Freshman Year

by Annameekee Hesik

  With three minutes left in the game, Coach calls one last time-out. We’re up by seventeen points, so the game is basically over. “Abbey, Garrett, Tori, Nat, Eva, you guys are out,” he says, as our subs line up to be let in. “Great job out there.”

  My big ego nearly causes me to protest, but he’s right. We should let the second string in for a while. Besides, I’m drenched in sweat and totally exhausted.

  Matti, whom I have decided—with the help of my gaydar—is a total DIT (Dyke in Training), gives us towels and water, and we sit back to enjoy the rest of game.

  “Man, you guys kicked serious ass out there,” Tai says and rubs Garrett’s shoulders like she’s a champion fighter, which she kind of is.

  “Don’t, I’m all sweaty,” Garrett says, slapping Tai’s hand away, but then she leans back and allows Tai to hug her. “Babe, did you see my three-pointers?”

  “See them? I think the guy from ESPN is already playing them on tonight’s edition of Slam Dunk. And Abbey…holy drop shot, girl. Where did you learn that move?”

  “Oh, you know, I just picked it up,” I say, keeping a serious face for a second, but I can’t hold it because I feel like squealing. I’ve never felt so good about anything I’ve done.

  “Puh-leeze, I taught her everything she knows,” Keeta says as she settles on the bleachers behind me and joins the conversation. She sits with her legs spread apart, so I make myself comfortable as I lean back into her and smile up at her. She puts her arms around me and gives me a squeeze. She doesn’t even care that I’m all sweaty. “You rocked, Amara,” she whispers.

  Garrett clears her throat and bumps my leg with her knee, and that’s all I need to slap myself back into reality. What the hell am I doing? My mom’s probably watching us. I quickly sit up and push Keeta away, pretending I don’t want her attention.

  Keeta interprets my actions as playing hard to get. So she grabs my wrists and says, “Oh, she’s a feisty one tonight, Tai.”

  I struggle to try and free myself, but when she won’t let go, I whisper, “Let go, Keeta. My mom’s here.”

  She looks over her shoulder and sees what I mean. My mom’s sitting about seven bleacher steps away, talking to Kate.

  “My bad,” Keeta says and laughs like it’s no big deal. “Well, come on, Tai. We’ve got to get ready so we can show our girls how the real women at Gila High play basketball.”

  “Whatever, Keeta,” Garrett says and shoves them both. “You guys are losers.”

  As they leave for the locker room, Keeta slips a note onto my lap. But before I can read it, the buzzer goes off announcing the end of our game, so I have to shove it in my sock and save it for later.

  My teammates and I all high-five each other, then huddle up together to give a shout-out to the opposing team. We line up, and as I slap each one of the Saguaro girls’ hands, I’m already looking forward to next year. I can’t wait to stomp them again. Then I’m face to face with The Fridge. I brace myself for a really hard high-five, but instead she moves her hand to the side so I miss her altogether. This only makes me hate her even more.

  After Coach’s talk, Kate and I get cleaned up because my mom wants to take us out for a celebratory pizza at Magpies. My mom invites Jenn to join us after she plays, but Jenn politely declines and says that after her game, the varsity team has plans to celebrate the end of the season, which really means they’re going to go drink Dr Pepper and Bacardi in an undisclosed desert lot near Jenn’s house. Keeta’s going to be there, so I’m bummed out about not being invited to their party, but it’s better this way. I mean, I kind of owe it to both my mom and Kate to spend a little time with them.

  But I still need a little Keeta fix before I leave the gym, so I sneak off to the bathroom and read Keeta’s letter before we leave:

  A,

  Cómo estás, preciosa? It’s halftime and I have been lucky enough to spend the previous half hour admiring your strength and beauty as you play. You are like a graceful ballerina, a wild stallion, and a ferocious lion all wrapped up in one. It’s weird, but out there on the court, I see a side of you that makes me like you even more. But mostly I see how passionate you get about rebounding. Lol. What a turn-on, by the way.

