7 Clues to Winning You Page 6

  Ms. Eulalie started humming a hymn, which is what she does when she’s trying to bite her tongue. Ms. Franny doesn’t even bother trying. “You are such a sad and hateful woman; you know that, Nurse Ratched?”

  Darlene sneered. “Oh, ha ha ha.” She’d been called the name of the evil, sadistic nurse from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest many times, especially by Ms. Franny.

  Darlene smiled snake-like. Slit-eyed and all. Her hands clenched the hem of her Snoopy scrub top. “Watch out, or I might forget your Oxycontin.”

  “Ha!” Ms. Franny laughed. “As if I don’t already know that you’re stealing it to sell to drug addicts on the street. Got to buy yourself some more fake fingernails and stripedy hair color, huh? Well, here’s a little secret for you, darling. Fancy striped hair doesn’t make you look any less rotund!”

  As Ms. Franny spoke, Darlene’s eyes seemed to swell out of her bulging, crimson cheeks. She pursed her lips into a tight, wrinkled bud. She clearly had zero experience with the lady look.

  Ms. Eulalie hummed louder.

  Darlene growled through gritted teeth, “BL-YTHE?” When she was really livid, Darlene added syllables to words.

  I slid off Ms. Franny’s bed. I didn’t want to leave and go call bingo, but Darlene had the authority to fire me from volunteer work. I didn’t want that. So I kissed the ladies and followed Darlene through the door. Two steps out, I heard Ms. Franny start up again back in the room. “Talk about a bully,” she said. “Well, thanks a heap, Ukulele. Fat lot of good your peaceful, non-violent humming did to help me out …”

  Darlene’s white orthopedic nursing shoes squeaked so loudly that I couldn’t make out another word. I felt like a scolded child following her down the hall, but she wasn’t the type of person who would walk beside you, either. She always had to be a step or two in front. I sped up and tried to walk next to her just to see if she’d turn it into a race, but she veered off toward her desk.

  The common room could seat about a hundred people, but there were only maybe fifteen white-haired bingo players there. Actually, fifteen was a pretty good turnout. One time, I called six games of bingo for one lovable old woman. She had the time of her life. She just couldn’t believe she’d won six bingo games in a row.

  So fifteen was a decent number of players. I just wished they’d all sat up front near where I stood and pulled each ball out of the wire barrel. Instead, the people were scattered throughout the room, and I had to call each ball several times, yelling as loud as I could until everyone finally heard me. By the time I’d called four games of bingo, I had pretty much lost my voice. I had very little hope that I’d be able to tell Tara the saga of my day.

  CHAPTER 7

  “GOD, YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’VE BEEN SMOKING KITTY litter or something,” Tara said.

  “I had to call bingo,” I rasped. “They decided to be extra deaf today.”

  “How dare those old bastards!” Tara teased. “So it was a craptastic day at Ass Grove, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then ice cream for dinner, it is. It’ll be good for your throat too. Come on. I’m buying.”

  I tried to object, but Tara shushed me and dragged me over to Baskin-Robbins, where we each got a chocolate chip cookie dough sundae.

  “It’s just as well that you can’t talk,” Tara said, “because I have some stuff to tell you. Remember how we thought Jenny Pritzkey was faking having her period because she was actually pregnant?”

  I shoved a huge spoonful of ice cream in my mouth and said, “Yearagh.” My mother would’ve been mortified.

  Tara pointed her long pink spoon at me. “Well, you are not going to believe this.”

  From here, she launched into a long, convoluted tale of Jenny Pritzkey’s spring break pregnancy scare. I won’t go into the boring details. It was pretty dull even for me, and I know Jenny Pritzkey. I pretended to hang on every word of Tara’s, though, because there’s nothing she likes more than to spread good gossip, and there’s nothing I like more than Tara. So she talked and I listened. In every close friendship, there is one talker and one listener. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which was Tara and which was me.

  To tell you the truth, I really hadn’t been looking forward to rehashing the drama of my day for the third time, so I was grateful to have the sordid tale of Jenny Pritzkey’s tardy period to fill out the conversation.

