What's In It For Me

by Nelvie Soliven

  What’s In It For Me

  Nelvie Soliven

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Nelvie Soliven

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Quoting any part of this book without acknowledging the author will be intellectual theft. Plus, I’ll be pretty sad about it. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by Nelvie Soliven. Thank you for your support.

  What's In It For Me

  A teen novella

  Written by Nelvie Soliven

  What's In It For Me

  2010

  "Shakespeare's personal views as shown on his writings," Mrs. Locks was dictating as she wrote the words on the blackboard of our Advanced English Literature class. After writing the sentence with an elegant script, she faced the class and asked if we could share something about the topic. Several hands shot up. She contemplated for a moment as if looking for the perfect conversation starter. Now I know that has to be me.

  "This should be interesting," she said when she finally decided the person to call, "Mr. Alleyn, tell us your opinion." What?!

  Andrew Jet Alleyn was perhaps the most well-known overrated student in Greenvale. He holds several positions in school. He was the student body president for two years, the drama club president, a star quarterback in the school's football team and a straight-A student. He also came from a prominent family of academics, his father being a known surgeon and her mom a celebrated journalist. If there is one person I hate even more than William overrated-Shakespeare, that would be Andrew Alleyn. He has been stealing all the attention since Kindergarten.

  "Shakespeare's works practically focuses on the unpredictability of the people, of importance or not," Andrew started, "he believes in the power of the human soul to do great or malicious things -"

  He was not quite finished speaking when I shot my hand up. I, Kit Emerald Sherlock, am the most hardworking straight-A student in Greenvale High. I have been working three different day jobs (excluding professional babysitting service) to save for the future and to buy myself some books. I am hailed as the head of the debate team, president of the Ballet club and editor of the school paper. I am also the holder of the second highest GPA in the history of Greenvale high (the first being Andrew Alleyn.Ugh).

  Mrs. Locks noticed my ever so enthusiastic hand and felt compelled to call me, so she did. Andrew did not sit down, however; for he was used to this. I have been opposing him since Kindergarten. Which is the same I could say for him.

  "He believes in the power of the male soul, that is. He portrayed the females in his works as weak creatures." I felt the words leave my mouth smoothly, as if I've been born to expose Shakespeare's true dark nature to the world.

  Andrew turned to face me. He was sitting two seats in front of me. "Are you saying that Shakespeare's a misogynist? What about Lady Macbeth? She was not weak."

  I cannot believe this narrow-minded guy was now defending Shakespeare. It's like my enemies turned up against me and were BFFs suddenly. "Yes but she's evil," I was very passionate with my words, "If a woman's not weak, she's evil. Now don't you think he's a misogynist?"

  Several heads nodded, mostly girls'.

  "You lost the presidency, Sherlock," Andrew changed the subject. He knew he wouldn't win in the Shakespeare game. I am just so darn obsessed on hating Shakespeare.

  I was stunned for a moment, because what he has said stung. "Only because the girls in this school outnumber the boys 5 to 1," I shot back. That was very true, though. I have been monitoring the school's student population since my sophomore year.

  "And what makes you think the minority also known by the more common terminology the boys voted for you?" Andrew was now smiling smugly. What a jerk. He thinks he's so cute with that messy jet black hair of his and those sapphires he has for eyes. Most of the girls in our small town of Greenvale fall for that, but I'm not into those kinds of crap.

  At this point Mrs. Locks was smart enough to stop the bickering. The other students don't seem to mind. We were always like this in every class we shared, which were pretty much all advanced classes. Mrs. Locks calmly asked us to sit down. She turned to the blackboard and wrote the lecture on the smooth green surface.

  "You are so not the valedictorian this year," I muttered as I took my seat. Andrew Alleyn turned just so I could see him mouth these three words: you wish Sherlock. Jerk.

  ***

  "I really can't believe you signed up for this crap," my best friend Winona told me as we sat on a bench located near the football field. Winona was in her usual goth get-up. She was this all-black-bite-anyone-who-looks-at-you-suspiciously kind of girl and I liked her for it. I was (believe it or not) wearing a cheerleader uniform in green and white. I had tied my burgundy red hair in its usual ponytail.

