Awkwardly Ever After Page 3

  “One night, Izzie. We’ll watch a stupid movie with them and then head to your house for our classic Sunday night sundaes.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  I shoved back a strand of long brown hair that had somehow found its way into my mouth. “But you’ll do it, right? For me?”

  Izzie groaned. “You owe me one for this. And you better believe that I’ll be collecting.”

  “Deal! You’re the best, Izzie!” I fought the urge to do a celebratory fist pump as other students began swarming the hallways around us. Instead, I did an abrupt turn and hurried against the flow of traffic in the hallway, pausing only to call over my shoulder. “The absolute best!”

  But not even the promise of Izzie’s stalwart presence lessened my panic when my phone vibrated with a text message from Mackenzie.

  CHANGE OF PLANS. MOVIE AT MY HOUSE INSTEAD! SEE YOU SOON!

  Which meant that not only was I going to be avoiding the advances of a smug, I can get any girl I want jock; I’d also be stuck navigating around the one guy I wanted but couldn’t have.

  Just freaking great.

  Chapter 3

  Prom court reflects the best and the brightest of each class. And all eyes have turned to the juniors this year. Will hockey captain Logan Beckett once more be crowned? Or will his relationship with Smith High School’s Ambassador of Awkward, Mackenzie Wellesley, strip him of the title?

  Many people are speculating that Spencer King might live up to the family name yet....

  —from “Preparing for Prom,”

  by Lisa Anne Montgomery

  Published by The Smithsonian

  “Let’s go over this one more time. If I start coughing . . .” Izzie glanced around the parking lot outside the high school as if she expected Logan to appear at any second and whisk us away to Mackenzie’s house. “Then I change the subject.”

  “And if I glance down at my watch?”

  “I explain that we should probably head to your house because we promised your mom that we’d help her paint the living room.”

  “Right again. Okay, last one.” Izzie shoved her glasses higher up her nose as she waited for me to spit it out. “If I say, ‘Oh, hi, Dylan? Fancy seeing you here.’ ”

  She screwed up her face in mock concentration. “Let’s see . . . I call the cops and hustle you out of there, right? Or do I take it all the way to the feds?”

  “You’re hilarious. Now answer the question.”

  “I pull you out of there by any means necessary. We’ve been over this, Mel. I’ve got it. You’re not exactly asking me to solve Fermat’s Last Theorem here.”

  “Okay, I’m going to pretend like I know what that means.” I took a deep breath as I felt anxiety begin creeping up my back, one vertebra at a time. “You know, if you could come up with a few brilliant ideas for a preemptive escape, right now would be a great time to share them. So . . . feel free.”

  Isobel lowered her voice as Mackenzie approached the pair of us. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion? It’s a movie with some friends. How bad can it get?”

  Oh, I don’t know . . . nuclear fallout bad!

  Hey, it could happen. Theoretically . . . I decided not to mention it, though. The last thing I needed was to be on the receiving end of another one of Izzie’s are you actually saying that out loud? looks.

  “Hey, Isobel!” Mackenzie said, conveniently interrupting our conversation as she drew within speaking distance. “Are you meeting up with Sam?” She swiveled around as if expecting to see the most unconventional of our mutual friends come striding over in a fifties style dress and a pair of motorcycle boots.

  Izzie shook her head. “Nope, she’s in detention. Again. I don’t think she’ll be free to hang out for a while. As in, she might stage a jailbreak in time to catch the tail end of this year’s graduation. Maybe.”

  Mackenzie grinned. “What did she do this time? Oh wait, let me guess . . .”

  “Did she toilet-paper the principal’s office?” I suggested.

  “Maybe she submitted a strongly worded letter to the editor for The Smithsonian.” Mackenzie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t blame her. The article Lisa Anne wrote about her was total crap. Then again, the only people on the staff of our school paper who would give Sam even an inch for a rebuttal is Jane. Maybe Scott. And since Jane’s focused on getting her fiction publication up and running, and Scott’s primary interest centers around his camera . . . I can’t see that happening anytime soon.”

