Trash Can Days

by Teddy Steinkellner

  Of course I was horrified, but I figured, Okay, he’s just leading off with Hannah since it makes for a nice transition. But then he’ll get to my parents and his parents and, well, you know, his best friend in the entire world.

  But nope. That was it. He stopped talking, he flashed a smile at Hannah, and then he looked over at me. Not because he had anything to say to his closest friend that he’s ever made in his entire life who does lots of really considerate stuff for him, but because now it was my turn to be thankful for something.

  At that moment, right after all I’d had to sit through, I felt thankful for nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I’m a terrible liar. So why even bother?

  With everyone looking at me, I sat there for a few seconds, without speaking or changing my expression. Then I reached out and grabbed my root beer and I took a big sip.

  “Jake?” my mom said.

  And I stared at her—and then I made eye contact with each person at the table—from Mom to Dad to Hannah to Manuela to Oscar to Danny—and I said, “No thanks.”

  “Jake—” my dad started to say, but I interrupted him by suddenly unleashing one of the loudest, nastiest, most reverberating belches in the history of Thanksgiving. Seriously, Pocahontas smelled this belch.

  And it felt so good. Here’s what I’m thankful for: I’m thankful that my throat decided to do that at that exact moment in time, because the looks on everyone’s faces after my epic burp were beyond priceless.

  And I have no idea what happened next. I stood up, calmly went to my room, quietly closed and locked my door. No one’s come to check on me or bring me food or make me apologize or anything.

  Thanksgiving always sucks.

  The Club Chronicles

  Part 26: Poseidon’s Orb

  By Dorothy Wu

  “Hahaha! Try and catch me!” Princess Dorothy cried as she leapt into the ocean, her turquoise mermaid’s tail glistening in the faint glow of the maize sun.

  “I must catch you!” her suitor called gallantly after. “For I love you!”

  The young man was none other than Prince Jacobim, the same dashing young warrior who always arrived to rescue Dorothy whenever she was in peril. He stood up tall on the rock where he had just been sunning himself. He ran his hand through his poofy, coffee-colored hair, flexed his lean, muscular frame, and gave a triumphant roar.

  “I must have you!” he shouted. “I must have you forever!”

  He snapped his fingers and in an instant his two legs combined into one, and scales and fins sprouted from his every pore. Dorothy gasped the gasp of elated surprise. He had taken merman form so that he could become closer to her.

  Jacobim dove into the waters with the grace of a swan nymph. He proceeded to swim up to Dorothy and kiss her passionately all over her face.

  “Oh, my Jacobim,” Dorothy whispered. “I have waited so long for this…for you to kiss me all over my face.”

  Then, suddenly, she pulled her face away.

  “But wait,” she said with concern. “Are you not still betrothed to Chastity Bubblemist, the youngest daughter of Poseidon?”

  “…Yes,” Jacobim admitted, his cheeks flushed. “But I have never loved her. It is you I want, Princess Dorothy, and I do not care who knows it! Not even Poseidon himself!”

  Suddenly, a rumbling in the waters!

  “WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?!” came a giant bellow from below.

  “Oh no! Poseidon!” Dorothy shrieked.

  “He has heard every word!” cried an alarmed Jacobim, less fearful than Dorothy, but still worried.

  A hundred-foot-tall wall of water formed in front of them, but instead of crashing down on them as a wave, it turned into a gargantuan water face—a terrifying water face—the water face of Poseidon.

  “JACOBIM, YOUUU FOOOOL! HOW DARE YOU BREAK THE TERMS OF YOUR ENGAGEMENT WITH MY DAUGHTER! NOOOOW YOUUU MUST PAY THE PRIIICE!”

  Poseidon pursed his humongous lips together and began to blow a bubble. But this was no ordinary bubble—Dorothy knew that right away. This was Poseidon’s Orb, the legendary prison that the Lord of the Sea created only for those that he most loathed. Once surrounded by the impenetrable walls of Poseidon’s Orb, one could never hope to escape.

  Dorothy was expecting the Orb to form around both her and Jacobim, as an eternal reminder of their sin. But instead it only surrounded Jacobim.

