Orson Buggy's Separation Anxiety
LESSON 1: Women Don't Make Sense

REEEEEEEEE!

I bolt upright, scattering pillows in all directions. What is that? Sounds like a dozen banshees shredding apart a wounded pig. Then it hits me. My alarm clock. No wonder I never wake up on time. Who would want to be awake for that?

REEEEEEEEE!

Make it stop!

I slam my hand over the snooze button--put the pig out of its misery, so to speak--and bask in silence. "Orson?" Mom calls from downstairs.

So much for silence.

Did I mention my name is Orson? I like to think of it as my own personal curse. Orson Buggy, no less. Don't bother. I've heard every possible horse-and-buggy insult there is.

"Orson? Are you up?"

What is Mom's problem? Not that her nagging me to get up is unusual, but I always thought she waited until my alarm had gone off ten or twenty times before she started. What's she expect? That I've been lying awake all night just waiting for morning so I can get to school?

Huh. I guess that's what I was doing. How do Moms know these things?

"Orson?"

Unbelievable. "The alarm just went off!"

She doesn't answer. Weird. Normally she'd warn me about missing my bus if I didn't hurry, but today . . . silence. Then again, she does have super Mom powers. She probably knows she doesn't need to worry. The clothes I wore yesterday are within easy reach, and I'm way too nervous for breakfast. I'm practically ready to walk out the door.

I crawl out of bed, throw on my clothes, and head downstairs to the kitchen.

Mom's standing at the counter, her back to me. My baby sister, June, is sitting in her usual chair at the kitchen table. Not that she's a real baby--she's ten--she just acts like one a lot of the time. To prove it, she gives me a semi-focused glance and takes a long sip of juice from a sippy cup.

Dune's chair is empty, which isn't that unusual--ever since my brother got his license, he likes to get up at the last possible second--but so is the chair next to his.

"Where's Dad?" I ask.

Mom sets a bowl of something way too colorful to be edible in front of June and barely looks at me. "Are those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

"Where's Dad?" I ask again.I've always found that if you don't get an answer from a parent right away, the best course of action is to keep asking the same question over and over until you get what you want. Hey, it's their own fault. They taught me not to be a quitter.

Mom swallows hard. "Your father was up most of the night . . . making some calls. He'll be going in late this morning."

Something is wrong. She's hiding her face pretty well, but from what I can see, her eyes are red and puffy. Has she been crying? This is weird. Mom doesn't cry. "Er . . . you okay, Mom?"

She takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine."

She doesn't lie, either. So why is she lying now?

After a brief pause to rub her eyes, she lifts her chin high. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Now that I can see her face clearly, I'm sure she's been crying. "Um, nothing?"

She stares at me.

"I'm anxious to get to school."

She keeps staring, like she's never seen me before. Who can blame her? When have I ever wanted to miss breakfast for anything, let alone to leave on time for school? I guess I figured with her super Mom powers, she'd somehow magically know what happened with Nancy Hines yesterday, but maybe not. Maybe she's too distracted over whatever it is that has her eyes all red.

WHAP! Something slaps me across the back of the head hard enough to clack my teeth together.

"Hey, squirt."

"Dune, don't hit your brother."

Thanks for having my back, Mom.

My older brother drops into a chair and stares expectantly at the space in front of him, as if waiting for the breakfast fairy to drop off a plate of bacon. "What's for breakfast?"

I suppose I should take a second to explain how amazing Mom is. Normally she would just ignore Dune's Duneness and answer in her cheerful Mom voice, but today she slams a box of cereal down on the counter in front of Dune and practically screams at him. "Whatever you want to fix."

Before any of us can say anything, she runs out of the room.

Dune looks at me accusingly. "What's up with her?"

"How should I know?"

"She's been crying," June offers without glancing up from her cereal.

Dune reaches out and stops her spoon. "No duh. Why?"

June answers with a shrug.

"Where's Dad?" Dune asks me. I'm not sure why he thinks I hold all the answers, but in this case I do.

"Still in bed, I guess. Something about being up late."

He thinks awhile. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"I've got time." "Beat it, squirt. Mom's never going to tell me what's up while she's worried about getting you off to school."

