He's So Not Worth It

Daily Field Journal of A

ie Johnston Sunday, July 11Position: Gourmet salad bar at Dickson’s Farm (favorite Crestie summer lunch spot).Cover: Deciding between Kalamata or regular, martini-type olives.Observations:12:34 p.m.: The Halloran Electrical van pulls up outside. Brakes squeal. Music is cut dead. Will, who’s much more of a Wendy’s guy than a salad guy, gets out from behind the wheel, walks around the front, and opens the passenger-side door. A pink espadrille searches for the ground. I recognize it before I see the person it’s attached to. Subject Chloe Appleby. (Note: THIS is interesting .)12:36 p.m.: Will and Subject Chloe walk to the salad bar, pick up plastic trays, and go about making their salads. They talk, laugh. Subject Chloe makes suggestions.12:37 p.m.: Will’s hand touches Subject Chloe’s back. She doesn’t flinch away. It doesn’t linger long.12:43 p.m.: On their way to have their salads weighed, they grab a basket and fill it with eight premade wraps and a bunch of sodas.12:48 p.m.: There’s some kind of debate at the register as Subject Chloe and Will both try to pay. Not sure who wins. The Weight Watchers crowd has just arrived and is blocking my view.12:50 p.m.: Subject Chloe and Will walk out. He opens the car door for her. She smiles as she gets in. They speed away. (I

ocent Assessment: They were just buying lunch for the crew working on her house. Not-So-I

ocent Assessment: They’re totally doing it.)

There was a circle on the page in front of me, with a big “x=?” over the diameter line. Or was that the radius? Which one went straight across? I used to know this. I had a feeling that if it was gray and raining and less than sixty degrees outside, I would know this. But today? With the sun in my face and the pool shining out there and knowing that every single person on the planet was having more fun than me? I didn’t know what the hell that frickin’ line was and I didn’t care.Why hadn’t Ally texted me back? Was she so pissed at me that she couldn’t even be text buddies? Or was it because I’d asked her to be friends? Maybe she still wanted to be more than friends, so when I’d asked to be friends, she’d been offended. Couldn’t she just write something back? Let me know she’d gotten the text? Was it so hard to type yes, no, or maybe into a damn phone?I took out my cell, deciding to call her out with another text. Something that struck the exact balance between caring and not caring. What was the word? Aloof. I needed to find the aloofness.Ten minutes later, I was trying to think of something good to say. Maybe I should be paying more attention in English class.Suddenly, Chloe appeared in my yard. She just walked out from behind the bushes and I almost had a heart attack. She squinted up at the house, like she was looking for something. I stood up and waved, shoving my phone back into my pocket. She smiled and waved back. Then she motioned for me to come downstairs.This was the benefit of having the biggest house in town. My mom was in it somewhere, but clearly nowhere with a window on the backyard. I walked to the door of my room, opened it silently, and peeked my head out. Nothing. I ran downstairs on my tiptoes and cut through the dining room—which we use about four times a year—to get to the backyard. Mom was more likely to visit the kitchen than the dining room. Like, ninety-nine percent more likely. If they made SAT questions about how to avoid my family members, I’d be going to Harvard.“Hey!” Chloe said as I slid open the glass door to the back patio.I lifted a finger to my mouth to shush her, then pulled her around the corner. No windows. Awning overhead. Unless you were in the pool, you couldn’t see us.“What’s wrong?” she whispered.She was wearing a pink bikini under her white tank dress and I could see about seventy-five percent of her breasts from my angle. I cleared my throat and looked away. I’d also be going to Harvard if the questions were about how best to sneak a glance at cleavage. But Chloe was my friend, and still Hammond’s girl in my mind, so I’d have to control myself.“I’m still grounded. Seriously grounded.”“Oh, sorry.” She pulled her lips down and back for a second. “Faith told me she saw you down the shore over the weekend, so . . .”“Yeah. Big mistake,” I said.“Oh.” She tilted her head and ran her fingertips along the wrought iron edge of our smaller patio table. “So, did you see anyone?”I bit my lip. I hated it when girls dug for info. I wasn’t good at knowing what they wanted to hear and what they didn’t. “Well, I saw Faith.” She looked at me like I knew that already. “And Hammond and Ally,” I admitted.“Were they, like, hooking up?” she asked.“What? No.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Ally doesn’t like him.”Her eyebrows shot up. “So you think he likes Ally.”Crap. Was that what that sounded like? “No. No, of course not,” I said. “Chloe, they weren’t even at the same party. Ally’s, like, hanging with some local crowd. Hammond said he’s barely even seen her.”Her expression brightened. “Yeah?”I suddenly recalled, vividly, the sight of Ally on top of that local dude, and felt sick to my stomach. But she didn’t need to hear about that. I’d made her feel better already.“Yeah.”“So if you’re grounded, I guess that means you can’t hang out,” she said.“I wish.”She groaned and leaned back against the pillar behind her. I breathed out, relieved. Looking down at her cleavage accidentally was no longer an issue. “I’m so bored!” she said.“At least you don’t have to take some dumb-ass class this afternoon,” I said, rolling my head around to crack my neck.“What class?” she asked.“English Literature,” I said in a low voice, trying for a British accent. “My mom’s making me take it.”She stood up straight and frowned. She wasn’t interested, was she? That would be insane.“When’s it meet?” she asked.“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for, like, six weeks,” I said. “It’s two o’clock at Bergen.”“Okay. I’m in.”“What?” I laughed. “Are you serious?”She shrugged. “It sounds like fun.”I reached forward and put my hand on her forehead, which I’d seen Sha

