American Fringe by Valerie Frankel

Author:Valerie Frankel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2008-05-30T10:15:57+00:00

My (Short) Week of Fame

Monday

10:05 A.M.

“Who knew insulin was a hormone?” Noel asked me as we slogged out of class.

“Who knew Mr. Tretorn could impersonate a sugar rush,” I replied. “Speaking of sugar”—I turned to Eli (who was sort of talking to me again)—“how many mocha lattes have you had this week so far?”

“My latte consumption is none of your business,” said Eli, clipped.

Noel scrunched his forehead. “I didn’t know coffee drinking was a state secret.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Eli matter-of-factly. “That goes for both of you.”

And then she walked away, snitty, her curtain of black hair jerking with each step.

“What’s her problem?” asked Noel.

134

Va l e r i e Fr a n ke l

“She’s learning to think outside the boxes,” I replied.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing. She’s on a dopamine high from a new guy.”

“Do I know him?”

I shook my head. “No one knows him.”

1:18 P.M.

“SO,” bellowed Kim, who’d thundered up to me at Chez Brownstone, “I hear you’ve got a NEW BEST FRIEND.”

I rolled my eyes.“Frenemy,” I corrected.

“I don’t mean SONDRA, ” she said loud enough to make heads turn three tables away. “I mean TOBY

LIVINGSTON.”

“Shhhh,” I hissed.

“It’s TRUE?”

Sondra must have spilled. Betrayer! She was dead to me. I spat in her general direction. If she thought I was going to buy her another hot dog, she was wrong!

“It’s not true and you can shut up now,” I said as politely as possible. Toby wasn’t my pal. I’d sent him an apologetic e-mail when I got home from the park. He never replied. I had to assume that he was done with me. But I couldn’t say I blamed him.

I hadn’t told Noel about the Toby incident yet. And that worried me most about Kim Daniels’s insider info.

If she knew, the entire school would within fifteen minutes.

Kim said, “Don’t you tell me to SHUT UP! You have no RIGHT to TALK to me that WAY!”

A m e r i c a n Fr i n g e 135

Perhaps antagonizing the beast wasn’t the smartest strategy. “I’m sorry, Kim. Really. I’m feeling regret, in here.” I tapped my chest. “I am not friends with the person you mentioned,” I said. “And that’s the end of the story.”

3:15 P.M.

“But you did meet the guy,” said Noel, leaning against the bank of lockers while I rummaged around inside mine.

“You won’t find your conscience in there, Dora.”

Closing my locker door and heaving my backpack on my shoulder, I said, “I’ll explain the whole story later, I’ve got a truckload of homework. . . . I’m supposed to meet Liza. . . . My mother’s calling me.”

He placed his index fingers on my collarbone and pushed me back against my locker. He said, “Toby Livingston. Now. I have ways of making you talk.” And then he pressed a smooch on me. I’d take kissing over an inter-rogation any day of the week (any minute of the day). I’d kissed four boys in my life thus far. And Noel had the soft-est, sweetest, yummiest lips.

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