It's a Mall World After All

Bryant did though. Over his shoulder he sent me a gloating smile.

  "Jerk," I said.

  "Who?" Aleeta asked.

  "Bryant. He just smiled at me."

  "Well, I can see why that would upset you," Kelly said, and then she and Aleeta both laughed.

  I took a sip of my milk and tried to think of a way to rephrase my last statement. Then I decided not to bother. Instead, I said, "Do you guys think I have a chip on my shoulder?"

  "What?" Aleeta asked.

  "A chip. A grudge. An attitude like a stalagmite."

  Kelly and Aleeta glanced at each other. Which wasn't a good sign.

  "Not really," Aleeta said.

  "Well. . .," Kelly said.

  "Not one as big as a stalagmite," Aleeta added.

  I set my fork down on my tray. "But you do think I have a chip on my shoulder?"

  "About some things," Kelly said.

  "Like what?"

  More glances between Aleeta and Kelly. Aleeta spoke first. "The whole Spiderwoman-refusing-to-date-anyone-from-our-school thing."

  Kelly nodded. "Remember how you went on and on about the irrationality of voters after you lost the NHS election?"

  I picked up my fork and stabbed my lasagna before cutting it. "Fine. But just because I have a chip on my shoulder doesn't mean I'm wrong about certain people."

  My friends watched me silently for a moment, then Aleeta spoke. "So who told you that you had a chip on your shoulder?"

  "Never mind." I shoved a piece of lasagna into my mouth so I couldn't answer.

  "It was a cute guy, wasn't it?" Kelly said. "Those types of statements only bother you if cute guys say them."

  I didn't answer, and I didn't look at them.

  "Must have been a really cute guy," Aleeta said.

  Kelly leaned forward. "Who was it, and do you like him?" I took another bite of lasagna.

  "She likes him," Aleeta said with a smile.

  "Ryan Geno?" Kelly asked. "Arnold Carriilo?"

  "Colton Taft," Aleeta said as though sure she was right.

  Kelly nodded. "Which means we're really talking about Bryant, aren't we?"

  Aleeta leaned closer to the table and lowered her voice. "Charlotte likes Bryant?"

  "No," I said quickly.

  "No,"

  Kelly repeated, "She doesn't like him, which is why Colton thinks she has a chip on her shoulder." She turned to me then, wearing a triumphant smile.

  I shuffled pieces of lasagna around on my plate. "I should stop hanging out with smart people." "You could always try getting along with Bryant, you know." Aleeta said this like the thought might have never occurred to me before—which, I suddenly realized, it hadn't.

  I pushed my plate away. "You don't actually believe his aunt is coming to town on Saturday, do you? Bryant blew off Brianna, and she doesn't even see it."

  Kelly nodded over in the direction Bryant and Bri­anna had gone. "He's holding her hand right now."

  I looked. The two of them stood at the foot of the stairs talking, with their fingers intertwined.

  "That's because he's doing it slyly."

  Aleeta stole one of Kelly's fries and took a bite. "It's good to see you're working on that chip-on-your-shoulder problem, Charlotte. I can tell your attitude about the guys at our school is improving."

  "I can't say anything else to Brianna about Bryant, because she thinks I'm attacking him. But that doesn't mean you guys couldn't, say, stake out his house on Saturday and see where he really goes."

  Aleeta took a fry and swirled it in ketchup. "Yeah, because we'd like Brianna to think we're attacking her boyfriend too. Hey, why don't we save ourselves the trouble and just make matching 'We Hate Bryant' T-shirts?"

  I sat my fork down on my plate with a clang. Why was it that no one else could see what was happening? "Don't you guys care about Brianna?"

  Kelly let out a sigh and shook her head. "When you get in the middle of other people's love lives, it always comes back to bite you. You should have learned that by now, since you're still wearing teeth marks from the last time you helped Brianna."

  Well, yeah, she had a point. Maybe even a good point. Still, it bothered me. Bryant apparently could do anything to anyone and always get away with it. It was his right because he was popular, good-looking, and could chuck a football around. Worse yet, I, who should have known better, had helped him by making that agreement with Colton. Almost to myself, I said, "When Bryant hurt me, no one even tried to stop him. How can I stand by and let him hurt Brianna?"