"Worried about me?" I make a big show of looking around the room. "She's not even here."

"Why are you still here?"

"What about June? She needs to get to school, too, you know."

He scowls. It's one of his more common expressions. "I'll give her a ride." A few seconds tick by. "I'm not going to ask again."

June fights back a chuckle and takes another spoon full of cereal.

Actually, I'm pretty anxious to get out of the house and see Nancy, but as a little brother, I feel it's my duty to put up more resistance, and I think he was lying. He will ask again. "You really gonna just go up to Mom and ask her what's wrong?"

"You really gonna make me come over there and boot your butt out the door?"

For some reason June thinks this is hilarious. So funny, she shoots a mouthful of milk through her nose. I jump back from the table. "Gross. Okay, I'm leaving now."

Dune flicks a bright blue berry off his shirt sleeve. "Later, dweeb."

On the way to the bus stop, I can't stop thinking about what's wrong at home. Why was Mom crying? Why isn't Dad ready for work? Maybe Dune will find out. Having an older brother might be a pain sometimes--most of the time, really--but I have to give him credit when it comes to dealing with grown-up things. I can't imagine just going up to Mom and asking her to share her feelings.

I can't imagine going up to anyone and asking them to share their feelings.

Anyway, all that will have to wait. I can see the top of the street, and I think that might be Nancy Hines standing at the bus stop. My stomach gives a little wrench, and my knees seize up on me.

So, this is what it's like to have a girlfriend.

I don't think I like it.

*

Nancy Hines isn't waiting at the bus stop. Albert Ashburger is. I don't know how I mixed up the two of them. Aside from the obvious boy-girl thing, Nancy's about twice as big as Albert.

No, she's not big at all. It's just that Albert's about half the size of most seventh graders. Besides, he wears these huge glasses with super-think lenses that make him look like a praying mantis, while Nancy's really cute and not at all bug-like.

Of course, the first six years I knew her, Nancy was pretty geeky-looking, but then this summer she went through this whole caterpillar-to-butterfly thing.

Hey, butterfly. I guess in a way she and Albert both do look like bugs.

I cover the last few steps to the bus stop and give Albert a nod. "Hey, Albert."

"Hey, Obi."

After two weeks at Hugh Morris, I'm kind of used to Albert, but this is an odd thing for even him to say. "Obi?"

He smiles. "Yeah, as in O. B."

See what I mean about Albert. He thinks that's somehow clearer.

He's still smiling. "O. B. Get it?"

I don't.

"For Orson Buggy."

I guess he's waiting for me to tell him how clever he is. I know the two of us recently became friends, but that doesn't mean I have to humor him. "You think changing my name to Obi will make me more cool?"

"Well, sure. Like in Obi-Wan Kinobe."

I'm not sure what to say.

"You know, from Star Wars."

Right. Like I don't know who Obi-Wan Kinobe is. Still, as much as I'd like to live in a world where changing my name to Obi would make me more cool, I have an idea in this world I'd be looking at a dozen or more wedgies a week.

A booming voice blasts out from over my shoulder. "Hey, guys. What's shaking?"

I spin around to find Tony Roma standing right behind me. Tony Roma's chest, actually. Tony's about as opposite of Albert as a middle-school kid can get. Not only is he a year ahead of me, but he started school late and then got held back a couple of times, so he's already sixteen and twice as big as the rest of us--well, four times as big as Albert. He must have been walking up the road right on my heels. Good to know I could be stalked by a bear and not know it.

"Hey, Tony. What's up?"

He grins evilly. Back at Holmes I'd take a deep breath now, figuring I was about to be stuffed into a trash can, but Tony's not like that. He's actually pretty cool. Besides, I don't see any trash cans around.

"Why are you smiling like that?" I ask.

"Ready to start your new life?"

Huh? I look to Albert. When he shrugs, I feel better. Albert's super smart. If he doesn't understand something, no one could expect me to.

"What are you talking about?" I ask Tony.

"You have a girlfriend now. Your life will never be the same."

