All's Fair in Love, War, and High School Read online

  "Oh, why?"

  He picked up a grass blade and twirled it in between his fingers. "Oh, you know. Just to see how you're doing—and to ask you what you think of rap music, pro wrestling, and guys who pierce multiple parts of their body. That sort of thing."

  I took the blade of grass from his fingers and shook it back at him. "It won't work. I have tremendous willpower, and I'm going to block out everything you say."

  "So tell me, who do you think has more class, Brittany Spears or Eminem?"

  Like I was going to fall for something that obvious. Still shaking the grass at him, I said, "What did you tell Cassidy about me?"

  "When?" he asked, as though they'd had several conversations regarding me.

  "When you told her that I thought she told Amy my SAT score."

  "That was basically it," he said.

  "Basically what?"

  "Basically what I said."

  I rolled my eyes. Was he trying to be difficult, or did guys just not know how to talk about things? I threw the blade of grass at him, and then because it wasn't enough, I grabbed another handful of grass and threw that at him too.

  He said, "Hey!" and brushed the grass off his shirt, which of course was just an invitation for me to throw more at him. As I grabbed the second handful I told him, "This isn't an insult. I'm throwing this grass at you with the utmost respect."

  After I'd christened him with the next handful, he retaliated with a few handfuls himself, and before long we were ripping up large chunks of the landscaping and flinging it at each other. He tried to rub some grass in my face, and I had to grab his hands to stop him. He pushed me over, and we probably would have had a full-blown wrestling match right there in the park if my mother hadn't suddenly appeared over us.

  With a stern frown she looked down at us. "What are you two doing?"

  Logan and I both sat up, mumbled apologies to her, and brushed the grass from our clothes. I noticed several people watching us, and I felt myself blush until they turned their attention back to the fair.

  After my mom moved away, Logan mouthed to me, "You started it."

  I stuck my tongue out at him, which technically wasn't an insult, since it involved no words.

  He turned away from me, shaking his head; but just to show Logan I hadn't forgotten the subject at hand, I said, "So what did you tell Cassidy about me?"

  He sighed and leaned back with his hands on the grass. "We were just talking, and I told her you thought she was involved with those flyers, and then she told me she hadn't told anyone your score results, which, if you recall, I told you all along."

  "Right," I said. Because he might consider it an insult if I called him naive.

  He smiled over at me. He had an even, gorgeous smile. One that always made him look like he was up to something. "It was your fault we were talking anyway, so you shouldn't be upset."

  "My fault?"

  "Yeah. As you know, I haven't had any luck with Veronica. So when I found out Cassidy wasn't going to the prom with anybody—well, it just seemed like a good idea to ask her."

  "You asked Cassidy to the prom? Cassidy Woodruff?"

  "She didn't do the flyers."

  Yeah, yeah. He'd already professed her innocence. What I wanted to say was, / thought we were friends. If you needed a date for the prom, why didn't you ask me instead of my archenemy?

  But that was a stupid thing to say. It was a stupid thing to even think. Logan and I at the prom—we'd probably end up wrestling on the punch table. Besides, I wasn't even sure Logan and I were actually friends. We were more like mutual nemeses.

  I wanted to go to the prom with Josh. Josh, who was at this moment . . . I looked around the park until I located him. Josh, who was at this moment talking to Cassidy and Elise outside of the moon jump.

  I just couldn't win.

  Cassidy, apparently, could take whatever she wanted from me at will. The student body would probably put her in as a write-in candidate, and she'd win the school election too. It just wasn't fair.

  I said, "Hey Logan, someone is moving in on your prom date. You'd better go defend your territory."

  He looked over to where Josh and Cassidy stood talking, but didn't seem concerned. "I said we were going to the prom together, not getting married."

  "Sure, you say that now. But you'll probably change your mind later."

  He cocked his head and looked at me with a puzzled expression. I couldn't explain my last statement to him, so I smiled sweetly at him and changed my mind.

