Nina and I make it through geometry, then head for the lunchroom. Nina gets hot lunch because she is eligible to get it free. I’ve brought a tofu-salad sandwich, which is sort of like a chicken-salad sandwich, as least as I vaguely remember chicken-salad tasting back before Mom and Dad went all vegetarian on me when I was about six. Randi and Tanya are going to meet us in front of the school after they pick up something at Funky Coffee. (Uh, that name? Dad says parts of Franklin never left the Sixties.) It’s sort of like a Starbucks except it’s much cheaper. It’s only a block from school, so it’s also convenient.
I get in the lunch line with Nina. Mrs. Palveski, who lives on the next block from Chittenden and who has been a cook at Franklin High since before Dad went there, adjusts the volume on a CD player she keeps on the counter. The rumor is she has music from every decade she’s been here. Whatever’s playing now sounds vaguely familiar, as if it might an oldie from Dad’s era that he bellows when he’s in the shower.
I see Brent and Claire cutting through the lunchroom hand-in-hand toward the main exit. I try to ignore them by focusing on the hot-chocolate machine in front of me. Mom would have a cow if she knew I got hot chocolate, but, hey, sometimes a girl just has to do something wild and crazy.
I reach for a paper cup. I’m only half watching what I’m doing, because I’m trying, not very successfully, to not stare at Brent. My hand hits the stack of paper cups and they start to sway. I quickly try to steady them, but somehow knock the top third of the stack onto the floor. Cups roll everywhere.
I’m down on my knees in a flash, trying to round up strays before they stampede. Suddenly Brent is down on the floor with me, herding the cups, stacking them and handing them to me. I take them, add them to my own stack, stare into his cobalt blue eyes and fumble the moment, voice totally cracking as I struggle to say, “Th-th-thA-ANk you.”
Just shoot me now, please.
“No problem.” The corners of Brent’s mouth curve up in the most adorable way.
My eyes meet his smile and the hand he offers to help me up. Must ignore erratic pulse. Must remember I do not plan my life around guys, especially guys with girlfriends.
“Take it easy.” As he helps me up, Brent winks—winks—then links up with Claire and heads outdoors.
Must remember to breathe. It’s not easy while obsessing about a second wink from Brent, however just-friendly it might have been. I do, however, manage to draw air into my lungs and let it out again.
“Were you going to get hot chocolate or what?” Nina’s voice pulls me out of my trance.
“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” I carefully place the stack of cups back on the counter, take one and get my hot chocolate, all without further drama.
Nina and I meet Randi and Tanya outside. They are clutching what looks like sandwich wraps bundled in the blue-and-white striped paper from Funky Coffee. There is, um, a situation. Tanya’s practically velcro-ed to Del Jara’s side. I’m not sure whose grin is goofier, hers or his.
“Del and I are going to have lunch together,” Tanya says. Without another word, she and Del disappear around the corner of the building.
I’m amazed at what a fast worker Tanya is when it comes to guys. She casts her net and hauls ‘em in practically in one motion.
“Hey,” Randi says. “I want to sit as close to the Senior Courtyard as we can, so I can find Justin Cardon.”
And what are you going to do if you find him—rip him away from Madison Gray? I do not ask. Instead, Nina and I follow Randi’s lead, trying to comply with her instructions to “look casual.”
We discover there aren’t all that many seniors in the courtyard.
“I don’t see him!” Randi whines.
“What did you think?” Nina says. “The courtyard’s nice, but most of the seniors have cars. They can go anywhere.”
I discover that under a silver maple tree in the front corner of the courtyard are two of the few seniors there, none other than Brent and Claire. “Um. As long as we’re here, why don’t we stay?” I point to some patchy grass and a low wall next to the parking lot. “We could, uh, sit on the wall. That way we can see the courtyard and anyone who pulls into the parking lot.”
“Good plan,” Randi says.
