by Michelle Ray
“Nah,” she said without looking back. “Too much work.”
I admit it. I was slightly disappointed. I crossed to the parking lot, thinking there must have been something hidden in what she said. A code.
What did she say exactly? She enjoyed talking to me as much as she enjoyed taking her cat to get de-clawed. She loves her cat. I knew that much. And maybe she was referring to putting her own claws away if only I would declare my feelings for her.
I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked my car.
“Or maybe,” I thought, “she’s just a bitch and this is all some kind of joke.”
* * *
“Your reputation precedes you, young man,” says Ms. Herdman, an ethics teacher who is sitting at the far end of the oversized oak table.
Ben stares at her wordlessly.
“Rumor has it you possess a blatant disregard for the feelings of the female students here at Messina.”
Ben’s eyes dart to his mother, who grits her teeth.
“I care about their feelings — just ask B. No, maybe not her, but you could ask . . .” Ben falls silent and looks down, picking at skin on his thumb.
4
Maggie O’Toole Forgiveness beats cattiness.
Beatriz
I looked out my windshield, trying not to think about student council or Ben. The smoggy sky was looking especially pink tonight. At least the poor air quality in LA made the sunsets pretty.
I wondered what Hope’s mom, my aunt, was seeing just then, and realized it was probably nighttime in the Middle East. Hope hadn’t said much about her mom’s deployment or even Rhode Island lately, and I thought maybe her homesickness was fading. Or maybe having Clay pay so much attention to her was helping. Knowing someone looked forward to seeing her between classes and after school had to be improving her outlook on life. It certainly would have helped mine. Insert pathetic sigh.
I hardly remembered driving the last few blocks, and snapped back to attention just in time to see Maggie standing in my driveway. For a second, I considered not slowing down and running her over, but I didn’t want to spend my college years in jail. Instead I parked in front of my house and got out. I took my time getting to her. I checked the mailbox. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder. I tied my shoe. Then I sauntered, extra slowly, my eyes locked on Maggie.
Finally, each word coated in irritation, I said, “Thought you’d be out with Bryce around now.”
“Don’t make this hard, B.”
“Why not?” I snapped.
Maggie stared at the last blades of red in the sky and clenched her teeth. “I messed up, B. You and Sula are my best friends. She won’t speak to me and you won’t let me apologize.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” I said, starting to feel worse about how I was dealing with this chat. I walked up to, Maggie trailing me. I unlocked the front door and my tabby came darting out into the yard. “Damn it,” I mumbled, hopping off the porch and peeking into the bushes.
“Put out tuna,” Maggie said. “You know Ariel can never refuse a fishy treat.”
I nodded and started for the kitchen but stopped. Maggie knew how to please my cat, who she’d help name in third grade after we’d watched The Little Mermaid for, like, the thousandth time. Maggie knew everything important about me. Maggie knew I was applying to my mom’s alma mater just to be polite. Maggie knew that I still needed a nightlight on in the bathroom when I went to bed. Maggie knew who I had wanted to kiss during Spin the Bottle back in 6th grade. Maggie was the keeper of so many secrets and dreams. I decided I couldn’t throw all that away just because she was blinded by a guy with broad shoulders and a nice car.
I sighed and waved her after me. In a mock grudging tone, I said, “Come on. You don’t mind tuna juice on your hands, so you open the can.” In truth, I did hate opening those things. Maggie always found it fun to watch me furiously rubbing my hands with lemon juice, horrified and sniffing to see if the smell had lingered.
Maggie scampered in behind me, her shoulders relaxing.
I took a can of tuna off the shelf and handed it to her. “You live all the way in the Valley. It’s gonna take you a really long time to get home in rush hour traffic.”
Maggie nodded and, without needing to ask where the can opener was, she reached into the correct drawer. The thing about old friends is they know this kind of stuff.
“Dealing with traffic was the least I could do after what I did,” she said. “Or didn’t do.”
I pulled a plastic “Keep Your Paws Off” bowl from under the cabinet and handed it to Maggie. “You’re darn right. But listen, my mom’s at the office tonight and my dad’s still flying back from DC. We could order a pizza. Send you home during a less crazy rush-hour.”
Maggie agreed and snapped the can opener in place, spraying herself with fishy water. She wrinkled her nose and I cut a lemon, throwing it to Maggie before taking the bowl out to lure back my mischievous cat.
Hope Garcia I believe that sometimes love needs a little push.
Ben
I was hunched over my keyboard, working on the layout for one of the club pages when out of nowhere, a voice said, “Looks good.”
I startled in that ugly grimacy way you do when someone jumps out from behind a door.
“Nervous in the service, Ben?” B asked. Her expression confirmed that I looked as dumb as I felt. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry.” She started walking away.
A little flustered, I said, “No, I just . . . didn’t expect you there.”
This was a dumb comment because a) I knew she was in the yearbook room with me, and b) the yearbook room was tiny.
She turned away and sat at her desk, beginning to click through emails. I should have gone back to work. I should have left the whole thing alone. But the guys said she liked me and I had to know.
“So . . . you like what I did? With the club pages,” I asked.