"I don't have a girlfriend." I don't know why I'm denying it. I think I do have a girlfriend. At least I hope so. I think.

Albert lifts his chin high in search of Tony's face. "Orson doesn't have a girlfriend."

"See," I tell Tony. "Wait. I don't?" Tony chuckles. "I mean, yeah, I don't."

Tony looks down at his shoe. No, wait, at Albert. "What makes you think Orson doesn't have a girlfriend?"

"I'm guessing Nancy's probably still mad at him."

"She's what?" The way my voice cracks, it's hard to keep pretending I don't want a girlfriend. Why would Albert think Nancy was mad at me? She sure didn't act like it last time I saw her.

Albert pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. "You saw the way she ran out of the cafeteria yesterday."

Did I mention this kiss of Nancy's happened in the middle of the cafeteria, right in front of the whole school? You should have seen it. Everybody started clapping and cheering and . . . hold on. "Nancy did what?"

Albert squints up at me, his face all swirly behind his huge magnifying glasses. I've learned not to look too closely, so I don't lose my balance and fall through into Wonderland or somewhere. Still, I'm staring through the lenses now, feeling a bit dizzy, when Albert jolts me back to reality. "She ran out. You probably missed it, seeing as how you were busy bumping fists with all those guys at Tony's table."

I guess I was doing a bit of celebrating. What? I was happy. No girl had ever kissed me before.

Looks like no girl will ever kiss me again.

"You think she's mad at me over that?"

Albert shrugs.

Then I remember. Or, more accurately, I don't remember. Seeing Nancy in fourth period Health class, that is. At the time I thought she missed class because she was sick or something.

I know. How could she be sick if I had just been with her in the cafeteria a few minutes earlier?

Maybe she ate the food.

Or maybe she was puking her guts out because she kissed me.

Maybe I'm insane.

Okay, so Nancy probably wasn't sick. Then why didn't she show up for class? Is Albert right? Could she be mad at me? Great. I finally get my first girlfriend, and I screw it up in just ten seconds. I turn to Tony to see what he thinks.

His brow creases. "What are you looking at me for?"

"I figure if one of us is going to know something about women, it's not going to be me."

"Not going to be I," says Albert.

"Or Albert," I agree.

Tony laughs. "You were the one kissing Nancy Hines, not me."

Maybe. But I'm still not sure how that happened.

Albert clears his throat. "You know, Orson, going around bumping fists with those guys, acting like Nancy was some kind of trophy girlfriend, probably wasn't the smartest thing you could have done."

"You think?"

"I'm just trying to help."

I ignore him and try again with Tony. "So, what should I do?"

He shrugs. Albert clears his throat again.

"You okay, Albert?"

"You're going to have to make it up to her."

Oh, good. More great advice from the bug. "How? It's not like I can go back to that moment in the cafeteria and un-celebrate."

Albert starts to answer, but Tony cuts him off with a laugh. "No, you're going to have to pay for that mistake the rest of your life."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're dealing with a woman now. Things aren't always going to make sense."

Hang on. I mean, I've always known girls were different--obviously the whole doll and stuffed animal thing is a bit off--but I've never thought of them as senseless. Especially Nancy Hines. She's just as smart as Albert is. Maybe smarter. Tony may be huge and all, but let's face it. He's sixteen and still in middle school. He doesn't know everything. If Nancy's really going to be my girlfriend, I should probably stand up to Tony and defend her.

And then maybe poke a bear, and wrestle an alligator or two. Did I mention how huge Tony is?

I swallow hard. "I've known Nancy six years. She's actually . . . you know, pretty smart."

Tony peers down at me. I see he needs a shave. Hard to believe we're the same species. This time I actually do take a deep breath. Six years of being stuffed into trash cans, I can't help myself.

"I'm not saying she isn't smart," he tells me. "Just that she thinks way different than you."

Albert chuckles. "Good one."

But Tony's not laughing. "I just meant the way she thinks isn't always going to make sense to you. Just like the way you think isn't going to make sense to her."

I try to let this sink in. "So, what should I do?"

Again Tony shrugs, and again Albert clears his throat.

"You sure you're okay, Albert?"

