Speed Dating Page 11

  “Karl’s weird,” Mads said. “Tell us more about the show.”

  They were having lunch while Holly explained the Eli situation to them. She and Sebastiano had watched the first episode of Los Días del Corazón the day before.

  “Otavio is this hunky guy who’s always taking his shirt off,” Holly said.

  “Does he look like Eli?” Lina asked.

  “No,” Holly said. “Then there’s Marisol, a beautiful brunette who lives in a bikini.”

  “Does she look like you?” Mads asked.

  “No,” Holly said. “But listen to this: Yesterday Otavio sent Marisol roses with this incredible note saying how passionate he was for her. And a few hours later I got roses from Eli!”

  “What did the note say?” Lina asked.

  “It said, ‘Thinking of you at 3:17.’“

  “Wow,” Mads said.

  “What else happened?” Lina asked.

  “Otavio threatened Marisol’s ex-boyfriend,” Holly said. “He said he’d kill him if he ever came near Marisol again.”

  “Do you think Eli will threaten Rob?” Mads lowered her voice—even though the lunchroom was so noisy, Rob wouldn’t have heard her if she’d shouted. He was sitting with his swim team buddies. One of them was trying to keep a potato chip in the air as long as he could by blowing at it through a straw. Rob wore a T-shirt that said, GOT RID OF THE KIDS—THE CAT WAS ALLERGIC.

  Holly shrugged. “Who knows? I hope not. Rob hasn’t done anything to bother me. We haven’t even spoken.”

  Lina felt another tweak at the back of her head. She whipped her head around. Claire Kessler stood sheepishly behind her.

  “Stop it!” Lina snapped. “Why did you do that?”

  “I just wanted to see if it’s true,” Claire said.

  “If what’s true?” Lina asked.

  “Nothing.” Claire hurried away.

  “What is with these people?” Lina asked.

  Holly glanced at the cafeteria line and said, “Look out, Lina. Here comes trouble.”

  Lina looked up. Autumn exited the line with her tray. She started toward her usual table, where her friends Rebecca, Claire, and Ingrid were sitting. But she changed course and detoured to Lina’s table. “Hi, Lina,” she said. “Read my blog lately?”

  Lina stiffened. Now what? What had Autumn done to her this time? Lina hadn’t even had a chance to try to retaliate for the last one yet.

  “No,” Lina said. “Should I?”

  “I think so,” Autumn said. “It’s always good reading. But the latest posting will mean a lot to you.” She smiled and walked away with her chin jutting out.

  “I’m afraid to look,” Lina said.

  “We might as well get it over with,” Mads said. “Let’s hit the library.”

  Nuclear Autumn: Keeping You hrfwmed of the

  Latest Developments In the Lives of Autumn

  Nelson, Peter, and Toss

  I’ll come right to the point. You want your news and you want it now. So here it is: Many people admire our dear, sweet friend Tess’s tresses. Some girls would kill for smooth, straight, shiny black hair like hers. But guess what: it’s a wig! And if you want proof, just try tugging on it. I promise you it will come right off. Go ahead, pull her hair. It won’t hurt her, because it’s a wig. Don’t be shy. She’s a good sport. She’ll think it’s funny

  “Oh, my god.” Lina’s hands flew to her head as if she were about to be attacked by vicious hair-pullers right then and there. “No wonder everyone’s been acting so weird. She’s telling people to pull my hair!”

  “The way her mind works is absolutely diabolical,” Mads said.

  Lina glanced around the library, afraid that someone might sneak up behind her.

  “Don’t let her make you paranoid,” Mads said.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Holly took Lina by the arm. “I think I’ve got a hat in my locker. You can wear it to fend off the advancing hordes of hair-pullers.”

  “One sec,” Lina said, typing something into the computer. “I’ve got something to do first.” Autumn was going to get it now. That morning Ramona had written a sample anti-Autumn smear for Lina to post. Lina had thought it was too mean. But that was then, and this was now. Lina posted Ramona’s fake story without changing a word.

