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By Root 242 0

Anthony—the afternoon talk-radio duo and misogynistic masterminds behind "Whip ’Em Out Wednesdays" (female motorists are encouraged to titty-flash any male driver with a Wowsign on his car) and "Guess What’s In My Pants" (a female caller rubs a phone against her most private of areas, and male contestants try to guess whether she’s sporting a "Brillo," a "Triangle," a "Hitler," or a "Wood Floor"). Like O and A, Scotty has gotten into the habit of substituting curses with initials. So "a gee dee bee" means "a goddamn bitch." It’s kind of endearing in a way, when I’m not in a foul mood. And I’ve been in a particularly foul mood lately for the obvious reasons, plus a protracted case of PMS that’s two weeks in the works.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He hesitated for a second, rubbing his jaw before answering. His jaw is strong and square, like a comic-book hero’s.

"I don’t think it’s a bad idea …"

That pissed me off. So I went off on how Hope is not so easily forgotten because I’d have more fun with her pinkie toe than with anyone else because it alone had more kick-ass qualities than the whole school put together …

This made no sense.

But I was too upset to think straight, and even though I knew I was sounding psycho, I resented the idea of having to explain myself. And with Scotty, I always have to explain myself.

My tears came all of a sudden, catching us both off guard. Scotty stood there watching me for a few moments with a panicked look on his face.

"Muther effer," he said to himself.

But then he sat next to me until I calmed down. This was better than screwing up the moment by saying something corny.

Despite my antisocial tendencies, I don’t want to be the sophomore class pariah. While I’m feeling less than warm and fuzzy about the Clueless Crew, I promise to make an effort. After all, you can only be in a bad mood for so long before you have to face up to the fact that it isn’t a bad mood at all. It’s just your sucky personality.

I’m grateful to Scotty for helping me come to this conclusion. He means well. I just wish he hadn’t told Hope about his feelings for me before she left. He knew she would tell me. And it was so classic Scotty for him to be so serious about it, all, Now that you’re gone, Jess and I will grow closer and she will finally realize that we’re meant to be together. Ack. So every time he does something nice—like come over to my house for the sake of preserving my social status at Pineville High—I think, You’re only doing this because you like me. That pretty much trashes it.

I have no idea why Scotty insists on carrying a torch for me. I got to know him much too well in middle school for anything to happen between us now. He was my first and only boyfriend. We went out for exactly eleven days in eighth grade. If I had ignored him back then, I might be able to see the bulging biceps of a stud in bloom. But I just see Scotty. I see the chronic bed head that made his black hair branch off his head like a bunch of twigs. And how he would blow his nose and point out all the colors in the tissue. And the hard-ons (!) that used to poke through his sweatpants whenever he saw me in my track-and-field uniform. Jesus Christ!

And then there’s the infamous Frenching incident. I can still feel that. We were in the parking lot right before the buses were about to pull away and Scotty totally tried to ram-jam his tongue down my throat during an "innocent" good-bye kiss. Thank God the bus driver slid the door shut on me before Scotty swallowed me whole. Up to that point, we had simply pecked good-bye. But without any warning, he decided to put an end to the hassling the basketball team was giving him to "slip me the tongue." I had no idea he was going to do it until I suddenly felt this wet thing flip-flopping around my mouth like a landlocked fish. So saliva-sloppy. And—goddamnthisisgrosserthangross—the scratch of his smudgy, prepubescent mustache on my upper lip. Ew! It was as prickly as a daddy longlegs. I can’t imagine kissing him again. No way. Never.

The thing is, I don’t want to go out with Scotty