"You're going to have to pay a lot closer attention to her, show her she's important to you and not just someone you're using to be popular."

"I'm not just using her to be popular." Am I?

A movement to my left causes me to jump. I turn that direction, expecting to see Nancy standing there, frowning at me, but no. It was just a car.

"You look kind of jumpy."

"Shut up, Albert."

"He's right," Tony says.

"I am not."

The muscles in Tony's jaw kind of dance around beneath his skin. I take another deep breath. A few second pass without him pulverizing me before I blow it out.

"Okay, maybe I am. I need a plan. How do I make Nancy think I think she's important?"

Albert breaks into a coughing fit, which I doubt is in any way related to all the throat clearing he was doing before. "You're not supposed to make her think you think she's important. You're supposed to actually think she's important."

It takes me a while to work out the difference. I look to Tony. "How do I do that?"

He doesn't even waste a shrug. He just looks straight down at Albert. Even Albert's big glasses can't hide the smug look in his eyes.

"Easy," Albert says. "Just do stuff with her. Show an interest in the things she's interested in."

"Are you nuts? She's into all kinds of crazy touchy-feely stuff." Again I spin around, certain Nancy's going to be standing behind me, fuming. Still nothing but empty space.

I can't believe this. Last night I couldn't wait to see her. Now I'm afraid I won't know what to say to her when I do. Luckily the bus pulls up then. Nancy's a no-show. So is that jerk, Dylan Pennington. Good. And Katie Cutie--er, I mean Kate Rootey. Excellent. I don't care how cute she is. After what she did to humiliate Albert at Dylan's party last Friday, no way I want to see her today, either.

You know, between Kate and Nancy and what happened with Mom this morning, I'm beginning to think Tony was right. Women don't make sense.

LESSON 2: Sometimes Women Will Surprise You

Before homeroom I stop to pick up books from my locker and practically wear out my neck checking over my shoulder for Nancy Hines. Just because she wasn't at the bus stop doesn't mean she didn't get a ride to school. I can't believe I wasted all last night wishing I could see her. If I had known she was mad at me, I could have spent that time figuring out what to say to her.

What should I say?

I was just celebrating with Tony and the guys because when you kissed me, I realized I was the luckiest guy who ever lived.

No, she'd see right through that.

Oh, I know. You thought we were celebrating about you? No, we were just celebrating our moral victory over the Populars at the party last Friday.

That might work. We really did have a victory to celebrate. For the first time ever, we Losers stood up to the Populars and let our voices finally be heard. Well, my voice mostly. You should have seen it. I made this big speech about what is and isn't cool, had everyone's attention, Losers and Populars . . . at least until a few seconds later, when Curtis Langley and his freak friends tackled me and tried to rearrange my face. Luckily Tony Roma and his football buddies were there to put an end to it.

But Nancy Hines is never going to believe that's what I was celebrating about right after we kissed. She's uber-smart. No, my only hope is to throw myself at her feet, apologize, and hope she'll take me back. Or at least still talk to me.

"Orson?"

I practically drop to my knees and apologize before I realize it's just Eli Donovan, a kid I played soccer with over the summer. He was one of the best forwards in the Shelby County 12-and-under soccer league. At least for the first half of each game. Problem is, stamina has never been one of my things, and everyone thought of Eli as a star because his last name is Donovan. Not too many famous soccer players named Buggy.

Not too many famous anythings named Buggy.

But I like Eli. Between the two of us we were unstoppable. Too bad the kids at Hugh Morris can't see us play. Then maybe they'd stop thinking of me as just another pathetic Loser.

I could be a pathetic Loser who plays sports.

I shoot a quick glance up and down the hall for Nancy, but the coast is clear. "Hi, Eli. I didn't know you went to school here."

"Really? I knew you went here."

Of course. By the end of my first day, everyone knew about Orson Buggy, Super Freak.

He looks at me, kind of sympathetic-like. "Guess you've had a rough couple of weeks."

"You could say."

"Hey, you going to try out for soccer tomorrow?"

All thoughts about being the world's biggest Loser disappear in an instant. "What are you talking about?"

