We finally made it to the classroom where we had our first period history class. When I had planned out my schedule for this year, AP World History had seemed like a good idea. It would look good on my transcript for college admissions, and I could transfer in a few credits if I did well on the AP exam. Fast forward a year and I had my college acceptance letter in my room at home, and thoughts of taking the AP exam in a few weeks had me wanting to curl up in my bed and sleep until next fall. But my parents had already paid for the exam, so I was taking it. It didn’t seem right to waste their money.
For the past four years, adults had been putting so much pressure on me to get good grades, and pick up extra activities, and to be the best student possible for college admissions. Well, now I was in college, or as close as I could be while still actually attending high school, so why should I make myself crazy trying to get good grades in classes I had only taken to get into college? My love of learning wasn’t that strong.
But now that I was walking to my seat with Kate Monroe right behind me, after solidifying plans for our study session later that day, I was glad I had not totally written off my classes. Besides, I did still have to pass in order to graduate. At least in history I felt confident that I knew what I was doing. For the most part. The rest of my life? Maybe not so much. That felt especially true now that I was out.
I tried to pay extra attention to class as it started, but it was so hard with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. When I should have been taking notes on industrialization, I was instead reliving the conversation Kate Monroe and I had in my car. As the teacher pointed to some maps, my brain went to Kate Monroe’s arm holding me tight as she tried to help me after I got hit by the door. By the end of class, I had barely half a page of notes, but I had analyzed every point where Kate Monroe and I had touched that morning. If I didn’t get my act together, this study session was going to be a huge failure.
When I was leaving class, I briefly looked around, hoping to get a quick look at my crush. I found her and, even after all that had happened recently, was still surprised that she gave me a wave when we made eye contact. Before I could wave back, her attention was diverted to someone else calling her name. Megan, who was also in our class and on the cheer squad, must have had something to tell her. I guess Megan wasn’t doing well in the class if Kate Monroe had asked me, instead of one of her friends, for help.
I walked into the hallway and was immediately pulled by the arm away from the classroom. I saw the back of Marie’s head as she dragged me past students at their lockers, talking in little groups before the next class started. I caught a glimpse of Eddy walking in the opposite direction, but she didn’t seem to see us. Or she pretended not to know who we were. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was which with my sister.
Marie led me to the back area of the school. She found a classroom unlocked and basically threw me inside before entering and slamming the door behind us. I didn’t know how she had gotten us this far from the center of the school building so fast. I would have to run to get to my next class on time.
Marie let out a loud squeal. “Tell me everything!” she practically shouted. It was a small room, and her voice echoed against the walls. I didn’t even try to hide my flinch.
“Calm down,” I said. “What are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance because I had been dreading this conversation ever since I’d seen Marie in the parking lot that morning. I was a little surprised that she had cornered me so soon and so easily. I’d thought I would get some increasingly desperate texts before she decided to talk to me in person.
With that thought, I took my phone out of my pocket and pressed the home button. I had some texts. After opening my text app, I saw Princess Bananahammock had sent me twenty-two messages. I didn’t have to open them to know they’d be increasingly desperate.
Marie put her hand over my phone and pushed it to the side. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Haley,” she said with vehemence. “I saw you and Kate get out of your car, together, and walk to the building, together, and I saw her jump to help you when that kid slammed the door in your face. It was so romantic,” she gushed, her hands balling into fists in front of her in excitement.
“You saw that?” I asked. How many other people had seen me almost take a header into the concrete? “I’m doing fine, by the way, thanks for asking,” I said sarcastically. So much for years of best friendship. She was more worried about my nonexistent love life than a possibly serious head injury.
“You’re fine,” she said as she waved away my concern. “That door hardly got you. And don’t change the subject. What were you and Kate doing in your car, alone, before school?” she said with raised eyebrows. I turned red, which I hoped didn’t make her think her assumptions were correct. Just the implication of me involved in anything romantic had me burning in embarrassment.
“Geez, nothing,” I said. “She was just giving me back my history notes. And we set up a study session for tonight. I think she’s having trouble with history,” I added.
I realized too late that had been the wrong thing to say. “Study session?!” she yelled out. Once again, my ears were ringing. “That’s almost a date. You are going on a date with Kate Monroe, the girl you want to smush faces with. I’m so happy for you!” She grabbed me in a hug, her voice almost catching with emotion. I appreciated her enthusiasm on my behalf, but I had to set the record straight.
