Everybody Bugs Out (8 page)

chapter eleven

is a cookie just a cookie?

W
hy so glum?” Ted asked me at dinner on Sunday night.

“I'm not glum. I'm Annabelle Stevens, your new stepdaughter. Remember?”

Ted laughed. “I knew you looked familiar. Thanks for clarifying.”

I smirked and pushed yet another piece of chalky-looking cauliflower from one end of my plate to the other. Ted had made vegetable stir-fry—usually delicious—except tonight he'd used too much cauliflower, one of the few vegetables I can't stand, and somehow it all seemed to end up on my plate, which was actually pretty fitting since it had been a cauliflower kind of weekend.

And it's not like I could even be grateful it was almost over. School this week would be even worse. I just knew it! Now that Claire had revealed her crush, and now that I was supposed to ask the love of my life if he's interested in her.

“I'm guessing that you didn't get much sleep at Yumi's last night,” Mom said.

I sighed. Mom was right, but for the wrong reasons. She probably assumed I didn't sleep because we were too busy giggling over gossip, giving each other mani-pedis, and trying to talk to ghosts with Yumi's Ouija board when in actuality my friends were all quietly in their sleeping bags by midnight. Except for Rachel, who snores, but that's not what kept me up. I'd slept through her snoring before.

Problem was, I couldn't stop obsessing over my mistake to keep my feelings for Oliver a secret for so long. What had I been thinking? And how could I force myself to stop thinking about Oliver? I had to if I was going to be a good friend to Claire. And I needed to be a good friend to Claire. She's one of the nicest people I know.

We both love animals but Claire is extraordinarily kind to them. She's been a vegetarian for over a year. I tried to stop eating meat over winter break, after Jason told me all about how cows are mistreated in the meatpacking industry. But I only lasted for three days. It was our trip to Bistro Burger that put me over the edge. They make the best bacon cheeseburgers. I don't know how Jason managed to get by with his scrawny looking portobello mushroom burger. And in truth, I felt kind of sorry for him.

Although I was still impressed with his discipline, and Claire's, too.

And another great thing about Claire? She's super-pretty but she's not snobby about it at all. She's always smiling and she's nice to everyone, practically.

She's also mucho generous about sharing fashion tips and lending everyone her stuff—even her favorites.

If Oliver had to choose between us, no way would he choose me over her. And anyway, it wasn't fair to give him that choice.

Claire liked him first. Or at least she said so first. That meant she had every right to ask him to the dance. And being one of her closest friends, I had no choice but to help her out.

That's why I walked into science class on Monday with every intention of talking to Oliver about Claire.

Except I never got the chance to, because as soon as I got to class he slipped me something in a napkin.

“What's that?” I asked.

“My mom made ginger cookies over the weekend and I saved you one,” said Oliver.

I unwrapped the cookie carefully, checked to make sure our teacher wasn't watching, and then took a bite. The cookie crumbled in my mouth—filling my taste buds with slightly spicy deliciousness.

“Thanks so much!”

Oliver said, “It's no biggie.” But he smiled shyly, like it was a big deal or, if not that, then at least a small- to medium-size deal.

Then Tobias walked in late and smelling of pepperoni pizza. (The yucky kind from the cafeteria—not good pizza.)

I figured Oliver would give him a cookie, too, but he didn't—maybe because class was starting or maybe because he only saved one for me.

I wondered what that meant. Good things, I was sure.

In fact, maybe if I stalled a bit, Claire would forget all about Oliver. Her crush on him seemed to spring up so suddenly. Maybe she'd lose interest just as fast. Or at least fall for someone else.

And here's a horrible thought—one that made me a lousy friend. If Claire insisted on asking Oliver, I couldn't help but secretly hope he turned her down. Not because I wanted Claire to be heartbroken. That would be terrible—the worst possible consequence. But in my heart of hearts (a phrase that doesn't make much sense to me because everyone has only one heart, as far as I know), I couldn't help but hold on to the hope that maybe—just maybe—Oliver liked someone else instead.

Someone he spent more time with.

Someone shorter. Blonder.

Someone who shared his interests: bugs, ginger cookies, Nerf basketball, lemonade mixed with iced tea, and cricket.

Someone who actually knows what cricket is (kind of).

Then I had another thought. One that wasn't too too terrible, although probably still not so nice. What if Oliver happened to ask me to the dance before I had the chance to ask him about Claire?

It could happen.

But then what if it did? Could I say yes? Or did saying yes to Oliver make me a lousy friend? What if Claire never forgave me? Even just wishing for that to happen felt lousy. But I couldn't help it.

