The Boy Project (11 page)

Before today, I guess my lowest point was finding out that Evan liked Tabbi. But at least I got to be miserable about their relationship in the confines of my own (very cool) room. Now I am forced to be miserable in the worst possible of all public places: a restroom.

One that isn't exactly public unless you have something I don't have: a Y chromosome.

I cannot believe my research has caused me to sink to such levels! I mean, if I hadn't been using the last few minutes of third period before the lunch bell to continue my unobtrusive observations, I would have been able to go to my grave saying I had never seen a urinal. Not now.

Unfortunately, in third period, I was so busy concentrating on my research that I didn't notice Maybelline get up from her desk. After all, she's been sashaying back and forth to the pencil sharpener, smacking gum and trying to get certain people (Alex) to notice her again, even though she's supposedly been in love with someone else (Evan) for days. So it took me a second to realize what was happening when I heard a
smack
right above my desk, and my research notebook was suddenly in Maybelline's red-nailed clutches! Why'd I have to write
S
ul Observations
on the cover? I guess it's better than what I was going to write (
S
ul Mate Observations
). Fortunately, I realized that only one of the guys could possibly be my soul mate, but they are all souls.

“What's this,
Scar-a
?” she asked. (I can't believe she has a nickname for me. The nerve!) I was too panicked to give a good smart-aleck response. Can you imagine how miserable my life would be if it got out that I'd been taking notes on the boys at my school? Even worse, I think it's safe to say that if loyal, wonderful Tabbi saw what I wrote about Evan — our friendship would be over. I never want that to happen.

Luckily for me, however, my mom has what she calls a “no talon” policy. She pretty much insists that our fingernails “don't get too long to be practical.” So when it came down to the tug-of-war over
S
ul Observations
, I had the advantage. My opponent let go when she broke a nail.

At that point, I heard the first ping of the lunch bell. I knew this meant Maybelline was about to have a whole forty-five minutes to torment me. I clutched the book to my chest (what there is of it) and ran out the door, leaving my purse and backpack behind, which is fine. I'll pick them up when I go back to Mrs. Hill to give her an excuse about why I bolted. Hopefully, if I tell her I had diarrhea or something, she won't want many details. Most people don't when it comes to diarrhea.

I hurried down the hall looking for some place Maybelline wouldn't find me. None of the classrooms were really safe since they all have those big windows in the doors. Then I saw the perfect door. A door without a window. A door that opened into the one place someone as prissy as Maybelline wouldn't go: the boys' room!

Which is where I am right now.

Is it too much to hope that the guys at Spring Valley Middle all have abnormally large bladders due to some freakish thing in our community, like particularly loud police sirens or something? Maybe they can hold it for a whole lunch period. I will die if anyone sees me in here!!!!!

I don't expect to enjoy spending most of an hour sitting on a toilet. (With my pants
on
—I'm using it like a chair.) Actually, the stall is kind of like a mini office — except the memos on the walls here are less . . . well . . . professional. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure that whoever invented the office cubicle was sitting on the toilet when the inspiration hit. So since I'm stuck in here anyway, I may as well continue my research. If someone does happen to come in, who knows what I'll overhear.

Oof! Someone's coming!

If you ever want to be disillusioned by someone you once thought was cool and maybe even good-looking in an offbeat way, just spend some time alone with him in a bathroom. Because that's how I realized that Malcolm Maxwell is definitely not — and never will be — my soul mate.

Here's what happened: Malcolm came into the stall next to me and sat down. (I knew he was sitting because his feet were pointing toward the door and I knew it was Malcolm because I recognized the graffiti on his high-tops.)

Of course, realizing that people could be recognized by their shoes alone made me panic for a sec. Then I remembered that, in an effort to wear them out faster, I'd worn my gender-neutral white and gray running shoes. (Thank goodness the store was out of the ones with the shimmery purple swoosh.)

But just when I thought my identity was safe, Malcolm said, “Dude, there's no roll in here. Pass the paper.”

I panicked. The blood drumming in my ears was as loud as Malcolm rapping on his snare during band. I imagined him seeing the Frosted Pink Posy
polish on my practical, stubby nails as I handed over the paper he needed. Would he then demand to know which girl was on the other side of the stall wall? What would everyone do when they found out I was hiding in the boys' room?

Thankfully, the next thing he said was, “Never mind, dude. I found a gum wrapper.” Then he chuckled.

You can see why I have issues with Malcolm now. I could tell that he needed a lot more coverage than what could be had from a tiny wrapper. And I did NOT hear the sink running after he left the stall. Eww.

I can't imagine that my one and only true soul mate will be someone who sends a gum wrapper in to do what is clearly a two-ply job. Talk about lack of perspective! So Malcolm is off of the list.

And even though the data I collected is somewhat disturbing, I have to say that the boys' room
is
a great place to conduct research, because Malcolm said seventeen words to me when he thought I was a guy in the next stall and before that, he'd only said one. So now I have seventeen times as much information as I normally would, just because he didn't know he was talking to a girl.

