Jessica Darling's It List 3

  Hope had given me the perfect opportunity to tell her what happens whenever I attempt to follow my sister’s advice. But by the time I was ready to confess the truth about the IT Lists and the Crushability Quiz, she’d already pedaled too far down the road. Another time, I promised myself. Another time.

  I’d just turned to go back inside the house when I heard a voice.

  “Jess!”

  Scotty. Ack. What was he doing here? And how had he gotten here without passing Hope? I was torn between taking off and telling him off. His hand was on my shoulder before I could decide.

  “I thought Hope would never leave,” he said.

  I shook him off but refused to face him.

  “You eavesdropped on our conversation? Creeper!”

  “Isn’t that what you did to me? Why were you lurking behind the soda machine?”

  “That was an accident. Wrong place at the wrong time. You intentionally hid in the bushes to listen to me and Hope. There’s a huge difference!”

  “I wasn’t listening; I was waiting to talk to you alone,” Scotty said, sneaking around me so I’d have to look at him. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of those things I said at the mall.”

  “Obviously,” I snapped. “That’s the whole point of talking behind someone’s back, isn’t it?”

  And I turned away from him again just to make my point.

  “I had to say those things in front of Dori!” he claimed. “She’s jealous that we’re partners and—”

  “Were partners,” I corrected him. “Because you’re crazy if you think I’m dancing with you after getting insulted like that.”

  “But, Jess—”

  “But nothing,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll find a suitable replacement for me in the Woodshop supply closet. There are plenty of flat-as-a-board two-by-fours to choose from.”

  I slammed the front door in Scotty’s face and congratulated myself on a comeback worthy of someone as smart as everyone thinks I am. The celebration was short-lived, however, because a moment later it hit me: I didn’t have a partner.

  Without a partner, our square was incomplete.

  And an incomplete square can’t fly the coop.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bridget couldn’t wait for me to show up at the bus stop Monday morning. She actually rang my doorbell while I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. This delighted my mother to no end. She’s missed Bridget more than ever since she turned pretty.

  “Bridget! How lovely to see you! Are you excited about Friday night? I’m sure Jessie has told you that we’ll be there at the Down-Home Harvest Dance!”

  I hadn’t told Bridget any such thing, because I was still hoping for an act of divine parental intervention that would prevent my parents from fulfilling their chaperoning duties.

  “How could you leave me alone in the middle of all that drama?” Bridget asked when I came down the stairs.

  “You weren’t alone,” I pointed out as I put on my jacket. “You had Kirsten as backup.”

  “What drama?” my mother asked eagerly, plopping herself down on the bottom step like it was story time at the library.

  “There was a fight over a dress,” I replied as I shouldered my backpack.

  My mother jerked to attention.

  “Jessie! You got into a fight? Over a dress?”

  I’m not sure what part sounded more incredible to my mother: the fight or the possibility that it was over a dress.

  “Oh no! Not me! Manda and Sara!”

  “Well, they’re Bee-Eff-Effs again,” Bridget informed me. “And you’re out of the square.”

  Hope had told me as much, but it was a relief to hear it confirmed from a second source.

  “Let me guess. Manda’s in?”

  “Yeah, and, um, here’s the other thing,” Bridget said, pulling nervously on a strand of hair by her left ear. “Sara’s going to arrange it so Dori replaces you as Scotty’s partner, which makes sense. I mean, it’s only right that couples get to dance with each other, right?”

  “I’m sorry,” my mother interrupted. “I’m having trouble keeping up.”

  Bridget pressed on. But reluctantly.

  “Well, um, you think you can tell Hope that she’s out, too?” she asked timidly. “Because I don’t really know her all that well, and it’s kind of awkward.”

  Okay. So Bridget didn’t know that Hope was already out. But it still didn’t make sense for her to be acting all squirrelly about the changes to the square…

  UNTIL IT TOTALLY DID.

  “You and Burke are in! You’re joining Manda and Sara’s Supersquare!”