“I just said so,” she said, swiveling her chair to face me.
Unable to think of what else to say, I stared at her. Very slick.
“Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No.” I laughed. Maybe she needed a hint. Something to let her know that I knew. “I just, you know, thought there might be something else you want to say.”
With a barely audible sigh, she stood up and walked toward me. When she leaned closer to the computer screen, her hair brushed against my shoulder. Electric to me. No detectable change in her. Weird.
She said, “Uh . . . the borders look great, but you added an extra L to ‘water polo’. Although in Spanglish, that would mean ‘water chickens,’ which would be funny.” When she stepped back, I was still staring at her. “What?” she snapped.
“That’s it?” I tapped my pen a few times, getting a little impatient myself.
Cocking her head, she said, “Yeah, the rest looks great. When do you want to start on the senior pages?”
As a last ditch effort, I smiled my most winning smile. “I don’t know. When do you want to?”
She leaned back against one of the worktables. “I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth here, but why are you being so nice? Last time I suggested a timeline, you bit my head off.”
“I’m not so into biting these days.”
She rolled her eyes.
I leaned further back in my chair, trying to smile even more sweetly, and, if you can believe it, here’s what she said next: “You’re freaking me out. You got low blood sugar or something?”
Smile gone, I turned back to my computer. My friends had to be wrong: B obviously still hated me.
Beatriz
Ben was being weird. Seriously weird. He kept staring at me and smiling. And it didn’t seem like he wanted anything, either. It seemed like he just wanted to be nice. I didn’t get it. I went back to work, but couldn’t help looking over my shoulder every once in a while to see if he was still staring at me. Half the time he was.
At the bell, I immediately went to find Maggie.
>
“Funny you should mention that,” Maggie said, her face flushed. “Everyone was talking about you and him at lunch.”
Her phrasing caught my attention. “What to you mean by me and him? Us as in ‘us’ or ‘us’ separately?”
Maggie just shrugged and looked like she had a wedgie.
I flushed. “What were people saying?”
“Well, it was mostly about last weekend and stuff.”
She started to move toward the classroom door and I yanked at her arm.
“B,” she said. “I know you hate when people gossip. Everyone said we’d keep talking after school, so come to the parking lot and put an end to the news cycle yourself.”
“You’re the best,” I said. I reached for the knob but stopped. I had an idea. “Hey, Mags, let’s try something. When you get out there call me on my cell phone and I’ll eavesdrop for bit. Catch them at their own game.”
Maggie winced, but then agreed.
All through English and then PE, I thought about Ben and our friends and what they might be saying. Everywhere I’d been going for the past two days, I got the sense that people were watching me and laughing. Not wanting to be paranoid, I’d assumed I was imagining it. But then in PE, my friend Kai asked how the student council meeting went the day before and then Clay mentioned that I was missed after practice. Something in their voices was too knowing.
To top all off, I caught Ben smiling at me from across the field. For no reason.
I didn’t even bother changing when PE was over. I rushed ahead of everyone and dove into my car, slumping down in the driver’s seat. I peeked out just enough so I could see Sula, Hope, and Maggie huddled with their heads together, excitedly whispering.
My phone rang, and I nearly dropped it.
I heard Hope speak first. “Seriously, Sula, my cousin is like the rest of the women in my family. They’re all so fierce. Ready to make the world know they’re nobody’s fool. The idea of changing for a guy just doesn’t sit well with them. Why do you think my parents got divorced? My mom’s tough, but the Latina side of my family is even tougher.”
Sula answered, and though it was a little hard for me to hear, I was fairly certain Sula said, “Are you sure Ben likes B, though?”
My mouth popped open and I pressed the phone more firmly against my ear.
“Clay told me himself, and Peter confirmed it.”
“Did you tell B?” asked Sula.
“They want me to, but I told them that it’s a bad idea. If they care about Ben at all, I think they should just give him time to get over it.”
Maggie must have walked closer to Sula, because I could hear clearly when Sula said, “Why’d you go and say that? Doesn’t Ben deserve love as much as anyone?”
Hope scoffed. “I know what he deserves, but I like him anyway. I’m not saying this because he hurt her; it’s what she might do to him. No one’s as proud as B. She thinks most guys are idiots, and she’s probably right. But throw in his cheating and breaking her heart, and I don’t think he has a chance.”
Sula agreed. “Yeah, you’re right. Better not to let her know. I adore Ben, despite his flaws. I bet she’d make a game of it, and it would suck to see him hurt like that.”
I peered out the window and saw Hope leaning against Sula’s car. “I haven’t been in school with you guys long, but B used to email me all the time and talk about guys. No matter how smart a boy was or how good-looking or funny, she would always have something bad to say about him. B likes to say, ‘Mejor solo que mal acompañado,’ which means ‘Better alone than in bad company.’”
“But is she wrong?” Sula laughed. “You’ve seen the guys here at Messina, right? They’re either dogs or they’re dirty dogs.”
“Not Clay.” Hope practically sighed his name and the other girls groaned. “Whatever. All I’m saying is I think Ben should just keep it to himself, even if it kills him.”