"After school. They're having tryouts for the JV team. You gotta go. With you and me on front line, we could clean up."

This is a miracle. Even if Nancy Hines ends up never talking to me again, if the other kids see me playing soccer, I could still at least have a shot at being popular.

Homeroom bell is about to ring, so I tell Eli I'll see him at tryouts and then head off to Miss Pell's room, feeling better than I've felt since that crazy moment yesterday, when Nancy kissed me in the cafeteria.

Along the way I stop to check out a bright sheet of paper taped to one of the lockers. It's a flier encouraging anyone with interest to come out to soccer tryouts.

Forget interest. We want skills.

I'm studying the small print when something slams me hard from behind. Luckily, I'm kept from falling when my nose strikes my locker.

"What the--?" Dune's not supposed to be at this school.

"Not so tough without your football buddies backing you up, are you?"

I turn around to find myself face-to-face with Curtis Langley, the worst freak in school. Make that Freak, with a capital F. When I started at Hugh Morris two weeks ago, things were actually going pretty great for about a minute or two. Then one stupid prank of Curtis's, and through no fault of my own, I had the whole school thinking I was some kind of deranged psychopath.

Yeah, I'm the psycho. Curtis is like a magician, diverting attention off of himself.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and check for blood. Nothing. Probably none left to drain out after Curtis whapped me in the face with a book last week. In case anyone was wondering, Curtis and I don't exactly get along.

Curtis looks over his shoulder at something, so I figure I better look too. Jacob Tinsley pops into view--pretty much my whole view. The kid's abnormally huge, a lot like Tony, except leaner, and he's got holes all over his face where he got piercings over the summer. The kid's in the seventh grade. Who does that?

Oh, I almost forgot. He also dresses all in black, like a vampire. Capital 'F' Freak for this guy, for sure.

Kevin Dorfman, a.k.a. Dorkman, crowds in from Curtis's other side. He's two or three inches shorter than I am, but no less dangerous than Tinsley or Langley. The three of them start grinning like wolves, and suddenly my stomach's churning worse than it was when I was worried about having to explain myself to Nancy.

I figure my best chance of survival is to put on a brave face. "What do you jerks want?"

Curtis punches me in the shoulder hard enough for me to plant a second dent in the locker.

"Ow." Then again, bravery could also get me killed. Wonder if I'll get in trouble for denting the locker.

I glance pleadingly over Curtis's shoulder. It's hard to see past Tinsley, but I seem to remember about a hundred other kids rushing by a second ago. After our big loser-bonding moment at Dylan's party last Friday, you'd think one person might stop to help me.

Curtis leans in so close I can smell the bacon he had for breakfast. "Who you calling a jerk, jerk?"

I blink like I'm trying to clear my eyes. "Oh, Curtis. My bad. I thought you were someone else." My shoulder hits the locker again, even harder by the sound of the bang, but by this time it's so numb I barely feel it. I guess playing stupid isn't going to work either.

Curtis puffs out his chest as best he can. In truth, he's no bigger than I am, but he's crazy enough to be plenty dangerous, even without his two brainless puppets at his side. He looks past me, toward the flier on the locker, and his face breaks into an evil grin. A real evil grin, not like the playful one Tony Roma used this morning.

"What's that you're reading, Buggyman?"

Dorkman grunts. "Like the Buggyman can read."

The three of them snort and howl like a pack of coyotes, an escape opportunity if ever I've seen one. There's a space about half-an-Orson wide between Tinsley and Dorkman. My shoulder's already numb anyway, so I use it to crash my way between the two of them, and before they even regain their balance, I'm sprinting off like I just got a breakaway pass in a World Cup final.

"He's getting away!"

Feet pound behind me. Sounds like a dozen of them, but that can't be right. That would mean four each. Then again, they were acting like coyotes, so I guess it adds up.

I suppose I should be scared, and I guess I was for the first few steps--maybe more than a few--but it's not like this is the first time I've been chased through the halls. In fact, it happens so often, I've even made a game of it. I call it dodgehall. I use the other kids to my advantage, spot a tiny space that's closing up and shoot through it before my pursuers can follow. It's almost like living a video game. Time it as close as possible. Stop thinking so much, and rely on my speed, reactions, and a bit of luck to find the gaps.

