Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [64]
There’s no need for me to belabor the point, now, is there?
the twenty-first
I need a skin graft. My lips are permanently damaged from the amount of ass-kissing I did today.
Bridget was right. Once I played into Sara’s ego as the savior of homecoming, she was all for hosting the party. It was not so easy to persuade her to let Chaos Called Creation make their debut.
“Omigod! Why should I let Krispy Kreme set a freaky foot in my house?”
It always sounds strange whenever someone refers to Marcus by his old nickname. He hadn’t dunked any new doughnuts as far as Len knows. Then again, why would Marcus be any more honest with Len than he was with me? Marcus could have banged any number of girls in his spare time and admired their days-of-the-week underwear.
“I’m waiting for an answer,” Sara said, tapping her foot. “Why should I let in that freak?”
Freak. Freak show. Aha!
“Because a band will draw a major crowd to the party, just like the talent show is always SRO every year. Kids will come because of the freak factor. Many will come to see if Chaos Called Creation is any good. Even more will come to see if they suck.”
Sara thought about this for a second. While I think my talent show argument was a strong one, I think the real reason she agreed is that she still thinks I’m the Mystery Muckraker behind Pinevile Low. She’s afraid that if she pisses me off, I’ll write something even worse about her, especially since I have been privy to many things about her that are indeed so much worse than what was already said.
“If they suck, I’m pulling the plug and putting on some real music.”
“Then you’ll let them play.”
“Yes,” she said. “They can play in my game room.”
Sara’s house has many superfluous rooms. The Game Room, as she puts it, is a miniaturized version of one of her dad’s many arcades. It even has a little stage for karaoke. But for the Anti-Homecoming, it would be the platform for Chaos Called Creation’s debut. The Game Room for the Game Master. How perfect.
“Cool,” I replied. “I’ll let them know.”
Then she ran over to Scotty and Manda, who took a break from probing each other’s uvulas to hear her say, “Omigod! I’m totally saving homecoming. I’m throwing the quote Anti-Homecoming unquote.”
“What the hell is the Anti-Homecoming?” Scotty asked.
Then Sara explained how she thought an alternative event for homecoming needed to be planned and blahdiddyblahblahblah. Manda was psyched.
“The best thing about it is that I can still wear my fuck-me dress!”
Scotty suddenly became very interested in fashion. “Fuck-me dress?” he said, with a raise of his eyebrows and a knowing smirk. “I thought every dress was your fuck-me dress.”
Manda’s face twisted with insult. Only she is allowed to acknowledge her skankiness. That’s what makes her a powerful female, or so her theory goes. She smacked Scotty straight through to the skull with her notebook. “Shut up, you prick.”
I guess that after three months together they aren’t so blinded by sex anymore. Scotty and Manda are starting to see each other for what they really are. The enemy. I can’t wait until they break up.
“And guys can still wear their suits!” Sara said.
“I’m not wearing a fucking suit,” Scotty muttered, almost to himself. “And P.J. won’t want to, either.” P.J. was supposed to be Sara’s date.
“Ooh, honey,” Manda cooed, smoothing down the hair she had mussed up only seconds before. “But you look so hot in a suit.” She lowered her voice, but it was still loud enough to hear. “And you know what happens when you look hot. . . .”
We all know what happens. To think that I helped orchestrate the event that will provide their precoital entertainment tomorrow night. That is, unless they just shed all their inhibitions and have sex