All the Way (10 page)

“So go ahead and guess,” I said. “What do you think you could actually bribe me with? And what are you trying to bribe me to
do
, anyway?”

“Well, for one thing, I'm hoping you were kidding about that pillbox hat.”

“Ah. Well, I'll think about it,” I said playfully.

I waited while he sipped his coffee and pondered the question.

“Okay, my guess is that you're a total iTunes freak, you download tons of indie rock songs every week, and you'd kill for a free account,” he said.

“Wow!” I was blown away. “That's close. I'm actually into world music, too—anything with a salsa beat, or an African beat. But I love indie rock. How'd you guess?”

“I didn't,” he admitted. “I was just hoping, because that's my thing. I love Belle and Sebastian.”

“Oh, they're awesome,” I agreed. “And what about the Magnetic Fields?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.
69 Love Songs
? Amazing.”

“But, no, you couldn't bribe me with a free iTunes account,” I said. “That wouldn't do it. Keep trying.”

“How about a gift certificate to Anthropologie?”

“My favorite store! How do you even
know
that?”

Now I was impressed. I mean, I loved Anthropologie's stuff, and I'd ordered from their catalog a bunch of times. But the nearest store was in Columbus, more than a one hundred miles away. How did he even know what it was?

“I'll never tell.”

“Come on! You're freaking me out!” I said, my mouth hanging open.

Tyler laughed and brushed his sandy hair away from his face. “I heard Becca saying she thought that thing you wore the other day was from their catalog,” he confessed.

“The shrug?” I said.

“Yeah, that thing. Whatever a shrug is.”

“Hmph. Well, she's right. It was, and I love their clothes. But nope—you couldn't bribe me with something so basic and crass and material as a gift certificate.” I paused. “How much is it for, by the way?”

He laughed and changed the subject. “Have you ever thought about auditioning for
American Idol
or that new wannabe show,
American Superstar
?”

I cocked my head. “Are you mocking me? Because you
know
I seriously messed up my audition the other day.”

“No, I'm serious. I think you're hot. You'd be great on television.”

He thinks I'm hot! I took a minute to process that, and I tried to keep my head in the conversation.

“Yeah, I thought about it a year ago when
American Idol
came to Cleveland, but my mom wouldn't drive me,” I said.

“So do you want to go?”

“Go where?”

“To Cleveland. For the auditions. Didn't you see it in the paper?”

I shook my head.

“
American Superstar
is holding auditions in Cleveland in two weeks. A bunch of the cast are going. It should be wild, you know? Mini road trip. Anyway, I was hoping you'd come.”

“Are you serious?” I was so surprised. How come I'd missed this? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I never picked up a newspaper, unless I needed something to put on the floor in the studio when I was cutting my hair or doing an art project.

“It'll be cool,” he said.

I could see us now: me and Tyler and Ariel and a bunch of other people from the cast—hopefully Natalie would get the flu that day and be stuck in bed—all camped out in a huge football stadium or something, sleeping on the floor and waiting for our turns to audition. Maybe I could even talk Emily into coming along, just so there'd be more people on my team in case Natalie showed up ready to bitch-slap me into letting her have Tyler all to herself.

“I'd love to!” I said, beaming at him, staring into his eyes.

Did I mention that he has the most incredible coffee-colored eyes I've ever seen?

“Great,” he said.

“I'll ask Emily if she wants to come, too. She's shy, but boy can she belt a song.”

He sort of frowned. “Don't invite
too
many people. I mean, it'll be more fun if we have time to hang out alone, don't you think?”

After that, we just talked about school, mostly, and he asked me how Norton was different from Woodward Baines. He was so easy to talk to, I had no idea it was getting late. All at once his cell phone rang. It was his mom, asking him why he wasn't home yet for dinner, and by the way, there wasn't any dinner, so could he pick up a pizza on his way home.

“So, I'll see you tomorrow,” he said as he walked me out to the parking lot.

“Yeah.” I didn't know what else to say. Was this a date? Should I dare hope that he'd say he'd call me? Or try to kiss me good-bye?

Or was it just coffee between two theater friends?

I clicked my car locks open with the remote just as he reached in front of me to open my car door. His arm brushed my stomach accidentally as he did.

I felt a chill, and I had to use all my willpower to keep from leaning against him.

Honestly, I'm
not
a slut. I'm not! More like a horny virgin.

“Thanks.” I slid into the driver's seat and rolled down the window.

He turned to walk toward his car but called over his shoulder, “I'm still thinking.”

“About what?” I called.

“About what I could use to bribe you,” he called, totally flirting again.

Hmmm. I still didn't know what he wanted to bribe me to do . . . but the price was rapidly coming down.

I popped in a CD of
69 Love Songs
and listened to it, bouncing my head and singing along all the way home. I hadn't been in such a good mood since . . . When? Last summer?

I guess that's why I wasn't ready for what hit me the minute I walked into my room and turned on my computer.

There was an e-mail from some address I didn't recognize, sent to a long list of names. Normally, I wouldn't have opened it, but the subject line grabbed my attention. It said: JOIN THE HOT BOX CLUB.

Oh, no, I thought. Now what?

I opened the e-mail and had to wait while the photo unfurled.

It was a picture of me. Me! And not from last year's yearbook, either.

A picture of me at the auditions last week. In my sexy vintage dress.

Someone had added text in a large font, splashed across my picture. It said: “I'm in the Hot Box Club. Don't you want to come in, too?”

Oh. My. God.

 

 

 

“Who did it?” I kept saying over and over to Rachel on the phone.

The photo of me with those sick words plastered across my crotch was staring out from my computer screen.

