I was so excited I jumped to my feet. "It's because I write."
Luke said nothing so I knew instantly I'd struck oil. I slapped a hand to my head. "That's it. It all makes sense now. In the park, you kept asking me about my writing."
"So?" He couldn't hide the little twitter of desperation he felt. I could hear it in the quiver of his vocal cords as he struggled to sound insolent. I don't know why he was trying to hide it. Maybe there was something else he still didn't want me to know.
"So," I echoed. "Why would you care about my writing, unless..." I snapped my fingers. "Unless it could be used as some kind of service to you."
"Look, Carrie. This is getting crazy. I'm going to hang up." I had to be really close now.
"You want me to write a paper for you." Yes, I had it all figured out. He was embarrassed to come right out and ask me. He didn't know if I was the type to outright refuse him and then go tell the teacher he wanted to cheat. He must've 61
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been testing me to see what sort of person I was. And he still wasn't sure if he could put his trust in me yet. It made me feel good to think he wanted to use my writing ability. Writing was one of the most important parts of my life. I liked the idea of having a talent desired by others.
"You want me to write a paper for you," I repeated with more confidence. "Don't you?"
"No." He said it with such force I almost believed him. And then there was a click.
My mouth fell open. "What the..." I stared at the dead phone for a second. Then I knotted my jaw and hit *69. He answered two rings later.
I knew he had caller ID because he spat out, "What?" I grinned and said, "Liar."
Then I hung up on him.
[Back to Table of Contents]
62
The Stillburrow Crush
by Linda Kage
Chapter Five
"Miss Paxton. Can I have a word with you?" I closed my eyes and slid further into my seat. The bell had just rung, dismissing class. I should've been free to go, free from dreaded trigonometry. My teacher, however, thought otherwise. I was tempted to tell Mr. Underhill—or Mr. Under-the-Hill as Marty'd always called him—that no, he could not have a word with me. But I knew that wouldn't go over so swell. So I gave a miserable nod and gathered my books. I'd just taken my history test the hour before. And Mr. Decker hadn't asked a single question about Appomattox Court House. I glared at Abby Eggrow for misguiding me when I passed her in the hall. But she was busy gossiping with Jill and Liz and didn't notice me at all. Big surprise, huh?
And then I'd gotten to trig only to realize we had an assignment due—an assignment I'd completely forgotten about. Of course.
I'd arrived early, sat in the back next to E.T., and waited for Luke to arrive. I had no idea what to expect from him. OK, I did have one idea. I expected him to completely ignore me. And I wasn't wrong.
He was chatting with Nathan Bates when he strolled in. His book bag was slung over his shoulder and he smiled, showing off that stunning dimple. I stared at him so hard I bore a hole through him. And I know he saw me too because he searched the room when he entered. He even made eye contact with me as he scanned but he didn't stop, just kept scanning until 63
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he caught sight of some football players across the room. He and Nathan went to sit with them. E.T. was rambling off something in my ear. He sounded eager about what he was saying.
"So...what do you think?" he finally paused to ask. I glanced at him. "I think you sound like an adult on a Peanuts show. All I heard was blah, blah, blah." Thank goodness E.T. was used to my being so blunt. He was a good buddy—the biggest geek I'd ever met—but a good buddy. E.T. Fitz, short for Elmer Theodore Fitz, was the prime target for ridicule at SEC. First of all, he was unlucky enough to be the middle son of Mr. and Mrs. Fitz who ran the funeral home in Stillburrow, which meant he grew up in a house where corpses were laid out in his basement on a regular basis. Plus, he was named Elmer. And since his last name started with an F, circumstances begged he be called Elmer Fudd. But the jokes didn't stop there.
Elmer was a genius. He was the president of the math club and if SEC had boasted a history or chess club, he would've been president of them too. He was proud of his wits, though. He once told me when I was sitting by him in the lunchroom, that at times he felt so smart he thought his head would explode from all the knowledge it contained. I told him to grow up. Then I took his chocolate milk and drank it. Elmer endured the ridicule very well. Usually, he didn't understand he was the brunt of the laughter. Either that or he ignored it with style. After seeing the movie E.T.: The Extra- Terrestrial for the first time, he decided he wanted to be referred to as E.T. from then on. He declared it was his 64
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favorite movie and it had remained his favorite ever since. He was so excited he already had the initials for it, he went around telling everyone to call him that.
His classmates heartily agreed, because he kind of looked like the alien with his short legs and overly big head. E.T. never caught on that he was actually being made fun of whenever someone used his nickname, and I didn't have the heart to tell him. So the name stuck. And he liked it. Therefore, I couldn't complain.
Despite his braininess, E.T. sometimes seemed like the senile family pet—partly deaf and limping around on three legs. Everyone complained about him but no one had the heart to put him out of his misery. I had to love him, though. He was my best friend.
"About journalism class," E.T. was saying, snapping me back to attention. "I think we should move the survey I took about who believes in ghosts to page one." I made a face of horror. It took me hours to figure out where to place each article in The Central Record. And I became a tad testy when anyone questioned the end results of my layouts.
"I've already set Miss Bowman's retirement announcement to page one," I told him with a voice that demanded he not disagree.
He put on his thinking face, where he scrunched up his mouth and wrinkled his nose. I prepared to shoot down any idea he had, so when all he said was a thoughtful, "Oh," I had to pause a second before I realized he wasn't going to argue with me.
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The Stillburrow Crush
by Linda Kage
But as soon as I let out a sigh of relief, he said, "Can we switch it with the sports section, then?" I snorted. "Yeah, right. That'd go over real well."
"But we're between seasons. Football and volleyball are over for the year and basketball hasn't even had a game yet."
"I don't care," I said. "We're not moving sports to the back page."
Actually, I agreed with E.T. on this score. The only things we had for the sports section in our next issue were a few pictures of the first day of basketball practice and a couple of quotes from the coach about how he thought the year would turn out. But I wasn't stupid. Sports were a big—no, a huge—
deal to the citizens of Stillburrow. Putting the sports section on the very back page, where obituaries were usually kept, would be like digging my own grave. Every parent and child who went to any sports game (and that was about ninety percent of the town) would throw a fit if the sports section was moved from its usual spot on page two. I'd probably lose my editing post.