Claudia Gets Her Guy Read online

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Shhh! Shhh!” I said. “Wait! I mean —” Jeremy was coming closer. Quickly, in whispers, I told them what I had done.

  “A note? Cool,” said Erica.

  “You’re asking him to the dance?” said Kristy. “Excellent.”

  “Shhh! Shhh!” I said again. “You guys, he’s going to hear you.” Suddenly, I could hardly breathe. “I can’t look,” I said, turning my back and hiding my face in my hands. “Tell me what he’s doing.”

  Kristy put on a sports announcer’s voice. “Rudolph is moving quickly down the hall,” she reported in a low voice. “He ducks, he weaves, he avoids every person walking the other way. He is amazing!”

  “Kristy!” I hissed.

  She grinned and kept going. “Now Rudolph is approaching his locker. He comes in for a three-point landing — yes! He’s there.”

  “He’s there?” I gulped.

  “He’s there,” whispered Erica.

  “Oh my lord,” I said. My face felt hot. My back was still turned to him. I just couldn’t stand to watch.

  “Rudolph dials his combination,” Kristy went on. “He dials to the left. To the right. To the left again — and — yes! The locker is open.”

  “Now what’s he doing?” I asked. “Did he see the note?”

  Erica shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

  “Rudolph rummages around, pulling out books and — ew! — an old sneaker. Folks, that sneaker must be from the Paleolithic era. I can just about smell it from here.”

  “Kristy,” I hissed again. “That’s enough. Quit it!”

  “Quit what?” she asked. “You wanted to know what he was doing.”

  Just then, Erica gave a little gasp. “He’s closing the locker,” she said.

  “What? What about the note?” I whirled around to look at him. I could hardly believe he’d missed it. But, sure enough, Jeremy was standing there, twirling the lock before he walked off.

  Something was wrong. I did a quick count.

  His locker was the fifth one down from my science classroom.

  Not the third.

  “Oh, no!” I groaned.

  “What?” asked Kristy. “Claudia, you’re all white. Are you okay? Should I call nine-one-one?” Kristy was cracking up. She thought this was a riot.

  “What it is, Claud?” Erica asked.

  “I was wrong,” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. He’ll probably see the note the next time he goes to his locker.”

  I shook my head. “No, he won’t.”

  “Why?” asked Kristy. She’d stopped laughing.

  “Because I put it in the wrong locker.”

  “You — what?” said Erica.

  “I put it in the wrong locker.”

  “I don’t believe this,” said Kristy.

  “We have to get it back,” I said. Suddenly, I remembered everything I’d written in that note. My body went hot, then cold, then hot again. Nobody but Jeremy should see that note.

  “Don’t worry,” said Erica. “We’ll help you.”

  “Sure, we will,” said Kristy. “But it’ll have to be later. The first bell is going to ring any second.”

  “No! No! You have to help me now!” I was desperate.

  “Okay, calm down,” said Kristy. “Let’s go check it out. Which locker did you put it in?”

  I led them to the locker. “This one,” I said. “Maybe a corner of the note is still sticking out.” I stood on tiptoe to see. Nothing.

  Kristy looked both ways down the hall, which was emptying out as kids headed to homeroom. Then she started twirling the dial and jamming the handle. “Come on, come on!” she said to the locker. “Open up, you dumb thing!”

  Guess who ran by us just then.

  Stacey.

  “What are you guys doing?” she asked, coming to a stop.

  How on earth was I going to explain this? Luckily, I didn’t have to. Kristy took care of that. How? She lied. She told Stacey we were helping with a story for the school paper. The topic was How Secure Are Our Lockers?

  “I might know a trick,” said Stacey. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a nail file. Then she started to poke at the handle of the locker. After a few attempts, she gave up. “Never mind,” she said. “I saw it in a movie once, but they must have faked it.”

  I slumped over, feeling as if I might start crying.

  “I know!” said Kristy. “I know somebody who can definitely open this.”

