Babe in Boyland Read online

  “It’s hardly mid-semester,” Tyler says. “Midterms aren’t for another few weeks.”

  God bless the little POKSI; he’s sticking up for me.

  “Okay, well, let’s get you settled, then. Fall semester started three weeks ago. It won’t be easy, trying to catch up, and you’re a junior, so you’ll have to buckle down.” She takes her glasses off and uncoils from her chair. In one hand she cradles a huge coffee cup with the words Born to Party. Forced to Work. She uses it to gesture at a large, imposing oak door down the hall. “That’s the headmaster’s office, Dr. Papadopoulos. He likes to meet all the new boys, so we’ll start there.”

  Tyler and I follow her. I notice she has on these beautiful Prada sling-backs in candy apple red. “Cute shoes.”

  She looks at me over her shoulder, an incredulous expression on her face. “I’m sorry?”

  Cute shoes?! ! Am I completely brain-dead? What sort of boy meets the school secretary and compliments her pumps? Tyler’s behind me, so I can’t see how he’s taking this, but probably even he knows this isn’t normal.

  “I mean, they look new.”

  Ms. Honaker’s eyebrows are still akimbo, but she accepts the compliment. “They are, actually. And thank you.” Under her breath she adds, “That’s a new one.”

  After a perfunctory knock on the oak door, she swings it open, saying, “Dr. Papadopoulos? We’ve got a new student here. Nat, this is the headmaster.”

  I peer around Ms. Honaker at the somber, tastefully furnished office and the man inside. Only his back is visible, but I can see a tall, powerfully built man with the confident, wide-legged stance of a football coach. His hands rest in the pockets of his charcoal gray suit while he stares out the window. He turns his head slightly but doesn’t really look at us. “Hello. Welcome to Underwood. Ms. Honaker will take care of you, I’m sure.”

  “Hi, Dr. Papadopoulos,” Tyler says. “I’m showing him around.”

  “Excellent, excellent.”

  With that, Ms. Honaker shuts the door and bustles back the way we came. Fine by me. The last thing I want is a lot of questions from Dr. Unpronounceable. I’m still pretty freaked out by my “cute shoes” slipup. If I expect to pull this off, I have to get into character and stay there.

  Tyler leads me brusquely down the grand stone steps of the main building, back out into the parking lot. It’s still early—my watch says seven forty—but there are quite a few students hanging around in groups, some of them cradling coffee in paper cups, all of them looking crisp and well pressed in their uniforms. I can feel their curious glances, but I’m afraid to make eye contact with anyone. If I see the slightest hint of suspicion in their faces it will totally psyche me out, so I keep my eyes mostly on the ground.

  “That was the Hammond House we were just in,” Tyler says brightly. “Most of the classes are in there. We’ll stop by your car and get your bags, then I’ll take you to your dorm and you can change into your uniform.”

  “Cool,” I say. “Where do I get my uniform?”

  He looks at me. “You mean you don’t have one?”

  “Uh, no. Should I?” Scheisse!

  “Well, yeah. Most people buy them before their first day.”

  Triple scheisse! “I . . . didn’t know that.”

  “They are required, you know.” He stops walking, scrunches up his brow at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your story?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” Oh, God, this is it! He’s totally onto me.

  “Why are you starting school so late?”

  “Oh! That. My family moved here sort of spur-of-the-moment. Dad got a new job. They heard Underwood’s a lot better than Mountain View High, so . . .”

  “Yeah, Mountain View’s pretty scuzzy. You’re more likely to get an STD there than an education.” He snorts at his own joke.

  I open my mouth to protest, close it just in time.

  His brow furrows again. “But you can’t just enroll on the spur-of-the-moment. You have to apply here way in advance.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I knew that! Why didn’t I prepare for this? I should have a thorough explanation ready, and here I am making it up on the fly. “What I meant was I applied because we thought we’d move here and I got in, but then we thought Dad didn’t get the job so we didn’t move here and then at the last minute he did get it, so here I am.” I spread my hands out like ta-dah! Christ, I’m sweating like a pig.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So anyway, about the uniform . . .”