I didn't say anything to Oliver during class. I wasn't planning to after class, either, but then I found Claire standing by my locker after school.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I mean I haven't asked him yet, but I'm going to his house in a few minutes.”

“Perfect! You're the best, Annabelle.”

Claire gave me a hug, which only made me feel worse. “Call me later and let me know how it goes,” she said before taking off with a bounce in her step—like she knew I'd report back with good news.

And the thought that I'd betray her had never crossed her mind.

chapter twelve

bugs and boys

I
think the red one should be farther left,” Tobias said that afternoon as we surveyed the construction paper we'd put out on Oliver's lawn.

Oliver moved the paper over ever so slightly. “How's this?” he asked.

“Let me check.” Tobias pulled his tape measure from his back pocket and measured the distance from the edge of the patio. Then he compared it to our notes from last time. “No, half an inch to the right, actually.”

“No problem.” Oliver moved it back.

“Everything ready?” I asked.

“Wait,” said Oliver. “You guys need to see my bug sketches.” He opened his notebook and showed us drawings of a bumblebee, a ladybug, and an ant.

“Cool!” Tobias said.

“These are amazing!” I couldn't help but gush—because they really were. But I didn't want to say too much because I feared Tobias would make fun of me again. True, he was taking our project much more seriously lately, but I wasn't taking any chances.

“Roly-polies are next,” Oliver informed us.

“Did you guys know that they're actually called armadillidiidae?” asked Tobias.

“Arma what?” I asked.

“I'll just write it down on the graph.”

Once Oliver put his sketches away, I set the timer on the stopwatch for thirty minutes. “Now?” I asked.

They both nodded.

“One, two, three, go!” The second I hit the timer we all fell to the grass—not close enough to disturb, scare, or influence any bug that might land on our construction paper. But close enough so that we could actually keep track of what showed up where.

Within the first five minutes we recorded three bees, two ladybugs, six flies, and a beetle. Twenty minutes later we had an ant parade marching across the green page. And I realized I was stalling. If I didn't ask Oliver about Claire soon, I'd be out of time. And I'd promised Claire.

So I cleared my throat and blurted out the question. “Are you guys going to the school dance?”

“Dances are dumb,” said Tobias.

“How do you know?” asked Oliver. “This is the first one.”

“I've seen them on TV,” said Tobias as he retied one of his shoelaces. “And they sound dumb.”

“He's just saying that because he doesn't have a date,” said Oliver.

“Do you?” I asked.

“Not yet.” Oliver gave me a sideways glance. “What about you?”

“Nope.” I shook my head.

“Do you want to go?” Oliver asked.

“I don't know yet,” I said quickly. “My friends are, but most of them have dates. Wait. When you asked if I wanted to go did you mean—”

“You guys are too cute!” Tobias interrupted, giving Oliver a little shove. “Dude, just ask her and get it over with. Everyone knows you want to.”

“Shut up!” Oliver punched Tobias in the arm.

Then Tobias hit him in the thigh. “Yo—I'm doing you a favor! If you'd just stop being such a—”

Tobias didn't get to finish his sentence because Oliver pounced on him, and the two of them went rolling across the lawn.

“Cut it out!” I screamed.

But Tobias had Oliver in a headlock and was yelling at him to say uncle, which Oliver finally did.

After Tobias let him go, Oliver stood up and brushed himself off. “That's so stupid!” he said. “Why uncle?”

“I don't know. That's just what you say,” said Tobias.

“Oh, that's a good reason,” Oliver said, all sarcastic.

“You guys are so immature!” I yelled.

“What?” asked Tobias. “We didn't mess up the project this time.”

He was right. They'd wrestled in the opposite direction of the construction paper. But that still didn't make up for the fact that Tobias interrupted my very important question. And I couldn't bring it up again—not without humiliating myself. The moment was gone, forever. I checked my watch. “Our time is up, anyway,” I said.

We recorded all the data and packed up to go home.

Except I didn't want to leave. Not when I wasn't sure about what Oliver had meant when he asked me if I wanted to go to the dance. Did he mean did I want to go with him? Or did I want to go to the dance, in general?

I hoped Oliver would invite me to stick around and watch the Lakers game with him, since we'd talked about maybe doing that in class, but now I was too embarrassed to ask—especially in front of Tobias—so I just went home.