  “If you’re thinking about the janitor, forget it,” said Erica. “He won’t open somebody else’s locker for you.”

  “Not the janitor,” Kristy said. “Cary Retlin.”

  Just then, the first bell rang.

  It was time for homeroom.

  I didn’t want to leave the locker, but I had no choice.

  I walked away, leaving the note inside.

  Homeroom normally lasts ten minutes. You go in, you sit down, the teacher takes attendance, you hear some announcements over the loudspeaker, and that’s it.

  That morning, homeroom lasted about thirty million centuries.

  I was dying inside. Every time I thought about that note and what it said, every time I thought about someone other than Jeremy reading it, my toes curled up and my stomach started to churn. Thinking about it made me blush too, so I probably looked like a traffic light. First I’d turn red with embarrassment, then green with nausea.

  I had to get that note back.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it if I did get it back. Would I try again to give it to Jeremy? Maybe it would be safer just to destroy it and forget all about inviting him to the dance.

  When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my stuff and broke the world’s record for the hallway dash. I skidded to a stop in front of That Locker just as Kristy arrived with Cary Retlin in tow.

  “Having a little problem?” said Cary, raising one eyebrow in his usual way.

  He was getting a big kick out of the situation. “Just open the locker,” I said.

  He raised the eyebrow even higher.

  “Please?” I added.

  He smirked a little.

  “Hurry!” I said. The hall was already filling up with people. The owner of the locker could arrive any minute.

  “As you wish,” he said, still wearing the smirk. Then he pushed up his shirtsleeves, turned toward the locker, and fiddled around for about three seconds. He stepped back, and the locker swung open.

  I stared at him. “How did you do that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to erase your memory.”

  “Claudia,” Kristy said in a strange voice. “Never mind how he did it. Guess whose locker this is?”

  “What?” I asked. “Whose is it?”

  She gestured at the open locker, and I peered inside.

  The tiny space was a mess. I saw gym clothes and open notebooks and moldy sandwiches in it. “Looks like a guy’s,” I observed.

  “Not just any guy’s,” said Kristy. “Check it out.” She reached in and gingerly drew out a bizarre-looking pancake-shaped piece of rubber. “Fake vomit,” she said.

  “Oh, ew!”

  She tossed it back in. “I also see a Super Soaker tucked away in the back,” she said. “And look at those stickers.”

  I noticed a bunch of bumper stickers on the inside of the locker. “Warning: I Brake for Donuts,” said one. “Gives Peas a Chance,” said another. My stomach started churning again. “You don’t think —” I began.

  Kristy nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. This locker belongs to —”

  “Alan Gray,” I chimed in.

  We shuddered.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Cary, who’d been watching us, an amused look on his face. “Alan’s a nice guy.”

  We turned to stare at him.

  “Nice?” repeated Kristy. “Sure, he’s nice. If you like dorks.”

  “If your idea of a good
time involves a whoopee cushion,” I added.

  “But I don’t want him to see the —” I stopped. How much had Kristy told Cary? If he didn’t know about the note, I wasn’t about to tell him.

  Cary shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ve done my part. I’m out of here.”

  “You won’t tell Alan we were in his locker, will you?” I asked.

  “Probably not,” said Cary, shooting me that smirk.

  “Cary!” I wailed.

  “Okay, I won’t. But you owe me.” He turned and sauntered down the hall.

  “Great,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s the last guy I want to owe anything to.”

  “That’s the least of your problems,” Kristy said. She was still staring into the locker.

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  “The note,” she said. “I don’t see it.”

  “You don’t? But it has to be here. It has to! I just put it here.” I felt a wave of panic rise up inside me. I took a deep breath. “Maybe this isn’t the right locker,” I said desperately. I looked down the row, counting. “One, two, three — augggh!” There was no question about it. This was the locker I’d put the note into.

  Kristy was still rummaging around. “Nope,” she reported. “It’s just not here.”

