M or F? (12 page)

Good: he wanted to kiss Frannie.

Bad: Frannie wasn't here.

Good: the way it excited me-as-Frannie when he said it.

Bad: the way it excited me-as-myself when he said it.

It was like borrowing thrills from someone else's life. Or stealing them. That's how it felt to the left side of my brain. The right side—the stronger side, the bully who told the left side to shut up or else—was having a shamelessly good time.

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

<>

Whatever doubts I had about doing this, there was no denying that it was going great for Frannie. Meanwhile, my own pulse was about twice normal. The whole roleplay thing was blurring around the edges, so I was relieved and sorry at the same time when Jeffrey changed the subject to something more ordinary.

<>

<>

<>

I Googled Heifer International as fast as I could. At the top of their web site, it said,
Ending Hunger, Caring for the Earth
. Very Jeffrey. I felt weird about saying yes for Frannie, but saying no seemed like a worse idea.

<>

<>

I couldn't help myself, and I wrote:

<>

<>

A little siren went off in my head, and the Common Sense Department made an announcement to all sides of my brain:
STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. YOUR WORK HERE IS THROUGH. GET OUT. NOW.
If I didn't wrap things up and soon, someone was going to lose her virtual virginity. Or his. Whichever.

<>

<>

I flopped down on the bed all smiles. There was plenty NOT to smile about, but I couldn't help it. First of all, “Frannie” had been honest, funny, and just a little edgy, which frankly couldn't hurt. I felt like I had done my job and done it well.

Second (and this is the more screwed-up part), I liked how excited he made me feel. I knew I deserved more than a crush on a straight boy, but right now that's what I had, crumbs for a starving man. And as long as I kept Frannie's interests first in line, then none of this had to be a problem.

Of course, there was still the matter of catching her up on what had happened. It was too late to call now, so I'd have to get her when she came to school after her dentist appointment in the morning. Between first and second period. At her locker. Most importantly: before Jeffrey got to her.

This would be a good place in the movie for everything to speed up into super-fast motion. The numbers on the clock in my room start changing rapid-fire. Maybe there's some kind of hard-driving music to add tension. The sun pops up; I get ready for school; I catch the bus; students race around the halls in a blur; I go to my first class. . . . Then it slows down to normal, just long enough to show how bored everyone is, contrasted with me looking anxiously at the clock . . . which then speeds up again. It spins around another forty-five minutes and then goes back to normal just as the bell rings for the end of class.

I jumped up and beat everyone else out into the hall. Jeffrey had second-period gym on the other side of the school, but still, there were no guarantees here. I took the stairs two at a time, headed for Frannie's locker.

“Hey, Marcus!” It was Ethan Schumacher, coming right at me.

“Hi, Ethan, I can't—”

“Just real quick,” he said. “You've got to come to the next GSA meeting. I'm officially begging. Guys are a complete endangered species at those things. I'm drowning in estrogen.”

I kept walking. “What about Nicole?” Nicole was aka Peter Mintley when she wasn't out, which was most of the time at school.

“Estrogen by intention,” Ethan said.

“Carlos?”

“GSA meets at the same time as yearbook. He's not coming.” Ethan lowered his voice to a confidential volume. “And Brendan Thomas isn't ready yet.”

Just then I saw Frannie come around the corner at the far end of the hall. I yelled and waved. She waved back and started opening her locker.

“Gotta go, Eth.”

He kept pace with me. “We meet Mondays after school, in room 108—”

“I know, I know,” I said, desperate to shake him off. I stopped walking. “Fine. I'll be there.”

“Great, because . . .” Oh God, he was still talking.

And then—and then—I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind and heard Jeffrey's familiar voice. “Hey, Marcus,” he said, and kept going, straight toward Frannie.

Close up on my throat as I swallow hard. Exaggerated sound effect:
Gulp
.

“Later, Ethan.”

“See you then!”

“Jeffrey, wait up!”

The most I could hope for now was to get to Frannie at the same time as him. After that, I had no idea what I'd do. I caught up just as he reached her. He had barely gotten out the
ing
in
good morning
when I blurted, “Frannie, we have to get to stats early to set up for that project.”

I could see Frannie knew right away that something was up since there was no project. She played along beautifully. At first.

“Oh, right,” she said. “So I guess we better go.”

Jeffrey looked confused. “Um, okay. Catch you at lunch?”

“Sure.” I answered for her.

“Sure,” she echoed.

“Oh, and thanks again for volunteering,” he said.

There it was. I could only imagine Frannie's thoughts.
Thanks for volunteering? For what? The Polish food festival? For having you over?

I stood at my locker with Jeffrey between us, where he had his back to me. I nodded subtly at Frannie and mouthed “no problem” while I pretended to work the lock.

“No problem,” she said. Her eyes flicked over to me again, and when Jeffrey turned to look, I scraped my nose on my locker door, trying to disappear.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I'm fine,” Frannie said. I could hear the fake smile in her voice.