  "On second thought, you'd better stay here with me. I feel like I'm on the verge of really, really insulting someone, and you wouldn't want to miss that." After all, I didn't want Cassidy to think she could have Josh and Logan too. Since she was talking to my future prom date, I could sit here and talk to hers.

  Logan nodded knowingly at me. "You're trying that reverse psychology stuff again, aren't you?" He leaned farther back, in a relaxed sort of way. "It won't work this time."

  "Good. You're just too clever for me."

  We sat and talked for the rest of the fair. Logan brought up every terrible topic he could think of, and I survived only by complimenting anyone and anything I felt like insulting.

  "Daytime talk show hosts?" he asked.

  "Snappy dressers," I answered.

  He laughed a lot, and every time he did, part of me wanted to say, "See, you're having a good time with me. Why in the world did you ask Cassidy to the prom?" Then I'd want to smack myself for thinking that way.

  It was just so ridiculous for me to have these thoughts about Logan when I wanted to be with Josh. And I did want to be with Josh. He was not only tall, dark, and handsome, he was mature and a little mysterious—and his fingernails never had car grease underneath them. Just to prove my point, I looked over at Logan's hands and noticed they were perfectly clean. How odd. When did Logan start taking care of his hands, and why hadn't I seen it before?

  It didn't matter.

  I was absolutely not interested in Logan in a romantic way. The guy had just told me he was going to the prom with Cassidy.

  "School lunches?" Logan asked.

  "Really, really nutritious," I said.

  He tilted his head back in disbelief and groaned. I noticed that his hair stayed perfectly in place. He had great hair—so thick and wavy.

  I wanted to smack myself again.

  "Oh, I have it," Logan said. "The subject you can't resist insulting. Tell me, Samantha, what do you think about me?"

  "Too much."

  "Too much? What's that supposed to mean?"

  Never mind what it means. I can't believe I just said it, and I'd never in a million years explain it to you. "No hablo inglés," I said. "Lo siento, señor."

  "Don't think you can resort to insulting me in Spanish. I can spot an insult in any language."

  "I bet you can. I'm sure you have a lot of experience in the matter."

  "You're skating on thin ice," he said, and then with a smile added, "I knew you couldn't resist me."

  But I did. For the rest of the night, in the recesses of my mind, I resisted him. I squelched any and every attraction I felt, and that was even harder than squelching insults.

  After the fair was over, we packed up our minivan and headed home. The boys sat in the back shooting each other with plastic flying frogs they'd won at some booth, while Mom and I sat in the front and did our best to ignore them. Mom gave a contented sigh as we drove. "The fair went pretty well, don't you think?"

  "Sure," I said, then ran my hand over my shirt, which was now blotched with red Jell-O.

  "We cleared over three hundred dollars. Isabelle Woodruff was thrilled. You know, she's so changed since they adopted Katya. She's always out and about, doing something with her. She's much happier."

  I had never paid much attention to Mrs. Woodruff's level of happiness, so I just said, "Oh."

  Mom glanced over at me. "Don't you think it's great that she's become so involved in helping kids?"

  "Sure
."

  Mom's gaze returned to the street, but she shook her head. "There used to be a time you actually talked to me in sentences that involved more than one word."

  This had been one of Mom's complaints against me lately. It wasn't enough to answer "fine" when she asked how my day had been. She wanted some sort of verbal essay.

  I shrugged. "Sure, I think it's great that the Woodruffs are doing so much for the kids in Russia."

  Mom didn't say anything for a moment, and I could tell she was deciding whether to drop the subject or not. I guess she decided in favor of dropping because when she spoke again, her voice returned to its normal tone. "So I noticed you and Logan Hansen spent a lot of time together tonight. What's going on between you two?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "Absolutely nothing."

  "Right." Mom sighed and shook her head again. "You never tell me anything anymore."

  Chapter 11

  The next day, instead of guy-ogling, my friends and I decided a campaign strategy meeting was in order. We went to the library, sat at a table in a remote corner, and rehashed all the events of the day before—who had said what about the flyers and about me, and how much all of this was likely to hurt my chances for election.

