Romance of the Snob Squad by Julie Anne Peters Page B

said. “In fact, the more I get to know him, the more I think he’s not all that dorky.”
    “Maybe
you’re
interested,” Max said.
    Lydia sneered at her. “I’m not, believe me. But I think Ashley is. For real.”
    We all considered that scenario. Scary scene.
    “Question is,” Lydia said, “is he interested in her?”
    That might be Lydia’s question. Mine was, Why is he asking for my phone number?
    What Prairie missed during science class was Harley hip-hopping through the obstacle course perfectly, from start to finish, without a fleck of food for reinforcement. Three times in a row he set off the siren. After the second run, the whole class watched and cheered Harley on. Except Ashley and Melanie, of course. They scowled at us from the PC center. Hugh and Kevin joined everyone else in fawning over Harley. A couple of times I thought I caught Hugh trying to inch closer to me, but I kept a wide berth. They don’t call me Wide Bertha for nothing.
    The Beak Man said our project was excellent. That it actually gave our school a chance at a prize. Then he asked if we couldn’t disconnect the siren because it was giving him a major migraine.
    After school we joined forces to look for Prairie. To talk to her, to try to convince her that I wasn’t a threat. That Hugh couldn’t possibly be interested in me. And if he was, he was blinder than I thought.
    When we turned down the A-wing hallway, we spotted Prairie outside the resource room. She was just standing there, staring up at the wall. “Hey, Prairie,” I called. “We missed you at science. You should’ve seen Harley, the wonder rat. He ran the obstacle course three times.” Maybe if I pretended everything was normal, it would be. Denial, I know. It didn’t work with my parents; I don’t know why I thought it would with my friends.
    Prairie didn’t reply. Didn’t even turn our way. Great. She hated me.
    As we got closer, Max said, “Whatcha doin’, Prayer?”
    She sighed, a heavy sigh, full of resignation. We gathered around her. Our eyes followed hers to the wall.
    My stomach lurched.
    The poster read,
    Sixth-Grade Spring Fling
    Friday, May 15
    We’re puttin’ on the Ritz (so bring a box of crackers).
    Just kidding.
    Shirt and shoes required.
    “Oh, brother.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Who thought up that stupid slogan?”
    No one answered.
    Prairie sighed again. So did I. She met my eyes. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Lydia said, “Oh, figures.” She pointed down the hall. There were Ashley and Melanie, taping a poster to the A-wing window. After they finished, they had to walk by us to get out.
    Ashley stopped to sneer. “Not that you’d care,” she said, “but we’re having a live band come and play at the dance. The Eight Anchovies.”
    Where had I heard that? Lydia’s fiery eyes met mine. Now I remembered. The survey. Before Lydia could splutter a curse, Ashley added, “Me and Mel asked Hugh and Kev to the dance. Since we’re teammates and all. Oh, by the way, no fourth graders allowed.”
    Lydia’s hair frizzed from the roots to the split ends.
    Ashley smirked. She knew she’d gotten Lydia.
    Lydia blurted, “I heard Hugh’s asking Jenny. He’s calling her tonight.”
    I almost peed my pants.
    Ashley said, “Where’d you hear that?”
    Lydia shrugged. “Around.”
    “She’s lying,” I said. “Don’t believe it.” I’d strangle Lydia. Right after Max beat her to a pulp, if the growling next to me meant what I thought it meant.
    Ashley and Prairie had the same expression on their faces. Like they were about to burst into tears. And I was the bimbo who broke their hearts over Hugh. Melanie grabbed Ashley’s arm and said, “C’mon, Ash. Let’s go hang the rest of these posters.”
    I glanced at Prairie. She looked as pale as I felt. Then I glared at Lydia.
    She began, “I just thought—”
    “He’s not asking me, Prairie,” I cut her off. “It’s a joke or something.”
    Prairie shook her head. “Hugh