We sit, eat and talk about our classes. I’m appalled all over again at how electrified Randi is by Duke. Nina’s a bit more subdued about it, but it’s clear she’s wowed by him too. I would probably spend too much time wondering why our perceptions of Duke are so wildly different, except I’m busy sneaking peeks at Brent and Claire. They are definitely not all over each other. They smile and talk, but just watching them I think they look as if they are nothing more than friends. Gah! Must focus on something else!
“Um ... is that Justin Cardon?” I point to a black pickup pulling into the school parking lot. All I actually can see is some hair that sort of looks like what I barely remember was Justin’s, but maybe if I get Randi all stirred up it’ll take my mind off Brent.
Randi’s head swivels so violently I think it’s going to do a complete three-sixty and snap right off her neck. “It is him!”
And her, I do not add. Madison Gray leans so close to Justin that I think she must be impaled on the stick-shift.
Justin hops out of the pickup, runs around to the other side, opens the door and helps Madison out. Hmmm. Is he, like, a real gentleman, or is she high maintenance? Judging by the look of entitlement on Madison’s face, I’m guessing high maintenance.
Randi jumps to her feet. “Gotta throw this away.” She crumbles the blue-and-white striped paper around the remains of her sandwich and says to me, “Call my name in about three seconds.” She heads towards a trashcan. Justin just happens to be the scenic overlook along the way.
Ever obedient, I count to three, then call out, “Uh, Randi!”
Randi sort of looks back, while managing to have a minor fender-bender with her shoulder and Justin’s chest.
“Oh!” Randi claps one hand to her cheek, the other she uses to stroke Justin’s chest. “Are you okay?” All this, and she manages to avoid the flaming death rays blazing in Madison’s eyes.
Justin gathers Randi’s hands in his. “The question is, are you okay, uh, Randi, is it?”
“Yes, Randi, Randi Volmer. And I’m ... I’m just fine ... now ... Justin.” Randi glances down at Justin’s hands wrapped around hers, then gazes adoringly into his eyes.
Madison stands very stiff and straight and still. She looks as if she could erupt any second.
“You know my name.” Justin says it all of-course like, but I can see he’s flattered.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Randi says, her voice all silky. She cocks her head to one side and leans back a little so her boob territory is tilting up at him.
Justin’s gaze drops immediately to the target zone.
I’m totally fascinated by Randi’s talent. It’s not that I actually want to go around acting like her, but I do admire her skill.
“Three, two, one,” Nina whispers. She nudges me and nods toward Madison.
“Justin!” Madison spits out his name through her clenched teeth. “We don’t want to be late to physics class, do we?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She grabs Justin’s arm and yanks him away.
Randi tosses her trash in the trashcan and saunters back with a satisfied smile on her face. “The countdown has begun.”
“It’s a long trip to the moon.” Nina stands and smoothes her skirt.
I get up and brush the back of my jeans.
“The moon?” Randi laughs. “I’m aiming for the next galaxy.”
Nina and I exchange looks that say, No way are we going to make getting some guy our destination in life. I just hope I’m telling myself the truth, as I try to blot Brent out of my mind.
The bell rings, and we meet up with Tanya, who is waving goodbye to Del as if they won’t see each other for weeks instead of for one class period or whatever. Just as we head back to the school a blue Lexus convertible, top down, roars into the lot and pulls into a spot about ten car spaces away.
Eww. It’s Duke.
“Ooh, it’s Duke!” Randi’s eyes are as big as hub caps. She whispers, “I heard in P.E. that he’s loaded. A couple of juniors were sayin’ he’s got some trust fund ‘cause his grandmother bought up land in Portland in the Fifties. It must be true!”
“So, what’s he doing teaching at Franklin High?” Nina asks.
“He likes to work with kids.” Randi runs her fingers through her hair, sort of flipping it at the end. “Did you know he’s director of Scene Stealers too?”
“The drama club?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Randi says in a tone that strongly suggests what else?
“Perfect,” I say, “since Duke is so melodramatic.”
