wouldn’t get
your hopes up about Jill and Dana, Brent. They’re interested now, but how long
could that possibly last? If I were you I would focus more on girls in your
own social circle, you know, girls who have known you your whole life and
always found you interesting and attractive, even before you became a
celebrity, girls who—”
“Oh, come on,
Luce,” Brent said. “There aren’t any girls in this school like that. You’re
right. I’m just—” he thought of Weathers sitting in his kitchen,
“—front page news. In a week or so they’ll probably walk right past me
again and not even say hi. So what’s this mission?”
“Mission?”
Lucy asked. There was something wrong with her face. Her mouth was all
bunched up and she had her eyes closed. Like she was about to cry, or sneeze
or something. Then she opened her eyes again and nodded and got back to
business. “Yes. Your mission. Should you choose to accept it, ha ha ha.
Yes. I thought—I mean I’m not sure how you want to handle this, but you
are who you are now and there are certain things that will be expected of you,
certain stereotypes you’re going to be measured against and I figured it might
be good to get started right away—”
“Started with
what?” Brent asked.
“Fighting
crime, of course.”
Brent laughed.
Then he looked at her face. And laughed again. But she was serious. “Crime.
Here at the school? Is somebody stealing extra composition notebooks out of
the supply closet?”
“It’s a little
worse than that,” Lucy told him.
Completely
serious.
Chapter 13.
Classes ended
for the day. Maggie changed and headed out to the practice field, watching the
football players go through their drills. Her first day back to school had
been a little different from Brent’s. She had made plans to see all her
friends at lunch, but when she got to the cafeteria not a single one of them
was there. Maggie was a high school senior. She knew exactly what that meant.
Perhaps even
worse, not a single boy had looked at her all day. Which was unusual, but
she’d kind of expected it. Most of the cute boys were complete brain-dead
twits and they looked for girls who were just as stupid as they
were—girls they could take advantage of. Maggie was used to being stared
at, especially when she was wearing her field hockey uniform which showed off a
serious amount of leg, but she knew the football players weren’t looking for a
girl who could run faster than they could and beat them up without trying if
they got a little too affectionate.
So they were
ignoring her. It wasn’t just that they didn’t say hi. They never had before.
But they weren’t whistling at her. They weren’t making rude comments to each
other about her body. And they made an all-too-obvious show of not meeting her
gaze for so much as a second. As if she wasn’t a girl at all. As if she were
some weird species of sea creature that was probably slimy to the touch.
So when one of
them threw a pass that went a little too long and the ball bounced crazily
across the grass toward her, she dashed over and grabbed it before Mark
Hockenberry, the starting quarterback, could reach it.
He stared at
her in confusion, then glanced back at the other players. “Little help?” he
asked, when she just stood there smiling at him, balancing the football on her
index finger.
“Sure,” she
said. She pulled her arm back and threw the ball at Hockenberry as hard as she
could.
Because he was
a jock and because he had a reputation for never flubbing a pass in his entire
athletic career, he made the mistake of trying to catch it. She’d known he
would. The ball hit him in his armored sternum and knocked him backwards
across the lines painted on the grass. He slid ten yards before he came to a
stop. And lay there, groaning.
Maggie
frowned. She hoped, sort of, that she hadn’t hurt him.
But then he
sat up and held the ball in the air. The rest of the team cheered and rushed
over
your hopes up about Jill and Dana, Brent. They’re interested now, but how long
could that possibly last? If I were you I would focus more on girls in your
own social circle, you know, girls who have known you your whole life and
always found you interesting and attractive, even before you became a
celebrity, girls who—”
“Oh, come on,
Luce,” Brent said. “There aren’t any girls in this school like that. You’re
right. I’m just—” he thought of Weathers sitting in his kitchen,
“—front page news. In a week or so they’ll probably walk right past me
again and not even say hi. So what’s this mission?”
“Mission?”
Lucy asked. There was something wrong with her face. Her mouth was all
bunched up and she had her eyes closed. Like she was about to cry, or sneeze
or something. Then she opened her eyes again and nodded and got back to
business. “Yes. Your mission. Should you choose to accept it, ha ha ha.
Yes. I thought—I mean I’m not sure how you want to handle this, but you
are who you are now and there are certain things that will be expected of you,
certain stereotypes you’re going to be measured against and I figured it might
be good to get started right away—”
“Started with
what?” Brent asked.
“Fighting
crime, of course.”
Brent laughed.
Then he looked at her face. And laughed again. But she was serious. “Crime.
Here at the school? Is somebody stealing extra composition notebooks out of
the supply closet?”
“It’s a little
worse than that,” Lucy told him.
Completely
serious.
Chapter 13.
Classes ended
for the day. Maggie changed and headed out to the practice field, watching the
football players go through their drills. Her first day back to school had
been a little different from Brent’s. She had made plans to see all her
friends at lunch, but when she got to the cafeteria not a single one of them
was there. Maggie was a high school senior. She knew exactly what that meant.
Perhaps even
worse, not a single boy had looked at her all day. Which was unusual, but
she’d kind of expected it. Most of the cute boys were complete brain-dead
twits and they looked for girls who were just as stupid as they
were—girls they could take advantage of. Maggie was used to being stared
at, especially when she was wearing her field hockey uniform which showed off a
serious amount of leg, but she knew the football players weren’t looking for a
girl who could run faster than they could and beat them up without trying if
they got a little too affectionate.
So they were
ignoring her. It wasn’t just that they didn’t say hi. They never had before.
But they weren’t whistling at her. They weren’t making rude comments to each
other about her body. And they made an all-too-obvious show of not meeting her
gaze for so much as a second. As if she wasn’t a girl at all. As if she were
some weird species of sea creature that was probably slimy to the touch.
So when one of
them threw a pass that went a little too long and the ball bounced crazily
across the grass toward her, she dashed over and grabbed it before Mark
Hockenberry, the starting quarterback, could reach it.
He stared at
her in confusion, then glanced back at the other players. “Little help?” he
asked, when she just stood there smiling at him, balancing the football on her
index finger.
“Sure,” she
said. She pulled her arm back and threw the ball at Hockenberry as hard as she
could.
Because he was
a jock and because he had a reputation for never flubbing a pass in his entire
athletic career, he made the mistake of trying to catch it. She’d known he
would. The ball hit him in his armored sternum and knocked him backwards
across the lines painted on the grass. He slid ten yards before he came to a
stop. And lay there, groaning.
Maggie
frowned. She hoped, sort of, that she hadn’t hurt him.
But then he
sat up and held the ball in the air. The rest of the team cheered and rushed
over
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