Boy Swap Read online

  Boy Swap

  By Kristina Springer

  Copyright 2013 by Kristina Springer

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Also by Kristina Springer

  The Espressologist

  My Fake Boyfriend is Better than Yours

  Just Your Average Princess

  The Paparazzi Project

  www.KristinaSpringer.com

  For fellow band nerds everywhere.

  Special thanks to Kate Fall, Megg Jensen, and Deena Viviani for helping make Boy Swap extra shiny and Steven Novak for his killer cover design.

  Chapter 1: Tap, tap

  Raise your right hand and repeat after me:

  We, the members of the Boy Swap Club, being of totally sound minds and rockin’ bodies, do here forth promise to be true to the following rules:

  1) Never hog your boyfriend all to yourself.

  2) Never get mad at a sister member for dating your guy.

  3) Don’t go all the way with any of the swapped guys.

  4) And never, ever, fall in love with any guys involved in the swap.

  I put down my hand and smile at the group of girls I’ve just joined. I can’t believe that I’m really here. I don’t totally understand what it is that I just agreed to but who cares? I’m hanging out with the “it” girls. Cassie Deegan and Caitlyn Ray, the two most popular girls in our entire school, run this club and I about died when Cassie invited me to attend. She slipped me a note after Biology this afternoon that said, “4 p.m., Bookends Bookstore, Travel section. Be there.” At first I thought, oh great—I pissed somebody off and now she’s going to lure me into an empty corner of the giant bookstore so she and her friends can kick my butt, film it on their cells, and post it on YouTube. But curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t believe it when I showed up and found ten of the prettiest, most popular girls at my school sitting in a circle waiting for me.

  Well, except for, blech, Delaney Adams, the only girl who might actually want to kick my butt. She stands a few feet behind the C2, scowling and appearing generally unhappy that I’m here. Not that that’s new. Obviously she was the “Nay” in the Yay or Nay vote on my invitation. But Cassie and Caitlyn must really want me here so she can just go ahead and deal.

  “Okay,” Cassie bellows to the circle, interrupting my thoughts, “I need to make it clear that not just anybody can join Boy Swap. This is a super-secret elite club that you have to be tapped into. So don’t like, go running off and telling your friends or anything. Because we’ll deny it all. You were chosen to join our club because you have a desirable boyfriend.” Cassie looks directly at me and gives me a tight smirk.

  Hmmm…Chris is a hottie. With his adorable dimples and dive-right-in ocean blue eyes, I think he’s irresistible. But they really picked me because my boyfriend is cute? How weird.

  “Look at the girl to your left and the girl to your right,” Caitlyn instructs. I glance to my right at Sarah Reynolds with her long shiny blonde hair, the swim team captain and last year’s homecoming queen. On my left is Jackie Adelson with glossy auburn waves, varsity cheerleader and lead in every single school play. I finger my own chin-length dark brown hair. Okay. So if the three of us went head-to-head for a Pantene commercial I’d come in third. But Chris loves my hair. He’s always running his hands through it when we’re making out. “They may not be your friends outside in the real world,” Cassie continues, “but in here, they are your sisters.”

  Wow. Sisters! I’ve always wanted a sister. Or two. Or ten. I reach down into my purse for my phone—I want to text Lizzie so bad and tell her all about it. Oooh, but I can’t. Cassie just warned against that, right? Well, I know, and that is what’s important. Currently, my school social status is kind of up for grabs. I’m not exactly what you would call popular. Okay, who am I kidding? If we had to walk the school with our status branded across our chests for all the world to see like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter, mine would read “BN” for Band Nerd.

  Yes, I’m totally a band nerd. I am the second chair flutist in our school symphony as well as in the marching band. Ack, I know, I know! The orange and black toy soldier band uniforms are flattering on no one! Believe me, if I could convince Mr. Shank, our band director, to let us out on the football field in cute sundresses and wedge sandals, I would. But it is a sacrifice that I make to play my music. I love the flute. When I play it, I feel all Tinkerbell twinkly. If you play an instrument in the band then the flute is the only way to go. Your sound stands out higher and prettier than all of the other instruments and it feels more like they are accompanying you. But don’t mention to anyone that I said that. I’ll have a bunch of pissed off clarinetists and saxophonists on my back.

  Anyway, maybe I don’t have to forever be known as a band nerd? This could really change everything for me. Maybe now I’ll make friends with some of these girls and break into their cliques. And that would totally piss Delaney off as well, which is a major bonus. She just hates that I’m sitting here smack dab in the middle of her world. We’ve spent the last five years pretending each other didn’t exist so I imagine this is completely killing her. Her eyes are rolling so far back in her head I’m afraid they might detach and plop right out onto the floor at any moment.

  “If there are no questions, I’d like you to sign the forms I’m passing out and…”

  “I have a question,” I say, shooting my hand in the air. All eyes fall on me. “Um, I guess I don’t quite understand what I’m agreeing to. What is the Boy Swap Club exactly?”

  Cassie sighs and rubs her temple with her right hand.

  Whoops. Did she already explain and I wasn’t paying attention?

