by J. Bengtsson
My eyes flew open as I raised my head and looked around. The class was indeed empty, and the little drill sergeant of a chemistry teacher was stalking her way to the back of the classroom.
“I’m going,” I said, catching her eye as I hastily grabbed my backpack and bolted to my feet. But in the melee, the strap of my pack caught on my lab partner’s stool, tipping it, and me, sideways. I tumbled ungracefully to the floor.
“Oh, my god.” Mrs. Lee hurried over and pulled the stool off me. I was about to thank her for her concern when I noticed her checking the chair for damage instead of me. Well, okay then. At least now I knew where I stood in this awkward threesome – squarely behind the inanimate object.
Rising to my feet, I dusted myself off, grinning. “Yes, I’m fine. No worries, Teach.”
Teach wasn’t amused by the shortening of her title, or maybe her distaste was with me in general. She pursed her lips as if I were a particularly unsavory flavor in her mouth. “You’ve been in my room thirty minutes, Mr. McKallister, and already you’ve disrupted the class, enjoyed a siesta, and destroyed my property.”
“Actually” – I directed her attention to the unscathed stool – “I don’t mean to be a stickler for detail, but technically the chair landed on me, so I think it’s fair to assume I cushioned its fall.”
A steely-eyed glare was her only response.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, attempting to ease the rising tension between us with a little schoolplace humor. “My lab partner dropped the ball on this one. But don’t blame her. She’s new to this whole thing, and evidently I forgot to outline her duties, which include waking me up at the bell.”
Like a rocket flaming on the launch pad, Mrs. Lee exploded. “Out!” Her finger shook as it pointed me toward the front door.
“It was a joke,” I mumbled. Jesus. She needed to take a chill pill. Come to think of it, I probably had one in my pocket for her. “I’m leaving; relax.”
Exhaling audibly, my chemistry teacher appeared worn and, dare I say, disappointed in me. “Why are you here, Keith? You obviously don’t care about your future, so if you don’t want to learn, go home. All you’re doing is wasting your time and mine.”
Normally I would have responded with a snarky comment, but her judgment bothered me enough that I was left speechless and feeling like a fool. With heat burning up my cheeks, I turned and exited the classroom. That’s when the anger set in. Who was she to talk down to me? It was her job to deal with wastes of space like me. If she didn’t like juvenile delinquents, then why the hell was she a teacher in the first place? Poor career planning, if you asked me.
Still, Mrs. Lee’s words knocked me off my game. I hated getting lectured by authority figures, maybe because deep down, I thought of myself as a good kid – redeemable. Although I suppose I could understand how others might not see me in the same light.
“So…” Gnat buzzed in my face as I stormed down main hall. “You got anything?”
“Not for you,” I answered, without even the benefit of a sideways glance.
“I got money,” he whispered, at least smart enough to keep his voice down to an almost inaudible squeak. “I can pay.”
“Fuck you,” I scoffed. Like I needed Gnat’s money. There were a hundred more insects just like him hovering in the wings ready to throw cash at me for a good time. Besides, after Mrs. Lee’s diss, I was in a foul mood, and someone had to pay. “You ruined my beauty sleep, Dipwad. Thanks to you, I’m going to be twenty percent uglier for the rest of the day.”
His buddies laughed. Gnat did not. “Come on, Kali. Don’t be a dick.”
Clenching my teeth, I fought the urge to pop him in the jaw. This was the downside to being Pearl Beach’s bagman. They never left me alone. And shits like Gnat really irritated the hell out of me. He knew the rules: no money or drugs exchanged hands within these walls. Everyone in the loop knew where to find me after the bell rang.
But he wouldn’t stop; kept pestering me for a dime. I’d had enough, so I grabbed Gnat by the shirt and pushed him against the wall with enough force to wipe the smirk right off his face. Careful to keep my voice low, I growled in his ear. “I’ll be sure to let my boss know who to thank for getting me kicked out of here.”
