Anatomy of a Misfit Read online

  Today at the Bunza Hut I’m in charge of putting up the Halloween decorations. There’re two skeletons, one for each door, and a bunch of pumpkins that I’m assuming will be doing double duty for Thanksgiving. Right now they have faces on them.

  Shelli is behind the counter doing her lip liner.

  Monday nights are pretty slow because pretty much everybody in Nebraska is addicted to football, thanks to the Cornhuskers, but that translates, of course, to the NFL, so tonight is, basically, a holiday. Sure people call in big orders to take home and eat in their family rooms, rec rooms, and man caves while they watch the game with the guys but, pretty much, once the game starts, it might as well be the end of days.

  Tonight’s the Bears vs. Packers. Big matchup. Also, this is a game that shall cleave the heart of the city in twain, as basically Lincoln, Nebraska, is chock-full of both Packers fans AND Bears fans. Yeah, Chicago is closer but that’s full of a bunch of city slickers and half the people here are related to people from up north in Wisconsin. Why do you think everyone in this state is blond? They might as well call it Scandinavia 2: Electric Boogaloo. Or maybe Germany 2 . . . This Time, Without Nazis! There are about five last names at my school: Krauss, Hesse, Schnittgrund, Schroeder, and Berger. It is not unusual to have an uncle named Ingmar.

  If you care what I think, I’m a Packers fan. Sorry, everyone else in the world. But really that is just me feeling sorry for you for not being a Packers fan.

  These skeletons are not easy to get up. First of all, they’re too heavy for this Scotch tape and second of all, these freezing cold glass doors don’t seem to want to have anything taped to them. Shelli is not helping.

  “I think you should dump that Logan guy.”

  Shelli always has a way with words.

  “How can I dump him? I’m not even going out with him.”

  “Seriously. What if Becky finds out?”

  “Whatever. Wait. How’s she gonna find out?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “What? No.”

  “Shelli, seriously . . . did you tell her?”

  “No . . . I didn’t.”

  “Well, don’t. Even if she asks or anything.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Can you help me with these stupid skeletons? They won’t stay up.”

  Shelli sighs and comes over, pocketing her lip liner.

  So there we are hanging these spooky but not too spooky skeletons on the ice-cold door when it happens.

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “Anika. Oh. My. God.”

  “Jesus. What?”

  “Turn around.”

  “Seriously. You’re scaring me.”

  “Turn. A. Round.”

  And so I do. And that’s when I see it.

  Jared Kline is getting out of his Jeep and walking straight into the Bunza Hut, straight for the door, straight toward us.

  “Jesus. Mary. And Joseph. Whaddawedo whaddawedo?!”

  “Act cool. Act cool.”

  Shelli is quivering behind me and I’m not so sure-footed myself.

  Jared sees us looking and gives a little wave. Barely a wave. More like a nod from his hand.

  The door opens.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Shelli watches in silence as Jared keeps his eyes on me. Her fingernails are bearing into my arms like mini-knives made of the letter C.

  “Busy night?”

  “Yeah, um . . . I guess everyone’s watching the game, so . . .”

  “I guess that makes me lucky a little.”

  Shelli is basically stabbing my arm now with her fingernails.

  “So . . . you don’t like football . . . ?”

  “It’s okay.” Shrug.

  This makes Jared the only guy in Nebraska who doesn’t worship at the altar of the pigskin.

  “What about you?”

  “I dunno. It’s fun sometimes, I guess.”

  “A-ha! Lemme guess . . . you’re a Packers fan.”

  “What . . . how did you know?” I can’t help but smile now. I’m busted but Jared is such a stone-cold fox maybe I’m just delirious.

  “Because it’s kinda like old school. They’re like an old school team.”

  “Okay. You got me.”

  “Do I?”

  He’s smiling now. This guy is good. He really knows how to make a girl blush.

  Shelli elbows me, not so subtle.

