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Cloudy with a Chance of Boys Part 7

Cloudy with a Chance of Boys - BestLightNovel.com

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"Wait. Look. Here's the thing. The thing is -"

"Hurry up! What's the thing?"

"I think Mr. Cannon went loco or something. I don't know what's eating him. I got the part of Romeo and all, but not a lot of guys even tried out. But the thing is . . . the thing is that . . . Alex didn't get the lead! Okay, so her audition didn't go so great, but she's obviously the best, and he knows it."

Alex didn't get the part! I tried to take in what Scott was telling me. For all my sister's moaning and groaning, it never occurred to me that there would come a time when she actually wouldn't get the role she wanted in a play. "You mean . . . she's n-not Juliet?" I stuttered.

"This is what I'm saying! Crazy, huh?"

"Who got it?"

"Jayden. Jayden Pffeffer."

"Fluffernutter?" I asked incredulously. "Fluffernutter got the lead?" I tried to picture Jayden Pffeffer as Juliet. "This is going to kill Alex."

So much for Alex's first kiss. It had just become the kiss of death.

3:22.

When I got back to the cla.s.sroom, I said, "Sorry, um, I couldn't find my book. Guess I left it at home."

"Well, tell you what. Why don't you two help me out with a project, hmm?" She took us over to the magnetic poetry board in the shape of a refrigerator door, hanging on the back wall.

"You want us to make up similes and metaphors, like in cla.s.s?" I asked.

"Not today. The magnets have gotten so much use lately that they're all mixed up." She looked at her watch. "Why don't you two spend the last half hour sorting them out for me?" She handed us boxes for Shakespeare magnets, Seventies magnets, and Text Message magnets. "Try your best to get them into the right trays. And if you're not sure, just make a separate pile."

We started taking magnets off the board. "I guess all the 'thees' and 'thous' go into the Shakespeare tray, huh?" I said, getting started.

Wire Rims didn't say anything. He was peering at a couple of magnets that said lily-livered and canker-blossom.

"Here, I'll take all the Shakespeare, and you find all the 'Groovy' and 'Far out' ones from the Seventies. Okay?"

"Sure." Wire Rims pulled Dream On, Can you dig it?, and Phoney Baloney off the board.

"So," Wire Rims asked. "Who was that guy?"

"What guy? Oh, him? n.o.body. His name's Scott Towel. I mean, Scott Howell. He's just some guy who my sister kinda, sorta, um, knows."

"He's in eighth?"

"Yeah."

I handed him cheesy. He handed me dafadilly.

"So . . ." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a snack pack of two chocolate cupcakes. "Cupcake?" he offered.

"No, thanks."

"Are you sure? There's supposed to be a delight no matter how small a bite," he said, referring to the corny ad for snack cakes. He tore open the package and took a bite. "Did you know every one of these cupcakes has seven loops on top? It's like a thing." When he smiled, his teeth were covered in chocolate.

"A thing, huh?"

"You like cupcakes, right? I mean, you were in a cooking contest or something?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I heard a rumor." He picked up funkadelic and cheese weasel and tossed them into the Seventies tray.

"Olivia, right?"

He nodded. "I heard you made an entire castle and it was really cool."

I could feel the edges of my mouth curling up into a smile. "Okay, just so you know, you can't believe everything Olivia says."

He pushed a bunch of words to the bottom of the board, spelling out a message for me to see.

Hey Suns.h.i.+ne. U R stellular. Totally munga.

I arranged some Shakespeare magnets to form a message back to him.

Methinks u jest squire (Me, Stevie) I M no cheese weasel (Wire Rims) Aye perchance a merry maggot-pie (Me, Stevie) Grody! (Wire Rims) 3:55.

Ms. Carter-Dunne stood up and straightened the stack of papers she'd been reading, tapping them into a neat pile. She started shoving folders into her shoulder bag. "Okay. Time's up, you two. You're free to go."

Thou from loathsome prison breaks Check ya later Sweetness The word Sweetness dangled at the end of Check ya later. Did he mean me? Does that mean he likes me? I caught myself kind of hoping, but it scared me at the same time. What does it mean, anyway, if a boy likes you? Maybe he hadn't even put it there on purpose. Maybe the word just happened to be there.

Uh! I hate that I'm driving myself crazy over a B-O-Y.

No matter what Olivia says, this figuring-out-boys thing was harder than it looked! Definitely not a science.

Next time, maybe I'll just start a burping contest.

TO TELL OR NOT TO TELL.

Starring Alex Me: Finally! Stevie. You're home. What took you so long? Did you see the list? Hurry up, hurry up. Tell me. I've been dying all day.

Joey: Yeah, Stevie. Hurry up. Tell her.

Me: No, wait. (Takes a deep breath to calm down.) Don't tell me.

Joey: Yeah, Stevie, don't tell her.

Me: Joey, do you have to keep saying everything I say? And do you have to keep bringing that frog in my room?

Joey: He has a name.

Stevie: Tell you or don't tell you? I feel like a Ping-Pong ball. First you drag me out of cla.s.s and pretend to be Mom because you can't wait to find out; now you don't want me to tell you?

