Just My Luck

by Jeff Anderson

  I tried to catch my breath. “We ran out of quarters for the laundry at my dad’s apartment, so I had to wear some old underwear.”

  “It’s a story as old as time, kid,” He shook his head, staring up at the sky. “I know how that goes.”

  He leaned down and grabbed my hand and pulled me up.

  “Here,” He unzipped his black velour warm-up jacket and then handed it over. “Tie the sleeves around your waist.”

  “Thanks,” I knotted the jacket arms like a belt. I shud-dered as I realized his jacket was touching my underwear.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll wash it later,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Too bad this happened on choo-choo train day, though, huh?” Coach O. smiled, lifting his mustache curls.

  “It’s Champ the Choo-Ch … never mind.” I shook my head.

  He led me and my black-velour-covered biscuit back toward the school. “You wanna know somethin’?”

  I didn’t, but I was sure that wouldn’t stop him.

  “The good thing about getting embarrassed is that it’s already in the past. Trust me. You’ll be laughing about it in no time.”

  He was right about that. There would definitely be no time I’d ever be laughing about this.

  From the nurse’s office, I called Mom and begged her to bring a pair of khakis for me fast—plus a plain white, roomy pair of underwear with maximum biscuit coverage. After I hung up, I sat on the squeaky bed in the clinic.

  “You’re having an exciting year, Mr. Delacruz.” Nurse Patty pushed her glasses back with her index finger, smiling.

  I nodded.

  I really was having an exciting year—but not in the way I’d hoped. I sighed, wishing there were some way to make the excitement end for just a second or two.

  But I knew better. This was middle school.

  The clinic bed whined a long squeak as I leaned back against the cool wall, waiting for what would come next.

  CHAPTER 3

  MISSION DISTRACTION: SAN ANTONIO FUN FACTS

  “San Antonio, Texas, is a city of many colors—bright buildings and people of every shade.” At least that’s what it said in the Explore Puro San Antonio brochure I flipped through in Nurse Patty’s clinic. The dull reading material helped me forget what had happened in the lunchroom. Maybe if I pretended the whole lunchroom khaki-tastrophe never happened, everyone else would forget too. Then, the whole horrible event would float into the sky like a helium balloon of embarrassment, farther and farther away till it disappeared.

  I looked back at the fun facts section of the pamphlet. Maybe I could distract the most interesting girl from the pantalone problem by sharing fun facts about San Antonio. I studied the brochure like I had a big test coming up. But by the time I’d memorized that San Antonio was the eighth largest city in the US, I came to my senses. No one would ever forget what happened. The Fighting Alamos would always remember this disaster. I imagined the headline in the yearbook: “The Day Zack Delacruz Bared His Biscuit to a Silent and Shocked Cafeteria of Innocent Bystanders.”

  Well, you can’t blame a guy for fantasizing they’d possibly forget, even if only for a few seconds, can you? It was all I had left. A fantasy of some would-be, could-be, should-be life where my pants always covered my bottom and I only wore underwear that fit and didn’t have choo-choo trains on them.

  Sighing, I stared at the second hand slowly ticking on the clock above the clinic door. Every second I sat in the clinic was a lifetime. My biscuit still without permanent cover meant my nightmare continued. Any second a kid with a headache could burst into the clinic and laugh at me all over again.

  Where was Mom? She was already out of the office when I called her cell. She’d said, “I’ll swing by the store and drop off the clothes ASAP.” She loves saying ASAP like one word. She’s too busy to say “as soon as possible” or even say each letter. I was the one feeling like a sap for believing she’d come quickly.

  I tossed the brochure on the bed beside me and sighed.

  “Are you excited about the fall festival this Saturday?” Nurse Patty pointed to the poster that hung on the wall across from me: FALL FIESTA-VAL THIS SATURDAY: GET YOUR CASCARONE ON!

  I shrugged. Sophia’s mom, the PTA president, had changed the name from festival to fiesta-val because San Antonio loves the citywide Fiesta celebration in the spring. Mrs. Segura thought we should bring a little spring to the fall and sell cascarones.

