16 Things I Thought were True Part 36

"Hmm. Well, maybe he can take me to the hospital cafeteria after my surgery." She rolls her eyes.

"Now that's romantic," Adam says.

"Jake is good with stuff," I tell her. "Real stuff. You should have seen him with my mom when she had her surgery. Now, if it were Josh..." I s.h.i.+ver. "He almost pa.s.sed out just being in the hospital."

"He's nice," she says and covers her mouth and giggles. "Jake, I mean. But I would never date him if it put our friends.h.i.+p in 247.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r jeopardy. No offense to your brother, but if I had to pick between the two of you, I'd pick you. You're my best friend."

"That," I tell her, "is the nicest thing you've ever said to me." And then I smile. "But I won't tell Jake. And I would never force you to choose. He's a big boy. You're a big girl. Well, in theory. You're actually kind of a miniature person."

She rolls her eyes again. "You're not very nice to sick people, are you?" Her voice is lighter now. Happier.

"She's totally not," Adam agrees. "She's kind of nasty."

She glances at Adam. "Aren't you supposed to be at Tinkerpark, bossing people around?"

He pushes his gla.s.ses up on his nose. "I'm going in later to work.

I rescheduled my time so I could soak up your sparkling personali- ties." He gestures at the two of us. "My aunt is being pretty awe- some about my schedule."

Amy's smile fades quickly and she turns to Adam. "Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Morgan?" I have a flashback to my mom saying the same thing, and my heart swoops.

"Of course not." Adam walks back to the bed and leans down and kisses her on the cheek. "I'll see you out there," he says to me as he leaves. I watch him go, and when I turn back, she's still holding her cheek where he kissed her.

"He's good stuff," she says to me. "You should stop hiding your relations.h.i.+p with him at work. How would that make you feel if Adam was doing it to you?"

"You're right," I tell her and grab the chair in the room and pull it close to the bed and sit. "I am the jerk once again."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "You're not so bad." She stares at me. "I want you to do some- thing for me," she says. "For both of us. And you're not going to like it. But I want you to do it anyway."

And then she tells me what it is.

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chapter twenty- three.

16. Potatoes are only good for baking.

#thingsIthoughtweretrue I 'm tempted to tell Theresa I don't need my usual break when she comes to relieve me in the gift shop. Amy was absolutely right- I don't want to do what she asked. But as much as I'm dreading it, I have to go through with it. I want to be able to tell her how it went as soon as she's out of her surgery.

As I walk toward the staff room, super slow, I type a new tweet.

Hermits have no peer pressure, I type. I put my phone away and sigh. I look forward to this as much as I do getting my annual pap smear. But Amy wants me to do it. I figure the bravery required from me is nothing compared to what she's going through with her cancer and upcoming surgery. I don't really get exactly what she hopes I'll accomplish, but whatever.

I stop outside the staffroom, breathe deeply, and then before I can run the other way, I strut inside with my head held high, ignor- ing the jumpiness in my stomach. From the corner of my eye, I see a red s.h.i.+rt at the table closest to the door. He's leaning back in his chair with his legs splayed out in front of him. But with my chin sixteenthings.indd 251 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r held up, I don't see his feet right in my path. In slow motion, I start the trip. A deja vu swirls around my head, but before I fall all over the floor, I grab onto the arm of another red s.h.i.+rt boy walking toward the table.

I smile at him with relief. He's a very nice- looking red s.h.i.+rt boy, with firm and round muscles. He pretends to drag me into the seat with him, but I regain my footing and stand straight up. "Thank you," I manage and he grins.

"Sorry 'bout that," says the boy with the trippy feet.

"No. I totally meant to do that," I say and spontaneously wink.

"I wanted to check out those biceps." I pat the arm of the guy who caught me and the rest of the guys at the table laugh. It's with me though, and not at me, and though my cheeks burn and the little girl inside me longs to run and cower in the corner, I think of Amy.

Use your Twitter voice, out loud, she told me. Don't hide in the bathroom anymore. Let people see who you are.

One of the girls at the end of the table tilts her head, watching me and narrowing her eyes. I would recognize that look anywhere.

The mean girl gleam. Her lips turn up, but the expression is pure evil. I lift my chin and prepare myself.

"Aren't you Morgan McLean?" she asks sweetly.

I force myself to look her straight on. "That's the rumor."

She giggles. "And there's plenty of those about her," she whispers to her friend. She either thinks I'm deaf or she doesn't care if I hear.

I know which one I'd pick.

"I've already heard most of them," I tell her. "And they're all lies.

But thanks for caring."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e She glares at me and then starts singing the song, under her breath.

All the eyes at the table are on me now. I lower my eyes and breathe deeply. I could walk away, tail between my legs- let her win. But I think of Amy, lying on a table, getting her spleen cut out of her body with a sharp scalpel, and I look at the mean girl and smile, showing all of my teeth. And then I turn around and whirl my hips in a circle. "Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, YEAH," I sing.

