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though Shelly and Miranda didn't seem to smell a thing; Garrett did。
“Dude!” he says to me on Thursday。 “I can see your game; man。”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don't deny it; dude。 You're working them both。” He es up and whispers in my ear;
“Basket boy or not; I'm in awe。”
“Shut up; man。”
“Seriously! The Ear says they were; like; clawing each other in P。E。 today。”
I had to know。 “What about … Jumbo Jenny?”
He shrugs。 “Haven't heard。 But we'll find out tomorrow; won't we; dude?”
My mother dropped me off at school on Friday with my stupid oversized picnic basket; and
since all basket boys have to dress up; I was choking
in a tie and feeling pletely dweeblike in slacks and dress shoes。
Kids whistled and shouted; “Oooh; baby!” as I headed up the walkway; and then Jumbo
Jenny passed me; taking the front steps three at a time。
“Wow; Bryce;” she said over her shoulder。 “You look… delicious。”
Oh; man! I practically ran to the classroom where all the basket boys were supposed to meet;
and the minute I walked in; I felt better。 I was
surrounded by other dweebs; who seemed genuinely happy to see me。 “Hey; Loski”; “Yo;
dude”; “Doesn't this suck eggs?”; “Why didn't you take the
bus; man?”
Misery loves pany。
Then Mrs。 McClure; the president of the Boosters; the lady who lassoed us all; hoofs it
through the door。 “Oh; my!” she says。 “You all look so
handsome!”
Not one word about our baskets。 Not one little sneak peek inside。 No; for all she cared; those
puppies were empty。
Meat market?
You better believe it!
“Don't be so nervous; boys;” Mrs。 McClure was saying。 “You're going to have a