11

I avoid Ms. Kowalski’s gaze throughout English, which isn’t hard to do as I’m sitting next to Paige Tramell.

Yes, Paige Tramell!

I was waiting to see if I might get lucky with Morgan and Taylor again when Paige just plopped down next to me and began talking. She said how weird it was to have that professor come in yesterday, and how she’d never join a Women’s Studies class like some of the other girls, and if they weren’t all so freakin’ ugly they wouldn’t need feminism, and anyway the professor looked like a bag lady.

We launch into an extended critique of Mom’s flowery dress, at which point Ms. K asks us to shut up or enjoy detention together. Paige just rolls her eyes at me and rubs my leg, and for the second time in two days I wonder if my hard-on will wear off before I have to stand up.

At the end of class, Paige leans in and places a hand on my knee. “Look,” she says. “I understand if you’re not interested, but I’d really like to go on a date with you.”

“ … ”

“I said, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

I’m so shocked that I can’t actually speak, which makes the conversation somewhat stilted.

Paige waits a few seconds, then shakes her head mournfully. “I understand if you don’t find me attractive. I’d just really hoped that maybe you might find me … bearable,” she chokes.

I’m still struggling to locate my vocal cords, but eventually I manage: “I do … find you bearable.”

Bearable? Did I really just say that?

“Oh, that’s such a relief.” She visibly relaxes. “Then let’s call it a date for this evening, okay?”

“Uh … sure.” I nod vacantly. “Hold on, this evening?”

“Yeah. ’Cause, you know, you might be busy after tonight.”

I don’t know why she’d think that, but I’m not dumb enough to blow an opportunity like this. “Okay. Sure.”

“Great. Let’s meet at El Pollo Loco at five, okay?”

I’m about to agree, but Paige has already left the room.

Before the Graduation Rituals meeting I make a quick pit stop in the boys’ bathroom to practice my reluctant-yet-decisive resignation speech. I know I told Brandon that I was committed, but I can’t take on Abby, Ms. K, and my mom—I’m simply not strong enough. Anyway, the guys will probably be pleased to get rid of me. I run through my spiel one more time, turning my palms up like a martyred saint and furrowing my eyebrows like I’m constipated. Now that I’ve nailed the right look, I’m ready.

My confidence is short-lived. As I approach the meeting room, I feel my pulse quickening. Doing the right thing is okay in theory, but in practice I’m running the risk of pissing off Brookbank’s most volatile group, which seems like an oddly self-destructive course of action. To make matters worse, I notice that everybody else has already arrived. I take a deep breath, but before I’ve even walked through the door they all rise and applaud me.

“Kev Mopsely, you dog,” barks Brandon. “Hooking up with Paige Tramell already!”

“Well, I haven’t technically hooked up with her yet—”

“She’s a total babe,” adds Ryan, completely ignoring my interruption. “I mean, she’s flat-chested as a ten-year-old boy, but man, that butt. And what about those lips.” Ryan performs the universal jerk-off sign.

“But just remember,” Brandon reminds me, “it’s the numbers we’re after, not a grade for how good a kisser she is. Got it?”

All eyes are on me, so I nod meekly.

“Oh, and before you leave today,” Brandon says in a suddenly serious voice, “Chase has some numbers for you to add to the Book of Busts. Sounds like he was pretty busy this weekend, taking one for the team. Or was it two or three, Chase?”

I almost wish I didn’t understand what he means by that, but as everyone else is laughing, I laugh too. By the time the laughter subsides, I realize that I haven’t yet resigned. And I know I can’t, either.

Mom is still at work when I get home, so I have to call her to say I’m going out on a date. It makes me feel like I’m thirteen.

“That’s great, honey.” Mom’s voice explodes across the line. “I’ve been hoping you two would finally get around to having a date.”

Whoa, that was unexpected. “Who? Me and Paige?”

“Who?”

“Paige Tramell.”

“Who’s she?”

“A friend of mine.”

Silence. “Oh, you’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Yeah, well … she’s a, er, friend,” I mumble.

“Yes, I get that.” Another pause. “So what’s she like? I mean, how do you know her? Is she a musician?”

“No.”

“Is she a good student?”

“Not especially.”

“Have I ever met her?”

“No.”

“Huh … I know it’s none of my business, honey, but exactly why are you going on a date with her?”

How did informing my mom I’d be late home suddenly segue into the third degree about my love life?

“It’s just a date, Mom. Okay? That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Another silence. “Hmmm. That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“Well, because anytime you really like someone, a date means something,” explains Mom in her I’m-so-patient voice. “It means a whole lot, in fact.”

“Geez. Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“I’m not, honey, I’m not. I mean, sure, go out and have fun. You deserve it.”

I picture her shaking her head disappointedly as she hangs up, then kneeling down and putting a hex on my date with Paige.

As if it needs one.