The guys at the table whoop and clap. I keep dancing and turn to face them. They're smiling at me and laughing. With me. Even the other girls. But not the mean girl. She glares, and her eyes get even narrower. "Oh my G.o.d," she says. "That was so embarra.s.sing.

Dancing around in boy's underwear, having everyone see it."

I just don't care anymore if she doesn't like me. I care a little that she's basing her feelings on something that isn't really me, but I'll show her. Me. Twitter girl personality.

"I happen to have sensitive skin," I joke. "I'm allergic to girl's underwear."

She rolls her eyes but I smile at her. I don't have to take it, not from girls like her- not from anyone really. I am who I am. I don't need her approval. I'll own what I did. Who the h.e.l.l is perfect? Sure, my mistake got broadcast all over the world, but I'm willing to put it behind me.

"At least I wear underwear," I shoot at her, the same way I'd sa.s.s Josh or Jake, people who don't intimidate me. I'm tired of intimidation.

"Burn," the guy with the muscles says and grabs me by the waist and dips me back, and then he stands, lets me go, and makes a muscle man pose. "I'm s.e.xy and I know it," he shout- sings.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r with him, and the two of them groove out while others start hoot- ing and clapping.

"Man," calls the guy who almost tripped me, "how did you make your underwear swing around like the guys in that video?"

"I put a potato in the front," I tell him. "They're not just for baking anymore."

They all laugh and whoop. Refusing to hide and be embarra.s.sed is working.

"You have a nice b.u.t.t," someone else says, and there's a wolf whis- tle from the table. My cheeks burn but I keep smiling.

"You're, like, super famous. I heard they mentioned the video on Jimmy Fallon's show."

The kids at the table buzz with questions and comments about my so- called fame. I'm shocked to hear that these people actually admire me because of the video going viral. I've been hiding and they thought I was being a sn.o.b. I guess it proves something. The reality TV generation- we're kind of an odd one.

I glance over and see the mean girl pretending to be interested in her fake nails. I realize she's actually jealous of my attention. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

The guy who tripped me stands and walks to the next table, grabs a free chair, and brings it back, putting it down beside him and patting it. "Sit with us, dancing queen." I'm pulled down to the empty seat as the kids talk among each other about the number of people who saw the video. None of them seems to remember or comprehend the extent of my humiliation. This is completely not what I thought people were thinking.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e I'm embarra.s.sed that I'm kind of digging the kids swarming over me.

It's not such a bad thing to have gorgeous guys telling me my b.u.t.t is cute.

Most of these kids go to my high school, and a few of them are in the super popular group. Lexi would freak out if she knew they were sucking up to me now. I imagine telling her. All I have to do is call her back. We could be hanging out with them our senior year. Things would go back the way they were. Better. We'd be the it girls we always wanted to be.

It would change everything for us.

And then I look around.

I remember why I'm really here, why I'm doing this. It's because of Amy. Because she asked me to take back my life, to stop hiding.

Sure, it's awesome that I'm being embraced instead of ridiculed, but honestly, it could have gone either way.

It wouldn't have mattered. I'm not the same person I was. Because of her. And yes, because of me.

I glance across the room to the table where the managers hang out, ostracized by the rest of the staff. No one wants to hang with fun- suckers.

Adam is at the table, chewing a sandwich, watching me and pretending not to be. He pushes his gla.s.ses up his nose and I smile, thinking of his lips- and how much I like him. And how incredibly true and brave Amy is and what a good friend she is to both of us. A real friend.

"Thanks," I say to the guy who got me the chair as I stand. "But I came here to sit with my friend."

I wave at Adam and he looks around to make sure I'm waving at him and then he lifts his hand. The uncertainty makes my heart fill with a fierce protection.

"You're friends with Goggles?" someone says.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r His nickname.

"That Adam dude is a d.i.c.khead," someone adds.

I smile. It doesn't matter what these people say about us. It really doesn't. "They pay him to be a d.i.c.khead," I say. "And he's an awesome kisser." The table falls completely silent and then I walk toward Adam. The smile he's trying to hide behind his sandwich is the best thing I've seen all day.

Hunter, another younger manager, grins at me when I sit beside Adam. "Oh, look who's joining the cool kids table. It's Adam's girlfriend."

Adam pushes his gla.s.ses up on his nose. "Yeah. It is," he says and puts his arm around me.

I pull out my phone and take a picture of the two of us at the table so I can show it to Amy later. "You making new friends?" he asks, gesturing to the table of red s.h.i.+rts.

"Nah. I just tripped on the way in. Amy made me face them.

And she made me use my Twitter voice out loud. It worked. I think they actually liked me."

"They've always wanted to like you. You're famous." He smiles.

"Amy also ask you to Harlem Shake the ma.s.ses?" He grins. "This girl can dance," he says to Hunter.

"I heard," Hunter says with a grin.

Adam smacks him, and it makes me like him even more.

There's a new text on my phone, so I open it.

It's Lexi. You getting these texts? A few seconds later, she wrote one again.