Free Vegan Virgin Valentine by Carolyn Mackler

said.
    “What do you mean?” Claudia asked.
    “He just said that maybe you guys should grab a beer.”
    “He did not!” Claudia flipped her hair over her shoulder. “He said, ‘How about we grab a beer after work? You can order.’ Pauline is a psych major and she told me that the fact that he said ‘You can order’ is an obvious clue that he was anticipating
being
there with me. It wasn’t just hypothetical.”
    I restrained myself from telling Claudia that her roommate
must
be right because I’m only taking intro psychology and we haven’t yet gotten to the unit where we psychoanalyze bar invitations.
    “‘You can order,’” Claudia said, punctuating each word. “Get it? ‘You. Can. Order.’”
    No, I didn’t get it.
    Nor did I get the fact that I’d been constantly dreaming about grilled-cheese sandwiches. I’d dreamed about them maybe once a month since I gave them up when I became a vegan. But these past few weeks, it was happening every night.
    It was always the same. I was sitting at our dining-room table with a golden-brown grilled-cheese sandwich in front of me. Cheddar cheese, white bread, lots of butter so it was extra crispy. It was cut diagonally down the center and when I lifted up one half, the melted cheese stretched like rubber bands to the other side.
    Every morning when I woke up, my lips tasted salty.

Chapter Eight
    On Valentine’s Day, the Spirit Club plastered the school with red streamers and pink balloons, and red and pink hearts. It looked like Clifford the Big Red Dog ate a flock of flamingos and then barfed his guts up. Four people made remarks about my last name, which actually wasn’t as bad as previous years. It helped that I left school before noon. And it helped that I was in charge of the candygram volunteers. It gave me a distraction from all the smooching couples and girls carrying teddy bears and teachers handing out sugary hearts that said “Be mine” and “E-mail me.”
    V didn’t seem as annoyed as I was by Valentine’s Day. In fact, she got dressed up in her funky black pants and the I’M JUST A GIRL WHO CAIN’T SAY NO tank top. This time, she didn’t hide it from my parents. They surprised me by laughing when they saw her in the kitchen. When I asked what the big joke was about, my mom told me that that’s a song Ado Annie sings in
Oklahoma!
    “That was my song,” V said. And then she belted out,
“I’m just a girl who cain’t say no. I’m in a turr-able fiiiiiix.”
    “V!” my dad exclaimed. “You have an amazing voice. You really have to—”
    “I know, I know,” V said. “I’m still thinking about it.”
    The following week, after a landslide of grandparental pressure, V tried out for
Damn Yankees.
My parents drove her to the audition on Monday evening and waited in the car outside. I was in the kitchen attempting to figure out what to eat for dinner when they got home.
    “That was quick,” I said as they came through the back door. “How did it go?”
    “I fucked it up, so don’t even ask,” V said before stomping upstairs.
    I glanced at my parents. My mom looked defeated. My dad said, “At least we tried.”
    But the next morning, right after Mr. B said the Pledge of Allegiance, Ms. Green got on the announcements.
    “As many of you know,” she said, “the drama club had auditions last night for the spring musical. The complete cast list is posted outside the main office, but I wanted to highlight our talented students who’ve been selected as leads.”
    I listened as T.J. Zuckerman, like every year, got the male lead. And Brian Monroe, like every year, got the other male lead. I was waiting to hear that Andrea Kimball, like every year, got the female lead, when Ms. Green said, “I’m pleased to announce that the role of Lola has gone to a new student at BHS. Congratulations, V Valentine! We’re happy to have you here.”
    I got goose bumps on my arms. I knew from catching enough glimpses of the
Damn Yankees
movie that