Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [36]
Len reminded me of a used ATV, one you had to kick-start a few times before the motor revved up. Once his words were up and running smoothly, he wouldn’t stop until he sputtered out of gas.
“This has been interesting, Len, but I gotta go.” I started walking out the door, and Len trailed behind me, with Marcus following him silently, grinning like a snarky Buddha.
“Man, I saw my fair share of fascinoma. There was one LOL with SOB . . .”
Marcus broke in between us, then gently slapped Len on the forehead with the heel of his palm. I noticed then that Marcus’s white T-shirt had the word WEDNESDAY printed on it in black iron-on letters. It was a more true, less blue-black than that of the unreadable, tattooed Chinese characters that permanently embraced his bicep.
“Um.” AHEM! “That’s his way of telling me that not everyone is clued into ER speak.”
Then Len explained that LOL with SOB meant “little old lady” with “shortness of breath,” not “laugh out loud” with “son of a bitch.” When he took a breath to refill his tank, I seized the opportunity to excuse myself. I mean, this could go on forever.
“Well, Len, I just wanted to tell you that you look . . .” Could I bring myself to say it? Len Levy, who started my streak of unrequited romances in third grade by not reciprocating my love in Pineville Elementary School’s Valentine exchange? Len Levy, who has served as my academic arch nemesis all these years? Len Levy, whose cystic acne was so out of control that it was difficult to look him in the face until now?
Marcus was looking at me, still chuckling to himself. That sealed my decision.
“Great,” I said. “You look great.”
Len opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even an “Um.”
Marcus never took his feline eyes off me. I know this because I was watching him, too. The entire time.
the Seventh
Len and I were chosen PHS’s Seniors of the Month for September. Our photo will grace the front lobby of our school for nine and a half months, which means it will acquire more graffiti than any of the other golden twosomes chosen for this illustrious honor. When you consider my competition, you can understand why I didn’t mention it until now and won’t mention it again.
I seized this opportunity at having Len’s undivided attention. I was curious to hear about his makeover. And how he’d spent his summer, and with whom.
Okay. A little bit of the reason I wanted to talk to Len was because of his new cuteness. Len was looking good, that’s for damn sure. But he was still stiff, stuttering, sputtering Len—a premed wanna-be with delusions of rock-and-roll grandeur, for whom the defining moment of his young life was Kurt Cobain’s suicide.
A whole helluva lot more of the reason I wanted to talk to him was to find out what was going on with Marcus. Len is Marcus’s only real confidant—and vice versa. Had he kept a low social profile? Had he successfully made it through his first sex-and-drug-free summer? Oh, and one more little thing. HAD HE SAID ANYTHING ABOUT ME?!
Since his makeover rivaled her own, I knew Sara would take it upon herself to find out everything about Len’s transformation from spotty to hottie, including his involvement with Marcus. I could’ve relied on her spy skills, but I chose not to. I don’t want to get back into the habit of relying on Sara for all my gossip needs, not this early into the school year. No. If I wanted the scoop on Marcus, I’d have to find it out for myself, from Len. Knowing Len’s conversational tendencies, I was well aware that going straight to the source would prove to be a rather inefficient method. And I was right. While we were waiting to have our picture taken, Len told me a few things I wanted to know—and a lot of things I didn’t—in one long-winded sentence