Daphne hesitates. “What about Emma and Charlie?” she asks. “Won’t they be upset if you’re away from them for two days straight?”
“No,” I say. “I’ll tell them I had to make up a test or something.” I don’t really care if Emma and Charlie get mad. This is about me and Daphne. We need to reconnect and work on our friendship. Hmm. That sounds like a totally fab article for You Girl: “You and Your BFF: How You Can Work on Reconnecting.” I should bring that up to Barb when she comes to shadow me next week. I wonder if they’re looking for writers. I could totally be a tween correspondent or something.
Daphne and I head outside to one of the big stone benches in the courtyard. We set up our lunches between us and then straddle the bench, facing each other. It’s a gorgeous day, still warm enough to be outside without a jacket, but the air smells of fall, and the trees are shedding leaves in all different colors.
“So listen,” I say, unable to contain my excitement. “Do you want to go to the Fall Festival together?”
“Together?” Daphne frowns.
“Well, yeah,” I say. I rip off a bite of my Nutella sandwich (made by Tom—he is much better with the Nutella than with the tuna fish, thank goodness. Also, I think Tom might have started to develop a little bit of a Nutella problem. The other night I came downstairs and found him eating it right from the jar with a spoon), and pop it in my mouth. “I mean, I know we’re supposed to ask boys or something, but let’s face it, there’s no way I’m ever going to work up the courage to ask Jake. Were you planning on asking someone?”
“Nooo,” she says slowly. “I just didn’t think you’d want to go with me. I thought you’d want to go with Emma.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not going with Emma.” And then I remember the note Emma gave me this morning. “She, uh, sent Jake another note this morning.”
“Another one?” Daphne screeches. She looks really angry for some reason—her face gets all red and her eyes get all crinkly around the edges. “Seriously, Samantha, this is getting ridiculous. If you’re not going to ask either one of them what they’re passing notes about, then we’re going to have to start reading them.”
“Ohmigod, no!” I say, “I can’t. And besides, you’re one to talk about how people should be telling secrets. Why didn’t you tell me Eric asked you if I would dress up as Romeo and Juliet with him for Halloween?”
“Oh, God.” Daphne rolls her eyes, then takes a bite out of the other half of my sandwich. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep that to himself! I found an ‘anonymous’ printout in my locker. It said: ‘Dear Daphne, Do you think that Samantha would be interested in being Juliet for Halloween if a secret admirer was her Romeo? Also the only reason I am using this service is so that Samantha won’t find out. I am a loyal customer to her, please know that.’ ‘Loyal’ was underlined, like, five times and in italics.” She giggles.
We spend the rest of the period talking about how she’s nervous about her newspaper story (she doesn’t know if it’s any good or not), about how we really need to go shopping together soon (Daphne has no cute sweaters and I really need a new corduroy skirt), and about how Taylor’s boyfriend is starting to grow this very weird-looking mustache (it’s getting long and skinny and sometimes I see him stroking it when he thinks no one’s looking).
It’s just like old times, and by the end of the period, I decide that Daphne got so upset about my dress that day because she was feeling left out since I started hanging out with Emma and Charlie. I have to make more of an effort with her, and things will go back to normal super quick, I just know it.
A few minutes before the bell is going to ring, my cell starts vibrating in my bag.
“It’s You Girl,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Probably that crazy woman from the other day.”
“You should take it,” Daphne says. She glances over her shoulder toward the school. “Miss Morris is on lunch duty, and you know she spends the whole period trying to make sure the eighth-grade boys don’t give each other wedgies. She won’t even notice you’re on your phone. Besides, I have to run to the newspaper office before the period’s over.”
She gathers up the garbage from her lunch, drops it into the trash by the door, and heads into the building.
“Samantha Carmichael speaking,” I say into the phone. “And how may I help you, please?” I’m hoping Barb will think I answer the phone like that all the time, like maybe this is my business line, on which I’m always doing busy and important business things. Hopefully this will distract her from finding out that my business has basically fallen apart in, like, two days, and that the only business I’m really getting is from the boy I’m in love with and the girl who is trying to steal him away.
