How To Be A Perfect Girl (3 page)

“Are you alright?” Mckayla asked, worried
she might have landed on top of Brady.

Brady’s eyes welled with tears; “What
happened?” Val asked. Brady pointed wordlessly to his sister’s
knee. “Aw, did she poke you with her knee?” Brady nodded.

“Well that’s not fair.” Valentina jumped at
her friend and pinned her down. “Let’s get revenge,” she
suggested.

Brady stopped crying. “Off with her head!”
he shouted gleefully.

“Off with her head!” Valentina agreed; she
picked up the nearest foam sword and slid it across Mckayla’s neck.
“Dead,” she announced. Mckayla stuck her tongue out and twitched in
her “final moments”. “Remember me,” she whispered, before closing
her eyes.

“Hey!” Brady pointed at his “dead” sister.
“You’re still breathing!”

“Of course,” Mckayla laughed. “I’m not
really dead, just pretending.”

Silence followed for a minute, broken by a
yawn from Valentina, “What are we gonna have for dinner?” she
asked.

“Pizza,” Mckayla pointed to a pair of
twenties on the counter. “We were going to get a couple of
pepperoni pizzas, but—“ Mckayla trailed off, unsure if her friend
would be interested in pepperoni pizza.

“Yuck,” Val pretended to gag, “Pizzas are so
greasy. Can’t we just have a salad or something?”

“We could, but
I
like pizzas, and so
does Brady.” Mckayla’s brother nodded vigorously; “So we’ll get a
pizza, and you can get a salad. I think Nicky’s sells some of those
too.”

Val giggled, “Salads from
a pizza place? Shoot me now.” Mckayla shrugged, looking at her in
a
it’s the only option
kind of way. “Alright, I’ll have their salad,” Val
sighed.

Mckayla called up the pizza place; “Food’ll
be here in thirty minutes,” she announced. “What should we do until
then?”

“Watch tv?” Val suggested. It wasn’t the
most creative idea, but no one could think of any alternatives;
they watched a cartoon selected by Brady. He sat between the two
girls as they traded stories about their first days of school; on
the whole they agreed that first days were the most boring of all
school days.

The pizza arrived; Mckayla got up to answer
the door. “Race you!” Val shouted as she leaped to the counter. She
grabbed the money before Mckayla could get to it and answered the
door. “Hey,” she greeted the delivery boy, giggling and breathing
hard.

“Uh, hello,” the teen looked perplexed. “I
have two pepperoni pizzas and salad for Ms.—Mills.”

“Ha!” Mckayla held out her arms as she
reached the door, brushing her friend aside, “That’s me.”

“What’s the total?” Valentina asked, holding
out the money.

“Eighteen seventy-seven. Uh, do you want
some change?” the boy eyed the forty dollars eagerly.

“Hmm,” Valentina turned to her friend, “Do
we want change?”

“Yes,” Mckayla laughed, “He’s cute, but not
that cute!”

She was right, the boy was cute; Valentina
handed him the forty dollars, “Keep it.”

“Th-thank you,” the boy stared at the money
as if it were the first he’d ever seen. “You’re sure you don’t want
change?”

“Nope, we’re good.” Val turned to her
friend, surprised to see Mckayla glaring at her; “I’ll cover the
tip,” she explained.

The pizza boy started to walk away; “Hey,
what about our food?” Val asked.

“Right. Sorry.” He returned and handed the
pizza and salad to Val, then practically skipped back to his
car.

“What was that about?” Mckayla asked.

“Like I said, I’ll cover it. Twenty dollars
is like nothing. And besides, did you see his reaction? I think it
made his day!”

Mckayla stared at her friend, “What happened
to the girl who saved change in a jar for two years so she could
buy a pair of forty dollar Uggs?” she asked.

“I’m still the same girl, I just don’t have
to save my change in a jar anymore,” Val replied. “My allowance is
a lot bigger now. I really don’t mind covering the tip.” She
retrieved her purse from beside her shoes and pulled out her
wallet, offering a crisp twenty.

“I don’t need your money,” Mckayla
mumbled.

“Okay,” Val tucked some stray hair behind
her ear sheepishly, “Sorry I gave away your money.”

“It’s alright, we can afford it.” Mckayla
looked to the couch where Brady was still watching cartoons;
“Dinner!” she called.