  When I got home a couple of hours later, Mom was cleaning the cabinet under the kitchen sink and Zach was doing algebra problems at the table.

  “You got homework already?” I asked. “On your first day?”

  “Hi, sweetie,” Mom called from under the sink.

  Zach flicked his pencil up and down like a seesaw. “No big deal,” he said. “We did this stuff last fall at Meriton.”

  Mom sat up. “You’re kidding?” She sloshed her rag in the bucket of sudsy water beside her, wrung it out, and ducked back into the cabinet.

  “Hilarious as that is … no,” Zach said. “Works for me, though. I’m gonna cruise through the end of the year.” He scribbled an answer. “More time for gaming.”

  “You already play video games far too much,” Mom said inside the cabinet. Zach rolled his eyes and made a “blah blah blah” gesture, opening and closing his hand like a mouth.

  Mom scooted out and pointed to a spray bottle on the counter by the stove. “Pass me that bleach spray, will you, Blythe? There’s some kind of stain under here I can’t get out.” She arched her back and winced.

  “Seriously, Mom,” Zach said. “Why don’t you just hire somebody to clean?”

  Mom wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She hadn’t thought to take off the gold and diamond watch that Gran and Granddad had given her for her fortieth birthday. And her manicure was destroyed. “Maids cost money, Zach.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you have like a gazillion dollars in a trust fund from Gran and Granddad?” Zach asked, finishing a problem in about five seconds.

  I handed the bleach spray to Mom. She gave Zach a sly grin and said, “And would you like me to spend it all before you have a chance to inherit it?”

  Zach stared at her for a few seconds and then said, “Get back to scrubbing, woman.” He and Mom shared a laugh and she went back inside the cabinet to launch her bleach attack.

  “It’s not a gazillion, anyway,” Mom said from under the sink. “And it’s tied up in long-term investments. It’s more of an emergency fund, and a dirty house is not an emergency.”

  I plopped down in a chair. “Where’s Dad?”

  “At a school board meeting” Mom said. “Ugh, this isn’t working either. I’ll just have to put something on top of the stain.” She sat up again and blinked away the chlorine fumes. “He told me that you had kind of a rough first day. Are you holding up okay?”

  Kind of rough?

  “I’m fine,” I told her. I didn’t want to be a liar, so in my head, I said, Fine: as in thin, fragile, and about to break.

  Mom knew me too well, though. “Want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing to talk about.”

  “Do you have homework?”

  “Not really.” I had to translate a paragraph, which would take about three minutes since Ash Grove was also about two semesters behind Meriton in Intermediate French.

  “Well then, would you mind folding the laundry in the dryer and putting it away? There’s a showing first thing tomorrow.” She crossed her fingers in the air.

  Without thinking, I said, “I can’t believe you’re so eager to sell the house. Doesn’t it bother you at all?” It had slipped out and produced an immediate effect on Mom. She hauled herself up to her feet. There was no lady look on her face. She didn’t try to hide her displeasure a bit.

  “Of course it bothers me, Blythe. This is my home too. My life is changing too. But you know what? These are the sacrifices we make for the people we love.”

  “Person,” I corrected her.

  “Pardon me?�
�

  “The person you love. Not people. Person. Dad.”

  Her eyes saucered. “No, Blythe. I mean people. For Dad, yes, but also for you and Zach. Everything your father and I do, or choose, is to benefit you kids. You may not see it when you don’t look past the end of your nose, but it’s a fact.”

  Ouch.

  “And even if it wasn’t, your father has given so much to this family. We can give him this. His happiness counts too, Blythe. It matters. And what’s good for your father is good for the family. So before you start another diatribe about how unfair your life is, like you apparently did at school today, maybe you should think about things more carefully.” She picked up the bucket and walked out of the room.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Zach said as he finished his algebra and shoved the paper in his backpack. “She gave me the same speech yesterday.”

  “It’s not just about happiness, anyway,” I said. “It’s about money. God, I do not understand what their hang-up is about using Mom’s trust fund to help out the family.”

  “It’s a guy thing,” said Zach. “Men are hunter-gatherers. They want to provide for their tribe.”