  “Right. The uniform.” He looks me up and down. “You’re about my size. I’ve got a couple extras if you want to borrow one for now.”

  I’m so relieved I clutch at his blazer in delight. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  A couple guys walking past do a double take and Tyler looks alarmed. He wriggles out of my grasp. “No biggie.”

  “Thank you!” I can see from the strange looks I’m getting that I’m standing out, so I quickly sling my thumbs through my belt loops, slouch, and try to look manly. “That’d be awesome.”

  Chapter Seven

  We stop by the Buick and grab my duffel bag, then head down a footpath that leads from the parking lot to a four-story brick building covered in ivy. Darcy was right: It’s a stunning campus. The rolling lawns are expansive seas of green spreading out in every direction.

  “Here are the dorms.” We’ve reached the brick building. “Each floor is for a different class. You’re a junior, so you’ll be on the third floor.”

  “Okay. Great!” A quick glance from him reminds me to back off on the enthusiasm. “I mean, cool.”

  “Let’s see . . . who do they have you rooming with?” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and squints at it. “Oh, yeah, Emilio. He’ll be bummed. Nobody with a single wants a roommate.”

  “Roommate?” Of course I’ll have a roommate! Why didn’t I think of that? Oh, God, how am I going to change my clothes? Am I really going to sleep next to a guy I’ve never even met? How weird is that? I can feel panic rising in me, a claustrophobic terror. “I thought I might room alone. Is that possible?”

  Tyler guffaws. “Nobody gets their own room. Emilio’s roommate transferred to Exeter at the last minute; that’s the only reason he’s on his own.” Tyler yanks open the heavy door and leads me up a drafty cement stairwell, glancing over his shoulder. “Man, you look kind of sick. You okay?”

  “Me?” It comes out as a squeak; I clear my throat. “Fine.”

  By now we’ve reached the third floor. Tyler leans against the metal bar, the door swings open, and we step into the hallway. The cold, echoing stairwell vanishes behind us and we’re engulfed in chaos: doors slamming, guys laughing, people shouting. A guy in an Underwood blazer, socks, and no pants uses a plastic foosball bat to swat a crumpled ball of paper down the hall at his friend. The ball whizzes over everyone’s heads and tags me on the cheek.

  “Two points!” the batter cries.

  “The junior floor,” Tyler announces. “The dorms are a little hectic in the morning. I always get up at six to avoid the traffic.”

  I have to step back as a skinny, dark-haired, dripping wet guy wearing nothing but a towel almost runs me over.

  “I can see why,” I mumble.

  As we make our way down the hall there’s a stream of guys passing in and out of a room on our left. As we get closer and the door opens I can hear a cacophony of flushing toilets and showers; a cloud of steamy wet air escapes into the hall. The smell of cologne, toothpaste, shampoo, and other, earthier scents assault my nostrils. I make the mistake of turning to look and see a long line of guys in various states of undress doing their thing at the urinals.

  Oh, God. Urinals. That’s something else I’m not prepared for.

  “It’s not always this noisy,” Tyler says as a guy on a skateboard whizzes past belting out some rap song at the top of his lungs, “but I recommend studying in the library. Okay, let’s see . . . here’s your room.”

  Tyler knock
s twice and after a moment the door opens. There, standing before me, is a half-naked guy so gorgeous I do a double take. He’s got dark, liquid eyes, close-cropped black hair, and smooth brown skin. His bare torso ripples with muscles: sculpted shoulders, well-defined pecs, and washboard abs. He’s perfectly cut without veering into scary bodybuilder bulk. My attention jerks back to his eyes, which take me in warily.

  “Hi.” I can feel everything in me shifting into flirt mode. My hip automatically juts out to one side and the word comes out soft and fluttery.

  Tyler and the guy at the door both look at me like I’ve just farted.

  “I mean yo, what’s up?”

  Yo?

  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  “Uh, Emilio, this is your new roommate, Nat.” Tyler looks apologetic.

  “Roommate? Oh, man . . .”

  “I know.” Tyler holds up a hand. “It sucks, but you’re the only junior with a single.”

