Boys tend to boast more than girls. A guy scores an A on a test and he’s running up and down the hall high-fiving and whooping and doing a little end-zone break dance. You don’t see girls doing that. Boys need validation. They need it bad.
— from What Boys Want
Funny thing, when I got back to school on Monday morning everything felt different. Yeah, I got a lot of razzing for being the “flyer guy,” and I picked up a couple dozen more book orders — I hoped Graves wouldn’t find out — but what made it really fun was that I wasn’t just Adam Merchant, eleventh grader, I was Adam Merchant, author.
I had written an entire book.
“So when do I get my copy?” Bob Glaus wanted to know.
“You didn’t order a copy.”
“Yeah, but my sister did. And I’m gonna read it.”
“I still have to get it printed.”
I saw Lita in the hall after second period. I was a little nervous because last time we’d talked, she’d hung up on me.
“Hey, Leet.”
“Hello, Adam.” She seemed a little cool. “Congratulations on your book.” And a little flat.
“Thanks.” I was getting the picture that she wasn’t exactly down with me being an author.
“I hope it doesn’t have as many typos as your flyer.” She turned and walked away.
Ouch! One thing about Lita — when she put her mind to it, she could be a real buzz-kill.
At lunch, I saw Blair for the first time since I’d been suspended. She was sitting alone eating a carton of yogurt. I sat down across from her with a plate full of something that claimed to be turkey tetrazzini.
“Your flyers were a big hit,” she said.
“Yeah. Graves loved them. Are you still staying at Hotel Wellstone?”
“That was just for a couple nights. I’m back home now.”
“Everything cool there?”
“Everything’s fine. You don’t have to treat me like I’m an abuse victim.”
“I didn’t mean that!”
“Not everybody is locked into a traditional family with two parents and one point seven pets and a swimming pool.”
“Hey, I don’t have a pool. And just one cat.”
“I don’t need you judging me. Everybody already thinks I’m some kind of a whore. Your girlfriend treats me like I’m a leper —”
“Whatever. I suppose you told everybody I sleep at school.”
“I did not!”
She shrugged. I don’t think she believed me. I looked around for something else to talk about.
“Where are Dahlia and Chelsea?” I asked.
Blair flicked her hair back and glared at one of the other tables, where Chelsea was sitting with Bree Feider and some of the other cheerleaders. “Bree decided she needed to include a person of color in her little clique, so she appropriated Chel. I haven’t seen Dahlia today. How’s your book coming?”
“I finished it.”
“That was fast. When do I get my copy?”
“When I get it printed.” I was getting tired of telling people that. “Thanks again for helping me the other night.”
She shrugged as if she hardly remembered the occasion. “Not a problem.”
Just then, Trish Hahn plunked her tray down next to Blair.
“Hey,” she said. Trish, with her pale skin, spiky, black dreads, multiple earrings, and the spiderweb tattooed on her arm made Blair look like Little Miss Normal. “Seen Dahlia?”
“Not today,” said Blair.
Trish looked at me. “Flyer boy,” she said. “When’s this famous book going to be out? I got a guy question I need answered.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“My boyfriend got a tongue stud, and now he wants me to get one, too, so we can, you know, clank tongues.”
“My question is, is he kidding?”
I was no expert on body piercing, but I figured I could handle this one.
“Guys like the sound of metal on metal,” I said. “I’d say he’s totally serious.”
Emily hadn’t been able to resist trying out her new look at school. She used the bronzer-and-powder trick and a single maxi pad under each cup (not wanting to overdo it).
She looked amazing.
A couple hours later I saw her, and she didn’t look quite so well endowed.
“One pad kept slipping,” she explained, “so I took them out.”
“Any reaction from Dennis?”
“He asked me how my biology studies were going.”
“Patience. Next time we hit him with the whole package.”
Adam was back in school and acting like some sort of celebrity. I think what really bugged me is that he sort of was a celebrity, even though nobody had even read his “book” yet. I’d heard my mom say that publishing a successful book was fifty percent talent, fifty percent hard work, and one hundred percent marketing. I guess she was right.
I finally got Mrs. Crowe’s schedule figured out, so I hit the library right after my last class, when only Miss Morris was on duty. She gave me a couple more du Maurier titles — Jamaica Inn and The House on the Strand — which I hoped would keep me up nights for the rest of the week.
“I hear we have a famous author in school,” she said as she checked out my books.
“If you’re talking about Adam Merchant, infamous is more like it.”
“I’m thinking about ordering a copy of his book for our library.”
“Do you really think Adam is capable of writing a book about boys and girls? He barely knows how to have a conversation!” That wasn’t true, of course. Adam could talk the ears off a mule.
“I thought Adam was a friend of yours.”
“He is,” I said. “But this book thing has kind of gone to his head.”