Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [39]
"We did it," he repeated. He wasn’t bragging about it. He was merely reinforcing the truth, perhaps for his own benefit as much as mine. I don’t think he believed it—and he’d had two days to get used to the idea. Virgin no more.
"But you aren’t even going out with her!"
I white-knuckled my World History book.
"I know," he said with a hush. "But I think we are now."
"You think you are?"
"I’m pretty sure we are."
"Well are you or aren’t you?"
He paused for a moment, then looked down at his Nikes. He breathed in again and said, "We are."
Another baseball player slapped Scotty on the back. Scotty ignored him.
"So, I can’t go to the wedding with you."
I was feeling too much to think—humiliated to find this out in the middle of the hall before homeroom; betrayed because I had always thought Scotty would never settle for anyone but me; disgusted because Scotty had acted just like the rest of the bootyhounding Jocks; and most of all, angry at my mom and my sister for possibly being right about Scotty, and how I’d regret not going out with him when I had the chance.
Before I could respond to his bombshell, Kelsey ran up to us, put her hands around Scotty’s eyes, and cooed, "Guess who?!" Then she spun him around, gave him a loud smacking kiss on the mouth, and yanked him down the hall by his arm.
It happened in a flash. In less than five seconds, I was alone.
the eighteenth
The human instinct for survival is nothing short of amazing. In life-or-death situations, ordinary people can be empowered with superheroic abilities. For instance, the housewife who lifts a bus off her baby.
Luckily for me, my instincts kicked in just in time for me to cope with the endless post-prom talk. I entered an alternate stage of consciousness—one in which my body would respond to what Hy and the Clueless Crew were saying with the appropriate nods and smiles and uh-huhs, without actually having to process the message in my brain.
All day their mouths hummed white-noise nonsense. Only occasionally would words break through the static, like a local radio station that wasn’t quite tuned in to the right frequency. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzstraplesszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzqueenzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzlimozzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzdjzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzhilariouszzz zzzbruiserzzzzztequilazzzzzzzbootyzzzzzvideozzzzzzho …
I snapped out of my walking coma. "What did you just say?"
"I said, it was hilarious when Bruiser downed three shots of tequila and danced like a big booty video ho," said Manda.
"Our girl Bruiser was toe-up," laughed Hy.
"But Sara wasn’t at the prom," I said.
There was a pause. They all looked at each other with an expression that I can only describe as oops.
"She hooked up with us at the Surfside party," Hy said finally.
"We would’ve invited you," said Sara.
"But we thought you had a track meet on Sunday," said Manda.
"I’ve never had a track meet on a Sunday," I said with a meekness so unlike my normal voice that it depressed me.
"Oh," they all said, in unison.
This was no oversight. This was an intentional slight. It was official. The Clueless Crew had ousted me in favor of a new member.
I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a hasty retreat. So I sat there for the rest of lunch, trying to get back into the zone. No success. I heard every word.
Since I’m already depressed, I might as well say one more thing about the prom. Then I will never mention it again. Ever.
Carrie P. showed me her pics. In one five-by-seven: her table. Number 18. Paul Parlipiano and Monica Jennings are one of four other couples. He’s wearing a classic black tux with a silver satin tie and vest. Those pink lips in a broad smile. Flushed cheeks. Dimples. Hair flopping into big brown eyes. Hands resting gently on Monica’s sun-kissed shoulders, leaving fingerprints behind in the body glitter.
His hands belong there.
the twentieth
The Senior Class Last Will and Testament was published in today’s school paper.
I, Paul Parlipiano,