  So I know I really screwed up the other night, and I’m sorry I made you wait up for me. I really do want to make it up to you, though, and I will. Actually, I want to make you feel like you do when you’re on the court, which I feel very confident I can do, if you’ll just give me the chance. (wink, wink)

  Well, there you are again in my old twenty-one jersey. Your sexy body is getting it all sweaty, which also kind of turns me on. Hmmm, I am seeing a pattern here. Man, you are in my head, Amara.

  Besos all over, lover girl,

  (especially on that spot on your neck that makes you moan)

  K

  I close my eyes and smile. I like being admired. I like being watched. And part of me likes that I somehow manage to turn Keeta on.

  *

  “So,” Kate says as the two of us wait in line to order the pizza, “does your mom know?”

  “About what?”

  Kate rolls her eyes. “Come on, Abbey. You know.”

  I look over my shoulder to make sure my mom’s still sitting in the booth across the restaurant. “God, I hope not. Why?”

  “I’m just wondering. I mean, you were getting pretty friendly with Keeta at the end of the game. What was that all about?”

  “Oh, yeah. I totally don’t know why I did that. Did my mom see us?”

  “I don’t think so, but you have me to thank. I had to distract her with gruesome details of how the staples on my stomach are itching.”

  I order the pizza and we get our cups for the soda machine. “Thanks, Kate. I owe you one.”

  “So when are you going to tell her, Abbey? I mean, take it from me, it sucks finding out from someone else or, you know, another way. Your mom’s so cool. What are you so afraid of?”

  “What am I supposed to do, Kate? Just sit down at dinner one night and drop the bomb on her? ‘Good evening, Mother, pass the potatoes, and by the way, I like to kiss girls.’ You don’t get it. It’s not that easy.”

  “Well, you have to do something. Besides, she might already know and she’s just waiting for you to say something.”

  “I know, okay?” Don’t get pissy and defensive, I tell myself, she’s just trying to help. “I’ll do it when I’m ready. I promise.”

  We walk back to the table and sit down with my mom, who looks at me, then at Kate, and then back to me. “What’s wrong? Are they out of black olives or something? You guys look so serious.”

  I still feel irritated from Kate’s nagging, so I decide to mess with her a little bit. “It’s worse than that,” I say and then swallow like I’m trying not to cry. “Mom, I have something to tell you. Brace yourself, this may be sort of shocking.”

  Kate looks over at me with giant Chihuahua-like eyes popping out of her head.

  “You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” I say. Now Kate’s squirming in her chair and gulping down Diet Coke. “But, well, I’m just going to say it…They’re out of mushrooms!” I fake sob into my hands.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  My mom’s sitting at the kitchen table playing Scrabble by herself when I get home from school today. This is a pretty normal scene, but this is no ordinary day; this is my day of reckoning. This is report card day, and my mom actually trusts me enough to let me get it from the mailbox myself.

  “Well, let’s see it,” she says, as soon as I dump my stuff on the couch.

  I know what she wants but feel like messing with her, so I say, “I haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re referring to,” in my best Southern belle accent. Of course, I’ve already hidden the report card in my pocket and I know exactly how I’ve done, but instead of giving it to her, I open the cupboard and rummage around for a snack, finally finding a forgotten granola bar behind a jar of spaghetti sauce.

  She puts out her
hand and clears her throat, but at least she’s smiling. “Do I have to tickle you for it?”

  “Hey, let’s not get crazy.” I pull it out of its hiding spot and place it in her hand. “You can have it, but I’m sorry to say it isn’t exactly what you wanted.”

  My mom slips on her reading glasses and slowly unfolds my report card. She glances over the class titles and grades, and then puts her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

  I crunch on another bite of bar. “Go ahead and say it because I already know I rock.”

  She squeezes me so hard that I nearly choke. “I’m so proud of you. Straight As, wow! You even got an A+ in Art and Biology.”

  “Well, it helps to have an amazing artist as your mom.”

