Say Anything

"This sketch is so not happening," I say.

Mr. Spencer watches how I'm struggling with the T-square. I can tell he's trying not to laugh. He goes, "What's up?"

"My brain is on strike. I've had to start over, like, ten times already." We're starting the year with mechanical drawings, and each one is a fresh slice of torture. Today we're doing these Escher-type sketches of shapes that have no beginning or end.

"Take it easy," Mr. Spencer says. "You'll get there."
Which is of course what he would say. He's like this mid-life non-crisis hippie dude who never gets upset about anything. He has long black hair with gray streaks that he wears pulled back in a ponytail. This is a drastic fashion statement, considering we live in upscale rural-slash-suburbia where you're not allowed to wear your hair like that. Unless you're a girl. There's actually a magazine called Weird New Jersey that did an article on Mr. Spencer a while ago. Apparently, he was supposed to be like the next Frank Lloyd Wright or something. But then his college roommate stole his big design plan and became this totally famous architect in New York. And Mr. Spencer got stuck with us. Somehow, I don't think his life plan worked out.

"I'm nervous," I tell him. I almost rip up my paper in a fit of frantic erasing.

"About what?"
"A guy." I tell Mr. Spencer everything. All of us love him. He's totally supportive and gives great advice. Which is the antithesis of my mom.

"Oh?"
"This guy Adam."
"Who's Adam?" Mr. Spencer says. "The new kid?"
"Yeah," I say quietly.
Mr. Spencer sits down on the stool next to me. "Why's he making you nervous? Did something happen?"
"No. . . it's just. . . it's not really him, it's more like. . . the idea of him."
He waits.
"Like, I want him to be who I imagine he is." I reposition my T-square. "But what if he's not really like that? What if he's just some guy?"
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It's not what I'm looking for."
Mr. Spencer scratches his chin. "Tell me again what happened with your dad?"

I'm used to Mr. Spencer's non sequiturs by now. I've had art class with him every year. He has this special talent for remembering the most mundane details of our lives and then showing them to us when we least expect it in this way that makes us understand our lives better.

"I don't really know," I say. "I think they were too young. My mom was only sixteen when she had me. Remember?" He nods. "My dad was a senior, but his parents took him out of school, and they moved away before I was born. I don't remember ever seeing him."

"Do you want to find him?"
"No."
"Well, the only way to know who Adam is for sure is to get to know him."
"True."
"Mr. Spencer!" erupts a screech from across the room. "My T-square broke!"

Mr. Spencer smiles. "Good luck," he tells me.
"Thanks." It's not that he said anything astounding. But his chill approach to life always helps me minimize stress.

But two corroded sketches later, I'm back to feeling nervous. When it was all just a fantasy with Adam, I was so impatient and excited. Now that he asked me out for real, it's like I still want it to happen but at the same time I don't. And I have lunch soon. With Adam.
And I have an actual date this weekend.
With Adam.

By the time Laila and I are walking to lunch, I'm a nervous wreck.
"So," I say. "Do you think Adam's sitting with us again?"
"That boy is completely infatuated with you," Laila says. "Wild horses couldn't keep him away."
"What?"
"I have no idea what I just said. I think Mr. Carver permanently damaged my medulla oblongata."
"What?"
"Hey," Adam says. He's waiting for me by the door.
"Hey," I go. But I can't really make eye contact with him. Even though we've talked on the phone the past two nights for a really long time, talking in person is way different. There's something about him that's like looking at the sun. He just looks so good. It's a miracle I don't spontaneously combust whenever I get within thirty feet of him.

Adam leans toward me and whispers, "Can I talk to you?"
"Uh. . . sure." I look over at Laila. "I'll be right in."
"Take your time," she says.

Laila goes in and sits down at our usual table. Jasmine's there, saving us seats. I love how we already have a usual table.

Adam says, "I was wondering if you want to sit with my friends today."
"Um. . ." I look in at Jasmine and Laila.
"'Cause last night? We were all hanging out at the mall, and Catherine was saying how you seem cool, but like. . . she doesn't really know you and stuff."

"Oh." I'm trying to look like it's no big deal. But everyone knows when the boy you like wants you to meet his friends, it's a big freaking deal. Particularly if it's Catherine, who is normally oblivious to the fact that you exist. So of course I want to sit with him! But then I remind myself of the first rule of sisterhood: best friends before boyfriends. I can't just bail on Laila and Jasmine like that. I decide to compromise. "What about next week? I promised Jasmine and Laila-"

"No problem," Adam says. "Are you buying?"
I wave my lunch bag in his face.
"That would be your lunch." He smiles. His dirty blond hair falls over his eyes. He flips it back in this sexy way.

"That would be, yeah." My mouth is all dry.
"I'll be right back." He goes to get in line.
I sit down across from Jasmine.
"Watch out, guys," Jasmine says. "It looks like octopus today."
"What is that stuff?" Laila examines her tray.
"I told you," Jasmine says. "Octopus."
"Is it noodles?" I ask.
"You guys aren't listening! Oc-to-pus!" Jasmine screams. "It's octopus!"
"Appetizing," I say.

Laila goes, "Could Mr. Perry be a bigger asshole?"
"I know!" He actually gave us a pop quiz today in calc, and it's only the third day of school. Who does that? "And then he acts all shocked when no one's ready? Please."

"We really have to watch out for that guy," Laila says. "I have a feeling he may be even more sadistic than Mr. Carver."
"Like that's even possible," I say. "Wait. Let me tell you how-"
"Hayleigh?"

I look up to see that Catherine has graced me with her presence. And that would be the royal plural, since the two most popular guys are with her. Even though Adam told me what she said, it's still hard to believe she's not here on some twisted mission to humiliate me.

I glance over at Jasmine. She's looking at them like she's my bodyguard and they've just threatened to kill me.

"Yeah?" I cautiously say to Catherine.
She goes, "You're talking to Adam, right?"

The way she smiles at me seems so legit you would think she's being nice. I want to believe what Adam said, but any second now she'll probably tell me to lay off him because he's already reserved for a gorgeous girl who actually deserves him. Instead of a nobody nerd like me.

"Yeah?" I say. Max, who's captain of the basketball team, and Catherine's boyfriend, Matt, smile down at me.

Max goes, "Sweet. I always thought you were cool."
"Totally," Matt adds. "Just, you know, shy."
Did the most popular guys in school just call me cool?

Catherine is still smiling at me like she's seeing me for the first time. Maybe she doesn't even realize how she usually ignored me. "You should come sit with us," she says.

Is the most popular girl in school really asking me to hang with her? This can't be real. But I say, "Yeah," anyway. It appears to be the only word I know.

Adam comes back with his lunch. He puts his hand on my shoulder and sits down next to me. While he's talking to Max and Matt, I look over at Laila. She gives me this disapproving glare. I don't even look at Jasmine. I'm sure I already know what she's thinking.

"So I was about to tell Hayleigh that we should all hang out sometime," Catherine says to Adam.
"Sure," he says.
"Cool." Catherine smiles. "We'll talk."
"Later, dude," Matt says to Adam.
"Later."
Catherine grabs Matt's hand. "Let's go, Pooky."
I'm like, Pooky?
They drift off with an air of importance.
Laila looks over at Adam. "Well, Pooky," she says, "you better start eating. Your octopus is getting cold."

Adam gives Laila a strange look. Like he's annoyed or something. It's only for a second, but it's like he's mad at her for making fun of his friends.
He takes a huge bite of whatever it is and gags. "Uh! What is this stuff?"
"I thought octopus was your favorite," I say.
"Yeah, but this is something else. Ostrich strips, maybe."
"No, no," Laila says. She samples another bite. "Eel skins. Definitely eel skins."
"You guys are weird," Jasmine announces. "I'm getting a sandwich."
"Chicken," Laila says.
"I don't think there's chicken," Jasmine says.
"I'll go," I say. "I need a new sandwich. The jelly totally leaked through on mine."
"Get me one? Here." Adam takes out a twenty and hands it to me. "My treat."

As I'm walking to the line, I have to pass a table of jocks. I hold my breath, speed up, and watch the floor. But then I glance over at them anyway. One of the girls grabs another girl's arm and points to me. Then she whispers something, and they smile at me. One of them even says, "Hey, Hayleigh," as I walk by.

I know Laila and Jasmine aren't feeling me right now. Snobs who ignore you forever and then suddenly start acting like they've been your friends all along don't interest them. And somewhere deep down, I know they shouldn't interest me, either.

But after being a nobody for so long, it feels awesome to be a somebody. A girl could get addicted to being treated like she matters.