Horror swept across the kid’s face. “No. No, that’s not…”
“If you think you can do it better, take your paisley ass downtown and make the deal yourself. Have fun playing with the big boys, Gnat.”
If possible, his eyes grew even wider. These rich boys never wanted to get their hands dirty. They paid someone else to take the risk. Someone expendable, like me.
I let Gnat off the wall, and as he flew away, my eyes passed over several students glancing warily in my direction. Ah, shit. I hated that look. I wanted people to like me – no, I wanted them to love me. I wasn’t a heavy; never had been. But one thing I’d learned in this business was if you gave gnats a little space to spread their wings, they’d take over the world.
“Nice, Keith.” A slow clap accompanied a sarcastic female voice. “Way to make a scene on day one of senior year.”
I flipped around only to find my sister Emma standing before me with her flowing blonde hair, a dangerously short and low-cut flowered dress, and beach-ready flip-flops. Good lord. Could she get anymore cliché California girl?
“I see you left the Uggs at home,” I said. “Good for you.”
“I see you left your comb at home. Honestly, Keith, you look like you just stepped out of one of those 70’s communes where the leader was trying to poison everyone and you were only set free when the place was raided by law enforcement and then the cops gathered all the kids of the sister-wives together, sprayed them down with a hose, and sent them to the local school to be ridiculed and picked on.”
“That’s…” My brain took a moment to process her incredibly visual description of my hairstyle. “Very detailed.”
Emma nodded, and we exchanged nearly identical grins. I could feel the tension ease after the confrontation with Mrs. Lee. Sometimes I just needed my sis’s unique brand of humor.
“So, Jethro,” she said, now assigning me a cult name. “Do you have a problem with my outfit?”
Of course I had a problem with her outfit. Where to begin? Too much makeup. Too much leg. Too much boob. Too much of everything I liked to see on other girls – just not on her, my little sister.
Emma was only a sophomore, after all; too young for the attention she was receiving from the guys my age. More and more, I was finding myself in the unenviable position of shutting down conversations centered on my sister’s body parts. It was creepy, and it needed to stop.
“No way did Mom green-light this get-up.”
“Of course not. I changed in Lydia’s car on the way over.”
I pushed my backpack into her arms. “Here, wear this – on your front.”
“It’s not that revealing, Keith.” She glanced back at her posse, as if to get their reaction to my ridiculous request for modesty. “Until I’m dress-coded, the outfit stays. Geez, Keith, since when did you get so conservative?”
“Well, you know, back in the commune…”
Emma threw her head back and laughed. This was the sister I knew and loved – the one I could hang with and not worry about having to kick the ass of every guy who gave her a sideways glance. If only we lived in a chilly climate, my life would be so much easier.
Suddenly serious, Emma grabbed my arm and steered me away from her gaggle of friends, all while still impressively micromanaging the team. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you guys in a few.”
A chorus of giggles erupted from Emma’s squad. “Bye, Keith.”
I waved and smiled at the departing herd parading themselves down the hallway. I swear you could almost see the little animated hearts pulsing from their eyeballs.
“Stop encouraging them,” Emma complained once they’d gone.
“What? I’m telling you, Em, it’s the whole cult thing. Chicks love it.”
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br /> “Yeah, well, I don’t like that my friends think you’re hot. It makes me want to throw up in my mouth.”
I nodded, her comment making perfect sense. “I get the same shit about you, only instead of throwing up, I punch people.”
“Yes. And speaking of punching, you need to be careful, Keith. Strong-arming a hundred-and-twenty-pound sophomore is not up to school code. You can’t afford to get in trouble.”
I mimed a perfect pout. “He started it.”
“Well, you finished it, and that’s all administration needs to kick you out of here with a backpack full of pot.”
Emma never sugar-coated things, always telling me how it was whether I wanted to hear it or not. And since I didn’t have the type of friends who were up for deep conversations, Emma had become my go-to confidant. Contrary to what her appearance said about her, Emma was no mindless beach-bunny. In fact, she was the smartest person I knew… although to be fair, that wasn’t saying much.
