Before the Boys Say No Page 14

  I heard the whispers about Jared and Sue now dating. I wasn’t surprised. Jared had taken my advice and gotten her two dozen red roses for Winter Formal. That pretty much landed him the girl. I shuddered to think what would have happened if he had given her the doll bed.

  After suffering through all the petty debate talk, I decided to go home for the day. My first day back from winter break had already been more than I could take. I was supposed to meet Johanna for lunch, but she would have to eat alone today.

  I drove straight to the restaurant to talk to Dean. I couldn’t get Lanie kissing another guy off my mind. Dean would know if I should tell Brody.

  The restaurant was crazy busy. It usually was on senior citizen day. They got to eat for half price. I waved to a few regulars and made my way to Dean in the kitchen. He barely had time to look up from the grill. I watched him for a few minutes in silence before he finally gave in and turned to me.

  “What’s going on, Bea? You can see I’m busy.”

  “I need to ask your advice. About Brody.”

  He shook his head and reached over to flip some vegetables grilling on the side. “What’s with Brody?”

  “I saw Lanie kissing another guy at school,” I said in a loud voice.

  Dean just frowned and glanced at me. “So?”

  “So--Lanie is dating Brody.”

  “You keep saying that, but I don’t see it,” Dean said, shuffling around me to grab some seasoning off a shelf.

  “Do I tell him, Dean, or keep my mouth shut?”

  “I’m telling you, Brody isn’t dating anyone,” Dean insisted.

  “Oh, yeah? Why did he take her to Homecoming and to Winter Formal?”

  “I know they live by each other. Maybe that’s why he took her to Homecoming. But Brody didn’t go to Winter Formal.”

  “Yes, he did,” I insisted.

  “Uh, no, Bea,” Dean said with an attitude, “he was working here at the restaurant.”

  That shut my mouth. I didn’t know how to react. Dean looked at me and gave a small smile of victory. How did I not know that Brody was working during Winter Formal? And why didn’t he take Lanie?

  “Look,” Dean said in a quiet voice, “you have a tendency to jump to conclusions, Bea. Incorrect conclusions. I think you just don’t say anything to Brody. If he’s dating Lanie, and I really don’t think he is, then he’ll find out some other way. Brody’s a smart guy.”

  I nodded in agreement and suddenly felt relieved. Who was I to try to save Brody from a cheating girlfriend anyway?

  “Thanks, Dean,” I said softly and walked out of the kitchen.

  Aunt Roma passed by and paused to press her wrist to my forehead. “You don’t look so good, honey. You better get back in bed.”

  “That’s where I’m headed,” I said and left the restaurant.

  Johanna called me later to check on me. “I had to eat alone,” she whined on the phone.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled sleepily.

  “How was wood working?” Johanna asked. She knew I had signed up because of Dickie.

  “Let’s just say I lasted ten minutes of class. I had to switch to detention.”

  “Yuck,” she said. “Any potentials in there?”

  I had to laugh. Detention wasn’t where I wanted to find a date. Most of the guys were losers. Sure, a few cool kids were put in detention for minor occurrences, but it happened so rarely that I doubted I would see one.

  “I haven’t found anyone yet,” I told her. “Who’s your next victim?”

  I heard Johanna sigh over the phone. “I don’t know. I’ve been working on the diagram. I mean, everything was so right with Bradley, and yet, I can’t figure out where it went wrong.”

  “Lanie,” I blurted out. There was moment of silence on the phone.

  “Did you say Lanie?” Johanna’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  I couldn’t keep a secret from Johanna. “I saw them kissing in the lockers,” I told her.

  I heard Johanna take a deep breath. “Now I have the answer to my problem. I didn’t factor in Bradley cheating on me--with the most popular girl at school.”

  “Sorry, Johanna,” I said.

  “At least I know, Bea. It was driving me crazy trying to figure out why Bradley and I didn’t work out. I mean, I dressed how he likes, ate the foods he likes, had conversations about his interests. Now I’m going to have to figure out a way to include cheating in my calculations.”

