19

I wake up with a panic attack the next morning because there just aren’t enough days left in the school year. Under any other circumstances this would be a sign of grave illness, possibly of impending insanity. But I know I’m not insane, because things are different now. I’ve had two dates in the past week. Before that, I had zero dates in eighteen years. Even though math has never been my best subject, in my feverish state I do the following calculation and it makes me realize that time is short:

2 dates per wk x 2.5 wks remaining until prom

= 5 pre-prom dates

I resolve to make the most of every remaining day. But then I do another, hypothetical calculation and it makes me wish I were still a junior:

2 dates per wk x 54.5 wks until prom

= 109 pre-prom dates

Yes, 109 dates. All with different girls. Now, it’s true that there aren’t 109 girls in my class I would actually want to date—or even 109 girls, come to think of it—but that’s not the point. It’s the thought that, had things been different, I’d be the kind of guy who lines up 109 dates in little more than a year. But instead, the vagaries of the academic calendar are robbing me of this opportunity. And it doesn’t seem fair.

I fume about this all the way to school, but by lunchtime I’ve set up a date on Wednesday with Kayla Reid, so I begin to feel better about things. One pre-prom date down, four to go.

And then Taylor Carson asks for a date the same evening, and because she’s hot I get flustered and say yes, and suddenly my concerns are altogether different.

I start by trying to put off Kayla, because she’s not as cute as Taylor. She’s taller than me, has significantly more muscular legs, and wears a perpetually bored expression. But she’s also got Angelina Jolie’s lips, and a tongue-stud that she uses to great effect when making out.

Or so I’m told.

I stop her after school and tell her I can’t make it on Wednesday, and she tells me that I can make it and I will make it.

And I say, “Yes, you’re right.” Because, like I said, she’s bigger and more muscular than me.

On Tuesday, I manage to catch Taylor just as English class is beginning. I say that since she’s dating Zach I can’t go out with her in good conscience, even though the thought of giving Zach the shaft is positively irresistible. She says they’ve broken up, so I don’t need to worry. I manage to hide my surprise and delight, then ask her if she’d like to try another night instead, because I’m busy on Wednesday. She looks deeply wounded, and asks me if it’s because I dislike her or find her unattractive. Even though I know she’s a born actress, I’m wracked with guilt. I promise to spend Wednesday with her.

Ms. Kowalski is hovering near my table, eavesdropping on our conversation. I don’t get Ms. K. She’s lost almost two-thirds of the girls in her class now, yet she’s never seemed happier. But every time she sees me she shakes her head and looks away. I’m tempted to turn up to class with a big scarlet A painted on my T-shirt, but that might count as being dorky, so I probably shouldn’t.

“Still five of you left,” she sighs, scanning the faces of the remaining girls disappointedly. “I guess the cheerleading squad just likes my class that much, huh?”

I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before now, but all of my dates have been or will be with members of the cheerleading squad: Paige, Jessica, Kayla, Taylor. It’s a remarkable coincidence, and I’m fortunate that they’re also the girls who have chosen to avoid my mom’s class.

Ms. K slumps in her chair, then looks up imploringly. “Why not give Professor Donaldson’s class a chance? You might be impressed.”

Paige snorts. “I’m pretty comfortable with my femininity, thank you,” she says curtly.

“But that’s not really the point. Feminism is hardly synonymous with femininity.”

“Well, duh! If it was, feminists would be cute and like themselves more.”

I half-expect Ms. K to scream at Paige, but instead she just looks tired and sad.

“What about you, Taylor? Do you feel the same way as Paige?”

“Oh geez, I—”

“Of course she does,” Paige assures us, casting a level stare at Taylor. “We’re in this together.”

“In what?” moans Ms. K. “What on earth does ‘We’re in this together’ mean?” She returns her attention to Taylor. “I just can’t believe you’d feel the same way as Paige. If this is some kind of weird popularity contest, I’d like to point out that most girls have moved on to Professor Donaldson’s class, so you’re actually in the minority by staying here.”

“It’s not the female majority we’re interested in,” laughs Paige flirtatiously, kicking back in her chair and smiling confidently as all male eyes focus on her.

I take a moment to look around the room at the other cheerleaders, expecting to see them mirroring Paige’s carefree laughter. But they’re not smiling. Taylor is studying her pen, Jessica is staring intently out the window, and Morgan is shaking her head like she’s just not sure about any of this.

Only I don’t know what this is. I just know there’s a schism forming among the cheerleaders, and Paige seems blissfully unaware of it. She continues to flash her smile at the boys around her. She even throws in a few carefully executed lower lip nibbles to be extra cute.

But it doesn’t do anything for me. For the first time, even though I can’t quite believe it myself, I don’t find her attractive at all.