“Ahem,” Miss Stevens fixed him with a cool glare, “Must I remind you, Mister Hitchens, of the homework policy?”
“Nope, I have it right here.” Alex swept a hand over the syllabus, “And besides, Val’s reading was so stirring that I couldn’t possibly forget a word of it.” The bell rang as Alex took his homework back from Val’s desk and shoved it into his bag.
The one class Val had been looking forward to that day was her Flag Football/Volleyball class. After all, they could start playing without any need to read syllabi or go over class expectations, or so she had thought. The gym teachers had all put up signs directing students to the main gym, and once there the classes were divided according to individual classes. Each teacher gave a speech about the class and then handed out locks. Val’s teacher, Mr. Sharp, was a bald man; one of those teachers who seemed to be trying to relive his own high school days through his occupation. He joked with everyone, in an apparent effort to make them more at ease, “Taking my class again, Young? Don’t you think you ought to know how to play football by now?”
Porter was a handsome boy with an easy grin and blue eyes. “You got me wrong, coach. I don’t take this class for the football. I take it for the volleyball. And the girls too, but mostly for the volleyball.”
Mr. Sharp laughed, “Uh huh. Young, you’re shit at volleyball. Pardon my French.”
“That’s why I gotta take this class, coach. Gotta learn how to spike so I can impress all the girls on the beach.”
Mr. Sharp shook his head; his gaze landed on Valentina, “And you, what are you doing here? Middle schoolers aren’t allowed in my class.”
“I-I’m not a middle schooler,” Val protested. “I’m a freshman!”
Mr. Sharp laughed “Calm down, I’m just messing with ya. I know you’re at least a freshman, else you wouldn’t be going to Palm Lake, would you?”
Val shook her head.
“Exactly. You look pretty athletic, do you play volleyball? Maybe you could show Young how to spike.”
Young laughed, “She’s not tall enough to spike, coach. Unless she’s got a crazy vert.”
A boy sitting next to Young joined the conversation, “Let’s see it. Might as well, since we’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Alright,” the coach motioned for Val to stand up. She felt awkward standing among the rest of the class, which stayed seated on the basketball court. “Jump,” Mr. Sharp said, and Val did. “Not bad, not bad,” he commented, “But you’re right Young, not high enough to spike.”
“Well I don’t play volleyball,” Val explained, finding her voice, “I play soccer.”
“Really?” a girl a few feet away asked, “Are you gonna try out for the team?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Cool, cool.” The girl nodded to herself. “I’m on the team already. Have been for a year.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Val exclaimed.
Before she could say anything else, Mr. Sharp cut her off, “Looks like it’s our turn for the locks, boys and girls. Everybody take one.” He accepted a brown box from a mousy looking teacher and set it on the floor, “And only one. Your parents paid for ‘em, so there’s no need to worry about that. At the end of the year it’s yours to keep.”
Val was already standing, and so arrived at the box first. She grabbed one of the silver locks; “You’ll want to take off the card with the code, of course,” Mr. Sharp added. “Once you have your lock, go into your locker room and put it on a locker. You can choose whichever one you want, as long as it isn’t on the bottom row—those are reserved for our sports teams. Please don’t forget which locker you put your lock on; write it down on the card with your code if you think it’ll help you remember.”
The girls’ locker room was about the same size as the one at Walker; a quick count of the number of lockers revealed that there were enough for everyone in school to have one of their own—or two, if they really wanted. Val was surprised they would get to keep their locks, since Walker had insisted that students return their locks at the end of each semester. Perhaps it was another one of those public vs. private school things, or perhaps it was just a Walker vs. Palm Lake thing. Maybe every high school let students keep their locks, and it was only middle schools that had to ask for them back each semester.
The bell for the end of the class rang as Val pulled the code card from her lock and found a pocket for it in her bag, a large black satchel with purple trimming; it was large enough to carry several books and binders.
