The Boy Project by Kami Kinard

plans. You just walked back across the room and stopped, which means you’re placing them in the middle of your very clean desk.
Click!
The top drawer of your desk has just closed, which means you’ve pulled out a green ballpoint pen and are scribbling a green circle on the note cube on your desk.
    In my eyes you’ve changed, Mr. DeLacey, but you’re still following the same old routine. And now that I’m not watching you follow it anymore, I have time to do other things. Like describe how torturous lunch period has become. See, Tabbi is determined to prove her loyalty to me by making sure I still sit with her even though she’s sitting with the guy I secretly like. It is more torturous than afternoon detention with you. More torturous than having to eat Mimi’s asparagus soup “or else,” and
that’s
something I have to choke down one tiny little mouthful at a time. Not that you care about love and relationships and how painful it is to have your best friend drooling over your crush while all you have to drool over is your PB&J. If you cared about stuff like that you’d probably be married by now. And you’d be nicer.
    When I’m with Tabs and Evan, my only option is to focus on something else. Unfortunately, there aren’t many great things to look at in the cafeteria. Today I observed The Vine and James sneaking a kiss when the teacher on duty was writing up a kid for dumping food on his friend. Mashed potatoes look bad enough when they’re served in a section of green plastic tray. They look even worse when they’re served on a bed of human hair. Yet even
that
sight is more appetizing than The Vine and James intertwined. (Asparagus soup is more appetizing than that!) So I looked away and spotted Richie.
    I haven’t done any unobtrusive observations of Richie yet, so I watched him for a while.
    He always smiles! (Maybe if you took a moment to study him, some of that smiling would rub off on you.) Richie smiles when he knows the answers in class. He smiles when he doesn’t. He’s been smiling since he moved here, but he doesn’t talk much.
    It’s hard to image how Richie could possibly be my one and only true soul mate, because we don’t hang out in the same group at all and we’ve never really talked. But I need to include him in my research. Because, like I always say . . . you never know.
    I’m still not looking at you, Mr. DeLacey, but I can tell you’re ready to start class because you’re tapping that green pen against your palm. Time to pull out the algebra homework.
    Signed, but never to be delivered by,
    Kara McAllister
    P.S. You can give me those surveys for my science fair project any time now.

Sixth period
    We have a sub in band, which is great because most subs don’t know anything about waving a baton. (Heck, most
people
don’t know anything about waving a baton.) So we’re basically having study hall in the band room. I’ve been trying to concentrate on solving for
x
, but thinking about algebra makes me think about Mr. DeLacey, which makes me think about my science project surveys, which makes me think about the fact that Mr. DeLacey hasn’t given them back to me, which makes me think about how I’m afraid to ask for them since he was so angry about the funny fake-name list and all. But the clock is ticking (< three weeks until the due date) and I
need
to get them in time to create a chart and a science board. I’ll ask for them right after school. I won’t be afraid. I won’t be afraid. . . .
Bus ride home
    So after school, I asked Mr. DeLacey in my
sweetest possible
voice if he’d had time to distribute my surveys.
    He said, “Yes, Kara, I took your little ‘survey.’ ” When he said “survey,” he used air quotes. I hate air quotes. Nothing good ever happens between air quotes.
    â€œCan you give them back to me so I can finish my