  Mood Swing

  Current Mood: Hair-sensitive

  Maybe you’ve heard—or maybe you haven’t (I think the school is trying to cover it up) of the recent rash of thefts from the boys’ locker room? Someone has been stealing the boys’ shoes while they’re busy at gym or sports practice. It looks like an inside job. School officials are baffled.

  I think I can help them out. If you want to know where the stolen shoes are, check a certain girl’s locker. You all know her. Let’s call her “Summer.”

  Summer is very secretive about her locker. She doesn’t like people to see inside. For good reason: She’s hiding the stolen shoes in there. She is the shoe thief. Not only that, the back wall of her locker is plastered with pictures of men’s feet. Snapshots, pictures cut from magazines, Odor-Eaters ads…

  Why does she do it? Some people are just weird, I guess. You might call it a foot fetish. Normally this would be none of my business, but since there’s a crime involved, and scores of innocent, unsuspecting boys are missing their favorite shoes, I thought it my duty to go public with this information. Summer, if you know what’s good for you, turn yourself in. Otherwise, I’ll have to.

  As for all you boys, if you want to get Summer’s attention, try waving your bare feet at her. The smellier the better. She won’t be able to resist!

  “How can you believe anything on that stupid Mood Swing?” Autumn screeched through the hallway later that afternoon. Rebecca trailed after her. Lina and Ramona pressed themselves against a locker, hoping Autumn wouldn’t notice them. “It’s all bullshit! And I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not Summer!”

  “But I saw you with David, and he had his shoes off,” Rebecca cried. “You were ogling his feet! At least, I think you were. And I’m pretty sure I saw a whole bunch of pictures of shoes in your room one day.”

  Lina glanced at Ramona and suppressed a giggle. Thanks to the power of suggestion, Rebecca was actually imagining she’d seen the things Lina had put into her mind.

  “They were women’s shoes, and my mother put them there as suggestions for what she wanted me to wear to her wedding,” Autumn said. “I don’t get it—you believe Lina’s blog, but you don’t believe mine? Why aren’t you tearing that wig off her head right now?”

  “Claire tried, and it didn’t come off,” Rebecca said. “Because it’s not a wig. Your blog is the one that can’t be trusted.”

  They swept past Lina and Ramona, so caught up in their fight that they didn’t notice the two girls retreating against the lockers. Still arguing, Rebecca and Autumn disappeared around a corner.

  “This blog thing is finally paying off,” Ramona said, clearly excited. “Let’s get together later to plan your next posting. The shoe fetish thing was good, but now I’m thinking something along the lines of personal hygiene… .”

  “I don’t know,” Lina said. “I think we’ve done enough to hold her for a while.” Lina felt a little dizzy. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

  She left Ramona and pushed open the door of the nearest girls’ bathroom. It was empty except for a pair of feet in one stall. Lina turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. She heard sniffling. Then more sniffling. She leaned down to see whose feet were under the door, and immediately recognized Autumn’s red wedge espadrilles.

  Another sob. “Autumn?” Lina asked. “Are you all right?”

  “Leave me alone,” Autumn croaked.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Autumn said. She started crying in earnest now.

  Lina dried her face with a paper towel. She didn’t know what to do next. How could she just walk out when Autumn was crying?

  “Aut
umn, listen,” Lina said. “I’m really sorry about everything. This blog war has gone crazy.”

  “How could you write such nasty things about me?” Autumn said. “What did I do to deserve it?”

  Lina could think of several things Autumn had done, but it seemed mean to remind her of them now.

  “Now Rebecca hates me, and all my friends think I’m creepy, because of the lies YOU wrote,” Autumn said. She sobbed some more.

  Lina felt terrible. She didn’t like to hurt people.

  “Listen, Autumn,” Lina said. “I’m sick of this, too. It’s all going to stop. I won’t write about you anymore. Unless you want me to. I’ll even write on my blog that I made up all those stories about Summer—if you’ll do the same for me on your blog. Okay? Is it a deal?”

