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Authors: Kody Keplinger
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stinky T-shirt.”
“How do I look?”
Amy squinted two very sleepy eyes at me. She wasn’t really supposed to be awake yet, but I was about to sneak out before her parents got up, and I needed her opinion on this crucial matter. So, with great effort, I’d shaken her out of sleep to show her the outfit I’d chosen. Jeans, newly clean and a little snug, and a hunter-green cowl-neck sweater with elbow-length sleeves.
It was the only nice top I’d brought to Amy’s with me, and I’d been saving it for special occasions or, now that I was unemployed, job interviews. Interviews that, to my intense distress, had not yet occurred. It was my good-impression top, and today I needed to make a damn good impression.
“I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that question before,” Amy said.
“Well, I’m asking you now.” I glanced at the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. My curls, despite my best efforts, were still a little wild, but they weren’t too outrageous. “I’ve got to be friendly with Ryder today, and Snobby McSnobberson won’t be so willing if I look like the homeless ruffian that I am.”
“It’s too early for you to use words like ‘ruffian,’” Amy mumbled. She stretched her arms over her head and let out a huge yawn. “And if he’s so snobby, why are you doing this?”
“Because he’s cute and I want to kiss his face.”
“Right.”
“The problem is, he wants to kiss your face. So today is the beginning of our master plan to change that. Which means I need to look decent, so … how do I look?”
“Like a back-to-school clothing commercial.”
“Perfect.” I picked up my backpack, gave my hair one last check, and grinned at Amy. “Today, it begins.”
“Mm-hm.” She flopped back on the bed, eyes already closed.
I hurried out of the Rushes’ house and down the street to where Gert waited. And, to my relief, she decided to run that morning.
I arrived at school with enough time to pop into the bathroom and give myself one more once-over before heading to Mr. Buckley’s class. I was feeling uncharacteristically nervous.
I might have had a major crush on Ryder, but he still couldn’t stand me. Which meant I had to ease him into it. If I could get him to tolerate me, it would only be a matter of time before he realized that I, not Amy, was the person he wanted to make out with.
This was the most crucial step of the plan, and I couldn’t afford to screw it up.
The classroom was almost full by the time I slid into my seat behind Ryder. He didn’t even look up as I walked past.
“Good morning,” I said.
No response. But that wasn’t a surprise.
I’d gone over and over the words I wanted to say to him, the phrasing I’d use to convince him to hear me out. But staring at the back of his head, at the hunched muscles in his shoulders, I felt myself start to panic. What if it just went down like last time? What if he didn’t let me get a word out? What if I made him hate me even more?
What if this was all just a waste of time?
Before I could climb out of the doom spiral I’d begun to sink into, the bell rang and Mr. Buckley appeared.
“So,” he said, walking to the whiteboard. “Who wants to talk about the Tudors?”
I sank back into my seat, the moment lost. I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Ryder again until the end of class, and that was only if he didn’t rush out, in a hurry to get to his next class. The boy did put a lot of emphasis on punctuality.
Just when I started to think I’d wasted my nice sweater, an idea hit me.
Ryder and I may have had some communication problems of the face-to-face variety, but we were aces when it came to corresponding via text. Sure, he wasn’t aware of that fact, but I was. And he couldn’t interrupt me if my words were on paper.
I ripped a sheet from my notebook and pretended to take notes on Mr. Buckley’s lecture while secretly scribbling a note to Ryder. It took me a few tries to figure
“How do I look?”
Amy squinted two very sleepy eyes at me. She wasn’t really supposed to be awake yet, but I was about to sneak out before her parents got up, and I needed her opinion on this crucial matter. So, with great effort, I’d shaken her out of sleep to show her the outfit I’d chosen. Jeans, newly clean and a little snug, and a hunter-green cowl-neck sweater with elbow-length sleeves.
It was the only nice top I’d brought to Amy’s with me, and I’d been saving it for special occasions or, now that I was unemployed, job interviews. Interviews that, to my intense distress, had not yet occurred. It was my good-impression top, and today I needed to make a damn good impression.
“I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that question before,” Amy said.
“Well, I’m asking you now.” I glanced at the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. My curls, despite my best efforts, were still a little wild, but they weren’t too outrageous. “I’ve got to be friendly with Ryder today, and Snobby McSnobberson won’t be so willing if I look like the homeless ruffian that I am.”
“It’s too early for you to use words like ‘ruffian,’” Amy mumbled. She stretched her arms over her head and let out a huge yawn. “And if he’s so snobby, why are you doing this?”
“Because he’s cute and I want to kiss his face.”
“Right.”
“The problem is, he wants to kiss your face. So today is the beginning of our master plan to change that. Which means I need to look decent, so … how do I look?”
“Like a back-to-school clothing commercial.”
“Perfect.” I picked up my backpack, gave my hair one last check, and grinned at Amy. “Today, it begins.”
“Mm-hm.” She flopped back on the bed, eyes already closed.
I hurried out of the Rushes’ house and down the street to where Gert waited. And, to my relief, she decided to run that morning.
I arrived at school with enough time to pop into the bathroom and give myself one more once-over before heading to Mr. Buckley’s class. I was feeling uncharacteristically nervous.
I might have had a major crush on Ryder, but he still couldn’t stand me. Which meant I had to ease him into it. If I could get him to tolerate me, it would only be a matter of time before he realized that I, not Amy, was the person he wanted to make out with.
This was the most crucial step of the plan, and I couldn’t afford to screw it up.
The classroom was almost full by the time I slid into my seat behind Ryder. He didn’t even look up as I walked past.
“Good morning,” I said.
No response. But that wasn’t a surprise.
I’d gone over and over the words I wanted to say to him, the phrasing I’d use to convince him to hear me out. But staring at the back of his head, at the hunched muscles in his shoulders, I felt myself start to panic. What if it just went down like last time? What if he didn’t let me get a word out? What if I made him hate me even more?
What if this was all just a waste of time?
Before I could climb out of the doom spiral I’d begun to sink into, the bell rang and Mr. Buckley appeared.
“So,” he said, walking to the whiteboard. “Who wants to talk about the Tudors?”
I sank back into my seat, the moment lost. I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Ryder again until the end of class, and that was only if he didn’t rush out, in a hurry to get to his next class. The boy did put a lot of emphasis on punctuality.
Just when I started to think I’d wasted my nice sweater, an idea hit me.
Ryder and I may have had some communication problems of the face-to-face variety, but we were aces when it came to corresponding via text. Sure, he wasn’t aware of that fact, but I was. And he couldn’t interrupt me if my words were on paper.
I ripped a sheet from my notebook and pretended to take notes on Mr. Buckley’s lecture while secretly scribbling a note to Ryder. It took me a few tries to figure
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