Pramila

At home after school, I think about my dream again. My dad has actually been back for more than a month now. I’m not really sure where he was staying because whenever I spent time with him, it was in a public place. We got ice cream and another time we went to a basketball game. I know a lot of guys would think that’s awesome, but the truth is, I’m not really into sports. If I’m being 100 percent honest, I would rather have gone to a concert or something. I think Dad realized I wasn’t exactly enjoying the game.

I could tell he was nervous because there was so much to say. And I was nervous because I thought that if Dad could tell that I wasn’t having any fun, he might start thinking that maybe he really should stay away. I felt nervous that somehow, something I might do would lead him to his inal decision.

Of course Mom told me things weren’t like that at all. “It has nothing to do with you,” she always says. “Marriage is a really tough thing, and you know, one thing about me is that . . .”

This is where I usually start tuning her out. It’s like c’mon, Mom, not you, too! Sometimes I just want to be a kid. Maybe I just want to be allowed to talk about my feelings! I know grown-ups can be kinda boring, but they DO have friends, right? I always wonder why my mom can’t just call her sister or her friend Bess when she really wants to talk to someone. Like Tina would say, “Geez, Mom, over-share, why don’t you!?”

Now, I’m in my room with my door closed, about to put on my headphones and just relax. I know Mom and Dad are in the kitchen because I can hear the undertone of their voices, talking quietly. That’s what I want to tune out, though. What if they’re having another Serious Discussion out there? What if Mom starts crying or Dad raises his voice? Every time I walk in the front door, I feel the muscles of my shoulders clench together. It’s like I’m walking on a tightrope, and I’m just hoping I won’t fall. Or, it’s like in choir, when you want to hit a certain note, but until you open your mouth and sound comes out, you’re not really sure you will hit that note at all.

Just as I get my headphones in and press “play,” I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s Tina.

Where were u after school 2day?

Are u mad at me?

That’s so Tina. She can’t wait to hear back from one text, so she sends two or three within seconds of each other. The girl has lightning fingers or something.

No... I’m not mad at you.

Truthfully, I’m not mad. It’s just . . . well, I dunno. Tina is my best friend, but lately I feel like I can’t get a word in edgewise. And there’s so much bubbling underneath the surface for me that I’ve been keeping back. I haven’t had the courage to talk about it yet. After school, instead of saying goodbye to Tina in front of her bus, like I always do before walking home, I went out the backdoor and avoided her instead. She must have looked for me for a while. I do feel kinda bad about that. See u 2morrow? Yep. See you tomorrow.

I know it’s cool to use “u” and “2” in place of actual letters, but it still bugs me for some reason.

Before I start my music again, I pause and listen to the conversation that’s happening in the kitchen. All I hear is mumble this and mumble that. It doesn’t sound like anything serious is happening out there. But how will I ever be sure? I close my eyes and try to lose myself in a wall of sound.

“Ugh, hi, Julian? Um, I heard from Dana that you’re . . . um, a good person to talk to.” This time it’s Joe Russo, the head of the Football Lardos. I just stopped to get a drink of water at the fountain, but that was my fatal mistake. My heart sinks just a little bit. Let me guess: Joe Russo has a secret that he wants to share with me.

“Do you want a stick of gum?”

By now, I know the name of the game. When other kids at Halsey offer me candy or the chance to copy their math homework, what they’re really doing is trying to buy my time. Still, I feel like my breath probably could use some freshening, so I pop a stick of gum in my mouth. Right away, these amazing little crystals of mintiness burst on my tongue. I forgot how truly delicious gum could be.

I can tell Joe Russo feels embarrassed about talking with me in the hallway. I mean, he’s a popular jock and I’m . . . well, I’m kinda on the uncool side. Plus, Joe is known for being super mean to other kids in gym class. I once saw him throw a nerf ball right at Tim Watkins’ head, another “uncool” kid. I usually try to keep my distance, especially because he’s notorious for looking over other kids’ shoulders in class. In math and science, I’d say, “You want to copy from me? It’s your funeral.” But I usually do okay in my other classes, and I definitely don’t want to get in trouble for having the same test answers as someone else.

“Ugh,” Joe mumbles. “A girl.”

I feel a little bolder than usual. Maybe it’s the fact that I had an egg for breakfast, I dunno. “Joe, dude, you’re going to have to give me a little more to go on than that. What girl?”

Joe looks around again. A drop of sweat slides down his forehead. This is the closest I’ve ever been to Joe, and I’m surprised to notice that he has wrinkles! Like, actual adult-sized creases in his forehead. Maybe the rumors are true and he’s really a twelfth-grader just pretending to be a sixth grader so that our football team wins.

“Pramila Singh,” he whispers hoarsely. Who’s Pramila Singh? I’ve never heard of her before . . . “Yes . . . ?”

Mumble, “crush,” mumble, “cute . . . d’you think I should tell her?” I swear, Joe doesn’t have an accent or anything, but I can barely understand him. What I can understand, though, is that his face is turning a dark shade of purple right this very second. I know what’s it’s like to have a big secret pressing on you, so I don’t want to be mean or anything. He must think that because I have a girl for a best friend means that I know everything about them . . . which is not exactly true.

“Have you ever talked to her before?” This seems like a fairly good place to start.

“Er, no.” Joe looks down, his face still bright purple.

“Well, why not, um, strike up a conversation with her sometime? Like in the hall or something?”

“Strike . . . a conversation?”

“Joe, that means just talk to her!”

He looks around nervously again and leans closer. I’m pretty sure he ate some onions or something for lunch, because Phew! “But . . . what . . . stuff . . . do you say?”

“Oh, like, ‘Hey, did you do the science homework?’ or ‘Hey, did you go to that Mystery Ball that everybody was talking about?’ Just questions about school. Or stuff that she’s interested in.”

“Um, I know that her dad drops her off in a red car.”

“Well . . . I guess you could work with that. Like . . . maybe ask her if she thinks it’s a good car? Or, if it drives fast?” Cars are not my best subject, that’s for sure.

“Okay.” Joe nods a little bit. “Hey, Pramila! Does your dad drive a Dodge?” He repeats it a couple of times. Practice makes perfect!

“Good start.” I give him the best encouraging smile I can muster.

Suddenly, Joe’s eyes narrow into two mean little holes in his face. “Julian, if you tell ANYONE . . .”

I cut him off. “Joe, don’t you know that I’m the best secret keeper in Halsey School?” I’m being a little bit sarcastic, but that goes WAY over Joe’s head. He just nods and holds out his hand for me to shake. Me shaking Joe Russo’s hand?! What exactly am I getting myself into? I have a feeling that the more deals I make with all these popular kids, the more it may backfire in my face . . .