How to Win at High School (16 page)

“Or maybe they'll be gods,” Adam says.

“To a bunch of high school kids?” Victoria says. “If that's what you want out of your life, sure, I guess it's all worth it. You can be a high school legend who has to pump gas because no university will take your cheating ass, but at least you're
legendary
, right?”

“Anyway,” Adam says, “I doubt they'll even get caught. I heard the janitor didn't even see their faces.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, anyway?” Victoria asks Adam.

They're sprawled out in her living room now, pretending to study.

(Her parents are on the morning shift, and it's afternoon now.

Her dad's watching TV and

her mom's in the kitchen, and

all Adam can think about is how sexy Victoria looks in that tight shirt she's wearing.

How much he wants to . . .

you know.)

“Have you started looking at colleges yet?” Victoria says. “I want to go to Stanford, but my dad wants me to stay close to home. He says it's expensive, but I can probably get a scholarship or something, right?”

Adam looks at her. Adam shrugs. “I mean, I guess so,” he says.

(It's not like Adam's ever really thought about college before. It's not like he ever had the grades, or the money, or the motivation.

Thanks to this homework thing, though, Adam has the grades.

(#FringeBenefitNumberOne)

He has a steady source of income.

(#FringeBenefitNumberTwo)

And hell, if college is anything like high school, maybe he can be a god there, too.

So maybe there's something to this college idea.)

“Adam?”

Adam blinks. Snaps back to reality. “Sorry?”

“What are you going to take in college?” Victoria says. “I think I want to study marine biology.”

“I don't know,” Adam tells her. “Something that makes a lot of money.”

“Money?” Victoria frowns. “Money isn't everything, Adam. You should do what you like.”

Easy for you to say
, Adam thinks.
Your dad didn't get laid off.
He shrugs. “I just want to be rich,” he says. “So I won't be a loser.”

“You're not a loser.” Victoria sits down beside him. Gives him a look. “You work so hard all the time, like you're constantly trying to prove you're somebody else.”

She kisses him. “The people who really matter don't care how much money you have, Adam, or whether or not you have a million Facebook friends or if you're a nerd. They just care that you're a decent guy. That's all I care about.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “I guess so.”

He kisses her back. He lets her believe what she wants to believe. Deep down, though, he knows Victoria wouldn't be so sure of herself if
she'd
ever been poor. If
she'd
ever not been popular.

If she'd ever been called . . .

a loser.

Adam dreams about Rob Thigpen. Dreams about Sam.

About the accident.

A freak play in the Nixon end. Sam's going for the puck. Some big Nixon douchebag nails him from behind, hard.

Sam hits the boards weird.

Sam never walks again.

(And Adam Higgs is consigned to loserdom.)

Adam wakes up hating Rob Thigpen.

(Hating all Thigpens.)

He's too busy to make Rob Thigpen pay for it right now. Too focused on becoming a god.

Someday, though
, Adam thinks.

Someday, Rob.

Exams happen. Wayne still wanders the halls like a fugitive. Adam lies awake nights and prays Hawksley doesn't make them.

Hawksley doesn't. The chaos dies down. Exams begin and the whole ordeal is forgotten.

And the exams themselves?

Well.

It turns out writing an essay on
The Grapes of Wrath
five different ways is a pretty damn good way to learn
The Grapes of Wrath
. Adam knows the material. Every class. Knows it cold.

(#FringeBenefitNumberThree)

The gods, on the other hand?

No bueno
.

Goes without saying. They spent half the term paying Adam to handle their courseload. How in the hell were they supposed to learn the material?

A couple weeks' cramming can only do so much, man.

Still.

If you think that means Nixon's A-list isn't lining up to hire Adam back, first day of second semester, pal, you have another think coming.

“Holy crap, I bombed that physics exam,” Sara Bryant tells Adam in economics, first day of classes.

(Adam switched out from art to econ before the semester. Figured he likes making money more than he likes painting sucky pictures, so . . .)

