The Wrong Girl

“I honestly don’t know how you can eat that, Cyn,” Charlie says with an upturned nose as I accept a generous portion of the cheesy spaghetti from Gladys, the lunch lady. “All that grease is sure to clog your pores. And all those carbs aren’t good for you either,” she adds when I place the garlic bread that completes the meal onto my tray.

I glance at the food she’s placed on her own tray. An apple. A yogurt cup. A side salad of browning iceberg lettuce adorned with one cherry tomato.

“Lunch is at least $10 a day no matter what you put on your tray,” I tell her as we scoot our way towards the register. “If I’m going to be spending that much each day, I’m going to eat something I enjoy and fills me up.”

“I eat filling meals that I enjoy,” she says. “They just also happen to be healthy.”

“If that’s the case then I guess I can stop letting you skim off my plate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she sniffs, eyeing the slice of red velvet cake on my tray.

“I have never eaten any of your food.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” I tell her as I hand over my ID card for Lorenzo, another cafeteria worker, to scan.

After we’ve paid for our lunches, we head towards the exit so we can go to the newsroom. The school paper goes out tomorrow and Charlie and I won’t be able to work on it after school because of the basketball game.

As we’re walking, I feel a tap on my right shoulder. I turn my head just in time to see a pale hand pulling away. I release an annoyed huff, not surprised that when I turn back I see my cousin stealing one of the slices of garlic bread from my tray. He’s the reason I always grab two.

“I hope you’re on the way to the newsroom,” I tell him coolly. “Paper goes out tomorrow and you still haven’t finished your article on the volleyball team’s win on Friday.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Yeah, Cyn. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Did you get that interview with Coach Davis?”

His brow furrows and he runs a hand through his bright red hair. “Interview with Coach Davis?” I scowl at him and his face breaks out into a grin. “Calm down, little cousin! You know I’ve got things under control.” He grips my shoulder in a gentle squeeze. “I spoke with Coach during practice on Saturday. I’ll meet you in the press room in ten. Don’t have a coronary.”

Charlie snorts. “Then don’t pretend like you didn’t get the work done when you know we’re running on a deadline. You know how she gets.”

I heave an annoyed sigh and shoot her an irritated look from the corner of my eye, but don’t say anything. Instead, I turn and start towards the exit. Charlie tells my cousin a quick goodbye before falling into step beside me.

“So,” she says abruptly, “I’m thinking of getting Brent Atwood to ask me to the Valentine’s Day dance.”

I frown. “What happened to Allen Bates? Last time I checked, he was your latest obsession.”

She sighs. “He already asked Trish. Besides, I’m really not feeling his new haircut. Makes his ears look huge.”

“Right, because the size of someone’s ears is a good reason to lose interest,” I grumble.

I can practically feel her roll her eyes, but before she can give the smart retort I’m sure is sitting on the tip of her tongue I come to an abrupt stop when I notice Coop shouldering his way through the crowded cafeteria towards us.

“So, is there anyone you want to ask you?” she asks slyly after her eyes follow my line of sight.

I cut my eyes at her. “Be quiet, Charlie.”

Coop grins when he reaches us. “Hey, Charlie,” he breathes, and I roll my eyes.

“Is there something we can help you with?” I ask dryly before she can respond and his eyes snap to me and he blinks a few times, as if surprised to see me there. I feel a weird pinch in my chest at the look, but I can’t really say that I’m surprised. Why would he notice me when I’m with Charlie?

Not that I want him to notice me or anything.

His obvious surprise at seeing me is quickly swept from his face by a tentative smile. “Um, yeah actually. I-I was just wondering when we were going to meet up to work on that assignment,” he says slowly, as if weighing each word before it leaves his mouth. “Yeah. Um, you ran out of class so fast this morning I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

I purse my lips as he tugs on a dread that’s fallen from the hair-tie holding is hair back. It’s a nervous tick he’s always had, one that usually means he’s lying. “I distinctly remember talking about meeting at my house on Saturday.”

“Um…yeah, but we did-didn’t set a time to meet.”

I purse my lips. “Surprise me.” When he doesn’t say anything else for a moment I arch a brow. “If that’s all, Charlie and I really have to get to the news room.”

His eyes shoot to Charlie and he gives a nervous smile before his eyes flit back to me. “Um…yeah. Right. I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” he says, stepping to the side so we can pass.

I don’t respond as I walk past him but Charlie gives a cheerful, “See you later, Coop!”

Neither of us speak again until after we’ve successfully made it out of the cafeteria, but as soon as the doors close behind us Charlie picks our previous conversation back up: “Why don’t you ask Coop to the dance?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to,” I say flatly. “Besides, he’s obviously obsessed with you.”

