Free My Awesome/Awful Popularity Plan by Seth Rudetsky Page B

together, and even though I tried to be supportive of what Spencer was going through, I couldn’t really identify with him because my parents were happily married in a creepy sort of way (I actually once saw them kiss with tongue). Mr. D’s parents were divorced or, as he said, “My old man split when I was ten,” so Spencer liked talking with him.
    Spencer joined the debate team that fall, even though it meant he had to quit his favorite after-school club, the math team. (Please don’t get me started on how depressing it is that the math team is his favorite. It goes with my theory that every amazing person has one horrible, tragic flaw—for instance, Chuck hates the Twilight movies.) Spencer didn’t like debating, but it meant he got to spend time with Mr. D after school.
    One weekend in December, there was a big debate competition between our school and Chaminade Academy, which was two hours away. Spencer’s dad was supposed to drive him, but he wound up having to stay home because his girlfriend’s kid was sick, so Spencer’s mom took him instead. When Spencer finally got to the tournament, Mr. D wasn’t there. Spencer asked around and no one knew what had happened to him. Spencer didn’t want to do the debate if Mr. D wasn’t in the audience, but his mom had to go into work and wasn’t coming back until the end of the day, so Spencer spent the whole tournament sitting in the boys’ room of Chaminade, sendingMr. D Facebook messages. Mr. D never wrote back, and on Monday we had a sub for English. Finally, that afternoon, Spencer found out that Mr. D’s band got an offer to open for the Velvet Slashers and he had gone on tour. All the kids missed him, but Spencer was really upset. He was absent until that Thursday and didn’t answer his cell phone whenever I called. It was actually the only time we went three days without talking.
    “What does Mr. D flaking and going out on tour have to do with me and Chuck?”
    “Because you’re making the kind of mistake I made.” I looked at him, confused. He went on. “I wanted to be Mr. D’s friend so badly that I quit the math team.”
    “Yeah, the most amazing decision you ever made.”
    He shook his head, grandpa-style, and said, “The math team was me. Instead, I wound up being on the debate team and hating it and, after a few months, not even having Mr. D to coach me.”
    I looked at him and thought,
And????
    He sounded exasperated. “You’re obsessed with Chuck. When someone wants something that badly, they make the wrong choices and it never works out.”
    He was so extreme. “What’s wrong with wanting something a lot? It’s called having a goal.”
    Spencer put on his “I’m going to teach you about life” face. “Justin, the Buddhist religion teaches us to renounce all worldly things.”
    “Chuck’s not a worldly thing. He’s a person.” I then added, “And I’m not a Buddhist. I’m Jewish.”
    He shrugged. “One can be any religion, yet still practice the teachings of the Buddha.”
    All right. I’d had it. Enough already with his spirituality. I had a boyfriend to get.
    “Listen, Spencer. I know you think I’m setting myself up for a big fat fall but
I
don’t!” He looked like he was about to start listing how everything could blow up in my face, so I cut him off at the pass. “Let’s make a deal.…”
    I thought for a minute and continued. “I need around six months for my plan to come to fruition, so April will be the cutoff month.”
    Spencer nodded skeptically. “OK …”
    “The deal is … we stay friends, but don’t discuss the Chuck/Becky situation. If I’m not one of the happiest kids in school come April, I’ll do a public dare.”
    Spencer and I are always making bets like this. Last year he’d had it with my Broadway babbling and (stupidly) bet me that I couldn’t name all the Tony Award–winning best musicals for the last twenty years and, of course, I won. I made him do a public dare of trying out