Stealing Popular (13 page)

“This? A pencil.”

“And what do you need to vote?”

“Uh . . . a pen?”

“Correct.”

Venice popped out of her seat so fast, her tiara nearly fell off. “But Mr. Tanori, Dijon's not here.”

“Then she doesn't get to vote.”

That's when Venice said something I'd never heard a Somebody utter before. In all likelihood, it may have
never
been uttered by a Somebody in the entire history of Big Mess. Pounding her fist against the side of her
desk, Venice Wasserman, senior member of the Royal Court and first runner-up to the Her Fabulousness title, shouted, “That's not fair!”

And all the peasants throughout the kingdom of Big Mess shouted, “Hooray!”

Well, not really, but we were sure thinking it.

Maybe it was Dijon's absence. Maybe it was Renata's transformation. Maybe it was my design. Or maybe it was a little bit of each of these things that, when rolled up tightly together, created one big cinnamon roll of a miracle. I don't know how to explain it. I only know it happened right in front of me. After we voted, Mr. Tanori counted the ballots and wrote the three top groups on the whiteboard:

Renata Zickelfoos's group: 17 votes

Dijon Randle's group: 7 votes

Cord Nagel's group: 3 votes

As soon as we knew the results, and it was safe to take out my phone, I texted my dad:
WE WON!!!!

It was a historical moment. The Nobodies had done the impossible. We had beat the Somebodies! Plus, my faces were going up on the wall in the Big Mess cafeteria. All we had to do was make our presentation in
front of the PTA on Monday night to get approval, and it would be official!

I ran as fast as I could to second period, catching up with Fawn as she was opening the door to the girls' locker room. “Renata . . . good job . . . my design . . . class vote . . . and we . . . and we . . .”

Fawn spit out the translation. “Renata did a good job on her presentation and you showed everybody your design and the class took a vote and you . . . and you . . . what?”

My lungs begging for air, I held up my index finger.

“One?”

I nodded vigorously.

She tipped her head. “One what?”

“She means they
won
,” said Cadence Steele from behind her.

“You won?”

Another quick nod.

“Oh my God, you won!” Fawn threw her arms around me.

Our celebration was a short one. We had to dress for PE. You didn't want to waste a second getting ready in Coach Notting's class. Sometimes she'd blow her whistle early, and you'd be half-dressed, hobbling
like mad, one shoe on and one shoe off, to get into line before she could make a check mark on her clipboard.

“Did you guys see Renata Zickelfoos?” asked Cadence. She was getting dressed on the other side of me.

“What's wrong with her?” called Madysen Prestwick from the far end of the row. Madysen was the best softball player in school, and one of the few Sortabodies willing to talk to a Nobody now and then (particularly when Dijon wasn't around, like today).

“Not one thing,” said Cadence. “That's just it. She looks like a completely different girl.”

“I heard she got a makeover at the mall,” said Nari Okada, Madysen's best friend and the second best softball player at Big Mess.

“I heard she got her hair done at that new salon on Bridgeport,” said Cadence.

“You mean Monique's Chic Boutique,” said Madysen. “I've been dying to go there.”

“It's
très
expensive,” said Nari. “Dijon says they are the best.”

I stole a glance at Fawn. She could hardly contain her grin. I was having the same trouble. What would they say if they knew Renata's clothes were from Fawn's closet and her hair was courtesy of Coco's Chic Boutique?

Cadence leaned back on the bench we shared. “Fawn, she's wearing a top that looks like one you have.”

Fawn did a good job of pretending to be surprised. “Really?”

“Except it's a lighter green, and the sleeves are different. It's really cute.”

“I heard she got nominated for fall court,” said Fawn.

“I'd vote for her,” said Nari. She lowered her voice to say, “I get so tired of the same people winning over and over again.”

Several girls, including me, nodded.

“Does anyone know what lunch Renata has?” asked Madysen.

“Second,” I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head. Our colors at Big Mess were silver and green with black accents, so did they let us wear a nice shade of gray or black for our PE uniforms? Of course not. We had to wear emerald green T-shirts and matching shorts. We looked like a bunch of tree frogs.

“Madysen, Cadence, and I have second lunch too,” said Nari. “We'll look for her.”

Were they serious? Sortabodies Madysen, Cadence, and Nari would
look
for Renata in second lunch. This
was incredible! Even though I knew it might make me late for class, I had to text Renata:
BIG NEWS! CADENCE, MADYSEN, AND NARI WANT TO EAT WITH U!

“Don't forget I'll be late for lunch today,” Madysen said to her best friend. “Save me a spot, okay?”

“Right, you've got that emergency thing.”

“What emergency thing?” asked Cadence.

“The band we hired for the fall dance canceled,” said Madysen. “I guess they broke up or got arrested or something. I don't know. Now we've got two weeks to find another band or Dr. Adams is going to cancel the dance. All the other schools have booked the good bands already. I don't know what we're going to do.”

Fawn and I straightened up so fast, we banged heads. “Avalanche!” we shouted.

Shrinking, Madysen covered her head. “Where?”

“Not where. What.” I tugged on the outside pocket of my backpack.
Please let Liezel's CD be there. Yes!
“It's Liezel Sheppard's band. They're fantastic. Listen for yourself,” I said, handing the jewel case to Fawn to pass to Madysen. “I heard they sent in a CD to be considered for the dance, but didn't get chosen.”

Turning the CD over in her hand, Madysen twisted her lips. “Really? Dijon said her brother's band was the
only one available in our price range, so we went with them without hearing them play first. Big mistake. I heard their CD last week. They're called Make It Strike. They should have been called Make It Stop.”

Everybody laughed.

Thweeeeeeeet.

