I mean, for one, I’m still mad tight with Jake. I go to his writing club with him and I even like it sometimes. And Jake’s about as far away from gangster as you can get, since he’s white and nerdy and emotional and stuff. Also, I’m basically a part of the Schwartz family. That’s not very thug. And I don’t want to be all ghetto or whatever. I want to be a big producer, right?
I can’t believe that I spent the whole day talking to Hannah, all the way from the set in the afternoon to the Schwartzes’ Malibu house where we stayed tonight, and I didn’t even get the real me across. I mean she did a good job of smiling and pretending to be interested in my stories, but I probably seemed like such a fool to her, all obsessed with gang stuff. That’s like the opposite of who I am. I don’t want her to think of me that way.
Jake got sick this afternoon. He came up to me and Hannah when we were talking, and he looked all pale and sad. He said he wasn’t feeling well. Then, instead of staying in Malibu with us that night, he made Mrs. Schwartz drive him all the way back north to home. I don’t know how sick he really was. Maybe he was bummed out that today wasn’t the perfect best friends birthday memory like he planned. Whatever. He’s the one who bailed. If he doesn’t want to hang out with me, then that’s his deal, right?
heyyy chicaaa
wut ^ girl?
enjoying the movie?
been sleeping lol. this class is sooo retarded
if we have to watch another movie about a white girl getting her period, i’ll cry
LMAO at least i was havin a good dream…
o ya? about certain high school boys?
i only hooked ^ wit Fabian ONE time!!!
ya but i bet u liked it…
¡UNA VEZ!
ya but how far did u go?
not tellin ;)
ay!!! u better watch out chica
¿por que?
u don’t wanna end ^ like hannah
¿chiquita blanca?
ya, u dont want all that chisme about you
dont worry got it under control
k i believe u then
really?
NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
luv u chicle
te amo luz
11 • Hannah Schwartz
Wednesday, November 11
That’s been written on the wall of the girls’ bathroom for the last week and a day. In layers and layers of Sharpie too, so it’s impossible to rub off. The janitors didn’t do anything about it and neither did the administration until my mom barged into Mr. Greene’s office today and practically blew out his eardrums from yelling so loud. So now they say they’ll paint it over first thing tomorrow. That’s what they say.
Obviously it’s not true that I’m a slut. Obviously! So I’m not feeling all worked up about this or anything, like it’s true. I’m not filled with sadness. Just hatred.
It helps that I know who’s responsible for this. Helps me direct my rage.
And it just so happens that the person who made this lie happen is the same person who wrote me a freaking love song a little over a week ago.
I’m not going to pretend like I know how boys’ brains work (little demons in hamster wheels are probably somehow involved), but I can pinpoint the exact moment when all this drama started. It was Monday of last week, when I went to Chad’s house to “study for our algebra quiz.”
Okay, first of all, it was funny that my mom ever bought that excuse. Chad and I don’t even have the same math teacher, and who studies for a quiz anyway? Adults are idiots. As long as you make up some kind of lie, you’re fine. Doesn’t even have to be good. I could have said, “Chad and I are going to go volunteer at the Sponge-Bathing Old People Clinic,” and my mom wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.
Obviously I was over at Chad’s for a different reason. Only thing is, he had a different definition of the word “reason” than I did. So we’re sitting on his bed, pretending to study until his mom has to take his little sister to ballet or whatever. And we were actually doing a couple of math problems, and that’s when it first dawned on me that Chad is fully stupid. Like, he kept saying, “how can x be a number? X is a letter. I think the book’s wrong.” It would be funnier if it weren’t so sad for humanity.
So Chad being painfully dumb was the first chink in the armor. But then came the massive, comet-sized dent. As soon as we hear his mom leave, I clear the books off of the bed. Because I’m like, ready to make out, right? And I put my head on the pillow and I kind of close my eyes because I want the moment to be super-cute, right? Because we’ve never made out lying down before, and that’s kind of like a milestone. But then all of a sudden, right when I’m ready for the magic, I feel this sharp pain in my chest, and I open my eyes and that jackass is not only groping but squeezing both of my boobs, as if they’re freaking stress balls! What was he trying to do, stunt my chest growth? Counter-intuitive much?