I disentangled her arms from around me and took a step away from her. “There is no date. Just a study session. We are going to go over some of the notes and review some of the points that will be on the next exam. That’s it. She’ll probably be at my house for less than an hour.”
Marie’s widened eyes told me I had said too much again. “Your house?” she said. “She’s going to your house? Not the library? This is fantastic. It will be so much easier to seduce her if you’re in your room.”
“What? No!” I exclaimed. “There will be no seducing going on. None. Zero. Never.”
"Well, maybe not seducing, but how about some heavy flirting?" she said, walking back her previously ridiculous statement. It was good to know she hadn't lost her mind completely.
“And what in the world is 'heavy flirting’?”
Her mouth formed a big smile. "I'm glad you asked. Now, I'm not an expert, but heavy flirting is basically regular flirting, but you're way less subtle. You know, light touching, making googly eyes, laughing at all her jokes, that kind of stuff," she said. I was horrified.
"So you mean I should basically sexually harass her," I said. Did Marie actually believe what she was telling me? I was likely to go to jail if I followed her advice. Last thing I needed was Kate Monroe thinking I was a creeper.
Marie rolled her eyes. “No. You always jump to negative stuff. I mean try and touch her shoulder when you want to get her attention. Not grope her up. Or gently rest your hand on her forearm when you want to emphasize a point. And lean into her personal space. Those things show interest on your part. For googly eyes, just look at her like you do when you’re thinking about her. I’ve seen that look on your face before. It usually happens when someone mentions her name. I call it your ‘Look of Love.’” She then made a dopey face that I was 100 percent sure I had never made before in my life. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Now you’re just lying. That look has never been anywhere near this,” I said, gesturing to my own face. She huffed as if I had just insulted her, which I guess I had.
“I do not lie. You know honesty is one of my defining characteristics. Me and George Washington: nonliars.”
That was true. Marie did not lie, not even to save someone’s feelings. I would know; I’d been on the sharp end of her truth-telling more than once. Marie was, however, very well versed in the art of silence. She most likely had that up on old George.
She continued speaking. “Back to heavy flirting—which, from the way I described it, sounds more like regular flirting, or really just light flirting. The lines are blurry. But anyway, I’m not sure if Kate is funny, so that could be a problem if you tried laughing at her jokes. Does she tell jokes? Does she even have a sense of humor? You’ll have to evaluate that during your date.”
“It’s not a date,” I said automatically. I tuned Marie out as I thought about Kate Monroe and whether or not she had a sense of humor. Remembering our conversation this morning (had it only been a few hours since she’d tapped on my car window?) and how well she had taken my cheerleader camp joke, I thought she did have a sense of humor.
Huh. Guess I was getting to know her.
After escaping Marie, the rest of the day went by pretty quickly. I was both dreading and getting super excited for the evening. One negative that I couldn't really control was that my whole family was supposed to be in tonight. My mom didn't have a night shift at the hospital, and my dad was definitely staying in. He didn't like going out during the workweek if he could help it. Eddy didn't have any clubs or meetings after school, so she was coming home with me. As I walked to my car, I saw her standing by the passenger door, ready to get in.
She looked up from her phone when she heard me remotely unlock the car doors and said, "You look like you smell a fart. What's up with your face?"
Why were people commenting about my face so much today? First Marie and now Eddy. I knew it wasn't supermodel worthy, but I’d always thought I had a pleasant face. But apparently to my best friend and sister, it was weird. At least sometimes.
I told her to get in the car as I opened my own door and got in. When we were both in the car with the doors closed, I turned to her. "So I'm having someone over tonight," I started. "We are having a study session for history class. So please try to keep your evilness hidden for a few hours. And there was no fart-smelling going on, thank you very much."
"I know what I saw," she said, "so don't blame me for what your face looks like."
I started up the car and pulled out of the parking space. Once we were on the road for the ten-minute drive, I started talking again.
“All I’m asking is that you make yourself scarce for a few hours tonight,” I said. “I don’t know if we’ll be studying downstairs or in my room, but I would appreciate your cooperation on this matter.” Now I sounded like a customer service representative. But my relationship with my sister was weird. Sometimes we were oddly formal with each other, like two strangers.
