otherwise we’d all be sitting together). But what use are your friends when one: they aren’t immediately within reach, and two: you can barely look them in the eye because, like everyone else, they’re staring at you. I want to whip around and tell Paul to cut it out, but I don’t.
When the final bell buzzes, Mr. Hughes starts swooping about the room, snagging essays from students. He approaches me and slides my paper off my desk. When I look up, he winks.
“Nice work on that test before the break Sydney.”
He’s winking at me? Teachers never wink at me. Nobody ever winks at me. This is really awkward. What do I do?
He leans down. Why is he leaning down? Mr. Hughes, when not teaching history, serves as assistant Basketball coach. Unless you can shoot a three pointer, or you wear a little skirt cheering on those who shoot three pointers, he doesn’t usually give a crap who you are.
“My daughter, Stacey, absolutely loves your boyfriend.”
Okay what? I don’t have a boyfriend. Who is my boyfri--?
Oh.
Crap. They think he’s my boyfriend now? Yeah right. He didn’t even ask for my number, granted I never gave him a chance as I kind of ran away. But before that? Nope. What if they all think I can introduce them to him?
Mr. Hughes moves to my left and takes Wendy Hillbrook’s paper off her desk. When he’s gone she leans over and smiles. “That essay was killer, huh?”
I’ve been in the same class as Wendy since kindergarten. She’s never willingly spoken to me. Until now. Now she’s staring at me with bright, happy eyes. The kind of eyes that say, “hey, let’s be friends.”
I look away, thankful Mr. Hughes is starting his lecture.
***
According to Caroline, who’s spent the morning consulting her phone beneath her desk while teachers weren’t looking, the story – my story – has been picked up by everyone from People Magazine to CNN . No seriously, my face is there, right beside President Obama’s, on the front page of CNN ’s website. Apparently my arrival in Grant’s life is bigger news than the economy.
Each article is a little different, but mostly the same. All are based on speculation, because let’s face it, only two people – well three including Caroline – really know what happened on that sidewalk. And even I’m a little fuzzy on the details.
All are in agreement, though, that I’m big news. Apparently Grant is known for being fiercely strict about letting his private life seep into the press. Therefore everyone is sure that he and I must be pretty serious for him to allow us to be seen together in public, let alone seen kissing.
Also, apparently, some famous blogger thinks I’m absolutely adorable and has dubbed me America’s New Girl Next Door. TMZ thinks I look a bit like Anne Hathaway in her teen years and Entertainment Weekly is dying to know who designed my green dress. Imagine when they figure out it’s off the rack at JC Penny for $79.99.
“Everyone thinks he’s my boyfriend,” I hiss at Caroline across our usual table in the cafeteria. We’re alone, but not for long. Paul is second in line to pay for his lunch and Zane is making his way toward us from the other side of the room.
“I know!” Caroline giggles. “It’s awesome.”
“No it’s not! It’s a lie.”
“So what?”
“So I can’t just walk around here pretending to be Grant West’s girlfriend. It’s pathetic.”
“No it’s not. You’re simply seizing an opportunity here. This whole thing is going to blow over eventually, take advantage while you can.”
“For all we know he’s going to release a statement to the press tonight that he doesn’t even know my last name. Then everyone would know I’m a liar.”
“Well I guess...”
“This is a nightmare.” I fold my arms on the table and bury my head in them.
“Can I sit here?” I hear a male voice ask. Paul probably, but the voice is a little too deep. Did he finally hit puberty? I’m kidding, I’m
When the final bell buzzes, Mr. Hughes starts swooping about the room, snagging essays from students. He approaches me and slides my paper off my desk. When I look up, he winks.
“Nice work on that test before the break Sydney.”
He’s winking at me? Teachers never wink at me. Nobody ever winks at me. This is really awkward. What do I do?
He leans down. Why is he leaning down? Mr. Hughes, when not teaching history, serves as assistant Basketball coach. Unless you can shoot a three pointer, or you wear a little skirt cheering on those who shoot three pointers, he doesn’t usually give a crap who you are.
“My daughter, Stacey, absolutely loves your boyfriend.”
Okay what? I don’t have a boyfriend. Who is my boyfri--?
Oh.
Crap. They think he’s my boyfriend now? Yeah right. He didn’t even ask for my number, granted I never gave him a chance as I kind of ran away. But before that? Nope. What if they all think I can introduce them to him?
Mr. Hughes moves to my left and takes Wendy Hillbrook’s paper off her desk. When he’s gone she leans over and smiles. “That essay was killer, huh?”
I’ve been in the same class as Wendy since kindergarten. She’s never willingly spoken to me. Until now. Now she’s staring at me with bright, happy eyes. The kind of eyes that say, “hey, let’s be friends.”
I look away, thankful Mr. Hughes is starting his lecture.
***
According to Caroline, who’s spent the morning consulting her phone beneath her desk while teachers weren’t looking, the story – my story – has been picked up by everyone from People Magazine to CNN . No seriously, my face is there, right beside President Obama’s, on the front page of CNN ’s website. Apparently my arrival in Grant’s life is bigger news than the economy.
Each article is a little different, but mostly the same. All are based on speculation, because let’s face it, only two people – well three including Caroline – really know what happened on that sidewalk. And even I’m a little fuzzy on the details.
All are in agreement, though, that I’m big news. Apparently Grant is known for being fiercely strict about letting his private life seep into the press. Therefore everyone is sure that he and I must be pretty serious for him to allow us to be seen together in public, let alone seen kissing.
Also, apparently, some famous blogger thinks I’m absolutely adorable and has dubbed me America’s New Girl Next Door. TMZ thinks I look a bit like Anne Hathaway in her teen years and Entertainment Weekly is dying to know who designed my green dress. Imagine when they figure out it’s off the rack at JC Penny for $79.99.
“Everyone thinks he’s my boyfriend,” I hiss at Caroline across our usual table in the cafeteria. We’re alone, but not for long. Paul is second in line to pay for his lunch and Zane is making his way toward us from the other side of the room.
“I know!” Caroline giggles. “It’s awesome.”
“No it’s not! It’s a lie.”
“So what?”
“So I can’t just walk around here pretending to be Grant West’s girlfriend. It’s pathetic.”
“No it’s not. You’re simply seizing an opportunity here. This whole thing is going to blow over eventually, take advantage while you can.”
“For all we know he’s going to release a statement to the press tonight that he doesn’t even know my last name. Then everyone would know I’m a liar.”
“Well I guess...”
“This is a nightmare.” I fold my arms on the table and bury my head in them.
“Can I sit here?” I hear a male voice ask. Paul probably, but the voice is a little too deep. Did he finally hit puberty? I’m kidding, I’m
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