“And not only that, but I overheard Mom and Dad talking about how to deal with you, and they were throwing around the idea of some family bonding and communication class. I mean, why should the rest of us kids suffer because you’re a dim-witted pothead?”
“Right, because god forbid we get closer as a family.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “We live in a shoebox. How much closer can we get? Look, all I’m asking is that you don’t be stupid. Can you do that for me, Keith?”
“Sure Em, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Good.” She patted my shoulder, smiling. “Now get to class. The bell is about to ring.”
The first rule of high school: never run. A tardy was always preferable to dashing across campus like an overeager freshman. Besides, getting to class on time had never been my thing. It just extended the amount of time I had to spend learning. And for that reason, instead of taking a direct path to my classroom, I ducked into the bathroom first, followed by a quick detour to the C-wing to check in on a hot chick I hadn’t seen since I’d made out with her at a party last week. She was happy to see me. Her teacher? Not so much.
By the time I wandered into fourth period, I was in trouble again. It was an endless cycle made possible by the fact that I couldn’t make a good decision to save my life. My irresponsible behavior could all be traced back to one very damaging character flaw – impulse control. Or rather, the lack of it. If something seemed like a good idea at the time, I did it, no questions asked and no costs considered. I’d always been of the mindset that it was better to deal with the consequences after the fact than to never have done it at all. And, while that approach had proved epic for me in the short run, long term it wasn’t nearly as satisfying… or safe.
Case in point – my side business. I could see now that I probably should have remained a gnat. But, no, I just had to become their king. It had all started out innocently enough. Last year, after my former dealer was arrested, I’d had no choice but to make my way downtown to refresh my supply. And since I was already going out of my way to get a dime bag for myself, why not pick up some extra herbage for my homies, right? And then, if I was taking that additional step for my friends, it would just be rude not to pick up a little something extra for the cheerleaders and jocks. I was a giver that way.
Of course, the downtown dealers knew a sucker when they saw one, and before I knew it, a smarmy dude named St. Nick was promising me riches and filling bags of weed in a sack like some stinky Santa Claus.
No. No. NO, my brain screamed at the time. Run, Keith. Run.
And, of course, that would have been the correct response – the smart choice. But the rewards – oh god, the rewards. They sounded amazing. Money. Popularity. Truck loads of cannabis. What could go wrong?
“So are we all in agreement? Vacation starts tomorrow?” Valentine asked. “First stop, Universal Studios?”
Warning lights immediately flicked on, blinking and swirling in my brain. My thoroughly exhausted, and whiny, voice of reason desperately tried to talk me out of it. There is no reason for a vacation, Keith. Senior year only started today. Don’t be a dumbshit, Keith.
My buddies and I, we lived for these mini vacations. They were the highlight of every school year. But never had we tried one this early in the game. It was a ballsy move, for sure, but the risk was what made it extra fun. Plus I was still smarting from Mrs. Lee’s comments, so anything that got me out of her class for a couple of days was a good thing in my book.
“I’m in,” I impulsively blurted out. And just like that, another shitty decision was born. “But if I’m taking the Surfmobile, you guys better lay flat in the truck bed this time. I’m not getting another ticket because of you.”
“You hit a pot hole,” my fellow stoner Walt complained. “We weren’t sitting up, we were levitating.”
“Yeah, well. No levitating in my fucking truck. You know the rules.”
The others grumbled, but since I was the only one who owned a vehicle with the capacity to stack bodies on top of one another, they had no choice but to agree to my conditions.
“Hey, Kali, you want to hear the coolest story ever?” Screensaver asked. I glanced his direction, surprised by his participation. This was the guy who’d gotten his nickname because he literally did nothing all day, and that included talking. Screensaver typically rode out any discussion in a haze. He was what we called perma-fried, meaning he acted high even when there was no drug residue in his system. It was almost as if he had backup reserves of the stuff floating around in his lungs. But today – well, he was just extra giddy with excitement, which in turn sparked my curiosity.