  “Oh, this is my friend, Shelli.”

  “Hi, Shelli.”

  “Hiii . . .”

  Shelli says hi in a really weird way. It’s like if you tried to make a deflated balloon speak.

  “So, can I order some food or . . . is this just a Halloween decorating operation?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny.”

  And with that we leave Shelli quivering by the door with the skeletons. Now, I’m behind the cash register, kind of wishing I came from one of those households where you didn’t have to work. Like Jared.

  “You look cute in your little uniform.”

  Did he read my mind or something?

  “Yeah? You don’t think I look like an Easter egg?”

  “No. I think you look like I should be asking you to marry me.”

  CRASH!

  That was too much for Shelli. She dropped the skeleton, the box of decorations, and the tape. She looks up, mortified. Jared nods, smiling.

  “I see this is a dangerous workplace.”

  “Yeah. Okay, so . . . French fries, or maybe . . . ?”

  “I’d like a cheese Bunza. French fries. A Dr Pepper—”

  “Oh, you’re a Pepper?”

  “Yeah. I’m a Pepper. Wouldn’t you like to be a Pepper, too?”

  I can’t help but laugh at this guy. He’s actually funny. Kind of a surprise. I thought maybe he’d just be some hot lug-head jerk. But this? This is unfair.

  “Okay, and a shake.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. A shake. Instead of the Dr Pepper. Oh . . . and you. I’d like a date with you. Saturday night.”

  Holy. Um. Shit.

  “That’s not really on the menu or whatever.”

  “I know. That was stupid. I was trying to be clever.”

  Shelli just so happens to be hanging those decorations closer and closer.

  He whispers, “I think your friend is spying on us.”

  “Well, obviously. You look like a criminal.”

  He smiles.

  “C’mon. Seriously. You’re going out with me. Saturday night.”

  “What? I can’t. I’ve never even been on a date. Like, I don’t even know if my parents will let me.”

  “What if I talk to them? What if I ask them? What if I come over and respectfully ask your father—”

  “He’s not my father. He’s my stepdad.”

  “—Respectfully ask your stepdad, and your mom, for your hand in a date.”

  “Oh my God, you’re crazy.”

  But I’m smiling. Mostly I can’t even believe this is happening. If Becky were here she would die.

  “I think my friend Becky likes you actually . . .”

  “Your friend Becky is a horrible person who probably drinks the blood of small children for breakfast.”

  “Wow. That’s fairly accurate.”

  Shelli is peering out from behind a pumpkin. Her eyes are the size of the pumpkin.

  “Okay. That’s it. I’m gonna ask your mom. Respectfully. And your stepdad.”

  “Are you serious? Seriously?”

  “I am serious. Seriously.”

  He walks out, still smiling.

  “Hey, wait you forgot your—”

  Shelli looks at me from across the Bunza Hut. She’s whispering even though it’s just us now.

  “Anika! Anika!”

  “He forgot his food . . .”

  “Anika, do you know what this means?!”

  “That he’s coming back?”

  “
No. No. It means that . . . I think maybe . . . you’re the most popular girl in the school now!”

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  twenty-eight

  Shelli’s assessment, that I’m now suddenly bumped up to number one popular girl, is wrong. Way off. But it’s nice of her to say it, and flattering.

  Really what this means is that Becky, when she finds out, is going to come over to my house, chop my limbs off, feed them into my face, and then chop my head off. I know this the way I know the sky is blue, leaves are green, and sports are boring.

  I am attempting to study in my room, which is difficult when you feel dismemberment is in your immediate future.

  My mom, in her Mrs. Santa Claus mode, is bringing in milk and cookies. I know exactly what she’s gonna say.

  “Honey, now don’t stay up too late . . .”

  I say it with her. She’s right. I just have a habit of procrastinating my homework until the absolute last, latest, worst time to possibly do anything.

  “Have you heard from Tiffany, honey?”

