Stu Truly Read online

“At least she doesn’t smell like an old folks’ home,” Tyler said. “I’m gonna need nose plugs.”

  “Yeah, at least your head won’t be in her armpit,” Ryan countered. “She’s gonna rub me under her arms like deodorant.”

  “Hey, guys,” Ben said, joining us with a grin so wide you’d have thought he’d just been pulled out of school early.

  “Shut up,” we all said.

  “You’re just happy ’cause you like the girl you got stuck with,” Tyler said in his most sarcastic voice.

  “Yeah, you’re already boyfriend and girlfriend, aren’t you?” Ryan added.

  “Shut up,” Ben shot back. “I don’t like her. I just didn’t want to get stuck with some freaky girl.”

  I parted from the group and headed for my sixth-

  period science class. Did he really not like Kirsten? I wanted to believe him, but I had my doubts. Anyway, what did it matter who he was partnered with? What really mattered was who I was not partnered with. I thought of how I’d just stood there against the wall like everyone else. Everyone except Jackson. He had walked right up to her while I just stood there gawking. I hung my head and turned a corner. Becca appeared from the opposite direction. We stopped short, but our notebooks kept going, tumbling in a pile.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Becca said, reaching for the pencil that had landed between my feet.

  “My fault,” I said, leaning around her to pick up my notebook.

  We straightened up at the same time, our eyes locking for a moment.

  “See you,” she said, brushing past me.

  “Yeah,” I replied, turning to watch her go. “See you.”

  I was still standing in the same spot when the bell rang, my brain reviewing statistics like a sports broadcaster. She wasn’t six feet tall. She didn’t outweigh me by fifty pounds. She didn’t smell funny. And she didn’t make me want to jump in front of a speeding car. Why hadn’t I asked her to be my partner?

  The next day at lunch, I made a point of sitting with Tyler and Ryan. Not because I was dying to have lunch with them, I just couldn’t be at the same table with Becca. Or next to Ben talking lizard trivia with Kirsten. The fact that Jackson was sitting with them didn’t help, either.

  Tyler and Ryan were busy discussing our first day of square dancing.

  “I’m not standing next to her for a whole hour,” Tyler blurted. “She smells like my grandma.”

  “At least you’re not her personal deodorant,” Ryan replied, rubbing the top of his head.

  “Everyone thinks I like Christie Moreno,” I added with an appropriate sigh.

  Tyler laughed. “I already thought that. You’re part of the Moreno Tornado.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That’s her fan club,” Tyler explained. “My little sister joined. You get free stickers and stuff. I bet you have some on your binder.”

  I bit into my ham sandwich. At least I didn’t have to pretend to eat anything vegetarian today.

  “I’d listen to Christie Moreno any day if it meant not sticking my head in Debbie’s armpit,” Ryan said.

  “Hey, at least it’s not Hannah’s armpit,” Tyler said with a grimace. “You’d be dead before you hit the floor.”

  Ryan looked across at me then lowered his eyes. “Gretchen’s not so bad.”

  I choked on a piece of ham. Something didn’t quite sound right about that last comment. Maybe I was just paranoid, but I was starting to think my friends were becoming interested in girls. I shook my head to clear the thought. Ben I could understand. He’d always been a little against the grain. But Ryan? Ryan still picked his nose when he thought no one was looking. Ryan still drank milk with a straw. And still snorted like a donkey every time he laughed. Ryan couldn’t possibly be interested in girls. Especially a girl like Gretchen. Gretchen, who liked Christie Moreno. Gretchen, who had the audacity to ask me to be her dance partner. Gretchen, who this very moment was staring at me from two tables away.

  I choked down the remainder of my ham sandwich while secretly checking out the rest of the cafeteria. How many of the guys in this very room were secretly staring over at some girl hoping no one would notice? And how many girls were doing the same thing? Was anyone else staring at me? I felt exposed. At this very moment, there might be eyes boring a hole in the back of my head wondering if I wanted to join them listening to Christie Moreno.