Randi doesn’t notice my sarcasm, but I think Nina does.
I see that Duke is out of his car and heading right toward us. It’s too late to run the other way. He comes up to us, stands with his fists on his hips (the better to flex his biceps), smiles and says, “Que pasa?”
Duke’s eyes flit from Nina’s face to Randi’s boobs. Since I am apparently invisible to him, I’m tempted to flee on my own, but Nina and Randi might notice—and possibly even care.
Nina offers a polite smile.
Randi tilts her head, gazes into Duke’s ice-green eyes and lets out a breathy, “Hi, Duke.”
Ew, ick, cough, spit! Where’s a barf bag when you need one?
Fortunately, the warning bell rings, ending this tawdry little scene.
Duke gives us one of those finger-pistol gestures, and takes off.
We follow at enough distance that he can’t hear us talking.
“He is so totally cool!” Randi fans herself.
“Sheesh, Randi, he’s a teacher!” I say.
“He’s still a hottie,” Randi says. “Besides, he’s only twenty-four.”
“You know how old he is?”
“Becca, I find out things,” Randi says with a note of impatience. She stops just short of the door to the school. “This is his first year at Franklin. He taught at a small private school in Portland for a year before this.”
“But he’s—”
“I know—a teacher!” Randi laughs. “I just like to look at him, okay?”
“He’s probably married, anyway.” Nina says.
Randi shakes her head. “Not married. Never been.” She pauses, then adds, “And if anyone is wondering, no kids either.”
I’m not wondering.
“He does have a great car,” Nina says.
“No kidding,” Randi agrees.
We all have to get to our lockers before classes start, so we drop the conversation and battle our way through the human clump clogging the hall.
After a pit stop at our lockers, we go to biology class, where we find Tanya and Del sitting practically fastened to each other from shoulder to elbow. Tanya has saved a seat on the other side of her and two in back, so at least she still remembers we exist. Also existing is Farmboy, who is already in the seat next to the one left for me after Nina and Randi grab theirs first.
He touches two fingers to his forehead in kind of a salute. I want to ignore him, but I nod politely. Among my many shortcomings, I just can’t bring myself to be outright rude, even when it would best serve my purposes.
At the front of the room stands Mr. Paar, short, pear-shaped, fuzzy-haired. As soon as the bell rings, Paar starts assigning lab partners. He’s reading off a seating chart. Trouble is, because of Del, I’ve been bumped over one seat and so my lab partner is none other than Farmboy.
“Hey, pard’ner.” Farmboy waves his pencil at me.
“Hey.” I glance at him for one-millionth of a second, long enough that I’m not ignoring him, short enough that I’m signaling nothing except that I’m not ignoring him.
Being lab partners doesn’t matter too much today though, as Parr launches into a lecture and starts drawing something called “The Nitrogen Cycle” on the chalkboard. He has a monotone voice and doesn’t look at the class, so after a while something beyond boredom sets in. I’m madly trying to take notes and make sense of the arrows and stuff Parr writes on the board, but I keep hearing scraping and plunking noises in back of me.
I turn to look and next thing I know, Todd Cook, Kurt Durand and a bunch of other guys have stacked their desks in a pyramid! These are standard desk-chair combos, and the guys are sitting in their chairs. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I settle on a muffled giggle.
Farmboy hears my twittering and turns around. He looks at the pyramid and whispers, “Impressive.”
That makes me giggle even harder, because Farmboy is right. I mean, that pyramid seems amazingly precarious and yet no one falls, thank the Master of the universe, since I’d likely be one of the fallen-on.
“Psst,” Todd says to me. “Wanna climb to the top desk?”
I consider this for maybe a nanosecond. Four desk-flights up? I don’t think so. Besides, I really need to concentrate on my note-taking. I shake my head.
Paar is facing the class now, still lecturing. It dawns on me that he is studiously ignoring the pyramid. With this kind of thing happening, I’m thinking it won’t be long before Principal Demchak catches wind of what goes on here and suggests Paar sign up for early retirement—if he hasn’t volunteered for it already. I’ve heard about teacher burnout and I have a feeling I’m witnessing it.
The bell rings, and somehow the pyramid sitters dismount not only without maiming themselves, but leaving the pyramid intact. I slither out of my chair unscathed.
I have to race to P.E. Who thought there’d be stress between classes? But with only two minutes to navigate to the other end of school in totally congested halls, the pressure is almost life-threatening. I somehow make it just in time, and discover the class is a mix of freshmen to seniors. We have soccer, which, like too many sports, involves a ball. I do not like having hard, round objects kicked, thrown or otherwise propelled at me, so I try to look invisible. I’m not completely anti-exercise, but I’d rather ride my bike, or, on the rare occasion when I’ve saved enough babysitting money, a horse. I occasionally watch team sports, I just don’t like to play them.
Ms. Brewer, who must be at least six feet tall and looks as elegant as a swan in her white velour sweats, quickly figures out who the real athletes are and focuses her attention and coaching on them. The rest of us are rotated off the field and onto the benches to watch. Fine with us non-jocks.
Next period I have free. I tell myself that it’s too nice to sit in the library or study hall, that I should wander over to the senior courtyard and park myself on the wall by the parking lot, and that’s what I do. I sit and stare at the courtyard where there are a few seniors lounging around. All of a sudden, Brent walks into the courtyard all by himself and plops down on a bench. I think maybe, possibly he’s looking in my direction. I wish I had something to do with my hands. Now I know why people smoke. Maybe if I had a sketch pad—except I don’t draw. A journal? I could fake that. I could write in some sort of code. It wouldn’t have to make sense.
I open a notebook and start scribbling the way I used to before I even knew how to write. This way, unlike doing something constructive, such as homework, I can look busy and sneak peeks at Brent at the same time. I mean, what’s wrong with a little harmless visual stimulus?
Suddenly Brent gets up. It looks as if he’s coming toward me. Sort of. What’ll I do? What’ll I say?
“Hey, just the girl I’m looking for.”
If those seven words had been spoken by Brent, I’d be doing mental cartwheels—the only ones I can actually do. But Brent has veered off toward the front of the school. The voice behind what would’ve been those magical words, if they’d been spoken by the correct person, is Farmboy’s.
“Oh. Hi, Fa—” Fake cough. What is his real name? “Um ... Colt.” Why did he have to show up? Brent must’ve veered off because of him!
Colt doesn’t ask if it’s okay, he just drops down on the wall next to me. His knees stick up a bit, because he’s pretty tall. His eyes, almost as dark as black olives, are fixed on me. If it were May, I’d freak that he was going to ask me to prom or something, his stare is so intense. But it’s September, so I sit and wait.
“Could I see your notes on the nitrogen cycle?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” I look down, see my scribbles, quickly close that notebook and pull out the one with my biology notes. I don’t know why I’m cooperating with the guy who drove Brent off, but Farmboy is my assigned lab partner, so I guess I shouldn’t tick him off. When it comes down to it, I don’t want to screw up my grade. “They’re probably not much help. I was having a hard time keeping up.”
“Yeah.” There’s a faint twinkle in the deep dark eyes. “I didn’t think I’d have a lecture that fast and dry until college.”
I find myself agreeing. “Me either. Of course, the circus performance in the back of the room didn’t help my concentration.”
“It was a nice distraction from the monotony, though.” Farmboy’s eyebrows draw together as he reads through my notes. “You aren’t taking the act on the road, are you?”
“Not me! I was just a spectator!”
“Yeah, right ....” Farmboy grabs a notebook from his stack of books and hands it to me. “Let’s compare.”
For our nitrogen cycle diagram we both have lines across the middle of a page, with arrows going across the top, down, across the bottom and up again. I’ve got a rough (I do mean rough) doodle-like sketch of some plants and a squirrel-type animal sitting on the line. Farmboy’s got some mushrooms and little squiggles sitting below the line. We both have words, mine scribbled, his neater. Nitrogen and nitrates on mine. Nitrogen, decomposers, ammonium and plants on his. Apparently, he can write faster than I can, but I think my doodle-sketches have more élan.
“Here’s something.” Farmboy points to my notes. “Nit-fxng bact in root nduls of lgums.” He pauses for a millisecond, then says, “Nitrogen-fixing bacteria in root nodules of legumes?”
“Um. Yeah.” He’s better at translating my notes than I am.
“Okay!” Farmboy picks up a small stick, leans over and starts drawing in a patch of dirt. “The plants rot, the animals poop, that stuff is decomposed by stuff like bacteria and mushrooms.” He keeps drawing, we talk, and pretty soon we’re figuring out that the decomposed stuff breaks down into ammonia and nitrates, which, through the soil go back into the plants, which the animals eat, then they poop, and so on.
I’m sitting pretty close to Farmboy in order to see the drawing, and I’m again noticing his faint, freshly-tilled-soil scent. It’s actually kind of pleasant, not to mention in keeping with the subject at hand.
“And here’s nitrogen getting into the air.” I point to an arrow going through nitrates in the soil, processed by bacteria and then the arrow goes above ground, and—ta-da!—nitrogen!
“This is good,” Farmboy says, and at first I think he means his own drawing. But then he continues, “I think we’ll both need to study the chapter in the book on this to truly grasp it, but going over this with you has really helped. Since we’re going to be lab partners anyway, let’s be biology study partners too, okay?”
“Uh ... well ....” Shoot! How do I get out of this?
“We both have the same period free. How ‘bout it?”
Gah! I have no legitimate excuse! I look at Farmboy and those dark eyes are staring at me in a I want my head scratched puppy way. Instead of scratching his head, I say, “Okay.”
“Great!” Farmboy gathers his books and stands up. “Tomorrow, same time, same place?”
“Uh. Sure.” I start to put my notebooks back in my book bag.
“See ya!” Farmboy turns and is gone.
I could just not show up to study with him, I suppose, but we are going to be lab partners, and I do think I’ll need help with biology and it does seem to be strictly a grade thing with him. I guess I can put up with studying with him one period a day if it means an A or B instead of the C (or, eek, worse) I might get on my own.
I head back inside, to my Health class. I arrive early, so I’m the only student in the room. I slip into a seat in the back row next to the door. A teacher, who I assume is Ms. Prentice, because that’s the name on my schedule, is sitting with her feet up on the edge of the desk, facing the window. Her red hair falls softly across her shoulders. It complements her snug, bright blue sweater. She does not notice that I’m in the room. I, however, notice that she is double-fisting Twinkies. Somehow, Twinkies and Health class don’t go together in my mind.
Just as she polishes off the last Twinkie, the bell rings. Ms. Prentice dusts a few crumbs off her chin and high-perched boobs, takes her feet off the desk and turns to sit facing the back of the room. By now other kids have started filtering in, so it’s not obvious I’ve been sitting there witnessing the downing of Twinkies.
The guys in the class all lock their eyes on the ample bulges under Ms Prentice’s blue sweater and pretty much keep them there the entire period. Kurt Durand gives off such a laser-like stare that I expect Ms. Prentice’s chest to burst into flames at any moment. I take notes on stuff I’ve heard a million times. Exercise. Eat plenty of fruits and vegetables. Alcohol in moderation only, and not until we’re “of age,” of course.
After Health, I meet up with Randi, Tanya and Nina for last period. We all have European History, but evidently Del Jara does not, because Tanya is Del-less. We get to class just in time to grab our usual formation of seats. Farmboy strolls in, but the row next to me is filled. I make the mistake of watching as he takes a seat in the next row over, and he nods in my direction. I incline my head ever-so-slightly.