  “Why didn’t anyone give me a heads-up?” Emilio lets us into the room, which is small and sparsely furnished. There are two beds against the far wall, each one beneath a tall, wavy-paned window with curlicues of ivy peeking around the edges. One of the beds is unmade, so I toss my duffel bag onto the other.

  “Last-minute thing, I guess,” Tyler says. “He just kind of showed up.”

  Emilio grudgingly holds out a hand. “Sorry, man. Emilio Cruz. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just like my privacy.”

  I shake his hand. His fingers are warm, his grip firm, and I have to fight the irrational impulse to pull him to me. “I understand. Don’t mind me. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  Tyler looks at his watch. “We better get you into uniform. Class starts in fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay.” I look back at Emilio, who’s buttoning his shirt now. “Nice meeting you.” The second it’s out of my mouth I know it’s geekily formal and wish I could take it back.

  Emilio smiles with half his mouth. “Uh-huh.”

  I follow Tyler out, catching one last quick look at Emilio before the door swings shut. God, he’s amazing. Why do I never meet boys like that when I’m a girl? The thought of living in close proximity to such a fine specimen fills me with equal parts horror and giddiness. I remind myself I’m on a mission here, not trolling for phone numbers. Any interest I have in Underwood boys must be purely professional.

  Still, the image of a shirtless Emilio is burned into my brain.

  Tyler’s room is a few doors down. As we enter, the skinniest, palest boy I’ve ever seen stands buck-ass naked, one leg up on the bed, running a towel back and forth between his legs like dental floss.

  I start to scream, then quickly cup a hand over my mouth.

  Tyler looks at me like I’m crazy. “What’s wrong now?”

  I force myself to look at the floor. “Nothing. Just a cramp. I’ll be fine.”

  Tyler gestures with one hand at the naked guy before heading straight for the closet. “My roommate, Max. Max, this is the new guy, Nat.”

  Max swings the towel around his neck and salutes. “Top of the morning to you!”

  “Yeah,” I say, still flustered.

  “Okay, try this on.” Tyler hands me a neatly pressed uniform on a hanger. “Hurry up! I can’t be late for class.”

  Max, thank God, is pulling on a pair of tighty whiteys, so at least I don’t have to concentrate on not looking at him. That’s when it sinks in, though: Tyler expects me to change into his uniform. Here. In front of them.

  I take the hanger from him, my mind reeling. “Uh, okay . . .”

  He looks at his watch again. “Really, you have to hurry. I’ve got a quiz first period.”

  “See, the thing is . . .” I trail off. The thing is what? The thing is you really can’t see me naked because I’ve got two sports bras on and under that are small but nonetheless incriminating boobs? “Mind if I change in the closet?”

  Tyler and Max both stare at me, surprised.

  “Why?” Tyler asks.

  “Because I have . . . birthmarks!” I improvise.

  “Birthmarks?” Max echoes.

  “Yeah, birthmarks. Really weird ones. Hideous deformities—I don’t want to talk about it.” I dart to the closet.

  “There’s not much room in there,” Tyler says doubtfully.

  “I’ll be fine.” I quickly shut myself into the cramped, dark space and, sweating profusely, change into Tyler’s uniform. I stumble over his shoes a couple times but manage to get undressed and then dressed again without serious injury. I hurry back into the room, tucking in the shirt.

  “You forgot the tie,” Max says primly.

  “Oh, yeah.” I reach for the tie on the hanger, then realize I’ve no idea how to tie one. “Either of you guys know how to . . . ?”

  “You never wore a tie before?” Tyler asks, incredulous.

  “I’m just not that good at, you know, tying it.”

  Max sighs dramatically and crosses the room in his underwear and tube socks. His pale, fluffy hair makes him resemble a human Q-tip. He takes the tie from me and loops it around my neck with nimble fingers, lips pursed in disapproval. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to a nearly naked male, and I have to say it’s not at all how I imagined it.

  “Didn’t you have a uniform at your old school?” Tyler asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “I just never got good at the tie, I guess.”

  “Did Mommy do it for you?” Max finishes his work by tightening the knot around my neck.

  “Jeez,” I protest. “Mind if I breathe?”

  “Come on!” Tyler hustles me toward the door. “We’ve got to go. If I miss points on this quiz my day will be ruined.”