en do a hundred times. Chloe rolled her eyes and smiled as she batted my hand away.“Just making sure you’re feeling okay,” I said.“I know. I get it,” she said. “I like to read.” She walked a few steps past me and took her sunglasses off her head, folding them in front of her. “Besides, if I join the class, then we can hang out and study together. Your mom can’t ground you from studying.”She made a good point. “I don’t know. The class might be full. I mean, studying stuffy, dead English dudes for the summer? That’s, like, a major draw.”Chloe laughed and put her sunglasses on. “I’ll pick you up at one thirty.”Then she twiddled her fingers and walked away. I felt energized all of a sudden. It was good, making somebody feel happy for once. Having someone be glad to have me around. I went back inside to study and put the new mood to use before it went away.

Daily Field Journal of A

ie Johnston Monday, July 12Position: Cream of the Crop denim boutique, Orchard Avenue.Cover: Shopping for jeans. (Personal Note: Do people actually spend $258 on one pair of jeans? I can buy everything in Old Navy for that price.)Observations:1:27 p.m.: Subject Faith Kirkpatrick walks in. Uniform: green off-the-shoulder minidress, sky-high wedge sandals, sleek ponytail. (Query: What’s she doing home from the shore?) I skirt the clearance rack so she doesn’t see me, get distracted by a cute pair of rolled, cropped jeans. Hmmm . . . these are actually—The dressing room curtain snaps shut. Subject Faith’s already inside and I didn’t see what she picked out. Damn you, Lucky Brand sale jeans!1:32 p.m.: Still considering jeans when Subject Chloe Appleby pulls up to stoplight outside in her white convertible. Uniform: puffed-sleeved, pink button-down. Subject Jake Graydon is in the passenger seat. Uniform: light blue T-shirt, Ray-Bans. Subject Jake says something. Subject Chloe laughs. The light turns green, and they zip off. (Assessment: Subject Chloe’s really sowing those wild oats now that Hammond’s out of the picture. Personal Query: Do I tell Ally?)1:35 p.m.: I buy the jeans. On sale, it still takes half my paycheck.1:42 p.m.: (Location: Scoops.) Experiencing extreme buyer’s remorse. Have enough cash left for ice cream, but can’t stomach it. This is a personal first.1:45 p.m.: (Location: Cream of the Crop.) No returns on clearance merchandise! Damn you, Lucky Brand sale jeans! Damn you to Hades!2:30 p.m.: (Location: My room, in front of the mirror.) Okay. They’re actually pretty cute.