie winners online as well as the Academy Awards on Sunday. Things would get better quickly.

  Then I remembered I still had to go home and face my mother.

  3

  Can You Turn Your Sibling Spats into Something Special?

  True or False: When it comes to sharing clothes, your sister knows that what’s yours is hers, and vice versa.

  “You’re late.”

  That was the first thing Elisabeth said when I emerged from the sanctity of my room, where I’d hunkered down since coming home from school. She was already sitting at her place at the table, her wavy chestnut hair falling gracefully down her back.

  I looked at my dad’s empty chair and felt the enormity of my day. “You’re ugly,” is what I said back to her as I took a seat.

  “Just because you have no plans tonight doesn’t mean the rest of us are losers who have all the time in the world,” she said. I knew Elisabeth had a date later that night. By the time she was my age, she’s already had three boyfriends.

  “Don’t call me a loser, loser,” I said back.

  “Girls,” my mother said in a vaguely warning tone as she brought a pitcher of iced tea to the supper table. “Be nice, now. It’s Valentine’s Day.” She sat down, then cut a slice of meat loaf and held it out to me, waiting for me to bring my plate closer.

  “I’m not hungry,” I grumbled. Mom held the meat loaf in midair, as if expecting me to change my mind. I responded with, “Mother.”

  “I’ll take that, Mom,” Elisabeth offered, matching my mother’s horrific trill of happiness. “I’m starving.”

  “Elisabeth, sugar, you’re most certainly not starving,” Mom said. This was one of her pet peeves. “Children in Africa are starving—dying of hunger, bodies wasted, stomachs bloated. You’re just hungry, I’m sure.”

  I gave Elisabeth a ha-ha grin.

  “So, Sara,” Mom began, smiling as she sipped her iced tea. “Did anything interesting happen today?”

  “Yeah, actually, something did.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom held her glass above the table, frozen, just as she was about to set it down.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I corrected. “Something did happen. I was completely humiliated in front of the entire school because of you.” My heart was pumping in my chest, and I knew I’d get in trouble if I spoke to her too loudly or sharply. “Mom, I can’t believe you would do that. Why did you do that?”

  I wasn’t looking at Elisabeth, but I could feel her grow still with interest. She was going to love making fun of me for this one.

  “What are you talking about, at school?” Mom asked.

  “The flowers?” I said, unable to believe she was even asking.

  “Hey, why’d she get flowers?” Elisabeth chimed in, her voice thick with jealousy.

  “Your sister is now a woman.” Mom actually said this with a straight face.

  “Mom! Come on!” I wailed.

  “What’s this about school?” Mom asked again. “I had Arlene’s mom deliver them here so they’d be waiting for you when you got home.”

  “Well, guess what? She sent them to school, and everybody found out about them. You’re so embarrassing!” I yelled, a cry forming way in the back in my throat.

  “You sent her flowers for her period?” Elisabeth’s eyes squinted as she tried to comprehend the unreality of it.

  “Slow down, Sara,” Mom said, ignoring Elisabeth. “There must have been a mistake. I think I told her to send them here. . . .”

  “Oh, wow . . . ,” Elisabeth muttered from across the table, the hungry smile gone from her face.

  “That’s just great,” I said. “It doesn’t matter now, Mother, because everyone at school found out who sent them and why. I might as well die and move to Waco.”

  “Look, honey. I’m sorry about the mix-up, but this is a big event in your life. And if you need any help learning how to—”

  “Mother! I can’t believe you! You’re so humiliating!”

  “Watch your mouth, young lady,” she said, pointing her fork at me.

  “You’re such an embarrassment,” I continued. “Everyone in my class was making fun of me. Do you know what that’s like?”

  “Oh, honey.” Mom sighed. “I really am sorry. I meant to have them sent here.”

  “Well, it’s too late,” I said, folding my arms across my stomach. I knew Mom was being sincere, but her nice gesture was turning into one whopper of a problem for me. “Nobody in the entire school even knew who I was before this. Now everyone knows who I am.” My vision became blurry from the wetness in my eyes as I picked up my napkin to wipe at them. “Just because you and Dad split up doesn’t mean I need you to obsess over me.”

  “Sara, I was just trying to do something nice.”

  “You’re only making everything worse.”

  “That’s enough,” she snapped. “Now, I’m sorry the flowers were sent to school instead of here, but I had the best of
intentions, and you know it. The least you can say is thank you. Just go on to your room. I’ve had about enough of this.”