  “You’ll really do that?” Autumn said. “You promise?”

  “I promise,” Lina said. “Feel better now?”

  “Yes,” Autumn said. “Thanks, Una. I’m so relieved that it’s all over at last.”

  “So am I,” Lina said.

  18

  Notes on Kissing

  * * *

  To: mad4u

  From: your daily horoscope

  HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: Other people may say you’re okay, but you know in your gut you’re a screwup. And as they say on Oprah: Always go with your gut.

  * * *

  What’s his dog’s name again?” Quintana asked. “Nietzsche,” Mads said. “NEE-cheh. After a German philosopher.”

  It was drizzly outside, so Mads and Quintana were spending a free period in the school library, reading magazines in the low reading chairs at the round magazine table. Mads was telling Quintana about her Stephen-kissing problem.

  “So Stephen’s into that stuff?” Quintana asked. “German philosophy?”

  Mads nodded. “He’s very smart and kind of serious, but also fun, you know?”

  “He’s still a boy,” Quintana said. “Just remember that. No matter how intellectual they seem, deep down, they’re all alike.” She tossed a magazine on the table and reached for another one, stretching lazily like a cat.

  “Hi, Quintana.” The bulky form of Barton Mitchell loomed over them. “I tried to call you last night. Did your mother tell you?”

  “Yes, she did.” Quintana beamed up at him. He took this as an invitation to sit down in the chair next to her. “Sorry I didn’t call you back. I was out.”

  “That’s cool,” Barton said. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for Friday night. We are, right?”

  “Friday night? I thought it was Saturday,” Quintana said. Mads watched and listened, fascinated. This was the third boy to come talk to Quintana since she’d sat down half an hour ago. She’d toyed with every single one of them. She could make their emotions go up and down like a yo-yo.

  Barton’s face fell. “Saturday? I’m sure we said Friday. But I can see you Saturday instead, if that’s better for you. I’ll just skip my parents’ anniversary dinner—”

  Quintana laughed in her low, sexy voice. “Don’t do that. I’m kidding. Friday night’s cool.”

  “Yeah. All right.” The clouds broke, and peace was restored to Barton’s face. “See you then. Maybe I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay,” Quintana said. He got up and left. “I hope my mother didn’t tell him I was out with Mo when he called last night. She has such a big mouth, and he gets so jealous.”

  “I don’t think he knew,” Mads said. She admired Quintana’s power, but she felt sorry for Barton, too. Mads was a veteran of unrequited crushes. They could be painful.

  “I’ve been training her not to blab,” Quintana said.

  “How do you do it?” Mads asked. “How do you keep them all so into you?”

  Quintana waved the question away. “It’s so not hard. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

  “Well, do you have any kissing advice for me?” Mads said. “I can’t figure out what the problem is with Stephen. I check my breath all the time, and it’s always fine.”

  “What kind of gum do you chew?” Quintana asked.

  “Gum? I don’t usually chew gum.”

  “So how do you keep your breath fresh?” Quintana asked.

  Mads shrugged.

  “Maybe it’s not as fresh as you think. Try wintergreen gum. If a guy takes me out for something to eat, I always chew some afterward.”

  “I like peppermint,” Mads said.

  “No, no! It has to be wintergreen. That’s the strongest flavor. Plus, I read a survey in Cosmo that said guys like the taste of wintergreen better than fruit or peppermint flavors. By almost two to one.”

  “Really?” Mads pulled her geometry notebook out of her bag and jotted this down in the margin, even though she knew she wouldn’t forget. “What else?”

  “What are you doing with your hands while you’re kissing him?”

  “My hands?” Mads tried to think. “Mostly I’m just hoping they won’t get in the way.”

  Quintana shook her head. “Put one hand on his back, and one on the back of his head. Then tilt your head slightly to the right. It’s the best angle for them when they come in for the kill. And run your fingers through his hair while he’s kissing you. They love that.”

  Tilt head right, fingers through hair… Mads furiously scribbled notes. This was priceless Quintana advice. How could the other girls not like her? She was so helpful!