Me: So, you know!

Joey: You have to tell her sometime.

Me: That's bad, right? What did you mean, Joey, she'll have to tell me sometime? Just tell me. Okay, go ahead. I'm ready. No. Wait. First . . . (Gets into Shakespeare mode.) "Is the news good or bad, answer to that."

Stevie: Well, let's see. It depends.

Me: On what?

Stevie: On whether or not you were hoping to have a lot of extra free time.

Me: (Glares.) Oh, spurious day! How can this be happening to me? Uh! I knew it! I knew it the second Mr. Cannon didn't take notes. I didn't get the part, did I?

Stevie: (Cringes.) No. You're not Juliet.

Me: What sayest thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort?

Stevie: I'm sorry, Alex.

Joey: But look at the bright side. (In baby-talk voice.) Right, Sir Croaks-a-Lot?

Me: What bright side? You sound like Dad with his "Every cloud has a silver lining" speech. This is only the worst day of my life.

Joey: Um . . . (Thinks.) You don't have to pretend to drink poison and die and stab yourself in the stomach. (Stevie nods in agreement.) And you don't have to kiss a yucky boy who has Frog Lips in front of tons of people.

Me: (Falls back on the bed and moans.) My life is over.

Stevie: Your life is not over. It's one part in one play.

Me: The role of a lifetime!

Stevie: There are other parts, Alex.

Me: You're right. Just no other parts I was born to play. (Dramatically throws hand over eyes.) So, let me have it. What part did I get?

Stevie: (Shrugs.) I don't know, I - I mean, I'm not sure - um, Rosaline?

Me: What do you mean you're not sure? You saw the list.

Joey: (Chimes in.) She didn't actually see the list.

Stevie: That's right. I didn't actually see it. I mean, not with my own eyes.

Me: Then, if you didn't see it, maybe you made a mistake. That's it! Maybe you heard wrong or something. This whole thing could be one big melodrama of mishaps, just like in Romeo and Juliet.

Joey: (Blurts.) Scott Towel told her!

Me: (Springs to the edge of the bed.) What! You talked to Scott? What did he say? Sit down. Tell me every single word. Start at the beginning.

Stevie: Well, he came to my homeroom after school. As soon as he saw the Drama Club list and found out he's Romeo - Me: He's Romeo! I knew it. Just my luck. My life is over. Why didn't you tell me?

Stevie: I am telling you. He saw that your name wasn't on the list - Me: At all? Or just that I'm not Juliet?

Stevie: I don't know. He just really wanted to find you, but he saw me and he was freaking out - Me: Whoa, whoa. Freaking out how?

Stevie: I don't know. Freaking out.

Joey: Like insane? Foaming at the mouth? Eyes rolling in the back of his head?

Me: Was it freaking out like he likes me and he wishes I got the part? Or freaking out like how is he going to learn all his lines if I'm not there to practice with him?

Stevie: How should I know? All I know is - Joey: (Animatedly.) Jayden Pffeffer got the part! Juliet. Jayden Pffeffer is Juliet. (Evil eye from Stevie.) Me: A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me.

Joey: What does that actually mean? (Whispers to frog.) Sounds bad.

Me: Jayden Pffeffer? That measle! That toad-spotted maggot! That artless elf-skinned hugger-mugger! I wish she'd shrivel up and turn into a mindless malt-worm. (Waves Joey and Stevie out the door.) A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence and have more talk of these sad things.

Joey: Huh? (To Stevie.) Do you think she wants us to leave?

Stevie: (Shrugs.) I guess.

Me: "O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day. Most woeful day that ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day, O day, O day, O hateful day. Never was seen so black a day as this! O woeful day, O woeful day!"

Joey: What's "woeful"?

Stevie: Let's just put it this way. Not. Good.

Not long after hitting Alex with the bad news, Joey came upstairs and announced, "Mr. Cannon's on the phone." Alex nearly fell off the bed.

"See. I knew it," she said, jabbing a pointed finger at me. "I knew it was all just a big fat mistake."

"Hey, don't look at me. Blame your boyfriend," I told her.

"He didn't ask for you," said Joey. "He asked to speak with Dad."

"That's weird," Alex said.

I, for one, agreed. "Maybe . . . he wants to ask Dad to borrow some costumes or props, or about the set for Romeo and Juliet or something."

"Maybe . . . he wants to ask Dad to direct this time or something," Joey said.

"Yeah! Maybe he didn't pick you for Juliet because Dad will be directing, and that might be weird or something."

"Or maybe . . ." Alex said, holding out hope, "he wants to apologize for making the biggest, giantest mistake of his life. You know, tell Dad he's sorry and ask Dad to tell me."

Joey and I gave each other a look. An I-don't-think-so look.

"Joey. Go downstairs and listen," Alex urged.

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Cloudy with a Chance of Boys Part 7 summary

You're reading Cloudy with a Chance of Boys. This manga has been translated by Updating. Author(s): Megan McDonald. Already has 796 views.

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