“Yeah,” she sings, “but only because he thinks he shared a life altering kiss with me at the Halloween party last year. If you’d just tell him that he shared that amazing lip lock with you, I’m sure he’d be back to fawning over you.”

I shoot her another irritated glare as we stop in front of the closed door to the news room. “But do I really want to be with someone so fickle?” Before she can even open her mouth to respond I push the door open and step into the room with the 18 other members of the school paper. “I hope everyone is finished with their articles and layout. The paper goes out tomorrow and I refuse to miss a deadline because someone decided to be lazy.”

A chorus of “Yes, Chief” echoes throughout the room as Charlie and I take our seats at the back of the room, where we can better see what everyone is doing and determine if they’re struggling with something.

The newsroom is actually just the school’s computer lab. It’s mostly used for keyboarding class, study hall, or a place for students go when they have a free period and don’t want to go to the cafeteria or library. It’s not officially assigned to any one thing or any one teacher or club; there’s a sign-in sheet in the front office to reserve it for large groups.

Mrs. Anchorage, the keyboard instructor, dislikes me because she thinks I sign the newspaper staff up for the room too often. Which is ridiculous because most of the time we only use the room after school or during lunch when no one needs it. I only sign-up for the room during the school day the day before we hit the press to make sure we have everything ready, or if I notice a large enough group needs more time on what they’re working on.

It’s set up with a long table at the back of the room with three computers and a large printer. In front of the table are six groups of four desks pushed together, each desk has a computer sitting on it. At the front of the room, in front of the dry erase board, is the teacher’s desk. It has a desktop computer, a small printer, and a telephone. That’s usually where are advisor, Ms. Madison, sits on the rare occasion that she checks in on us.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Charlie hisses as she powers on her computer.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I hiss back as I log into my own computer and open my article on the talent show from last Thursday.

She grunts, but otherwise doesn’t respond as she gets settled into her own work.

Five minutes later, Daryl comes breezing into the room and takes the seat beside me. I glance at him but offer no other form of greeting, unless you count the eyeroll I give him in response to his large grin.

Bryan Collins walks up to me with a piece of paper in his hand. I arch my eyebrow in question. The printer didn’t go off, so I know he can’t be coming to ask me to edit his article.

He licks his lips and offers me a tremulous smile. “Hi Cynthia. I, um, I finished my article. I printed it in the library earlier,” he says when my eyes flit to the still silent printer.

I hold out my hand. “Then why did you wait so long to bring it to me?”

“Um…I don’t really know,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his unkempt brown hair.

I roll my eyes. Bryan’s a freshman and has only really been on the paper for a few months. He’s a good writer, he just doesn’t always follow through on what he’s supposed to do to write a successful article. Like his interviews.

I skim the paper in my hand and frown. “What happened to your interview with Mrs. Burke from the shelter? Have you just not incorporated it into the article yet?”

He swallows. “Um…no. I-I haven’t been able to get in contact with her to actually do the interview. I thought I might actually be able to—” his lips snap shut when I hold up my hand, crumpling his article in my fist.

“What do you mean you weren’t able to get in contact with her for the interview? Did I or did I not set up an appointment time for your interview, and even supply you with a list of questions to ask?”

“Y-You did,” he stutters. “But I was-wasn’t able to g-go.”

I stare at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape. When he opens his mouth to speak again, probably to say something equally idiotic, I close my mouth with an audible snap and pull my bookbag onto my lap and start rifling through it. I pull a piece of paper with a card paperclipped to it from my bag and walk to the front of the room.

Bryan doesn’t follow me until Daryl tells him, “You might want to go with her if you don’t want to lose a limb.”

I plop into the chair behind the teacher’s desk and pull the phone towards me.

“Cynthia,” Bryan whispers, fidgeting, probably uncomfortable with the attention he’s getting from the other writers who have stopped working to see what’s happening. “What are you doing?”

I shoot him another glare as I dial the number on the card. Someone picks up on the fourth ring: “Bridget Burke.”

“Hello, Mrs. Burke, this is Cynthia Aaron from Westwood High School. We spoke last week about you possibly doing an interview for our school paper.”

The sound of shuffling paper I’ve been hearing since she answered the phone stops. “I remember. Your interviewer never showed up,” she says in a clipped tone.

“Yes. He just told me he wasn’t able to meet with you last week.”

She scoffs. “Did he also tell you he failed to call to cancel the interview so I was left waiting in that café for nearly an hour?”

My hand tightens on the receiver and I swear if I could hit Bryan over the head with it, I would. “No ma’am,” I say through gritted teeth as my gaze hardens on Bryan, causing him to shrink back. “He did not tell me that he failed to call to cancel the interview.”

“Yes, well, he did. And that was really the only free time I had to do it. I am running a shelter, Cynthia,” she says crisply. “My time is valuable and I don’t have much of it.”

