Plastic Polly Read Free

doing the hokey pokey—and we’d all laugh till we fell to the floor in hysterics.
    â€œHey, Pretty Polly,” says Derek Tanner, a footballplayer sitting next to Kristy. “I’m going to get a soda from the vending machine. Want one?”
    I nod and tell him thank you. In the past couple weeks Derek’s started showing up at my locker, buying me sodas during lunch, and insisting on carrying my backpack in between classes.
    After he leaves, Kristy and Melinda giggle, and Lindsey whispers, “He totally likes you.”
    â€œMaybe.” The girls are convinced Derek has a crush on me, but I just can’t get all that excited about it. I mean, yeah, Derek’s really cute. But he also has this weird look on his face all the time—like he’s constantly surprised by the smallest things. Plus, he smells like cardboard. Don’t ask me why.
    Also, I happen to know (since he mentions it at least once a day) that Derek is trying out for Groove It Up and really wants a slot on the Talent Team. If it weren’t for the fact that Kelsey intimidates most of the boys at Winston, I think Derek would be buying her sodas. You know, go straight to the top, and all that.
    I watch while Derek lingers in front of the soda dispenser, scratching his head and looking baffled—like the machine’s playing a practical joke on him. Then I turn to the girls. “What if he only likes me because I’m on the planning committee?” I ask. “Or because I’m popular?”
    â€œSo what?” Melinda looks genuinely confused.
    After that, Kristy tells us about the camping trip she went on with her family over the weekend.
    â€œThat sounds super fun,” I say, watching Alyssa while I talk. “I love camping.”
    Melinda turns to me. “Didn’t you tell Kate Newport last week that you’d rather stick a needle in your eye than go camping?”
    â€œWhat?” I turn my attention back to the girls. “Oh, um . . .” Okay, I did say that. I wasn’t trying to be totally fake to Kristy or anything, but I’ve noticed people sometimes get upset when you disagree with them over the smallest things. Like if someone says, “I really like lemon drops,” and you say, “I don’t like lemon drops,” the other person gets all offended. Like you’ve just said you don’t like them .
    So in my opinion it’s just easier to agree with people.
    â€œUm . . . I forgot,” I say.
    â€œHey, hey, hey, it’s the PlanMaster herself!” says Toby Markowitz, another football player, as Kelsey plunks back down in her seat. “Death to American River!”
    Then Kristy and the other cheerleaders start clapping and break into a chant, “WIN-ston! WIN-ston! WIN-ston!” I can’t help it. I look around at the rest of thecafeteria and watch everyone else (including Alyssa) watch us. It feels good.
    â€œFree concert with Shattered Stars, here we come! American River doesn’t stand a chance with Queen Kelsey as the PlanMaster!” Lindsey says.
    (Yep, Kelsey also has a nickname that we think came from Alyssa. The difference is, Kelsey likes hers.)
    â€œIt doesn’t matter who the PlanMaster is,” Kelsey says, rubbing her temples. “What matters is which school has the most talent.”
    â€œStop being so modest,” Melinda says, in a voice so sugary I wonder if she practices in front of a mirror. “We all know that if Winston wins, as PlanMaster, Kelsey should get all the credit.” Melinda smiles, but her yellowish-brown eyes—that remind me of greedy wasps—don’t. For a second I wonder if Melinda believes the opposite. If Winston loses, does Kelsey deserve all the blame?
    I think Kelsey must wonder the same thing, because she snaps, “I know , Melinda. Okay? Since you remind me practically every hour.”
    Derek returns, having finally outsmarted the