Chapter 4
In the cafeteria, my stomach somewhat settled down after my morning’s trauma-rama. However, my head was racing more than ever. But I was ready for anything that might come next, now that I had strapped on my equipment, which today consisted of a small pen that was actually a microphone that transmitted to my Chica Speakas, and also my “Pic Purse,” a modified shoulder bag with a small digital camera for discreet snapping, a bigger version of the one I had been promising Bridge. I was totally set to make my way across the cafeteria.
On any other day, I would have planned to bring my lunch and accessorized with the cutest little lunch box. And with Bridge by my side, we would have sashayed together, completely ignoring everyone and giggling secrets to ourselves while trying to appear cooler than we really were.
I know, we’re sad. But for God’s sake, we’re freshmen and you just have to deal with the first semester any way you can.
But today was different. I was on a scientific mission. Lives depended on it. Social lives. If I wanted to influence the masses, the groups, the subgroups, the cliques, the outcasts, I had to win their hearts. And as the old saying went, it didn’t hurt to go by way of their stomachs.
Casually, I strolled down row by row and observed what flavors of the day the students at each table were digesting. I whispered in my pen to record all my findings. I also grabbed some snaps for reference with my Pic Purse. And if anyone dared asked what I was doing in their undeclared official cafeteria zone, I would do the honest thing and lie.
“Oh, I lost my phone,” I said to one table. Or sometimes it would be my wallet, iPod, notebook, anything I could invent that seemed appropriate at the time.
From my initial observation, the band kids seemed to like carbs and lots of them. Mac and cheese, rolls and butter. Real Dr. Pepper. Lay’s Potato Chips. The only thing near them that was green was their band T-shirts. Woo-hoo! Let’s hear it for team spirit!
On the other end of the cafeteria, the Dramaticas had marked out downstage center for themselves. They shared trauma for lunch. Lots of energy drinks called Viper. Lots of gum chewing. I hypothesized that they were jonesing for cigarettes, and since they couldn’t smoke in the cafeteria (and really shouldn’t be smoking at all), chewing gum was second best.
I quickly scanned this fascinating bunch. A crowd scene painted in shades of black. Faded black. Blue black. Brownish black. Silver and metal helped accent their so-called badness.
Some of these guys were post-punk styling after The Cure (you know, that band from the 80s). Others aligned their blackness with a rockabilly pose. There were also a few hints of Gothic color in the crowd. A bit of purple here, a bit of crimson there, these guys definitely weren’t trying to blend here at all. This was also “body mod city”—given the extent of all the piercings around. They obviously love the taste of metal. “Must remember this,” I said in my pen.
The Jocks and Locks table was easy to remember. And most visible, planted smack in the middle as if they were placed at the top of the pyramid. Which I guess metaphorically they were.
The J+L table brought the hottest and most popular athletes from football, basketball, baseball, soccer, and wrestling (Bridge would kill me if I forgot her beloved B-Dawg!) together with the girls with the biggest hair of Gamma High from cheerleading, the drill team, and Student Council. And when these groups congregated with the boys, it was no surprise that the table reeked of perfume, cologne, and soap opera.
The Jocks ate meat and truckloads of it. And protein shakes, too. Most of the Locks ate or—more often than not—drank diet drinks or shakes. And there were bottles and bottles of designer water.
And finally the sci-fi table. My tribe. It felt like home because they were a welcoming group and they were tidy—like my house, not my room. And boy, did they have a wide assortment of flavors on their plates. Sushi, hummus, taquitos, and corn chowder.
I never realized what such an eclectic palate my peers had. Quite frankly, I was surprised. Given the no-brand-name polo shirts tucked into khakis with a poor choice of belt and white sneaks (that showed no sign of street wear), you wouldn’t know they lived on the wild side when it came to teen dining.
It made me laugh. So did seeing Bridge pull out an amazing spread while Mase dug out a malformed sandwich from his backpack, sniffing to determine whether it still had a shelf life or any sort of life, for that matter.
My Peeps. Even though Mase didn’t look like he was from the science quad, no one questioned him, because he hung out with Bridge and me and we also happened to be on the farthest end of the cafeteria.
The only way anyone would really notice us is if there was a fire, but then they would have to trample over us since we were by the fire exit.
I dropped my bags at the table and bought whatever brown and greasy substance the school was serving today. As I headed back to our table, I looked at Bridge as she pulled out a Ziploc bag of edamame and another bag for her shells. Exhausted, I plopped myself in my chair across from Bridge. “Where’s Adam?” I asked.
“He’s sitting over there at the J+L table and, FYI, he and Mase aren’t on speaking terms.”
I tried not to laugh at them, because I knew this was a serious situation. Since Mase doesn’t say two words to any one person in a year, it was the understatement of a lifetime to say they weren’t speaking. Given how tight these two peas in a pod were, I knew there had to be some major hurt feelings.
Since things were delicate around the ole friendship circle, I decided to bring up an important matter as delicately as I could.
“You look nice today.” I smiled at Bridge.
“Omigod, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said with my forked tongue.