  My stomach stopped churning. Instead, it dropped to the floor. I was in deep, deep trouble.

  Alan Gray had The Note.

  Kristy stopped poking around in the locker and stood up to face me. We stared at each other in horror.

  Just then, one of the loudspeakers crackled with static. Someone was about to make an announcement. I saw Kristy’s face turn white, and I know mine was probably even paler than hers. “He wouldn’t —” I began.

  “He might,” Kristy said grimly.

  I stood there, paralyzed. Was Alan Gray about to read my note to the whole school?

  “Attention, SMS students. Here’s an announcement that we missed during homeroom,” said a male voice.

  I held my breath.

  “There will be a daffodil sale in the cafeteria, between eleven and one. Be sure to buy a bunch for your special someone,” the voice continued.

  I let my breath out and exchanged a relieved look with Kristy.

  “And one more thing —” said the voice.

  I gulped.

  “Think spring!” With that, the loudspeaker clicked off.

  I sank down so that I was sitting in the hallway, leaning against the lockers. “I can’t take this,” I told Kristy, who had joined me on the floor. “What do you think he’ll do with the note?”

  “He’s capable of anything,” said Kristy darkly. “He might copy it a hundred times and spread it all over the school. Or he might post it on his Web site. Or —”

  “Stop!” I cried. “Forget I asked.”

  “It’ll all work out,” said Kristy, trying to comfort me. She patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

  Ha. Easy for her to say.

  I worried through my morning classes. And I worried between classes as I walked through the halls. I hadn’t seen Alan yet that morning. How would he act when we first ran into each other? Would he laugh out loud? Gloat? Tease me in front of everyone? In a way, I wanted to see him, just to get the worst of it over with.

  I finally spotted him coming toward me as I was on my way to the last class of the day. For a second, I considered ducking into the rest room, but the nearest one happened to be a boys’ room. I had to face Alan. I had no choice.

  I walked toward him, my face on fire. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.

  Alan had a funny look on his face — not the look I was expecting. Instead of a grin, he wore a sheepish half smile. “Hey, Claudia,” he said as we drew closer. “Um — can I talk to you?”

  This was it.

  “Sure,” I said. I faced him squarely. “Go on.”

  “Not here,” he said, looking around at all the other kids filling the hall. “How about in there?” He gestured toward a nearby classroom. “I think that room is empty.”

  “Okay,” I said. I stared at the back of his head as he led me into the room. What kind of thoughts were percolating in there? For all I knew, he’d already passed the note along to Jeremy, adding a few sarcastic comments of his own.

  Alan closed the door behind us once we were inside the classroom. Then he turned to me. “Claudia,” he began.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here it comes, I thought, tensing all my muscles. I opened my eyes again and met Alan’s. His eyes looked strange. Soft. He wasn’t grinning.

  “Claudia,” he said again, hesitantly. “That note.” He stopped. He ran a hand through his hair. “That note — it was the nicest thing anyone has ever written to me.”

  I stared at him.

  Oh. My. Lord.

  He thought the note was for him. I was totally and completely shocked. “It —” I began. “That note —” I couldn’t even form the words. I had to tell him the note wasn’t meant for him, but I couldn’t seem to speak.

  “I know I’m a pain sometimes, Claudia,” Alan said earnestly. “And I know your friends think I’m nothing but a clown. But you saw the real me.”

  “Alan, I —”

  He held up a hand. “Let me finish,” he said. “You know, I’ve always admired you, Claudia. You are so creative, so talented. You’re … you’re one in a million.” He blushed and looked down at his feet. “I never thought someone like you would be interested in someone like me. You know, I’m really trying to change, to be better … um, more mature.”

  I studied the top of his head. Suddenly, I realized that Alan Gray was just another boy. It took a lot of guts for him to say this stuff to me. I knew what it took because of how I’d had to psych myself up to write that note.