  “Yeah, but we’re the ones paying the price,” I said.

  “What are you complaining for? You’ve got another year and a half, tops. I’m stuck here for half a decade.” He tossed his backpack by the kitchen door and headed outside. “Later. I’m going to Jack’s.”

  “What about dinner?” I asked. It was nearly five thirty.

  “It’s fend for yourself. I’ll get something at Jack’s.” The storm door slammed behind him like it always did. Such a familiar sound. Even that would be gone soon.

  I opened the fridge. Fend for yourself was when you had to grab something to eat on your own because neither Mom nor Dad had the time or energy to cook. I was thrilled that I didn’t have to sit at a table and make small talk with my parents tonight. I grabbed a leftover ham and cheese sandwich and took it to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the night. I forgot all about folding the laundry.

  * * *

  The next morning, Dad was gone by the time I came downstairs. He must’ve needed to get to school early. I grabbed a giant mug of steaming coffee and trudged back up to my room. I selected an adorable polka-dot jumper to wear and then remembered that Ash Grove wasn’t as fashion forward as Meriton. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I opted for leggings and a cream chiffon tunic. I remembered to make my bed before I left.

  Walking into school, I kept my chin high and my profile low. I resolved to be dignified but non-confrontational. I hoped that people would be finished laughing at me for the yearbook caption contest, and thankfully, they seemed to be. The obvious way they looked straight through me didn’t exactly give me the warm fuzzies, but I’d take that over ridicule any day.

  I made it to homeroom. Made it to first period. By second period, though, I began to notice whispering. I saw pairs of girls hunched over the invisible space between them, heads inclined toward each other, mouths moving. A group of guys stood stock still except for the one doing the talking. I was desperately curious, but who could I ask about it? Nobody. Maybe Cy and Jenna.

  In the hallways between classes, I kept an eye out for Jenna’s bright hair, but I didn’t see it anywhere. I finally caught up with her and Cy at lunch. They were back at the same table in the corner, but they were sitting on the opposite side. I’d have to sit facing the room today. I got my yogurt and pretzels and made my way over.

  “Can I sit here again?” I asked. They turned in unison to face me. For a few seconds, neither one said a word. It almost felt like I’d barged in on them or interrupted their privacy. Jenna shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

  I inched my way around the table to give them time to change their minds if they wanted to. Neither one did, so I sat and tore open my pretzels. “Tear, not pull,” I said to Cy, trying to break the ice. He gave me one solitary nod. He was wearing the same army jacket as yesterday. Jenna had on a Betty Boop tee. They seemed to be somehow guarded.

  “Is something wrong?” As soon as the question left my lips, I immediately felt like I’d asked something too personal. Like we were old friends who cared enough to ask that kind of thing. Which we weren’t. So I segued right into, “Everyone’s whispering and talking about something. Do you guys know what it is?”

  Cy crinkled his forehead and frowned. “Yeah.” That was all.

  I blinked a few times. “Well, can you tell me?” I’d tried not to sound sarcastic, but I wasn’t very successful.

  Jenna and Cy locked eyes. Silence passed between them. Jenna turned to me and said, “There’s a rumor going around that Principal Mac is canceling the Senior Scramble.”

  He was actually considering it? I took a moment to make sure my expression had enough surprise in it. “What?” I said. “He is?”

  I hadn’t seen Dad since yesterday. So what had made his mind up?

  “Apparently, yes,” Jenna said. She added, “Rumor has it, you’re behind it.”

  Cy asked me, “So are you?”

  I waffled. I didn’t want to confirm the rumors, but I didn’t want to lie either. If there was one thing I never wanted to be, it was a liar. I also didn’t want to jeopardize the only quasi-friendships I’d made at school, frail as they were. Jenna and Cy didn’t seem like snitches, so I went ahead and told them about my conversation with Dad, emphasizing the “stopping bullies” theme. Again, it sounded like a flimsy excuse. Cy and Jenna didn’t buy it for a second. Only when I admitted what Ms. Eulalie had suggested—that I might’ve been looking for a small smidge of revenge along with justice—did Cy and Jenna accept my answer.

