Everybody Bugs Out (7 page)

“What was it like?” asked Emma.

“Amazing,” said Yumi. “Magical. You know.”

“I know,” said Emma. “That's how it was the first time with me. And that was just in my backyard. You guys were in Hawaii. On the beach.”

“Actually, we were at a snow cone stand.” Yumi tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Well, the parking lot of the snow cone stand.”

“Did it happen before or after you ate snow cones?” asked Rachel.

“Before we finished eating, but after we ordered.”

“What kind of snow cones were they?” asked Claire.

“Like it matters!” said Rachel.

“Of course it matters. It's her first kiss. Everything matters.” Claire turned back to Yumi. “We need all the details.”

“I had cherry and blue raspberry. He had cola and coconut.”

“Did you taste his snow cone on your lips?” asked Rachel.

Yumi made her nose-crinkle face. “Not really. Luckily. I think coconut is gross.”

“I can't believe you kissed a boy and never even told us about it,” said Claire.

“Shh!” Yumi raised a finger to her lips and gestured toward the door. “Parents. Right outside.”

“Sorry,” said Claire. “I'm just excited for you, is all. Anyway, I told you when I had my first kiss.”

“Wait, you did? How did I miss that?” I asked.

“It happened before we knew you,” said Claire.

“So fill me in!” I hardly believed all this news. I was seeing a whole new side of my friends. Were they always this mature and grown-up? And if so, how come I never noticed before?

Claire grinned. “It happened last summer, but I'm not even sure if it counts because it was a spin-the-bottle kiss at my cousin's birthday party up in Fresno.”

“We've been over this,” said Rachel. “Your lips touched, so it definitely counts.”

“It's true,” said Yumi. “A kiss is a kiss.”

“So what was it like?” I asked.

“Fast,” she said. “Faster than a blink almost. And I felt it on my lips and in my stomach. Kind of like a hiccup, but a really fun one. I was so embarrassed, but the guys seemed to be, too, so that made me feel better. Like, I didn't have to worry about doing it wrong.”

“How would you do it wrong?” Rachel asked, giggling.

“My point is, I knew I'd never have to see them again. So the pressure was off.”

“Were they cute?” I asked.

“One was very cute and one was okay,” said Claire. “Although the really cute guy had bad breath. And the only so-so one had really soft lips. He was the better kisser, I think, of the two, anyway. It's not like I have vast amounts of experience.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Claire asked.

“Who me?” I asked, even though Claire—and everyone else—was looking my way, so it was pretty obvious. “Um, not really. I mean, no. Never. Not yet, that is. I used to go to an all-girls school, remember? Even my camp was just for girls.”

“It'll happen,” Claire said with confidence.

Suddenly I felt really, really young. Like someone's little sister tagging along at the big kids' party.

“Rachel hasn't kissed anyone yet, either,” said Yumi.

“Rub it in, why don't you.” Rachel turned to Yumi. “But let's not talk about my pathetic lack of a love life.”

“Says the girl who Caleb is madly in love with,” Claire said.

“He's not in love with me,” said Rachel.

“He drew your initials on his jeans,” said Claire.

“Those could've been anyone's initials,” said Rachel. “Tell us more about Nathan.”

“But first tell us more about the kissing,” Claire said, and the rest of us giggled.

“Did you do it a lot?” asked Claire.

Yumi nodded. “After the first six times, I stopped counting.”

“Wow!” said Emma. “You've probably kissed more than me.”

“But you've kissed two boys, for real,” said Yumi. “No offense, Claire.”

“None taken,” Claire replied.

She was referring to Emma's ex-boyfriend, Corn Dog Joe, and her current boyfriend, Phil.

Emma shook her head. “Actually, Phil and I haven't kissed yet. We've just held hands. A lot.”

“How come?” asked Yumi.

Emma shrugged. “Maybe he's waiting until Valentine's Day?”

“I'm glad you brought that up,” said Rachel. “Yumi, I understand that you're into this dude, but you should still go to the dance. Just choose one of them and if you can't decide then flip a coin.”

“I can't do that!” said Yumi.

“Sure you can. It's easy.” Rachel fished a quarter out of her backpack. “I'll do it. Heads is Dante, tails is Ezra, okay?”

Yumi nodded and Rachel tossed the coin in the air. It landed on its side and rolled into a corner.

We all ran over to see what the verdict was. Heads.

“Does that still count?” asked Claire.

“Sure,” I said.

“Dante it is,” said Rachel.