  "I can't let that Alleyn brat get more extracurricular credits than me. I already lost the presidency two freaking years in a row," I replied as-a-matter-of-factly and took a sip from my juice box, "besides, this is a great workout opportunity."

  "You already have yoga," Winona was saying with a mouthful of fries, "and ballet."

  "Wins," I said as-a-matter-of-factly "that's why I've such a hot bod."

  Winona rolled her eyes in a manner that is so Winona Richards.

  "Gotta go," I took one last sip of juice, forced the juice box on Winona's hands and ran towards a group of cheerleaders. I was not really nervous auditioning for the team, but I'm not really excited either. I don't even understand why it was socially accepted (and even encouraged) to wear silly garb and chant around enchanted voodoo spells to make your team win the championships.

  "You're lucky I chose to be your best friend!" Winona shouted at me, and I abruptly stopped and looked back. That was just Winona being herself.

  "Last time I checked, there was no line!" I shouted back laughingly and proceeded to the direction of the cheerleaders.

  The cheerleaders were giggling when I approached. They were probably talking about shopping or getting their nails done. Tara Olsen, the blond captain, noticed me and stopped giggling. Her ladies-in-waiting stopped as well. I wondered what spell Tara had put on them.

  "Oh my God, I totally forgot about auditions for today," Tara said, "fine, you're in."

  I could swear my eyes were wide in incredulity, "That's it?"

  The other cheerleaders were looking at each other then at Tara.

  "Are you sure? I mean, she may not handle the work," an olive-skinned cheerleader asked Tara.

  I suppressed a laugh. Now that was what I call comedy. "I'm sure I can handle anything."

  But it seemed like the cheerleaders didn't hear me. They were absorbed in looking at something past behind me. Mildly annoyed, I turned around. My annoyance turned full-scale when I saw Andrew Alleyn running towards us. He removed his helmet when he reached the group. His hair was wet with sweat. Or was that water? Either way, it's gross.

  "Hey ladies," he greeted the cheerleaders with a smile, "Sherlock," he nodded at me. It was a nod a man gives his arch nemesis. I was just that to Andrew Alleyn.

  Tara literally pushed me aside and put her arms on Andrew's shoulders. Andrew inconspicuously removed Tara's hand and turned to me, "Scavenging for much needed extracurricular credit, Sherlock?"

  I sneered as fiercely as I could, "I'm just looking for ways to contribute to society," and narrowed my eyes at him, "you would never ever relate to that, Alleyn."

  "She's one of us now, but we can drop her off if you want," Tara told Andrew all goo-goo eyed. What?! D
id he just put a spell on her or something?

  Andrew smiled at her, "that wouldn't be necessary."

  "Yes that wouldn't be necessary," I was not keeping my narrowed eyes off of Andrew, "I quit."

  "See, she quits," Tara shrugged.

  I was just about to turn when I calculated all my extracurriculars in my head. There's ballet club, the school paper, debate team and the take-no-credit-just-for-the-art poetry club. That won't do. I really need to be a cheerleader so I can easily pass gym. Apparently, my gym coach does not believe that yoga gives me all the fitness I could get without being all sweaty and worn-out. That's despite of all the articles and health magazine cut-outs I showed her.

  "On second thought," my heart skipped a beat, "I think I'll stick around."

  Andrew raised an eyebrow.

  "When you lose your game against Jackson High, the view will be better here," I was more confident now. Despite being a loyal member of our school's student body, I am not a fan of our football team. The simple explanation to that was Andrew Alleyn being a huge part of it.

  The cheerleaders were shocked. They, as I've noticed for the past three years, were very sensitive when it comes to this issue. They were like the football team groupie, if you will.

  "We don't talk like that," Tara told me, wide-eyed. Of course you don't.

  "I know. But I do," I kept my evil eyes on Andrew, who just stared back. There was a brief clash of blue and green.

  "That'll never happen as long as I'm there playing, Sherlock," Andrew said confidently.

  "We'll see, Alleyn," I challenged, "we'll see."