Next up on the Tuesday schedule was Italian class; even though the classroom was a floor above Palm Lake’s gym, and about as far away from it as possible, Val found it with two minutes to spare. It didn’t hurt that a large portion of the freshman class was headed to the same place; all she had to do was find a few of her classmates headed in the right direction, and follow them to Miss Wells’ room. The seats were arranged in two groups, leaving a pathway down the center of the classroom.
“Come in and sit where you like!” Miss Wells beamed, “No assigned seats here. Sit with your friends or by yourself. I won’t be offended.” She had a smile that made Valentina want to smile too; it reminded her of her mother. “Oh, I love your hair!” Miss Wells enthused, causing the whole class to turn and look at the shy girl from Val’s algebra class. Her light brown hair was arranged in curls that must’ve taken hours to organize. “Thanks. I, uh, I like your hair too,” the girl said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Why, thank you! It’s not as beautiful as yours, but I try!”
The shy girl took a seat next to Val, and smiled awkwardly by way of greeting; Val wasn’t sure if the girl remembered her from earlier that morning. “Hi, I’m Val,” she held out a hand.
The shy girl accepted it, “Carrie Turner.”
Miss Wells swept to the head of the class, red skirt billowing behind. “Welcome to your very first Italian class! You’ll find that I don’t teach the ‘normal way’—I rely quite a lot on speaking in Italian and actual exposure to the language. After all, how can I tell if you know how to speak a language if you never actually say a word in it?” It seemed like a valid question. “Anyway, here are your syllabuses—or is it syllabi? I never can remember. Oh well, grab one and pass the rest back.” Miss Wells spoke rapidly; she barely paused for breath between words. “Instead of reading the syllabi or syllabuses or whatever, I thought we could just assign it as homework and talk about the Italian language instead.”
“Is that the royal we?” Carrie whispered. Val didn’t get it, but when Carrie looked at her for a response she smiled and shrugged.
Miss Wells continued, “Italian is one of the so-called ‘romance languages’. Now, does anyone know why they’re called that?”
A boy raised his hand across the room; it was Keenan, from Chemistry. “Yes?” Miss Wells called on him. “Because, when you speak in a romance language, girls can’t help but fall in love with you.”
The whole class laughed; “Not quite,” Miss Wells looked around hopefully for another hand. “It’s because they’re based on Latin,” Carrie whispered.
Val raised her hand; it took a few moments for Miss Wells to turn from Keenan’s side of the class, “Yes?”
“Is it because they’re all based on Latin?” Val asked.
“Bingo! Roman’s language, romance language, get it? What’s your name again?”
“Oh, it’s Valentina.”
“Valentina. Well, let’s see if lightning strikes twice, Valentina, shall we?”
“Um, ok.”
“Do you know what the conjugational differences between Italian, Spanish, and French are?”
Val wasn’t sure she’d understood the question, “Conjugational differences?” she asked.
“Yes—you know, the conjugation of verbs.” The clarification did little to improve Val’s comprehension.
Carrie came to her rescue, “There aren’t any,” she answered, loudly enough that Miss Wells could hear. “Exactly!” the t
eacher exclaimed, “That’s what’s so great about the Romance languages. They’re all so very similar—why, I bet if you put an Italian and a Spaniard in the same room they could have a whole conversation with one another even if they each knew only their own language.”
“Doubt it,” Carrie’s voice had fallen back into a whisper, so only Val heard the remark. Miss Wells continued talking about how speaking Italian was really like speaking four languages, which seemed to irritate Carrie. Val tried to acknowledge her classmate’s numerous guffaws and whispered criticisms, but it soon became hard to do, in addition to paying attention to Miss Wells. As a result, by the time the bell interrupted one particularly long-winded sentence, Val had only taken about a half-page of notes.
Avery was at the Student Gov. meeting after school; she paid no attention to Val, and gave the same directions as Raelyn had given the day before, “This first week is all about getting to know your peers, especially if you’re a freshman. That’s why we meet every day the first day of school; if you want a particular office, start floating the idea around and see what kind of response you get. We’ll vote for leadership positions next Wednesay, so be prepared.”
