Читать книгу Not That Kind Of Girl - Siobhan Vivian - Страница 13

CHAPTER SEVEN

The rest of my weekend pretty much sucked. Autumn didn’t sleep over on Friday or Saturday, but she came over on Sunday to do a few SAT practice exams together. I could tell she wasn’t feeling it. I’d look up and she’d be staring out our kitchen window, even though the timer was ticking away and she was at least five test pages behind me. Obviously, practice exams aren’t the most fun thing to do, but the SATs were in just over a month, and I wanted us to be as ready as we could possibly be.

Not that it always worked that way. Because even though I’d practiced my speech countless times, I was way more nervous than I’d thought I’d be for the first student council meeting on Monday. I kept trying to remind myself that the stresses of the election had passed. I’d beaten Mike Domski, and now I could finally get down to business.

Before heading to the meeting, I wanted to freshen up and collect myself. The perfect place to go was the girls’ bathroom near the teachers’ lounge. Other girls avoided it for the risks of getting caught talking on their cell phones or smoking a cigarette, but the lack of use meant that it was always clean. The dispensers stayed full of syrupy pink soap, and there was always toilet paper and paper towels to be found. It was my favorite place to pee. It was like an executive girls’ bathroom.

But I wasn’t alone. I opened the door to find Spencer kneeling on the radiator. Her back was arched, and she stretched her head toward the ceiling, like she was in some strange yoga pose.

I flashed her a quick smile and dropped my book bag in the well of a dry sink.

“Shhhh!”

Spencer took her finger off her lips and pointed above her head at the vents in the ceiling. A layer of fuzzy dust sat on each slit. She whispered, “Mrs. Dockey was just bitching about Principal Hurley not approving her costume budget for the school musical. She actually said that she ‘can’t put on The Wizard of Oz with fucking bedsheets and a burlap sack!’ ”

We both tried to hold in our laugher, but it was practically impossible. Mrs. Dockey was about eighty years old and completely soft-spoken. I didn’t think it was possible for her to curse like that. Then again, she did take the musical theater productions very seriously.

I rifled through my bag for my hairbrush, forcing it through the knots in my hair. I made sure my headband was perched right at the top of my head. I slicked my lips with my tube of Burt’s Bees. I looked as ready as I could be, but inside, my stomach was churning. I’d never had the chance to stand out like this before. To be a leader.

“I took your advice,” Spencer said to me. “See?” She jumped off the radiator and lifted up her skirt, flashing a pair of pink satiny petticoat underwear with layers of frills across the butt. “These were actually part of my dance costume for this can-can routine I did in a Moulin Rouge show.”

I smiled. Not the toothy kind, but the lips pressed together kind. It was . . . a marginal improvement. But I had to give Spencer credit. If she danced in outfits like that, she probably wouldn’t get nervous giving a student council speech.

“So, congratulations on winning the election. A few girls in my homeroom were planning to vote for Mike because he was cute, but I forced them to vote for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, and tucked my shirt into my skirt.

“I saw what Mike did to your poster.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Though I guess you can’t really blame him.”

Had Spencer been the one to take it down? I turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

She scrunched her curls in the mirror. “Sexual tension makes guys act like complete idiots.”

I raised an eyebrow. There was certainly tension between me and Mike Domski, but it was hardly sexual. Not even close.

Spencer gave me wink, as if I were acting coy. “Mike totally wants to bone you. It’s so obvious.”

I shook my head emphatically. “Umm, no, he doesn’t. We hate each other.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, maybe on the surface he hates you,” Spencer conceded. “But I bet it goes deeper than that.” She tapped a finger on her lips a few times, thinking. “He could never get a girl like you. You are so out of his league, it kills him. And all that frustration bubbles up and makes him act the way he does. Honestly, it’s textbook boy.”

It was nice to hear Spencer say such complimentary things about me, even though she had no idea what she was talking about. But it was also sort of unnerving, listening to her analyze me and Mike like that. What could she possibly know about sexual tension? She was only fourteen.

I zipped up my bag and hoisted it onto my shoulders. I didn’t want to be the last one in the library and appear irresponsible. But Spencer leaned against the sink next to mine, blocking my way to the door. She clearly wanted to talk. And maybe it would be cool to be the girl everyone was waiting for. To make a dramatic entrance. I guessed I could spare a couple more minutes.

“So, Spencer. How are your classes going?” I asked.

“Pretty good. I like everything, except for History of Modern Civilization.”

“I took that freshman year. It’s not actually that hard, so long as you keep up with the reading.”

“It’s not so much the work as it is the teacher,” Spencer groaned.

“What? Are you kidding? Ms. Bee is awesome. She’s the best teacher in our entire school.”

Spencer looked doubtful. “She doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sure she does,” I said. But really, there was a part of me that wondered if Spencer might be right. Ms. Bee was a tough teacher, and she was hardest on the girls. I liked that about her, but she definitely wasn’t going to pander to Spencer’s underwear-flashing antics. “You just have to show her that you care about learning. If she thinks that you aren’t interested, then she won’t be interested in you.” I was afraid that was Spencer’s biggest problem. She was concentrating on the wrong things. “Have you joined any clubs?”

“Not yet. I’m still evaluating my options.” It was a weird thing to say, because what did Spencer need to evaluate? If you wanted to join a club, you did. There were no limits on that kind of thing. “I really wish our school had a dance team.”

“Well, if you join student council, you could propose that to the school board.”

“Really? Students have the power to do that?” she asked, and I nodded. “That’s awesome. Maybe I’ll come to the first meeting. It’s tomorrow, right?”

“It’s today. In about five minutes, actually.” How did she not know this? Spencer had been in the library on Friday, when Ms. Bee announced the meeting. And there were signs posted all over the hallways. I’d hung them up myself.

She pouted. “Shoot. My mom’s supposed to take me to the dance studio on Main to sign up for some classes.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You can still be involved in student council, even if you miss today’s meeting.” I smiled. “And you know me, so you’ve got the inside track.”

“Ooh! Then you’re the perfect person to ask. Is it true that we get to wear normal clothes on pep rally day? I heard someone say that in the hallway.”

“Yes, so long as you’ve got on school colors.”

“Cool. A few of my friends and I were thinking about designing our own T-shirts. You know, to show school spirit.”

Her enthusiasm was a pleasant surprise. “You should definitely meet up with your class rep. We’re going to be deciding them today at the meeting, so I don’t know who it is yet, but find me tomorrow and I’ll tell you. He or she will be in charge of organizing the hall decorations for the freshman class. I’m sure your help would be appreciated. Pep rallies are sort of a big deal here.” I felt for the note cards in my chest pocket. “And I have something pretty exciting planned for this year’s festivities. Seriously. It’s going to be epic.”

“Cool.” Spencer bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I feel like I’m letting you down or something. I wish I could come today.”

I wished she could, too. Not that being involved with dance wasn’t a good thing. But I had a feeling that Spencer could benefit from a more traditional school activity. One without sexy costumes. “Well, I’m going to be late. And that wouldn’t look good at all.”

Spencer let out a deep, happy sigh. “I still can’t believe how lucky I am that you were my babysitter, and now I’m like automatically friends with the student council president. Honestly, it doesn’t get much better than that.”

I felt myself blushing.

“Break a leg, Natalie!” she said, throwing up her hand for a high five.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one. When I slapped Spencer’s hand, it made the best sound.