  “Fine! I don’t care,” I yelled as I threw my napkin on the table.

  “Sara! One more word out of you . . .”

  I stomped down the hall and slammed the door to my room.

  I lay on my bed, my face mushed in my pillow, sticky from crying. The day had been more than I could handle.

  I sat up, rubbed my swollen eyes, and took a deep breath.

  I picked up my so-outdated see-through phone and began dialing Arlene’s number. I had totally lost it at dinner, but I told myself I was allowed the freak-out, considering. Now, though, I had to pull myself together and figure out how to fix this. I had to make sure Arlene hadn’t told anyone about the flowers, and ask her if she knew of any gift-bearing pranks against me. It couldn’t wait until our Razzie/Academy Awards party on Saturday.

  When Arlene answered her cell, I could hear girls laughing in the background, and a distant horn honking.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “What? Oh, yeah, it’s fine. Knock it off!” Arlene called, her laugh coming through muffled on the phone, as if she were covering up the mouthpiece. Someone squealed, and there was more laughing.

  “Forget it,” I said, not wanting to talk about the flowers with the other girls listening. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “We just finished practice,” she continued. “I’m with Megan, Rachel, and Ellen. Rachel’s sister Betsy is taking us to get something to eat.”

  I felt that, with each passing softball game, Arlene racked up more new friends. “Really, I can just talk to you tomorrow.”

  “That’s a red light!” Arlene called. “Oh, my God,” she said to me. “Betsy totally almost went through a red light. You’re going to get us all killed!”

  “Look, I have to ask you a really important question.”

  “Yeah, what is it?”

  “You didn’t tell anyone what I told you earlier, did you?”

  “Tell anyone what?”

  “You know, what I told you,” I emphasized.

  “What, about your mom?”

  “God, Arlene! Not in front of those girls.”

  “Oh, they don’t know what I’m talking about.” I heard one of the girls call, “What are you talking about?” Arlene hollered, “Nothing,” and they all started laughing again.

  “You’re sure? Because word got out, and you’re the only one I told.” I knew there was an accusatory tone in my voice, but I was getting anxious, and she wasn’t listening.

  “By the way,” she began. “I had to head off a major rumor for you today.”

  “Perfect,” I grumbled. “I don’t need rumors. I already have gossip.”

  “Ellen heard from someone that Shiner sent you those roses. Can you imagine? I knew you’d just die if anyone thought that for a moment, so I totally cleared it up.”

  “Cleared it up? What does that mean?”

  “She thought Shiner sent you the roses,” she repeated. The voices in the car were getting louder as the girls sang along to the radio.

  “I heard you, Arlene. Who did you tell what?”

  “Look, I can barely hear you, Sar. I’m sorry—I’ll call you later, ’kay? Hello?”

  I sat silently. I didn’t expect Arlene to drop everything for me, but I wanted her to tell me that heck no she didn’t tell anyone about the roses, and that she was sorry that Valentine’s Day had turned out so rotten for me. To be honest, hearing her carefree laughter with a bunch of girls who weren’t my friends made me jealous—jealous at her for having a fun day, jealous because she had more friends than me, and jealous that she had something to do on a Friday night that didn’t involve me. I started to wonder about friendship, and how friends were supposed to comfort each other, be there for each other. I didn’t feel like Arlene was doing that at all. She wasn’t even thinking about how I felt. And the frightening truth was, she was the only person who knew why I got those roses. I rubbed my swollen eyes, holding back tears.

  “Sara, you still there? I think I lost her,” she said to her friends, and then she hung up the phone.

  4

  Are you open to new friendships?

  A new girl arrives in your civics class and asks you if she can sit with you at lunch. You:

  a) ask her what type of clique she hung out in at her last school so you can fairly decide if she’s a fit for your clique.

  b) tell her of course she can sit with you, and you’ll meet her at her locker and escort her to the cafeteria just to make sure she doesn’t get lost.

  c) tell her, “No habla English.” Why is that stranger talking to you?!

  Like I said, Arlene and I have this ritual of watching Golden Raspberry movies every month where we get together, eat junk food, and watch the worst-of-the-worst movies, like Battlefield Earth and Gigli. We love cringing at the bad acting, dialogue, and general heinousness of these movies. They are the type of movies that no one except your best friend would watch with you, and we both love it.