Problem is, homeroom's about to start, and the halls are thinning out. The gaps I'm shooting through aren't closing up. The Freaks are closing in.

Just ahead is Miss Pell's room. I pour on a bit more speed, fling open the door, and leap inside just as the bell rings.

Miss Pell frowns. "You're nearly late, Orson."

Curtis rushes in behind me.

"And you are late, Mr. Langley."

The other kids make an "oooh" sound, and Curtis reddens. I try not to laugh as I make my way to my seat. Even funnier that Tinsley and Dorkman aren't to their rooms yet. They'll get detention for sure. I guess I should thank them. If I hadn't been running for my life, I'd probably be in detention with them.

Curtis is assigned the desk to my right. He "accidentally" kicks my foot as he slips into his seat.

"Ow."

Miss Pell looks up from her role sheet. "Quiet, everyone."

I like Miss Pell and all, but she misses a lot. When your assigned seat is next to a guy like Curtis Langley, having a hawk-eyed teacher isn't a bad thing.

Curtis leans over toward me, his eyes glued on Miss Pell at the front of the room. I'm not stupid. I lean, too, out of striking range.

"Hope you're not thinking about trying out for soccer, Buggy. You show up there, we'll be waiting."

Great. Well, let them wait. No way am I missing out on a chance to be on the soccer team. I shoot Curtis my best glare, but it doesn't get the effect I was hoping for. He smiles as if he knows my time is coming. Given my first two weeks at Hugh Morris, odds are he's right.

This is bad. How am I supposed to play soccer with two broken legs?

The one good thing about getting here at the last possible second is that homeroom goes by pretty quickly. At least it would be a good thing, if I had figured out what I'm going to say to Nancy Hines when I see her. If she is here today, she'll be in first period Algebra. I'll have to face her.

REEEEEEE!

I nearly fall out of my chair. The bells here must have been made by that same sadistic jerk who made my alarm clock.

Uh-oh. This is it.

Curtis bumps my ear with his notebook as he gets up to leave. I guess I should be grateful. The last time he "accidentally" hit me in the head, I spent the rest of the day at the emergency room being observed for a mild concussion. I'm still wearing the brace on my wrist from when I caught my fall.

Jerk.

Everyone gets up to leave, but I hang back. Timing is everything. First period starts in five minutes. If I get to class early, I won't be able to avoid Nancy. If I wait too long and run there, some teacher will stop me and make me late. But if I get there right as the bell rings, class will start and Nancy won't be able to talk to me until it's over. That'll give me all of first period to think of a plan.

Thinking during Algebra class. That could be a first for me.

I figure, walking quickly I can get there in two minutes. I watch the clock and leave at the last possible second. Miraculously, I slip through the door to Room 587 just as the first period bell starts to ring. Given the same thing happened at homeroom, it could be I'm triggering the bells.

Nancy Hines is already in her seat. I avoid her eye as I rush to my own desk, hurl down my knapsack, and practically dive into my chair. Before Nancy can catch my eye, I turn away and stare at the front of the room. Where Ms. Zurry isn't standing.

"Orson?"

Uh-oh. I look to the door, hoping to see Ms. Zurry rush in to my rescue. What I see is a door.

"Orson? Are you avoiding me?"

I turn hesitantly. Nancy's out of her chair, standing right beside me. "What? Of course not."

"You didn't even say hi."

"Oh . . . hi." I wait for her to blow up at me, but she looks more confused than angry. Hard to believe I spent six years never noticing how cute she is. "You're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"You know, because of the way I went around celebrating after we kissed yesterday." Good one, Buggy. Bring it to her attention now, just in case she missed it.

Her mouth takes on this odd shape, halfway between a smile and a frown. "Oh, that. Really, Orson. I've been following you around for six years. I think I know what an idiot you can be."

I'm pretty sure I've just been insulted. "But you kissed me."

Her smile-frown turns more smile-ish. "I guess I can be an idiot too."

Now I can't help but smile. "So you're not mad?"