“Like,
bombed
it,” Sara says. “Afghanistan style. I thought my dad was going to ground me for life.”

“Crap,” Adam says. “Listen, if you think you're better off without me this semester, I totally—”

“Are you kidding?” Sara stares at him. “Pizza Man, I
need
you, buddy. I need A-plusses this term, nothing lower.”

Every class. Every god. It's the same story. A-plusses. Desperate times.

Pizza Man, we need you.

Adam isn't so sure about the A-plus idea. Every god in the school suddenly starts rolling high nineties? Somebody's bound to get wise.

“So disguise it,” Sara Bryant tells him. “Make it untraceable. Jesus, Adam, what do we pay you for?”

“You gotta do this, man,” Paul Nolan says. “We need you.”

“And you know we pay better than any goddamn pizza job,” Rob Thigpen tells him.

“You don't want to go back to Pizza Hut, do you?” Sara pats his arm. “Do the work. A-plusses. You name your price.”

So now Adam has that to worry about.

He doubles the page rate for each A-plus assignment, plus a fifty-dollar bonus.

(Might as well make it pay, right?)

Restricts VIP access to bona fide gods. Paul Nolan. Sara Bryant. Jessie McGill. Leanne Grayson.

(Damn it, and Rob Thigpen, though Adam charges that chump a 50 percent markup. It makes him feel marginally better.)

Janie Ng? Funny story.

Adam explains the situation to Janie. Special offer. Guaranteed grades. Top of the class. Janie shakes her head. “Thanks, Adam, but I'm cool.”

Adam frowns. “You don't want A-plusses?”

“I pull A-plusses already.” Janie grins at him. “I rocked those exams. I'm pretty much a huge nerd at this point.”

“So why bother with me, then?” Adam asks her. “If you're doing so well on your own?”

Janie shrugs. “Sometimes I just need a break,” she says. “My parents are insane about grades.”

Then Janie cocks her head. “And maybe I kind of like having an excuse to hang out with you.”

“Oh yeah?” Adam says.

Janie winks at him, sly. “Thanks for the offer, but if you ever want to come over and study sometime—”

“Yeah,” Adam tells her. “I'll let you know.”

A couple weeks into the spring semester, and Adam's walking along that same long hallway he escaped down with Wayne, the night of the botched exam raid.

(Just being there gives him PTSD.)

(Seeing that janitor, Hawksley, makes him sweat.)

Anyway, Adam's walking down that hall. Thinking about that night—

—when the vice principal steps out of his office and calls Adam's name.

Gulp.

He's a big guy, Mr. Acton. Played tight end on the Nixon football team back in the day. Acton handles discipline at Nixon. You don't mess with him.

He's

one

scary

dude.

So, Adam's terrified. Adam's thinking,
This is it.
Adam's thinking,
I'm screwed.

Acton looks him over. “You're new here,” he says. “You came from where, Riverside?”

“Yes, sir,” Adam says.

Acton nods. “How do you feel you're adapting to the Nixon mind-set?”

Adam shrugs. Adam has no clue what he means about the Nixon mind-set, unless “the Nixon mind-set” means sucking up to rich kids who live their lives like royalty, in which case, Adam's all about it.

But Adam doesn't think that's what the VP means. “I don't know,” he says. “I guess . . . good?”

“I was in touch with Mr. Nelson, back at Riverside,” Acton says. “He was surprised I hadn't met you yet. I hear you two were on familiar terms.”

Adam nods. Adam remembers Mr. Nelson. Mr. Nelson caught him smoking up in the park a couple of times. Busted his ass for it.

Adam never liked Mr. Nelson. The feeling was mutual.

Acton studies Adam. “So what happened?” he says.

Adam blinks. “Sir?”

“By Mr. Nelson's account, you were a problem child at Riverside,” Acton says. “Here, you're top of your classes. What happened?”

Adam shrugs. “I don't really know, sir.”

“Come on,” Acton says. “You must have some idea. What caused this big change?”