They ate at the counter; little conversation
passed between the trio. Brady, perhaps sensing that something was
amiss, tried a couple of killer jokes he’d learned at daycare; they
fell flat. That’s when he knew that the evening was bound to be a
wash; usually Valentina and his sister laughed at even his unfunny
jokes. He wondered what had happened that to defuse the happiness
of the night so quickly.

Val didn’t talk about what
had happened in front of Brady, but she knew they would have to
discuss it eventually. Before her family had gotten rich, Mckayla
wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at allowing her friend to pay for a
meal, in all or part.
Why did she get so
mad that I offered to refund the pizza boy’s extra tip?
When Mckayla had looked at her immediately after,
there had been something in her eyes that Val couldn’t quite
explain; something mean, something cruel. Mckayla was usually so
nice that the look had taken her completely by surprise.

After they all finished eating, Val grabbed
her purse and left. She had planned on hanging out all night, but
the mood had turned caustic. She still wasn’t sure why, but there
had been a certain ice in the way Mckayla treated her during and
after dinner that made it clear she should leave; Mckayla hadn’t
explicitly said it, but she hadn’t needed to. After nearly a decade
of friendship, Val could gauge her friend’s moods pretty
easily.

Chapter 4

Algebra has never been anyone’s favorite
subject—scheduled as it was as her first class in the morning, Val
knew she was in for a rough time. She had trouble finding her
class, and made the mistake of asking a nice-looking senior girl
for help; the girl practically yelled at Val for disturbing her,
and then gave her directions that led to an empty classroom.

It was because of that incident that she
stumbled into class ten minutes late. “Welcome, Miss—“ the teacher,
portly Miss Stevens from orientation, looked down at her class
roster, “Miss Hunter. We were just getting started on reading the
syllabus. Your seat is over there, just next to Misters-- Scott and
Hitchens.” Valentina groaned inwardly; it was Alex from Student Gov
and his friend Grant. She hoped they’d just leave her alone. Miss
Stevens laid a copy of the syllabus in front of her, “Would you
read the Class Expectations section, Miss Hunter?”

Val cleared her throat, “Class expectations.
Students are expected to be in their seats as the bell rings. Late
students will not be admitted,” she gulped, “Does that mean
me?”

“No, not today. But from today forward, it
applies,” Miss Stevens answered.

“Oh, great. Um, where was—right. Students
are expected to have: one notebook, no fewer than one-hundred pages
of graphing paper, one graphing calculator—“ The section was
tedious and by the time Val finished reading it she felt
dehydrated, like she’d gone a day without water.

Miss Stevens called on
other students to read the rest of the syllabus; the class passed
slowly, and by the time they’d read the whole thing it was only
halfway expired. “Alright,” Miss Stevens announced, “Now for our
first group activity. You are going to work on these problems—“ she
gestured to the whiteboard, “—so that I can see how much you
already know. You’ll notice your desks are arranged in fours—those
are your group-mates. Feel free to ask for, and give, any help
necessary. I’ll be walking around so I can figure out who knows
their stuff—and who needs extra help.” When Miss Stevens said extra
help she looked at Valentina;
just because
I got some bad directions, suddenly I need extra help?
Val resolved to finish all the problems by
herself.

The problems were difficult; remembering
skills that she’d neglected all summer proved a more difficult task
than Val expected. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to be having an
easy time of it, “Let’s see, if you take the equation where three
lap dances is set equal to one hot blonde, and then use the
substitution method on the equation where two and a half hot
blondes equals four, you find that one lap dance is equal to eight
fifteenths.”

Val giggled at his choice of variables; a
part of her thought she should try not to react, and thus avoid
encouraging the boy, but she couldn’t help it—his humor had a way
of building.

“Speaking of hot blondes,” Alex tapped her
on the shoulder, “Val, right?”

“Hey,” Val turned around to face him.

“Great. So, Val, what do you believe eight
fifteenths of a lap dance is?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe you could show me,” Alex winked. “By
the way, it looks like you’re having some problems with these
problems,” he pointed to a gruesome looking scribble where Val had
crossed out her work after getting nowhere on the problem he’d just
finished. “Want some help?”