  My hands were trembling. It was too much to absorb. I needed air. My eyes were drawn to Becca. She sat quietly with her yogurt and her hot, spicy peas, seemingly oblivious to everything happening around her. She glanced up, our eyes met. I grabbed my lunch and bolted from the cafeteria without looking back.

  The gym seemed smaller than usual as I stepped out from the boys’ locker room. After leaving the cafeteria, I’d spent the remainder of lunch trying to shut things from my mind. So far, it’d been useless. It was like a secret world had been unveiled, one in which we were under some sort of alien control. Everything I had taken for granted I now questioned. Every glance, every laugh, every moment held secrets. I wished for a key that could decipher what was happening around me. Instead, nothing made sense.

  “Hi, Stu,” Gretchen said, smiling.

  “Hi,” I replied without enthusiasm.

  “I hope this unit doesn’t last long,” she whispered. “I love ballet. It’s real art. My teacher says that square dancing is just for people who don’t want to take the time to learn how to really dance.”

  Hey, that sounded like me. “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Today,” Mr. Snedaker began, “we’re going to practice forming squares and getting lined up correctly.”

  Apparently, the square in square dancing is there for a reason. Mr. Snedaker explained that four couples together form a “square.” This meant separating into groups throughout the gym. Creating a square with eight people who were trying desperately not to make eye contact wasn’t easy. Every few minutes, Mr. Snedaker would repeat, “Gentlemen, she’s not going to bite.” Clearly, he hadn’t been with us on the playground in first grade.

  Just as we thought the worst was over, he had us form new groups. This was enough to send some of the boys over the edge. I ended up across from Ryan. He looked like a little boy next to his mother. Debbie was so large she could have pounded Ryan into the ground like a tent pole. At the sight of Gretchen, Ryan straightened up, almost enough for his head to reach Debbie’s shoulder. By the time we were all in our correct positions, the bell sounded.

  “Be prepared tomorrow,” Mr. Snedaker called as we shuffled out, “for the real dancing to begin.”

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Ben said as we headed across the lawn to class.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Tyler spat out. “I may never breathe right again.”

  “Shut up,” Ryan said. “I look like a circus midget next to Debbie.”

  “That’s true,” I added.

  “Maybe we should get together and practice after school,” Ben said, laughing.

  “Yeah, you can be the girl,” Tyler said.

  “That won’t work,” I added. “His head’s too big.”

  Ben gave me a shove. “Mama, hold me. I’m heading for the light.”

  Sometimes the best thing you can do for your best friend is strangle him. If only his neck weren’t so thick.

  Ben giggled. “Thanks for the neck massage.”

  Really. How did I put up with that guy?

  I got home that afternoon to find the trailer gone and my father waiting in the garage.

  “Hey, Stu,” he said.

  “What happened to the trailer?”

  My father flashed a mischievous grin. “It’s at a top secret location disclosed only on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Do you mean like Harley’s barn?”

  The mischievous smile faded to a frown. “Remind me never to take you to anyone’s house.” He sized me up, then took out a measuring tape from his pocket. “As long as you’re here, I need a few measurements.” He approach
ed and held one of my arms out to the side while he slid the tape from my wrist to my shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He stepped back and wrote in a notebook. When he finished, he squatted and measured my inseam. “Nothing much.” The mischievous grin had returned. “Just measuring.”

  I could think of nothing good that could come from my father taking my measurements. “Seriously, you’re not taking up sewing again, are you?” My father had the impulse one year to hand sew our Halloween costumes. I ended up in a costume that looked like Winnie the Pooh after a knife fight. My brother had it even worse. My father sewed him a tomato costume that came out looking like a diseased liver.

  My father paused. “You’ll see.”

  I headed inside. “Whatever it is, I’m not wearing it!” I yelled over my shoulder.

  After a small snack that included two cookies, a bag of potato chips, and a quart of milk, I headed up to do my homework. Since that wasn’t going to happen before dinner, I headed back down and got on my mom’s computer. She had taken a part-time job at the hospital thrift store, so that meant I could browse until dinner without fear of being told I was wasting time. Clearly, I was wasting time, but the last thing I needed was my mother telling me that. I typed “Christie Moreno” into the search engine. A list of Christie Moreno sites, including the Moreno Tornado fan site, popped up. Against my better judgment, I clicked on the link.