  “Research shows that seven out of ten girl fights are over a guy,” Cassie says quickly. “We’ve discovered the secret to harmony and happiness at school. In order to maximize on male cuteness and minimize on fights and backstabbing, we just share our boyfriends.”

  “And the guys don’t care?” I ask.

  “Like we tell them.” Caitlyn laughs and the rest of the girls join her. Okay, so apparently everyone here does know how things work already, and I’m asking too many questions. But come on, it sounds a little strange. How do you share boyfriends without their knowledge? And why do they want to share boyfriends anyway? I don’t even like to share my fries. Although, loaning Chris out to get to hang with these girls is intriguing. It would be hysterical if I actually became popular from being in their club, so popular that Delaney would beg me to be friends with her again and then I could reject her snooty butt. Oooh, that would be amazing. And I’m sure they’d return Chris to me in the same condition as I left him, right? Hmm. Oh, what am I saying? This is ridiculous.

  “So, like I said before, if there are no other questions…” Cassie scans the circle with an arched eyebrow—daring someone to say something. But no one makes a peep. “I’ll need you each to sign one of these,” she adds. A stack of papers is quickly passed around the circle of girls, and I start to read mine. It’s some kind of boyfriend permission form. These girls are funny!

  “Okay,” Cassie interrupts my thoughts, “you are being passed an agreement tha
t we’ll need you to sign immediately. It is really simple. I, fill in your name, voluntarily participate in the Interscholastic Boyfriend Exchange Program, here forth referred to as ‘Boy Swap Club’ blah blah, of which my boyfriend, fill in his name, unknowingly shall participate, blah blah blah, turn the page, enter into this agreement under no force and of my free will, yadda yadda, for a period of no less than three months, blah blah blah. If contract is broken, penalties up to and including excommunication from entire student body…well, you get the gist. If you want to join our club, sign now.”

  Seriously, can this girl slow down? I don’t want to sign away a kidney or something. I scan the first few lines. I don’t know, should I do it? Part of me says drop the paper on the chair and get the heck out of here. Part of me says don’t be a bore, take a chance and see what happens. What’s the harm? I raise my hand again.

  “Yes?” Cassie says, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “Can I get a copy of this to read at home?” I ask. I hear a few sighs and see several girls give each other looks. Yikes. They’re probably all wondering who let the loser in. But I just want to gather more information. I mean, this isn’t exactly like when I joined French club.

  Stop it Brooke! This is so not going to change your Band Nerd status! And besides, these girls are, like, the smartest and prettiest at school. They are readily signing it so it can’t be that bad, right? And it’s not like Chris would ever cheat on me anyway so I’m totally getting the best of both worlds. “I mean, never mind. Sounds fab,” I add quickly and scribble my name. “Here,” I pass my form to Sarah and try to appear thrilled. Everyone shuffles their papers back to Cassie.

  My stomach flips. Ugh. What did I just agree to? That was rash wasn’t it? I didn’t even take time to really think it over. Let girls date my Chris? Why would I do that? And why do they want Chris anyway? True, he’s hot. But he’s just as big a band nerd as me. Although what’s wrong with band nerds anyway? We’re cool. In our own way. Maybe the popular kids are finally ready to give us the appreciation we deserve. Ah, who am I kidding? No, things are fine the way they are. I don’t need to be in this silly club. Now if I can just get that piece of paper back… “Um, excuse me, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d…”

  “Okay,” Caitlyn says, completely ignoring me. “There is one last piece of business before we let you go today.” She props her Dooney & Burke bag up on her lap and pulls from it a fistful of the extremely sought after, rare pale pink scarves.

  A collective “ooooooh” goes around the circle and every girl is staring at the pile of scarves with wide eyes.

  “You will each be given one of these pink scarves,” Caitlyn says but I can hardly hear her. My mind is racing. Ohmigod! The scarves! Lizzie and I have been searching everywhere for these scarves! All the girls have. It’s like, the popular girls started a fad and none of us could join in because we couldn’t find the darn things anywhere. And now I am getting one? Lizzie is going to DIE!

  But wait, grasp reality here, I don’t need one. I’ve made it all this time without a scarf. Without being popular. I’m fine. Closing eyes now. Nothing to see here. Well, maybe just a little peek.

  “You must always have the scarf on you in some way—neck, hair, wrist, whatever” Caitlyn is saying. “If it doesn’t match your outfit that day well, then have it on your backpack or your purse in some fashion. This is our signal to each other that we are all in the BSC. Never, and I mean NEVER, tell anyone where you got the scarf. If you are ever asked, tell them it was a sale at Macy’s.” Everyone is bobbing their heads up and down in excitement. My fingers are twitching at the idea of possibly holding a scarf in just a few seconds. Cailtyn walks the circle, dropping one scarf in each girl’s lap.

  I’m losing will power fast. Must. Touch. Scarf. Caitlyn’s getting closer to me. What will people say if they see me at school wearing this scarf? Matching with all of these super cool girls, together in solidarity. A sign that I belong with them. That I, Brooke Thomas, second chair flutist, am someone important. My right leg is bouncing up and down in anticipation. And then Caitlyn drops a scarf on it.