  “I’m sorry, Jess!” Bridget said, genuinely apologetic. “The only way Dori and I could get Burke and Scotty to go to the dance was if we were all together.”

  I knew this wasn’t true. I’d overheard them saying their basketball coach was forcing them to participate. But I didn’t say this, because honestly, at this point, I didn’t care. I was free from tyrannical Sara, terrifying Manda, and two-faced Scotty. That’s all that mattered.

  My mother, of course, didn’t understand any of this.

  “Who are Manda and Sara?” she asked. “And why do they have the power to kick anyone out of anything?”

  Bridget and I looked at each other and shrugged. There wasn’t a clear, concise answer to either one of those questions. None we could deliver without missing the bus that was already coming down the street.

  “Gotta go!”

  As Bridget and I ran for the bus, I thought about her boyfriend’s participation in my humiliation. If I were dating a jerk, I’d want to know. Even better, I’d like to think I’m savvy enough not to date a jerk in the first place. But the world is full of sneaky jerks, isn’t it? Ones who put on their nice faces when they think the important people are watching but who are jerks to everyone else. So when I got on board and saw Burke, all smiles for Bridget in the backseat, I decided it might be more effective if I just talked to him myself. Instead of taking my usual seat, I followed Bridget to the rear.

  “Hi, Burke. I’m Jessica. Remember me? We ran into each other by the soda machine at the mall. I’m the Smart One. Smart enough not to let your jerky judgments get me down.”

  I said it all at once before I lost my nerve.

  Bridget looked at me as if I were mad. Which I thought I was. As in mad/angry, not mad/crazy. But, after seeing the shaken expression on Burke’s face as I confronted him, I wasn’t mad anymore.

  I was relieved he wasn’t my boyfriend.

  “What is she talking about?” Bridget asked Burke.

  “N-n-nothing,” Burke stammered back at Bridget.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing!”

  Satisfied, I walked back and took my regular seat in the middle of the bus. I’d told the truth. It was up to Bridget to decide what to do with it.

  “Make room,” Bridget said, sliding next to me into the seat.

  She’d decided to side with me. At least for the time being.

  “Listen, I don’t know what he said to you, and you don’t have to tell me. I know his sense of humor can be really…” She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I want to apologize on his behalf,” she said.

  “He should apologize on his own behalf,” I said.

  One of the back-of-the-bus boys farted. Burke and all the rest laughed like gorillas. Huhuhuhuhuhuh. Bridget stole a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “Burke makes jokes that aren’t very funny sometimes.”

  The way she said it made me wonder if Burke had ever made jokes at her expense. And what she said next convinced me of it.

  “Sometimes I wonder if Burke would even like me at all if I hadn’t gotten…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “You can say it, Bridget,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “Say what?”

  “Pretty,” I supplied for her. “W
ould he be your boyfriend if you hadn’t gotten pretty?”

  Bridget’s cheeks turned pink.

  “Jess! I would never say that about myself!”

  I had to agree. Even if she were aware of her own attractiveness—which she has to be, right?—she’s far too modest to admit it.

  “Would Burke be my boyfriend if I hadn’t gotten my braces off?” she asked. “Would he like me if I still had a mouth full of metal?”

  “So what you’re really asking is,” I said, “would he still like you if you weren’t pretty?”

  She shoved me surprisingly hard against the window. “Stop saying that!”

  “But it’s true, Bridget! By our culture’s standards of beauty, you’re pretty. Don’t apologize for it. Own it! And, as your boyfriend, Burke should appreciate your big blue eyes and cute little nose and clear skin and blond hair because they’re all parts of YOU.”

  I had Bridget’s full attention, but who knew how much longer it would last? The bus was pulling into the parking lot, so I decided to go for it.

  “Here’s the most important thing: Your looks aren’t all of you. So they shouldn’t be the only thing he or anyone else appreciates about you.”

  Bridget smiled and rested her head on my shoulder.

