The more handsome the individual, the higher his social caste; the higher the social caste, the more awkward you will become if he is inviting you to a party, thereby lowering the odds of any future party invitations. And thus the high school social caste system is more or less maintained.
At school the next day, everyone was talking about Margo. New and Improved Margo, that is.
“Last week she was, like, totally Trailer Park Sue,” I overheard one senior girl standing near my locker say to her friend, “and this week Margo Werther’s, like, megacute!”
I guessed Margo was used to people whispering about her, thanks to her family and perceived Bad Girl Potential and all, but this was a different kind of whispering. So far, I hadn’t asked her about it. My quietness was either tact or confusion. It was like Margo was morphing before my eyes into someone else, someone I barely knew — a polished, glamorous stranger with secrets she couldn’t tell me.
On Thursdays, Margo and I had the same lunch period. Often our sort-of friend Missy Wheeler joined us. (I thought of her as “the Third Wheeler.”) “Look!” Missy pointed with a carrot taken from her plastic baggie. “They’re doing it again! That group of senior guys is totally checking Margo out. Don’t look, but they keep turning this way.”
Margo pinkened. I peeked at them. Were they looking at Margo? It was tough to tell. This particular group of guys — Future Business Golfers — wore a rotating array of pastel collared shirts and expensive sunglasses so I couldn’t actually make out their eyes.
“Hey! Margo!”
It was Theresa Rose. I turned, my fight-or-flight system revving into gear. After a pause, I realized TR wasn’t planning on greeting me as well. She’d walked right up to the table, looking directly at Margo.
“Hey. What’s up?” Margo said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but still cool and polite.
“Your hair looks really good, Margo,” TR said. “Your whole look. It’s, well — it’s great.”
TR actually sounded completely sincere, something I’d never heard before. There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice. I studied her face, looking for signs of latent mockery. Nothing. She almost looked nervous.
“Thanks, TR,” Margo said. “That’s really nice of you to say.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You’ll have to take me to your hairstylist sometime. I need a new one. Anyway. Later.” And with that, TR walked away.
“What was that about?” I hissed. “Totally devious. Something’s up.”
Margo stirred her yogurt thoughtfully while I ripped into my sandwich.
“Next thing you know, TR will have you all dolled up so you can go ‘slirting’ for some poor guy in a John Deere hat. Despicable,” I said, almost spitting the word. I was about to elaborate further on the Perils of a Suddenly Nice (or Seemingly Nice) TR when another person approached.
“Hi, Janice.”
I almost choked on my hunk of sandwich. It was Jimmy Denton.
We all turned toward his deep, quiet voice. He was standing behind Margo, so close to her that I could imagine the heat of his body radiating down her back. My mouth hung open, half-chewed sandwich on display. I shut it. Margo, Missy, and I stared up at him.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” Margo said.
“How’s it going?” Jimmy asked, nodding first at Margo, then me. He paused, shifty-eyed, his voice a low rumble. “My buddies and I are having a party tomorrow and wanted to invite you.”
Margo shifted, craning her neck to face him. Missy and I remained frozen.
“Could be a research opportunity for you, Janice,” Jimmy said. “Although maybe it’s best to leave any notes at home this time.” He winked at me as he said this.
(Jimmy Denton shared a private joke with me?! And winked at me?? I had officially entered an alternate reality.)
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Sounds great. We’ll try and make it.” Jimmy nodded and walked away.
Missy exhaled loudly. Her face was red, and her eyes were huge. I swallowed the slobbery chunk of sandwich that had been dissolving in my mouth.
“Oh. My. God. He’s so into one of us. He is such a depressive weirdo, but he’s, like, madly in love with one of us,” Missy said, her words spilling quickly. “Oh, wow, he’s handsome. But he drinks a lot, you know? That’s what I heard. And seems, like, so completely depressed? But hot, at least in a weird, potential-felon kinda way.”
I felt a warmth rising again in my neck and cheeks and almost pointed out to Missy that Jimmy hadn’t seemed aware of her presence at all, and that I didn’t think his “weird, potential-felon” invitation extended to her anyway, but I bit my tongue. And then I reminded myself that Jimmy was just being friendly. I mustn’t raise false hopes for myself. And who was I kidding — Jimmy was the Mount Everest of Coolness and I was like this inconspicuous ant….
“We should go to the party,” Missy continued breathlessly, her attention focused on Margo, not me. “I think he’s into you, Margo! Everyone’s noticing you today! He stood so close. Jimmy’s gotta be totally into you!”
Margo looked away from Missy and toward me. I was fiddling with my sandwich, pulling it apart.
“Whatever,” she said. “He was completely macking and attacking on Janice here.”
“You’re crazy,” I mumbled, further dismantling my sandwich. It was more humiliating now that Margo felt the need to protect me, to feel sorry for me.
“No, seriously,” Margo continued. “He’s, like, connected to you. You’re simpatico — soul mates, you know? He’s completely into your anthropology research.”
I smiled at Margo. She always knew the right thing to say.
“Hey, speaking of guys, who’s this guy I hear you’ve been hanging out with, Margo?” Missy asked.
So, other people knew, I thought. I wasn’t the only one who’d figured out that Margo was seeing some guy. Margo poked at her Tater Tots before responding.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she said coolly. “Sure, I get lots of different calls from lots of different people. I had a friend for a while, a male friend. But nothing’s come of it. He doesn’t even go to MHS.”
And Margo, pressing her lips together, gave us a look. The subject was finished, and we knew not to challenge her. It didn’t take an anthropologist or a mind reader, however, to sense that Margo was lying. Secret Boyfriend, whoever he was, would remain a secret for now.
Meanwhile, the spot where Jimmy Denton had been standing fizzled with electric energy. I imagined him touching the small of my back, and the hot ghost-imprint of his imagined hand tingled there. I took another bite of my sandwich and reminded myself that I had the cool, observational mind of a researcher.
(But seriously — Jimmy Denton had just invited me, specifically, to a party??!!?!)
Paul walked by with a stack of posters. He and the new kid, Shaan, taped a few on the wall near the lunch line. They walked back toward us.
“What’s up, guys?” Margo asked.
“Hey,” Paul said. “We’re just putting up some posters for the new Muslim Student Alliance. First meeting next Tuesday.”
“Are there even any Muslims in Melva?” Missy asked.
Paul didn’t quite look at Shaan, and Shaan coughed a little bit. I think his family was originally from Pakistan.
“Uh, well, you’re right — there aren’t that many,” Paul said. “Which makes it all the more important that we support dialogue and awareness. And the alliance is open to Muslims and non-Muslims — anyone who’s interested in learning more about Islam and Islamic culture.”
Shaan smiled at Paul appreciatively. “Well, we’ve got a lot more signs to put up,” he said, and the two left. I watched them go, a little wistful of their sense of purpose.
“What a flake,” Missy said. “It’s like each day he’s all about something new.”
“Jeez, Missy,” I said.
“What? You’re allowed to say stuff about everyone and call it ‘anthropology’ while nobody else can?” Missy responded.
“Well,” Margo said, “Paul’s either a flake or the most thoughtful guy in town.”
The Future Business Golfers burst out laughing at some hilarious joke. Casting my eyes in their direction, I saw TR doing a silly little pirouette. She smirked at me, and I reminded myself that I’d once smelled TR’s feet in the locker room, and they smelled like rotting carcasses. I made a mental note to include this piece of information in my anthropological data.