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m incredible, but let’s talk about these rules.” I tap the fridge of doom. There isn’t an inch of the door visible behind all the stamped library cards she insisted on posting. “Am I a free woman again?”

  “Abbey Road, it’s good to have you back. Yes, you are a free woman. But—”

  “I know, I know. Don’t let it happen again.”

  Before she gets all teary-eyed and mushy, I break from her arms, whip out my cell phone, and race to my room, already dialing Keeta’s number. “Free at last! Free at last!” I scream before Keeta picks up at her end of the line.

  *

  A couple of weeks after being set free from my mom’s house rules, Kate and I are lounging in the quad at lunch like lazy lizards in the April spring sun. I’m feeling reflective and satisfied with life. Keeta and I have been spending more time together again, and my mom trusts me. Even better, Kate and I are back to being fulltime BFFs with no chance of ever parting. “Man, we’ve come a long way this year, Kate.”

  She laughs but then agrees. “No doubt.”

  “Don’t you feel different? Like, in a good way?” I ask.

  “Hmm,” she contemplates, “I guess, but mostly I feel stupid. Did you not notice that I wore a pink shirt with blue flip flops today? On a Monday no less? Disappointing.”

  So, there we are, reclined with our backpacks propping up our heads and our notebooks open on our faces, shading them from the sun’s harsh rays. I’m thinking about Keeta (of course) and how there’s only one quarter left of the school year, which means Keeta will graduate and leave me behind. I did finally gather up the nerve to ask Keeta about her post-high-school plans, but she said she didn’t want to talk about it and that I should stop trying to distract her while she was writing her name on my stomach in permanent marker. I also noticed a pile of unopened envelopes from colleges stacked up by her stereo and wanted to ask why she was avoiding them, but I knew better. Keeta will only talk about stuff on her terms. It took her four months to tell me why she had to work so much; she basically has to pay the rent and the bills for her apartment ever since her nana injured her hip.

  Back on the quad, a shadow falls over my notebook-covered face. I know it isn’t just a random student or Keeta (she’s at a senior class meeting in the gym) or a cloud passing by because the person is hovering over me.

  When I peek out from under my notebook and see who it is, I feel mega-guilty and a little embarrassed. It’s Mia, the girl from study hall who said I was cute. After she wrote me that crazy note, though, I did such a good job avoiding her that I sort of forgot how I blew her off. “Oh hi, Mia.”

  “Hey,” she says and sits down on the grass next to me.

  Apparently this isn’t going to be a quick visit, so I remove the notebook from my head and sit up. “So, you’re out, too?”

  She looks at me in a surprised sort of way. “Too? Well, yes, most people know about me.”

  “I mean, out of study hall. Did your mom let you off the hook?” I clarify.

  “Oh, that. Yeah, my mom could give a crap about my grades, or me. Ms. Morvay’s the one making me go, but I talked her down to twice a week. I can be very persuasive.”

  Behind me, Kate clears her throat and elbows me in the back.

  “This is my friend, Kate. Kate, this is Mia.”

  “Mia Thurber.” She leans forward and shakes Kate’s hand. “You’re a junior, right?”

  “All right, Mia. There’s no need to flatter her. She has a big enough ego as it is.” But it’s already too late.

  “I approve,” Kate says to me, then giggles while she packs up her things.

  “Where are you going?” I say and telepathically beg her to stay, but she’s too busy acting like a junior to notice.

  “Gotta find Sarah. See you later, Abbey. Call me!” As she walks off, she tosses aside her long brunette hair and shakes her butt a little more than usual. Oh God, it’s going to take a lot of effort to get her back down to earth.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys,” Mia says looking at me with her intense green eyes. Her short, spiky hair has grown out, and the ends are now dyed black. She seems so comfortable in her skin and it makes me feel nervous for some reason.

  Then there’s an awkward silence I need to fill, so I blurt out, “I’m sorry I never got back to you that day. Or, like ever. I’m sort of seeing someone. I should’ve just told you.” I try to keep eye contact with her, but she’s wigging me out a little, so I bow my head to the lawn and start to hand mow the area I’m sitting in. What a weird habit: making little piles of grass. I’m such a freak.

  She stretches her legs out in front of her, and I see she’s drawn little red hearts around her ankle, which surprises me. She doesn’t seem like the heart-doodling type, but then again, I don’t know anything about her except that she thinks I’m cute, so obviously she’s mental.

  “Sort of seeing someone? Is that like being a little pregnant or kinda dead? I don’t mean to be rude, but are you seeing someone or not?” She never seems to take her eyes off me when she speaks, and I feel them piercing the top of my head as I pick at the grass.

  What am I supposed to say to that? I mean, who does she think she is, questioning my life? If I need a lecture, I’ll call Jenn. “Well, okay. I am seeing someone, then. Happy?”

  “Oh. Well, that makes it much clearer anyway,” she says and smiles confidently. “Well, my offer still stands. I’d like to take you out sometime.”

  Man, this girl has some major ovaries. I mean, which part of “I’m seeing someone” doesn’t she understand?

  She looks away from me briefly when a group of girls starts screaming behind her, so I have a chance to sneak a peek at her. She’s wearing three tank tops, each one a different color, cargo shorts, and her usual Doc Marten shoes. And even though she’s being completely annoying, I can’t help but notice her cute crooked smile, which seems innocent and sweet. Then, after reading her tank top, which has a quote from someone named Ani DiFranco, I wonder if she is more trouble than her smile suggests.

  Mia is just about to say something, but I interrupt. “Where’d you get that tank?” I point to her tight black top, which actually looks like I’m pointing to her boobs because that’s how smooth I am. “I’ve never seen anything like it around here.” In high school, I’ve learned, originality is pretty hard to find.

  “I made it in advanced art.”

  “Really? It’s cool. My mom’s an artist.”

  Mia reclines next to me and puts her arms behind her head. Maybe she’s too comfortable in her skin. “Yeah? Well, it wasn’t that hard to do. I can make them in my sleep.”

  “I’m sure you can. You’re probably good at a lot of things,” I say and am pretty sure I sound a little flirty, which catches me off guard. I look back down at the grass to regroup. Is my life not complicated enough that I have to start flirting with Mia? I need serious psychiatric help.

  She’s caught off guard, too, I think because then she goes into a long, nervous mini-lesson on the art of screen printing. By the time she’s finished, she’s back to her old self and is now lying on her stomach.

  “Well, I really like that quote.” I nod to her shirt again, but since she’s
on her stomach, mostly what I’m nodding to is her cleavage.

  “Yeah. You probably can relate to it. To doing stuff wrong.”

  “How would you know?” I say, but I have a feeling she knows a lot more about my life than I first thought. I’ve learned that all the girls on campus, gay or not, make it their business to know everyone else’s business. I just wish I knew how much they all knew. Does Keeta kiss and tell more than just Tai? I look down again.

  “I can make one for you. I still have the screen somewhere in my room.”

  I abandon my lawn mowing and give my full attention to Mia again. “Really? That would be cool. But who’s Ani DiFranco?”

  Mia dramatically drops her head to the ground. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Then she grabs my leg, which makes me jump a little. “You mean you’ve never heard her sing?”

  True, my music knowledge is lacking, but I’ve been trying harder. In fact, I just downloaded the new Tegan and Sara album last week, so Mia should give me a break. “You don’t have to be such a snob. Just tell me who she is.”

  She props her head up on her open palm. “No. That would be impossible. I’ll just make you a tank top and a CD. Geez, this relationship is already costing me more than I’d like.”

  “Aww, you’re already tired of me?”

  She smiles. “Never. What color and size top?”

  Flirting with Mia is fun, so I continue. “Well, I like the one you’re wearing, but I’m not sure if it would look as good on me.” That makes her smile even bigger, which feels kind of cool.

  Then after we stare at each other for a little too long, she says, “So, let me make sure I’ve got this. You are, for sure, seeing someone?”