But she was strangely calm at this moment. Maybe too calm. While I debated about whether I should ask her how she was, she started talking. “I thought you might like to know that I sorted out the election. Unless Madison Philanuzzi’s two moms discover the cure for cancer, I have her beat. No thanks to you, by the way,” she added, quite unnecessarily in my opinion.
“So what happened? You find enough blackmail material to force Madison out of the race? Or did you make promises you have no intention of keeping, like every other politician?” I snarked back. Eddy brought out the worst in me sometimes.
“Nope, neither was necessary,” she said. “I just convinced those swing votes that I was the candidate who would best represent the interests of all students in our grade, regardless of race, sex, gender identity, blah, blah, blah, you get the idea. Plus, I might have mentioned that Philanuzzi had her eye on some cisgendered guy on the basketball team. Really took her appeal down a notch when they realized that no amount of lesbian moms can make a straight girl anything less than boy crazy,” she finished with a shrug.
“Ah,” I said, nodding my head exaggeratedly. “Negative campaigning. Sleazy but effective. Congratulations on your win,” I said in my most sarcastic voice. Eddy either didn’t catch it or didn't care.
“Thanks. All that’s left is for the voting to happen, and I’ll be back on track with my life plan,” she said.
I had to resist turning to her because I was driving. She deserved a double dose of my raised eyebrows. “You’re already taking a victory lap before the voting even happens? You know what they say—don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” I said as we pulled into the driveway at home. I saw that both my mom’s and dad’s cars were in the garage as I parked behind them. I had been hoping that their plans would change and they would both be out tonight. No such luck.
As we walked up the driveway to the front door, Eddy said, “Voting is just a formality at this point. The election is next week, and I’ve got my votes locked in. There will be nothing less than total victory in less than seven days.”
As I walked through the front door, I saw my dad sitting on the couch with the remote in his hand. The channels on the television were changing too fast for me to see what was on any of the stations.
“How was school?” he shouted in the general direction of the front foyer. His eyes had not strayed from the kaleidoscope of images on the television.
“Fine,” I responded. “I have a study session with a classmate tonight. Eddy is making a mockery of democracy. So nothing new, really.”
“Sounds great,” he said in a preoccupied voice. A sports highlights show was on for a few seconds before that too was jettisoned for another channel.
“Democracy is overrated,” my sister called down from halfway up the stairs. She must have been going to her room to work on her next grand plan.
My dad turned to where I was standing right behind the sofa. “Do I need to be worried about your sister?” he said half seriously.
“Only if you try to stand in her way. Then she’ll crush you underneath her sensible flats,” I responded.
“Then we must keep the resistance hidden for all our sakes.” We grinned at each other. I definitely knew where I got my sense of humor from. My dad and I preferred sarcasm and dry wit, while my mom found physical comedy hilarious. Especially if there was the chance for injury. She was maybe one of the last people in the country to still watch that home video show.
Eddy was a robot whose humor functionality had malfunctioned and ceased to work years ago.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked my dad.
He turned back to the television and continued his browsing. He raised his arm pointed a thumb toward the kitchen. “In there.”
“And why aren’t you helping?” I asked.
He mumbled something that I didn’t catch.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.
He was silent for a few seconds before repeating what he had said, this time a bit louder. “It’s taco night.”
That was all I needed to know. Ever since an unfortunate instance where he had cooked up some ground beef for tacos when my mom was late coming home one night, he had been banned from contributing anything when tacos were being made. He wasn’t even allowed to cut the cilantro or onions.
Both my parents were Mexican, but they had grown up very differently. My dad’s mother and father, who had both died before I was born, when he was still in college, had been something like fifth-generation Americans. My mom, however, was first generation, so she had grown up with the more traditional dishes. That meant ground beef tacos with hard shells were banned from the house. In my house, tacos were made with chicken or carne asada, mom’s homemade tortillas, and cilantro, onions, and lime. They were traditional and really good.
But when I was in the mood for a crunchy taco, I had to sneak Taco Bell. I was pretty sure my dad made those secret runs from time to time too.
“Sorry, Dad.”
He just shrugged and continued watching the television. I always believed that he thought my mom had overreacted to the entire taco incident, but knew not to press the point.
