Page 50 of A Scandal in Homeroom
“You think Beth is cute?”
“I do.”
“But you said…you said you thought I was…never mind.”
She kept walking and I struggled to mentallytofollow her train of thought. Really, it was so exhausting doing this with teenage girls.
“You’re not jealous?” I asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Except her tone suggested anger. “Beth being cute is simply a statement of fact.”
“I know. It’s just that Beth and I look nothing alike.”
“What has that got do with anything?”
She stopped again. “You kept saying I was…that I was…beautiful,” she whispered. “But now I think maybe it’s just a line you use.”
I cocked my head once again in total amazement. That someone as smart as Irene, as outwardly confident as Irene, was also filled with self-doubt.
I took a step closer, just a smidge too far into her space. “I don’t havelines.I state facts. Beth is cute. You are beautiful. Both of those things can be true. If you’re asking which I prefer, I would tell you physical attraction is pointless without a mental connection. Because intellectually that should be true. However, if I was being ridiculously honest, I would tell you there are times when I see you in the hallway unexpectedly, and I literally gasp.”
Her eyes widened but she made no comment.
“Now, come along. Or we’re going to be late for class.”
She pursed her lips together. “You know I’m still not certain I like you.”
“I’m an acquired taste,” I told her. “You came to my locker to brag. Don’t you want to impress me with your sleuthing skills?”
“Not really. Mostly because they only involved me batting my eyelashes at a sophomore. He cracked like an egg. Your gender is weak.”
That made me chuckle. “We certainly can be.”
We got to our classroom and took our usual seats. I found myself annoyed because I didn’t want to be done talking, only now, we had to be. So I rippedouta blank page out of my notebook and scribbled my question.
So that’s all you did with that sophomore? Bat your eyes?
I folded the note and went through the normal machinations of passing it backwards. A few seconds later it was tossed over my shoulder and dropped onto my desk.
Jealous?
My jaw clenched at her one-word answer.
Of a sophomore? I think not. I was just trying to find out how far you might go for information you want.
I waited until the teacher turned to the white board, then flicked the note back over my shoulder.
I had to wait a little longer for her response as the teacher was now addressing the class and asking questions. This time when he called on Irene she was prepared with her answer. A minute later, the teacher’s focus was distracted by a conversation he was having with another student, and the note was once again in my lap.
Obviously it depends on the information. Are you implying you have information I might want? How far do you think I might go…when you know I won’t go all the way?
I wrote back.
I think it’s the other way around. I think you have information I want. What I don’t understand is why you won’t give it to me.
Avoiding the topic of sex, which seemed to be a popular one for us, I decided instead to reprioritize what I wanted from Irene. I passed the note back underhanded and waited for a reply. I didn’t know why I was so certain, but I could feel her holding back.
