Zak was pedaling along the sidewalk adjacent to the cafeteria at Jefferson High. Meeker and he had just come back from a fish taco lunch in town, an offcampus privilege earned by seniors if they maintained a 3.5 average or higher. Meeker was on a skateboard that thoroughly qualified as custom—Birdhouse deck, Darkstar wheels and Bullet bearings. Ultra-hip transpo, to be sure, but it still didn’t eliminate his dork factor, especially with the trombone case tucked under his arm.
“I got some phat pants and a wicked shirt,” Meeker said as he grabbed onto Zak’s bike seat and hitched a ride. “This DJ thing is gonna be so fresh.” Meeker popped a baby pacifier into his mouth, trying to look as “phat” as possible. Zak glanced back at him and grimaced.
“That’s it. Let go of the bike, Meeker.”
They coasted onto the lunch patio just as Kurt Ditmar shoved his way out the cafeteria doors. Ditmar, universally known as “Dit-O,” was a rock-star wannabe with spiky blond hair and a serious attitude.
“Oh man, here we go,” moaned Meeker, quickly spitting out the pacifier.
Dit-O had a friend in tow named Jocko, who had long dirty hair and was decked out in an XXL tie-dyed shirt and tent-sized pants similar to Dit-O’s. The pair was lunching on vending-machine chimichangas and soft drinks. Needless to say, they didn’t qualify for the off-campus privilege.
“Hey, Freaker!” yelled Dit-O when he spotted Meeker. “Was I trippin on some bad lunch meat or did I hear you signed up for the spin-off tonight?”
“Lay off him, Ditmar,” warned Zak.
“Yo, I ain’t on the freak…. ” Dit-O immediately contradicted his statement and got in Meeker’s face. “But listen here, Meek-man, tonight it’s gonna just be me and you onstage. You ain’t gonna have your sister here backing you up.”
Meeker held his ground. “What was that you said? ’Cause all I can hear is the crowd, and they’re yelling, ‘Go, Meeker, Go Meeker …’” He launched into what he thought was a slick strut, but it looked more like a comedy routine.
“Oh! He’s on fire!” howled Dit-O. “Somebody better cool him down!” Ditmar shook up his bottle of soda and sprayed it in Meeker’s face. Jocko cracked up.
“Later, Jerk,” dismissed Dit-O as he and Jocko bailed. Dit-O tossed the empty plastic bottle toward a barrel. It missed but he didn’t bother picking it up.
Zak was embarrassed for his friend, but sometimes Meeker was his own worst enemy.
“What’d I tell you about Cabbage-Patching in public?”
Meeker made no comment as he blotted the sticky fizz off his face with his shirt. Zak just shook his head.
He didn’t notice that Francesca had witnessed the whole exchange as she walked across the patio.
As Zak locked his BMX to the bike rack, he heard the Shady Duo making loud catcalls. He looked up and saw Dit-O and Jocko swooping in on Francesca.
“Hola, Chiquita, I’m Dit-O—I’m spinning at an underground tonight. Wanna come?”
The lovely Venezuelan ignored him. Dit-O grinned at Jocko, the blow-off only spurring him on. Both boys followed her and continued their harassment.
Zak watched them, his blood beginning to boil. Meeker followed Zak’s gaze, but he wasn’t thinking about Francesca. If Meeker lost the spin-off, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Seriously, man, you’re not gonna leave me hanging out there alone tonight, are you?”
“I’ll be there,” answered Zak, his eyes focused on Dit-O and Jocko. A second later, he marched toward them.
“What’s the matter, no habla Ingles?” taunted Dit-O. Francesca continued to disregard his presence until he grabbed her arm. She abruptly stopped near a gaggle of students and faced Ditmar demurely. She was actually a couple of inches taller.
“Is hard,” she lilted in her fake accent, even thicker than the one she had used on Zak, “but I try to watch and learn. Like this, for example …” Francesca shook up her soda and sprayed Dit-O in the face, totally drenching him. “Later, Jerk,” she said, dropping her accent.
The crowd laughed hard, including Jocko. Ditmar wiped the caramel-colored droplets from his eye sockets, regaining his vision. He gazed at Francesca hatefully. She was not intimidated.
“Excuse me, make a hole,” said Zak, pushing his way through the crowd like a prince determined to save his damsel.
“Sure, here’s a hole for you—”
He couldn’t tell if it was Dit-O or Jocko who said it, but both of them heaved him into a trash can. Drink bottles and fast-food cartons spilled everywhere.
“Hey, hey!” shouted Mrs. Deakins, the plump, business-suited vice principal. “That’s a perfectly good trash can! Don’t go throwing students at it!”
Dit-O and Jocko instinctively dispersed at the presence of authority. Zak nonchalantly extricated himself from the garbage. He brushed away a burrito wrapper stuck to his shirt as Francesca approached him.
“I didn’t need any help,” she said.
“Huh? Oh, um … my friend lost his retainer,” he lamely offered, gesturing at the trash. “Guess it’s not here.”
She looked over at Meeker, who smiled back obliviously. The retainer was still clamped to his gums.
“Very nice. Now, if you’ll excuse me …” Francesca tossed her empty bottle into the trash. It was a swish shot.
Zak watched her go. Twice he’d let her get away now. Just before she disappeared into the science wing, he made a decision. “Hey, listen, while I’ve got you here … I’m sorry I was such a dip yesterday.”
She stopped and faced him. “Only yesterday?”
Zak slowly closed the gap between them.
“No. Everyday. I’ll apologize for global warming if you’ll give me another chance. Cup of coffee after school?”
“I have plans.”
“How about after your plans?”
“I have more plans.”
“Would it be such a stretch for some of your plans to include me?”
She studied him. He was persistent, but in a charming way. He was sweet, too, and kind of funny. She noticed his big brown eyes for the first time. Francesca felt her face flush and was mad at herself.
“All right … I guess we can all use a second chance.”
Zak felt a wave of something he couldn’t quite describe wash over him, pooling somewhere in his stomach. The anticipation doubled as she turned him around and used his back as a writing surface.
“Here’s my address,” she said, scribbling it onto her notepad. “I have to baby-sit my little brother and sister today, so, come by around four?”
“Four … yeah … I’m good then.” He would’ve come at four in the morning if that’s what she’d wanted.
“Great. I’ll see you then.” She smiled at him for the first time as she handed him her address. Her teeth were white and perfect. Her whole face glowed.
There was nothing left to say, so they went their separate ways. As soon as she was out of view, Zak did a little victory dance.
Two hours later, Zak gazed at the classroom clock in seventh-period geography, just as he’d done in his fifth- and sixth-period classes. Almost there. The time he’d spent anticipating the arrival of four o’clock had been the longest two hours of his life. It felt like time was moving slower than a snail.