“Sure. Hit me.”
“Last night I asked my dad if we could get a cat and he said no. I asked why and he said it was because Mom has allergies.”
Oh-kay. He lost me at cat. I turned in my seat, no longer interested in his shitty kitty story. I should have known better than to get my hopes up with this one.
Yet despite my completely ghosting him, Screensaver continued with his tale of tails. “So I said to him, ‘Once Mom dies, then can we get a cat?’ And Dad said, ‘Sure, bud, just as soon as she dies.’ I mean, is that like the coolest thing ever? I’m getting a cat. Dude, I’m so stoked right now.”
Raising a brow, I glanced back over. Holy shit! He was for real. I burst into a fit of hysterics, which only served to confuse my dopey friend.
“You do realize,” I said through the laughter, “that you’ll have to sacrifice your mom to get that cat, right?”
Screensaver pressed his lips together, not appreciating me questioning his reasoning. “Are you not listening to me, Kali? I’ll have a cat. God, sometimes you are so stupid.”
I could have argued with him, but what was the point? He wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Hell, he wouldn’t remember it in three minutes. Pulling my hood up, I took to scanning the lunch tables for intelligent life forms. If Screensaver was any indication, I’d need to look well outside the perimeter of my immediate circle.
In a school of over two thousand students, there was a wide world to explore. Too bad I never did. An interesting phenomenon had occurred with the jump from middle to high school. The stereotypical groups remained, only now the popular cliques had joined forces, their masses occupying a third of the outdoor quad. Dubbed Utopia, entry was strict. Either you were in, by belonging to a certain group, or you were hand-picked based on your athletic ability, your good looks, or some other value deemed worthy by the powers that be. I was in, and so were my boys, because of what I brought to the table – literally. Every group needed their friendly, local pot guru. But because Utopia was like an ecosystem all its own, it was easy to forget that three quarters of the school population lingered on the outside looking in.
My eyes narrowed in on my lab partner at a table located well outside of the coveted zone. What was her name again? I searched my memory banks but came up with nothing. Granted, I’d been seriously baked when I’d made her acquaintance earlier in the day. And even though I couldn’t
recall much of our conversation, the part where I sounded a lot like Screensaver came to mind. The platypus dream? Really?
She was sitting with her friend, the kinky-curly haired sneezer with the perpetually red nose. Now hers was a name I remembered. Everyone in the school knew who Shannon O’Malley was – the girl who had freakish allergies as well as the highest number of paramedic visits in the history of Pearl Beach High. She was the reason peanuts were banned from the lunch tables and epi pens were strategically placed throughout the campus. If ever there were a candidate for “The Girl In The Bubble” program, it would be poor, wheezy Shannon O’Malley.
My lab partner was deep in debate with her friend and hadn’t yet noticed me staring. I didn’t know what it was about her that caught my eye, but it probably had something to do with the way she was so engrossed in the conversation she was having. I wished I could say the same thing about the company I kept because the current discussion going on behind me would entice no one.
“Dude, I dare you to deep throat this pickle,” said Jordy, a.k.a Fire Crotch. He’d gotten his nickname from… well, I think you get the idea.
“You’re on,” Valentine agreed without hesitation. “Hand me that girthy fella.”
Those two were a powerful argument for abstinence. Distracted, I kept an eye on the girls who were still hunched over the table talking. What was so damn important? They acted like they’d just discovered the cure for cancer. Incidentally, such a medical breakthrough probably wouldn’t be all that farfetched for those two. Based solely on their unfashionable clothing, I guessed their IQ’s were at cancer-curing levels. There was no doubt in my mind that these two were going places – if Shannon didn’t contract a deadly virus first.
“What are you two talking about?” I whispered under my breath, surprised I even cared. Maybe I was just starving for something different. After all, eighty-four percent of the conversations I’d had with females today revolved around Starbucks. I hated that I knew the Frappuccino flavor of the month.