The Boy Project (16 page)

When I was entering the building this morning, I passed Alex Brantley. He said, “'Morning, Kara,” which is actually remarkable because he usually only gives me a halfway smile. But this time he smiled big AND he looked at me in a different way. I know I wasn't imagining it. Sure, maybe it's still a
little bit
the way he would look at a dictionary. But I think he sees a piece of gum sitting on top of it now.

This really cute eighth grader who I don't even know stopped me in the cafeteria and said, “Aren't you Kara McAllister?”

When I nodded he said, “Cool.” What gives?

James bent over backward to talk to me in band, which seemed weird because we hardly ever talk even though he's going out with my best friend. Tabbi later told me that James told
her
that the guys thought it was cool that I had the guts to use their restroom.

So I remain silently horrified, even though I'm also secretly excited that the guys think I did something “cool.” Maybe nothing bad will come of this. Maybe Julie is right. Maybe it will all blow over. Maybe it has already blown over.

It has not blown over. I hadn't counted on the creative way that Maybelline and her pack would find to torture me.

So I was totally surprised when I headed to my seat in algebra and there was a big Depend undergarment resting in it like a fluffy white cushion! The giant diaper had a huge gift tag hanging on it that could be read from, like, a mile away. It said:
To Kara. Next time you really, really have to go, you won't have to do it in the boys' room.

I probably stood there for a good forty seconds while panic set in and I tried to calculate how many people read the tag before I did. Then I kicked into übergear and started stuffing the white elephant into my backpack. If I'd been in a TV sitcom instead of a classroom, there'd have been the kind of laughter in the background that sounds like it's coming from the far end of a long tunnel. I know this because that's what it sounded like to me. In reality, though, the snickers and guffaws were blasting from the surrounding desks.

Then Mr. DeLacey walked up and asked, “What are you doing, Kara?” I told him I was just putting something away. He wasn't satisfied with this answer. He held out his hand in a way that means
hand it over
in teacher sign language.

I don't know what Mr. DeLacey thought I was going to put in his hand, but it sure wasn't a giant diaper. I swear he almost dropped it. Then he read the tag, went to his desk, and got out a referral slip. The class was now hushed with somebody's-gonna-get-it silence. Mr. DeLacey's face was very serious, and while I watched him, I found it hard to believe that I'd ever found him handsome.

I heard Maybelline catch her breath and I bet for a moment she thought
she
was going to get in trouble. But life is never that fair. Instead, Mr. DeLacey waved the referral slip in the air and said, “Kara.” So I grabbed my backpack and the slip and left the room, knowing this was his way of getting me back for the “Is it legal for you to . . .” question that I wish my dad had never taught me to use.

I waited until I was here, outside of Principal O'Neal's office, to look at it. I'm glad I did because I'm working very hard not to cry as I stare at the words:
Office Referral. First offense. Girl found in boys' restroom.

So now the slowest minutes of my life are crawling by while I wait for Mr. O'Neal to finish his conference call. Oddly, there are some painfully slow things that you still don't want to rush. I hope Mr. O'Neal talks a long, long time. Like, until the dismissal bell rings . . .

Nothing says surrender like walking into the principal's office carrying a white flag in the shape of a giant diaper. I was surrendering my pride. Surrendering my dignity. Even worse, I was surrendering to Maybelline because this time she got what she wanted. She won.

Mr. O'Neal, who's usually pretty nice, looked at the diaper and took the referral slip. Then he asked, “Is this true, Kara?”

I hung my head and admitted that it was. I gave him my really-really-had-to-go story. By the time I finished telling it, I was crying. He handed me the phone and told me to get one of my parents to pick me up. I thought this meant I was suspended, which is why I started crying even harder when I heard Dad's voice.

Without asking any questions or waiting to see what I needed, my dad said, “I'll be right there.” And he was. Just a few minutes later. And I realized that the reason Dad didn't ask any questions is because the answer didn't matter. Dad was going to be there no matter what. Just like he has always been.

My parents were super-understanding when I told them about the whole boys'-room fiasco. I pretty much cried my way through the story, especially at the end when I predicted that I'd have 0 friends left if I ever did get the nerve to go back to school.

Mom and Dad assured me that my prediction would be false. Then they both hugged me at the same time, which is something we used to call the “family group hug,” but need to rename because Julie flatly refuses to participate anymore. (To tell you the truth, I thought I'd outgrown them too, but it turns out I haven't.
)

Anyway, Mom said for me to remember that regardless of what happened between me and my friends, she and Dad would “always be there” for me. I started thinking . . . that's a pretty important quality to have in a person: someone who will always be there for you. Like my parents are there for each other. And for me and Julie.

I need to add that quality to my soul mate list.

Another thing I need to add to my list is compassion. Which is something Mr. O'Neal has. I know this because Dad told me later that Mr. O'Neal did NOT send me home as a punishment. He just thought I needed to get away from whoever had left me the Depend. So I wasn't suspended after all. But I was embarrassed. Because Mr. O'Neal also told Dad to ask me to “plan ahead and pace myself by going to the appropriate facility throughout the day so that this will never happen again.”

I guess I still looked pretty depressed during dinner, so Mom came to my room afterward. She sat on my bed and gave me the usual pep talk. It started with “Kara, you're better than that Colleen” and ended with “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

Of course, making lemonade out of lemons is not all that hard. But what are you supposed to do when life gives you a big white adult-size diaper?

This was the question I pondered (new vocab word) after Mom left and I lay on my bed staring at the Depend diaper on my desk. And then it hit me. I never should have tried to stuff that thing in my book bag! I never should have acted ashamed, because shame is what girls like Maybelline feed on!