Okay. The bell is going to ring in a few minutes. Now that I'm alone, I'd better go peek around the door. If no one is in the hall — I'm outta here!

School today would have been a real nightmare if it hadn't been for Evan. I hadn't even been at school for five minutes before Maybelline started with me. I swear she was waiting for me in the courtyard like a predator stalking its home territory. Evan was right at her side.

I knew she hadn't had time to read any of my data yesterday, but unfortunately she'd gotten a good look at the title of my research journal.

“So, Kara, did you bring that book you're writing with you today?” (I had the sense to leave it home.) I shook my head. “I'd like to read it,” she continued, looking smug.

I told her it was private.

She stepped closer to me, pulling Evan behind her by his shirt. “I saw that you're calling it
Soul Observations
.” She rolled her eyes, smacked her chewing gum, and raised her voice so that everyone standing there could hear her. “Who do you think you are, Kara? God?”

I shook my head but couldn't say anything.

I hate myself for it, but I get really intimidated by girls like Maybelline. She's pretty and popular. And even though I like who I am just fine, I feel that other people like her better, and that makes me not want to get into arguments with her in front of the whole student body. So I just stood there frozen, my heart beating rabbit fast.

“Kara thinks she's God! Kara thinks she's better than us. Read it in her book!”

I could feel everyone's eyes on me and I knew that they'd all heard her because it was that awkward kind of I-don't-wanna-miss-a-word-of-this-smackdown silence. Then I heard a very beautiful sound and it came from Evan, of all people.

“Cut it out, Colleen,” he said quietly.

“Since when do you tell me what to do, loser?” asked Maybelline.

Evan looked down. “You don't have to be cruel.”

Suddenly Maybelline turned all of her meanness onto poor Evan. It was safe for me to walk away at that point. So I did. But I could hear Maybelline squawking at him like a mad chicken, though I couldn't make out the words enough to tell if she was breaking up with him or not. I'm guessing Evan is safe until she finds a replacement. Maybelline isn't going to be caught dead without a boyfriend.

I hope Maybelline breaks up with Evan! Is that wrong? And is it wrong to hope that I'll find out he really did have a good reason for breaking up with Tabs? And to hope that she'll decide that she's so happy with her new boyfriend that she doesn't mind letting me have her old one? I mean, it's hard to keep thinking of Evan as a jerk when he was willing to stand up for me. Would a jerk do that? I think not!

Note: It's hard to follow through with making “unobtrusive observations” when you yourself are being not-so-unobtrusively observed. Maybelline is just dying to get her hands on my research journal. I can literally feel her breath on my neck every time I reach into my backpack. So I figured I might as well put my soul mate research aside for a while and concentrate on the science fair project, which is due in only six days.

The problem is this: My surveys are worthless and I haven't thought of a new project yet. So I'm heading to the “family computer located in a high-traffic area” to poke around on the Internet and try to find a cool experiment that I can do in, like, a day.

The Good News: I found a great project — the perfect combination of
looking
complicated but actually only involving a few easy steps! All I need is a few packs of Alka-Seltzer tablets. Perfect!

The Bad News: When I asked Mom, who wasn't doing
anything
but reading her book-club book, if she would take me to the store to get supplies, she looked up and asked, “When's the project due?” I told her. She looked back down at her book. “And when was the project assigned?”

She didn't even look up again when I answered that question. “You're just going to have to use what you can find around the house. I'm not making a special trip to the store for someone who doesn't plan.”

I tried to appeal to Mom's sympathy by reminding her of the whole Evil-DeLacey-Survey-Stealer saga, but when she asked, “So when did you get the surveys back and realize you couldn't use them?” I knew I was sunk. It was thirteen days ago. At that point Mom's only comment was to silently turn the page.

Unfortunately for me, my parents don't really have any cool science-experiment type stuff around the house. Here's what we do have: books, craft supplies, and a recycling bin full of Diet Coke cans. But I went rummaging through the pantry anyway, pulling out anything I thought I could possibly transform into a science experiment. In the end, it amounted to a box of baking soda (too lame to build a volcano though), some packets of Kool-Aid, and a bag of curly pasta. Einstein couldn't come up with an experiment that uses those things.

It was hopeless. I flopped down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. I flipped over and stared at the rug. I think staring at floors and ceilings is a sign of clinical depression or something. If it isn't, it should be. Because realizing that you are kissing your science grade good-bye (along with any hope of unlimited texting) is pretty darn depressing.

I tried to think about science experiments I'd done in the past. Ones that worked. And suddenly I remembered something we always had a ton of in the backyard: earthworms! I'd used them for my fourth-grade science fair project to show how plants that are potted with earthworms grow better than those potted without.

I went out and dug around in the backyard. Thirty minutes later I had a box of baking soda, some packets of Kool-Aid, a bag of curly pasta, and twenty-one wriggling worms! I went to get a notebook from Mom's stockpile of bargain back-to-school supplies so I could start jotting down thoughts. Ironically, she had another notebook exactly like the one I'm using for
S
ul Observations
. And this gave me a great idea!