“No one ever wants to do STF,” he said, “But it's actually a lot of fun.” The boy's got a voice that makes you want to slide right down inside his throat. No wonder he can get people to do things.

I glanced over at Frannie and pointed at my wrist. Time to go.

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.

Jeffrey pointed at her vintage Swatch. “Is your watch broken?”

“Oh yeah, it is.” Frannie folded her arms. “I just really like to wear it. Anyway . . .” Then she laughed for no apparent reason, which wasn't so good. Then she snorted, and I knew I had to step in.

“Frannie, are you ready? It's ten after.” I could barely look at Jeffrey. “Sorry to drag her away,” I told him. “But we really have to set up for that thing.”

He flashed his Jeffrey Osborne smile, the one that went so well with the voice. “No problem. I'll see you guys at lunch.”

As he walked away, I looked into my locker again, wondering if it was possible to get in and close the door behind me. Too late. Frannie grabbed my arm and started pulling me down the hall.

“What the hell just happened?” Her voice had that upbeat-but-tense quality, as in,
Darling, I think I'm going to have to kill you.

“It's ninety-nine percent good,” I said, trailing along beside her. “Depending on how you look at it.”

“Go on.”

I chose my words carefully. “Put it this way. You and Jeffrey had a
really
good chat online last night.”

She stopped dead in the hallway. Erica Blevins actually bumped into her, and Frannie barely got out a “sorry,” she was so intent on me. I motioned her off to the side.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Tell me everything he said and everything I said.”

I pulled the chat transcript out of my back pocket. “Actually, I printed it for you.”

She took the paper and read it at least twice on the way to class without saying a word. I felt like a puppy, waiting to see if she'd pat me on the head or roll the thing up and smack me with it. Just as we got to the door for stats, she stopped short again and smiled at me.

“We had such a good talk.”

I exhaled for the first time in about a minute. “See?”

The second bell rang. “Okay,” she said with her hand on the doorknob. “You're forgiven. But just this once.”

Forgiven? I wasn't exactly asking for forgiveness. This had turned out pretty well for her, after all, but I didn't push it.

She turned and whispered to me now since we were in the middle of a crowded classroom. “Just please don't be me without me around anymore. My nerves can't take it.”

“Don't worry,” I said. “Neither can mine. It won't happen again.”

I even thought I meant it.

“Frannie and Marcus, do you mind if I start class?” Mrs. Duke and most everyone else was looking at us. We slipped into our usual spots in the back, where Jenn was saving us seats. Once Mrs. Duke started lecturing, Frannie scribbled something and tilted her notebook for me to see.

I shrugged. All I knew was that it had something to do with a good cause. Jenn leaned in and read the note, then shrugged too, not that she had any idea what this was all about.

I scribbled back an answer.

“A skirt, definitely.” Jenn's voice sounded positive, so I cradled the phone between my shoulder and neck and started sorting through the pile of clothes on my bed. Skirt, skirt, skirt . . . Okay, I had a green-and-black plaid kilt, a couple of minis, a long maroon velvet thing, two crinolines that I liked to throw together sometimes, a sarong, and a fifties poodle skirt that I'd stolen from last year's production of
Grease
and never worn. Where to start?

“Who wears a skirt when they're volunteering at a carnival?” Belina demanded. “Frannie—go casual.”

My girls were on a three-way call, giving me some pre-Jeffrey fashion therapy. Not that it was helping much. Every time I pictured Jeffrey's smile or his warm blue eyes, I got a fluttery feeling in my stomach, and my brain stopped processing things—like whether my striped orange-and-green shirt and flowered skirt were a brilliant ensemble or seriously hideous together. I'd just stand in front of my mirror, thinking, Clash? Not clash? Clash? Not clash? Then an image of Jeffrey would flash through my mind, and I'd space out for a while. . . .

It wasn't helping that I had to dress for some mystery activity that Marcus had signed me up for. Of course, as Marcus would point out, a date is a date. Still, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to kiss him or kill him.

“Go with jeans,” Belina prompted.

“Jeans?” I wasn't sure. I mean, I hardly ever wear jeans, under any circumstances. It's not that I have anything against them—except that they tend to fit me weird and make me look like a dumpy housewife impersonating a high school student. All I had was one pair that I'd found in a Dumpster on the campus of Saint Xavier Boarding School at the end of the term last year. Marcus and I liked to pick the trash there at the end of the semester because the kids were rich, and they always tossed out tons of great stuff before heading back home. I started digging around in the bottom of my closet, searching for the jeans, as the argument continued in my ear.

“But Frannie has great legs!” Jenn insisted.

“She's got good boobs, too,” Belina pointed out. “She can wear something low-cut.”

“She should wear her hair up, then,” Jenn said. “To accentuate her neck.”

“No, down,” Belina snapped. “Otherwise there's too much emphasis on her nose.”

“Um,
hello
? I think you just turned a corner into not helping.” I blew out a sigh. “And I can't find the jeans.” I was starting to get irritated. How could someone who buys her clothes by the pound have nothing to wear?