Chapter 25

GET BACK TO WORK

Excuse me, Ms. Clarke.” The hard brown eyes of my manager—Mr. Wong—are boring into my skull. “You’re supposed to be working, not dancing.”

“Oh, sorry—I just…” I pull away from Bloom, but he takes my hand again.

“Excuse me,” Bloom says, flashing a brilliant smile. “I’ve asked Ms. Clarke to dance with me. You don’t mind—do you?”

“Actually, I do.” Mr. Wong folds his arms across his chest. “People are waiting for their orders.”

Bloom scans the room, as if he’s only just noticed the tables. “Oh, I’m sure these people can wait. I know my father—right over there—can.” He waves at his father, who grins and waves back.

Mr. Wong’s face goes pale. “Oh, you’re Albert Bloom’s son?”

“That’s right,” Bloom says.

Mr. Wong’s eyes dart from Bloom to me to Mr. Bloom. “Oh, well—” Mr. Wong straightens his tie. “Well, Ms. Clarke, I don’t think a little dance will hurt anyone. Go ahead, go ahead. Ha, ha! You kids have fun!” He claps Bloom on the back, and I watch him scurry away.

“Wow,” I say. “Cool.”

Bloom’s shoulder rises, then dips. “Everyone’s afraid of my dad.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“It’s not that awesome,” Marty says, and a strange look flashes across his face, which disappears as quickly as it came. “But it is useful sometimes. So, Maggie—let me ask you something.” Marty lifts my arm, and I twirl.

“Why do you spend so much time with Tebow and those other guys?” Marty asks.

I feel suddenly wary, as if Marty is trying to catch me in a trap. “Well—they’re kind to me,” I say carefully. “They get me. And I know I can count on them when I need it.”

Marty looks thoughtful. “But they’re so weird.”

“Everyone is,” I reply, “once you get to know them.”

“Interesting,” he says, and—bam!—I feel like I’ve totally scored one for Operation Happiness.

I dance with Marty until the band strikes up a new song, at which point my manager looks like he’s about to bust a vein in his forehead, so I excuse myself and dash off to fill more drink orders.

“What was that?” Eggy demands while I’m waiting at the bar.

Out of nowhere, Brainzilla appears at my shoulder. “Why were you dancing with a Hater?”

“He’s not as bad as you guys think,” I say.

“He’s worse,” Eggy snaps.

“I thought we weren’t going to be so judgmental,” I remind her.

“That doesn’t mean that we’re tossing all our judgment out the window,” Brainzilla shoots back.

I wonder. Can people change?