Miss Taken (17 page)

“Diana,” I said, shaking my head. “You
totally missed the point. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with
me.” I admit the tone of my voice was pretty bitter and if it had
been me, I wouldn’t have trusted myself.

Just to end the third act of this tragedy on
the worst possible note, I snatched my lunch bag out from under her
hand, which tipped her off balance. Her sweater landed in the
ketchup on her tray. A big blotch on her left boob. She looked
about as pathetic as she could.

I sighed. “Diana...can I do anything?”

“No!” she sobbed at me. “Just leave me
alone!” With that, she ran out of the cafeteria, but not before a
significant proportion of diners got a good snigger at the red stop
light of ketchup on her neon green sweater.

I truly regret never having had that fashion
consultation with her.

As if tidying up the space could somehow fix
our relationship, I gathered up her abandoned lunch tray and
cleared the table of crumbs with attention I have never before
given to any school property. Then I calmly walked out of the
cafeteria and headed straight for the nearest bathroom.

Before touching the door, however, I wisely
listened. Muffled sobbing was coming from within. This was not the
restroom for me. In her current state, Diana might well try to
drown me in a toilet.

I walked rapidly away from that door. It
would be awful to be caught by Diana right outside the girls’ room
and have her see I was too chicken to come in after she had come to
my rescue in a bathroom more than once. But just a few seconds
later, an excellent idea came to mind. I made a beeline for South
Wing.

Sure enough, Hannah was there in the second
story girls’ room, presiding over a sacred ceremony being conducted
at the altar of Hair and Makeup. Things had definitely cooled
between the trio of Hannah, Bree and Meliss after Hannah and I had
had our little chat in Miss Kindley’s room about a certain incident
at the winter formal. But I guess important bonds like getting the
latest beauty tips trump any differences of opinion on less
important matters, like basic human rights.

I pretended it was a big coincidence that I
happened to be there in spite of my French class being back in
North Wing and starting in a mere six minutes.

I chirped out a cheery “Hi!” and was greeted
with stony silence. High Priestess Hannah bestowed a slight nod
unto me.

Sauntering casually over to the sinks, I
checked myself out. I thought I had done a decent job of appearing
unconcerned, but the mirror told another story. My cheeks were
flushed with embarrassment and speed walking and, now that the only
sound coming from the room was the brush of a mascara wand against
eyelashes, I could practically hear my heart pounding.

As I made ineffectual primping motions at my
head, I tried to signal to Hannah that I needed to speak with her
alone. I wasn’t sure if she caught my drift. Since I was standing
directly in front of a mirror, even I could tell my gesture was
ambiguous. It just kind of looked like I was having trouble with my
contact lens.

There were only four minutes left in the
period. I just about gave up hope and then, without a word being
uttered, Bree and Meliss filed out with only a slightly prolonged
eyelash flutter from the one and an extra-loud gum snap from the
other.

“Thanks,” I said, glad to give up the
pretense that I knew how to fix my hair with just a touch of the
fingers.

“What’s up?” Hannah said with a flip of her
perfect golden tresses.

Now that I had my audience, I didn’t know
where to begin. “Um, something’s happened.”

Hannah nodded. “So...” She made a slight show
of checking her watch.

Only three minutes to go before the bell. I
started babbling. I told her how the artificial extract defense had
worked. I told her what Ned said. I asked her if she had any advice
about Kyle who had been a little too generous with the Valentine’s
Day gifts.

I would like to state for the record that,
although it was extremely tempting, Diana’s name did not cross my
lips.

Hannah received the praise for her ingenious
idea with the extract with a slight fluff of the hair. With a more
irritated shake of the tresses, she repeated that Ned was a fool,
unworthy of my time, which didn’t cheer me any more than the first
time she had said it.

As to Kyle, she was more interested and asked
for particulars.

“He did, huh. Who?”

I said I preferred not to reveal my sources.
It earned me an eye roll.