“But I don't want him to think I like him,” said Yumi.

“Just tell him you can only go to the dance as friends because your heart belongs to a boy in Michigan,” Rachel said.

“That's so corny!” said Yumi.

“But it's the truth,” said Rachel. “And there's no reason that you should sit home alone on a Saturday night when you could be out having fun. Think of Dante as your backup date. He's your Caleb.”

Yumi shook her head. “But I won't have to be alone. Nathan and I can have a texting date. Or we can IM. And I'm trying to convince my parents to get me a new computer so we can do a video chat. My old one keeps crashing every time I try and download the software.”

“It's not cool to stay home all night staring at a computer,” said Emma.

“Even if there's a super-cute boy to talk to?” asked Yumi.

“Even so. You need to get out! If you don't want to bring a date, I understand. But you should at least come to the dance.”

Yumi twisted up her mouth like she was thinking really hard. “I guess I'll consider it.”

“Good!” said Rachel. “So that just leaves Annabelle and Claire. How goes Operation Find-a-Date?”

I opened my mouth, trying to figure out the best way to bring up Oliver. But before I managed to get a word in, Claire said, “Guess what? I like someone. Although
like
is too mild a term. Basically, I'm madly in love with him and I'm pretty sure he likes me back,” she said.

“That's great! Who is he?” I asked.

Claire grinned, her blue eyes gleaming. “Oliver.”

chapter ten

not
that
oliver …

E
ver get soaked by a surprise water balloon? Stub your toe? Or bang your funny bone on the corner of a table?

That's what it felt like in those first few moments after Claire told everyone she liked Oliver: stunning, sharp, and painful.

Then I had a hopeful thought. Maybe Claire was referring to an entirely different Oliver. It's a common name. There must be hundreds of them at school.

Okay maybe not hundreds. But there had to be others. One other. All I needed was one.

I racked my brain in search of another boy named Oliver, and that's when it came to me—there's an eighth grader named Oliver and I think he's friends with Claire's big brother, Charlie. Yes, he must be. He's probably at their house all the time, which is how come Claire noticed him.

I felt the knot in my stomach begin to unravel.

At least until Rachel said, “He does have a great accent and he's so cute.”

“What kind of accent?” I asked, still clinging to the slight possibility that there could be a second Oliver from an entirely different country.

“Jamaican, obviously.” Claire shot me a funny look. “You know that.”

“You don't mean Oliver Banks!” I blurted out.

“Of course him. Who else?”

“Uh, doesn't your brother have a friend named Oliver?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Claire. “I don't even think there's any other Oliver at Birchwood.”

Great, now I was imagining things! I giggled out of nervousness. “Oh, sorry. I must be thinking of someone at my old school.”

“But you didn't have any boys at your old school,” said Rachel.

I forced another laugh to mask the sound of my splintering heart. “Um, oh yeah. I forgot.”

“Do you guys have any classes together?” asked Yumi.

“Just lunch, if that counts.” Claire smiled and sat up straighter, like just talking about Oliver—my Oliver—put her in a bright and shiny mood. “I always thought he was cute, but I ran into him at the mall right after Christmas and we hung out.”

“You hung out?” I hoped my friends didn't notice the nervous tremor in my voice.

“Kind of. We said hi, anyway. And I asked him how his Christmas was and he said, ‘Great. Just got back from Jamaica.' And I said, ‘Lucky you,' and he smiled, and then as he was leaving he said, ‘Have a good one,' and sort of saluted.”

“Wow,” said Yumi.

Okay, now I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

True, no one's ever actually punched me in the stomach, but it had to be better than hearing Claire go on and on and on about my crush.

Oliver had never—not once—kind of saluted to me.

He smiled at me a lot. He taught me how to swing a cricket bat. And last time I was at his house he showed me his portfolio. Besides sketching bugs, he likes painting pictures of his favorite waterfall in Jamaica. He also has one very lifelike picture of his swimming pool. It's inspired by an artist named David Hockney, he said. And when I told him I'd never heard of David Hockney, Oliver said not to worry about it. He hadn't, either, until his dad took him to an exhibit in the city last summer.

My point being, we had real conversations about meaningful stuff. Wasn't that better than a kind of salute? I didn't ask out loud because it seemed rude, but I did wonder.

And once I stopped wondering, I started wishing I'd spoken up thirty seconds sooner because if I had, my friends would be talking about
my
crush on Oliver, not Claire's. But now it was too late. There was no turning back.