Val shook her head. She
was determined to prove Miss Stevens’ assumption wrong—even if
she’d read more into the look than had been intended, she
was
not
going to
be the slowest student in the class. Val finished the last of the
problems with ten minutes left, and was pleased to see several of
her classmates still working. Like her, most of the students had
preferred to work on the problems alone, with the result that Alex
was the only one in the room talking.

“You know, my awkward charm’s gonna wear you
down,” he said. “My jokes may not always be funny, but I make
enough of them that you’re bound to laugh at some. And you know
what they say, if you can make a girl laugh, you have a shot—“ he
smiled, “—of getting her to do your math homework.” Grant, Alex,
and Val all laughed; the fourth member of their group, an awkward
girl whose name Val didn’t know, tittered quietly. “See, you think
it’s a joke,” Alex continued, “But I figure you need the extra
practice. So here you go,” he handed her the homework sheet Miss
Stevens had just handed him.

“Ahem,” Miss Stevens fixed him with a cool
glare, “Must I remind you, Mister Hitchens, of the homework
policy?”

“Nope, I have it right here.” Alex swept a
hand over the syllabus, “And besides, Val’s reading was so stirring
that I couldn’t possibly forget a word of it.” The bell rang as
Alex took his homework back from Val’s desk and shoved it into his
bag.

The one class Val had been looking forward
to that day was her Flag Football/Volleyball class. After all, they
could start playing without any need to read syllabi or go over
class expectations, or so she had thought. The gym teachers had all
put up signs directing students to the main gym, and once there the
classes were divided according to individual classes. Each teacher
gave a speech about the class and then handed out locks. Val’s
teacher, Mr. Sharp, was a bald man; one of those teachers who
seemed to be trying to relive his own high school days through his
occupation. He joked with everyone, in an apparent effort to make
them more at ease, “Taking my class again, Young? Don’t you think
you ought to know how to play football by now?”

Porter was a handsome boy with an easy grin
and blue eyes. “You got me wrong, coach. I don’t take this class
for the football. I take it for the volleyball. And the girls too,
but mostly for the volleyball.”

Mr. Sharp laughed, “Uh huh. Young, you’re
shit at volleyball. Pardon my French.”

“That’s why I gotta take this class, coach.
Gotta learn how to spike so I can impress all the girls on the
beach.”

Mr. Sharp shook his head; his gaze landed on
Valentina, “And you, what are you doing here? Middle schoolers
aren’t allowed in my class.”

“I-I’m not a middle schooler,” Val
protested. “I’m a freshman!”

Mr. Sharp laughed “Calm down, I’m just
messing with ya. I know you’re at least a freshman, else you
wouldn’t be going to Palm Lake, would you?”

Val shook her head.

“Exactly. You look pretty athletic, do you
play volleyball? Maybe you could show Young how to spike.”

Young laughed, “She’s not tall enough to
spike, coach. Unless she’s got a crazy vert.”

A boy sitting next to Young joined the
conversation, “Let’s see it. Might as well, since we’ve got nothing
better to do.”

“Alright,” the coach motioned for Val to
stand up. She felt awkward standing among the rest of the class,
which stayed seated on the basketball court. “Jump,” Mr. Sharp
said, and Val did. “Not bad, not bad,” he commented, “But you’re
right Young, not high enough to spike.”

“Well I don’t play volleyball,” Val
explained, finding her voice, “I play soccer.”

“Really?” a girl a few feet away asked, “Are
you gonna try out for the team?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Cool, cool.” The girl nodded to herself.
“I’m on the team already. Have been for a year.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Val exclaimed.

Before she could say anything else, Mr.
Sharp cut her off, “Looks like it’s our turn for the locks, boys
and girls. Everybody take one.” He accepted a brown box from a
mousy looking teacher and set it on the floor, “And only one. Your
parents paid for ‘em, so there’s no need to worry about that. At
the end of the year it’s yours to keep.”

Val was already standing, and so arrived at
the box first. She grabbed one of the silver locks; “You’ll want to
take off the card with the code, of course,” Mr. Sharp added. “Once
you have your lock, go into your locker room and put it on a
locker. You can choose whichever one you want, as long as it isn’t
on the bottom row—those are reserved for our sports teams. Please
don’t forget which locker you put your lock on; write it down on
the card with your code if you think it’ll help you remember.”