  “I think I’m giving up on your formula,” I started to say, but she screamed on the other end.

  “Don’t you dare, Beatrice! We are going to see this through and have a date for senior prom. I promise you that.”

  “It didn’t work for me--”

  “And we both know why,” she cut in. “Give it one more chance, Bea. Just one. I know it will work.”

  Like an idiot, I agreed to try one more time. I know I was going to rule out any athletes--I was done with putting my butt through physical activity for no good reason. I thought about all the guys in my classes. English class seemed to have the cutest guys in it so I would concentrate my efforts there.

  The next day, I took my seat in the back of the room like usual and watched every guy that walked in. I decided to set my target on Johnny P. That was his stage name. Johnny was a cute guy who was always laughing and liked entertaining the other kids at lunch by dancing. He did some kind of crazy robotic hip hop dance. He’d received almost a million hits when one of his friends posted a video of him online. Since I never saw him with a girl, I figured he was available. I’d really have to do some homework on this guy to make sure I wanted to put out any effort. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake that I’d made with Michael.

  At lunch I dragged Johanna to the outside basketball courts where Johnny P. liked to entertain. A group had already gathered and the music was so loud I felt the ground vibrating under my feet. We watched Johnny move his body to the beat. It wasn’t really my thing, but surely he wouldn’t expect his date to know how to dance like that.

  “I don’t know,” Johanna whispered in my ear. “I mean, he’s cute, but how are you going to find out what he likes in a girl?”

  “I guess I’ll have to ask around.”

  I moved to the front of the group and checked out the kids that seemed to be some sort of groupies. They were hard core fans who came out, rain or snow, whenever Johnny P. performed. Most of the girls were tattooed with ring piercings. Funny thing because Johnny actually looked clean cut with his short brown hair and basic T-shirts with jeans.

  I nudged a chubby guy wearing a bright orange coat. It looked like a big version of a swimmers life vest with sleeves.

  “Is Johnny dating anyone?” I asked in a low voice. He frowned and held his hand to his ear like he couldn’t hear, so I repeated myself. He shrugged and turned his attention back to Johnny.

  I made my way to the front line--to the tattooed girls. One didn’t look too menacing so I approached her with the same question. She looked at me as though examining me, twisting the gum in her mouth with her tongue.

  “Who wants to know?” she asked in a hoarse voice. She probably smoked cigarettes.

  “I’ve got a friend who thinks he’s cute,” I said with a smile.

  She looked around the crowd. “I don’t think so. I never see him with girls.”

  “Is he gay?” I blurted out.

  All I saw was a blurry image of a fistful of fingers coming toward my face. I turned just enough that her fist landed on my cheek. I don’t think she appreciated my remark.

  Of course, the crowd liked that. Everyone started chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Then all these kids were hitting each other. I got down on my knees and crawled through the crowd till I was able to get out of the mess. Teachers’ whistles started blowing and the crowd dispersed. Even Johnny. So much for getting information on him.

  Johanna and I ran back to the safety of the lunch courtyard. My cheek hurt and I bet there was a red mark where the girl ha
d made contact. Johanna laughed like crazy, bending over to clutch her stomach.

  “Only you, Bea!” she screeched. “There is no one like you in the world.”

  I didn’t think it was that funny. “She hurt my cheek,” I said huffily.

  “What did you ask her?”

  I hesitated. My big fat mouth had done it again. “I asked if Johnny P. was gay.”

  “You can’t do that, Bea. Those are his fans.”

  “Excuse me, Johanna, but she said she’s never seen him with girls. I know I’ve never seen him with a girl.You know...”

  I let my voice trail off. Johanna shook her head at me. “He’s not gay, Bea. He’s just busy. I think you should pick someone else. Unless you’re prepared to dance.”

  “Dance?”

  “I did see him do a dance off with a girl once and they left together afterwards.”

  “Johanna, do I look like the kind of girl who could do a dance off? And with Johnny P. of all people?”