  The Razzie “winners” of the year are announced the night before the Academy Awards. I always go to Arlene’s house and we look up the winners online and immediately put the best of the worst at the top of our must-see list. The best/saddest is when one actor or actress is dishonored year after year. For example, Haden Prescott is a repeat offender—she’s been dishonored three times in four years. At the rate she was going, reality game shows couldn’t be far behind. But this year, something phenomenal happened. Haden Prescott was nominated for a Razzie and an Academy Award in the same year. It was unprecedented.

  When I arrived at Arlene’s on Saturday night, I felt uneasy about what Kirstie had told me, and even worse about calling Arlene to question her on how word got out about the roses. But when she told me the pizza was on its way, her computer was rolling (the ceremony only showed online), and her family was under explicit instructions not to bother us, I told myself not to worry or even think about what had happened at school yesterday. The worst was already over, and the rest would turn out to be nothing.

  “What happened yesterday?” Arlene asked as soon as we were in her room. “We were talking and the next thing I knew, you were gone.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I think your phone cut me off.” I hated lying to her, but I didn’t want to relive the whole thing either. I wished I could travel back in time, like in Haden Prescott’s movie Not Again! where she keeps living the same day over and over again (like Groundhog Day, but not funny). I would go to It’s About Bloomin’ Time and make sure the flowers were to be sent home and not to school. Then my life would be its usual, boring self.

  “Did you hear me tell you that Ellen heard a rumor that Shiner sent you those flowers?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Hey, you want to make bets on if Haden wins the Razzie? I’ll give you odds,” I said, even though I had no idea what that meant—I’d just heard it from movies.

  “With a title like Demon’s Lover, I’d say she’s got a pretty good chance.” In the comedy, Haden played the spawn of Satan who falls in love with a pastry chef and tries to save mankind.

  “I know! We have to rent it immediately,” I said, happy that I had so easily turned the conversation away from the flowers.

  “We’ll get it before our next party, for sure,” Arlene said.

  As we settled in for the evening—Arlene picked off half her pepperonis and I ate them, just like we always did—I almost did forget about the flowers and the fact that somehow word had gotten out. Even though she was the only person who knew why I got them, I told myself that if she had slipped and told someone, she would have told me. I shouldn’t doubt her. I shouldn’t even question her—that would be borderline insulting, like I was questioning her friendship. Sure, she hadn’t always been the greatest at keeping secrets, but with a juicy one this big, she wouldn’t betray me.

  When Haden Prescott won the worst actress Razzie, Arlene said, “Next stop, reality
TV!”

  I fell asleep that night thinking about Haden and wondering if she would win the Academy Award. She was a long shot—the other actresses she was up against had all been nominated before. But maybe, I thought, drifting off, maybe she would surprise us all.

  The next day we about burned our eyes out watching all the preshow stuff. E! did a whole thing on the nominees, where they had started, the TV shows they’d done, the movies they’d made. Although they mentioned Haden’s Razzie-nominated movies, they never once said the words Golden Raspberry Award.

  “How could they not mention that?” I asked.

  Arlene popped a cherry sour ball in her mouth and said, “’Cause. These awards are about respect. They wouldn’t give the Razzies the satisfaction of mentioning them in the same breath as the Academy Awards.”

  As pictures of Haden flashed on the screen, the voice-over said, “She’s struggled in Hollywood for years for the chance to be taken seriously as an actress, but with bit roles and question a ble movies, her journey has been an uphill battle. But Haden has endured and, with The Silent Widow, has proven herself as worthy an actress as the other women in her category.”

  The entertainment-news guy said to the camera: “Yes, we’re certainly rooting for her to win, but the truth is, Haden Prescott is already a winner, just by being nominated. She’s already landed roles in films from such directors as Nicolas Capicaccio and Stephen Allman. It seems that, as an actress, Ms. Prescott has finally come into her own.”

  When the awards finally began, I rooted for Haden. She looked beautiful in her golden sequined gown, all poised and elegant. Nothing of the Satan-spawned hottie remained in the woman who sat in the plush red velvet seats of the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood.

  “I can’t believe she went from the D-list to an Academy Award nominee just like that.” I snapped my fingers for emphasis.

  “I know,” Arlene said. “It just goes to show that any loser can turn it around. She went from reject to royalty in just a couple of months.”