“I don't know,” Rachel said. “I'm so sorry—I can't help you there.”

I had dialed Rachel's cell, my hands shaking, the minute I saw the e-mail. Luckily it was Tuesday, the one day when she didn't have soccer practice, didn't have a standing date with Jeremy (since he
did
have soccer practice), didn't have to babysit for the brats who lived next door, and didn't usually feel like hanging out at the mall since, it was too soon after the weekend to really gear up for more shopping.

I caught her at a good moment, in other words. She had time to talk.

The trouble was, she had nothing to say.

“I mean, I don't have a clue about Norton,” she said apologetically. “What does Ariel think?”

“I haven't called her,” I said grouchily. “Ever since she got a part in the chorus and I didn't, we haven't been hanging out as much.”

“That sucks.”

“I guess,” I said. Although the truth was, I didn't mind. Ariel and I had never been close. “But anyway, I know you don't know anyone, but what do you think? I mean, does it seem like something a guy would do? Do you think it's Joey again? Or do you think Molly did it?”

“Well, where would Molly get a photo of you?” Rachel asked.

Good question. “Anyone could have taken it with their camera phone,” I said. Then I remembered something. “No, wait—some girl was shooting photos for the school newspaper during the auditions. I barely noticed her, but I think she's friends with Molly. And so is Natalie, for that matter. Maybe she did it.”

There was a long silence on Rachel's end. “Who's Natalie?” she finally asked, sounding distracted.

“Are you online?” I asked her suspiciously.

Long silence. “Huh?”

“What are you doing?” I asked her. “Reading e-mail?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, snapping back to life. “I was IM-ING with Stephanie about where to go Friday night.”

I sighed.

In the old days, it would have been me IM-ing Rachel about where to go on Friday, and Stephanie would have been on the phone, being ignored.

“So do you think the photographer did this on her own?” I said, deluding myself that I had Rachel's full attention again.

“What photographer?”

“Okay, never mind. I'm going to call Ariel.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, this totally sucks, Carmen. But I just have no idea what to say . . .”

No kidding
.

When I got Ariel on the phone, she was great—she knew exactly what had happened and was just about to call me. Instantly I felt guilty for mentally pushing her friendship aside.

“It's got to be all Molly's fault,” Ariel reported authoritatively. “I heard from Gina who heard from Nicki who's friends with Molly that Molly was furious at Joey for going out with you. Nicki says Molly probably got the picture from Deanna. She's trying to make you look like even more of a slut than Joey said. If that's possible.”

“Who's Deanna?”

“She's on the newspaper. She was shooting at the auditions.”

“Oh. Okay. I didn't know her name. So you think she and Molly are doing this together?”

“That's my best guess,” Ariel said. “I mean, it could be anybody, but the picture's too sharp to be from a camera phone. I think it was Deanna.”

Wow. Now people who barely knew me were trashing my rep.

I swallowed hard, fighting back another lump in my throat. “I just hope Tyler won't see it,” I said.

“I'm sure he already did,” Ariel said flatly. “Didn't you read through the names on the e-mail? The whole cast got the memo. I mean, so did everyone in the whole senior class.”

Oh. Right
.

I braced myself for another humiliating day at school the next day, and I wasn't wrong. People were smirking behind my back all day, and half the people in my classes seemed to have loaded the photo into their cell phones.

As I walked into chemistry, Natalie was sending a text message to someone. I caught a glimpse of that photo of me with
Hot Box Club
written across it on the screen of her cell.

I sat down and started typing
Screw you
into my cell, but I didn't know Natalie's number, so I couldn't really send it.

When I looked up, Mr. Rhinegold was standing over me, staring down at my phone. Luckily, he's nearsighted.

“Carmen, if you've got such an important message to send someone, maybe you ought to deliver it in person,” he said.

The whole class erupted in laughter. Not that they had a clue about what I was typing. But these days, a simple, innocent phrase like “deliver it in person” suddenly seemed like primo comedy material when it was about me.

“I'd like to deliver it in person,” I said, spitting the words out as coldly as I could while glaring at Natalie.

I think I caught Rhinegold by surprise. Normally, I'm not a smart-mouth. He didn't know what to say to that, so he just cleared his throat and moved on.

When last period was over, I practically ran to the auditorium, bumping into David at the doorway.

“Hey, Carmen,” he said, his puppy dog eyes looking longingly at me.

“Hi, David.” I scooted past him as he climbed the stairs to the audio booth.

You're not the one I'm hoping to bump into,
I thought as I slipped into the auditorium, searching for Tyler in the dark.

I'd been hoping to catch him before Natalie got there. I hadn't seen him all day—not in the halls, or at lunch—and I was dying to know how he'd act when he saw me. He didn't even show up for English. He'd cut class to take some friend to get his driver's license. Or that's what I heard, anyway. (What senior guy doesn't have a license already? It sounded pretty sketchy, but who knows.)

So anyway, I had no idea. Was he going to snicker and act like I was the piece of trash everyone was making me out to be? Or act kind of awkward and cool, like he didn't want to dump me as a friend, but he didn't want to hang with me either? Or was he going to be as sweet and nice and adorable as he'd been yesterday?

I had to find out. I'm the type who, if you say, “There's good news and bad news,” I always want the bad news first.

A few people were down front, near the stage, dropping their things into empty seats and getting ready for rehearsal.

“Hi,” Tyler said, his face lighting up when he saw me dashing through the auditorium, all breathless.

“Hi.”

It's amazing how something as tiny as a smile from someone can turn your day around. I know—so corny. So cliché. But so true.

“What happened to you today?” I asked. “I missed you in English.”