"Not really."

"And everything's good between us?"

Her frown creeps back in. "Well, not perfect or anything. I mean, I was really upset at first. We should probably talk."

Uh-oh. Maybe I've never had a girlfriend before, but I've heard enough about them to know that nothing good ever came out of a conversation that started with, "We should probably talk."

"Quiet class. Please take your seats." I didn't even hear Ms. Zurry come in. "Sorry, I'm late," she says. "Please get out your books and turn to page fifty-seven."

I look at Nancy, but she's already back in her seat, paging through her book. Fortunately in this case, "We should probably talk" means, "We should probably talk later." I'm back to spending first period Algebra coming up with something to say in my defense.

Only now I'm not even sure what I'm defending.

Ms. Zurry starts teaching, and I start watching the clock. Normally the second hand barely creeps along in this class. Today it soars around like it's trying to make up all those lost minutes.

Help! I need more time to think.

When class ends, I still have no idea what to say. I spot Nancy coming toward me and act like it's critical I sift through my pack, as if I have a cure for cancer in here.

"Orson?"

Ah, there it is, next to the tablets that turn water into rocket fuel.

"Orson, did you hear me?"

I know I should look up, but I can't. I'm not ready.

"Orson!"

"Oh . . . Nancy. Did you say something?"

"You want to meet for lunch today?"

Relief washes over me. "Sounds good." I'll have two more periods to think how to defend myself.

Who am I kidding? It wouldn't matter if Nancy waited two years to talk to me. It still wouldn't be enough time to dig myself out of a hole I can't even see.

*

I can't believe how anxious I am to talk to Nancy. And I don't mean anxious as in eager. I mean anxious as in the world's biggest anxiety attack.

Now that I know no amount of time is going to help, the clock has slowed way down. Second period drags on forever. Third lasts even longer. No need for a clock in the room anyway. You could set your watch by the way my stomach growls every thirty seconds.

Not that my stomach growling before lunch is anything unusual. But today it's not growling because I'm hungry. My stomach's flopping like a fish on dry land because I'm worried about meeting Nancy.

Fish . . .

All right, I lied. I am hungry. I guess my stomach's pulling double duty.

When Mr. E., my History teacher, finally lets us go, I'm torn between running to the cafeteria and running for my life. In the end, hunger wins out. People do crazy things when their lives are at stake. I'm like the raccoon that gnaws off its own leg to escape a snare, only in my case I'd be gnawing off my leg because I'm so hungry I'll eat anything. Kind of gross when you think about it.

But truth is, I really do want to talk to Nancy. Sort of. If we could get back to the way things were yesterday without having to talk, that would be even better, but I don't see that happening.

I head to the cafeteria and end up stuck at the end of a long line, listening to my stomach churning. I'm waiting for my shot at the mystery meat of the day when I spot Nancy Hines sitting alone at a table in the corner. She sees me and waves, and even though she's smiling, all I can think about is her saying, "I think we should talk."

Suddenly I don't feel like eating. What was I thinking coming here? I didn't need to eat. I ate last week.

The line shuffles forward until it's my turn. Even up close, I'm not sure what the food is, but it looks at least as tasty as a leg in a snare, so I take the plate the lunch lady is holding out for me, and then turn around and will my feet to move toward Nancy's table.

Albert and some of his friends give me a thumbs up along the way. A voice calls out from a crowded table over by the window.

"Go Or-SON!"

Sounds like Tony Roma. He and some of his football buddies who saved me at Dylan's party last Friday are staring my way. Too bad they can't save me now.

Nancy's voice carries through the crowd. "Orson, over here."

My feet have stopped working. I force them into action and cover the last mile to her table, set down my tray, and slip into the chair across from her. Before she can say anything, I stuff food into my mouth so I won't have to talk. What is this stuff? Haven't the lunch ladies heard of cruel and unusual punishment?

Nancy frowns at me. "Are those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

"Mmphm?" I chew the mystery meat and swallow. "I mean, are they?"

"Look, Orson, I wanted to talk to you about what happened."

Okay, play it cool. "Why? What happened?"