  I was just grateful that Jane had seemed to mellow out around me. Maybe it was because Mackenzie and I had bonded so quickly post-YouTube video and Jane’s nose got a little out of joint, but I’d been getting a serious back away slowly vibe from her for weeks. It was only when Scott began dogging her every move that she’d eased up around me.

  Probably because her photographer boyfriend was keeping her preoccupied.

  A guy who wasn’t related to our mutual best friend.

  Some girls have all the luck.

  I quickly tried to move the subject away from Jane. “Maybe Sam vandalized the boy’s locker room with anti-rape pamphlets?”

  Mackenzie positively lit up as she yelled, “I’ve got it! Sam was busted trying to organize a protest for prom! Now she’s stuck making glittery signs for the school dance during detention.”

  Izzie shook her head, but I could tell she was enjoying our little guessing game too. “Um, none of the above, actually. She was caught passing out condoms in the hallway.”

  “Again? Either she needs to mix things up a little or she needs to get a whole lot sneakier.” I crossed my arms. “She’s going to get suspended soon.”

  Izzie merely shrugged. “That’s up to her, Mel. She told me yesterday that she has no intention of letting abstinence-only education send her fellow classmates out into the world with an inadequate understanding of sex. So . . . I’m guessing she’s not going to be easily swayed from her mission. Although I’ll be sure to mention all of these suggestions to her; I bet she’ll love them.”

  “They weren’t really intended as suggestions,” Mackenzie pointed out, but Izzie’s smile only widened.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, you can try explaining that to Sam. Let’s see how far you get.”

  I doubted Mackenzie would even make it a foot. Our school principal could personally attest that when Sam cared about something, she would go to great lengths to take a stand, even if that meant forming a one-woman picket line or roping us into joining her.

  We’d be the ones stuck making glittery signs . . . about various means of contraception.

  “So, if you’re not waiting for Sam . . .” Mackenzie let her voice trail off, probably because she realized halfway in that it might sound as if she didn’t want to be involved in Izzie’s plans. “Um, do you want to come to my place? We’re just getting together to watch a movie, but I’d love to hang out. If that works for you.”

  Mackenzie might have a habit of sticking her foot in her mouth, but at least her heart was always in the right place.

  “Izzie would love to join us,” I announced, just in case she tried to weasel her way out of it. “Isn’t that right, Iz?”

  “Um . . . right. I’d love to join in,” Izzie parroted back weakly, and I knew that I was the worst friend ever. When it was just the two of us, Izzie was all snarky and self-confident, but with most other people, she sort of crawled into her shell. The shoulders would go up, her glasses would be adjusted, and my brilliant, sarcastic friend would shrivel up into a little ball. And even though Mackenzie on her own might not produce the full hermit effect, the addition of the two hottest juniors on the Smith High School hockey team definitely would.

  If the roles had been reversed, Izzie wouldn’t have pulled me into her mess. She would have faced the freaking gallows alone, nervously pushing up her glasses the entire time, but on her own nonetheless. She never would have roped in anyone else along the way.

  I should have let her back out.<
br />
  But Izzie’s chin was jutting out, and despite a rigidity in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before, it looked like she really wanted to do this. Okay, she didn’t want to do it, exactly. More like she felt she had something to prove to herself.

  I was selfish enough to feel relieved—and proud. Really freaking proud of my best friend for pushing beyond her normal comfort zone.

  “Are Jane and Scott coming too?” she asked Mackenzie.

  “They can’t make it. Something about the school paper. Again.”

  Izzie looked disappointed and I felt a quick surge of guilt. Jane and Izzie were no longer just bus buddies with a casual friendship created by a mutual desire not to sit alone. That had all changed when Alex Thompson, the biggest jerk at Smith High School—one who made Patrick look like nothing more than a vaguely irritating moth—ridiculed Izzie’s weight in front of everyone in the school cafeteria. He’d been under the impression that neither of the girls would protest too loudly.