I took his hands off of me and kind of laughed it off at first because this was back when I used to think Chad’s pathetic attempts at humor were worthwhile. And so after he let go, it got okay for a little bit. He lay down and he started kissing me and it was nice. Well, as nice as making out with a secret creep could have been. But then, Chad’s hands, which had been right where I wanted them to be, palms on the bed, started moving. They made their way onto my shoulders, down my arms, around my waist, then he started playing with my belt, and then he—
And then I slapped him so hard, so effing hard, that I think there might still be an imprint, or at least pain. Serves him right. I mean, who did he think I was—an eleventh grader? The easiest girl at Camp Whorebag? Or—God forbid—Ashley Clarke? I said, Get away from there in my sternest voice possible, and I got up and called my mom, and she picked me up and took me home. The whole experience wasn’t that scary or anything, just frustrating. I mean, I broke my no-boyfriend rule for Chad because I thought he was the best SP had to offer, and he turned out to be nothing more than a perv disguised in a cute, sensitive water polo player’s body. I wouldn’t say he broke my heart or anything, but he definitely shattered my confidence in boys. Probably forever.
I went straight to my room and I updated my Facebook status to “single,” and I was expecting that to be the end of it. Yeah, I thought Chad might spread the story, and yeah maybe word would get around that I’m a prude, but there are worse things in life. Better than the alternative, right?
So imagine what it felt like to walk into the girls’ room during nutrition break on Tuesday morning and to see that. That lie. Instantly I knew Chad was responsible because it was even written in his remedial-preschooler handwriting. And you know what? Maybe I was a little bit ready for a cheap trick like this. But what I couldn’t have seen coming was…well, how much of an opportunity it provided for everyone else.
I mean, people didn’t even seem surprised. Like, now that it was “official” that I was a big fat ho, they could just look at me and talk to me like I was…like I was lesser. And of course no one believed my side of the story. Because a dirty bathroom wall is totally more convincing than a real live human being. I could see everyone staring at me in the halls like I was that girl from that one famous book, the girl who wasn’t supposed to have sex but did and everyone knew it. The girl with the big A on her boobs. I mean, Kristen and Rachel, for God’s sake—who I thought were my two best friends—when I tried to tell them what really happened, they looked at me with these pointed little smirks, as if to say, “Sure, hon… but we know what really happened.… We know what you really are.…” And honestly, I am not going to take that crap from Kristen, because she’s done way worse stuff with Alex, only no one ever gives her a hard time about it because they’re “in love.” People just wanted a reason to hate me, and now they’ve got one and no one cares if it’s BS.
I guess this whole ordeal has provided me with the chance to see who my real friends are. Namely, nobody. But my family has stepped up in a surprisingly big way. Mom of course has stayed up with me like, every night. Daddy let u
s visit the set this past weekend on one of his busiest days. Jake’s cut down on the stupid little-brother comments. And even Danny—remember him? Little Mister I’m-gonna-take-the-bus-every-day-and-try-to-find-myself-and-rediscover-what-it-means-to-be-a-cholo? Yeah, he turned out to be the most stand-up guy of them all. I spent like, the whole weekend talking with him.
Honestly, I really haven’t been that upset about this whole thing in a few days. Still über-pissed, yeah, but I know the truth, and over time I think I can help everyone else see it for themselves, too. Talking to Danny really helped me. It put things in perspective. I mean, when I think about it, I have it so easy. My life has essentially been struggle-free. Yeah, I’ll have the occasional hair emergency, or Daddy will buy me an ugly outfit and expect me to wear it, and I wish my chest was bigger, and I wish my butt was smaller, and I really do have such awful friends, but those aren’t the worst problems ever. Danny knows guys that have like, shanked each other. Now that’s some real drama. Like, scary drama. So who cares if the whole school thinks I’m a slut? Right? It doesn’t even matter. The important people know the truth. I don’t care what a bunch of dumbasses think.