  I shouldn’t have. For starters, a poster-sized image of Christie filled the screen. A girl barely older than me stood on stage in a fishnet-stocking jumpsuit that looked like she’d been wrapped in the neighbor’s chain-link fence. Her eyes were black and blue with makeup. Beneath the blackened eyes were lips so puffed out she appeared to be having an allergic reaction to the feather boa wrapped around her neck. Beneath the image were the words Christie rockin’ it at the MTV Awards. Further down were comments posted by her many Moreno Tornado fans. The same phrases repeated over and over, such as You’re the best, Love you, and I’ll always be your #1 Tornado. I was beginning to wish I’d had a smaller snack. My stomach churned from all the syrupy sweetness.

  To the side were links to some of her hit songs. I clicked on one called “Make Me Feel You.” The moment it started I recognized the tweener-bop beat. The song had been used on a commercial for Cheezy Pops cereal. No wonder the sight of it made me want to skip breakfast. Putting cheese flavor on cereal was bad enough. Add teen diva music and you had a lethal mix. I closed out the website. My head hurt. How could girls like something like that? I’d rather be eaten by piranhas in my own bathtub than forced to join a teen idol website.

  I headed back upstairs and resumed my daily staredown with my textbooks. So far, the textbooks were winning. I idly opened one of them. Before me lay a folded piece of paper. Stu was written on the front. I opened the note. A girl’s handwriting greeted me with the following: I’m glad we’re partners. We have so much in common. Looking forward to getting to know you better. Gretchen.

  I read the note again. Nothing changed in the second go-round. I half expected Ben to pop out from behind my door. I wouldn’t put it past him to write something like that just to scare the living daylights out of me. But Ben was nowhere to be seen, and the note could not possibly be his handwriting. Ben’s handwriting looked like a horse with a pen tied to one hoof. This writing had loopy flourishes like something my first-grade teacher would have done. I read the note for the third time. None of the words changed. She didn’t like me, did she? The truth hit me like a zombie’s fist to the forehead. I dropped the letter, hoping it would have the good sense to scuttle out of sight so I could forget it ever existed. The note just lay there, mocking me with its presence.

  For the first time, I wished my parents had given me a cell phone. Not because I wanted the responsibility of keeping track of one. We all knew I’d lose it first chance I got. But I could have used a friend to talk to right now. And I didn’t dare use the phone downstairs for fear of being overheard. I could walk to Ben’s house, but that would take too long. Plus, I didn’t want to be late for dinner. Hamburger night was not to be missed.

  “Stu?” I heard from the hallway.

  I turned to find my little brother standing in the doorway.

  “Will you play with me?” A red towel hung off his shoulder like a cape. In his hand, he held a sword made from the cardboard center of a paper towel roll. “I’m a knight,” he said.

  “Funny,” I replied, slowly rising from my chair. I took one slow step forward then roared, “BECAUSE I’M A DRAGON!”

  Sometimes life throws you a curve. And sometimes life sends you down the stairs impersonating a dragon thirsty for the blood of a young knight. Life is funny that way.

  I got to school the next day to find Gretchen waiting outside. I told myself she was not standing there waiting for me, though the pit of my stomach said otherwise.

  “Hi,” Gretchen said as I passed.

  “Hi,” I replied, doing my best to avoid eye contact. I failed. Her eyes latched onto mine like a spy searching for government secrets. I strained to keep my mind shut, but her eyes wormed inside anyway.

  Suddenly, she broke off the search and picked up her backpack. “I need to get to class,” she mumbled.

  I watched her go, feeling both guilt and relief. Part of me wanted to stop her. To say something to make her feel better. But I didn’t. Instead, I took the long route to class so we hopefully wouldn’t run into each other a second time again before the bell rang.