It was Coach Notting's whistle.

“She's two minutes early,” squeaked Cadence.

Cramming my foot into my tennis shoe, I raced for the door. With Dijon gone, I was between Fawn and Cadence in the line. I had barely finished tying my shoes when the tardy whistle blew.

Thweeeeeeet.

“I see we're a bunch of slugs today!” roared Coach Notting, stopwatch in hand. The black velour tracksuit, with two thick, yellow stripes down the sides of her arms and legs, made her look like a wasp. Soon after Coach Notting started her inspection, she gave Nobodies Jolie Cartwright and Mave Javilowsky check marks. I didn't see why. They looked fine to me. The closer she came to me, the colder my hands and feet got. I'd heard the air temperature near Coach Notting was seven degrees colder than anywhere else in school. Fawn said one of the science classes did a weather
experiment on her last year. She makes her own fog. True story.

Coach Notting gazed at Fawn's magenta-striped hair and clicked her tongue. Fawn put up a self-conscious hand to try to cover the stripe.

When it was my turn, I made sure to not look directly into Coach Notting's eyes. Instead, I stared at my shoes, which, I was proud to say, were both tied with neat bows. From head to toe, I was the epitome of tree-frog perfection.

Keep moving, Coach Notting. Nothing to see here. Just one more step. Take one more step . . .

“Sherwood!”

I jumped.

“What's wrong with your shirt?”

I pulled on the hem of my T-shirt, madly searching for a spot of dirt or a stain. I didn't see a thing, not even a speck of lint. “I don't—”

“It's faded.”

“But—”

“Look at Ralston's and Steele's shirts. They're not faded. Yours is faded. What's the problem?”

I looked at Fawn's shirt. It
was
a deeper green than mine. So was Cadence's.

“Uh . . . I don't know . . . My dad usually washes it and it comes out fine. He must have made a mistake—”

“Mistakes, Sherwood, are like dandelions. You can't get rid of them unless you're willing to dig out the roots.”

“Um . . . sorry?” I winced.

Now I was going to get the “apologies are like traffic lights” simile. Or were apologies like belly buttons? I couldn't remember.

Coach Notting tapped her pen against her clipboard. But she didn't toss out a simile or make a check mark. “From now on, tell him to wash it in
cold
water.”

“Okay.”

Coach Notting started to move past me. Maybe she was in a good mood. Maybe she was going to let me off this time. Maybe I was about to catch a break.

“And get a new shirt by Monday,” barked the coach. “We are Briar Green, not Briar Mint.”

Swish!
The pen made a stroke on her aluminum clipboard.

Stocklifter did a poor job of muffling a snort. It echoed through the locker room. I didn't care. My artwork was going up on the big wall in the cafeteria, and nothing, not taunts from the Royal Court or Coach Notting's Clipboard of Doom, was going to spoil it.

On the way to third period I checked my messages.

I had a text from Renata:
THEY WANT 2 EAT WITH ME? U SURE?

I wondered if Renata had ever eaten lunch with someone who wasn't an adult.

I texted back:
YEP.

She answered right away:
WHAT DO I DO?

My fingers flew.

BE U.

HAVE FUN.

LOOK UP.

On Saturday morning Aunt Iona took me to Talbert's Athletic Supply to buy a new green T-shirt for PE class. I told her I needed some new socks, too, so we swung by the mall. I showed her a pair of adorable pink socks with little ice-cream cones, cupcakes, and slices of cheesecake. “Aren't these great? Fawn has this exact pair.”

“I don't know, Coco.” My aunt made a face. “They won't go with anything.”

“They're not supposed to go with anything. That's the point. They're supposed to be fun.”

“This is what you need.” She held up a bag crammed full of boring, white crew socks. “Plus, they're much more durable than those thin socks. They'll never wear out.”

Just what I needed: eternal socks.

She tossed two bags at me. “You'll thank me later.”

I doubted that.

I may not have gotten the socks I wanted, but my aunt did buy me a silver, star-shaped compact with four shades of blush. By the time we got to Costco for our usual Saturday afternoon store d'oeuvres, my depression had lifted. Sort of. It was just the two of us today. Fawn had a family wedding to go to, and Adair didn't tell me why she couldn't make it—probably something cheer related.

Sigh.

My aunt and I had munched our way through bacon quiche, pepperoni pockets, pineapple upside-down cake, and mini hash browns. We were working our way toward the bakery when I saw her.

It had to be a mirage.

Dijon Randle in a Costco?

I blinked several times. It was her, all right. She was with her mother. Mrs. Randle was tall and thin, with dark hair and eyes, like her daughter. A leopard-print blouse floated over a black camisole and black jeans. She was wearing some serious jewelry: a stack of turquoise bracelets on her right wrist and silver hoop earrings big enough for my hamster to jump through. Steering an empty cart, Dijon was following her mother. They were headed straight for us!

Grabbing my aunt's elbow, I tried to make a 180-degree turn. Any other time it would have been easy to slip into the crowd without being seen, but today I was battling an unbeatable force: four-cheese macaroni.

“Yum!” gushed my aunt, inhaling deeply. The smell of bubbling cheese gave her superhuman strength, and she surged forward, dragging me with her. My hip hit the corner of Dijon's cart.

“Ow!”

“Oh, sorry—” Dijon turned. “Coco?”

My first impulse was to run. I would have done it too, had there not been a wall of toilet paper blocking my path.

Dijon steered her cart out of the busy aisle. “You okay?”

Excuse me? Was Her Fabulousness inquiring about
my
well-being? Clearly, there was a rift in time inside the Oak Harbor Costco, because a parallel universe was the only explanation for why a Somebody would show even a smidgen of concern for a Nobody.