I release a rush of air through my nose, trying to will myself to calm down enough to finish the conversation. “Ma’am, I know how busy you are. But do you think you could take a few minutes to do the interview over the phone now. I know it’s last minute and it may be a real inconvenience for you,” I hurriedly add when I hear her irritated sigh. “It’s just that this issue of the paper goes out tomorrow and it is the only chance we’ll have to bring attention to the food drive in two weeks and how much it will benefit your shelter and the people you serve.”

There’s a moment of silence and I’m sure she’s going to say no. I wouldn’t be surprised. But then she says, “I suppose I can take a few moments. No more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

I nod. “Yes ma’am. Thank you, I understand. I have Bryan right here and he will be doing the interview.”

“The same boy who was supposed to interview me last week?” she does not sound impressed. “If I were you, Cynthia, I would consider either having him shadow another writer or kick him off the paper entirely. What he did was completely unacceptable and unprofessional, and frankly, it makes your entire team seem unreliable.”

I grit my teeth. “Yes ma’am. I will certainly take your words into consideration. Thank you.”

I hand the phone to Bryan and point to the paper I’d brought up with me, it’s the list of interview questions I’d drafted for him.

He licks his lips and nods, before stumbling through a greeting to Mrs. Burke and even manages to stammer out a halfway decent apology for failing to inform her he wouldn’t be able to make it to the interview. The whole time he’s staring at the list of questions, refusing to meet my gaze, and it isn’t until he’s reached the fourth question that I make my way back to my seat in the back of the room. I see his body visibly relax as I pass him. He still doesn’t sit down until after I’m comfortably in my own seat.

There’s a small stack of papers sitting in front of my computer. Articles I need to proof read. I hand some of them to Charlie to look over; she’s not always that great with spelling, but she’s surprisingly adept at grammar, sentence structure, and wording.

“You handled that beautifully,” Charlie says with a teasing smile.

Daryl nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’m proud of you Cyn. Did it all without spilling a drop of blood.”

“Don’t you both have articles you need to finish?” I snap as I roll my eyes. I take in the rest of the room and scowl. Most of them are still shooting looks my way and whispering amongst themselves as they pretend to do their work. “Don’t all of you have something to do? We have a deadline to meet, people!”

As everyone gets back to work, Daryl and Charlie share a smile and eye roll before getting back to work, and I look to the first article on my desk.
We work in relative silence for the remaining thirty minutes of the lunch period. Of course, relative quiet for a room of 21 unsupervised teenagers is still pretty loud, but at least it’s manageable. And, most importantly, no one bothers me except for the occasional question regarding layout or content.

By the time the bell rings to signal the end of lunch period even Bryan has placed something on my desk to be reviewed and a cursory glance tells me it might actually turn out to be halfway decent.

As everyone else in the room is packing up their bags and rushing out the door for their next class, Charlie and I stay in our seats and continue working. We both have free period next, and while normally she would drag me off campus for our 90 minutes of freedom, today we are going to spend that time tightening up the newspaper and emailing writers necessary revisions so we can send the paper to press tomorrow morning.

Daryl’s the last one to leave, tugging on my ponytail as he passes me. “See you in Calc, Cyn. Try not to drive yourself too crazy before then.”

I swat his hand away but otherwise don’t acknowledge him.

A few minutes after the door closes behind him, Charlie stands up. “I have to go pee. I’ll be right back.”

I nod. “Okay. Can you get me a water from the vending machine while you’re gone?”

“Sure thing.”

The door closes behind her and I pick up Bryan’s article again to give it a more thorough read through. As expected it’s very well written and I can only find a few corrections that need to be made. He’s a natural writer, he just needs to apply himself more. After I’ve finished marking it up, put it to the side to scan and email to him later.

I’m reaching for another article when a bouquet of red chrysanthemums are suddenly thrust in front of my face. I yelp at the intrusion and nearly fall from my seat, but a hand on my shoulder steadies me. I go to turn my seat around to give the person who just tried to send me into cardiac arrest a piece of my mind, but the hand still resting on my shoulder keeps me from turning.

“Don’t turn around,” Coop says from behind me. “I know I won’t be able to do this if you’re looking at me. I’ll definitely chicken out.”

I freeze. The biting words sitting on the tip of my tongue die off. What in the world is going on?

After a long moment of silence, he lets out a heavy breath. “Look, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now and I’ve really wanted to ask you out. I just didn’t know how. I mean,” he laughs a little, “you’re kind of intimidating. But, I think we can be good together. I know this is kind of sudden, especially since we don’t really talk like we used to, but I was hoping you would go with me to the dance next month.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t think I can. My mouth feels dry and my tongue like lead. My chest in pounding in my chest and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. Am I even breathing? Am I even awake? Is this some kind of weird dream?