  At lunch, I ended up at the same table with Ben. Not by choice. My legs carried me there entirely against my will. The smart thing would have been to sit with the guys and stay with my plan from yesterday. Why I couldn’t just stick with that plan was a mystery. I sat down bemoaning my tuna fish sandwich that was about to go to waste. All I had left in my lunch sack was a handful of snap peas and a day-old butterhorn I had brought on the off chance I ended up near Becca.

  “Hey, Stu,” Becca said as I sat down.

  “Hey,” I replied, doing my best to maintain my cool. I wasn’t really sure what my cool was anymore. It didn’t help having Ben seated next to me.

  He took one of my snap peas and flopped it around on the table like a dying fish. “Is your mother out to kill you?”

  “She just wants me to be healthy.”

  Ben giggled. “Is that why she sent you with peas and a butterhorn?” Ben could be a real pain when he wanted.

  “The refrigerator was short on leftovers.” That was true. Short on vegetarian leftovers.

  “Exactly,” Becca agreed, spinning my lie in a new direction. “That’s why it’s so important.”

  “Why what is so important?” I asked, taking the bait.

  “That there be a vegetarian entrée option on the school lunch menu,” she finished.

  I looked up at the cafeteria menu board. It read the same as always: Today’s menu: Hamburger or chicken strips with french fries. How I’d love a cheeseburger right now. “Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed.

  “I knew you’d be with me on this,” Becca continued.

  Ben leaned over. “Becca wants us to do a sit-in to force the school to replace cheeseburgers with veggie burgers.”

  “Not replace,” Becca corrected, “just add as an alternative.”

  Ben nudged my shoulder. “Wouldn’t you prefer a veggie burger to a cheeseburger? You and your dad eat them all the time, don’t you?”

  I gently stomped on Ben’s foot under the table.

  “Yes, we love ’em,” I lied.

  “Oh good. Then you’ll help us?” Becca asked with her biggest doe eyes.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Ah, that’s so sweet,” Ben added. “I told her you’d be all into it.”

  His foot moved just before mine came crashing down on it with the force of a sledgehammer. That boy is quicker than you’d think.

  “Hey,” Kirsten interrupted, “there’s a school dance this Friday night. Are you guys going?”


  “Will they be playing Christie Moreno?” Ben asked. “If so, you can count Stu in. He loves to dance.”

  “So does Gretchen,” Kirsten said, giving me a knowing look.

  I lowered my half-eaten butterhorn. What was going on here? Why did she bring up Gretchen’s name? I felt my ears beginning to burn. At times like this, I wished I could pull them off and stick them in a pocket. Maintaining my cool would be a lot easier with detachable ears.

  “I’ve never been to a school dance,” Becca said.

  “Me neither,” I replied. “They had a couple last year, but somehow I forgot to remind myself to go.”

  Becca laughed. “Isn’t it enough that we have to square-dance in PE?”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed in agreement. “What’s with all this dancing? Can’t they just give us more homework? What’s our school system coming to?”

  That set everyone to giggling.

  “I’m going to protest by bringing a textbook to read,” Ben said.

  That brought on more giggles. Apparently, the girls knew Ben better than I thought.

  “We should all wear black,” Kirsten suggested.

  “And wear Mickey Mouse ears,” Ben added. “We can be dancing Mickey Mouse ninjas.”

  The bell rang and we gathered up the remains of lunch.

  “Don’t forget,” Kirsten said, “wear black Friday night.”

  I hadn’t agreed to go, had I? I felt torn between the part of me that was excited Becca wanted me to go and the part of me that was terrified I might actually have to dance with her. I stood up to find Gretchen staring my way. She quickly turned without making eye contact.

  Gretchen continued to ignore me during PE, which became increasingly uncomfortable since we were standing next to each other. Each time we formed a new square, her posture grew more rigid. To make matters worse, Mr. Snedaker had us practicing our first movement. This involved taking hands in a circle and rotating counterclockwise before re-forming our square. For me, this meant an hour of holding hands with a girl whose icy touch sent shivers up my spine.