Losing class president to Alex sucked.
Like pit of my stomach, pride-punching sucked. I was super pissed and couldn’t even look at him for a while.
Now? We pass in the hallway between second and third period every day, and sometimes he even deigns to give me a knowing smile during algebra class, but he never tries to continue what we started backstage.
When I told Grace about the almost-kiss, how we got caught up in the moment, and how there hadn’t been a repeat, she said, “Lu-babe, I don’t know how to tell you this gently, but I’ve known Alex a long time. If he wants a girl, she’d know it, because he’d be obvious about it. He’s confident about stuff like that.”
So he probably didn’t truly want to kiss me? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss him either.
Or did I?
Finding world peace would be easier than sorting that out. Maybe I should just ignore him for all eternity.
But since he’s president of our class, and I have things I want to get done, I decide to approach him after the final bell one day.
“We have soccer, football, and baseball fields, and a tennis court behind the school. There’s even a putting green for the golf team to get in some practice before hitting the course at the country club.”
Alex puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “What are you getting at?”
“There’s a tiny plot of land beside the baseball field. What can I do to convince the school we need a garden?”
“Why do you think we need one?”
“Have you eaten in the cafeteria?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “The food sucks ass. They don’t even have a salad bar for people like me.”
“People like you?” He cocks his head. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”
“No, I’m vegan. I don’t believe in eating animals. It’s bad for the poor animals and bad for the environment. The meat industry is one of the leading causes of climate change.”
Alex stares at me like I’m from another planet. “What do you mean you don’t eat meat? Are you sure you’re not sick? Maybe you just haven’t had really good meat. You should try my grandfather’s lamb shish kebabs.”
“Alex, please work with me here. I didn’t win the election, but I’d still like to help make this school better.”
He gives me a quizzical smile, like he can’t figure me out. “You should start a petition for your garden. I need to know this is more than only you talking before I can take it to the student council, and on to the principal.”
As Alex suggests, I draft a petition and over the course of a month, I get 250 kids to sign it. More than half the kids in our school! Some of them are definitely into the idea of a sustainable garden because they hate the crappy processed cafeteria food, but Max says he heard some of my classmates only signed my petition because they want to plant a few marijuana plants next to the carrots.
Regardless, I have the signatures I need. I only need to find Alex and show him.
After the final bell of the day rings, I hustle out of class and jog down the hallway toward the gym, where I see Alex heading toward the locker room.
“Alex,” I call, bolting after him.
His teammates see me, and start jostling Alex around, teasing him.
“The garden girl’s coming!” one of the seniors says, and Alex’s face turns red. He rushes to the locker-room door, but I skid to a halt to block him.
I hand him the petition. “Here you go. Two hundred and fifty signatures supporting a school garden. Will you present it to the student council and principal?”
Alex takes a hard look at it, flipping through all the signatures. His eyebrows furrow. “I’ll pass it along,” he says finally.
I bounce on my toes. “Thanks, Alex.”
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods, not looking at me. Amazing to think that just a few months ago he nearly kissed me, and now he can’t even look my way? My stomach falls. Whatever. I’ll focus on convincing the school to get a garden, not on some boy.
But a few weeks later when I ask about my petition, a strange expression comes over his face. His forehead crinkles up, as if he’s worried. “Oh. I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to give it to Dr. Walters yet. I’ve been busy with batting practice and working.”
I put a hand on my hip. “Maybe you shouldn’t have run for class president if you didn’t have time for it.”
He takes a step closer. “I do my job. I helped plan the homecoming parade and the talent show.”
“You could be doing more.”
“I swear to God, Lulu. I’m sorry I’m not as perfect as you, but I’ve done what I’m supposed to do. I didn’t sign up to build your garden.”
He turns his back on me, sitting at his lunch table with the other baseball players.
Fine. If he won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. I’ll go to the next meeting of the school board and make a case.
But then it happens. A bulldozer appears by the baseball field and begins to dig. Construction workers quickly erect a new structure that looks nothing like a garden.
It’s a batting cage.
I’m so angry, I could hit a hundred baseballs right now. I went to all the trouble to collect 250 signatures on a petition. I feel like a fool.
The next day, I approach Alex in the library during study hall. He’s sitting at a table with Ryan McDowell and their teammates, goofing off and laughing, even though we’re supposed to be silent during study hall. But when the teachers love you as much as they love him, you get away with anything.
Hell, just the other day in algebra class, Mrs. Monroe asked, “If there are five times as many oranges as apples, eight more bananas than apples, and three times as many pears as bananas, and the sum of the apples and oranges is equal to the sum of the bananas and pears, then how much fruit is there? Alex?”
“Easy,” he replied, folding his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair, “it’s a fruit salad.”
Mrs. Monroe just laughed and laughed, and he didn’t even have to answer the question.
In the library, Alex sees me coming and starts rapping his pencil nervously on the side of the table.
“Alex.”
“Wells,” he replies. Tap, tap, tap goes the pencil.
“Did you know about the batting cage all along?” I ask with a weak voice.
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes.
His friends look back and forth between us. Ryan rubs his hands together. “This is gonna be good.”