Marijke’s still bowled over by Joe’s description of dozens of people breaking into simultaneous dancing to raise interest in Bikes for Tykes. He’s scheduled a meeting for early next week so the Drama Club would have time to decide when and where and what dance they want to perform. I’m a little skeptical, honestly. We really don’t have much time to orchestrate a Twitter campaign, let alone a flash mob. Still, Marijke’s blown away by the whole concept. “It is such an awesome idea,” she’s saying, her eyes wide.
“I think you might be overestimating our resources,” I warn.
Marijke shrugs. “It never hurts to brainstorm.”
“Speaking of which,” I say, lowering my voice, “how do you think the meeting went?”
She brightens immediately and beams at me.
“You were totally awesome—the social media thing is so key. Now that they’ve got someone running the Facebook page and setting up a Twitter handle, I think we’ll get people fired up in no time.”
“I hope so.”
“Although . . .” She trails off, and I raise my eyebrows at her.
“What?”
She shrugs. “You just aren’t really your snarky self around Joe. What’s up with that?”
I shrug too. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to come across as bitchy or something.”
“Yeah, but that smart-ass attitude is part of who you are. It makes you interesting. And funny.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m just a regular laugh riot.”
“See,” she says, pointing at me, “that’s what I’m talking about. You gotta be confident enough to be the real you.”
“I guess.”
As we head out to the parking lot, I notice a huge truck parked on the side of the road. You can’t really miss it—it’s one of those 18-wheelers that heave themselves along the highway as they make their way east or west. The front cab, though, is bright pink and the body of the truck has an enormous picture of senior Philip Johnson, grinning, with a rose caught between his teeth. Next to him, in curly script, are the words, “Jalina, will you go to prom with me?”
I notice the crowd now, gathered around the truck where Philip is standing, wearing what I can only assume is supposed to be a “truck driver” uniform—some kind of coveralls with a name tag. He’s grinning now like he is in the picture. I follow the direction of his gaze and see Jalina Preston bounding up the hill toward the truck and him. She dives into his arms with a muffled shriek and the entire crowd starts clapping and whistling in a approval.
I glance over at Marijke, who is staring up at the truck like she can hardly believe it’s there. As though it’s some kind of mirage. Then she blinks sadly and looks over at me.
“It’s like every time I forget about these stupid proposals, I see one that’s bigger and better than the last.”
“Yeah, I know.” I give her a half smile and yank on the strap of her backpack. “Let’s get out of here. Wanna stop and grab some ice cream?”
She shakes her head. “Tommy’s supposed to pick me up in ten minutes or so. I said I’d go to band practice with him and watch them play.”
I raise my eyebrows, and she shrugs.
“I figured showing that I care about what he cares about is a good idea.”
“It’s not a bad one, anyway,” I admit. “Is that a movie tactic or a Marijke original?”
She shrugs. “I’m sure it’s in a movie somewhere. For a while I was thinking I would try some kind of ‘fighting as foreplay’ thing, like in The Ugly Truth or The Cutting Edge. You know, how it makes them develop insane chemistry?”
She runs a hand through her hair, then squints up at the sky as if waiting for something to fall. I wonder if it’s answers or a divine intervention she’s hoping for.
“Anyway,” she continues, “now I think fighting is the last thing Tommy and I need to do any more of.”
“So what’s your plan then?”
She grins. “Well, a flash mob—obviously.”
“Right. Okay, good luck with that.”
I glance back at the truck and the crowd of people, now starting to disperse. I shake my head.
“You know, not everyone is really that creative. I mean, obviously Philip knows what a girl wants, but I bet half the guys in school are cursing him. I mean, how do you top that?”
Marijke nods. “Yeah, there should be, like, a service or something. We provide the prom proposals, and you make them happen.”
I stop in my tracks and stare at her. She looks back at me, brows furrowed. “What? Was it something I said?”
“Yes, it was totally something you said, because you are a freaking genius.”