Thanksgiving Break starts tomorrow! Before you go home today, please try and thank at least one teacher, administrator, or member of the custodial staff!
TODAY is the LAST DAY of the Thanksgiving Canned Food Drive! Put your cans into the bins in the front office. All food will be donated to the Pacific Relief Homeless Shelter.
A campus divided against itself cannot stand! Seventh and eighth graders have been fighting for far too long. Come to a special town hall meeting today at lunch, at which students from both grades will share their experiences and air their grievances. This event is being hosted by the leadership class.
Christian Athletes meets today at lunch in room 133. Christian Athletes: a fun place where sports and the Lord can coexist.
AFTER SCHOOL SPORTS RESULTS
Boys Soccer: La Mesa 2, San Paulo 0
Girls Soccer: San Paulo 3, La Mesa 1
(Lydia Hernandez–2 goals)
Boys Flag Football: Mission Viejo 21, San Paulo 0
Girls Flag Football: San Paulo 14, Mission Viejo 6
(Maricruz Perez–1 TD, 1 INT)
CONGRATS to San Paulo’s November Student of the Month…Nisha Patel! In nominating Nisha, her teachers described her as being “engaged,” “industrious,” and “cheerful.” Congratulate Nisha if you see her, and remember that you could be the next SPSOTM!
After Thanksgiving Break, all Oakland Raiders paraphernalia (jerseys, T-shirts, hats) will be banned from campus. Any merchandise discovered will be confiscated permanently.
And as always, San Paulo is a no gum, no iPods, no cell phones, no skateboards school! Those found with any of the aforementioned items will be given a detention. No exceptions.
HAVE A WONDERFUL BREAK! See you on Monday!
Identity Poem
everybody wants to be
a G like you see
when you watch TV
a baller, shot-caller
a have-it-aller
with skills like Kobe
only taller
a veterano, the number-one pimp
as long as you’re not
a Seabrook wimp
like me.
Not white, not brown
just in between
I’m one of their own
but haven’t seen
the stuff they’ve seen
my home is so far
away from their scene
and to them I’m not mean
you know what I mean?
and I feel like I’m grown
but I’m only thirteen
I’m not a true beaner
I’m just a bean
with brown on the outside
and white in between
12 • Jake Schwartz
Thursday, November 26
Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, I really do. I enjoy spending time with them. I choose to spend time with them. They are my favorite people in the world.
But Thanksgiving always sucks.
My family has a tradition as pointless as it is boring as it is cliché. At Thanksgiving dinner, everyone has to go around the table and say one thing that they’re thankful for. And although we all like each other just fine, more than the average Hollywood family I’d say, that doesn’t stop us from stinking when it comes to Thanksgiving. No one ever says the right things.
This year we invited the Uribes to join us for Pointless- boring-cliché-palooza. Sounds like that would make Thanksgiving better than normal, right? But, unfortunately, it still sucked. And we still all had to say what we were thankful for. It was in the back of my head the entire day. What would I say when it came to be my turn at dinner tonight?
The day went by quickly. The girls watched TV. My dad looked at scripts and made phone calls. Danny went across town to hang out and probably play tackle football or something cool like that. I stayed in my room, reading and working on my “Identity Poem” for writing club. It was one of those non-days that you can’t remember anything about a week later.
Until dinner, of course. That’s when plenty of memorable stuff happened, because that’s when we all had to go around the table.
My dad is thankful that we’re all healthy and happy. I’m not sure if he’s really home enough to properly gauge our happiness. On Danny’s birthday, which was one of the last times I saw Dad before this, I ended up leaving the set in tears. I’m not even sure why. I mean I know why, but I didn’t think I felt bad enough to cry about it or anything. It’s not like I wanted to cry, but I did. So that’s probably not a sign of happiness. Not saying I’m depressed or anything, but you know. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you planned them, and Danny’s birthday was an example of that. My dad doesn’t seem to remember. I wonder if Danny does.