Bridge squinted her eyes at me. “Then why am I smelling more smoke here than when I conducted my accelerated oxidation experiment?”
I had to put away my smoke and mirrors. “He loved my idea.”
“Who?”
“Hamrock. He’s forcing me to go through with the experiment.”
“What?!” Bridge shrieked, then almost choked on her raw soybean.
“Bridge, it’s not that bad.”
“Are you kidding?” Bridge said in between sips of water. “Have you been trying to make nail polish again?”
“Look, I’m not living la vida loca here. I do have a plan to make this work. I swear. And I promise I won’t do anything that jeopardizes your status here.” (Which, to be honest, wasn’t that high, and neither was mine, for that matter. I mean, c’mon, we’re freshmen and we’ve only been here for, like, three months. We haven’t even built traction, much less status.)
But to be respectful of Bridge’s biggest fear of losing any potential status, I had to walk a fine line.
“Bridge, you’re the only one who can help me pull this off, but I’ll need your brain and your cooking.”
“Cooking?” asked Bridge.
“Yep. It will be a vital part of the success of this experiment.”
And then, as if she needed help to add on to her already 4.0 GPA, Bridge asked, “Will I get extra credit for helping?”
“Well ... yeah,” I promised. “And you might even make it as one of the five finalists.” Bridge beamed for a nanosecond and then frowned.
“What if this experiment doesn’t work?” she asked, remembering our current lack of social standing, then used her X-ray vision to pierce through me to make sure I was telling the truth.
“Then I’ll be sure to take your name off and no one will have a clue that you were part of an experiment that bombed. Or see any pictorial records. Right? Es verdad, Señor Mason?”
I shot a look at Mase, knowing how mighty his pen or, in his case, his little stubby charcoal pencil could be. Mase gave me a crooked smirk in return.
Good. Bridge was in. Now, I just needed to convince my next two victims—I mean, subjects.
Next on the list was Mr. Milam. Casually, I pulled my chair next to Mase and put my arm on the table and my head in hand trying desperately to make a small and intimate human partition. And then I stared very intently into Mase’s eyes and tried not to blink.
“Mase, I’m not going to shine you. It’s urgent and I need your help.”
My eyes were getting dry and starting to sting from not blinking. Then they started to tear up a bit, but I thought it was probably a good thing for me to look sad. However, it didn’t seem to move Mase one bit, who kept chewing on his sandwich—which also looked quite sad.
Mase was going to take much more convincing and I knew it. For him, Homecoming, being popular, boyfriend issues held no significance at all. Quickly and desperately, I searched my brain’s data bank concerning Mase. If I was going to enlist him in my shenanigans, they’d better be wild, outrageous, and potentially dangerous. Oh yeah, and fun. Forgot about that one.
So then I said, “Here’s the deal. I’m doing a science project that will show that the students of Gamma High are just a bunch of sheep and can be influenced by the simplest things. And I need you to be my catalyst.”
As Mase looked at me through his long bangs, I realized I had his full-on attention, but I wasn’t sure if he was intrigued or just didn’t know what the word catalyst meant.
Still not blinking, I said, “Let me give you a makeover.”
After that statement I could tell instantly that Mason Milam had left the building à la Elvis.
“No, it’s not going to be like that,” I said as I motioned to the J+L table, where everyone was acting totally sophomoric even though they were all freshmen.
“Trust me. It’ll be different. It’s like ... well, you know when you’re about to do a big jump and you don’t know if you are going to make it or not but you do it anyway? It’s just like that. Except this will be a huge jump. And I promise that you’ll make it. And because I know how much you like to freak people out, this will be the freak-out of the century. Especially when you make it as one of the five Homecoming finalists. No one will forget it, Mase. Do it for the underclassmen and the underdogs.”
Because Mase was the unofficial poster boy of both groups, I could tell he was at least hanging out with the idea. But I had to push him across the finish line.
So then I said, “You’re not afraid of a little stunt like this are you?” I noticed Mase flinch and put down his sandwich when I said the word afraid—and that’s all the help I needed.
“Are you in?” I asked, moving to close the deal.
Mase quickly confirmed with a nod. I could tell he was a bit disturbed by the notion that I thought he could ever be afraid. And it was funny to see that the boy who didn’t talk was now acting like one big ole Macho Taco.
I was so thrilled. I gave him a big hug and a big kiss. He turned beet red. It was cute in a brother kinda way. Really.
Now, I was two thirds of the way to getting my project off the ground. I felt golden—that is, until Bridge had to bring up the last detail.
“Have you asked Jabba?” asked Bridge, fully aware that I hadn’t. And I must have made a funny face because Bridge snapped my picture with my Pic Purse.
“Gotcha!”
“Very funny,” I said, trying not to start a fight with her right after she had officially relinquished her body to science and me.
Bridge showed Mase my mug shot, and he laughed out loud, revealing a mouth full of half-chewed day-old P-and-B sandwich. Ewww.
“Bridge, come with me so I can ask her,” I pleaded.
