"Oh, like guys make sense."
"Guys make perfect sense," Logan said. "But you need a degree in psychology to understand women."
No, you didn't. You just needed to talk to their friends every once in a while—thus ensuring the survival of the species. I might have pointed this out but we had to go our separate ways in the hallway so I just yelled out, "Good luck."
In history class Samantha was in a better mood. I supposed this meant that Logan had accomplished his mission. But I didn't ask because my mood had gotten worse as the day went on. At my voice lessons Mr. Metzerol told me I breathed too much. How can a person breathe too much?
When I walked by Jock's Landing, Mike and a bunch of the other football players were all laughing about something. As I got near they suddenly stopped and watched me in silence.
So subtle. Like I couldn't tell they were talking about me. I would have rather heard what they said because now I just conjured up all sorts of ugly things.
Sure there were still people who were nice to me, and my friends tried to cheer me up and tell me it would all blow over, but it only takes a couple of mean people to make you feel awful.
In history class Molly and Polly told me to look on the bright side. There were only 216 more days of school left until we graduated. They'd kept a running total since they moved in. They used to have calculations for the hours, minutes, and seconds too, but had lost track of those since their makeovers. I considered this a good sign. To their credit, each girl had kept up with her hair, makeup, and wardrobe improvements. Or as Molly put it, "Now it takes me forever to get ready for school."
Polly told me that she was picking up her contacts after school, and that she'd started jogging in the evening. "Maybe if I slim down, Joe will talk to me."
"Or maybe he'd talk to you if you talked to him first," I said. But no, she didn't want to try that.
After school, as I took books out of my locker, Rick strolled up. He wore mirrored sunglasses and a gangster-looking trench coat.
"Hey Chelsea, I just came by to tell you sorry for dinner last night."
I glanced at him suspiciously. "What are you sorry for?"
He gazed away from me, like he was too cool to make eye contact. "Whatever you want. Tanner told me to apologize and I said I would. So now I have."
He turned as though leaving, but I didn't want him to go. Just hearing Tanner's name made me want to pull more information out of Rick. "Hey, apologies don't count if you don't say what you're sorry for."
He tilted his head and grunted at me. It was then that I noticed a red mark running along Rick's cheek and disappearing under his glasses. "Is something wrong with your eye?" I asked.
"No." He leaned away from me, obviously hiding something.
"Yes, there is." I reached up and snatched the glasses off his face. A red welt surrounded by a bruise went from the corner of his eye to his cheek bone.
I let out a gasp. "Did Tanner hit you?"
Rick grabbed the sunglasses out of my hand and put them back on his face. "No, Tanner didn't hit me. It was the ceiling fan."
"The ceiling fan hit you?"
"Yes."
"You were bothering the ceiling fan's girlfriend too?"
Rick scowled to let me know I wasn't funny. "I was standing on top of the coffee table to get my car keys off the entertainment center and the ceiling fan hit me."
Which still didn't make sense. I leaned against my locker and surveyed him. "Your car keys were on top of the entertainment center?"
"Yeah, Tanner threw them up there after I chucked them at him."
"Why did you chuck your car keys at Tanner?"
Even behind his sunglasses I could see Rick roll his eyes. "Use your imagination, Chels. We were fighting. Do you need to ask what we fought about or are you pretty clear on that?"
I wanted to think that Rick was mad at Tanner for insulting Adrian, but I wasn't sure. "What?" I asked.
Rick shook his head and laughed at me. "You're the kind of girl that likes it when two guys fight over you. Well, I'm sure it wasn't the first time for you, was it?"
Uh, what planet was he living on? When had guys ever made it a habit of fighting about me? It's not like there was a line forming to ask me out or anything. Especially since his stupid "Dangerously Blonde" had become the school's unofficial theme song.
Rick took a step toward me so he was nearly touching my locker, and lowered his voice. "This is your way of spreading more joy in my life, isn't it? It's not enough that you made Adrian break up with me, you had to make my brother hate me and my grandmother insist that I play the classical guitar."
Which was really too much. "I didn't do any of that," I said. "You did." I slammed my locker door, hard. So hard that it bounced back open and hit Rick right in the face.
His glasses flew off, now in two pieces. He staggered backwards, groaned, and put his hand over his eye.
"Oh no," I said, and then, "I'm so sorry!"
He kept his hand pressed over his face. "Sure you are."
"You don't think I did that on purpose?" I stepped over to him, trying to check for bleeding or swelling. "Are you all right?"
He didn't move his hand away from his eye. "I'm probably blind now."
"Let me see it."
"I don't want you to see it."
"Stop being a baby, Rick. Let me just check to see if you're hurt."
With one eye he glared at me. "I'm pretty sure I can tell on my own if I'm hurt. It got me right where the ceiling fan did."
I pried his hand away from his face and held onto it with my own while I peered at his wound. It did look worse, more swollen, and his eye was red and watering. "Can you see me?" I asked.
"Adrian," he said.
Which meant it was bad if he couldn't even tell who was standing in front of—wait a minute. I spun around and saw my sister, her hand on her hip, staring at us.
Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head disdainfully. "I can't believe you." Then she spun around and stalked off down the hall.
Rick pulled his hand away from mine like my touch burned. "Thanks," he spat out, and trotted down the hall after her. I watched him catch up to her. He tried to speak to her, but she hurried on, not looking at him.
Yeah, this was all going to translate into another great evening at home.
I walked slowly out to my car, and even waited for her, but Adrian never showed up.
Chapter 14
When Mom came home at 5:30 Adrian still hadn't appeared. I had to tell Mom what happened. She looked at me skeptically after I'd finished the story. "Were you flirting with Rick?"
"No," I said. "I don't usually do that by smashing my locker door into a guy's face."
"But it looked like you were flirting?"
"Well, maybe if you consider me examining a guy's facial wounds while he's crying flirtatious . . ."
"But you stood close together and held his hand," Mom accused.
"I was checking his vision. I said, 'Can you see me?' Those aren't words of endearment or anything."
Mom tapped her fingers against the counter and looked off in the distance. "Adrian might have thought you meant, 'Can you see me' as in 'Let's start seeing each other.''
What? I threw up both hands. "Why would I want to see Rick? She knows Rick and I don't like each other. It's been months since Rick and I said two civil words to each other."