  He had been wrong about a whole lot of things that day.

  I would have given anything to see his expression as good-girl Jane Smith hauled back and slammed her fist right in his face.

  Actually, I would’ve given anything to be there five seconds earlier so that I could have beaten Jane to the punch.

  But I had been stuck trying to come up with a good explanation for Mrs. Paralov as to why I’d been late for her class eight times that semester without mentioning the fact that each morning my daily ritual included making sure my dad wasn’t still so drunk from the night before that he was unable to drive me to school. Or that my dad insisted he was merely coming down with a case of the flu when the binge the night before left him with a particularly nasty hangover.

  Yeah, I had no intention of mentioning any of that.

  Which was why I was stuck making evasive, mm-hmm noises and promising to be more punctual while Jane Smith was defending my best friend.

  The only part of that catastrophe that I witnessed was the aftermath. The way Isobel spent the next few weeks listlessly moving her food around with a fork instead of actually eating it. Izzie still wouldn’t be caught dead at the ice skating rink. Not when that would only increase the risk of encountering Fake and Bake (Mackenzie’s rather fitting nickname for two of the most popular girls in school) along with a whole horde of their Notable cohorts.

  Izzie barely managed to curl her mouth into a lackluster excuse for a smile when she spotted Spencer and Logan walking right toward us. We both knew that she wanted to jackrabbit out of there. I subtly nudged her with my shoulder in what I hoped passed as a silent show of support, while I mentally reviewed the game plan one last time. Isobel’s advice had seemed so simple earlier.

  Distract him with a bet or a dare—some kind of feat to prove his manliness—he’ll probably forget you even exist.

  Brilliant in theory. A whole lot harder in execution with Spencer grinning broadly at the three of us. Especially since I was already smiling back, and not because I had any interest in flirting with him either. There was just something infectious about him. Maybe it was knowing that we could have been ninety-year-old nuns and the megawattage wouldn’t have wavered an iota. Spencer was a natural charmer who enjoyed putting everyone at ease with a few casual jokes. Well, everyone except Izzie. She only appeared more tightly wound than ever as she shoved her glasses higher up her nose.

  “Hey, Melanie,” he said, not even trying to disguise how impressed he was with himself for remembering my name. Then again, for all I knew, the golden boy had enough girls in rotation to make my head spin. “How’s it going?”

  “Um, fine. Have you met Isobel?” I practically shoved my friend forward in my haste to distract him. “She enjoys, um . . . reading, solving difficult math problems, and—”

  “Long walks on the beach?”

  I grimaced. So much for playing it cool and keeping it casual. I was introducing Izzie as if she were entering a pageant. An absurd image of my best friend strutting over to a raised podium in a bikini had me fighting not to laugh. Izzie would rather take her finals three times in a row than enter one of those competitions.

  And she would probably come up with some incredibly brilliant way to avoid the thing completely even if someone tried to railroad her into it.

  Izzie glared at both of us and her chin jutted up ever so slightly. “She likes the beach just fine. But you know what she really enjoys? Speaking for herself—without using the third person.”

  Spencer blinked in surprise, probably because he had written her off the instant she had fiddled with her glasses instead of making eye contact. His smile kicked up at one end, revealing a dimple that should have been at odds with his bad-boy reputation. The slight tinge of pink I noticed flushing Izzie’s cheeks also made me wonder if maybe she was enjoying herself after all.

  That fleeting thought probably jinxed everything.

  Because any trace of good humor—in Spencer, Izzie, Logan, or Mackenzie—vanished as soon as Fake and Bake, better known as Steffani Larson and Ashley McGrady, rounded the corner and locked their sights on our little group.

  “Okay, can we move this to Mackenzie’s place?” Technically, it was a question, but Spencer didn’t give any of us an opportunity to refuse before he began hustling us toward the parking lot. “Now. Move it along right now.”