“Yes, Samantha, this is Barb.” She doesn’t sound too impressed with my greeting.
“Hi, Barb,” I say. I glance over at Miss Morris. She’s trying to stop Brandon Jacobs from giving Justin Dumont a wedgie. You can tell Brandon’s gearing up to do it because he’s all lurking around the side of the building, getting real close to Justin and mumbling something that sounds like, “Wedgie wedgie wedgie, who needs a wedgie?” Ugh. Boys. “I can’t talk that long,” I tell Barb, “because I’m at school, and my studies are very important.”
“Yes, yes,” she says. “Of course, I understand. I just wanted to let you know that I had a lovely conversation with your principal this morning, and our crew has been invited to document you next Tuesday.”
“That is lovely,” I say, wondering how I’m going to explain it to her when she finds out there’s no business, no notes, and nothing to really document. Miss Morris has averted Brandon’s wedgie quest and is glancing around the whole outside lunch area now, so I duck down under the bench and pretend to be looking for something on the ground. “So if that’s all . . .”
“Yes,” she says, “We are so looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” I say. “I mean, I am also.”
“Goodbye, Samantha.”
“Goodbye, Barbara.” Oops. She never really referred to herself as Barbara before. Just Barb. But I would assume her name is Barbara right? Isn’t everyone who’s called Barb really named Barbara? Or can you just be named Barb? I was trying to sound all formal, but I don’t think it really worked. It kind of sounded disrespectful. Oh well. I click off the line and the phone rings again in my hand.
My dad. My dad never calls me during the day.
“Hello?” I say. “Dad?”
“Samantha,” he says. “Why are you answering your phone at school?”
“Why are you calling me at school if you don’t want me to answer?” I mean, really.
“I wanted to leave you a message.”
“Well, when you call me at school, I feel like there might be an emergency, and so I answer my phone.” I’m still on the ground under the bench, pretending to look for some imaginary object. My hand brushes against an empty candy bar wrapper. Ewww.
“But aren’t you not supposed to be answering your cell phone at school?”
Oh, for the love of . . . “Yes, Dad, but I’m at lunch.” I’m trying to keep my patience, but it’s starting to get seriously frayed.
“Ahh, excellent,” he says, obviously assuming that this somehow means we’re allowed to talk on our cell phones at lunch, which is so not true. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I have fabulous news.”
“You do?” I hope this fabulous news doesn’t take too long to relay, since the bell’s about to ring.
“Yes,” he says. “It turns out that I’ve locked down the Istanbul deal ahead of schedule, and since I had intended to go to Turkey to have a face-to-face, my trip there has been canceled.”
“Good for you,” I say, not sure why he’s calling me at lunch to tell me all this. I mean, it’s great that his trip is canceled, since he hates to fly and the flight to Turkey is like a bazillion hours long. He gets really nervous up in the air, which is kind of funny, since my dad is not the type to get scared of anything. But when
he flies he totally has to take all this medicine. He even went to a hypnotist once. But I guess it didn’t really help.
“Soo,” he says. “That means I’ll be able to go to the You Girl dinner!”
“Oh.” I swallow. “That’s great.” Of course, I already invited Tom. But I guess I’ll just have to tell him he can’t go. I hope he wasn’t set on it or anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Miss Morris walking over to the side of the courtyard where I’m crouching under the bench.
“Okay, well, see you later,” I say to my dad.
“Samantha—” he starts.
“Gotta go.” I hang up and quickly straighten up. “Oh, there was that note I was looking for!” I say real loud to no one. And then I walk quickly into school.
AFTER SCHOOL, I’M WALKING TO MY bus when someone tugs on my ponytail. Jake.
“Do you wanna come over later tonight?” he asks. “We could brainstorm about the website.”
“Sure,” I say. Hanging out with Jake twice in one day! Yay! I guess he just can’t get enough of me. I mean, he’s, like, obviously desperate to hang out with me.
