to him,” I hissed, hoping Rob wouldn’t hear me. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was in on anything, even though I totally was.
“Hello?” Rob said a second time, sounding mildly annoyed. “Anybody there?”
Audrey thrust the phone in my direction.
I ducked.
It hit the papered wall.
“Now look what you’ve done!” I scolded. By the time I retrieved the receiver from where it plopped in Patches’s litter box, Rob already hung up. “Call him back…Now!”
“You call him back!”
I hesitated for maybe a second, then redialed: 544–3616.
Rob picked up after half a ring. “Who is this?” he demanded, skipping the customary salutation.
“Hey, Rob…It’s Brad Dayton.”
I tried my best to sound nonchalant.
“Hey, Bradley…What’s up?”
I love it when he calls me Bradley!
“Nothing much,” I lied, feeling totally deceitful. “I’m over Audrey’s helping her and Tuesday with their scene for Drama…”
I started babbling about how Tuesday had a fit and went home, so me and Aud were just hanging out, wondering what he was up to.
“Just got home from football practice.”
And are you all hot and sweaty and in need of a sponge bath?
Then Rob surprised me by saying, “Did you just call here a minute ago and hang up?”
“Wasn’t me,” I lied again, shooting Miss Wojczek my best look of spite.
I didn’t know what to say next.
Hey, Rob…You should totally go to Homecoming with Audrey. Unless you’re a Big Fag. Then you could just skip the dance altogether and fool around with me instead.
At that moment, Rob said, “I’m glad you called.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, feeling a little light-headed knowing he was happy hearing from me.
“Is Audrey there with you?”
I looked over at my accomplice. “She’s standing right here.”
“Can I talk to her for a sec?” Rob asked, catching me off guard.
I relinquished the phone.
Audrey said, “Hello?” She paused a moment, nodded and smiled. “Um…Okay.” Finally, she hung up, reporting, “He’s definitely not a fag.”
I had a feeling I wasn’t gonna like her response, but I needed an answer. “How do you know?”
Audrey’s face lit up like the Fisher building. “Rob Berger just asked me to Homecoming.”
What the fuck?
To quote Crystal Bernard from High School USA with Michael J. Fox and Nancy McKeon talking about her boyfriend, Beau Middleton: “I would eat maggots for him.”
That’s how totally in love with Rob Berger I am.
Just because Audrey’s a girl, she gets to go to the dance with him, and do God-only-knows-what-else in the backseat of his Pinto afterwards?
No fucking fair!
All I can say is…I am not teaching her how to give a blowjob.
The Final Countdown
“I guess there is no one to blame
We’re leaving ground…”
—Europe
Time for the big announcement!
12:00 PM. 4th hour. The auditorium.
On stage right, sit the “Top 25” girls. On stage left, the “Top 25” guys. Standing at the podium in the center, Mr. Verlander, wearing what I think is the exact same permanent-press shirt and throwback-to-the-’70s wide tie he wore to the all-school assembly last week.
He promises, “We’re gonna make this short and sweet,” addressing the members of the Hillbilly High student body who actually cared enough to come back from lunch for the ceremony.
I look out from where I sit in alphabetical order between boys’ Varsity basketball co-captain Kenny Daw and Varsity cheerleader Raquel Easterle. But nowhere in the crowd do I see my so-called Best Friends, Jack Paterno and Max Wilson. I hope this doesn’t take too long. This gray aluminum folding chair is killing my ass.
“Quiet down, please…Boys and girls.”
Okay, Verlander…I realize you’re almost as old as Methuselah, but come on! Just because we’re still in high school doesn’t mean we’re babies. Most of us have already had sex, you know what I mean? Not that I’m gonna go graphic with all the gory details or anything.
“As you know,” Verlander continues, “we’re here to announce the winners of the ‘Top 5’ Homecoming…”
I think he means, “Homecoming ‘Top 5.’”
Finally, in the fifth row center off the aisle, I spy Jack sitting with Max. No matter how disappointed he may be, I knew he’d be here for what could potentially be the biggest day of my life. Not that I’m expecting to make “Top 5” or anything.
Mr. Verlander taps his front shirt pocket. We can all see a plain white envelope tucked safely inside. “The names I’m about to read,” he tells us, “represent ten of the best students we’ve ever had here at Hazel Park High School…”
Spare me! He says that every year.
“Among them are cheerleaders…”
Like Jamieleeann Mary Sue Good and Shellee Findlay.
“…football players…”
Like Tom Fulton and Rob Berger, maybe?
“…members of Vikettes…”
Marie Sperling or Angela Andrews?
“…members of girls’ Varsity basketball…”
I’m thinking, Fay Keating.
“…and boys’ Varsity basketball…”
Gotta be Kenny Daw! He’s the cutest basketball player HPHS has got.
“As in years past,” Mr. Verlander drones on, “we’re proud to have a member of the Viking Marching Band among our Homecoming Court for 1987.”
Two years ago, the Hillbilly High-ons elected Freddy Edwards, a totally hot sax playing Band Fag who happened to also be captain of Varsity wrestling, as Homecoming King. Freddy served as our Band Aide back in 7th grade Varsity Band at Webb, and all the girls thought he was a Total Babe…Okay, so did I.
You can bet when I hear this, I look up from the spot I been staring at for what seems like forever. Still, there’s no way in hell Mr. Verlander can be talking about me.
He’s gotta mean Don Olsewski…Doesn’t he?
“Without further ado…”
The auditorium falls pin-drop quiet as Mr. Verlander pulls out the number ten envelope. Breaking the seal with a slide of a finger, he looks over his shoulder. The twenty-five “Top 25” girls sit perched, each one dressed in her Sunday best, hair freshly permed with crown-bangs sprayed to full height.
“Beginning with the ladies,” Verlander says, addressing them en masse. “When I call your name, please stand.” Turning back to the peons in the pit, he advises, “Let’s hold our applause till the end, shall we?”
Fingers crossed at