  Kelly shook her head again. "You're looking for re­venge."

  "I'm looking for justice."

  "Well, sometimes you can't have justice and friendship. So you'd better make up your mind which you want more." She picked up a french fry and ate it as though this closed the matter.

  She didn't understand. She couldn't.

  I leaned across the table toward Kelly. "If you spy on Bryant for me, I'll do something for you."

  "Justice or friendship. You're not listening to me."

  I spoke slowly, using my most enticing voice. "I'll take over the decorations for the winter dance."

  Kelly stopped eating midbite. Half a french fry dangled from her fingertips.

  For the last few days I'd heard Kelly complain a lot about the fact that she only had a budget of fifty dollars and the whole gymnasium to transform into a winter wonderland. "And how are things going on the decoration committee these days?" I prompted.

  She bit into the french fry, chomping it angrily. "Right now all I've got is a bunch of streamers and a glow-in-the-dark Frosty the Snowman. Harris is supposed to help me, but I've seen how he dresses, so I'm not sure I should actually trust him to decorate anything. He may, in fact, be color-blind."

  "No," Aleeta said with a smirk. "While the rest of you NHS members have wasted your intellectual abilities, Harris constructed a time machine and went bargain shopping in the nineteen eighties."

  Kelly popped the rest of her fry into her mouth. "Well, that would explain a lot."

  "We've got tons of Christmas stuff," I said. "I'm sure my mom would let me empty out the house for one night."

  Kelly sighed. "Ms. Ellis agreed to a couple of artificial Christmas trees, but beyond that, she doesn't want anything that can be broken, stolen, or thrown across the room like a football." Kelly raised both hands upward in a gesture of frustration. "What does that leave?"

  I nodded. "Guys can throw anything across the room—including each other—which is why you ought to spy on Bryant and leave the decorations in my hands."

  Kelly didn't say anything for a moment, then sent me a skeptical look. "You're the one who keeps threatening to serve popcorn and tap water for refreshments. Besides, it's not right to spy on people. Plus, Brianna would be furious if she found out I did." More swishing. She looked as though she was about to take up french fry painting. "Which means it's going to cost you extra. You take over the decoration committee, and you get Wesley to ask me out."

  I blinked at her. "I get Wesley to . . . How am I supposed to do that?"

  "Believe me, if I knew, I would have accomplished it myself."

  "But I never talk to Wesley outside of the study group."

  Kelly smiled and bit into her fry. "You're still the perfect one to do it. You don't date guys from our school, so when you talk to him, he won't think you're hitting on him."

  "Yeah, and if I talked to him," Aleeta said, her voice growing huffy, "I might be tempted to just snatch him up for myself."

  "I didn't mean it that way," Kelly said. "You can talk to him too."

  Aleeta took a sip of her milk and shook her head. "Never mind. I'll just wait until I need you to spy on someone for me. Charlotte can play matchmaker for you this time."

  And then I knew I had no choice. "I can't promise anything," I said.

  "Neither can I," Kelly said, and for the rest of lunch, I split my time between devising a plan to talk to Wesley and figuring out how to decorate the gym for under fifty d
ollars.

  As it turned out, the decorating was the easiest of the two to arrange. Maybe hanging out with my mom during her Martha Stewart moments has rubbed off on me, because by the end of the day, I had not only planned the decorations but given out the assignments. Rebecca and her friends agreed to wrap an assortment of large empty boxes with Christmas paper. Twenty helpful seniors (okay, people I cornered in my classes) promised they'd make two dozen paper snowflakes each. I would take batches of pinecones, glue them together in the form of Christmas trees, and then spray-paint them gold for the table centerpieces. I'd seen my mom do it before. They'd be pretty, cheap, and prickly enough to discourage being tossed across the room.

  Talking to Wesley was harder. He took a couple of honors classes with me, but he sat across the room, so we didn't talk much. And now I was supposed to somehow walk up to him, smile, and say, "Hey, would you like to take out my friend?"