  I mumble a quick thanks to Max and follow Tyler out.

  “See you at lunch!” Max calls just before the door slams.

  I hurry after Tyler, who is practically running now.

  “We’ll go through the courtyard,” he says. “That way I can give you a quick rundown of the social landscape before first period. Here’s your schedule.”

  I take the printout from him. “The social landscape?”

  “Yeah—you know. Who’s who, what’s what.”

  I scramble down the footpath after him, back toward the big, Gothic building the headmaster’s office is in. I can’t help gazing up at it again in wonder. It really is impressive, with its spires and towers and huge, beautiful windows.

  “This is where everyone hangs out,” Tyler says.

  I don’t really see anyone around and I’m about to ask what he’s talking about when we turn a corner and find ourselves at the edge of a beautiful cobblestone courtyard. At its center is a quaint stone fountain spewing plumes of froth. The space is filled with guys in uniform; some sit at picnic tables or benches, some stand around in tight circles, still others lounge at the edge of the fountain, their faces turned up to the sun.

  Tyler looks at me. “So here goes your five-minute tour of the social strata. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Over there you’ve got your more-organic-than-thou types.” He nods at a group of skinny guys draped on the fire escape that snakes up the building. “Vegans, animal rights activists, stewards of the earth. They’re always on the administration about the meal options, and no matter what we’re discussing in class they’ll find a way to drag in the melting polar ice caps.”

  “Roger that,” I say. “Earth stewards, two o’clock.”

  “Here you’ve got your frustrated metal heads.” He nods at a table covered in sullen-looking guys with hair that hangs into their eyes. “In the real world they’d have mass hair and piercings, but Underwood precludes that particular form of personal expression, so they’re stuck with greasy bangs. After school they’re smoking in the woods, if you need them. They can get you any drug for a small handling fee, but you should give them at least one week advance notice.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

  “To our left you’ll see the futu
re Republican power brokers. They already have investment portfolios that would make Donald Trump proud.”

  I nod, taking in the picnic table filled with clean-cut guys all glued to laptops and BlackBerrys.

  I hear a sharp bark of laughter across the courtyard and turn to see Josh, the guy Chloe’s into, standing on the edge of the fountain tossing a Frisbee to someone. “What about those guys?”

  “Good eye. Around the fountain’s prime real estate.” Tyler nods sagely. “They’re upper crust. Mostly athletes— water polo players, soccer, tennis. We don’t have a football team, so we’re spared that brutal form of idolatry, but we manage to produce other kinds of jocks.”

  “Is that guy a jock?” I nod at Josh. I figure I better have some insights for Chloe when I see her tonight or she’ll be pissed.

  “Water polo captain, but the season hasn’t started yet. That means he’s doing the drama thing for now.”

  “Is he nice?”

  Tyler makes a face. “Nice?”

  “I mean, you know, cool?”

  Tyler slaps me on the back. “Let me put it this way: Don’t try engaging Josh Mayer in a friendly chat. He’s a god. No mingling with us mortals.”

  I can’t help bristling slightly. Tyler’s POKSI status is already firmly established, at least in my mind. Okay, so he’s a clever guy, I’ll give him that, but he’s not what you’d call popular. Now he’s lumping me in with his tribe! That’s just insulting. I’ve never been Little Miss Homecoming Queen, but I’ve always been popular. Yeah, sure, as a guy I might seem less than über-macho and that could hinder my hip-factor, but I can’t spend this week clinging to the fringe, or I’ll never get the answers I need. My article’s not called “A Girls’ Guide to Geeks,” after all. If I’m going to get the 411 on the guys worth knowing, I’ve got to get in with them right away. When it comes to cliques, you have to make headway with the right crowd your first day or the stigma of being seen with losers will hinder you.

  I turn my attention back to the fountain and see that Josh has just caught the Frisbee and is about to toss it again. He really is gorgeous; perfectly mussed hair, beautiful dark blue eyes. His skin is a delicate peaches-’n’-cream, rosy along the rims of his cheekbones in the cool morning air. If it weren’t for his strong, athletic build and impressive height he might almost be too pretty. I can see why Chloe’s into him.