  “You’ve got moves, Bea. And Johnny’s cute. And--the girl he did a dance off with was about your size.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No way. You’re not talking me into it.”

  “Come on. You have to do it, Bea,” Johanna begged. “I feel good about Johnny.”

  “Then you do it,” I said and crossed my arms to challenge her.

  Johanna laughed. “You know I have two left feet. I was already sweating the thought of dancing with Bradley at Winter Formal.”

  Johanna was right. She had no rhythm. None. At least that junk in my trunk made for a good cha cha now and then. I could roll my hips with the best of them. But to try to get Johnny’s attention by challenging him to a dance off? I had my doubts it would work.

  “Sometimes, Johanna, I feel like you get me into things like this just so you can have a good laugh.”

  Johanna flashed a smug smile. She knew I was going to do it. As long as there weren’t any popular, beautiful people watching, I would make a fool of myself with only the hope of getting a date with Johnny as my reward.

  I went home that day and started practicing in my room, blaring my music so loud that Mom had to force her way into my room to turn it down. When I told her I was entering into a dance competition at school, she got really interested. Of course, I left out the little detail that it was all to try to get a guy interested in me.

  For a larger woman, my mom is a great dancer. When I was little, she took video of me trying to follow her performing the salsa. I wasn’t too bad. At least, for a five-year old. She lingered in my room to watch me. I stopped and put my hands on my hips so she would leave me alone.

  Once she was gone, I let everything that jiggled on me be free. My boobs were flopping, my hips were shaking, my head was sashaying. Out of breath, I fell onto the bed. What was I thinking? Seriously. A dance off with an almost celebrity at my school. No way I could pull it off. No way--unless I had the help of Mom and Marge.

  I heard their voices outside my bedroom and then--boom--they crashed into my room, dancing like they were having a rabies fit. I laughed so hard I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Marge stopped in front of me and thrust out her hip. “We’re not stopping, honey, till you let us help you with your dance competition.”

  “All right. All right,” I shrieked. “Only it can’t be old woman dancing.”

  Marge looked at Mom who feigned a shocked expression. “Oh, no she didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes she did,” Mom said with a toss of her head and a snap of her fingers. She turned off the music. “We can help you, Bea. You know we can.”

  “Yeah,” Marge echoed. “Just tell us what kind of dance you need to know.”

  I climbed off the bed. “Here’s the deal. I have to dance against this guy who’s got some really cool moves. He dances kind of hip hop robotic style.”

  I did my best to try to imitate Johnny. I know I failed miserably. Marge and Mom looked at each other and broke out into some dumb robot dance. I just rolled my eyes.

  “Seriously,” Mom said. “I think I get a picture of his style, but I don’t know how you’re going to pull that off.”

  “I agree,” said Marge. “I think you need to come up with your own style. Take it old school.”

  She started gyrating her very large hips. Marge really had some moves. She got in trouble when she did some kind of weird dip with her leg and sank to the floor. She couldn’t get up.

  “I think I pulled something in my back,” she moaned.

  “You okay?” Mom asked, sitting beside her to rub her back.

  “I just need to sit here for a little bit. It’s an old ski injury.”

  I watched them plopped on my floor, moaning about old injuries. Finally, I cleared my throat. I still needed to practice. Mom got the hint and rose to her feet. But she wasn’t leaving. She had come to be my instructor.

  “Start with loosening those hips, Bea,” she ordered and turned back on the music.

  I started moving them around, but not much because I had two overweight women watching me and judging my every move.

  “For goodness sakes, honey,” Marge yelled, “you’ve got a booty; now move it.”

  I threw any inhibitions I had and went for it. Mom and Marge had a stunned expression on their faces when I stopped to breathe. They looked at each other, speechless for a moment.

  “Well,” Mom said slowly and rose to her feet again. “I can see you’re not afraid to jiggle. That’s good. And you’ve got a lot of energy. That’s good. Now we just need to harness that energy--”

  “That’s right,” Marge broke in. “Harness that energy.”

