Pride and Popularity

“Yeah, she said you called just a few minutes ago and wanted me to call you back at this number.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you saying you didn’t call me?”

“Um, no. Why would I call you?”

Ouch. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. “Taylor, if this is some sort of joke—”

“Just because I give you a hard time every now and then doesn’t mean I’m the type of guy who would joke like this.”

“You mean someone else called and left your . . . you’ve gotta be kidding me. I’ve been totally hoaxed! Who in their right mind would do this? Look, I’ve gotta go.” I heard him snicker. “Wait, are you laughing?” That little . . .

“No.” More snickers.

“Taylor . . .” I growled.

“Okay, yeah, I am. You have to admit this is pretty funny.”

Funny? “You would think so, since I am positive it’s your fault.”

“My fault? How can this be my fault?” More chuckles.

“You’re a smart guy, figure it out.”

“Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you? You truly believe somebody who wanted to play some sort of prank on you, would do so because of me?”

“Yes.” Duh. “Look, Taylor, this has been fun and all, but I need to go.”

“Wait. Before you go, will you at least explain yourself?”

I was beginning to lose my cool. “You know what? I can’t deal with this. You think everything is a game. Don’t worry. I won’t call you again.”

“You can’t hang up like that. Tell me what’s going on in that fiery little head of yours.”

“See what I mean? This is a joke to you, isn’t it?”

“Chloe Elizabeth Hart, if you hang up this phone without telling me what in the world you’re talking about —”

Elizabeth? “How did you know my middle name? No one knows my middle name.” This is such an invasion of privacy. There has to be a law against this!

“I have my sources, and if you don’t fess up I’ll be sure to call you that from now on.”

Blackmail? What, are we in junior high now? How in the world did this day go from bad to worse? This has got to end, and if the only way to make sure it happens is to sit on this phone a couple minutes longer, then—

“Fine! Don’t you see that every time you talk to me it causes people to think things they don’t need to be thinking? And I’m not talking about me, either—I’m talking about the whole student body, now gossiping about— about this, this . . . situation! When you draw attention to me, then everyone assumes I am free game to torment, which apparently has already begun, hence this phone call. You just came back today. Holy cow, Taylor, if this keeps up I can’t imagine what people will think to do to me next. Thanks to you and your mocking, I am fast becoming the biggest freak in this school!”

“Let me get this straight,” Taylor said. “You’re angry with me for flirting with you?”

“Bingo. He has a brain cell.”

“A brain cell? What is that supposed to mean?” Disbelief and resentment colored his voice. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, princess.”

“Don’t you dare call me prin—!”

“There are a whole lot of girls that would love to have the attention you got today.”

“Of all the egotistical things to—”

“But I chose to focus on you,” Taylor interrupted again. “Mainly because I thought you were more fun and lighthearted than you apparently are. In case you are not aware, I have a girlfriend.”

“You—!”

“So if this is some sort of twisted excuse to make me see you differently and fall in love with you, then the game is up.”

This is like talking to a rock. I can’t believe I’m allowing myself to be insulted by a stupid, stubborn rock! Calm down, Chloe. Keep your voice calm. Deep breath. There. “Taylor Anderson, I am only going to say this one time, so listen carefully. You can have Anne. She’s yours. As a matter of fact, you can have any girl in the whole flippin’ town, for all I care. Except me. So seriously, don’t even flatter yourself.”

“Chloe, wait!”

I didn’t even bother to say goodbye before I hung up the phone. Jerk! Stupid, selfish, unreasonable imbecile! I let out a weary sigh and began rubbing my temples to try to release the mounting pressure. This isn’t working. As I opened my eyes, I glanced at the clock.

“Oh, no. Claire! I’m late.” I grabbed the keys to Mom’s Volvo and scooped up my purse, then yelled, “Bye, Mom!” and dashed out the door.

Reeling over the unbelievable conversation I’d just had with Taylor, I nearly collided with the neighbor’s trash can as I backed up the car. This is so Taylor’s fault. First he makes me late, and then he tries to distract me so I almost crash the car. I wonder if I could sue. I cannot believe the ego that guy has, seriously thinking I was trying to trap him into falling in love with me. As if!

After I sped out of the driveway, I felt something wet on my cheek. “What in the—?” I touched my face and realized and I was crying. For crying out loud, Chloe. What are you crying for? I laughed at the double meaning. You’re just angry, that’s all. Sheez.

My twelve-year-old sister, Claire, was waiting for me on a bench just inside the door of Chavez Ballet Studio. “For your information, Mom usually picks me up at 4:15, not 4:30,” she announced as I opened the studio’s front door. “It’s not good to be late, Chloe. It makes you seem undependable to people.”

Only half listening, I began to follow her to the car.

“If this keeps up, no one will be able to trust you.” At the car, Claire turned around and waited for me. Then she surprised me by asking, “Chloe, have you been crying?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A stupid boy.”

“Oh, I see. I’ve decided I’m never going to have a boyfriend. I find that boys are complete nuisances and idiots, set out and determined to make girls cry. Plus, I don’t want to go through the pains of childbirth.”

“What?! Er, uh, I don’t think any woman does.”

“Yeah, well, since technically you need a boyfriend to find a husband to have kids with, my goal is going to refrain from ever getting one.” With that, she climbed into the car.

“Refrain?” I stared at her from the driver’s seat.

“It means when you don’t do—”

“I know what it means, Claire.”

“Oh.”

I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Claire said. “Ms. Chavez says you can have your old job back anytime you’re ready. Everybody misses you.”

“Uh, well, I’ll think about it.”

Actually, when we’d moved from Denver, I had given up my dream of becoming a ballerina. Moving to a much smaller city had its advantages, but if you know more than your ballet teachers do, it doesn’t work so well.

Ms. Chavez was so impressed with my ballet skills that she’d offered me a job as soon as I turned fifteen. I had taught for her for over two years, until last summer when the opportunity to work for a professional theater group came along. They were in need of background dancers for their musical. The idea appealed to me—working all summer dancing on stage, meeting new people every night. I really wanted to try something new and exciting, and getting paid for it was just icing on the cake. While I worked at the ballet studio, I met Jordan and his girlfriend Kate, and they helped me learn all sorts of dance moves. They were professional ballroom dancers, so it was like getting really good lessons for free. Since they were both in the musical, I got to teach them a few ballet moves to