“You don’t have to,” he says, “if you don’t want to. I just thought we could try to see if we can hack into Olivia’s site.”
“Okay,” I say. So much for desperate. But that actually does sound pretty fun. And kind of intriguingly dangerous. Hacking into things. Am I going to become a hacker? Maybe Jake could teach me how to hack into all kinds of different places. Maybe it will be my new business. Although I’m not sure You Girl would look too fondly on me if I started becoming a hacker. But I’ll bet it’s very lucrative.
“Cool,” he says, then disappears into the throng of kids on their way to their buses. I stand there for a second, watching his blue backpack bounce through the crowd until I can’t see him anymore.
“Hey, Samantha!” Emma says from behind me. “Was that Jake?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say. And then before she can ask, I say, “I, uh, gave him your note this morning.”
“Thanks.” She wraps a strand of her long red hair around her finger. “So where were you at lunch?”
“Oh,” I say. “I ate outside.” I decide not to mention the reason why. No sense making Emma think that Daphne doesn’t like her. Those two have enough problems.
“Well, next time it would be, like, nice to let me know.” She rolls her eyes. “I saved you a seat!” She says it like saving a seat was this big imposition, even though there’s, like, five empty tables in our lunch period. “Anyway, do you want to come to Charlie’s aunt’s consignment shop after school? We’re going to find stuff to wear to the Fall Festival.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I have plans tonight.” I decide to leave out the part about those plans being with Jake. Is that weird? That I’m leaving that out? I mean, Jake and I are friends, I have the right to hang out with him. Plus if Emma and Jake are passing secrets, I certainly have the right to keep a secret of my own. Don’t I? I mean, it’s like quid pro quo or whatever they call it. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A secret visit for a secret note.
“Oh, come on,” Emma says. “My mom can pick you up at four, and you’ll be home by six. The store is right downtown.”
I think about it. It would be fun. And Jake did say “later,” which probably means after dinner. Plus I don’t think I should start planning everything around when Jake wants to hang out. I mean, we’re not even boyfriend and girlfriend.
“Okay,” I say.
“Cool.” She grins. “See you at four.”
When I get off the bus, Tom’s outside working on his car, this old beat-up Buick that he’s named Sagamore. Sagamore is constantly breaking down, but Tom refuses to get a new car and/or bring Sagamore in for service. He likes to fix Sagamore himself, and he says newer cars are a waste of money because once you drive them off the lot they lose all their value. I try to tell him that with all the money he spends buying parts and stuff at AutoZone, it would be worth it, but he won’t listen.
“Samantha!” he says when he sees me. “I’m glad you’re here; can you hold this flashlight for me?”
I take the flashlight and aim the beam down into the hood. I don’t know much about cars, but under the hood it doesn’t seem like it’s doing too well. Everything is very rusted and dirty. It seems like maybe Tom is attempting to loosen some kind of bolt off of something, but it’s stuck and won’t turn. He’s struggling with the wrench, which also doesn’t seem like it’s in very good shape. Tom has a lot of tools, but I don’t know if they’re the right ones. Or maybe he just doesn’t really know what to do with them.
“Is it okay if I go to Charlie’s aunt’s consignment shop with Emma?” I ask. “We’re going to look for outfits for the Fall Festival.”
“Who’s driving and what time will you be home?” Tom asks.
“Emma’s mom is going to pick me up, and I’ll be home by six.” I watch as Tom tries to yank the bolt off. He’s starting to sweat a little, even though it’s cool out.
“That sounds fine.” He peers down into Sagamore’s hood. “Wow,” he says. “This one’s a doozy.”
I try not to giggle. Everything with Tom is a doozy. “What are you fixing?”
“Well,” Tom says. He points to an internet printout that’s sitting on the edge of the engine. “I think the serpentine belt might be going. At least, that’s what it said on Google Answers, so I’m trying to replace it. The problem is, you have to remove a bunch of things to get to it.” He plucks a leaf out from under the hood and drops it on the driveway.
