The Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills by Joanna Pearson Read Free Book Online Page B

would ask about it, and I’d say, “Oh, this? Yeah, it’s my boyfriend’s band.” You get the idea.) Margo apparently handled things a little differently, resulting in the mystery that was Secret Boyfriend.
    Finally Margo looked up at me. She inhaled deeply. “Janice, I promise,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve barely hung out at this point, and I want to tell you — really I do. But I promised not to — it’s just … He’s asked me not to tell people yet. I trust you, I do, but … I promised him, and he’s not even Secret Boyfriend yet, you know? He’s more like Secret We’ve-Hung-Out-Twice Friend at this point anyway….”
    I could tell from Margo’s face that she felt bad, and I felt bad making her feel bad — so there was just a lot of badness hovering around us.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t get it, but I understand you made a promise.” I hugged her. “And hey, your new look is beautiful. TR’s eyes are going to bug out of her head.” Even though I smiled my It’s-No-Big-Deal! smile at her as I said it, I felt sad and left out. And even as she stood there, I felt Margo was slipping away from me.

ANTHROPOLOGICAL
OBSERVATION #5:
    The more handsome the individual, the higher his social caste; the higher the social caste, the more awkward you will become if he is inviting you to a party, thereby lowering the odds of any future party invitations. And thus the high school social caste system is more or less maintained
.
    At school the next day, everyone was talking about Margo. New and Improved Margo, that is.
    “Last week she was, like, totally Trailer Park Sue,” I overheard one senior girl standing near my locker say to her friend, “and this week Margo Werther’s, like, megacute!”
    I guessed Margo was used to people whispering about her, thanks to her family and perceived Bad Girl Potential and all, but this was a different kind of whispering. So far, I hadn’t asked her about it. My quietness was either tact or confusion. It was like Margo was morphing before my eyes into someone else, someone I barely knew — a polished, glamorous stranger with secrets she couldn’t tell me.
    On Thursdays, Margo and I had the same lunch period. Often our sort-of friend Missy Wheeler joined us. (I thought of her as “the Third Wheeler.”) “Look!” Missy pointed with a carrot taken from her plastic baggie. “They’re doing it again! Thatgroup of senior guys is totally checking Margo out. Don’t look, but they keep turning this way.”
    Margo pinkened. I peeked at them.
Were
they looking at Margo? It was tough to tell. This particular group of guys — Future Business Golfers — wore a rotating array of pastel collared shirts and expensive sunglasses so I couldn’t actually make out their eyes.
    “Hey! Margo!”
    It was Theresa Rose. I turned, my fight-or-flight system revving into gear. After a pause, I realized TR wasn’t planning on greeting me as well. She’d walked right up to the table, looking directly at Margo.
    “Hey. What’s up?” Margo said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but still cool and polite.
    “Your hair looks really good, Margo,” TR said. “Your whole look. It’s, well — it’s great.”
    TR actually sounded completely sincere, something I’d never heard before. There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice. I studied her face, looking for signs of latent mockery. Nothing. She almost looked nervous.
    “Thanks, TR,” Margo said. “That’s really nice of you to say.”
    “Yeah,” she said. “You’ll have to take me to your hairstylist sometime. I need a new one. Anyway. Later.” And with that, TR walked away.
    “What was that about?” I hissed. “Totally devious. Something’s up.”
    Margo stirred her yogurt thoughtfully while I ripped into my sandwich.
    “Next thing you know, TR will have you all dolled up so you can go ‘slirting’ for some poor guy in a John Deere hat. Despicable,” I said, almost spitting the word. I