The fragrance of love permeates the halls Monday morning. Between the girls wearing fancy perfumes and the guys bearing bouquets, it’s enough to make even the most cynical person smile. Or perhaps gag. Half of me wants to commandeer the school P.A. system and announce that I, Lexi Malloy, am to thank for most of these lovebirds’ newfound bliss. The other half fantasizes about finding the world’s largest bulldozer and flattening the whole freaking school with everyone in it. Love-schmov.
Even I have to admire the scene that plays out in second period study hall, though. Jolene happens to sit three rows to my left, and about five minutes after the bell, someone knocks on our classroom door. Mr. Ingersoll opens it to find a bald guy in a huge heart-shaped costume standing there.
“Singing telegram!” he says. Or rather, sings. He charges around Mr. Ingersoll and into the classroom, stopping at Jolene’s desk. “Jolene Cinders?”
“Um. Yes?” Jolene looks as though she wishes the earth would open up and swallow her. The rest of the class is too astounded to say or do anything.
Heart dude gets down on one knee and places his hands over where … well, where the heart’s heart would be, I guess, and starts to croon.
There is a young girl at Grand View
Who seems almost too good to be true.
Her taste in music and movies and fashion
Ignites in Brendon McDonough a passion
As no one else ever could do.
Yes, there is a young girl at Grand View
Whose smile could light up a room.
She’s hot as a jalapeño.
So hot, it’s insane, yo.
Tell me, what is a young man to do?
Oh, there is a young girl at Grand View
And Jolene, that young girl is you.
On this Feast of St. Valentine
Would you be ever so kind?
Please accept Brendon’s love, pure and true.
Seemingly from nowhere, he pulls out a huge stuffed puppy with a pink candy heart sticking out of its mouth and hands it to a gaping Jolene.
Aww. The whole class bursts into applause. Some of the supposedly tough guys in the room look around at each other, but they must be too stunned to play rude. Or perhaps even they have been bitten by the Valentine’s bug.
The whole thing is almost enough to make me reconsider my sour mood toward the ultimate Hallmark holiday. Almost.
Lindsay LaRouche’s locker sits just around the corner from mine, which is good because every chance I get, I pass by, seeking a sign that Chris has taken my Boyfriend Whisperer bait. A balloon tied to the handle, a love note stuck in one of the vents, but there’s nothing. A few times I catch Lindsay there, and she looks as miserable as though she just found out her favorite hair gel has been discontinued.
Maybe the secret admirer stunt was too subtle after all. Dammit. I really, truly, and seriously do not wish to spend the next three weeks trying to set the two of them up.
After the last bell, I grab my books and round the corner for one last check, hoping that maybe Chris was just playing it cool, waiting until the end of the day to make his move. That would be so Chris. But no, I find Lindsay alone and utterly Valentine-less, glaring into the recesses of her locker. I turn to leave before she catches me staring, only to run smack into someone’s chest.
“Uh, hey, Lexi.” Chris’s face is as red as the dozen roses he’s holding. It is perhaps the loveliest arrangement I have ever seen, right down to the baby’s breath that seems to float among the blooms. Who knew the boy had such great taste in flowers?
“Hey there.” I have to steady myself, whether because of the encounter with his chest, the perfume of the roses, or the realization that Operation Chris and Lindsay is finally about to go down, I’m not sure.
“So, I kind of um …” Chris swallows hard. “I mean, it took me a while, but I think I figured out who my secret admirer is.”
“Yeah?” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “That’s awesome. Pretty flowers, by the way.”
“You like them?”
“Very much.” I step aside. “I’m sure she will, too.”
Chris tilts his head. “What do you—”
“Oh my gosh, those are amaaaazing.” Lindsay appears beside me, arms outstretched. “Are they for me?”
Chris looks at me, so I force a smile, nod, and give him the thumbs-up. Way to go. Now excuse me while I disappear to wallow in my pitiful, lonely, loveless existence.
I turn and take off, hurtling down the hallway and through the front door without looking back. Yay, me. Another Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises success story.