I reported this to Claire on the phone that night. Not about how it seemed like, just possibly, Oliver might have been asking me to the dance. Just the part about how I tried to find out if Oliver was going and he didn't really answer because Tobias started teasing us.

“What do you mean, he teased you?” Claire asked.

“I think he thought Oliver wanted to go to the dance with me, which is so dumb.” I forced a laugh. “I mean there's no way …”

I expected Claire to laugh along with me, but instead she stayed silent. I couldn't even hear her breathing on the other end of the line.

“You still there?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Claire. “Um, can I ask you something? I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was just wondering … you don't like Oliver, do you?”

“No way!” I shouted quickly. “Of course not. I mean I like him as a friend but that's all. Seriously. There's no way I could like him. He's way too …” I paused, trying to think of an excuse to give Claire. But I couldn't think of one bad thing to say about Oliver. Truth is, he wasn't too anything. “I just don't.”

“Phew!” said Claire. “I'm really glad.”

“Me too,” I said, feeling lousy.

“So you'll try again tomorrow?”

“Oh, I won't be at his house tomorrow.”

“But you have class with him,” Claire said.

“Right, but obviously I can't ask him in front of Tobias again. And we're never alone together, so I just don't know how I would. Okay?”

I felt kind of bad for letting Claire down, but at the same time good that I had a reasonable excuse.

Maybe Claire would decide that asking Oliver was too complicated.

That's what I was hoping, and that's what it seemed like for a while. I didn't bring up Oliver, and Claire didn't ask me about him.

Rachel, Yumi, and I hit the mall after school a few days later to look for outfits for the dance, and Claire was supposed to come but canceled at the last minute. This I took as a good sign. Like maybe she'd decided not to bother going at all.

Yumi bought a cute black skirt and Rachel found some nice dressy black jeans. I tried on a shirtdress that they said looked good, but I didn't want to buy it.

“I don't even have a date yet,” I told them as I looked at myself in the mirror. “So there's no point in buying this and it seems too dressy, anyway.”

“Why don't you ask Trevor Halloway?” said Yumi.

“Who?” I asked.

“He's this cute guy in my Latin class,” Yumi said.

“I hear he's going with Maya,” Rachel whispered.

“See—even the guys I don't know have dates.” I headed back to the dressing room.

“Sorry, you weren't supposed to hear that. But don't worry. You'll find someone,” said Rachel.

Or maybe Oliver will ask me before Claire gets around to asking him
, I thought but didn't say. That's what I was hoping would happen.

Until Friday.

chapter thirteen

the big shrug

I
could tell something big went down by the way Claire rushed up to our table at lunch, dropped her bag down, and then sat in this extremely dramatic way. Blue eyes wide, she puffed her cheeks out like they were filled with major news.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “I finally talked to Oliver.”

She didn't seem elated. Didn't seem happy at all, in fact.

I had a hopeful thought. Maybe Oliver turned her down. Maybe he said, “I can't go with you because my heart belongs to another girl.” Or “Thanks, but it would be too complicated, a bad idea. I'm grounded. I'm allergic to school dances.” Or “There's a cricket match I'd rather watch that night.”

There were a gazillion reasons for Oliver to say no, and unfortunately I'd spent the last few days thinking up new ones.

“What happened?” I asked, leaning so far forward I almost fell off the bench.

“Yeah, don't keep us in suspense,” said Rachel.

Claire huffed out another breath. “I asked him and he said yes.”

“Wait, that's a bad thing?” Emma raised one eyebrow.

She wasn't the only confused one. All of my friends seemed completely bewildered. And this was good because it kept their attention away from me.

I was not simply perplexed. I felt majorly disappointed. Tears sprung to my eyes. I blinked fast to keep them from falling as I tried to come to terms with the news.

Oliver said yes. Well, of course he did. I'd tried to prepare myself for this situation. I'd even practiced my reaction to the news in the bathroom mirror the other day just in case I found myself in this exact situation.

Eyes wide, bright smile, both thumbs up. “That's awesome!” I planned on saying. But instead, my throat felt swollen and dry. So much so that I couldn't manage to say a word.

Which makes no sense because deep down, I should've known that Claire would ask Oliver, eventually. She liked him too much not to. Just like I knew Oliver was a nice guy who wouldn't say no unless he had a really good reason to.

I guess I just hoped something would happen before this moment arrived.

Like, he'd ask me.

Or Claire would change her mind.

Or the president would cancel Valentine's Day and all activities relating to the holiday for reasons of national security.

But now it was too late.

My chest ached, like someone had played Ping-Pong with my heart, which then rolled off the table and got stomped on.

