I feel the tiniest bit like Cinderella.
Even Cleanser Boy notices. âHey,â he says on our way to the car. âYou clean up nice.â
âThanks,â I say. âYou, too.â
He does. In a preppy, jock-boy sort of way. But whatever he put on for cologne is horrifying. Especially in an enclosed space. As soon as we get in the car, I open my window.
Thalia is driving. She is in full substitute-parent formâtossing out little public service announcements the entire ride.
Remember, kids, you donât have to be high to have a high old time. And Cigarettes wonât make you look any cooler.
Ajax laughs. âOur teachers are going. You really think theyâll be serving up martinis and matches?â
âI was in eighth grade once,â Thalia says. âI know what happens at these things. I just donât want you to do anything stupid.â
She looks at us in the rearview mirror. âGot it?â
Ajax raises one fist in the air. âTake a Stand for a Drug-Free Land.â
I place a hand over my heart. âCount on Me to Be Drug-Free.â
âGood,â Thalia says. She pulls up to the curb and says sheâll be back to get us at ten.
Ajax lets out a groan. âTen? Come on. It ends at eleven.â
Thalia turns around and smiles. âSisters: The Anti-Drug.â
The Thorne School for Boys looks exactly like the March School for Girls. Only the smell is different, like mayonnaise and feet.
About fifty people are gathered in the gym, and I can see that Clara Bing was right. Nobodyâs dancing. All the girls are standing in little clumps against one wall, whispering to one another, while the boys are on the other side, stuffing chips into their mouths.
One look around and you can tell the decorating committee didnât exactly break a sweat. There arenât any streamers or balloons or anything, just a couple of lame signs.
THORNE FALL SOCIAL: PLAY THE ARCADE, DRINK LEMONADE.
HEY MARCH GIRLS, DANCE YOUR SOCKS OFF, BRING YOUR XBOX.
Xbox.
A video-game theme. This is how they impress us.
Mackey would be thrilled.
In the bathroom, Andrea is surrounded by the usualheadbands. But there seems to be a new fashion trend tonight: braids. Also, tennis dresses.
Theyâre all staring at themselves in the mirror. When they put on mascara, their mouths make little pink Oâs of concentration.
Andrea sees me. âHi, Evelyn,â she says, but she doesnât turn away from her reflection.
âHi,â I say.
âIs Ajax here?â
âYeah.â My tongue feels like sandpaper.
âIn the gym?â
âUh-huh.â
âGood.â Andrea smoothes on some lip gloss and smacks her lips together. She hands her purse to a girl in a pink tennis dress and spins around. âLadies?â
She says this and everyone snaps to attention. She walks out the door and everyone follows.
By the time we get to the gym, music is blaring. But still no one is dancing.
The boys have migrated from the snack table to the âarcadeâ at the far end of the gym. It is a sad sightâonly three games, and one of them is pinball.
On the bleachers, most of the boys are playing handhelds by themselves, which they could be doing in their own living rooms. I notice that Ajax isnât playing anything. Heâs standingin center court with a bunch of other eighth-grade boys, doing what they do best: stealing one anotherâs hats, punching one anotherâs shoulders, burping. I watch them for a while, sickly fascinated. They canât stop moving for a second. They have to be hitting one another, or dodging out of the way, or grabbing their crotches at all times.
One of them has his hands down his pants at this very moment, making adjustments.
Eighth-grade boys are gross. Itâs a wonder girls want anything to do with them.
Was Linus like this when he was their age? I canât imagine it. Heâs so much cooler than they are. Not
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes