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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 wonderful
day！” She pulls out a list of names and starts ordering
us into line。 We get numbers； our baskets get numbers； we fill out three…by…five cards to her
insane specifications； and by the time she's got us all
organized and is sure we know what to do and what not to do； we've missed all of first and
most of second period。 “Okay； gentlemen；” she says。
“Leave your baskets where they are and go to… where are we now？ Still in second？” She
looks at the clock。 “Right。 Second。”
“What about passes？” some sensible basket boy asked。
“Your teachers have a list。 But if they say anything； tell them I say your neckties are your
passes。 I'll meet you back here when everyone's
dismissed for the auction。 Got it？ Don't dawdle！”
We grumbled； Yeah； yeah； and headed to class。 And I can tell you this； not one of the twenty
of us listened to a word any of our teachers said that
morning。 How can you listen with a noose around your neck； pinched toes； and a room full of
idiots thinking it's open season on basket boys？
Whoever started this stupid tradition ought to be crammed into a basket and tossed
downstream without a serving spoon。
I was basket boy number nine。 Which meant I had to stand there on the stage in the gym
while nearly half the guys got auctioned off。 Minimum bid；
ten bucks。 And if nobody bid； the secret was a teacher was assigned to bid on you。
Yes； my friend； the possibilities for mortification were infinite。
Some of the moms showed up and stood off to the side with their camcorders and zoom
lenses； fidgeting and waving and basically acting as
……… Page 76………
dweeby as their sons looked。 I should know。 My mom took an hour off work to be one of
them。
Tim Pello was basket boy number five； and his mom actually bid on him。 No kidding。 She
jumped up and down； yelling； “Twenty！ I'll give you
twenty！” Man； that'll brand you for life。 Lucky for Tim； Kelly Trott came up with twenty…two fifty
and saved his sorry self from everlasting torture as a
mama's boy — one of the few fates worse than basket boy。
Caleb Hughes was up next； and he fetched the Boosters all of eleven fifty。 Then came Chad
Ormonde； who I swear was ready to pee his pants
when Mrs。 McClure made him step forward。 She read his card； pinched his cheeks； and
raked in fifteen even。
At this point what stood between me and the auction block was Jon Trulock。 And I wasn't
exactly interested in what he had in his basket or what
his hobbies and favorite sports were。 I was too busy scanning the crowd for Jumbo Jenny；
sweating my pits off。
Mrs。 McClure calls into the microphone； “Do I hear ten？” and it took me a minute to tune in to
the fact that no one said “Ten！” No one said
anything。 “e on； out there！ The lunch is delicious。 Strawberry tarts； um …” And Mrs。
McClure goes back to reading off the three…by…five about
Jon Trulock's lunch。
Talk about embarrassing！ This was worse than being a mama's boy。 Worse than lunch with
Jumbo Jenny！ How'd he get voted basket boy if
nobody wanted to have lunch with him？
Then off to the right of the crowd I hear； “Ten！”
“Ten？ Did I hear ten？” Mrs。 McClure says with a fluttery smile。
“Twelve！” came a different voice from the same area。
The first voice came back with “Fifteen！” and all of a sudden I recognized whose voice it was。
Juli Baker's。
I searched through the crowd and found her； hand waving in the air； that look all over her
face。
“Sixteen！” came the other voice。
There was a pause； but then Juli shoots back with “Eighteen！”
“Eighteen！” cries Mrs。 McClure； who looks like she's about to collapse from relief。 She
pauses； then says； “Eighteen going once … Eighteen
going twice … Sold！ for eighteen dollars。”
To Juli？ She was the last person I expected to bid on a lunch。 Anybody's lunch。
Jon staggered back into line。 And I knew I was supposed to step forward； but I couldn't
budge。 I felt like I'd been slugged in the stomach。 Did Juli
like Jon？ Is that why she'd been so…so… nice lately？ Because she didn't care about me
anymore？ All my life she'd been there； waiting to be
avoided； and now it was like I didn't even exist。
“Step up； Bryce。 e on； don't be shy！”
Mike Abenido shoved me a little and said； “Your turn for torture。 Get up there！”
It felt like walking the plank。 I just stood up front sweating bullets while the Booster queen
dissected my lunch and started running through my list of
favorites。 Before she's even finished； though； Shelly Stalls calls out； “Ten！”
“What's that？” says Mrs。 McClure。
“I'll give you ten！”
“Oh；” she laughs as she puts down her notes。 “Well； I guess I hear ten！”
“Twenty！” calls Miranda Humes from dead center。
“Twenty…five！” It's Shelly again。
I'm looking around for Jumbo Jenny； praying she's gone home sick or something； while
Shelly and Miranda go up by fives。 “Thirty！”
“Thirty…five！”
“Forty！”
……… Page 77………
Then I spot her。 She's about twenty feet behind Miranda； cleaning her fingernails with her
teeth。
“Forty…five！”
“Fifty！”
“Fifty…two。”
“Fifty…two？” interrupts the Booster queen。 “Well； this has been lively！ And from the looks of
this basket； well worth the —”
“Sixty！”
“Sixty…two！” calls Shelly。
Miranda scrambles around trying to beg money off her friends as Mrs。 McClure calls； “Going
once！” But then Jenny stands up and bellows； “A
hundred！”
A hundred。 There's a collective gasp； and then the entire student body turns and stares at
Jenny。
“Well！” laughs Mrs。 McClure。 “We have a hundred！ That is certainly an all…time record。 And
such a generous donation to the Boosters！”
I wanted to boost her； right off the stage。 I was doomed。 This was something I would never
live down。
Then there's this big motion； and all of a sudden Shelly and Miranda are standing right
next to each other calling； “One…twenty…two… fifty！
We'll give you one…twenty…two fifty！”
“One hundred twenty…two dollars and fifty cents？” I thought the Booster queen was gonna
polka。 “You're pooling your resources to have lunch with