  She looked up at Poseidon in surprise. He looked down at her in evil.

  “LITTLE WENCH,” Poseidon called to her. “YOUUU HAVE ERRED GREATLY, BUT I WILL FORGIVE YOUR MISTAAAKE. JUST STAAAY AWAAAY FROM THIS DISHONEST FOOL.”

  Dorothy narrowed her eyebrows and looked up at the Lord of the Sea with steely resolve.

  “Never,” she said, softly but strongly. “I love him.”

  13 • Jake Schwartz

  Friday, December 4

  So I have a secret admirer. Or, I should say, a Secret Santa.

  It makes me so excited, thinking about it, and admitting to that makes me feel like Hannah, which makes me feel less excited. But still. How can I not be psyched? There’s someone who admires me—secretly!

  It all started the first day back from Thanksgiving break. I went to my locker in between second and third and there was this big green-and-red heart taped to the front of it, and taped to the heart there was a bag of Peach Rings. Now, that happens to be my favorite candy in the world, and very few people know that. So at first I was thinking, you know, that Danny or Hannah was trying to make Thanksgiving up to me. But A) those two still don’t seem to realize what they did, and B) neither one of them would ever publicly give me a paper heart—Danny because he’d be seen as gay, and Hannah because she’d be seen as nice. So that’s when it occurred to me that, yeah, I’ve got a serious secret admiring Santa on my hands.

  The next day, when I went to my locker at the same time, I found another treat. This gift was a little stranger and oddly practical: a bag of brand-new Bic Ultra Round Stic Grip pens. My favorite pens. And the thing is, I actually needed some new ones because all my old ones are out of ink, and I’ve bitten the caps on them so much that they’re all gross and disease-ridden. Attached to the bag there was a typed note that said, “So you do not have to keep asking people for theirs. XOXO Secret Santa.” And Secret Santa was right. I had been asking people in class to borrow their pens for days. So I guess that’s a hint. My secret admirer is someone who has classes with me. That’s good. I wouldn’t want it to be like, some random person.

  I’ve been getting gifts every single day, like Advent calendar–style, and they always appear on my locker right between second and third. The crazy thing is that no one’s seen anyone put anything there. I’ve been getting some bizarre stuff, too: superhero rub-on tattoos, origami cranes, cute little drawings, a yo-yo…and the present I got this past Monday was the wildest one yet.

  It was a little soap sculpture of me. Just like the ones Boo Radley leaves for the kids in To Kill a Mockingbird, which my Secret Santa must have known is my favorite book. And yeah, I hope this doesn’t mean that my Secret Santa is a creepy pale man who lives down the road. But this little carving is seriously cool. It’s wearing a hoodie, just like I usually do, and the fro is just right. Carving a fro out of soap must take a long time. So this person is clearly pretty into me, and clearly that’s pretty awesome.

  I think I know who it is. It has to be someone who’s in a bunch of my classes but who also knows me outside of that. For a while, that’s the thing that was giving me trouble. Where have I said all this personal stuff? My favorite book, my favorite candy, my story about how I was the only kid in third grade who couldn’t make a paper crane…and that’s when I realized. The only place I’ve talked about myself that much is in writing club, in our warm-up exercises. My Secret Santa has to be someone from writing club.

  My Secret Santa must be Whitney Dealy.

  It feels good to say. And it feels good to be liked. I mean, I don’t know if I liked her before, but I don’t think I’ve ever really liked someon
e before, so I don’t know how it feels, really. And now that I’ve put it together that it’s her, I really do feel happy about it. Whitney is cute and nice, I like her long brown braid, she seems to have good fashion sense, and although I don’t really understand why she’s so obsessed with horses, I would be willing to learn more about them if we started dating or something. Maybe we could even go riding together.

  To be honest, it’s a huge surprise that someone as cool as Whitney would be interested in me. But from the note I got on my locker today, it seems pretty apparent that it is her. It says:

  Jake,

  You must be dying to know who I am. Be patient! I will reveal myself at some point during the last week before break.