Val had completely forgotten about her agreement with Aiden, so she was surprised when he presented her with a deck of Mini Monsters cards. “Here,” he said, “For you. I can show you how to play now, if you want.”
Behind them, someone laughed. Val groaned; she thought she knew who the laugh belonged to, and she was too worn out to endure more of Alex’s joking. “King nerd, do you really think this goddess wants to learn to play your stupid card game?”
“It’s not a stupid card game!” Aiden protested.
“Oh, of course not, King Nerd. I humbly apologize. What I meant to say is—“ he smirked, “—look at Val, and then compare her to the type of girl you see playing at cards. Notice the distinct presence of self-esteem? And—perhaps more importantly—notice how she’s actually, you know, attractive?” Alex’s posse followed him to where Val and Aiden were sitting. Alex leaned on the table between Val and Aiden.
“You’re wrong,” Aiden whispered, “She’s actually interested in Mini Monsters!”
Alex laughed, “But not really, right?” He looked at her.
Val looked pleadingly at Alex, and then at Aiden. She gulped, “I’m sure it’s a great game and all—“ she said.
“But you don’t want to learn how to play.” Aiden finished for her.
“I’m sorry, I’m just really busy and—“ Val held out the starter deck for Aiden to take.
“And you have much better things to do than play card games. Like give me a lap dance,” Alex raised his eyebrows suggestively.
“Keep it. I have fifty more at home,” Aiden replied, waving away Val’s hand and the cards; he grabbed his backpack and walked from the room.
“You’re a jerk!” Val glared at Alex; she tried to chase after Aiden, but Alex blocked her way.
“Come on,” he said, “do you really want people to associate you with King Nerd and his card game? Here’s what you should do with those,” he took the cards from her hand and tossed them into the nearest trash can.
Val was so mad tears were coming to her eyes, “Why are you so mean?”
“I’m not mean,” Alex laughed, “I’m the nicest person at Palm Lake. I just saved you from ruining your high school experience by getting mixed in with the wrong crowd.”
“Who says he’s the wrong crowd?.”
“I do—and everyone else does. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that, if you wanna be class president, you don’t hang out with the unpopular kids.”
Val scowled, “And I suppose you think you’re popular?”
“I know I am,” Alex’s whole entourage nodded, “I’m funny, and attractive, and yes, a little mean, but at least I’m honest. If you want to get ahead at Palm Lake, you should mix with the people whose dads run Fortune Five-hundred companies, not the ones whose parents design card games.”
“What does it matter what your parents do?” Val asked.
“It matters because that’s one of the ways status is determined. Look, sweety, you have a choice here. You can choose to be friends with me and be popular or you can choose to play card games with King Nerd and disappear from this school without leaving the faintest trace. And that would be a shame.”
Val was torn; she knew that at least part of what Alex was saying was true. At Walker she’d lived it; social rules that regulated who she could be friends with if she wanted to be popular. She’d hoped that high school would be different. “I hate this place.”
Alex smirked, “Me too. Now, how about that lap dance?”
Chapter 5
Wednesday was a little better than the two previous days, since Val only had to sit through a couple of teachers going through their syllabi. Geography class was the first of the year, so Val expected a syllabus session in that class, and her English Composition teacher hadn’t finished on Tuesday, so she’d expected that class to be boring as well.
Mr. Phillips hadn’t let the first class take any of the wind out of his sails; he had started Tuesday’s class off with a “magical” fruit punch experiment, in which he challenged the students to mix different colored punches to get a specific color of purple, which he swore would taste like grape, “but only if you get it exactly right.”
Today the class commenced with a demonstration of the effects of liquid nitrogen upon various classroom objects. Mr. Phillips dunked one of Jenny’s pens; when it came out and he smashed it with a hammer she whimpered like he’d hit her instead. Keenan raised his hand; when Mr. Phillips called on him he asked, “So where can I get some of this?”