  “Thanks, Jess,” she said. “I hope you realize how lucky you are to be the Smart One.”

  And at that moment, I honestly did.

  My conversation with Bridget got me thinking about what Hope had said about our imperfections—real and imagined. I mean, I’d never once considered that Bridget’s beauty could be anything but an advantage, and that was before I knew she’s getting free clothes from the coolest store at the mall just because of how good she looks in them. But how would I feel if my (totally imaginary) boyfriend never listened to me because he thought I was too pretty to have anything worth saying?

  I wouldn’t like that at all.

  So for the rest of the day, and the rest of the week, I kept thinking about everyone’s bodies.

  ACK. THAT CAME OUT ALL WRONG.

  Like, I’d assumed all along that Manda contorts herself into those attention-getting poses just to remind everyone of her boobs. But after Hope told me about her back pain, I was willing to consider that she’s just trying to stretch out her sore muscles. And I’d thought Sara’s addicted to shopping. Maybe I could feel a little bad about how she rarely gets to enjoy any favorite item of clothing before it doesn’t fit anymore.

  Here’s the most important thing I’ve discovered from all this watching: More than anything else, it’s your attitude that determines whether what’s outside is an accurate reflection of what’s inside. And Manda and Sara were ESPECIALLY ANNOYING THIS WEEK. Inside and out.

  So as much as I’d wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, I couldn’t. Not when they spent Monday through Friday bragging about how they were destined to win the Hoedown Showdown with their new-and-improved Supersquare: Sara and Sam, Manda and Vinnie, Scotty and Dori, Bridget and Burke.

  “I’m sorry, Jess!” Bridget whispered quickly when I passed her in the gym.

  She’d made her choice: Burke. And was maybe even legitimately remorseful about it. But I didn’t give her the “It’s okay” smile she wanted because—guess what?—it wasn’t okay. Not when Hope, Basketball Mike, the Scouts, and I were left to scramble to fill in our square with, well, the leftovers. There was runny-nosed John-John, of course, and a mushy-mouthed couple who sit in the back of our G&T classes and never speak above a mumble to anyone but each other. They were, you know, the odd kids out who no one else wanted.

  And I can say that because I was one of them.

  Every time John-John spun right instead of left, walked forward instead of back, or accidentally joined the ladies-only chain, Hope would give me a look that said “Don’t worry!” or “We’ve got this!” or “We’re gonna fly the coop!”

  I gave her only one look in return. It said “My hand is covered in John-John’s snot.”

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the gym, the Supersquare asserted their dominance over the rest of us. At this point in our training, Sara had finally turned on the music. They yelped, yeehawed, and yahooed along with the recorded banjos and fiddles. They were the most popular, pretty, and perfect Pineville Junior High had to offer, and they made the impossible possible:

  They made square dancing look cool.

  The Leftovers definitely did not.

  “Secret weapon!” Hope said energetically after today’s massive eight-person promenade pileup that finished our final practice session. “We’ll still win tonight!”

  “Tonight?” John-John asked. “The dance is tonight?”

  And that’s when John-John informed us that neither he nor the mumblecouple would be joining us at the Down-Home Harvest Dance. Evidently, they have online role-play gaming parties on Friday nights. And there’s no way John-John was about to ditch his Canadian computer girlfriend he’s never met in person just to lose in the first round of the Hoedown Showdown.

  “Sorry,” he said, wiping his nose with his hand.

  “Srmphrry,” said the mumblecouple.

  “They’re not sorry at all,” I said to Hope.

  “Nope,” she agreed.

  The Leftovers had better love lives than we did. Not that I’m, like, desperate for a love life or anything. As if being rejected by John-John wasn’t embarrassing enough, Manda really had to rub in the humiliation.

  “Vinnie is the dreamiest partner ever!”

  She gushed pretty hard for a girl who already had a boyfriend. All week I’d thought it was weird that Manda was dancing with Vinnie instead of Mouth. Sara had gone out of her way to arrange for Bridget and Dori (who conveniently had Mr. Armbruster for Social Studies that period) and Burke (who usually had Study Hall) to switch to our gym class to practice for the dance, and yet, she hadn’t done the same for Mouth.