  But until then, here is a hint: D.

  XOXO,

  Your Secret Santa

  P.S. Omnia vincit amor

  D. The first letter of her last name. That’s a good hint. I mean if her name was like “Denise” or something, then it would be too obvious, because I could just guess right away. And yeah, I guess the hint is still easy this way too. But maybe Whitney wants me to know it’s her.

  After all, the P.S. is a super-cinchy hint too. It’s Latin. There aren’t even that many girls in my Latin class, so Whitney kind of tipped her hand there. Omnia vincit amor. It means, “Love conquers all.” I guess that’s a little over the top, but I understand. It’s not as if Mr. Gates has taught us how to say, “Strong like conquers all.” Plus, I like it. It’s the kind of thing I would write to someone I secretly admired.

  It will be exciting to see how she chooses to tell me. I have to admit that I’m really looking forward to it.

  And I’m really really looking forward to being with a girl, holding hands with a girl…and, you know, kissing a girl. Okay, see, well, I’ve never gotten kissed before, exactly. I’ve told people that I’ve been kissed—like I told Danny that I kissed Becca Wolfson at camp—but that was less about telling the truth, and more about not seeming like a loser. This is back in the days when Danny didn’t think I was an overly emotional, schoolwork-obsessed, sucky-at-basketball, birthday-ruining loser.

  But D doesn’t think I’m a loser. Or, I should say, Whitney doesn’t. Whitney wants to be friends with me, and more than friends with me, because she really, genuinely likes me. This is someone who understands and appreciates me for what I’m actually like. I can’t wait to understand and appreciate her.

  14 • Danny Uribe

  Saturday, December 5

  I was planning on hanging out on the other side of town today. I wasn’t planning on taking Hannah with me. But I did, and I’m happy I did.

  This whole thing started weeks ago, back when me and Hannah first started talking more. Every time I brought up my cousins, the Eastside, whatever, she would ask all kinds of questions. And I’d be happy to tell her the truth because like, I don’t really have anybody to talk about that kind of stuff with. But when she started asking if she could come and check the scene out for herself, I just told her hell no. It’s not like I thought I was gonna be embarrassed by her over there. I wasn’t even that worried about what Mrs. Schwartz would do to me if she ever found out, even though she would probably run me over with her SUV. It’s just that I didn’t want Hannah to have a bad time. On the Eastside, you never know.

  But Hannah. Man. When that girl wants her way, you can’t tell her no. So this afternoon when I said I’m heading out and she said I’m coming with…well, that’s what we were doing. I told Jake, Sorry dude, I can’t hang out, it’s my cousin’s birthday, and Hannah told her mom, Sorry, I can’t go shopping, I’m studying at Kristen’s. We timed our exits so Jake wouldn’t see us leave together. And we were on our way.

  Well, first I made her change what she was wearing. Before we left, Hannah had this nice pink sweater on and these fancy-ass jeans with little shiny things on them and all kinds of necklaces and jewelry and stuff, and I was just like, No, you have to wear the cheap version of this. And she said, I don’t own the cheap version of this. So then I said, Fine, you have to wear your P.E. clothes, and I think that made her really sad for a second, because girls are weird, but then I told her I was kidding. But yeah, she did have to put on something that would help her not stick out so much.

  Not that it was gonna help. As soon was we got on the bus, she got all kinds of stares from people, stares that were like, This girl doesn’t belong on the bus. Hannah didn’t help herself much, either. She kept on asking me questions. Why do people keep pulling on that cord above our heads? Why aren’t there any seat belts? Why does that lady have a beard?

  By the time we got to the bus stop on Castillo, I decided that this was officially a bad idea. I was all ready to go back to Seabrook. But right as I was gonna tell Hannah that, she grabbed my hand with both of hers and she gave it this little squeeze. I couldn’t believe how warm her hand was. Then I looked at her and she was giving me this smile, this smile with mad dimples and stuff. I don’t know if brainwashing is real, like in the army and stuff, but if it is, then I bet they use hot girls. Because right then I would’ve done whatever she wanted.