  “You can use both hands on the back of his head, too, if you want,” Quintana added. “And if you get tired of mouth-kissing, you can kiss other parts of his face, for a kind of rest period. I can’t believe you don’t know this, Mads. Don’t you ever watch movies?”

  Watch movies for tips, Mads wrote. “Sure, I do,” she said. “I just never realized they could be training films.”

  “What kind of gum is that?” Stephen asked. They were settled in his mother’s studio again. Mads had made sure that Nietzsche had plenty of food and water in the kitchen.

  “Wintergreen,” Mads said. “Want some?”

  “No thanks,” Stephen said. “It smells good, though.”

  Score one for Quintana, Mads thought. She tilted her head to the right, practicing. To get ready for what she hoped was coming next.

  “What are you doing?” Stephen asked, mirroring her head tilt with one of his own.

  She straightened her head. “Nothing. I have a crick in my neck.”

  “You do?” He put his hand on the back of her neck. “Want me to rub it for you?”

  “That would be great,” Mads said.

  She relaxed as he rubbed her neck. It felt good even though there really was no crick. She stopped chewing her gum, letting it rest under her tongue. She glanced around the immediate vicinity, looking for a good place to stash it when the time came. An ashtray, a cup, anything…

  Stephen rubbed her neck more firmly, and soon he had his other arm around her, his face close to hers. She put one arm on his back and one on his head, as Quintana had instructed. She tilted her head a little to the right. She closed her eyes.

  He kissed her very softly. She opened her eyes to see if his were closed. They were. She closed hers again and moved the hand on his back up to his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed and pressed her down on the couch, kissing her more deeply now.

  Yay, Quintana, Mads thought. This was more like it.

  He eased the pressure on her lips. She remembered what Quintana had said about kissing other parts of his face, so she playfully nipped at his nose. He smiled. She kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then nibbled a strand of his hair….

  Stephen lifted his head to look into her eyes. But Mads’ eyes were drawn higher, to his forehead. Dangling from his bangs was a gooey white lump. Her wintergreen gum.

  “What’s wrong?” Stephen pulled away and sat up. The wet gum flapped against his forehead. His hand flew up and touched it.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Hold still,” she said. “It’s only g
um.” She gave it a little tug, hoping it would peel right off. But there was hair wrapped around it. Lots of hair.

  “Ow! Careful. How stuck is it?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to say. But she’d seen gum casualties like this before. Gruesome.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate,” she said.

  Stephen stood up and went to a mirror on the studio wall. He stared at the gum in distress. “You mean, cut it out? Right in the middle of my bangs?”

  “It won’t look so bad,” Mads said. “We’ll just snip the bottom part. You’ll still have all your bangs. They’ll just be shorter in the middle.”

  “But that will look extremely stupid,” Stephen complained.

  Mads bit her lip. She couldn’t argue with that.

  “What if we cut all your bangs shorter, so they’re even,” she suggested. “A Caesar cut.”

  “I hate Caesar cuts,” Stephen said. “Only dickweeds have Caesar cuts.”

  Mads knew he was upset because she had never heard him use the word “dickweed” before. It wasn’t his style.

  She’d screwed up again. Whenever she tried to do something Quintana’s way, it backfired. Now she’d ruined Stephen’s hair. He was going to look like a dickweed and it was all her fault.

  “Maybe, on you, a Caesar cut will look classic, and not dickweedish at all,” she said. “Since you’re not a dickweed, you can’t look like one.”

  He turned away from the mirror. “Aw, Mads, don’t get upset. I bet my mother can fix it. She’s pretty good with scissors.” The sticky hair stuck straight out from his forehead. Mads tried not to laugh. Laughing at him would only make things worse.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said, and she was. Sorry about ruining his hair. Sorry that there probably wouldn’t be any more kissing that night. Sorry that she was the biggest makeout screwup since the beginning of time.

  19

  Sebastiano’s Crystal Ball

  * * *