  “Wha? No . . . her shift isn’t till Wednesday.”

  “Oh, well I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Me too, Mom.”

  She stands there a second.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Someone left something for you . . . wait, hold on . . .”

  She scurries out and now I’m really curious. No one’s ever left anything for me here before. I don’t think anyone even knows exactly where I live.

  “Here. It looks like a present, I guess.”

  It’s a tiny box. Black velvet. Wrapped in a little white bow.

  My heart gives a thump.

  “Well, aren’t you gonna open it?”

  “I dunno, Mom. Is this from you?”

  “No. No, honey. I swear, someone just left it. The boys found it, actually. On the front step.”

  “That’s so weird. Okay, here goes . . .”

  I untie the white bow, and lift the little lid.

  Wow.

  It’s a little gold necklace with my name engraved on it in cursive. Anika. In flowing letters.

  “Wow. How cool.”

  “Wow, you ain’t kidding. Here, I’ll put it on you.”

  My mom comes around and clasps it. Now we both look.

  “So . . . do you know who it’s from?”

  “What? Wasn’t there a card or something?”

  “Nope. It’s a mystery.”

  My mom and I both look in the mirror at the necklace. It’s fancy. It’s expensive. . . .

  “Okay, now, try to go to bed. Will ya? Otherwise I don’t feel like I’m doing my job.”

  “Oh, Mom? Did anybody ever tell you that you’re basically like a muffin that got turned into a person?”

  Mom smiles and walks to the door. “Oh, that imagination of yours . . .”

  “Night, Mom.”

  “Night, honey.”

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  twenty-nine

  The first person to spot the necklace at school is Becky. Of course.

  “Nice. Where’d you get it?”

  “Oh . . . my mom. She thought—”

  “Hunh. That’s nice. Is it your birthday or something?”

  “No, it’s just . . . She said she saw it and she thought of me.”

  “She saw a necklace that said Anika? What, like, at the Anika store?”

  “No, I mean she saw, like, these name necklaces, and she thought of me.”

  “Oh. Whatever.”

  Shelli is standing next to me. She knows I’m lying. She can feel it.

  “That’s awesome, I wish my mom would do something like that . . .”

  “Shelli, the only necklace your mom is gonna get you is a dying Jesus.”

  Becky, as usual, speaks the truth.

  My turn. “It’s okay, Shelli. I’ll buy you a dying Jesus.”

  Shelli smiles at me. She knows I’m with her. That we’re in it together.

  “Geez, why don’t you guys get a room?”

  It drives Becky crazy that Shelli and I are close. She wants to divide and conquer, any way she can. She’s deranged.

  The bell rings and everyone starts taking off in different directions like crazy and, of course, I run into Logan.

  “Did you get the necklace?”

  “What?” I glance around and confirm that no one is making note of this encounter.

  “Did you get the necklace. I left you a necklace. At your house.”

  “Oh! Yeah, see, here it is. I’m wearing it.”

  I don’t know why I feel surprised. I guess I wasn’t sure it was from Logan?

  He looks at me with puppy eyes and I feel like the world’s biggest jerk, but I don’t know why.

  “That was really nice of you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He smiles. Second bell.

  “Gotta go.”

  He takes off, around the corner and I am left there, standing, late for physics, realizing that I’m the dumbest person on earth because for some insane reason I thought, now don’t laugh when you hear this, I thought . . . well, I thought the necklace was from Jared.

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  ..................................................................

  thirty

  Ladies and gentlemen, I’m confused.

  On the one side there’s Logan who, even if he’s a social pariah is really cool and smart and thinks like nobody else I’ve ever met before. Then, on the other hand, there’s Jared Kline, rock star, super-king, and the one person in the world who can protect me from Becky Vilhauer. I mean it’s like trying to decide between James Dean and Elvis. Seriously, who could make that choice?

  My guilt has led me squarely to the dinner table at Logan’s house.