  I stared at him all through English, hoping an idea would present itself. Right before class ended, one did. Specifically, our teacher told us we had a test on Macbeth tomorrow. Half the class groaned, but I didn't. After the bell rang, I made a beeline to Wesley.

  I caught up to him as he walked out the door. "Hey, Wesley."

  "Hey," he said back.

  "You ready for the test?" He shrugged.

  "You want to get together and study after school?"

  "I've got wrestling practice after school," he said.

  "Oh yeah." I'd forgotten he was on the team with Colton. Occasionally during our study sessions the two of them would lapse into wrestler-speech. We'd be talking about the driving forces behind the Civil War, and they'd be discussing the benefits of turks, guillotines, and other things we didn't understand but sounded sinister. "How about after wrestling practice then? At my house. I'll have plenty of celery on hand."

  Celery may seem like a strange thing to lure a teenage boy to your home with, but throughout wrestling season wrestlers watch their weight in a way that would put anorexics to shame.

  Wesley smiled over at me. "Celery would be great—just as long as you don't leave out any donuts to tempt me."

  "No donuts," I said. "I'll see you at four."

  After that, we went different ways in the hallway, and I let out a sigh of relief. That hadn't been so hard. Now if only the rest of my plan went as smoothly. I pictured the two of us talking about Macbeth. I would casually bring up the topic of Kelly. Subtly—so subtly he wouldn't notice my influence—I'd mention he ought to ask her out. In my vision he liked the suggestion. How closely my vision and reality would resemble each other remained to be seen.

  eight

  The nice thing about not having Wesley come over right after school was that it gave me time to straighten the house. Or rather, straighten what I could and yell at my sisters to pick up the rest.

  "How come we have to clean the house every time you have a friend over?" Julianne said, moving her Malibu Barbie's beach party from the couch to her bedroom. "I don't make you clean when my friends come over."

  "That's because your friends are seven years old," I said.

  "And because your friends aren't cute guys," Rebecca added. "Who's coming over? Colton?"

  "Wesley," I said.

  Evelynn walked by me with her ballet shoes dangling from one hand. "When is Colton coming over again?"

  I straightened magazines on the coffee table and pretended the subject didn't bother me. "When he realizes the truth about either me or Bryant." Julianne's head popped up from behind the couch, where Ken and a collection of tiny plastic picnic food had fallen. "When will that be?"

  "Oh, probably around the same time hell freezes over."

  "I thought Colton was your friend," Evelynn said. "I thought you liked him."

  "I do—well, I used to." It made me feel sad just to say the words.

  Rebecca gave me a long look. "But you're not going to talk to him until hell freezes over?"

  I straightened another magazine. "Well, anything is possible. After all, Colton is in the same business as the devil, so he probably has some pull down there. Hell might be cooling as we speak." Then I went to the kitchen to cut up celery stalks.

  By the time the doorbell rang at four, the house was clean and a vegetable platter lay on the kitchen table. I'd also made popcorn—unbuttered for him and buttered for me. I grabbed ice from the freezer and dumped it into two glasses. I felt as nervous as if it were me who liked Wesley, and not Kelly.

  "Can someone get the door, please!" I yelled, then put a liter of diet root beer on the table. Footsteps ran across the living room. The door swung open.

  "Colton!" Julianne squealed happily. "You came!" I stopped midstep. Colton? She must be mistaken. She had forgotten what he looked like and was now calling Wesley, "Colton," because they both had brown hair.

  "Sure, I came," Colton said, and there was no mistaking his voice. "I still have to teach you how to wrestle, don't I?"

  I headed toward the living room.

  "Hey, Charlotte," Julianne yelled. "Hell must have frozen over!" And then in a quieter voice she added, "Charlotte was hoping it would."

  "What?" Colton asked.

  I sprinted the rest of the way to the door. As I rounded the corner I saw both Wesley and Colton in the entryway. Julianne stood in front of them transfixed, staring up at Colton with adoring eyes.

  "Julianne, it's time for you to go to your room," I said. "Right now."

  "Do you really know the devil?" she asked Colton. "Have you ever been to hell?"