“You have to wonder about his taste, though,” said Rachel. “Since he used to go out with one of the Three Terrors.”

“He and Jesse broke up weeks ago. During winter break,” I reminded her.

“Right, so he's been single for ages,” said Yumi.

“And everyone makes mistakes,” Claire said with a grin.

“Is it true his mom used to be a model?” asked Yumi.

“She paints,” I said. “Really pretty watercolors. And Oliver is into art, too, except he likes working with oils and he's also good at drawing. He takes private classes and he visits museums in the city.”

Claire stared at me, her head tilted to one side like she was trying to figure something out. I know that look because Pepper gives it to me whenever he suspects I have food. Except something told me Claire wasn't hungry. Not in the conventional sense, that is, so I decided it would be a good time to stop talking.

“Are you going to ask him to the dance, or try and get him to ask you?” asked Rachel.

This made my heart sink to depths I didn't know existed.

As my friends peppered Claire with questions, I wondered, how did this work? Like, what were the rules? Could we both like Oliver? I mean, we both did, but should I admit it, too? It seemed wrong to just blurt it out. Too late, at least. But was it really?

Claire would be upset if I told everyone about my crush—I knew she would. But did she have a right to be?

And what about Oliver? Just because Claire liked him didn't necessarily mean he had to like her back. I'm sure he had an opinion. So maybe we could ask him to choose between us? No, that would be wrong. Weird and uncomfortable, like some dumb reality show:
Help! My best friend and I are crushing on the same boy!

The longer I waited to say something, the worse I felt.

“I'm making all of us belts to wear to the school dance,” Claire said. “In different colors so they won't be too matchy-matchy. But do you think I could make one for Oliver, too? Or would that be weird? Maybe I should make him some shoelaces instead …”

It was as if Claire had already called dibs on him. Like how the first person to yell “Shotgun” gets to ride in the front seat.

“How long have you been into him?” I asked, interrupting, because I couldn't stay quiet for one more second.

“Huh?” asked Claire.

“Oliver.” It hurt to say his name, just to ask this question. But I really wanted—no, I needed—an answer. “How long has it been?”

“A few weeks,” Claire said with a casual shrug. “I don't know the exact moment—it just sort of sneaked up on me.”

Unfortunately, I knew exactly how she felt. And when I say exactly, I really mean EXACTLY.

I glanced down at my sleeping bag. The edges where the two zippered sides met were frayed from the fabric having gotten stuck a few too many times. I noticed a small spot of crusty old marshmallow on one corner and scraped at it with my fingernail.

“So how are you going to ask him?” Rachel wondered.

“Don't know,” said Claire. “Any ideas, Annabelle?”

“Me?” I looked up. “Why would I have ideas?”

“You guys are friends, right?” she asked.

“We're lab partners.” I looked down at the marshmallow mess again. “I hardly know him.”

“Didn't you go to his house twice last week?” asked Rachel.

“Three times,” I admitted. “But only to work on our science fair project. It doesn't mean we—”

“Are you seeing him next week, too?” Claire asked.

“Probably,” I replied, not volunteering that we had plans to meet up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until we completed our project—and then feeling guilty for not sharing this. Like I was sneaking around behind my friend's back.

“And you sit by him in science, right?” asked Claire.

I gulped and nodded.

“So maybe you could ask him for me.”

“Ask him to the dance?” I asked, horrified.

“No, silly. Just ask him
about
the dance. If he's planning on going, if he has a date, and if he likes anyone,” Claire said. “You know, if you can find a way to bring it up naturally in the conversation.”

“We don't really talk about stuff like that.”

“Well, what do you talk about?” Claire asked.

“Our project mostly. It's on different species of bugs and their color preferences, and sometimes we talk about cricket.”

“Aren't crickets a type of bug?” asked Claire.

“No, I mean cricket the sport.”

“Huh?” asked Claire.

I couldn't believe she dared crush on Oliver when she didn't even know what cricket was! “It's very popular in Jamaica. England, too. Lots of countries.”

I didn't mention that I'd never heard about cricket until a few weeks ago, or that now I was an expert, having almost memorized the Wikipedia entry on the sport. That maybe would've been too revealing.

“I'm sure that in all your talk about cricket you can find a moment to bring up the dance,” said Claire. “And maybe even mention my name?”

“I'll try.” I forced a smile, tried really hard to put on a friendly face, but it didn't feel quite right.

For some reason, it felt more like I was baring my teeth at her.