  “I’m terrible, huh?” I said with a knowing nod of my head.

  “No,” Mom disagreed. “Not terrible. Just--”

  “Unrefined,” Marge said with a wink. “Never fear, honey. We can get you where you need to be.”

  From that point on, Marge would meet us at our house right after school to practice. Slowly, I caught on to some “old school moves,” as Marge called them. They helped me choreograph a dance routine that I actually felt really good about.

  One day, Marge brought me two presents. One was a dvd of an old movie they had watched as kids. Grease. I groaned when she started playing it, but by the time it finished, I was inspired. It was kind of an old dance off--sing off. That girl had changed from being insecure to a confident, hot babe.

  After the movie, Marge had me unwrap her second gift. I squealed when I opened the lid of the box. Inside were the most amazing pink pumps I had ever seen. The four-inch heels screamed for me to slide them on my feet. I don’t know what it is about high heels, but I feel like a changed person when I put them on. They’re kind of like my secret weapon at debates because they give me confidence.

  I put them on and stood up. Call me crazy, but I felt like I had become that girl in the movie. Even Mom and Marge noticed. I don’t know where Marge had found the shoes, but this was the secret weapon I needed to challenge Johnny P. to a dance off.

  I had decided on a day when I would bust my own moves at lunch. I had it all planned out, but Mom and Marge had their own plans.

  “Where shall we meet you, Bea?” Mom asked.

  “What?” was all I could squeak out.

  “At the dance competition,” Marge said. “You don’t think we’d miss it, do you? I’ll bet most of the other parents will be there to watch, too.”

  I gnawed at my lip, trying to figure out a way to keep them away from school. “It’s only for students.”

  They looked at each other and laughed. “You just try to keep us away after all the work we’ve put into your dance.”

  “You can’t come,” I insisted.

  “Oh, we’ll be there all right,” Mom said staunchly. When she made up her mind, no one could change it. Not even Dad.

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” I said. I knew I had already lost the battle. “It’s at lunch time. It’ll only be the guy and me. I promise you, only students will be there. Please don
’t show up and embarrass me.”

  Marge and Mom looked at each other and burst out laughing. They didn’t even respond to me. They walked out of my bedroom like I hadn’t said a word. I fell back on my bed, holding my head. Mom would be so mad if she really knew why I was putting all that effort into the dance.

  I was on edge all the next day. Johanna had told me to wear jeans to the dance off. She kept assuring me that my mom and Marge wouldn’t show up. She didn’t know them like I did.

  When the bell rang to dismiss debate class, I jumped up and headed for the door. Mr. Robarb called my name just when I turned the knob. No. I had almost tasted freedom. I reluctantly turned back to him. Of course, I had to wait until everyone was gone before he talked. By the time he opened his mouth, I was a basket case.

  Mr. Robarb cleared his throat. “I just wanted to apologize, Beatrice.”

  “I’m good,” I said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

  “No, I owe you an explanation. You were right to call me on my behavior--”

  “Mr. Robarb, I really gotta run,” I said quickly. “I forgive you and all that jazz. Okay?”

  He shook his head slightly. “Well, I appreciate that, Beatrice, but--”

  “Bye,” I shouted and darted out the door. Right into Brody. And Mom and Marge.

  “Hey, Bea,” Brody said. “Your Mom and Marge are here to see you dance. I didn’t know you danced. Is it for the dance squad?”

  “Look, Johanna’s waiting for me. I have to meet her. There’s no dance today,” I yelled over my shoulder and took off with my backpack. I didn’t even wait to see their expressions.

  Johanna was pacing at the lunch table by the time I rushed up. “You don’t have much time,” she whispered as I threw the backpack on the table and pulled off my tennis shoes. She caught her breath when she saw the heels I had brought to dance in--my four-inch pink pumps.

  “Delicious,” she breathed, barely taking her eyes off my feet. “Can you dance in those?”

  “Come and see,” I said. I felt sassy. That was good because it overrode the fear that threatened to overtake me.