  "Sometimes I think I have," he answered, glaring at me.

  Julianne started to ask more questions, which nobody heard because at that point I shoved her toward the stairs and hissed at her to never speak to my friends again. Then I calmly turned back to the guys. "Hi."

  Wesley looked past me, his gaze traveling around the room. "Are we the first ones here?"

  I stared at him blankly. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, why Colton was with him, or how to salvage my dignity after my sister's scene. "The first ones?" I repeated.

  "From the study group," Wesley said, and then because I was still staring at him, he added, "That was today, right?"

  "Yes, yes. That was today." Only apparently I hadn't made it clear I was just inviting Wesley, and so he had invited Colton along and was expecting the whole group to be here.

  Okay, what was the best way to get out of this awkward situation?

  1. Admit the truth and fess up that I'd just invited Wesley over. Of course, this would beg the question why. I could look like I was hitting on the guy my friend liked, or I could let them know I was trying to set him up with Kelly. Either of which would make Kelly hate me forever.

  2. Play dumb and say, "Oh, I'm sure they'll be along any time now," then hope for some sort of solution to magically present itself within the next few minutes. Like maybe an angel would appear.

  3. Faint, wait until the paramedics took my limp body away in an ambulance, and then, when questioned about the situation later, claim amnesia.

  I was getting ready to faint when Rebecca walked out holding the platter of vegetables. "Did you guys want this in the kitchen or in the living room?"

  Wesley walked over to her, grabbed a cucumber slice, and popped it into his mouth. "Great. I love cucumbers."

  "You can put it in the living room," I told Rebecca. She laid the platter on the coffee table, and Wesley followed her, setting his backpack by the couch. Colton didn't move, probably because he hadn't finished glaring at me.

  "There's soda and popcorn in the kitchen. Why don't you sit down, and I'll be right back with it." I turned, and when I was out of sight, I sprinted to the kitchen. Once there, I grabbed the phone, speed dialed Kelly's house, and bit a fingernail while waiting for her to pick up.

  After three rings, she did. "Hello?"

  "Kelly, it's Charlotte. Call everyone in our study group who's taking honors English. Tell them we have a study session over at my house right now, and they h
ave to come. Tell them you were supposed to invite them earlier, but you forgot, okay?"

  "What?" she asked.

  "Don't ask questions. Just do it."

  "What?" she asked again. For someone whose IQ is well within Mensa range, she was not picking up on the urgency of my plan very quickly.

  "Just do it, and then come yourself. Wesley is here, and so is— Hi, Colton."

  I hadn't noticed him come into the kitchen, but he stood in the doorway, arms crossed, surveying me.

  "Bye," I told Kelly, and hung up the phone. Then I stood with a smile plastered on my face and wondered how much of my conversation he'd heard.

  "I came to see if you needed help carrying things," he told me.

  "Oh." I glanced over at the table where the popcorn, soda, and two glasses stood. "Thanks. You can carry the soda."

  He walked to the table and picked up the glasses one by one. "When Wesley told me at wrestling practice that we had a study group at your house, I just assumed you hadn't told me about it because you were still avoiding me."

  "I'm not avoiding you." I went to the cupboard and pulled out another glass.

  "Right." He took the glass and added it to the ones already in his hands. "If I'd known you were setting up this study session as some romantic rendezvous between you and Wesley, I wouldn't have come."

  "This isn't—" I lowered my voice just in case Wesley decided to come into the kitchen and help us. "This isn't a romantic rendezvous." Colton raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  "This is just . . . I wanted to talk to Wesley about... you know, something." I had no reason to tell Colton about Kelly. No reason to trust or confide in him. He was, after all, the enemy. But standing with Colton in my kitchen, I felt like it was just another one of our study groups. Like he was the old Colton that I used to trust.

  Besides, it's hard to think of a guy as the enemy when he's wrestler-buff, underworld spy good-looking, and has intense brown eyes that are gazing in your direction. Probably they teach guys in underworld spy school how to melt girls with that expression.

  "So what did you want to talk to Wesley about?" he asked me.