  ***

  "Go away, Sherlock!" Bruce Benet was yelling from the other side of the fence. He was the captain of the Greenvale football team. He was very famous for his six-pack, which started out as a rumor but was then confirmed when Jon Dover, the school paper photojournalist [accidentally] slipped into the boy's locker room and got a clear snapshot.

  "Please Bruce, I need this for my senior thesis," I pleaded, "I promise I won't include your name."

  "I already told you, I'm not into steroids!"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Go away or I'll sic the dogs on you!"

  I backed off a little. He has said the magic word. I've always been afraid of dogs since I was a kid, "Fine! But if you ever changed your mind, you can see me at school or -"

  "Just go away already!"

  "I'm going!" I have to yell back. I can't just let anybody shout at me like that. Even if they have a legendary abdominal area. I clutched my commonplace book tighter and started to head back home. The wind blew harder and within minutes, cold rain was pouring hard. I looked around me for shelter and there was this coffee shop I have never been before. The inside of the shop was very warm and smelled of cappuccino.

  I felt worse than the day a guy named Jason Bland told me to leave him alone because I'm not his type. I mean, I was just telling him, hypothetically, that if he would ever ask me out he should let me pay my own bill. As if I'm really looking forward to dating him. He was this psychotic rich kid who thinks everyone's in love with him. That kind of attitude was so Andrew Alleyn, so male dominancy thing. They think they're better than everybody. I rested my head on the table and closed my eyes, taking in the sweet smell of milk smothered caffeine. This coffee shop, which was basically empty except for me and an old couple on the far side, felt like a sanctuary.

  "Would you like a comforting cup of coffee, Miss?" a voice said from out of the blue.

  I knew very well who had just spoken, even though I haven't had a glance of the person. The voice was very familiar, only the tone was different, almost friendly. I shot my head up and looked into the blue eyes of Andrew Alleyn.

  "Well, well, well," his tone quickly changed from friendly to snide as soon as he saw me, "what are you doing here, Sherlock?"

  "I didn't know you work here," I told him. To be honest, I was even shocked that he's working.

  Andrew sat on a chair opposite me, "Maybe you don't know everything about me, Sherlock."

  I gathered my things and stood up. I have no business here, in the coffee shop where my archenemy works, "Whatever. I'm going home anyway."

  "It's still raining outside," Andrew looked out the shop's window.

  I shrugged, "I'll make a run for it." And I'll better run fast, my house was a good block and a half away from here.

  "Wait," Andrew stood up and headed to the counter, "I think I have an umbrella you can borrow."

  I raised an incredulous eyebrow. "What's in it for you?" I asked as Andrew handed me a plain black umbrella.

  Andrew shrugged, "I don't know, maybe you can buy me dinner," his eyes widened as he thought of a better idea, "or better yet, take me to your house now and make me dinner."

  "What about your work?"

  "Nah, I'm just a volunteer staff here." I blinked. Did he just say "volunteer"?

  "Won't your parents look for you for dinner?"

  Andrew scratched the back of his neck. A thing he always does when someone brought up his parents. I doubt he has a very good relationship with them. During PTA meetings, it's always his aunt Margot attending, whereas both my mom and his boyfriend attend.

  "I positively doubt that." Sure you do.

  "Okay. But you have to promise me that you won't destroy me in my own home."

  "I can't promise that, Sherlock. You've been trying to destroy me since Kindergarten."

  That's true. Very true.

  ***

  "Mom, the wicked witch is back," my younger brother Wesley yelled at my mom upstairs as me and Andrew walked inside the house.

  Andrew smiled at Wesley, "I like your brother."

  "Yeah, few people do," I said as I shook my hair to remove traces of rainwater, "he's an alien, I'm telling you. Don't make eye contact."

  Andrew quickly turned to me, "Aliens don't exist."

  "Aliens don't -. Listen to you. Of course they do. I can't believe how short-sighted you are." This guy seriously needs work.