  If you were wondering how close Becky lives to Logan McDonough the answer is . . . right across the street. I know. Doomsday scenario. The only good thing is . . . her house is back like a football field from the street because they needed room to put trees, a wall, a fountain, and other stuff to make everybody else feel like shit.

  So, even though Becky is almost spitting distance from our little friendly dinner, I’m actually not that scared. And by not that scared I mean, I only checked three times since I’ve been here to make sure no one has seen me.

  Besides, there are other things to be scared of. Like Logan’s family. First, there’s his mom, who, as far as I can tell, has her cocktail superglued to her fingers. She’s a pretty blonde with a huge diamond ring and all. But there’s something sad about her. Something resigned. It’s like the weight of that huge, shiny rock is pinning her to the ground. Then, there are his two kid brothers, Billy and Lars, who are three and six, respectively. You could cast them in a commercial about cereal, that’s how much they look like dumplings. Billy especially, a little towhead with sky-blue eyes.

  Then, there’s Logan and me.

  And, finally, the pièce de résistance . . . Logan’s dad.

  Logan’s dad looks like the kind of guy you are trying to avoid. All smiles and sweaters. Terrifyingly cheerful. And talking. Lots of talking. I mean the guy never shuts up. So far this dinner, which he had catered by the way. I’m not kidding. He ordered out and even had them send over a guy in a white chef’s coat to serve us. He must have done this before because the guy in the white chef’s coat knows two things: (1) Where the serving plates are, and (2) To keep the wife’s drink filled.

  I mean, this dinner, here on a Tuesday night, just a regular old Tuesday night, no holidays or anything, must have cost a fortune. Like, my mom’s entire grocery budget for the whole month. Apparently this is natural behavior for him. During his monologue about how he’s planning on triump
hing over the zoning restrictions on his new subdivision, Logan leans in.

  “He likes to show off.”

  Now Logan’s dad doesn’t like interruptions.

  “What’s that son? You wanna share with the table?”

  “I was just telling Anika what a master you are with real estate.”

  “Oh. So, like I said, we’re still waiting on the zone permits. Should be any time now. Goddamn city.”

  And now Logan’s mom actually chimes in.

  “Not in front of the boys, please.”

  There’s a silence here.

  And now Dad. “You’re right. I should spell it out. These F-U-C-K-I-N-G city permits are an F-U-C-K-I-N-G waste of time!”

  He slams his drink on the table and, as if on a teeter-totter, as his hand goes down, Logan’s mom gets up. She gently wrangles the two little boys, kissing Billy on the head as he wraps around her like a koala. Lars stays close, too, clinging to her leg. She even puts her drink down, miracle, as she scurries the boys upstairs.

  Logan looks up at his mom and you can see, now, who he loves most in the world. And he wants to save her from this thing at the other end of the table. You can see that, too.

  Dad will not be bested. He continues on and on until the end of dinner, even through dessert. Zones, permits, the goddamn bureaucracy, all of it conspiring to ruin his life in paperwork. By the time he leads us down to his man cave in the basement, he’s had about six scotches.

  The caterers are cleaning up now. Logan’s mom has retired to her room, the late-night TV muffled up the stairs. And his two kid brothers, Lars and Billy, waiting upstairs for Logan to tuck them in, which I guess he does each night. Which, honestly? Massive points for Logan.

  Downstairs the man of the house sure is proud of his gun cupboard or whatever you call it. Display case, I guess. My mom would freak her eyeballs out if she even saw me in this room. No joke.

  Meanwhile, Logan’s dad is pointing at each of his prize possessions, a litany of names that all sound vaguely menacing, conquering, and are all, obviously, invented deep in the recesses of the gun manufacturers’ board rooms where a panel of guys probably sits around throwing out names that will make guys feel like they have bigger penises.

  Logan is totally embarrassed by his dad, who boasts about each and every gun, its name, and what type of animal he killed with it.