Sounding bored, Hannah said, “Okay, well,
what do you want me to do about it then?”

Even though neither one of her parents is a
lawyer, she can come up with some good questions.

“Well, I guess I was wondering how I could
find out if he’s just jerking me around, or if...he really likes
me.” I said the last part very softly.

Hannah nodded meditatively. “So, you’re
thinking about dating Kyle now that Ned’s out of the picture?”

I wouldn’t have stated it quite so crudely,
but I suppose that was what I was asking. Diana’s revelation had
aroused jealousy in me.

“Well, my advice is just to go for him.” She
shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re most of the way there. He
already kissed you.”

I reminded her that he had been acting more
distant, perhaps due to the fact that I had screamed at him to
leave me alone.

She nodded as if that were the key to it all.
“There you go. He proves my theory.”

“What theory?”

“That guys like it when you keep them
guessing. Once they know they’re safe, they lose interest.”

“Well then how do you explain what Ned is
doing?”

“He’s the exception that proves the
rule.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Okay, then he’s the idiot who has proved his
idiocy once again.”

If Hannah had not just given me very valuable
advice that had saved me from suspension, I would have been forced
to make an unfavorable comparison to her face of my opinion of her
and Ned’s relative net worth.

Hannah continued mercilessly, “Tell me I’m
wrong: Here he was, had a great thing with you and he dumps you
over one stupid little misunderstanding. He should have punched
Kyle out, not run away like a baby.”

“But I thought you said that being secure is
boring.”

“Girls like security, guys don’t. It doesn’t
work the other way.”

Confusion was bringing on twinges of a
headache.

Hannah explained, although without excessive
patience. “It’s your job to keep him guessing. It’s his job to make
you feel like you’re the only girl in the whole entire world.”

I was actually glad to hear the bell ring a
moment later.

“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “There are tons
of other fish in the sea.”

I nodded, ostensibly to concede the point,
but privately told myself that I didn’t care for just any old fish,
but one particular brown-eyed mackerel. And maybe one multi-colored
tropical fish.

Hannah threw another metaphor about men being
like buses over her shoulder as she sauntered out the door.

Although Miss Kindley’s office isn’t on my
normal route to French class, I found myself in her hallway. I was
so close, it would be rude not to pop my head in to say hi. Except
her door was shut. Through the little glass window I could see she
was in consultation with someone. Sofagirl again.

What is her problem? It is clear she is in
desperate need of a fashion consult. If she would stop using up all
Miss Kindley’s time, I would be willing to offer my services,
gratis. And if it’s hairstyling advice she needs, I can direct her.
But she should stop selfishly using up Miss Kindley’s valuable time
when I have the pressing need to discuss some very important boy
dilemmas.

Strange but true scientific fact: Eating
chocolate releases the same hormones as falling in love.

As long as you are willing to wear stretchy
pants, chocolate is a much more reliable method to achieve eternal
happiness.

Needless to say, in the days that followed,
Diana treated me like I was the second coming of Judas.

The only up side to Ned never going to the
lunch room anymore was that he hadn’t been there to witness that
awful scene with Diana. He was definitely avoiding me. I looked for
the faintest hint of thawing. A sigh as he tried to understand the
difference between sines and cosines would have been enough for
me.

All I saw, however, was cold distain. It had
moved in permanently on his face. It was as if there was a giant
wall of ice between us.

I am not proud to admit this, but I would
pretend my shoe needed retying and intentionally drop pencils just
to have an excuse to get a glance at him.

I had to stop doing that though because after
the third time I looked up, there was Sofagirl looking back at me
with something like pity in her eyes.

Although we still chatted companionably
during class, Kyle had suddenly become very popular at lunchtime. I
took advantage of my time alone by logging several quality lunches
at the library.

After three more days of the deep freeze from
Ned, I came up with a new plan. I would track him down after
school, even if it meant getting blisters from walking home.
Throwing a few random books into my bag, I raced out the side door.
The car that picked Ned up was already there. I called out, “Wait
-” but the rest of my words died on my lips.

