Meg Cabot - Ready or Not

“Oh, Harold,” Lucy said, in a voice I had never heard her use before—certainly never with Jack.

Harold’s face was turning as red as the flowers on his shirt. But he didn’t back down.

“Slut solidarity,” he said with a nod to us.

Which was when Catherine suddenly stepped out of the lunch line, and, coming up behind Lucy, Harold, and me, went, “ME, TOO,” in the loudest voice I’d ever heard her use.

Oh my God! I craned my neck to try to see Catherine’s face, but it was hard, considering Lucy’s stranglehold on me. What was going on here?

“Cath,” I whispered, “you aren’t a slut. Stay out of this.”

But Catherine just said, loudly enough for everyone in the cafeteria to hear, “If Sam and Lucy Madison are sluts, then so am I.”

People buzzed at this. Catherine, a slut? Her parents didn’t even allow her to wear pants to school.

Kris knew she was in trouble now. I could tell by the way her gaze was darting from us and back to all the people in the rest of the caf, who were still watching, as transfixed as if Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul were going at it right in front of them.

“Um,” Kris said. “Listen. I—”

But her voice was drowned out as all over the cafeteria, chair legs scraped the floor. Suddenly, the students of John Adams Preparatory Academy were all standing up…

And declaring themselves sluts.

“I’m a slut, too,” cried Mackenzie Craig, bespectacled president of the Chess Club…who had never even been out on a date.

“I’m a slut,” shouted Tom Edelbaum, who’d played the lead in the Drama Club’s version of Godspell.

“I’m the biggest slut of all,” said Jeff Rothberg, Debra Mullins’s boyfriend, his fists balled at his sides, as if he were willing to fight anybody who’d dare dispute his slutty status.

“We’re all sluts,” the entire Adams Prep track team jumped up gleefully to announce.

Soon every single person in the cafeteria—with the exception of Kris and her fellow members of Right Way—was on his or her feet, declaring, “I’m a slut!”

It was a beautiful thing.

By the time Principal Jamieson got down there, we were all chanting it: “I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut.”

It took the football coach to get everyone to quiet down. Principal Jamieson had to get him to blow on his athletic whistle—the one he’d taken the ball out of—long and hard, since no one had responded to the principal’s shouted requests that we Please settle down. Please, people, just settle down!

No one could keep chanting through the piercing shriek of Coach Long’s whistle, though. We had to clap our hands over our ears, it was so loud.

All too soon, slut solidarity was over.

“What,” Principal Jamieson asked, when the chanting had stopped, and everyone had turned back to their food, almost as if nothing had happened, “is going on here?”

“She called my sister a slut,” Lucy said, pointing at Kris.

“I…I didn’t!” Kris’s blue eyes were wide. “I mean, I did, but…I mean, she deserves it! After what she did last night—”

“She calls me a slut every chance she gets,” Debra Mullins volunteered from the back of the room. “And I didn’t do anything last night.”

“Isn’t it a violation of the John Adams Preparatory Academy’s student conduct code to make pejorative remarks concerning someone’s sexual orientation and/or alleged activities, Principal Jamieson?” Harold Minsky asked.

Principal Jamieson looked at Kris and her little group. “Indeed,” he said sternly. “It is.”

“Dr. Jamieson,” Kris said faintly, “this was all just a big misunderstanding. I can explain—”

“I look forward to hearing your explanation,” Principal Jamieson said. “In my office. Right now.”

Looking chagrined (SAT word meaning “feeling uneasy or shamefaced”), Kris followed Principal Jamieson from the cafeteria.

I noticed that her little group of followers stayed behind, almost looking as if they were trying to appear not to know her.

So much for the part on Kris’s college admissions apps about her leadership abilities.

Watching her leave, I felt like crying. Not because Kris Parks had been so mean to me, trying to humiliate me in front of the entire school—like I hadn’t adequately proved I was capable of doing that all on my own, without anybody else’s help.

No, I felt like crying because I realized how lucky I am. I mean, to have a sister like Lucy, and a friend like Catherine…not to mention so many people I hadn’t even known were my friends, like Harold Minsky. I stood there beside them, my eyes filled with tears, going, “You guys. You guys, that was just so…so sweet of you. I mean, to say that you’re sluts…just for me.”

“Aw,” Catherine said, patting my hand. “I’d call myself a slut for you any time, Sam. You know that.”

Lucy and Harold weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to my heartfelt thank you, however. Instead, Lucy had taken Harold’s arm, and was going, “Thanks for saying you were a slut for me, Harold.”

Harold’s face turned even redder than the flowers on his shirt as he replied, “Well, you know. I just can’t stand idly by while a social injustice is being committed. I didn’t know before that you…well, that you were such an insurgent.” (SAT word meaning “rising in opposition to civil or political authority, or against an established government.”) “I always thought you were a bit of a…well, a follower. I guess I really underestimated you.”

“Oh, I’m a TOTAL insurgent,” Lucy said, giving his arm a squeeze. “I never get sick at the sight of blood.”

Oh, well. Close enough, anyway.

“Listen, Harold,” Lucy went on, “I know you couldn’t make it last weekend, but do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?”

“Lucy,” Harold said, his voice sounding higher-pitched than usual—either because he was embarrassed, or because Lucy was kind of rubbing her boob against his arm…although I can’t say for sure she was doing it on purpose. “I really don’t think…I mean, I think we should try to keep our relationship on a, um, professional level.”

Lucy dropped his arm as if it had suddenly caught on fire.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly sounding as if she might start crying. “I see. Okay.”

“It’s just,” Harold said, sounding uncomfortable, “you know. Your parents. They hired me to tutor you. I don’t think it would be right, you know, for us to see each other socially.”

Lucy appeared crushed. Until Harold added, “At least, not until after you’ve retaken the test.”

Lucy glanced up at him, looking as if she hardly dared to believe what she was hearing. “You mean…you mean after I retake the SATs, you’ll go out with me?”

“If you want,” Harold said, in a tone which indicated that he couldn’t imagine that, in a million years, she’d still want to. Go out with him, I mean.

Which just proved that Harold? He didn’t know my sister Lucy all that well yet.

But I had a feeling, judging from the way Lucy’s eyes were shining as she grabbed hold of his arm again, that he was going to get to know her really well.

“Harold,” Lucy said, taking his arm again, “I can promise you two things.”

Harold stared down at her, like a man in a dream. Then a grin broke out across the face that was as bright as sunrise over the Potomac (not that I’ve ever seen this, because who gets up that early?) and he said, “One: I’ll always look this good.”

Lucy grinned right back up at him. “Two: I’ll never give up on you. Ever.”

Wait a minute. That sounded kind of familiar…. Hellboy. They were quoting from Hellboy.