  "It's worse than I thought," Chelsea said, pulling her chair closer to the table. "That flyer really boosted Amy's chances of winning the election. A lot of people think you can't be serious about being school president if you haven't been serious about your schoolwork."

  Aubrie nodded. "And Rick has already captured the this-is-all-just-a-big-joke vote."

  "You can't win on intellectual merit now," Chelsea said. "Your only hope is to try and present yourself as middle-of the-road type of candidate. You know, not ultra-cerebral like Amy, but not a partyer like Rick."

  "Okay. I'll be middle-of-the-road." I had no idea how to go about portraying that image. If I always walked down the center of the hallway, would people understand? "When I give my election speech, I'll try to sound really . . . average."

  Rachel shook her head. "Not average, you need to be charismatic."

  "Okay, I'll be charismatically in the middle of the road."

  Aubrie said, "You never know—maybe you could turn the whole flyer incident to your advantage. People might see you as a victim and want to rally around you. Try to play on that."

  "I'll be a charismatic middle-of-the-road victim," I said.

  "And remember to appear dedicated," Rachel added.

  I gripped the edge of the table. "My head will explode if you give me any more directions."

  "You're doing fine. Just try to act presidential," Aubrie said.

  The explosion felt imminent. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

  Chelsea patted my hand as though I were a child. "There's no need to get upset. Everything will work out. Let's change the subject."

  No one said anything for a moment, and then Aubrie asked, "So, do you have any new prospects for the prom?"

  The prom. Now there was a subject. I traced the lettering on my English 315 book, looking at it instead of my friends. I wanted to ask Josh to go with me, but I wasn't sure I had the courage to mention the subject to him, let alone ask him to rent a tux and take me.

  "I kind of like this one guy," I said slowly. "But I'm not sure if he's interested in me."

  "Oh, I think he's interested," Rachel said.

  I blinked at her in surprise. "What?"

  "I think it's pretty obvious that Logan likes you."

  "Logan? What makes you think I was talking about Logan?"

  My friends passed a knowing glance around the table, and then Aubrie said, "Well, the two of you are pretty obvious about it."

  "We are not," I squeaked out. "Logan and I are definitely not obvious, I mean interested. I mean—well, you know what I mean."

  "Oh, come on," Chelsea said. "You two are always talking with each other in the hallways."

  "That's because of his diabolical bet. Not because I like him."

  Rachel smirked at me. "Then why do you two always stand so close together when you talk?"

  "We don't."

  "You do too," Aubrie said.

  "Then that must be because the hallways are crowded or something."

  "Uh-huh," Chelsea said. "You also laugh when you're around him."

  "I find parts of his personality amusing."

  "And what do you find the other parts?"

  I tapped my fingers against my English book, trying to think of the right way to phrase how I felt about Logan. "He's just one of those people that I . . . put up with. And besides, he asked Cassidy Woodruff to the prom."

  "Ohhh," Chelsea said, as if she understood everything perfectly now.

  "But I wasn't talking about Logan anyway. I was talking about Josh Benson. He's back from college, and I've run into him a couple of times. I'm thinking about asking him to the prom."

  My friends looked at me silently. Finally Aubrie said, "As a revenge type of thing because Logan asked Cassidy?"

  "No, not for revenge. This has nothing to do with Logan. Just forget Logan. I like Josh. I just don't know how to casually ask him to the prom."

  "Don't do it casually," Chelsea said. "Come up with some cute idea he won't be able to turn down—like a singing telegram or something."

  Rachel rested her elbows on the table and leaned toward me. "My sister asked a guy out by putting cinnamon rolls in a toy dump truck, and then she attached a note that said, 'I'd like to haul your buns to the Sadie Hawkins.' "

  Aubrie nodded. "My cousin asked her date to Sadie Hawkins by stapling a pair of Superman underwear to a poster and then writing on it, I'LL BE BRIEF, COME WITH ME TO THE DANCE."

