"Okay," Molly said.
"I am not that bad," I said.
In a voice that was meant to appease me, Samantha said, "Right. And you don't want to make the rest of us sit around on campus while you flirt with some new conquest."
I rolled my eyes at her, because really, I'm not like that.
I turned to Polly when the Northside Marketplace was in sight. "When we get there, Samantha will need to wear your glasses."
Polly touched her frames tentatively. "But I can't see without them."
"It's part of Samantha's outfit. If you wear them, so should she."
Polly grumbled about this and Molly said it was going to be the blonde leading the blind, but in the end Polly handed them over to Samantha. "Oh all right, Molly will just have to tell me what's happening since it will all be blurry to me."
We walked inside the Northside Marketplace, then Molly and Polly sauntered into the dining room to do reconnaissance while Samantha and I went into the restroom. Samantha went in to wash off all of her makeup and pull her hair back. I went to touch up mine and give Samantha last-minute instructions.
"This whole theory will be blown if some guy sits next to you, so try to look extra repulsive. You know, if anyone comes too near, start spitting or something."
Samantha splashed water from the sink onto her face and didn't answer me.
I ran my fingers through my hair. "And what will we do if no one sits down by me? I mean, it's possible that every guy who comes by will already be seeing someone, or shy, or just not interested." My hands nearly shook as I applied my lip gloss. "I should have made you be the pretty one. You're better at flirting."
"Which is why I already have a boyfriend." Samantha patted off her face with paper towels and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. Uneven strands hung out over one ear. v"Come on, Juliet. You already look irresistible and the sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave."
We left the restroom and she walked toward the restaurant entrance. "Remember to slouch." I called after her. "Don't make eye contact. The world is an awful, gloomy place!"
She didn't look back at me, but several other students did. I slid back into the doorway of the bathroom so they'd all stop staring at me.
After a couple of minutes, I went into the dining room to keep track of Samantha's progress. As I stood in line to order a soda, she slunk off to the tables, looking at the floor, although this might have been because it was hard to see while wearing someone else's glasses. She held out one hand as though perpetually ready to catch herself.
No one paid attention to her as she walked over to a chair. A few people noticed her as she misjudged the distance of the chair and stumbled onto it. Even more people noticed as she grabbed her shin and did this sort of hopping step while repeating, "Youch!"
But no guys walked up, so it was all good.
Finally she took her seat.
A few tables over, Molly shook her head. Polly just squinted in Samantha's direction.
Samantha kept leaning down with her face nearly pressed against the table as she rubbed her shin. It was not an attractive look.
Good strategy. I was wrong to ever doubt Samantha's abilities to look like a loser.
The guy at the counter gave me my soda. I took a deep breath, held my shoulders erect, and strolled across the dining room. I put a bounce in my step as I walked to an empty table. Smiling at anyone in the vicinity, I sat down, and leaned back in my chair.
My heart was beating too fast. Would people be able to sense that?
The table felt colder, looked bigger than I'd expected. And emptier too. A minute passed. No one even noticed me as they walked by. Another minute wound around my watch.
It was a stupid experiment, I realized, because I had forgotten the cardinal rule of the pick up. Guys never tried to pick you up when you wanted them to. No, when you were between boyfriends and desperate, they stayed away from you like you were wearing man repellent. It was when you didn't want it and weren't expecting it that they popped up to flirt with you.
Which meant despite all our manipulations, Samantha would get the guy, Molly and Polly wouldn't get makeovers, and Mr. Metzerol wouldn't think I was helping them. Rick would win the audition, and I'd have to explain to half the senior class why I was shunning them. Then again, after Rick won the audition spot maybe everyone would naturally shun me.
See, things always work out somehow.
"Hey."
I'd been so busy brooding I hadn't noticed anyone approaching. Now I looked up and saw a guy, and not just any guy—the Clark Kent guy.
Chapter 9
He wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt, but somehow managed to look even better than he had at Rick's party.
I blinked in surprise and struggled to find my voice. "Oh, hi."
He sat down in the chair next to me and smiled but his eyes had an edge to them. "You know, when some girls run out on a guy at a dance, they at least leave a glass slipper behind to help him out. You disappeared without so much as telling me your shoe size."
I laughed, and blushed, and felt happy despite the accusation in his voice. He had the most gorgeously familiar eyes, and he had cared that I left the dance. "Sorry about that," I said. "You see, there was this thing . . ."
He nodded with his eyebrows raised. "This thing? Are you sure you don't just make a habit of fleeing from dances?"
"No, you see . . ." But I didn't want to explain any of it. How did I go about telling a stranger that Rick and his deadbeat band hated me and had written a whole CD of awful songs in my honor? "It's a long story," I said.
"I see." More nodding. "Does it involve a carriage that turned into a pumpkin at midnight?"
"No." It did involve a wicked sister, but I wouldn't go into that either.
"Then, can you tell me your name?"
I hesitated, wondering if he had listened to, or remembered the song Rick had been singing when I left. I hoped not. "It's Chelsea."
"Chelsea?" he repeated, perhaps because I'd been hesitant to answer.
I was about to ask him what his name was, when Molly and Polly walked up. Well, Molly walked up, Polly sort of shuffled over and bumped into the table. Then she put one hand down on the top to stop it from wobbling.
Right on cue Molly said, "Hey Juliet, are you ready to go to English? We'd better hurry or we'll be late."
"Juliet?" The guy asked.
"Oh, my name isn't really Juliet." I looked back and forth between Molly and Polly. "You don't have to call me that. I know this guy. He's . . ." and that's when I realized I still didn't know. "Urn, what's your name?" I asked him.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Romeo Montague."
Polly waved her hand nervously in my direction. "Come on, Juliet. We've got to leave for English. Remember—Professor Dotti and our eyebrows?"
Molly just shook her head at me, tsking under her breath. "You're pitiful. You didn't even last two minutes."
I turned back to Romeo/whoever he was. "This is all just a big misunderstanding. You see, I came here to try to pick up guys—well, no, wait, that doesn't sound right. You see, actually I wasn't really trying to pick up guys, which is why I gave out a fake name, only I didn't give you a fake name because I really am Chelsea."