“I don't know, sir,” Adam says. “I guess I just bought into the Nixon mind-set.”

“Have you given any thought to what you're going to do with yourself once you graduate?” Acton asks Adam.

Adam shrugs. “I was thinking about college, maybe,” he says.

“Any particular field of study?”

Adam shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Hmm.” The vice principal purses his lips. “I'd like you to talk to Mrs. Dubois,” he says. “She's the guidance counselor here. Have you met her?”

“No, sir,” Adam says.

“I'm going to make you an appointment.” Acton looks at him again. “You have every reason to be proud of your performance last term, Adam. I'd like to make sure we keep moving in this direction.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam says. “Thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me,” Acton tells him. “Just keep up the good work.”

So, that's a new one.

Adam figures he should be scared of the VP. Figures he should be hunched over in a bathroom stall, breathing through a paper bag right now.

Figures he should be terrified at how close he came to discovery.

But Adam . . .

doesn't really care.

Adam's proud of himself.

Adam's an honor-roll student.

The teachers like him.

Hell,
Mr. Acton
likes him.

Paul Nolan shakes his hand. Leanne Grayson hugs him on the regular. The popular kids swarm his locker, and everyone else at Nixon looks at him like he's a god.

Adam realizes he's so much more than just Adam anymore.

He's the Pizza Man now.

And life is pretty damn good.

One afternoon in March, about a month into the new term.

Adam's holding court at Cardigan's, across the street from Nixon. Handing back math papers, geography assignments, chemistry labs. Selling IDs to a couple of runty sophomores. Gradually the place clears out. Adam pays off Wayne and Devon and Lisa. Devon and Lisa drift away.

Wayne sticks around.

He's kind of fidgeting. Can't look Adam in the eye.

“Hey, man,” Adam says, thinking,
This is about the exam stuff again.
“How are you holding up?”

Wayne nods. “I'm okay,” he says. “I'm fine.” He looks around, fidgets some more, like he has to go to the bathroom or something. “I, uh . . .”

Adam looks at him. “What's up, Wayne?”

Wayne doesn't say anything. Wayne's creeping Adam out. Wayne's making Adam think maybe he's about to crack.

Like,

maybe Adam should go home and delete a bunch of homework files off his computer,

stat
.

But then Wayne straightens. “Are you, uh, going to the spring formal?”

Adam blinks. “Are you asking me out, dude?”

“No.”
Wayne blushes. “No, man. No.”

“It's cool if you are,” Adam tells him. “It's just, I have a girlfriend and stuff.”

“Jesus, man,” Wayne says. “That's not it at all.” He laughs. “It's like, you're tight with the popular girls, right?”

Adam shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”

“Exactly,” Wayne says. “Do you think you could, you know?”

“No, Wayne.” Adam checks his watch. “I
don't
know.”

Wayne's bright red. Out it comes. “Do you think you could get me a date for the formal?”

Adam nearly laughs in Wayne's face.

Holds it in.

Barely.

“You want me to get you a date?” he asks Wayne. “You think I'm the love doctor or something?”

Wayne shifts his weight. “No, I just—” he says. “Forget it. I never went to formal before. I just thought maybe you could help.”

“Why formal?” Adam says. “Why not prom?”

Wayne grins. “Well, I just figure if formal works out, maybe I can take care of prom myself.”

Hmm
, Adam thinks.

Interesting
, Adam thinks.

Hilarious?

Sad?

All of the above.

“I could pay you,” Wayne says. “If you want.”

Adam thinks about it. Thinks:
I always liked a challenge.
Thinks:
Let's see how much pull I have with these popular girls.

Thinks:
Let's see how close I am to god status.

Adam shakes his head. “Put your wallet away, Wayne,” he says. “I'll do it for free.”

Adam tries Janie Ng first. Figures, Janie likes him. Maybe she'll do him a favor.

He finds her in the hall the next day between classes. “Are you going to formal, Janie?”

Janie's eyes kind of light up. “If the right guy comes along,” she says. “You?”