  Alan looked up again and caught me staring. I felt a strange jolt when our eyes met. “So, anyway,” he continued. “My answer is yes.”

  “Yes?” I repeated.

  “Yes. I would love to go to the Cupid’s Arrow Dance with you.”

  A few hours later everybody was gathered in my room for our BSC meeting. Kristy had called the meeting to order at precisely five-thirty. Then, after conducting club business, she’d turned to me. “So, what happened?” she asked. “I’m dying to know. Did you run into Alan? Did he read the note? What did he say?”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to tell everyone the story yet. Fortunately, Mary Anne jumped in. “I heard all about it at lunch, Claudia,” she said sympathetically. “I can’t believe your note fell into Alan’s hands! But don’t worry. I bet it will all work out okay.”

  Kristy snorted. “Sure,” she said. “If your idea of ‘okay’ includes being humiliated in front of the whole school.”

  “Kristy!” Mary Anne said.

  “Sorry,” said Kristy, shooting me a little grin. “I’m just kidding. But you never know what Alan will do.”

  That was for sure. I looked around at my friends, wondering what everyone would think when I told them that Alan and I were going to the Cupid’s Arrow Dance together.

  Mary Anne would be accepting. She always is.

  Stacey might be understanding. She knows how complicated “boy stuff” can be.

  Kristy, I knew, would go ballistic. To her, Alan Gray is nothing but a pest. I’m not sure she even considers him human. She’s known him, as I have, since kindergarten. And not once have I ever heard her say anything nice about him.

  “You’re right, Kristy,” Stacey said now. “Alan is capable of anything. Remember when he picked up that zit cream that dropped out of Shawna Riverson’s pack?”

  Kristy nodded, groaning. “He auctioned it off in the cafeteria at lunchtime.”

  “That was in sixth grade,” I protested. “I think Alan’s changed a little since then.”

  Kristy looked at me. “Alan Gray? The guy who wore his underwear on his head for the talent show in fourth grade? The guy who sticks straws up his nose?
The guy who once licked the gym floor on a bet —”

  “Stop!” I said, holding up a hand. “I know he used to do all that stuff. I’m saying that I think he’s matured a little bit recently.”

  Kristy peered at me suspiciously. “Claudia, why are you defending Alan?”

  “Raisinets, anyone?” I asked brightly, holding up a box of candy.

  “Yum! I’ll take some,” said Mary Anne.

  I handed them over. “And I have some popcorn for you, Stacey,” I added, reaching under my bed to find my secret stash.

  “Claudia?” Kristy asked.

  “What?” I replied innocently.

  “I asked why you’re defending Alan Gray.” She was staring at me intently as she tapped a pencil on my desk.

  “I —” Just then, the phone rang. “I’ll get it!” I cried with relief. I reached for the phone. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club.”

  “Acme Diaper Service here,” said a male voice.

  It was Alan.

  And he was up to his old tricks.

  I didn’t say a word.

  “Claudia?” he asked after a second.

  “I’m hanging up,” I said.

  “No, wait!” he cried. “Wait. I’m sorry. It’s just a bad habit. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Okay,” I said warily. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to thank you again for that note,” he said, sounding sincere. “And I wanted to know what color dress you’ll be wearing to the dance, so I can buy you a corsage.”

  I couldn’t help feeling touched.

  “Who is it?” asked Kristy impatiently. “Is it a wrong number?”

  I waved my hand at her. “You’re welcome,” I said into the phone. “And as for color, I don’t know. Red, maybe. I’ll let you know.”

  “Cool,” said Alan.

  “I have to go now,” I told him.

  “ ’Bye, Claudia,” Alan said softly.

  I hung up.

  “Red what?” Kristy asked. “Claudia, who was that?”

  “Nobody,” I mumbled.

  “Claudia,” Kristy said warningly.

  “ItwasAlan,” I said quickly.

  Kristy looked puzzled.

  “Alan,” I said, giving up. “It was Alan Gray, okay?”