There was someone getting into the car with
Ned.

Never in a million years would I have
believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.

Sofagirl.

Even in dress boots, I had enough adrenaline
coursing through my veins to catch my bus.

As soon as I got home, I slammed my book bag
down on the kitchen table and looked around for a place to vent my
fury.

The refrigerator, standing quietly and
unmolested by my forever-eating brother, caught my eye.

All the forbidden ingredients came out of
their hiding place in the freezer. The butter. And the chocolate.
And the cheese. And the real bacon.

Okay, so just because each of these items is
delectable on its own does not guarantee a delicious outcome in
combination.

But bacon and chocolate go together better
than one might think, especially when you throw in some extra
butter (make sure its salted).

I baked more, this time using real recipes.
It wasn’t good for my hips, but it was good for my soul. Ned can
have his skinny little pipe cleaner girl. I might end up big as a
whale, but at least it will be in service of setting one thing
right in this crazy world.

For my second round of cooking, I was reduced
to using some healthy ingredients. It was okay, though. This batch
wasn’t for me.

The next morning, I wrapped up my delightful
confection of banana nut muffins with cream cheese frosting and
toted them off to school. After depositing them in my locker, I
whistled down the hall to math class. To keep my neck from getting
stiff from staying in one position, I turned it a few times in the
direction that happened to contain a view of Ned and Sofagirl, but
I never saw any signs of friendship - never mind more - between
them. Ned merely looked confused.

Slightly reassured, I still felt the need for
a little sugar pick-me-up at lunch. I brought the whole box with me
to the lunchroom since I had French right after. Sitting alone yet
again, I unwrapped a perfectly iced muffin to enjoy all by myself.
I hadn’t intentionally positioned myself to be in Kyle’s direct
line of vision.

I swear.

But it worked out that way. I could
practically see his salivary glands working.

I refused to give a single thought to how
much Ned would have enjoyed them.

As I took the first bite, I made a point of
not noticing any envious glances coming from any wolfish eyes
located on any freckle-faced people that might be nearby. After he
caught my eye for the third or fourth time, however, I started to
feel a little self-conscious. I hoped I didn’t have an icing
mustache.

Since I could no longer pretend I hadn’t seen
him, I decided to throw him a bone. There was one puny muffin I
didn’t need to include in my gift package to M. Waddell. I got up
and set it in front of Kyle with a saucy little smile and then went
back to my seat. Diana appeared and used her ample hips to muscle a
spot next to him. Kyle’s muffin was pretty much history by that
time, but I think she saw part of what happened. As I took another
bite of my delicious dessert, my eyes happened to meet Diana’s.

A shame I didn’t have any other rejects.

She really didn’t need the extra starch
anyway.

My scheme was going swimmingly. It was a good
thing M. Waddell had a blotter on his desk because when I unwrapped
the muffins in French class, he practically started drooling on the
desktop.

“Mrs. Rochel sure comes up with some unique
recipes.”

I had worked a long time on how to phrase
that sentence. I didn’t want to flat-out lie. Careful observers
will note that I did not say anything connecting Mrs. Rochel with
the batch of muffins. And ‘unique’ was the perfect adjective
because, although it implies that a thing is good, the true
definition is merely that the thing is one-of-a-kind.

As anyone who has ever taken her class knows,
Mrs. Rochel’s recipes are unique. Not even my own mother, who is a
pretty unique chef herself, has ever whipped up raw eggs and orange
juice as a health beverage.

I informed M. Waddell that Mrs. Rochel didn’t
like any direct acknowledgement. When he asked why I wasn’t taking
the muffins home, I told him I was trying to watch my
waistline.

The last bit wasn’t a lie either. After my
cookfest, I was watching my stomach expand uncomfortably. It was
currently engaged in a serious disagreement with the waistband of
my pants as to who had the right to be where. My gut was asking for
more room but my pants weren’t willing to budge.