Adorkable(33)

“Not if this is the Sally Spitz,” he said, sounding far too cheery for someone in an emergency situation. “This is John Poole. I’ve been hearing a lot of great things about you.”

“I’m sorry, who?” I recognized the name but couldn’t place it.

“I go to UNC with Will. Lillian paid me twenty bucks to call and say I was your brother. She said you probably wouldn’t talk to me otherwise.”

“She did, did she?” As the memory hit, I was thinking of the effort this must’ve taken. Pulling me out of first period, paying this poor guy to lie, Hooker’s methods were positively Machiavellian.

“Yes, she did,” he said. “She also said you hate being called Spitz and blind dates. I figure I’ve only got about thirty seconds before you hang up, so here it goes. I’m a twenty-year-old Gemini with a love of all things baseball. My GPA’s 3.8. I have a pit bull at home named Bruiser, and I’ve got no problem dating a high school girl, so long as she’s not a fan of the Mets and isn’t one of those European types who doesn’t shave their underarms. Want to go out sometime?”

I stifled a laugh. Was this guy for real? He seemed nice and all, but this was just too awkward. When I got off this phone, Hooker was going to owe me a lifetime supply of Goobers.

“Did Hooker also mention I have a boyfriend?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “Guess she forgot that one. I suppose it’s a no then?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, John. It was good talking to you. You seem great, but now I have to go strangle Hooker.”

He laughed. “Good talking to you, too, Sally. Don’t be too hard on her, okay? She really thought we’d hit it off.”

Oh, I bet she did.

Class had already cleared out when I got back to German, but Hooker was there, watching for me.

“Sooo?” she said as I grabbed my books.

“So what?” I muttered.

“So, have you had any good convos lately, met anyone interesting? Oh, don’t make me beg, Spitz. Were you into John or what? Was he totally lame? I told him not to be.”

Listening to her confirmed what I already knew and lessened my annoyance a good deal. A lot of planning had gone into that phone call. Hooker looked so excited, like she expected a gold star or a pat on the back. She seemed so proud of herself; it was almost a shame to burst her bubble.

“John was…the least lame guy you’ve tried to set me up with,” I admitted. “He was actually nice, but—”

“But what?” Hooker paused in her victory dance, arms dropping to her sides. “If he’s not lame, and if you think he’s ‘nice,’ what’s the problem?”

“Hooker, I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh yes, I forgot,” she said. “Becks, your good buddy turned boyfriend, how’s that working out?”

I didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.

“It’s working out fine, thanks.”

“You know, John was the best I had,” Hooker commented. “He’s good looking, smart, nice voice. I thought you’d be a good match.”

“And I thank you for thinking of me, but—”

“No.” Hooker held up a hand. “I don’t think you understand, Spitz.” She looked me dead in the eye. “I know you’re not really with Becks.”

I fought to keep my expression neutral, wasn’t sure I succeeded.

“If you were, you’d have told me sooner. Plus, you wouldn’t be such a nervous wreck around him.”

Shows what she knew.

Hooker raised an eyebrow. “So are you ready to fess up? Come clean, and I’ll let you off the hook. We won’t ever mention this again.”

Yeah, and go back to blind dates every other night? No deal, meine Freudin.

I met her gaze and replied steadily, “In the immortal words of Darth Vader, I find your lack of faith disturbing. There’s nothing to confess. I’m with Becks. End of story.”

She sighed. “Alright, but it’ll get worse before it gets better. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And it did get worse.

At lunch, Hooker launched her second attempt.

It came in the form of Buddy McCorkle, a sophomore with a Mighty Mouse tee and the languid look of a stoner. He also had a thing about hands.

“Wow, your hands are so strong. They’re like man hands,” were the first words he said to me. Hooker made sure I couldn’t escape, interrupting any time I tried to stop the conversation, blocking my exit with her body. Becks had a different lunch period, and she made the most of it. Ten minutes into lunch, Buddy had already measured, squeezed and even sniffed each of my fingers, remarking on the length and roundness of each.