  It was just a small crew over at Javy and Carlos’s. Besides my cousins, only Edgar was there. They said that Gordo was off rolling with Junior, which means Gordo was off rolling with the Raiders. Finally, I guess. He’d been talking about jumping in for weeks, saying Guillermo this and Guillermo that, saying I’m gonna be made this position, saying I’m gonna recruit that kid. It’s crazy that Fat Boy joined for real, though. I hope he’s happy. And I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. But knowing Gordo, he’s only gonna be happy if he’s doing something stupid, like rubbing his man boobs all up in Guillermo’s face or something. Oh, man.

  It was a little awkward when me and Hannah first got there, but the guys were all nice to her. Only Javy and Carlos know about me living with the Schwartzes, but the rest of the guys have heard me talking a lot about Hannah before. Everyone knows I think she’s cute. Everyone wants me to get some. The guys know to be cool around her.

  We didn’t really do too much. Just sat around and talked. Javy, Carlos, Edgar, and Hannah are all in eighth grade together, so they know some of the same people and teachers, and they talked about that. And of course I was the common friend that everyone had, so they all had a good time making fun of me. My cousins told Hannah about how they used to call me Danielito, and Hannah really liked that. She basically hasn’t called me anything else since. And yeah like, it was a little embarrassing for me, but we were all having a good time.

  That’s when two more people showed up: girl people. And not just any girls but Luz Vasquez and Chicle Rodriguez. Chicle’s real name is Angelica, but everyone calls her Chicle since she chews gum 24/7.

  I was pretty nervous when they came. They’re like the Hannah Schwartz of the Mexicans at our school. All about the gossip, all about the chisme. Well, I guess Hannah isn’t like that anymore, but basically Luz and Chicle are the girls who know everything about everybody. So like, if they say something, it gets around and everyone believes it. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. I wasn’t too worried when I was hanging around with just Hannah and the guys, but when Luz and Chicle showed up…I was thinking that if they realized that Hannah was close to me…and if they told their friends, and if more and more people found out, and then even the whole school…well, I just knew it couldn’t be good.

  But that’s when Hannah did something really, really smart. She said, “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s pretend like this is a school dance. Let’s split up. You boys can go watch sports or whatever while we girls stay here and chat.”

  So that’s what we did. Edgar remembered that there was a Mexican Soccer League match on, Guadalajara vs. Toluca. We watched the second half of that, and that was tight. It was actually a little hard for me to understand the Telemundo announcers because it’s been a while since I’ve heard Spanish being spoken that fast, but we had a good time watching the game, eating chips and salsa and hot sauce.

  I was still wor
ried about Hannah the whole time. I knew that if she said or did one wrong thing, Luz and Chicle could make her seem all rich and selfish and mean to the brown kids at school. And Hannah isn’t like that. She’s not. I want people to know that.

  It turns out that I had no reason to worry. When we went back to the porch after the game, the girls were laughing like they had been best friends for life. It was such a nice surprise. I have no idea how Hannah did it. My best guess is that she shared some of her secrets and got the girls to share some of theirs, so everyone felt like they could trust each other. That’s kind of what happened with Hannah and me. That girl works in mysterious ways.

  Around 5:30, me and Hannah decided to head back to Seabrook. Right before we left, Chicle was like, “Hannah, please don’t go!” and Luz was all, “See you at school, chica!” It was funny.

  On the bus ride home, Hannah had this little smile on her face. It was like, mission accomplished. We didn’t talk too much on the bus, but we both felt good. Then, a stop before the one closest to her house, Hannah pulled the cord above our heads.

  “Let’s walk the rest of it,” she said.

  I said okay. Of course I said okay. After all, I was being brainwashed. And it felt good.

  We still didn’t talk much on the half-mile walk up the road, past the main gate, and back to her property, but we held hands. Well, we didn’t hold hands really, like we didn’t walk with our hands holding, but she did the thing where she reached over and squeezed mine. She did it twice.

  We stopped at the gate. We decided that we should time our entrances so it didn’t seem like we had been together all day. We decided that Hannah would go in ten minutes before me.