Dad also made sure to include that we should all be thankful that we’re so secure financially. He’s feeling extra-secure right now because he recently closed a deal with a studio to green-light a third Planet Skull movie. I’m not really sure how it’s going to work out since Harrison Ford is getting so old. But that’s the thing about Hollywood. It doesn’t matter if it works or not—you get paid anyway. That last sentence was an actual quote from my dad tonight, by the way. He can’t go two minutes without talking about “the Industry.” Not even at Thanksgiving.
My mom is thankful that all the kids are growing up so well. She talked about how beautiful Hannah looked on Halloween night, and then she mentioned Danny’s summer growth spurt and how much of a man he’s turning into. Then for me, I think she realized that she didn’t have anything to say. I mean, not relating to the theme of “growing up.” When you’re sub–five foot three, sub–one hundred pounds, you don’t get to qualify as a man. Not by any measure. So yeah, Mom looked at me, she paused for a couple seconds, she smiled, and she said:
“Jake, you’ve got Dad’s strong chin.”
?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!
DOUBLE-U.
TEE.
EFF.
?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!
Was that supposed to be like a joke, or what? Out of all of the things in the world about me that she could have been thankful for—my intelligence, my warmth, my sense of humor, my loyalty, my, I don’t know, special Jake-ness—my mom—my mom, who I can usually depend on for a choice compliment—my mom who gave birth to me—picked my chin. My freaking chin. And my chin sucks. It’s nowhere near as manly as Dad’s chin. Or Danny’s, for that matter. This wasn’t even the most disappointing part of the night.
Danny’s parents, Oscar and Manuela, went next. They kind of did theirs together. It’s weird with the two of them. Sometimes when I’m around them, I’ll hear them joking or arguing or whatever, and I can’t understand what they’re saying because it’s in Spanish, but I know that they’re showing tons of personality, describing how they really feel. But when they’re around my parents, they�
��re always super-bottled up—they’re all “Yes, Mr. Jeffrey” and “Okay, Mrs. Judy.”
I don’t think they wanted to be at dinner, actually. My parents thought they were doing this great thing by inviting them, but something tells me that the Uribes would have been happier with extended family. Tonight they said they were thankful to my parents for employing them, obviously, and for the good meal “Mrs. Judy” had put in front of us—even though Manuela had made probably ninety-five percent of the dinner with no help from my mom, who had been watching the Macy’s parade and the dog show with Hannah.
Speaking of Hannah, her thanks was perhaps the most ridiculous of all. So, she’s really been blowing this whole bathroom wall thing out of proportion. I mean, yeah, it’s quite lame what happened to her, but really, it was one of those things that happens—like a bad grade on a test, or a pimple on the nose—that sucks for a day and then everyone forgets about it. Everyone except Hannah. She’s been acting all funeral-style for the last couple weeks—wearing black a bunch, posting lines of poetry as her Facebook status, the works—and when it was her turn to talk tonight, she put on this really somber tone of voice and she said:
“I give thanks to all who have stood by me. This…situation hasn’t been the easiest period for me, but you all made life just a little bit more worth living.”
I swear, that’s exactly what she said. Like she was a celebrity whose naked pics had been leaked to the Internet or something. I texted it to myself under the table so I’d be able to read it to Danny later so we could laugh about it.
Little did I know that Danny has been taking Hannah’s “situation” more seriously than anybody.
It was Danny’s thanks that really, really, really sucked.
Right after Hannah went—and I should have realized this earlier, but she was looking straight at Danny the entire time she talked—Danny looked at her, and he said, without missing a beat, “I’m thankful for you, Hannah.” And then he went on to talk about how strong she’s been throughout all this, and how much he’s enjoyed getting to know her better, and how meaningful their conversations have been over the last couple weeks—and all this in front of all of our parents, no less. A lesser man than I might have said, “Get a room, you guys.”
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