girl Caitlyn? The cheerleader?” I ask Penny, who’s still moony-eyed over the Mr.
Spock picture.
“Caitlyn Ward?” She looks up and frowns. “Yeah. Everyone knows her. Why?” I shrug. “I don’t know. I think she’s mad at me or something.”
“She’s a big meanie. In middle school she took one of my Ho Hos. And she was always making fun of my bad leg.”
“You have a bad leg?”
Penny nods. “My right one. That’s why I do water aerobics.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Her mouth makes a small U shape, and another faint blush tints the tops of her cheeks. “Thanks. It’s getting stronger. Now I only limp when I’m really tired.” I take a big bite of noodles and think back to my first sight of her in a swimsuit. I’d made fun of her too—only in the privacy of my own head.
“Caitlyn’s probably just jealous of you,” she says matter-of-factly.
I almost suck ramen down my windpipe. “What?” I croak. I cough a few times and sputter, “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s because Miles likes you,” Penny goes on. “And she’s been in love with him since ninth grade. Every year they’re boyfriend and girlfriend for a little while, and then they stop. Right now they’re broken up, but I can tell she’s trying real hard to get back with him.” I sneak a glance at the Bippy table. My view of Miles is obstructed by a burly football player, but I can still see Caitlyn. She really is pretty, in spite of her cornea-frying expression and all the Vegas-showgirl makeup. In fact, all the girls at that table are beautiful—the products of salon merchandise and the select breeding of trophy people. Plus they just act like they’re better—an attitude I usually try to copy.
“That’s stupid. Why would he like me?” I ask, gesturing at my peanut sauce–stained jumpsuit and decades-old school supplies.
“Why not?” Penny replies with a shrug. I realize she truly doesn’t seem to notice that I’m dressed like Sloppy Fidel Castro. Or she doesn’t care. But then, it’s pretty obvious she has no idea about the rules of popularity.
I make a few swipes at the sauce stain with a couple of napkins. I don’t mind looking like a pig, but this is store merchandise. Unfortunately the napkins just seem to spread it around a little more.
“They have packets of wet wipes up at the condiment counter,” Penny suggests.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Thanks.”
As I walk over to the far end of the room, I notice another glob of sauce in my hair. My table manners have taken a serious dive lately.
At the front counter, I grab a handful of wipes packets. Just as I’m wondering whether four will be enough, Caitlyn appears beside me.
“What are you doing up here?” she asks sternly.
I glance about, wondering if it’s a trick question. The popular table is just a few feet away. I can’t see Miles, but Sharla and Shanna are watching us closely.
“Is this one of your pathetic schemes to throw yourself at our guys?” Caitlyn continues.
Huh? What scheme? The one where I dress to do brake jobs? Or the one where I put peanut chunks in my hair?
Eventually my mouth reconnects with my brain. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. I’m on to you, freak. Stop flirting with people who are better than you.” I want to shout that there’s no way someone like Miles is better than me, and besides I’ve been trying to avoid him and his pack. But before I can even form the words, Caitlyn goes prancing back to her yes-girls.
Static roars in my ears and I fight the temptation to toss ketchup packets at her rear end.
By the time I return to my seat, my molars are ready to crumble. Penny was right about Caitlyn. Too bad she missed the whole exchange, since she sits facing the other way. I consider telling her about it but decide to attack my stain instead.
What is with the divas at this school? Why is Caitlyn giving me a hard time when it’s
Spock picture.
“Caitlyn Ward?” She looks up and frowns. “Yeah. Everyone knows her. Why?” I shrug. “I don’t know. I think she’s mad at me or something.”
“She’s a big meanie. In middle school she took one of my Ho Hos. And she was always making fun of my bad leg.”
“You have a bad leg?”
Penny nods. “My right one. That’s why I do water aerobics.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Her mouth makes a small U shape, and another faint blush tints the tops of her cheeks. “Thanks. It’s getting stronger. Now I only limp when I’m really tired.” I take a big bite of noodles and think back to my first sight of her in a swimsuit. I’d made fun of her too—only in the privacy of my own head.
“Caitlyn’s probably just jealous of you,” she says matter-of-factly.
I almost suck ramen down my windpipe. “What?” I croak. I cough a few times and sputter, “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s because Miles likes you,” Penny goes on. “And she’s been in love with him since ninth grade. Every year they’re boyfriend and girlfriend for a little while, and then they stop. Right now they’re broken up, but I can tell she’s trying real hard to get back with him.” I sneak a glance at the Bippy table. My view of Miles is obstructed by a burly football player, but I can still see Caitlyn. She really is pretty, in spite of her cornea-frying expression and all the Vegas-showgirl makeup. In fact, all the girls at that table are beautiful—the products of salon merchandise and the select breeding of trophy people. Plus they just act like they’re better—an attitude I usually try to copy.
“That’s stupid. Why would he like me?” I ask, gesturing at my peanut sauce–stained jumpsuit and decades-old school supplies.
“Why not?” Penny replies with a shrug. I realize she truly doesn’t seem to notice that I’m dressed like Sloppy Fidel Castro. Or she doesn’t care. But then, it’s pretty obvious she has no idea about the rules of popularity.
I make a few swipes at the sauce stain with a couple of napkins. I don’t mind looking like a pig, but this is store merchandise. Unfortunately the napkins just seem to spread it around a little more.
“They have packets of wet wipes up at the condiment counter,” Penny suggests.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Thanks.”
As I walk over to the far end of the room, I notice another glob of sauce in my hair. My table manners have taken a serious dive lately.
At the front counter, I grab a handful of wipes packets. Just as I’m wondering whether four will be enough, Caitlyn appears beside me.
“What are you doing up here?” she asks sternly.
I glance about, wondering if it’s a trick question. The popular table is just a few feet away. I can’t see Miles, but Sharla and Shanna are watching us closely.
“Is this one of your pathetic schemes to throw yourself at our guys?” Caitlyn continues.
Huh? What scheme? The one where I dress to do brake jobs? Or the one where I put peanut chunks in my hair?
Eventually my mouth reconnects with my brain. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. I’m on to you, freak. Stop flirting with people who are better than you.” I want to shout that there’s no way someone like Miles is better than me, and besides I’ve been trying to avoid him and his pack. But before I can even form the words, Caitlyn goes prancing back to her yes-girls.
Static roars in my ears and I fight the temptation to toss ketchup packets at her rear end.
By the time I return to my seat, my molars are ready to crumble. Penny was right about Caitlyn. Too bad she missed the whole exchange, since she sits facing the other way. I consider telling her about it but decide to attack my stain instead.
What is with the divas at this school? Why is Caitlyn giving me a hard time when it’s
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