Bridge carefully wiped her crumbs off the table with her napkin and disposed of them in her paper bag. “Why?” she asked.
“So she won’t think I’m doing some hideous prank on her.”
“Oh, you mean like the time someone told her there were cute puppies behind the fence and when she tried to check them out it was really a Rottweiler?”
Suddenly, Mase wiped what was left of his sandwich on the table, reminding Bridge of a recent lunchroom prank.
“Oh, yeah,” Bridge said, “and remember the time Bellini took all the food out of Jabba’s lunch sack and rubbed it on the floor and put it back, and then when she came back, she didn’t even notice and ate her lunch while everyone was watching and screaming? Or—”
“Yes,” I interrupted. “I got it, Bridge. Gracias. But now come with me so she doesn’t think I’m just one more person who’s on the planet to make sure her life here is an utter hell.”
“Alright,” Bridge said, rolling her eyes.
Since we had to make a journey to the other side of the cafeteria, we gathered our stuff, said adios to Mase, and began our whirlwind cafeteria tour. As we passed by the various cliques, something clicked in my head.
“Bridge, pretend like we’re talking. And when we walk by tables, I’m going to pop a few shots of people’s faces as they look at us.”
“Okay, but it’s kinda dark in here and the pictures may come out a bit fuzzy.”
“That’s okay; just humor me.”
So as we crossed to the other side of the lunchroom table by table, we sashayed and I snapped unnoticed.
It was so much fun playing mini spies. And I could tell that the pictures were going to be hilarious. Sometimes we would go back and pass a table again just to make sure we recorded every priceless look. They were so severe but funny at the same time.
“There she is,” Bridge said.
As we stopped in front of Jabba, I secretly snapped her picture. For a moment, I had forgotten we were on a mission.
“Hey, Ssssusan [I was being very, very attentive to her real name], I’m working on a project and wanted to know if you would help us,” I said in my most engaging BFF tone. Susan finished licking her orange Cheetos fingers.
“What kinda project?” she croaked.
“Well, I’m doing a science project that proves my theory that I can help people be more successful and more popular by just changing a few things about them.”
“What kinda things?” Susan asked with great suspicion as she devoured another Cheeto.
Dang. Now Jabba/Susan was going to make me have to think after I had just ingested a big, greasy chili burger with Tots.
“Well,” I said, “it would just be small things like the color of your shirt, maybe your perfume and your voice.”
“I don’t wanna buy anything.”
“You don’t have to buy anything. I’ll provide it for you,” I said. I wanted to slap my cheerful and impulsive self as I remembered my microscopic allowance and tutoring income.
“And I’m allergic to perfumes. They make me break out in hives,” said Susan.
Bridge was about to bust out laughing, so I stepped on her foot and then took her picture. I decided I needed to sit down to get more on Susan’s level. I handed Bridge my Pic Purse.
“Listen, Susan, I’m not going to do anything that would jeopardize your social status or cause you any physical affliction. Just let me doll you up a little and you’ll get lots of good attention. You could even make finalist for Homecoming Court.” Then, knowing that Susan had her eye on the valedictorian prize, which was only three-plus years away, I tried to sweeten the deal by adding, “Oh yeah, and you’ll earn extra credit.”
Okay, here I go again lying about extra credit, but I really didn’t know what I could do to make her say yes to the project besides faking being her best friend, and time was ticking and the bell was about to ...
Rinnggggggggg.
Very quickly I said, “Susan, Bridget and Mason Milam [as I pointed to a lone figure in the distance] are on board to do this once-in-a-lifetime experiment. I think you would add a lot to this project. What can I do to make you feel comfortable about joining us? The project will only last about two weeks.”
“Let me sit with you guys at lunch, then, for the next two weeks,” Susan replied just as fast.
“Whaaa?” said Bridge and with that proceeded to step on my foot and turn my Pic Purse on me as she snapped a photo.
“Uh, Susan, good to see you again. Hey, Luz, I need to boogie on to Spanish. Adios, y’all!” Bridge tossed back with nervousness.
“I’ll see you in Spanish, Bridget,” Susan said.
Aye! Bridge didn’t even realize that Susan/Jabba was in her class. Susan really did need to be in this experiment, I thought. Bridge gave a total fake smile to Susan, who wasn’t paying attention, because she was drawing some type of elf on her lunch sack.
Then Bridge looked back at me and made sure I caught her scolding eye. I knew we would have a BFF briefing later about this.
“Jaa ... Join us. It would be fun. So, you’re in, right?” I said, trying to seal the deal of this science freak show.
“Can you make sure nothing bad happens?” asked Susan with a hint of caution in her voice.
Dear God, did she know what she was asking? She might as well have asked if I could make sure no natural disasters ever happened on planet Earth. Or if I could make sure no wars ever broke out or if I could make sure she actually won the crown for Homecoming.
So, I put on my Colgate smile and looked her squarely in her eyes, which were magnified by her nerdy glasses, and patted her little scratchy drawing and said, “Sure I can. I promise.” And after I unloaded that big stinking lie, I ran to gym.