“Hey!” I say after a moment, surprised by my forward motion.
“You’re doing great,” Tebow says, and just then, my skate hits a gouge in the ice and I fall over, taking Tebow with me.
We land on the ice in a heap, but we’re both laughing.
Tebow makes me get up and try again, and after about a million more falls, I finally start to get the hang of it. Afterward, we go get hot chocolates from Insomnia Coffee. I’m sitting there with whipped cream on my upper lip, laughing at something Tebow has just said, when I realize, This is not a date.
It isn’t a date, because I don’t want to be on a date with Tebow. I’ve been trying so hard to figure out what Tebow was thinking that I forgot to think for myself. But here is my thought: If Tebow becomes my boyfriend, we might have to break up someday.
And I never, ever want to break up with any of my best friends.
Chapter 71
BEFORE THE PROM
Twirl,” Marjorie commands, so I do. When I come full circle, I hardly recognize the girl in the mirror. I feel like I haven’t really looked at myself in months. And here I am—in a pale peach tulle dress, with a sparkly barrette in my hair.
I think I’ve mentioned that Marjorie has some surprising talents.
“Three years sewing costumes for the drama department of a community college,” Marjorie says as she fusses with my right sleeve, “come in surprisingly handy. Take it from me—everyone should do it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Oh, I have lots more advice,” she tells me.
“I meant—thanks for making me the dress. Although the advice is helpful, too.”
Marjorie seems surprised and pleased at the compliment. Her wild hair is held back by a headband, and I can see her face. She looks a lot like Mrs. Morris. That shouldn’t be surprising, but it is.
Marjorie gives me a hug. “It’s my pleasure, Cuckoo,” she whispers.
She finished just in time, because ten minutes later, the Freakshow is at my front door. They’ve pulled up in a limo (a gift from Eggy’s parents).
I have to say that all my friends look incredibly beautiful. Even Zitsy looks gorgeous, although how he is managing that in a powder-blue tuxedo is a mystery for the ages. Brainzilla is wearing white. Not the Vera Wang wedding dress, but close. Flatso is wearing midnight-blue velvet and looks like a goddess. Tebow is predictably handsome. And Eggy is wearing a vibrant, anime-inspired sequin gown that looks like it came straight out of Lady Gaga’s closet.
“Everyone line up in front of the limo!” Marjorie shouts, holding up an expensive-looking camera with a long lens.
“She spent six months working as a photographer’s assistant,” I explain to my friends. But the Freakshow doesn’t need an explanation.
“Got it!” Marjorie hugs every single one of us, and we get into the limo. Our driver, Earl, is friendly, but not too chatty. I have to say, the limo is really cool inside. It has a TV and a mini fridge and huge seats that are as comfortable as the ones in Mr. Tool’s office.
“Earl, is it okay if I open the sunroof?” I ask.
“Everybody does,” he says, and the roof opens with a low hum.
We pull up to the Holiday Inn and head to the room where our school has set up the Back to the Millennium Prom. Well, that’s the official name.
Unofficially, though, everyone calls it the Hugs. Would we have come together without the Scream Out? I don’t know. But I do know one thing: The Hugs is very emotional. Except for the fistfight between Jacob Answar and Bobby Dupree, it’s nothing but love all around.
The Nations have finally come together.
And, after it’s all over, my friends and I gather at our table.
Brainzilla seems almost hypnotized by the disco ball. “This has been really amazing,” she murmurs.
Tebow gives me a shy smile. He had asked me to be his date to the prom, but we decided that it would be better if the whole Freakshow went as friends. I’m really glad we did it that way.
“I’m kind of starting to like these people,” Zitsy announces, draining his punch. “Man, this stuff is gooooooood.” He stands up. “I love you guys!” he shouts.
Everyone ignores him.
“That’s enough punch for you.” Eggy takes his glass.
Zitsy turns to her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Zitsy,” she says. He grabs her in a sudden hug. Eggy is surprised, but she just laughs and hugs him back. Then Flatso joins the hug. Then Brainzilla and Tebow. I’m the last… but that’s just because I want to wrap them all in my arms.
I just know we’ll be friends for the rest of our lives. No matter how long that is.
Chapter 72
TALKING TO MRS. MORRIS
I was the last to get picked up, and I’m the last one left in the limo on our way home.
“Hey, Earl?” I say as we head down Whittaker Avenue. “Would it be okay if we make an extra stop?”
“Fee’s paid for eight hours,” Earl says over his shoulder. “It has only been six. I’ll stop any place you want..”
So I give him the directions. I know it’s late, but there’s someone I really want to visit.
“Marjorie’s my housemate now. We’re actually a really good match. I can see why you were proud of her. She’s got a lot of amazing talents. She made me this dress. Can you believe that?” I talk to Mrs. Morris for a while—probably more that night than I ever did in real life. We were used to comfortable silence. But there are a few things I want her to know. Things I want to say out loud.
“School is a lot better. Either my teachers are getting nicer or else I’m getting used to them. And Tebow—well, you always said he was a nice boy. He is. But I still miss you. I love you, Mom. I hope you don’t mind it if I call you that. But that’s who you were to me. Who you are. And who you’ll always be.”
Chapter 73
WINNING
Ding-dong.
It’s Sunday, two days after the end of school. I have no idea who could be dropping by at nine in the morning, but I figure it’s probably not an ax murderer, so I put down my diary and shout, “I’ll get it!”
That wasn’t really necessary, since Marjorie is still asleep and Morris the Dog is already barking madly. I pull a linty treat from my pocket and toss it to him. I wait until he’s trotting happily toward the couch before I pull open the door.
It takes me a minute to even realize who it is. Winnie Quinn is wearing jeans, which make him look like the teenager he is.
“H-h-hi,” I stammer. I’m too shocked to be very coherent.
“Hi, Kooks,” he says.
It hits me that I am still in my pajamas and that my hair is very likely doing an impersonation of a bird’s nest right now. But I’m pretty sure I can’t close the door and try this over again, so we stare at each other a moment. Finally, I think of something to say. “Do you want to come in?”
“Actually, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not coming back to North Plains High School next year. I got a research job at Portland State, so I’m going to be working over there.”
“Uh—congratulations.”
He nods. “I’m pretty excited about it. Anyway, I’m not going to be your teacher anymore. I’m not going to be a teacher at all.”
I’m not sure how to respond. Too bad? You were good? It’s a loss to the profession? In the end, what comes out of my mouth is “I’ll miss you.”