  “Kind of a dick move,” he said.

  I nodded and mumbled, “I had good intentions. I thought I did, anyway. Apparently, they were hiding a couple of not-so-good ones.” I desperately wanted to offer Jenna and Cy a reason not to hate me. A reason for me not to hate myself. I straightened up and snatched the lid off my yogurt. “You know what? Dad would never do it. I bet he’d never do it. He won’t. You guys matter too much to him. His students.” I crumpled the foil lid into a tight pebble. “Don’t worry.”

  “But you’re his daughter,” Jenna said.

  I smiled sardonically and shook my head. “Not here, I’m not.”

  Cy snagged one of my pretzels and popped it in his mouth. I took it as a tentative gesture of forgiveness and pushed the bag toward him.

  “Here’s what I don’t get, though,” I said. “The entire conversation happened in his office, with the door closed. How could the rumor even start? Dad wouldn’t blab. He’d know it’d make things worse for me. Plus, if he ended up deciding not to cancel the Senior Scramble, he wouldn’t want anyone to know that he was even considering it in the first place.”

  “Wait a sec,” Cy said. “You were in your dad’s office?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The door was closed?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Was Mrs. Bolger still there?”

  Jenna suddenly caught on to what Cy was hinting at. “Oh my God! That must be it. I cannot believe that woman!”

  I looked back and forth between them waiting for them to explain. “Who’s Mrs. Bolger?”

  “The head secretary. Mrs. Bolger,” Cy said.

  “Gladys?” I asked. “Is her name Gladys?”

  Jenna nodded. “Yeah, Gladys Bolger.”

  “What about her?”

  “Oh my God,” Jenna said, collecting herself. She held both hands up to set the scene. “Okay, here’s what happened. This one time Cy got called into Principal Mac’s office for threatening this jerk who was saying crap about me. I ditched class to go with Cy, but I didn’t want to get caught, so I waited out in the hall. So I’m out in the hall, right? But I keep peeking through the glass every now and then, to see if Cy’s done. So at this one point when I’m peeking in, I see Mrs. Bolger, who’s the only other person there, I see her tiptoe up to Principal Mac’s door an
d listen for a sec. I thought, that’s weird, right? So I keep watching. She goes straight back to her desk and pushes a button on her phone and leans down to it. I finally figure out what she’s doing, and I know I have to stop it. You know, for Cy. So I barge in there and she jumps like a frigging monkey, smacking at the phone. But it’s too late. I heard Principal Mac’s voice loud and clear through her intercom before she finally hit that button. I didn’t let on that I knew, of course. But I did. She was totally listening in on them.”

  I gaped at Jenna. “Oh my God, she eavesdrops on his private meetings?”

  “Yup.” Cy chucked another pretzel in his mouth.

  Jenna leaned back and snuggled into Cy’s chest. “Bet that’s how everyone knows about the Senior Scramble.” Cy wrapped his arms around her and fed her a pretzel.

  “Unbelievable,” I said. “She seems so nice.”

  Cy gave a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, well, so do serial killers. It’s a total front. Don’t trust her. She gets off on stirring up shit for students.”

  “How pathetic,” Jenna muttered. She picked the black polish off the tip of one of her fingernails.

  I sat up straight as a rod and poked at the air. “You know what? She’s the one who told my dad about the yearbook picture yesterday too!”

  “See what I mean?” Cy said. “Stirs shit up.”

  “Unbelievable.” I grabbed my spork as something zinged past my head. I looked up in the direction it came from and saw a Tater Tot winging toward me. I’ve never had quick reflexes, and even if I did, I’d never had someone throw food at me before. Ever. Especially not at Meriton. So I didn’t even flinch, and the Tater Tot smacked me in the middle of my forehead.

  Cy and Jenna wheeled around to see the bunch of goons three tables down who had broken into hysterics. I touched my forehead and had opened my mouth to say something, when one of the guys launched another Tater Tot at me. Only this one was covered in ketchup. I tried to dodge, but it hit me square in the chest, splattering my cream tunic with red goo and grease.