“Sounds complicated,” I say.
“It is,” he says. “But in the end the victory will be worth it.” He pats the car affectionately. “And old Sagamore here will thank me.”
“I guess so,” I say uncertainly. I mean, Sagamore can’t really thank him, because she’s a car. Also, Sagamore would probably be just as happy if Tom took her to the mechanic.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Tom says. “I got a new suit for the You Girl dinner.”
Uh-oh. “Oh,” I say. “You really didn’t have to do that. In fact, I needed to talk to you about that. It’s—”
“No, I wanted to!” he says. “Usually I hate shopping, you know that, but this time it was fine, since it was for something I’m really looking forward to.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “But actually, it turns out that—”
“Now, Samantha.” Tom straightens up from under the hood and holds his hand up to stop me from saying anything more. “There is no reason to be nervous. I don’t care if you win or lose or if you decide you don’t want to do this secret-passing business ever again. You are an amazing young woman, and winning or not winning this award is not going to change that.” He smiles. “The suit’s gray, and it’s rather dashing if I do say so myself.”
“Great,” I say, weakly smiling back. I am a horrible, horrible person. The thing is, I want to take Tom. It would be fun going with Tom. But I could never, ever in a million years tell my dad that. He would FREAK out. So as much as I hate it, I have to let Tom know that he can’t go. But how can I tell him that now? Especially when he’s having such a hard time with Sagamore. I feel the start of tears burning at my eyes, and I take a deep breath and try to keep them from developing into the kind of tears that spill down your cheeks.
Taylor comes walking up the driveway then, home from cheerleading, her long hair swinging behind her. “What’s with you two?” she asks. “Tom, are you fixing the car again? Ewww, Samantha, you have grease all over your hands.”
“I’m replacing the serpentine belt,” Tom says happily.
“Yeah, well, you’re both filthy.” Taylor wrinkles up her nose, then drops her books on the ground and comes over for a closer look. But not too close. She would never risk getting dirty.
Not like me, apparently. There’s grease all over my fingertips (how did that happen?), and there’s a smudge on my jeans. “I’d better go inside and get cleaned up,” I say. “Emma’s mom is go
ing to be here any minute.”
“Where are you going?” Taylor asks.
“We’re going to Charlie’s aunt’s consignment shop to pick out something to wear to the Fall Festival,” I say.
“Ooooh, the Fall Festival,” Taylor says in a singsong voice. “So do you have a daaaatte yet?”
“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. I can’t believe she’s bringing up dates in front of Tom! How off-the-charts embarrassing. Although he probably subscribes to the same school of thought as my mom, the one that lets me be alone in my room with a boy because she just can’t fathom the idea that anything could happen. “I’m not going with a date. I’m going with Daphne.”
“Then why are you going with Emma and Charlie to pick out costumes?”
“I’m not,” I say. “I mean, we’re not getting costumes. We’re getting outfits. Or they are. I’m mostly just going for fun, to get ideas. Daphne and I will probably get our outfits together.”
“Everyone goes to the Fall Festival in costume,” Taylor says wisely. She leans over, touches her toes, then bounces up and down and repeats the movement a few times. Taylor gets tight after practice, so she’s always doing stretches. Sometimes she does splits just to show off, which is very annoying.
“What do you mean, everyone goes in costume?” I ask. Costumes? Like, Halloween costumes? I really hope Eric Niles doesn’t get wind of this.
“Costumes,” Taylor says. “You know what costumes are, Samantha.”
“Yes,” I sigh. “I do.”
“Ahh, the Fall Festival,” Taylor says. She looks off into the distance, and a small smile drifts across her face. “That’s where I had my first kiss.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you girls will have plenty of time to have your girl talk as the festival gets closer,” Tom says. He wipes his hands off on a dirty rag that doesn’t really do anything except smear the grease around his hands. And then he says, “I’m going to go inside and call Dan down at AutoZone to see if he has that part I need. Looking forward to the dinner, Samantha. Remember what I said.”