Coop has had a crush on me for a while? He thinks we’d be good together? None of this makes sense. Is this some kind of joke? Coop has never been mean before, or one to play practical jokes, but what else could this be?

I stare at the bouquet in front of me. He brought me my favorite flowers. How did he even know what they are?

I’m not sure how long we sit in silence before he lets out a dejected sigh. “Okay then, I guess that’s a no. I-I’ll see you later.”

He begins to pull the bouquet away, but before he can my arms move of their own accord and suddenly I’m clutching the flowers, and his hand that’s wrapped around them, to my chest. “Wait,” I breathe.

He stops and I stare at his hand around the stem of the flowers where it rests beneath mine. It’s so much larger and darker than mine. I tug on the flowers a little and he releases them. My hands tighten around the flowers and I can see my knuckles turning white. My hands are going to cramp if I don’t loosen my hold. But I can’t. I can’t do anything. I can’t even speak. I don’t even know what to say let alone do.

“Right,” he says slowly after a moment. “So, I guess I’ll be going. Glad you liked the flowers.”

I feel the pressure of his hand leaving the back of my chair, and again, my body acts without my permission. “No, wait!” I jump from my seat, flowers held closely to my chest.

Coop freezes and his green eyes widen and he stumbles back a step.

I’m not surprised. I probably look crazy: eyes blown wide, flushed cheeks, erratic breathing. I feel like I’ve run three miles without stopping. Can he hear how loudly my heart is beating in my chest?

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and runs his hand across his face. “Cyn, I—”

“Shut up!” I snap before I can stop myself, finally finding my voice.

His lips clamp shut almost immediately and he gives me a wary look.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I demand. “Did someone put you up to this? Because it’s not funny!”

He gapes at me until I snap at him again. “Say something!”

“N-no,” he stutters. “I mean, who would…I would never…Why would someone…”

“Okay then,” I cut him off again, my voice softer and breathier than before.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes I’ll go to the dance with you.”

His mouth falls open again and his eyes nearly fall out of his face. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.

I frown and cross my arms across my chest, careful not to crush the flowers. “Did you not mean what you said or something?”

“N-No. I mean, yes. Of course I meant what I said,” he cries, waving his arms emphatically. “It’s just that you…I mean, I—”

“Did you expect me to say no?”

“No, I didn’t really expect anything from you.”

“Then what’s the problem? I thought you said you meant what you said.”

“I did!”

“Then why do you seem upset that I said yes?” I really don’t understand what’s going on right now. If he wants to go out with me like he says he does, why isn’t he happy? Why does he look so shocked?

My eyes are burning, and I can feel my throat tightening up. Oh God, I hope I don’t do something stupid like start crying. This isn’t something to cry about.

He scratches the side of his head and looks away, a small blush forming on his cheeks. “It’s not that
I’m, uh, upset or anything. You just…you just kind of attacked me is all.”

“Attacked you?”

“Well yeah, I mean most people just say yes,” he says slowly. “You started screaming at me and accusing me of things.”

“Oh,” I whisper. Maybe that did make a little sense. Most people don’t like being yelled at or accused of trying to play a practical joke on someone.

“Yeah.” He still isn’t looking at me.

I glance down at the flowers in my arms again. They really are beautiful. They’ve always been my favorite. “Thank you for the flowers,” I say in what I hope is a kinder tone. “And yes. I will go with you to the dance.”

There’s another pause where he just stares at me with wide eyes. “Cyn,” he croaks. “I…It’s just…” he trails off and gives a frustrated sigh.

“Was that a better answer?” I ask.

He stares at me a moment longer before offering a soft smile. “Yes. That was a much better answer.”

Charlie chooses that moment to come bursting back into the room. “Sorry, Cyn! I really did have to pee. But then I got distracted by—Oh! Coop, what are you doing here?”

He flushes and looks from her to me and back again. “Oh. I just came to um—I came to—”

“He asked me to the dance,” I interrupt him easily.

“Really?” Charlie asks with a wide smile. “Did you say yes?”

Her eyes are bright and teasing and I scowl in response. It’s not like Charlie doesn’t already know the answer.

She rushes forward and throws her arms around me, barely giving me enough time to save the flowers. “This is great, Cyn! Now we can go shopping together! We should go this weekend.”

I groan but don’t say anything.

I glance at Coop over Charlie’s shoulder. He’s giving us a look I quite understand, but when he meets my eyes the look is gone and he’s smiling. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you guys later. I have to head to conditioning before Coach comes looking for me.”

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’ll see you in Calculus.”

He gives me that weird smile again and leaves with a small wave.

I wait until the door closes behind Coop before I let a small smile cross my face and return Charlie’s hug.