I walked into the kitchen to find my mom setting some ingredients on the kitchen counter. I spotted the lard and wrinkled my nose. Homemade tortillas were delicious, but I preferred not to acknowledge that it was lard that made them taste so good.
“What time do you think we’re having dinner tonight? A classmate is coming over for a study session at six, and I know that’s around the time we usually have dinner.”
My mom stopped organizing her ingredients and looked up at me. “Why don’t you two have dinner with us, then you can study?” she suggested. “We have plenty of food for another person.”
I thought about it for a few seconds. Kate Monroe had said that she would be coming straight to my house from cheer practice. Would she appreciate a home-cooked meal after practice, or would she just want to get the study session over with as soon as possible?
“I’ll find out. Give me a few minutes,” I said to my mom.
I pulled out my phone and opened my text app. My thumb hovered over my newest entry: Kate Monroe. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed on the name and started typing a text message.
Me: Hi Kate did you want to have dinner when you come over ton—
I stopped and rethought what I was going to type, then backspaced.
Me: Hi Kate are we still on for tonight?
I deleted that. It sounded like I was confirming a date.
Me: Hi Kate is the study session still on for tonight?
I sent the text before I could delete it again. But right after I pressed send, I mentally kicked myself. Her practice had probably already started, and I had a horrible vision of her phone buzzing when she was at the top of the pyramid and it startling her enough to send her tumbling headfirst to the ground. Before my imagination could picture Kate Monroe’s lifeless body twisted unnaturally because of my text message, my phone buzzed. I quickly opened the new message.
Kate Monroe: Yes I can make it. Is it ok for you?
I let out a relieved breath. She was still alive.
Me: Still ok!
Me: Did you want to have dinner here? My mom is making trad tacos.
A quick thought came to me.
Me: Is chicken ok?
I had no idea if Kate Monroe was a vegetarian, or allergic to chicken, or had any other dietary restrictions. Should I mention the presence of lard? That might have a big effect on her decision to eat here or not.
Kate Monroe: Sure! Thanks!
Kate Monroe: Should I bring anything?
I wouldn’t mention the lard unless it came up. I couldn’t worry about that now.
Me: Nope! See you soon!
I stared at the phone in my hand, but no other texts came through.
“Haley,” a voice said. I looked up to see my mom. I had forgotten that she was there.
“Oh,” I said. “She’s good with dinner. I just wanted to make sure she was okay with chicken. She said it was fine.” My mom gave me this look like she was trying to figure something out. I hoped I hadn’t looked weird when I was sending those texts.
“And who exactly is coming over? Have I met this classmate before?” she asked.
Here came the tricky part. I tried to keep my facial expressions nonchalant as I responded to my mom's innocent question. “Her name is Kate Monroe. We have history together and she missed a class, so we’re having a study session to cover the things she missed. Plus some studying to get ready for the exam coming up.” I hoped my voice didn’t betray the nervousness I felt.
“Oh, that’s nice that you can help her with the classwork she missed,” she said. “Too bad she doesn’t have a close friend to help her with that class. I know how much you and Marie rely on each other when you two are in the same class.”
I remembered Megan from class and felt a momentary fissure of doubt.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad I can help her.”
My mom smiled at me. Just sort of stared and smiled, like she was waiting for me to say something else.
I broke like she knew I would. “She’s nice,” I blurted out. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her that much, but she seems nice.” I tried to keep my mouth shut, but it refused to listen to my brain. “She’s a cheerleader. She’s coming over from practice, so she might be in her uniform. So watch out for that.” What was I even saying at this point? “I mean, don’t be surprised if she comes in her uniform.” That’s it, no more talking. Seriously, I just had to shut up.
My mom raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for the warning. But I’m not sure cheerleaders practice in their uniforms. But I could be wrong. It’s been awhile since I was in high school,” she said.
She turned back to her taco preparations and left me feeling like I wanted to sew my lips together so I would never talk again. Then one final shot. “But it will be cool to meet a new…” she started, and here she paused. It was brief, but it definitely happened. “…friend of yours,” she finished, with an emphasis on the word “friend.” She was getting ideas. And worse yet, she was getting ideas that were a little too close to home.
Kate Monroe would be at my house in a matter of hours. She would be having dinner with my family. My mom more than likely knew that something was going on with her. And maybe there was. But probably not.
I was still holding out a slim hope she would show up in her cheer uniform.