Suddenly, I knew what to do. I combined Mom's “make lemonade” advice with her “a little fringe can dress up anything” philosophy. I grabbed the Depend and headed down to Mom's craft corner.

Knowing that duct tape is, like, the strongest substance on earth and that people use it to make everything from baseball caps to miniskirts, I figured I could use it to transform the Depend underwear into something cool. (Actually, the strongest thing on earth is a spiderweb or something crazy like that. We learned it in science, but I forgot the details after the test.)

Two hours later, I had created what I now call the Gotta-Go-on-the-Go Bag. It has a black and red braided duct-tape handle, black duct-tape fringe across the bottom, and a red duct-tape flap over the top. The only clue that my stylin' new bag was once a garment at the very bottom of the fashion food chain is a wide swath of the white Depend material that I left visible in the front center. I did this to show that I AM NOT ASHAMED!

“Cool bag,” said Tabbi when I walked onto campus. Then she did what she always does when I get something new. She snatched it and started examining it as if it were hers.

“Wait,” she said, running her hand over the white patch in front. “You didn't.”

I nodded.

Then Tabbi laughed. Really loudly. She grabbed James's arm and doubled over.

James asked, “What's so funny, babe?”
Babe!
Cringe!
But he laughed, too, when Tabs finally spit it out.

In the end a little group formed around me, which I'm sure shocked Maybelline
.
The Gotta-Go Bag was passed around and everyone seemed to like it.

Anna Johnstone even suggested I start a crafts blog!

“You totally should,” agreed Tabbi. “You're so good with crafts! Remember that bracelet you made out of game pieces? You can transform any old thing into something beautiful!”

Hmmm. Maybe I
should
start a blog. If I'm willing to show the school that I AM NOT ASHAMED, why not show the world?

When Tabbi finished laughing, which was after the bell rang, BTW, she asked me to make her a bag, too. She says she'll carry it to show her support! Even better, on the way out of band, Malcolm (who I thought was off-limits forever) said, “Cool bag. Where'd you get it?”

When I told him I'd made it, he said he'd pay me to make him a backpack out of duct tape!

The fact that Malcolm actually noticed my handiwork makes me wonder if I misjudged him earlier. Maybe he was just joking about the gum wrapper. Maybe he had some wadded-up tissues in his pocket at the time. Maybe guys just think stuff like that is funny. Hmmm. How can I figure this
out?

Lyle was hanging out at our house watching TV in the basement with Julie this afternoon, and he saw me over in Mom's craft corner making the duct-tape backpack for Malcolm. He left Julie sitting on the sofa, walked over, and picked up the pack. “The way you've woven the black and silver tape together is cool,” he said. “It looks like a chessboard. What else can you make?”

“Almost anything,” I said. “When I was looking for backpack patterns, I saw all kinds of stuff — wallets, hammocks, and even prom dresses made out of duct tape. Malcolm Maxwell is paying me to make this pack.”

Julie turned off the TV and joined us. “Ooooh. How much are you gonna charge?” she asked. “I'd ask at least thirty bucks. You can't buy anything good for less than thirty.”

“How much for a wallet, Kara?” asked Lyle.

“I could probably do two of those for thirty dollars, since they don't use much tape.”

“Sold,” said Lyle. “One for me and one for Phillip.”

When they were heading upstairs, I heard Lyle say, “Your kid sister is pretty cool.”

Cha-ching! Two sales in one day. Even better — one of the cutest boys in town just called me “pretty cool.” I don't care if he is dating my sister. It's still a massive compliment.

You know, Lyle is so nice. And Julie is so happy. I really hope that Lyle is Julie's one and only true soul mate! He'd make a great brother-in-law.

So I may not have found a soul mate yet, but at least I found out what to do when life hands you a giant diaper: cover it with duct tape and sell it for thirty bucks!

Being the BFF of someone with a BF and the sister of someone with a BF and even the enemy of someone with a BF, I found myself alone again on the weekend. Big surprise. I was moping around about it, too. You know, sighing and shutting doors loudly in a way that says,
Somebody ask me what's wrong, but if you do, I'm going to say “nothing” until you ask me at least two more times
.

Mercifully, Julie asked me what was wrong three times. I told her. Her answer was somewhat unmerciful.

“Well, you're not going to change that by hanging around here. You need to get yourself out there, Kara!”

I told her that was easy for her to say since she was apparently perfect and had a boyfriend, besides. This did not move the conversation forward.

“Fine,” said Julie. “Don't take my advice.” Then she went for a “quick run,” which was pretty much her only option for avoiding me completely since I kinda promised my feet they'd never have to see the insides of my seventy-eight-dollar running shoes again.

I sighed a few more times, but to no avail. Mom and Dad are masters of ignoring pleas for attention. Which doesn't make sense, when you think about it. I mean, why have kids if you don't want to give attention to someone you gave life itself (and frizzy-haired, hazel-eyed genes)?

But even though I didn't like it, I did think about Julie's advice. Maybe I should get myself out there. And what better way to do that than to do what Anna and Tabbi suggested? Which is why I spent the rest of the morning creating my very own crafts blog!

While she's a master at ignoring pleas for attention, Mom didn't seem to mind helping me sign up for a Wordpress account at all. I came up with a cute name, took a bunch of pictures of the crafts I've already made, typed up directions, and uploaded them into a blog. It was easy! And fun! It's kinda great that now when I make something cool, I can show the world.

I need to post the URL for my new blog on Faceplace so the world, or at least my FP friends, can see that I am out there!

Here's my blog's home page: