Operation Beautiful

“So I heard you had a nice conversation with Haley at school today,” Matt says at the dinner table. Jessica grimaces.

“How can you hang out with her? She’s so rude!”

“Jess,” Mrs. Hansen warns. I slowly stiffen at her words. I don’t like people criticizing Haley. I didn’t even know Jessica didn’t like her. She didn’t say anything while we were dating.

“What?” Jessica protests. “She totally blew Emma off today.”

“She didn’t blow her off,” I say automatically, knowing it’s a weak defense.

“You don’t have to defend her, Corey. You broke up with her for a reason, didn’t you?” She shakes her head in disgust. “She’s always been like that. Even when we invited her over dinner that time.”

“That’s enough, Jess,” Matt says, glancing at me. I remember that dinner. Matt was used to Haley’s attitude and his parents chalked it up to nervousness but I guess her sullen awkwardness tucked Jessica off.

“She’s not rude. She’s kind of like Emmaliegh,” I say, trying to smooth everything over. Why we broke up is none of her business and I know Haley has worked hard to keep her condition under wraps. It took this long for her to act like herself around people instead of the peppy beauty I initially saw.

“No, Emma’s shy. Haley’s just a bitch.”

“Jessica!” Mrs. Hansen exclaims. I’m vaguely aware of Matt’s hand clenching into a fist as my vision turns fuzzy and all I can feel is my own anger.

“Sorry,” Jessica mutters sullenly, more sorry for saying the word than associating it with Haley. I take a deep breath and look her in the eye.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” Her whole body recoils as though she’s been slapped. Who knew I had that kind of affect on her? I turn to Mr. Hansen. “Could you pass the chicken?”

After dinner I lie on my bed, thinking about my mystery girl. Jessica comes and sits down next to me.

“Explain.”

“What?” I twist my head around to look at her.

“You said I don’t understand. Explain.” I shake my head.

“Leave it alone, Jessica.”

“It’s Jess.” I don’t speak. She tries again. “What is it I don’t understand? How is a girl who speaks to you once in a blue moon and when she does makes it perfectly clear she’d rather be eating a live octopus not a bitch? Isn’t that why you broke up with her?” I shake my head. I’m beginning to feel irritated again.

“You have to get to know a person before you judge them. You don’t know why Haley and I broke up and, frankly, it’s none of your business. How is a girl who calls one of my best friends a bitch to my face and expects me to be okay with it not a bitch?”

“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?” She accuses. What?

“No, Jessica.” Where do girls come up with this stuff?

“It’s Jess.” Yeah, because that’s the issue here.

“Are you finished?” I snap, looking up. She lets out a slight noise and stands up, her face betraying...hurt?

“Yeah, I’m finished.” What is it with girls? It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong, so why does that look on her face make me feel so guilty?

“Sorry, Jessica.” She turns around to smile at me.

“It’s fine.” And then I lie back down on the bed and try to figure out how to narrow down the girls in our school.

***

You are, in all essences of the word, a jerk.

Ms. Tibbet did not, as we entered the classroom this morning, begin her lecture with the fascinating story of "The Girl Diffusing a Bomb Under My Desk" or any other fantastic retelling of the delivery of my note. Instead, she got a call saying her car lights were on and disappeared, mumbling under her breath about Communists in the bushes. And so it was that I was sitting safely in my desk, reading over the reply from my mystery girl.

First of all, a compound question? What if I were an upperclassman guy? Hm? But, unfortunately, you are right. I am a female upperclassman. The second reason you're a jerk is your little messaging system. The bottom of Ms. Tibbet's chair? The woman would think I was a Nazi here to steal her first born in exchange for spinning straw into gold and then send me to the guillotine!

The image of Ms. Tibbet yelling like that makes me shake in silent laughter, mainly because I can totally see her doing that in real life. Some people turn to stare, but I ignore them and look back down at the pink note.

Now you better start bowing down here, buddy, because not only did I distract her by saying there was a Communist in the bushes, but I also provided a distraction so you could get the note. Ms. Tibbet should be checking her car lights, no? That's right pal: BOW DOWN!

So that's why she was muttering about Communists as she left! I shake my head in wonder. Whoever this girl is, she's pretty amazing.

I'm not entirely sure I should tell you what I did over the weekend. It's actually freakishly similar to what you did. I went to a huge sleepover. Crazy but fun with quite a game of truth or dare. I wonder if we went to the same one...probably not. Yours sounds different: what with you and your brother watching over everyone.

Anyway, here's my question for you: are you in Negrutot's third period classes? If so I'm going to have to steal a roster sometime...

I flip the note over to the read the back.

THE BOTTOM OF THE PRINCIPAL'S COFFEE MUG. (That's right, pal. Two can play this game. There's no need to distract him for me, though. I can do that myself).--lunch