Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [27]
"Was it hard leaving your friends?" I asked after number eight.
"Not really," she said with a shrug. "It’s not like this is permanent."
She lost me there. And she must have realized it because she quickly spun around and explained that what she meant was that she’d be seeing a lot more of them once school got out.
I should have figured as much. She’s fortunate to still live close enough to her friends to be able to do that. If I could visit Hope, you can bet that I wouldn’t have been hanging out at Hy’s house.
"Wanna Red Bull?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Huh?"
"Red Bull. You’ve never heard of it?"
"Uh, no."
"No surprise. I just got a few cases from the city. I should’ve known they wouldn’t have it at the Pineville Super-Foodtown."
Those last words were oozing with a skull-and-crossbone toxicity that I resented. Openly expressing disgust for Pineville should be a privilege for people who’ve been stuck here their entire lives—not a measly two months.
"It’s an energy drink," she continued. "Like crank in your soda, but legal."
"I don’t think I need to be any more cranked that I am."
No, I need a drink that’s the liquid equivalent of one of Mr. "Bee Gee" Gleason’s boring-as-hell history lectures. As if I don’t have enough sources of paranoia, I’ve been extra edgy about my no-show menstrual cycle. What if there’s something seriously wrong with me? What if I picked up an as-of-yet undiscovered crazy cow virus by eating an undercooked cheeseburger? What if I’m a bizarro, Ripley’s Believe It or Not! girl–boy hybrid, mere moments away from popping a set of nads between my legs? What if I’m a genetically mutated by-product of an intergalactic liaison between my mother and an alien’s proboscis? (That would explain a lot, not just my wayward period.)
"Ain’t no thing," said Hy.
Most of the afternoon was spent answering questions about life at Pineville High and watching Hy search through stacks of CDs. She’s got more than 500: Everything from Acid House to Zydeco, in no order whatsoever. So it took a while to find the one she was looking for. It’s called Kind of Blue, and according to Hy it’s the essential jazz recording.
"Girl, you sweatin’ Scotty or what?" Hy asked.
"Me and Scotty? We’re just friends."
"But he’s so hunky … sobeefcake," said Hy, putting her hand over her heart and pretending to swoon. "Do you know how many chickenheads at school wanna piece of that?"
"I know," I admitted. "I just don’t see myself with him."
"Why not?"
I wasn’t comfy sharing my passion for Paul Parlipiano. I launched into excuse number two.
"Because I’m not Pineville’s typical Groupie. I’m not a cheerleader. I hate pep rallies. I don’t have fun at football games—or any games for that matter. And I’m bad at booting-and-rallying …"
She sighed. "Just because you date a Jock doesn’t mean you have to be a Groupie. Scotty’s been scopin’ you forever. Shouldn’t he know that you’re not Groupie material?"
Jesus Christ. Was this a conspiracy?
"Are you trying to get me to go out with Scotty?"
Hy laughed. "Girl, I’m not trying to get you to do anything. I’m just saying that you going with Scotty could be the thing that throws off Pineville High’s hierarchy."
Hy is the only person I know who could turn a routine question about Scotty into a rallying cry for the oppressed teen proletariat.
"You could be model girlfriend for 2G, setting the standard for the rest of the millennium," she said.
"Oh, yeah," I snorted. "Boobless, neurotic, PMS-y …"
"All I’m saying is that you could revolutionize the notion of popularity."
"Because I’m not the typical Groupie," I said.
"Word."
I got it. Me going out with Scotty was subversive in the same way that Marcus wearing the Backstreet Boys T-shirt was subversive: We messed with mainstream culture simply by embracing it. It was genius in theory, sure. But did it change the fact that I couldn’t imagine actually kissing Scotty and performing uh, other girlfriendly duties?
"But what if I totally immersed myself in the culture of football