“What's the problem?” asked Rachel.

I looked up, afraid she'd noticed my reaction, but all eyes were still on Claire.

“It's the way he said yes,” she explained. “Like, totally unenthusiastically. This was my first time asking a boy to a dance, my first time asking a boy anything important, and I guess I just thought it would be bigger. More eventful. It's not like I was expecting fireworks or anything dumb like that. It's just, well, I guess I just wanted him to be as psyched as I was. Or even a little psyched.”

“You mean he wasn't?” I asked, hopeful.

“Not really,” Claire said.

“Maybe he just wanted to play it cool,” said Emma.

“If that's the case, he deserves an Academy Award.”

“Tell us what happened,” said Emma. “Like, second by second.”

Claire took a deep breath before explaining. “I waited until he was alone at his locker and I walked up to him and said, ‘Hey, mind if I ask you something?' And he said, ‘No.' And I said, ‘No, I can't ask you?' And he said, ‘No, as in no, I don't mind.' And then we both laughed. And then I said, ‘I was thinking—wouldn't it be fun to go to the dance?' And he said, ‘Yeah—I am going.' And I said, ‘No, I mean together.' And then he sort of paused before saying, ‘Okay, fine.' ”

“Okay is good,” said Emma.

“Okay is
okay
and just barely,” Claire said. “But
fine
?
Fine
is not what anyone wants to hear, especially in his totally unenthusiastic tone. It sounded more like he was agreeing to let me borrow his pencil.”

“But to be fair, Oliver is way into his pencils,” Yumi joked.

“Not funny!” said Claire. “And I didn't tell you the worst part.”

“There's something worse than
okay
?” asked Rachel.

“Don't forget about the pause,” I said.

“See, you guys totally know how bad this is!” Claire exclaimed. “When he said, ‘Okay, fine,' he shrugged.”

Emma cringed.

“Yikes!” said Rachel.

Claire clutched her head with both hands and leaned her elbows on the table. “Shrugging is really bad, right? Everyone knows shrugging is bad. It's like he's telling me he doesn't care. Like, it doesn't even matter. Who shrugs and says sure? Someone whose message is, ‘Sure I'll go with you because I have nothing better to do that night.' ”

“Are you absolutely positive that he shrugged at you?” asked Yumi.

Claire shot Yumi a look of frustration. “You think I imagined a shrug?”

“Well, was it a big shrug or a little shrug?”

Claire pondered this for a few moments. “Medium size.”

“One shoulder or two?” asked Rachel.

“Two.”

“And did he sort of tilt his head to one side when he did it?” asked Emma.

Claire blinked back tears. “I don't remember! Does it matter?”

Emma bit her bottom lip. “No, I guess it doesn't.”

“A shrug can mean lots of things,” said Yumi. “Maybe he was trying to itch his ears with his shoulders.”

Claire looked at Yumi in silence, like her suggestion didn't even warrant a comment.

“Sorry,” said Yumi.

“It's fine,” said Claire. “But let me ask you this—has Nathan ever shrugged at you?”

“Well, no. I don't think so, but it's possible that Nathan shrugs all the time when we're texting.”

“Doubtful,” said Claire.

“Well, maybe he's just not a shrugger.”

“I never thought of Oliver as a shrugger,” said Claire.

“Maybe it's new for him.”

“Why would he suddenly take up shrugging?” asked Claire.

“Who knows why boys do anything?” asked Rachel. “Why is Erik going out with Hannah when he could go out with me?”

I should've said something to defend Hannah but I was too busy thinking. Was Claire overreacting? Or was Oliver really not that into going to the dance with her? And if not, was he
not
interested in the dance? Or was he just
not
interested in being Claire's date?

I thought back to our talk on the lawn. Oliver
might
have been asking me if I wanted to go with him. But if that were true, why didn't he ask me again? Because he was shy? Or because he thought I wasn't interested? Maybe he just hadn't gotten around to it yet.…

What if Oliver really did say yes to Claire to be nice? What would've happened if I'd asked him to the dance? Would he have shrugged and said fine? Or would he have seemed happier?

And what's wrong with me for thinking this?

“You're forgetting the most important point,” said Rachel. “He said yes, and that means you get to go to the dance with a really cute boy—and not only that but the boy you like—instead of being stuck with your second choice.”

Emma nodded. “She's got a point there.”

“So what are you going to wear?” asked Yumi.

“Major dilemma,” said Claire, sitting up straighter. “I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard, but I do need to look my best. And I'd like to wear something unique, but not wacky. There's such a fine line.”