“Well, you can’t. But if you were a chemist, you could order as much as you wanted.”
Keenan grinned mischievously, “How do they know if I’m a chemist or not?”
Val thought she knew the answer, “They must do a background check to find out if you have a chemistry degree or something,” she whispered.
Mr. Phillips smiled, “Best not to say. I don’t want to give anyone ideas, after all. The point is—“ he segued into the day’s lesson.
Val was surprised when Keenan took out a pristine notebook and cracked it open. “What are you doing?” she asked incredulously.
“I am going to take notes,” he replied.
Val laughed, “No, seriously, what are you doing?”
“Taking notes. Don’t worry Val, this is just a one-time thing. It’s not like I’m gonna become as studious a note-taker as you because I paid attention to one Chem lecture.” He said “studious note-taker” like it was a distasteful idea, but Val took it as a compliment.
“Alright, then. If you want, I’ll let you copy my notes to catch up,” she pulled her first page of notes for the day from her notebook and slid it across the table to Keenan. He snatched it up, frowning.
“You seriously wrote ‘smashes pen with hammer’?” he laughed, “Geeze, you write down everything. You might as well set up a tape recorder and use that for your notes.”
Val stuck her tongue out at Keenan, “Tape recorders don’t capture equations.”
Jenny shushed them; “Fair enough, but still—I know who I’m cheating off at test time,” Keenan joked.
“You better not!” Val shot back. Jenny glared daggers her way, so she decided she had better be quiet for at least a while. It took her the rest of the class to catch up on her notes; when Mr. Phillips finished, she looked at Keenan’s notebook to see what he’d written down. She’d filled four pages of notes; he’d barely filled a page. “You know I was serious about the no-cheating thing, right?” Val said.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I’ll get by, even if you won’t let me cheat. This may surprise you Val, but you can learn things without taking notes. Sometimes just listening attentively is enough.”
Valentina put her materials away; she had forgotten about the page of notes she’d let Keenan borrow, until he held it out to her, “Thanks.”
She nodded and added it to her Chemistry notebook as the bell rang.
For the few Palm Lake students who were lucky enough to escape the doldrums of extracurricular activities, the bell after seventh period marked the end of their day. For Val it meant a short trip to the cafeteria for the third day of Student Gov in a row.
They had all been trained to gather in their class corners without being directed; when Val arrived, Alex was already there joking with his friends. Jenny was sitting with the other three Student Gov girls whose names Val had barely learned, and Aiden and his friend were nowhere to be seen. Val had been hoping he’d be there, so that she could apologize again for the day before. Not that any of it was her fault; it’s all that stupid Alex’s responsibility, him and his stupid social rules. She didn’t feel like talking to him, so she sat next to Jenny. The other girls all shared classes with Val, but she found it hard to distinguish between them; they all had the same tastes in fashion, the same interests, and today the trio were even wearing their hair the same way. Across the table, Ella was whispering excitedly with Zoey. Ella had a face that reminded Val of nothing so much as a mouse—or maybe a ferret, and Zoey’s chin was so broad that she looked like a toad in the right light. Sophia was the only member of the Trio Val would classify as good-looking; even though her cheeks had a vulpine tilt, her green eyes helped soften their impact. Sophia was listening intently to Jenny debrief her on the day she’d had. Jenny wasn’t exactly one of them as far as Val could tell; they treated her more like a leader—with respect, but also as an outsider.
Trying to participate in the boring conversations of the Trio plus Jenny was a tedious task. Val kept thinking of things to say and then deciding not to risk it, and so she just kept quiet instead. As a result, by the time Alex found his way over Val had hardly said a dozen words.
“The way you always hang out with someone other than me,” he began, “I might start to think I’m your least favorite person in this club.”
How to Be a Perfect Girl Page 3