  Chelsea hit her hand against the table as though she'd thought of the perfect idea. "A baby chicken in a basket with a note that says, 'This chick would love to go to the prom with you.'"

  "Good ideas," I said, "but somehow I can't see myself giving Josh underwear, live poultry, or anything that references his rear end."

  "You'll think of something," Chelsea said. "There are hundreds of cute ways you can ask him."

  The first bell rang, and we got up to go to our classes. As Rachel tucked her books under her arm she said, "Do an invitation with candy. Guys love to eat."

  I thought about it as I walked to class, and with each step my spirits rose. Chelsea was right. There were hundreds of cute ways to ask Josh to the prom, and guys didn't turn down cute invitations, did they? Besides, if I gave him a Candygram, I wouldn't have to face him while I asked him out. Definitely a plus.

  Throughout the day I thought of various ideas I'd heard about over the years. I finally decided to buy bags of Mounds, Big Hunks, bubble gum, and Starbursts. I would spread them on his bedroom floor and tape some to a note that read, "It would be Mounds of fun to go to the prom with a Big Hunk like you. I'm Bursting to know your answer. Don't blow it, and give me a call." Then I'd leave my name and phone number.

  The hard part would be arranging a time when I could go to his house to set up the invitation. I didn't want to call his mother, tell her what I was planning, and ask permission to come into his house to do it, but what choice did I have? I absolutely wasn't going to ask Elise to let me in.

  Besides, maybe his mother would become my ally in the affair. I could almost see her telling him, "You're not going to turn down Samantha, are you? She's such a nice girl and went to all of that work . . ."

  I called her when I got home from school, explained the situation, and asked when Josh would be gone so I could come over.

  "He'll be at the store until seven tonight," she said. "The rest of us will be in and out all evening. Elise will be at drama practice . . ."

  She said more, but my mind stopped on the Elise at drama practice part. It was perfect timing. Elise wouldn't be around to harass me while I spread candy on the floor.

  She ended her statement with, "so someone should be here to let you in, but if not, I'll leave the door unlocked. Josh's
room is the first door on the left, at the top of the stairs."

  "Urn . . . your dog?"

  "I'll make sure he's in the backyard so he doesn't bother you." She sounded distracted while she said all this, as though her mind had already shifted to the upcoming plans for the evening, so I worried she might forget about this little detail. Then instead of a cute prom invitation, Josh would find my mangled corpse on his floor.

  But as I walked up to the Bensons' front door, gripping my bags of candy in case I needed to use them as a weapon, I heard Goliath barking in the backyard. Josh's mom had remembered.

  No one answered the bell, so I self-consciously opened the door and made my way to Josh's bedroom. It was strange standing alone in his room, looking at the memorabilia on his dresser and seeing the hamper with his clothes. It all seemed so intimate. So personal. I put my stuff down on his bed and resisted the urge to open his drawers to see what he kept in there.

  Tape. I needed to tape the note somewhere. The dresser mirror? The closet door? If I opened his closet, I could run my fingers across the shirts he'd be wearing all next week.

  I ripped off a piece of tape and stuck it on the back of my note. I needed to do this and leave fast. I'd only spent a few minutes in Josh's room, and already I was thinking like a stalker. Besides, what would I do if someone came home and found me inside of Josh's closet caressing his T-shirts? I pressed the note on the floor and taped candy onto it. Then I popped a Starburst into my mouth while I decided how to arrange the rest of the candy on the floor.

  A heart? Too mushy. Scattered haphazardly? Too boring. An arrow would work. I got down on my hands and knees and formed the candy into the tip of an arrow pointing at the note, then I scooted backward, creating a tail. It was a long tail because I'd bought so much candy, and by the time I'd finished, it stretched out of Josh's room into the hallway.

  Oh, well. It sort of looked like it was supposed to do that—as though I'd been planning to give him a clue about what was coming even before he reached his bedroom.

  I picked up my things and, feeling a bit like I was Goldilocks, hurried out before any bears could catch me.