Claire seemed excited, like she'd already gotten over Oliver's shrug, and for some reason this annoyed me.

“Are you going to make something?” asked Rachel.

“Or borrow your sister's clothes?” asked Emma.

“Is your hair too short to wear up?” Yumi wondered. “Because if you do wear it up, you should totally wear dangly earrings.”

As my friends asked Claire a million and three questions, I stared at my peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, my handprints visible in the bread where I'd squeezed it too tightly.

I took a small bite and tried to focus on chewing but my mind wandered to the upcoming dance. It was taking place in the auditorium, this I knew. I imagined they'd transform the entire room. It would be dark and romantic, with twinkling lights and soft music.

Claire would look beautiful—even more beautiful than usual, that is. I imagined her in a long, flowing white dress, her hair pulled up in a loose bun, with tendrils brushing her bare collarbone.

I don't actually know what tendrils are, but last summer my friend Sophia brought this steamy romance novel to camp and she read it aloud to our entire bunk after lights-out. Whenever the heroine in the story went to a ball, she swept her hair up into a loose bun, with tendrils brushing her bare collarbone. So I knew that whatever it was, it had something to do with being grown-up and romantic.

Oliver would be all dressed up, too. Maybe with tendrils but probably that's just a girl thing, not a dance thing. I pictured him in a nice pair of jeans with his T-shirt tucked in. They'd enter the room arm in arm and everyone would look their way. They'd be the most stunning couple there. Maybe they'd even sparkle. Not because of body glitter but because of some magical, sparkly properties that they and they alone possessed due to their total spectacularness.

Then I imagined Oliver scanning the room, not to admire the decor but because he was searching for someone.

As in, someone other than his date.

Meanwhile I'd be standing in the corner by myself, leaning against the wall, like the decorating committee had run out of tape and had hired me to hold up the giant cardboard cupid.

I'd look up suddenly and our eyes would meet. Oliver would smile and tilt his head and I'd smile back, coyly. (Another thing I read about in that romance novel.) I'd offer a fluttery fingertip wave and then he'd approach.

Claire would be confused at first and maybe even upset. But once she saw that the feelings we had for each other were true and strong and mutual, not to mention electric in their intensity, she'd relent, knowing that she and Oliver just weren't meant to be.

Oliver would approach and ask, “May I have this dance?”

And I'd say, “What about the cardboard cupid cutout?”

And he'd say, “Forget about the cardboard cupid cutout. Let it fall.”

Then my favorite slow song would come on but not coincidentally—Oliver would've requested it.

I'd back away from the wall. Cupid would fall. And then we'd dance.

Meanwhile, Claire would meet the love of her life—a tall and handsome transfer student who'd just moved to town from somewhere really romantic. Like Paris or Rome or maybe both.

She'd forget about Oliver, move on. This part was essential because I wanted the best for Claire. I truly did! I just knew that what was best for Claire did not involve Oliver in any way. It couldn't! Not when he paused and shrugged, which I now realized was clear evidence that he liked someone else—probably me.

“So what do you think?”

Someone poked me in the shoulder.

“Hello? Earth to Annabelle?”

I looked up with a start. “Huh?”

“You okay?” Claire stared at me with genuine concern. And that's when the guilt crept in.

What could I say? “Oh, I'm fine. I was just busy fantasizing about stealing your date.” I don't think so.

But I had to say something because now everyone else stared, too. “Sorry,” I said. “Um, what?”

“We need your input,” Claire explained. “My sister offered to lend me her favorite skirt, but is that like wearing something used? She wore it to school once, so what if Oliver notices and thinks it's weird? Like, I only get hand-me-downs because my moms can't afford to get me new clothes, which is not true at all. They're just really into recycling.”

“I don't think Oliver thinks that way. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body. And anyway, boys don't notice stuff like that.”

Claire popped two grapes in her mouth, contemplating as she chewed. “So maybe I should spring for something new. I've been saving my allowance for a few months now.”

Oh, who cares? That was my first thought—one so rude, I barely recognized myself. I knew I was being unfair. Mean, even, when all Claire had ever been was kind and generous and funny and sweet.

I was a lousy friend for having these thoughts.

No, I was a lousy person. And I needed to make it up to her. That's why I said, “Hey, want some help? I could come over one day after school and we can go through your closet.”

Claire smiled. “That sounds fun!”

And that's how—a few days later—I found myself at Claire's house, helping her find an outfit so she could steal my crush.