  Oh my God. I drape it over my left wrist and hold it up toward the light. This is the most beautiful scarf I’ve ever seen.

  Chapter 2: The Pink Scarf

  It’s 8 a.m. and I’m walking down the school hallway, shoulders back, head high, pink scarf in hair. I tried it on at least twenty different ways this morning, trying to figure out the best way to introduce it to the world. I even contemplated tying it to a stick and doing a flag corps routine down the school hallway to the tune of, “Look at Me, I Have a Pink Scarf!” But no, a more subdued headband was definitely the way to go. Even Mom noticed my scarf this morning. She said, “Oh sweetie, that’s a pretty scarf. I didn’t even know you liked them. I have a few old ones you can have if you’d like.” I looked at her like the crazy person she is. Like any scarf she has in her closet can compare to the coveted pink scarf. Gee Mom, while you’re in there, do you have any nice cotton elastic waistband pants you can pass my way too? Puh-lease.

  “What the—. Brooke, where did you get that scarf?” Natalie, a xylophone player, stops me in the hallway outside the band room doors.

  The students walking by are totally staring at me, and I can hear whispers. Things like, “Look, she has a pink scarf.” “How did that girl get a pink scarf?” “Isn’t she in the band?”

  “Nice isn’t it?” I say fingering the scarf. My God, I already feel at least twenty-five percent more popular than yesterday. This could really be it for me!

  A couple of seniors pause and tilt their heads at me in speculation. Everyone’s probably thinking the same thing. How? Why? I just want to scream, yes! Yes, it’s all true! I have wonderful new friends! We all wear these scarves! I am absolutely fab! Run, tell the world! But I don’t. Because that is something the old, non-pink-scarf-wearing Brooke would do. The new me strolls into the band room with my head held high. I am so in. Finally.

  I had the opportunity for popularity-dom once before back in 6th grade and I took a pass. Not that I regret it or anything—it was the right thing to do at the time. Up until 5th grade, I was best friends with Delaney and this other girl Trish O’Donohue. We did absolutely everything together from weekly sleepovers at each other’s houses to our very first movie without our parents. Of course Trish’s mom just sat in another theater but it was still a really big deal. Anyway, 6th grade seemed to be the time where everyone split up into their categories, which mostly boiled down to two—popular and not popular. I was headed straight for popular up until 8th grader Todd Jenson’s party. All three of us were invited—huge deal being only 6th graders— and it was my first real boy/girl party so I was totally excited. When I got there, they were passing out bracelets for everyone to wear. At first I thought—oh wow, we still get goody bag stuff like when we were little kids. But that was so not what they were. The bracelets had meaning, if you get my drift. The different colors indicated what you would do with guys at the party, and I was so not going to do anything. I kinda freaked actually. I ran into the Jenson’s kitchen and called my mom to come get us. Delaney and Trish didn’t want to leave so I left them and our friendship at that party. Trish moved away that year and, from that day on, Delaney acted like she’d hit her head on a rock, got amnesia, and forgot all about us being BFFs since kindergarten. She tossed me aside like an old pair of skinny jeans. It was utterly awful.

  It became one of those things we just didn't talk about. Well, we didn't talk period. We completely avoided each other. But she started it. I always wanted to be like hey, remember me? You slept over at my house a dozen times last year. I know about that ugly, nasty toenail on the pinky toe of your right foot and what a pain it is to paint over so you always have to wear dark shades of nail color. And I know how you break out in hives if you eat anything with strawberries in it. And I know how movies where puppies are hurt or lost or hungry make you cry. So how do you suddenly look at me like you're sure we've met but just ca
n't place me?

  My mom always said the best revenge is doing well in your own life so that's what I went for. But Delaney had all of her cool new friends and I had no one. I did the only thing I could do. I joined the band.

  I have first hour band practice every day and we practice outside in the school parking lot during football season, so I leave my jacket on. I head straight for my locker in the back of the room to retrieve my flute. Two oboe players, Melanie and Amber, nudge each other and point at my scarf. The entire French horn section is staring at me and the trumpets, well, at least the female trumpet players, have all stopped to look in my direction too. Lizzie walks out of the band director, Mr. Shank’s, office with a handful of music and almost drops it when she sees me.

  “Oh. My. God. Brooke.”

  “Hi Lizzie,” I say. “Cute top.” Lizzie is wearing a really cute tee shirt with touristy London spots airbrushed on it.

  “Forget my top, where on earth did you get that scarf!” she says, reaching for my head.

  “Oh, this?” I say, touching my scarf again and recounting what I was told to say. “Sale at Macy’s.”

  “Shut up! Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you pick up one for me too? You know I’ve wanted one of these scarves forever!”

  Ooh. All very good questions. Why didn’t I get her one?

  “Um, well there was only one there. Or I totally would have bought you one. And I didn’t want to call and rub it in or anything.” That sounds plausible.

  “Man. I can’t believe you got one of the scarves! You’re going to let me borrow it, right?”

  Uh, what? Nooooo. I am sure that is against the rules. What’s my mom always saying when my pesky little cousin is acting hyper? Oh yeah, redirect. “Tell me where you got your shirt—I totally love it!” I say.