Nancy frowns. "The kiss, remember? And more importantly, what happened after the kiss."

"I thought you said you knew I was an idiot and didn't care about me knocking fists with all those guys."

"No, I said I knew you were an idiot and expected as much."

"Oh. Okay, so what's the problem?"

She reaches out and takes my hand. Weird. I thought she was mad at me. Tony was right. Women don't make sense.

"Orson, I've had a crush on you for six years."

"Really?" Tell me something I don't know.

"Yes, you know I have."

"So, now you've got me. Let's eat."

Her cheeks take on this odd pink glow and quickly grow pinker. "It's just, I've been dreaming of our first kiss for years. I thought it might be on a beach or in a meadow or a park, not the cafeteria, but still, every time I've talked to you, I've just stared at your lips, wondering . . . what would it be like?"

Okay, sometimes I can be a little slow, but I think I know where this is headed. "Am I that bad a kisser?"

She laughs, hopefully because the thought of me being a bad kisser is funny and not because she's remembering my technique. "The kiss was fine."

All right! "So, I don't get it. What's the problem?"

"How did you feel about it? The kiss, I mean."

"Me? I liked it." She looks at me doubtfully. "No, I did. I've never kissed--er--I mean, I wanted to kiss you, too."

"Oh? Really. When did you first decide you wanted to kiss me?"

"Huh? I don't know. I guess when I found out you didn't invite me to Dylan's party just because you thought I was a Loser."

"Exactly."

Hmm. Not the answer she wanted. I suddenly hear Albert's voice telling me I need to show a real interest in Nancy if I want to win her back. "No, you've got this all wrong. It was more than just that. You believed in me when no one else did. You hung out with me when--well, let's face it--when it could have destroyed your reputation."

I notice she's not eating. She's probably on a diet. Girls are always on diets. I guess I'm not eating either. I look at the slop on my plate and decide that's not necessarily a bad thing, but then my stomach lets out a growl, so I shake my hand loose of Nancy's and take a forkful.

She watches me chew with that same puppy-dog look she's had for the past six years, like she wants to kiss me again right now. I can't imagine what she's thinking. Girls really are crazy. Tony Roma may very well be a god.

I chew for about thirty seconds--twenty-eight seconds longer than I need--and swallow. Nancy won't look away. Maybe I'm going about this wrong. "Kiss me again, right now."

She leans back in her chair. "No, we'll have no more of that."

What? "I thought you said the kiss was good. I thought you'd been waiting six years to kiss me."

"I had. The point is, you hadn't."

"Nancy, you're sounding kind of crazy." She frowns. Did I just say that? "Not that you're crazy, just what you said . . . . look, I may not have realized how great you were before, but I do now."

"I'm not crazy. I'm glad you're finally coming around. Obviously you've come a long way, but right now you're no further than I was in the first grade. When you've longed to kiss me the way I've longed for you, then maybe we can try it again."

"You want to wait six years to kiss me again?"

She shakes her head. "Not six years. Just long enough that I know you appreciate me."

"But I do appreciate you. Wait, are you breaking up with me?"

"Of course not. In fact I want to start spending lots more time together."

That's exactly what I want, so why all the drama? She's staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

"I could do that."

"Great. How about we start tomorrow after school. The Health club is giving a lecture on nutrition. It should be really exciting."

"Wow, that does sound great." How do I get out of this? "Did you say tomorrow after school? Aw, wouldn't you know it, I already have plans."

Nancy frowns. "What kind of plans?"

Then it hits me. I really do have plans. "Soccer tryouts."

She's not saying anything. I should probably say more. "See, I play soccer, and--"

"I know, of course you do."

Of course she knows. She's been stalking me for six years.

"You should go, Orson."

Is she talking about soccer tryouts or this crazy nutrition thing? Please, oh, please let it be soccer. Hold on. She might be asking me to leave the cafeteria.

She sighs. "We can always do something another afternoon instead."

Yes! "Um, well, if that's what you think is best."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

It definitely isn't. But no way am I missing soccer tryouts. And she's right. We can do something together anytime. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"No, um, it's fine."

She definitely minds.