Babe in Boyland by Jody Gehrman Page B

Darcy have more relationship experience than I do. You’d think that would make them more comfortable, less likely to play head games. If they seem this unnatural—this unlike themselves—how must I seem?
    Weird. I’m going to have to talk to them about this. Our rendezvous in the prop closet is suddenly more urgent than ever.

    It seems like I’ve been waiting in this stuffy little room for hours. It’s pitch-black, but I’m afraid to turn on the light because someone might notice. I’m sure being discovered in here all alone for no apparent reason will do wonders for my already firmly established reputation as freak of the month. Luckily there’s a beanbag in the far corner, so I’m sitting here, cross-legged, reflecting on my very strange day.
    Finally, at ten twenty, I get a text from Darcy: Are you in the prop closet?
    I write back: Yeah! Where are you?
    Coming in a minute. Trying to get C away from J. Arg!
    Shaking my head, I write back: No kidding . . .
    Shaking my head, I write back: No kidding . . .
    Five minutes later Darcy bursts in, followed by Chloe. The room explodes with light.
    “What are you doing in the dark?” Chloe demands.
    “I didn’t want to get caught.”
    “Since when are you so paranoid?” she asks, picking her way around a plaster statue in her heels.
    “Um, since I decided to go undercover at an all-boys prep school, maybe?”
    Darcy comes right over and plops down beside me on the beanbag. I’m not usually super-demonstrative, but it’s so great to see her again that I give her a hug.
    “I missed you guys,” I say. “Being a dude is weird.”
    Darcy’s eyes go wide. “Is it incredible? It must be so fun!”
    “Not at all!” I hang my head. “I’m a complete dweeb. It’s embarrassing.”
    Chloe sits down on a nearby stool and brushes lint from her pants. “So you’re finally getting in touch with your inner loser.”
    “Seriously!” I whine. “I’m like the social equivalent of herpes.”
    “Attractive metaphor.” Chloe leans forward. “Honestly, though, what did Josh say about me?”
    I pull a face. “Are you kidding? He won’t even talk to me! He treats me like dirt.”
    Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Really? We’ll have to change that. What did you do to make everyone hate you so much?”
    “It’s not what I did or didn’t do . . . it’s who I am. As a guy, I’m a loser.”
    Darcy puts an arm around me. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
    “Trust me, it is. I don’t fit in. Around here, that’s the kiss of death.”
    Chloe squints at me and tilts her head. “Maybe we haven’t got the right look for you just yet. You need a stronger jawline.”
    “I’m afraid plastic surgery is out of my price range.”
    “I’m thinking a little shading through here.” She leans closer and touches my jaw.
    “Great! That’s an excellent idea. I’m sure makeup will help with my credibility immensely.”
    Chloe leans back in surprise. “Why so snarky?”
    “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . kind of like information overload.”
    Darcy twists toward me. “Yeah? So what did you learn? Did you get any answers for your article? Dish!”
    Sweet Darcy. She looks so eager. I want to give a full report, I really do, but somehow my brain won’t cooperate. I want to talk about the rehearsal I just spied on—the stuff I saw and thought about—but all at once I have no idea how to formulate any of that into words. Here are my friends, turning to me with expectant faces, ready to listen, and I’m just sitting here with my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
    Just then Darcy’s ringtone goes off, distracting us from the report I can’t seem to spit out. She reads the screen, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
    Chloe rolls her eyes. “It’s Rob, isn’t it? God, why doesn’t he just leave you in peace?!”
    Darcy flashes me an impish look. “He’s been texting me all day.”
    “He senses she’s moving on, so what’s he do? Tries to lure her back.