Meg Cabot - Ready or Not

Why hadn’t I faked sick today? How could I have forgotten that, fond as the American public might be of me on account of saving the president and dating his son, my fellow students at Adams Prep have never liked me all that much….

And now they have a brand-new reason to despise me.

And could I blame them? I mean, what had I done last night, really, except make their school look like a joke by announcing on TV that I’m no different than any of the public school kids they spend so much time looking down on?

God, it’s no wonder none of them was speaking to me…that they were all whispering about me instead….

“So. Were you ever going to tell me?”

I jumped, startled by the soft voice, and whipped my head around to find myself staring into the soft brown eyes of Catherine.

“Catherine,” I said. “Oh my God. Hi.”

“Well?” Catherine’s eyebrows were raised. “WERE you?”

“Was I what?”

“Ever going to tell me,” she said. “About you and David. YOU know.”

I felt my cheeks heating up redder than ever.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “Honest, Catherine. That whole thing last night—David and I have never—I mean, it was all a big misunderstanding.”

Was it my imagination, or did Catherine’s face fall a little?

“You didn’t?” she said, sounding disappointed.

“No,” I said. “I mean, well…not yet. I mean—” I broke off and stared at her. “Would you have wanted me to tell you? If we had, I mean?”

Catherine’s eyes grew wide. “OF COURSE I would,” she said. “Why WOULDN’T I?”

“Because,” I said. “You know. On account of me having a boyfriend, and you—not having one anymore.”

“I don’t care about that,” Catherine said, looking hurt. “You should know that. I mean, come on. Dish the dirt. Let me live vicariously!”

She was teasing me. I couldn’t believe it. Catherine was teasing me.

I had never been so happy to be teased in my life.

“I wanted to tell you,” I said. “I mean, that David and I were…you know. Talking about it. But I just felt like it might be…I don’t know. Like I was bragging.”

“BRAGGING?” Catherine grinned. “Are you kidding? You’re like Amelia Earhart, Sam.”

I stared at her. “I am?”

“Yeah. You’re blazing a trail for nerdy girls everywhere. You have to tell us all about it. Otherwise, how else are we going to know what to do when it’s our turn?” She snaked an arm through mine and said, “Now, start from the beginning. When did you first know he wanted to? How did he bring it up? Have you seen his you-know-what yet? And was it bigger than that Terry guy’s?”

I laughed. And was surprised to hear myself doing so. I’d pretty much been convinced since last night that I’d never laugh again. Because who would be there to make me laugh, if no one was speaking to me?

I’d forgotten about my best friend, though…and in a way she, I knew, would never have forgotten about me.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I said, “at lunch. Not that there’s a lot. To tell, I mean.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I said. And slammed my locker closed.

“So,” Catherine said, as the first period bell rang. “See you at lunch.”

“See you then,” I said. Then added, to myself, If I make it that long.

Because I really wasn’t sure I would. Make it until lunch, I mean. I am used to people poking fun at me on account of my clothes and hair. I mean, you don’t go around dressed all in black in a sea of Izod and plaid without attracting comment, you know?

But this. This was different. People weren’t calling me a freak or asking me what time the rave was. They were just…ignoring me. Really. Looking right past me, as if I weren’t even there.

Only I knew they’d seen me, because the moment they thought I was out of earshot, I heard them whispering to their friends. Or, worse…laughing.

The teachers, at least, tried to make out like it was just another normal day at Adams Prep. They went on teaching as if completely unaware that the night before, one of their students had announced on television that she’d said yes to sex. In German, Frau Rider even called on me once…not that I’d raised my hand. Thankfully, I knew to say “Ist geblieben” to her “Bleiben bliebt, und denn, Sam?”

But still. It could have gotten ugly.

And then, at lunch, it did.

I was standing in the lunch line with Catherine, pointedly ignoring all the people walking past us with a smirk—or, worse, a fit of the giggles—when Kris Parks and her gang showed up.

“Right Wayers,” Catherine murmured, tugging on my sleeve. “Heading toward us. Four o’clock.”

I felt my back stiffen. Kris wouldn’t dare say anything to me. I mean, sure, girls like Debra, who are basically defenseless, she’ll rip into without a second thought.

But someone like me? No way. She wouldn’t dare.

She dared.

Oh, she dared, all right.

“Ssssslut,” Kris hissed as she and her fellow zealots passed by.

I had endured a lot already that day. The whispering. The snickers. The voices falling suddenly silent in the ladies’ room the minute I walked in.

I had taken a lot. I had taken more than a lot.

But this?

This was just one thing too much.

I stepped out of the lunch line, and directly into Kris’s path as she walked by.

“What did you just call me?” I asked her, my chin exactly level with hers.

There was no way Kris would ever say something like that, I knew, to my face. She was too big a coward. Not that I supposed she thought I’d hit her. I’ve never hit anyone in my life—well, except for Lucy, of course, when we were little. Oh, and that guy who’d been trying to shoot the president. But I hadn’t hit him so much as jumped on him.

Still, Kris couldn’t imagine I was going to hit her.

But she had to imagine I was going to do something to her.

If so, however, it apparently didn’t bother her enough to keep her from folding her arms across her chest and, leaning on one hip, saying, “I called you a slut. Which is what you are.”

Amazingly, loud as the Adams Prep cafeteria usually was, at that particular moment, you could have heard a pin drop. Just my luck that every single person in there chose that moment not to speak. Or rattle a fork. Or chew.

Or breathe.

That’s because—as I should have realized—every single person in there had noticed Kris and her posse coming toward me. Every single person in there knew there was about to be a smackdown. Every eye in the place was on me and Kris. Everyone in the vicinity had drawn in a breath when Kris called me a slut—“Oh, no, she di-n’t!”—and was waiting for my answer.

Except that I had none. I really and truly had none. I had expected Kris to back down. I hadn’t thought that, knowing she had such a large audience, she’d actually say it again.

I could feel heat rising up from my chest, along my neck, and into my cheeks, until I was sure that the blush suffusing (SAT word meaning “to fill or cover”) my face was visible all along my scalp as well. Kris Parks had called me a slut. TWICE. TO MY FACE.

I had to say something. I couldn’t just stand there in front of her. In front of everyone.

I was sucking in my breath to say something—I don’t even know what—when Catherine, next to me, went, “For your information, Kris, it was all a misunderstanding. Sam has never—”

But even as the words were coming out of her mouth, I knew—I just knew—that the truth didn’t matter. Whether I’d ever had sex or not was so not the point.

And it was time to let Kris know it.

So I went, completely interrupting Catherine, “What gives you the right to call people names, Kris?”