look at me sprawled across trash and Justin took off.
That crummy crooked kisser just ditched me!
And the whole Snack Shack line was now staring at me!
I tried to make a graceful return to an upright position, but that wasn't easy with nacho sauce smeared everywhere.
Then someone grabbed my arm to help me up, and I found myself face to face with...a Boy Scout?
He wasn't exactly in uniform, but his white polo shirt was tucked into his tan pants, and his whole demeanor was squeaky-clean. His hair was actually
parted
and plastered across his head like he was preparing for a midlife comb-over.
"Thanks," I said, standing up. I was a good six inches taller than he was.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded and brushed myself off, then watched while he righted the can and scooped the trash back inside. "There," he said when he was done. He looked at his hands and smiled. "I guess I'd better go wash up!"
"Uh, thanks," I said again, giving a lame wave as he hurried off. "Me too."
People in the Snack Shack line were still staring.
I slunk away, thinking that at least now they had something besides rabbits to gossip about.
25
Faulty Analysis
I WAS TARDY TO S PANISH . I'm never tardy to anything, but I was way tardy to Spanish. I'd been looking for Adrienne. It was the only thing I could think to do after escaping the Snack Shack. I looked in Ms. Pickney's room but was told she'd already left for her third-period class. So I hurried over to Room 814, the choir classroom.
The first person I ran into was Paxton.
"Where's Adrienne?" I panted.
"She's running an errand for Mr. Vogel." He cocked his head a bit. "You okay? What happened to your clothes? Is that nacho sauce?"
Clarinets were squeaking in the band room next door. Someone was pounding on a bass drum. "I'm late," I said, and ran to class.
Spanish was a blur. So was American lit. I couldn't stop thinking about Justin's cockeyed kiss. And thrashing in trash. And Robbie Marshall asking me out. And Studly doing devilish bunny ears.
I was living a nightmare, not a fantasy!
What did a girl have to do to get a decent kiss?
Could it possibly be worth
this
?
When the lunch bell rang, I was dying to track down Adrienne, but Miss Ryder held me back. "Evangeline! Can I see you a minute?"
Miss Ryder had told us on the first day of school that she was twenty-three and that it was only her second year teaching. "That's why I'm going to be unfailingly strict--I will take no bull from any of you. I am also unfailingly passionate about literature--it's my life, and I'm looking forward to sharing it with you."
True to her word, she's in love with books. Her cheeks flush when she talks about them, and she goes off on these amazingly eloquent jags about the significance of books. Sometimes, though, I think she sees things
because
she's in love, not because it's really there. Case in point: According to her analysis,
The Last of the Mohicans
is a vehicle for conveying great courage, great treachery, and great love.
According to
my
analysis, it's a story about war.
Anyway, when the rest of the class had stampeded out, she analyzed
me
through her narrow, black-framed, rectangular glasses and said, "You've seemed distracted in class lately. Especially today. Are you doing all right?"
What was I? An open book? "I'm fine," I told her, slamming down the cover.
She held my gaze. "You don't seem fine." There was a moment of awkward silence before she looked away and said, "People talk, Evangeline. It's wrong, but that's what they do."
My jaw hit the floor. My
teacher
had heard?
But...exactly
what
had she heard?
"The gossip is really not what's important," she said, looking at me again through those mind-reading lenses. "Just don't do anything
you're
ashamed of--that's my rule of thumb."
"I haven't!" I said, picking my jaw off the floor. "I have done absolutely nothing wrong, or scandalous, or...or even remotely nasty!"
Her hands swept upward. "Well, there you go. So just hold your
That crummy crooked kisser just ditched me!
And the whole Snack Shack line was now staring at me!
I tried to make a graceful return to an upright position, but that wasn't easy with nacho sauce smeared everywhere.
Then someone grabbed my arm to help me up, and I found myself face to face with...a Boy Scout?
He wasn't exactly in uniform, but his white polo shirt was tucked into his tan pants, and his whole demeanor was squeaky-clean. His hair was actually
parted
and plastered across his head like he was preparing for a midlife comb-over.
"Thanks," I said, standing up. I was a good six inches taller than he was.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded and brushed myself off, then watched while he righted the can and scooped the trash back inside. "There," he said when he was done. He looked at his hands and smiled. "I guess I'd better go wash up!"
"Uh, thanks," I said again, giving a lame wave as he hurried off. "Me too."
People in the Snack Shack line were still staring.
I slunk away, thinking that at least now they had something besides rabbits to gossip about.
25
Faulty Analysis
I WAS TARDY TO S PANISH . I'm never tardy to anything, but I was way tardy to Spanish. I'd been looking for Adrienne. It was the only thing I could think to do after escaping the Snack Shack. I looked in Ms. Pickney's room but was told she'd already left for her third-period class. So I hurried over to Room 814, the choir classroom.
The first person I ran into was Paxton.
"Where's Adrienne?" I panted.
"She's running an errand for Mr. Vogel." He cocked his head a bit. "You okay? What happened to your clothes? Is that nacho sauce?"
Clarinets were squeaking in the band room next door. Someone was pounding on a bass drum. "I'm late," I said, and ran to class.
Spanish was a blur. So was American lit. I couldn't stop thinking about Justin's cockeyed kiss. And thrashing in trash. And Robbie Marshall asking me out. And Studly doing devilish bunny ears.
I was living a nightmare, not a fantasy!
What did a girl have to do to get a decent kiss?
Could it possibly be worth
this
?
When the lunch bell rang, I was dying to track down Adrienne, but Miss Ryder held me back. "Evangeline! Can I see you a minute?"
Miss Ryder had told us on the first day of school that she was twenty-three and that it was only her second year teaching. "That's why I'm going to be unfailingly strict--I will take no bull from any of you. I am also unfailingly passionate about literature--it's my life, and I'm looking forward to sharing it with you."
True to her word, she's in love with books. Her cheeks flush when she talks about them, and she goes off on these amazingly eloquent jags about the significance of books. Sometimes, though, I think she sees things
because
she's in love, not because it's really there. Case in point: According to her analysis,
The Last of the Mohicans
is a vehicle for conveying great courage, great treachery, and great love.
According to
my
analysis, it's a story about war.
Anyway, when the rest of the class had stampeded out, she analyzed
me
through her narrow, black-framed, rectangular glasses and said, "You've seemed distracted in class lately. Especially today. Are you doing all right?"
What was I? An open book? "I'm fine," I told her, slamming down the cover.
She held my gaze. "You don't seem fine." There was a moment of awkward silence before she looked away and said, "People talk, Evangeline. It's wrong, but that's what they do."
My jaw hit the floor. My
teacher
had heard?
But...exactly
what
had she heard?
"The gossip is really not what's important," she said, looking at me again through those mind-reading lenses. "Just don't do anything
you're
ashamed of--that's my rule of thumb."
"I haven't!" I said, picking my jaw off the floor. "I have done absolutely nothing wrong, or scandalous, or...or even remotely nasty!"
Her hands swept upward. "Well, there you go. So just hold your
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