  My mom, Rose Sherlock walked downstairs. Her blond hair, unlike mine, which was red, cascaded beautifully on her shoulders. Judging by her looks, firm skin and very few wrinkles, people must've assumed she married when she was a teenager. In reality, she married Robert Sherlock when she was 17 and he 20 due to the insistence of his authoritative parents and her poor folks. He died in a freak accident just a day after Wesley was born. I was five back then. Now my mom was going out with a computer programmer 5 years her junior. People kept talking about it as if it was a big deal but it never bothered the Sherlock household, which was happy and complete as ever.

  "Oh honey," she was saying as she descended the staircase, "we already had dinner. You just go right in the kitchen and -" She stopped midsentence when she saw my guest.

  "This is Andrew Alleyn from school," I casually pointed at Andrew with my thumb, "He's here for dinner."

  My mom smiled at Andrew it almost made him blush, "Of course. Andrew." Her mind travelled to the time when I was five - the first time I met Alleyn. "From the sandbox?"

  I rolled my eyes in despair. "Oh my God, mom, that was like, ten years ago."

  But I can tell from the looks of her that she can well remember that fateful day in the sandbox where I first met the boy I would hate years later as if it was only yesterday. It was just a funny anecdotal moment, of course. Something a mother would want to catch on tape so she would have something to blackmail her daughter with later on.

  It was a sunny Saturday morning. My mother was busy feeding baby Wesley so I managed to slip outside the kitchen door undetected. I knew mom would be scared to the point of insanity when she realized that I'm not in the kitchen eating my lucky stars and marshmallows anymore. That's why I snuck off in the first place. The playground was just a few walks away from our house, which could pretty much be in our own backyard. I loved the fact that the other kids would have to ride their bicycles just to get there. However, when I finally got there, a boy I've never seen before arou
nd was playing in the sandbox. He wasn't even playing. Technically, he was just sitting on the sand with his back on me. Out of juvenile curiosity, I approached quietly. When I was so close I could smell Johnsons baby bath, I saw that he was actually adding up three four-digit numbers. His little fingers etching the numbers on the sand. For a five-year-old, that was pretty mesmerizing. I was even more mesmerized when he took my hands and let me add numbers with him. I thought I earned a special friend that day, and I was right. But I lost him the day I realized that he was harvesting more gold stars in Miss Fletcher's class.

  "That was thirteen years ago," Andrew whispered close to my ear for added insult, "your Math's slipping, Sherlock."

  I nudged my elbow to his sides. "I was never good in Math, jerk." I whispered back. I made sure my mom did not hear that.

  Then again, maybe she did, although she didn't let on. She's my mom after all. "I'm sure there's food in the kitchen. Help yourselves," she ascended the stairs. Just to make sure she didn't get the wrong idea, I would tell her later that evening that Andrew, was not (oh definitely not) my boyfriend.

  "The kitchen's right over here," I led the way to the kitchen the way a farmer leads his dumb cow.

  "Your mom's insanely pretty," Andrew was still stunned by the encounter. Typical reaction.

  I just shrugged and opened the fridge, "You can have one of my mom's salads," and handed him a plastic box of vegan salad.

  "You know I'm a vegetarian?" he asked incredulously.

  "I Googled."

  "I never told anyone about that, not even Google." He said Google as if that was some kind of a back-stabbing friend.

  "I know a lot about you, okay." I shrugged, "Besides, remember your petition for more veggies in the cafeteria menu?"

  He slumped, "Oh that."

  "You almost lost the student elections because of that." I mused.

  It's weird that we've known each other since forever but we've never talked longer than a few debating dialogues. I know, for a fact, that he was vegetarian since age nine, when he witnessed the brutal murder of his pet pig courtesy of the local butcher. His parents argued that Apophos was getting bigger and bigger for a pet pig. Truth be told, I felt slightly sorry for him during those days. His grades faltered and he got his lowest grade ever during this difficult phase in his life: a solid A minus. My lowest was a B plus, during which I cried an entire five hours straight. It has something to do by the fact that my Social Studies teacher has a very different opinion than me when it comes to the civil rights of women. Back to Alleyn, I knew that his first kiss was Melinda Brooke who was two years his senior. I was there that fateful day, armed with my trusty cam and cleverly disguised as a balloon vendor with pink hair. It's not that I'm his stalker or anything; I just made it my business to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.