Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [41]
Most Athletic: Scotty Glazer
Best Looking: Bridget Milhokovich
Class Flirt: Manda Powers
Class Motormouth: Sara D’Abruzzi
And last but not least . . .
Class Brainiac: Me (and Len Levy)
Hmm . . . Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s because we won the EXACT SAME TITLES IN THE EIGHTH-GRADE ELECTIONS. I’m surprised you didn’t still win Class Artist. The only differences between eighth grade and now are that the yearbook staff added new categories and reversed the middle-school rule that allowed only one victory per student. Scotty also walked away with Best Looking and Most Popular, the latter with Manda, of course, whose coupling with King Scott has elevated her social standing at Pineville High to nosebleed level. The Clueless Two got Bestest Buds. I got Most Likely to Succeed—again with Len. The addition of new titles made it possible for even Marcus Flutie to come out a winner. I would love to joke with him about his oxymoronic status as the universally accepted Class Nonconformist. But I can’t. It’s not that simple, even though I know you think it is.
Anyway, I should be comforted by Pineville High’s resilient unoriginality, but I’m not. I don’t want things to go “back to normal.” I want things to be better than back to normal, because normal was never good enough for me.
Predictably yours,
J.
october
the second
Bridget and I sat in the auditorium, watching Scotty and Manda get rock-star treatment.
“Most Popular, up! Best Looking, on deck!” yelled Haviland.
The yearbook photographer had recruited a dozen students to gather at the bottom of a ladder that had been spray-painted gold and coated in glitter. The lowly masses gazed up at their idols, who were perched as high as their Most Popular status could take them. As I watched, I started thinking about how this degrading display is at odds with our nation’s new appreciation of true courage and valor. I was figuring out how I could turn this into my first Seagull’s Voice editorial for the year, when Bridget clogged my brain flow with one of her classically sincere questions.
“Why doesn’t anyone, like, take me seriously?”
“What do you mean?”
“Best Looking.” She stuck out her tongue. “Bleeech.”
Jesus Christ.
“Bridge, don’t make me slap you. Don’t be one of those gorgeous girls who longs to be average-looking so she can be taken seriously. It’s insulting to the truly average.”
“It’s just that—” Her voice broke.
“What?”
“It’s just that, like, I did a really good job in Spoon River last year, right? And I was good enough to get into SPECIAL.”
She was good in last year’s play; I had to admit that. Her performance surprised me even more than Pepe’s. Pepe’s triumphant serious stage debut would have shocked me, as it proved there was much more to him than his legendary reign as the Black Elvis and PHS talent-show champion. But his predictable unpredictability has made it impossible for him to shock me anymore. Anyway, I told Bridget that she was good enough to make people temporarily forget how goddamn blond and gorgeous she is, which is the best compliment to her acting I can think of.
“Thank you, Jess,” she said, the telltale redness rushing to her face and neck. She paused, and pointed toward Dori Sipowitz, who was in the corner, perfecting her pose with an oversized tragedy mask. “I just, like, totally beat her out for the lead in Our Town. And she’s still considered Class Drama Queen.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you wanted to be voted Class Drama Queen?”
“Well, like, yeah.”
“Oh, come on, Bridget! Dori is a theater geek, through and through,” I said. “There’s no way anyone at PHS would see you as one of those tools.”
“Percy said the same thing at play practice,” she said. Pepe was cast as the Narrator in Our Town.
“Pepe’s right. You’re too pretty. You’re too popular. Too many guys want to get into your pants.”
“That’s the problem,” she said softly.
I’ll say it again. Jesus Christ.
“Best Looking, up! Brainiacs, on deck!” yelled Miss Haviland, who’s also the yearbook adviser.
“We better get up there before Haviland