I barely even say good-bye as I dash to my car. Marijke’s given me the perfect idea to raise funds for Bikes for Tykes. I just need to figure out how to pull it off.
I wait by Joe’s locker the next morning, feeling the same queasy, butterfly-like feeling that I felt yesterday before the meeting. I don’t know what he’s going to say about my idea. Hell, he might think it’s stupid or ridiculous or impossible. But I know that we could get some serious cash by doing this. I know that it will work—and maybe it’ll be memorable enough to make Joe think of me when it happens.
“Lily?”
I turn to see him behind me, both hands shoved in his pockets. His eyebrows are high on his forehead, framing his questioning gaze.
“What’s up?” he asks, leaning against the bank of lockers next to him.
“I, uh, I got this idea yesterday. After the meeting. I did a little reconnaissance and I think we can pull it off. And I think, like a flash mob, it’ll attract a ton of people . . .”
“Oh yeah?” Joe looks intrigued. “Lay it on me.”
I clear my throat. “So, you know how the prom proposals have become a really big deal? I mean, every girl wants one, right?”
He snorts. “Yeah, and for most guys, it’s the worst part of the whole prom scenario.”
“Exactly. So say you could take all the drama and planning out of it—if someone did all the work for you? Set up the scene? Bought the flowers? Wrote the script?”
Joe nods. “Yeah, I think I know some guys who’d totally be into that.”
“Which is why I think we should do it—advertise the perfect Moto-Proposal.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I pull out my spiral and show him the notes I’ve jotted down.
“See, we could advertise a prom proposal that would take place at the Bikes for Tykes event. Guys could buy raffle tickets to try to win the proposal, then a few days before we draw the name and set it up. We will keep it a secret about who the winner is, so you can pretty much guarantee that every girl without a prom date will show up at the track that day.”
Joe is grinning now as he looks down at my spiral.
“This is a great idea. Did you come up with this on your own?”
I shrug. “I just came up with the basic plan. I’ll need you to figure out how to pull it off. Does the track have billboards or signage or something? Is there a way to make some kind of prom proposal spectacle in the midst of the event?”
Joe is looking up at the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“I can come up with something. Just leave the details to me.”
He looks back down at me, still smiling.
“This is genius, Lily, seriously. Will you tell the others to spread the word about the raffle? We can start selling tickets on Monday after school.”
I nod, smiling back at him. Somehow over the course of this conversation, my fluttering stomach has given way to inexplicable confidence. It’s a pretty amazing feeling.
Almost as amazing as when Joe’s hand grabs mine and squeezes.
“You are a total lifesaver,” he says. “I totally owe you one.”
I consider what Marijke said about being my “snarky self.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I quip and Joe grins before letting my hand go and leaning back to look at me.
“So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you gotten your prom proposal yet?”
I laugh so quickly that I almost choke on my intake of breath. “No. No balloon-filled hallways or suits of armor have shown up in my world, unfortunately.”
He smiles down at me again, but this time his lips are pressed together, covering his perfect white teeth.
“Huh.” Joe cocks his head and regards me. “Well, good to know.”
The silence between us is palpable, and I blink multiple times as I look up at him.
“I’ll catch you later on, okay?” he finally says. “Maybe we can brainstorm some more about the raffle. Will you be around at lunch? Want to meet me in the cafeteria?”
I shift from foot to foot, cursing myself for being so damn fidgety. “Uh, sure. I can do that.”
He beams. “Great—I’ll see you then.”
“Right. See you then,” I echo.
When I start heading down the hall, I try really hard not to turn around and look at him. But in the end, I give in to what my body really wants and I glance back over my shoulder.
Our eyes meet.
He was watching me go.
Something delicious curls in my belly and I smile until it hurts. I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d scripted it myself.
I grin all the way to class before the truth of what I’ve become sinks in. Have I really become the kind of girl that lets a guy influence her happiness? Wasn’t I just talking about how I hated crap like that? Inwardly, I can’t help but groan.
Freakin’ Marijke.
She must be rubbing off on me more than I thought.