“What? You can’t be seen with me in the hallway? I’m a pariah now?”
I did the two-finger swipe. “Two points for vocabulary.”
She wasn’t amused. “So?”
“You’re not a pariah. I just have a girlfriend with spies everywhere.”
She blinked, as if astonished. “ That’s why you’ve been ignoring me?”
So I was right. She thought I’d been ignoring her. No wonder she sounded hurt and defensive. Look at it from her point of view: I’d started to get friendly, we’d really connected, and then I’d backed away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it seem that way. I . . . there’s actually been a bunch of times when I wanted to talk to you.”
“But you were afraid she’d find out?” Meg rolled her eyes. “Boy, Mr. Popular Stud, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes.”
Ouch! This girl didn’t pull any punches.
She quickly looked around the room. “Wait! What if she’s got all the classrooms bugged?”
“Very funny. No, I just . . . I don’t know. Tal and I are pretty happy together.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s so obvious,” Meg replied facetiously. “My best relationships have always been with people I was afraid were spying on me.”
That made me chuckle. “You’re pretty sarcastic.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t blow myself up like a puffer fish and show my spines when attacked.”
“You’re under attack?” I asked, confused.
“From embarrassment and humiliation? Duh. You especially should know that.”
Now I got it. “Hence the pariah comment?”
“Welcome to my world,” she muttered, skidding across the ice from sarcastic to bitter. She raised her head as if she’d just thought of something. “By the way, are we still keeping that secret about why you’re living at your uncle’s house?”
Before I could answer, the classroom door opened. Maybe I swiveled around a little too quickly to see who it was—a kid I didn’t know. “Sorry, wrong room.” He backed out. When I turned back to Meg, she had a thoughtful expression. “Sowhich is it? Afraid of being caught consorting with the homeless? Or just of her jealous wrath?”
“Neither.”
But she’d already turned toward the door. “Gotta get to my next class. You better stay here and count to ten so no one sees us leave together.”
She went out.
I stood there way past a ten count, wondering . . . how right was she?
9
“You sure that’s what you want to wear?” Noah asked. It was Friday night and I’d just gotten into his car. He was wearing sweatpants and an old hoodie.
“Aren’t we doing some church thing?” I said.
“We’re cooking. For Dignityville.”
“Be right back.” I jogged back into Uncle Ron’s, quickly changed clothes.
“You okay?” Noah asked when I returned.
“I think so, why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little out of it lately.” He started to drive.
“Everything’s cool.” It wasn’t. And now here was the idea of cooking for the homeless, which felt strange considering my family’s current situation. There’d been a time when it would have been just another excuse to hang out with friends, nodifferent from really, making a fire at the beach or going to the movies. But now?
Saint Stephen’s was the biggest church in town. When Noah and I got downstairs, Tory and Talia and a couple of others had already gathered around the big countertop island.
“Glad you two could make it,” Tory said in a snarky tone.
Noah clapped me on the shoulder. “Wonder Boy here was dressed for dinner with the archbishop.”
I sidled up to Talia, who gave me a concerned look and a quick peck on the cheek.
“Did you say we were cooking for Dignityville?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
That was weird, because I couldn’t remember her telling me. Was Noah right about me being out of it?
Tory tapped a metal ladle against the countertop, upon which were bags of beans, onions, and other ingredients. She was a planner and organizer (did someone say “control freak”?). If
I did the two-finger swipe. “Two points for vocabulary.”
She wasn’t amused. “So?”
“You’re not a pariah. I just have a girlfriend with spies everywhere.”
She blinked, as if astonished. “ That’s why you’ve been ignoring me?”
So I was right. She thought I’d been ignoring her. No wonder she sounded hurt and defensive. Look at it from her point of view: I’d started to get friendly, we’d really connected, and then I’d backed away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it seem that way. I . . . there’s actually been a bunch of times when I wanted to talk to you.”
“But you were afraid she’d find out?” Meg rolled her eyes. “Boy, Mr. Popular Stud, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes.”
Ouch! This girl didn’t pull any punches.
She quickly looked around the room. “Wait! What if she’s got all the classrooms bugged?”
“Very funny. No, I just . . . I don’t know. Tal and I are pretty happy together.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s so obvious,” Meg replied facetiously. “My best relationships have always been with people I was afraid were spying on me.”
That made me chuckle. “You’re pretty sarcastic.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t blow myself up like a puffer fish and show my spines when attacked.”
“You’re under attack?” I asked, confused.
“From embarrassment and humiliation? Duh. You especially should know that.”
Now I got it. “Hence the pariah comment?”
“Welcome to my world,” she muttered, skidding across the ice from sarcastic to bitter. She raised her head as if she’d just thought of something. “By the way, are we still keeping that secret about why you’re living at your uncle’s house?”
Before I could answer, the classroom door opened. Maybe I swiveled around a little too quickly to see who it was—a kid I didn’t know. “Sorry, wrong room.” He backed out. When I turned back to Meg, she had a thoughtful expression. “Sowhich is it? Afraid of being caught consorting with the homeless? Or just of her jealous wrath?”
“Neither.”
But she’d already turned toward the door. “Gotta get to my next class. You better stay here and count to ten so no one sees us leave together.”
She went out.
I stood there way past a ten count, wondering . . . how right was she?
9
“You sure that’s what you want to wear?” Noah asked. It was Friday night and I’d just gotten into his car. He was wearing sweatpants and an old hoodie.
“Aren’t we doing some church thing?” I said.
“We’re cooking. For Dignityville.”
“Be right back.” I jogged back into Uncle Ron’s, quickly changed clothes.
“You okay?” Noah asked when I returned.
“I think so, why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little out of it lately.” He started to drive.
“Everything’s cool.” It wasn’t. And now here was the idea of cooking for the homeless, which felt strange considering my family’s current situation. There’d been a time when it would have been just another excuse to hang out with friends, nodifferent from really, making a fire at the beach or going to the movies. But now?
Saint Stephen’s was the biggest church in town. When Noah and I got downstairs, Tory and Talia and a couple of others had already gathered around the big countertop island.
“Glad you two could make it,” Tory said in a snarky tone.
Noah clapped me on the shoulder. “Wonder Boy here was dressed for dinner with the archbishop.”
I sidled up to Talia, who gave me a concerned look and a quick peck on the cheek.
“Did you say we were cooking for Dignityville?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
That was weird, because I couldn’t remember her telling me. Was Noah right about me being out of it?
Tory tapped a metal ladle against the countertop, upon which were bags of beans, onions, and other ingredients. She was a planner and organizer (did someone say “control freak”?). If
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