Mr. Burr starts right in on The Industrial Revolution and how Europe became known as the “Workshop of the World.” He’s very skeletal and his clothes seem to drape on his bones as if they were on hangers. His sharply hooked nose is so big, it’s a wonder the weight of it doesn’t make him tip over.
The way he scans the room like a Secret Service guy protecting the president, I get the feeling that his nose isn’t the only thing about him that is sharp. When he turns his back on the class to write on the board, I swear it looks as if his ears rotate just like a cat’s. At the slightest noise, his head spins quickly enough to quell the sound immediately.
When Burr stops talking for a moment to flip through some pages in the textbook, I start doodling. Next thing, I’ve got this cartoon of Mr. Burr as a stick figure with a nose the size of a tent. I almost hurt myself trying to swallow a huge laugh. Kurt, who sits next to me, is making some weird throat noise, so I guess he appreciates my cartoon. I embellish it with cave-sized nostrils.
Suddenly I notice a slight shadow on the floor. In mere seconds, apparently, Burr was able to tiptoe around to the back of the room and sneak up the aisle. He is standing, arms folded, next to me, peering over my shoulder.
Gah! How long have I been completely clueless?
Every single other person in class, while maybe not knowing the entire circumstances, does know something is up, and waits with morbid fascination.
Burr clears his throat.
Too late, I cover the drawing with my hands.
“Nice likeness, Ms Bidwell. A self portrait, I presume?” Burr does not wait for an answer—not that I was capable of speaking. “You need to pay attention in this class. Do your artwork on your own time.” He strides up the aisle to his desk.
If I could spontaneously combust right now, I would.
There’s an undercurrent of whispers followed by low laughter, which is cut short by Burr hitting his desk with his knuckles and launching right back into the changes power machines brought to industry. I reluctantly give one point in his favor for not prolonging my agony.
The final bell rings.
Mr. Burr announces. “Assignment! Read the first three chapters!”
There’s a collective moan, but Burr ignores it. Tolerating grumbling about homework is another point in his favor, in my humble opinion.
I gather my books and elbow my way to my locker, ignoring the snickers and jabs in my ribs from my esteemed classmates.
Randi’s already at the lockers. She says, “I’m gonna hang around and watch football practice. See you tomorrow.” As she takes off, I notice she is tailing Justin Cardon, so I don’t have to guess why she’s suddenly so interested in football.
I toss two books into my locker and grab one.
An interlocking Tanya-and-Del approach, Del with a goofy, love-sick look on his face, Tanya with her familiar (from her relationship with Colin) I’m already planning the wedding expression. “Hey,” Tanya says. “Del’s walking me to the library. See ya!”
Okay, well, I guess Nina and I will have plenty to dish about on the walk home.
“Hi!” Nina rushes up to me, pink-faced and a little out of breath. “I’m joining the Scene Stealers and I just found out the first meeting is in five minutes!” She turns and all I see is her blonde hair tumbling carelessly down her back as she dashes off before I can even ask where this sudden interest in drama came from.
Okay. So. Nothing left but for me to walk home from school by myself. I can do that. Just as I get to the front sidewalk, someone on a silvery-blue Trek bike shaves real close to me.
I hear, “Bye, Becca,” so I automatically say “Bye,” not realizing until a couple seconds later that the quickly-disappearing blur is Farmboy. I figure he’s got a long ride, all the way out to the western edge of Franklin, but it’s a nice day and it probably beats taking the bus.
Suddenly, there’s Brent sitting at a red light in a gray Prius. Claire is beside him, waving out the window on her side of the car.
I try my best mental telepathy. Look at me, Brent. Smile. Wave. Ask me if I want a ride! The light turns green and Brent drives off without so much as a glance in my direction.
No biggie, I tell myself. I can walk. Alone. Huh. So what if I started the day with my three Best Friends Forever and now I’m solo?
What’s important is ... I survived the first day of school.
One down, one-hundred-seventy-nine until summer, seven-hundred-nineteen until graduation.