  I hadn’t talked to him or Aleck or any of the Woodshop boys all week because we had different decoration duties: They were busy raising the (fake) barn, and I was busy raising the (fake) livestock. Whenever I did catch a glimpse of either of them, they both seemed to be in serious moods. Like, usually Aleck and Mouth joke around while they work. But this week, they simply followed Sara’s orders, like there was nothing remotely ironic about gluing thousands of individual rhinestones to a fake pigpen.

  I finally caught up with Mouth and Aleck after school on Friday. Since she’d never bothered forming a true committee for the dance, Sara had to bribe volunteers with sodas and snacks to help set up the decorations. The boys were hauling two silver spray-painted bales of hay off a hand truck they’d wheeled from Woodshop to the gym.

  “So are you two ready for the dance?” I asked.

  Mouth sat down on the hay, put his head in his hands, and moaned.

  “You had to ask, didn’t you?” Aleck said.

  “What did I say?” I asked.

  “Manda dumped him for her square-dance partner,” Aleck said. “Vinnie whatshisname.”

  Mouth moaned louder.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  I couldn’t say I didn’t see it coming.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I’m withdrawing from the competition in solidarity,” Aleck said. “And also because my partner ditched me.”

  How could I have forgotten? Dori was Aleck’s partner before she was Scotty’s!

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I was really looking forward to seeing those so-called superior square-dancing skills of yours.”

  And then a wonderful thing happened. My overthinking brain finally worked to my advantage. Just like that, I had an idea that could solve all our square-dancing problems. (Which, by the way, is a category of problems I could’ve never imagined having until two weeks ago.)

  All I had to do was ask.

  Ask.

  Just ask.

  What was the big deal? We were all friends, right? Just friends. Friends who’d deploy a top sec
ret combination of superior skills and synchronized spontaneity to overthrow the Supersquare once and for all.

  If I asked.

  So.

  I asked.

  “What if I told you about a square still missing a few sides?”

  And on the strength of their smiles alone, it was decided. Aleck and Mouth had officially joined the Leftovers.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’d hardly had any time to congratulate myself on this master stroke of brilliance when Sara came charging at us in full freak-out.

  “This is a disaster!” Sara screeched. “They’re not supposed to be in the gym now!”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The wrestling team! They’re practicing in the gym this afternoon! Of all afternoons!”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” Aleck said, “they practice there every afternoon.”

  Mr. Pudel arrived on the scene to inspect all the decorations before installation.

  “My plans!” Sara shrieked at him. “My plans are ruined!”

  “Bruiser,” Mr. Pudel said calmly, “before drawing up your elaborate plans, did you even check to make sure the gymnasium was free this afternoon?”

  “Omigod!” was all Sara could bring herself to say.

  “Lucky for you, they’ll be finished by four,” Mr. Pudel assured her. “Plenty of time to set up.”

  “See?” I said to Sara. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Easy for you to say, with your nonexistent beauty routine,” Sara said. “I’ve got appointments starting at three thirty. Hair! Nails! Exfoliation!”

  “We’ll be fine without you,” Mr. Pudel said.

  Sara hesitated.

  “Mr. Pudel takes great pride in his work,” I insisted, “and will expect nothing less than perfection from his volunteers.”

  Mr. Pudel nodded. Aleck grinned. Mouth scowled.

  “Okay,” Sara agreed reluctantly. “But if there’s so much as a… a… strand of hay out of place…”

  And she took off without even bothering to finish the threat.

  I was actually pretty excited by this turn of events. I’d wanted to see Molly wrestle ever since I’d heard about her making the team! But we had a lot of work to do first. Just getting all the decorations from one side of the school to the other required many hands and several trips. When we were finally done transporting everything for the dance from the Woodshop to just outside the gym, there were only about ten minutes left in her practice.