Sula said, “I still think you should tell her.”
“No,” insisted Hope. “I would rather go to Ben and tell him to forget the whole thing. Maybe you guys can come up with some awful things I could say about B that might make him come to his senses.”
“Hope,” said Maggie with audible strain in her voice, “I think you’re getting a little carried away. Just tell him to stay away or that she’s not interested. He knows perfectly well that if B doesn’t want him, there’s good reason for it.”
Sula interrupted. “I think she should know, and I think they should get back together.”
Hope breathed out heavily. “Maybe. I know B really liked him when they were together. He’s gorgeous and funny and he makes her laugh even when she doesn’t want to. And what happened was, well, bad enough that I wanted to fly out here and punch him, but I hear he was really sorry and you said yourself he made her happy. So would it be the worst thing for them to get back together? Which could only happen if she were told he likes her. Which we won’t do.”
“Enough,” said Maggie. “I’m hungry. Let’s get out of here and get some frozen yogurt.”
“Oooo, how about Shakesberry?”
“Yum!” cried Sula, and the phone went dead.
I looked back out the window and saw the girls hop into Sula’s car and drive away. I was so confused.
Hope was right — I could be tough, especially when it came to boys. My pride had been a hurdle all my life, but I could try being nicer. Even to Ben. At the very least, I decided, I wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt his feelings. And if he had really changed, if he really liked me, I might consider getting back together with him.
I’d said over and over that we’d get together again when pigs fly, but now I was considering it. But how could I let go of so much anger and the habit of disliking Ben?
* * *
“Clay,” says the male police officer. “We need you to answer our questions.”
Clay sits with his arms crossed and tucks his chin to his chest.
“You need to tell us what happened.”
Clay does not look up and makes no noise except for a stifled whimper.
“He’ll talk eventually,” says the female officer. “They always do.”
5
Simon Faneuil Best. Bio. Class. Ever.
Ben
The fetal pig is the most anticipated part of Messina’s tenth grade biology dissection unit. When I was a sophomore, kids were grossed out dissecting earthworms and chicken legs, so by the time we got to the actual dead baby pig, it was crazy. Me personally, I thought it was the coolest, sickest thing ever. Watching the girls freak out was the best part.
Now as seniors, because B and I had messed up yet another physics experiment, we were there when the lesson started for the current sophomores.
I had to laugh. Kids — and I mean boys and girls — squealed when they opened their plastic bags and tried to figure out if their gloves were tough enough to keep the smells of formaldehyde and pig death off their hands. Every few years you’d hear about a puker or a fainter. I was hoping to see one of those.
After things settled down, B and I hunched over our lab sheet, hoping to get done quickly. I’d been studying up and this time the mistake hadn’t been mine. I don’t think. Anyway, we were shoulder to shoulder so we could hear each other, and that proximity wasn’t exactly conducive to my focusing on the work. She smelled really, really good and all I wanted to do was lean even closer.
And then some genius decided to toss his pig at his lab partner to see what she would do. He did not, however, anticipate that she would have a startle reaction so strong that she would grab the piglet by the ears and fling it across the room to where B and I were working.
The carcass hit B smack on the side of the head, then landed on her notebook with a horrible squish. Formaldehyde whooshed out of the open belly of the pig and onto me. I recoiled, trying not to scream in some uncool way, and convinced myself that I would not puke. I wiped the formaldehyde off my face, accidentally flinging the droplets at a sophomore girl who bega
n shrieking uncontrollably. B shoved the carcass off her notebook to the ground and it flopped right on its baby pig head and rolled over. I was about to lose the no-puking battle.
Horrified, B jumped to her feet, knocking over the stool she had been sitting on, and tripped on the legs of the stool as she tried to get further away from the dead pig and landed on her butt. When I reached down to help her, I slipped on the puddle of formaldehyde oozing from the pig’s now-beaten-up remains, and nearly fell on her.
Sitting in the goo, too stunned to speak, with the shrieking of the sophomore girl ringing in our ears, B and I looked at each other and began to laugh.
Dr. Deutche took hold of the pale pink carcass and handed it with visible displeasure to the boy responsible for the chaos. “Ben, B, I believe flying pigs have rendered your experiment invalid. You both receive an automatic A. If you have gym clothes, why don’t you run to the locker room to change and maybe shower?”
“Together?” I whispered just loud enough for B to hear.
“In your dreams, Benjamin,” she said, but then she smiled.
A beautiful, honest smile.
Beatriz
For the past few days, I’d been walking a tightrope of flirtation and doubt. I had no idea if Ben was mocking me or if he was sincere. I had decided to wait for more clues. Or divine intervention.
We gathered our belongings and headed for the gym. While we walked, I tried to think of something to talk about. I asked, “So are your college applications done?”
“Not yet.”
“Why am I not surprised?” The slight came out before I could stop it.
“B, we’ve got weeks.”
“I know, but don’t you want to get them out of the way?” God! Why couldn’t I stop myself? But Ben didn’t counterattack, which surprised me. He only shrugged and then gave me a quizzical look, so I asked nervously, “Where are you applying?”