  “But I was going to—”

  “Keep walking, Mackenzie,” Spencer ground out, “one foot in front of the other.”

  Logan rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Running scared already, Spence? Prom isn’t for another two weeks. If you can’t deal with this now, how do you expect to handle it when things really heat up?”

  “Later.” There was nothing even remotely resembling a smile on Spencer’s face now. Nothing in his eyes except deep frustration, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a dash of panic as well.

  It answered one question of mine, though: Spencer had definitely lied about his leadership abilities the day before. If the guy was half as good at exerting his will on others on skates as he was on foot, he would have no trouble keeping his teammates in line. One gruff order from him and the four of us were instinctively fleeing from the two reigning queens of evil.

  “Almost there,” he murmured encouragingly. “We’re almost there . . .”

  Mackenzie twisted, probably hoping to see if the Axis of Evil were drawing close, lost her balance, and tripped. One second she was keeping pace with the rest of us and the next . . . not so much. Logan was instantly kneeling on the pavement next to her.

  “You okay, Mack?” His voice was soft with concern, although I thought I detected a hint of amusement in it too. “Need a hand up or are you, um, practicing yoga again?”

  I had a feeling that “practicing yoga” was Mackenzie’s new not-so-subtle way of covering up her clumsy moments. And given how often Mackenzie managed to stumble over nonexistent obstacles in her path, she probably found herself making up excuses fairly often. Not that any of us—Mackenzie included—expected Logan to actually believe any of it.

  She smiled up at him but batted away the offered hand. “That’s right. I’m just practicing the downward-facing klutz position.” Mackenzie rose and brushed off her jeans where dirt clung at the knees.

  “Act injured. Right now,” Spencer ordered desperately, but it was too late. Steffani Larson was already close enough to all of us to stick her cosmetically altered nose into our business. I actually kind of felt sorry for Fake. I had glanced once at Mackenzie’s freshman high school yearbook and Steffani’s face had far more character when there was a slight bump in her nose and dirty blond hair that didn’t come from a bottle.

  Well, maybe sorry for her was a bit of a stretch. The girl got her kicks making the easy targets in the freshman class feel as uncomfortable as humanly possible. Sympathy has never been something that I extend to bullies. But that didn’t prevent me from having a morbid curiosity as to how she could’ve transformed herself so quickly into someone completely, well . .
. fake.

  “Hey, Spencer,” she said breathily, as if she were auditioning for the part of Marilyn Monroe. “Long time no see.”

  “Uh, yeah. Long time. Funny how that happens.” Except he didn’t look like he found any humor in the situation whatsoever.

  Ashley beamed at him, too, her white teeth looking particularly bright against her orange tanning salon skin. No way would anyone start calling her Pocahontas, though.

  “You promised to come talk to me after your hockey practice yesterday,” Ashley pouted. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you know,” Spencer said evasively as he took one rather large step backward, accidentally positioning Izzie in front of him like some kind of shield, placing her right in the line of fire. And my brilliant best friend was completely oblivious to the danger in becoming a target, probably because she was staring at all parties involved as if watching a particularly riveting daytime drama.

  “I think it’s pretty obvious that they want you to go into more detail. Maybe you should try using really small words. Two syllables or less,” Izzie muttered under her breath.

  Something I happened to find pretty damn funny. Unfortunately, this time I was in the minority. Everyone else was staring at her in disbelief.

  “Are you calling me stupid?” Steffani demanded, ignoring Spencer as she tried to incinerate Izzie with her eyes.

  “Nope,” I interrupted before the situation could slip even further out of control. “Izzie’s just worried we won’t make it to that . . . thing on time.” I glanced down pointedly at the beatup watch on my wrist. “Oh, man, we’ve got to go. See ya!”

  That earned me a grateful smile from Spencer as we booked it for the boys’ cars.

  I only realized as I clicked my seat belt on that earning his gratitude was the absolute last thing I was supposed to be doing given that my goal was to stay well within the Friend Zone.

  So much for following Izzie’s advice.