  She’s right. Cascarones are probably the only reason anyone would want to go to the stupid Fall Fiesta-val. I love smashing the confetti-filled eggshells on my friends’ heads. Cascarones are one thing everybody loves. Sure they’re a mess. But that’s half the fun … wait a minute. I could be the one who explains cascarones to the most interesting girl! That’s it. I was so excited I momentarily forgot my pants situation and leapt up.

  “Is everything quite all right?” Nurse Patty turned.

  “Yes.” I flopped back down on squeaking clinic bed, the rest of my pants falling a few seconds behind. “I hope so.”

  Cas-ca-rones. CASCARONES!

  Now I had cascarones on the brain, which was better than chones. This year cascarones are guaranteed to be extra big at the Fall Fiesta-val. Blythe twisted every sixth-graders’ arm into bringing at least two-dozen cascarones for a student council fund-raiser at the festival. She wanted 4,000 cascarones, so we’d have epic amounts of confetti eggs to bust over each other’s heads.

  I had been so excited about all those cascarones in one place, I’d invited Marquis to spend the night with me at Mom’s house last Friday. We’d had a blast making ours.

  While Mom tended to the delicate egg surgery—knocking out a tiny hole at the top of each egg, draining, cleaning, and drying the flimsy shells without breaking them—Marquis and I made confetti. Sure, you can buy confetti at the store, but that’s cheating.

  Ca-click. Ca-click. We danced around the dining room table while we used a hole-puncher on construction paper and magazines—basically anything colorful and no longer needed.

  “Don’t make a mess, boys!” Luckily, Mom was so involved in egg surgery at the sink she was unaware of the zillions of confetti bits landing on the wood floor around the table.

  Marquis and I shot each other a look. “That’s what dust pans are for.” I said.

  Ca-click. Ca-click. Marquis hole punched over his head, like he was making dance moves.

  “Make it rain!” I laughed. But as fun as Friday night had been, Saturday morning was even better.

  At 7:00 a.m., Marquis and I dug into the confetti piles and dropped the tiny bits in the holes at the top of the empty eggs Mom had prepared yesterday. It took so much concentration dropping the confetti bits through the tiny hole I almost didn’t notice Mom in the kitchen. She wore her pink warm-ups but no makeup. She opened the refrigerator. “Do you want scrambled eggs for breakfast and omelets for lunch and quiche for dinner?”

  “Do we have a choice?” I asked, adding the last pieces of confetti to my fourth egg. That’s the thing. When you drain two-dozen eggs, you have lots of eggs to cook. I tiptoed over and grabbed some grated cheese with my confetti-covered fingers.

  Mom swatted my hand with a spatula. “Get back to work, Zack.”

  “This has turned into a sweatshop.” Marquis whispered to me while gluing the tissue paper to seal his egg before resting it in the crate in front of him.

  Those were the good times.

  All it took to ruin the good life was a stool with a loose screw. Life is like that. One little thing changes it all.

  “Hello, hello, hello?!” Mom tapped on the clinic door, jangling her keys, bringing me back to the present, back to the nightmare that my life had become. “Mom to the rescue.” The door swung open, banging against the file cabinet. “I come bearing gifts.” She held up pants on a hanger and a plastic sack like she’d just won a race. Her designer perfume filled the room. But not even her sweet smell could make this situation any better. “What on eart
h happened to you, Zack?” She looked down at my khaki shreds.

  “Can we talk about it later, Mom?” I made my eyes big and motioned my head at Nurse Patty, who smiled and looked up from the papers she was filling out.

  Mom thrust the pants toward me, still clipped on the plastic hanger, tags dangling. “This was the best I could do. I’m showing a house to a client in twenty minutes.” She pulled a three-pack of underwear out of the sack and plopped the undies onto Nurse Patty’s desk as if they were school supplies, not something that covered my swimsuit area.

  “Mom!” I jumped up and swiped the underwear pack off Nurse Patty’s desk.

  Inspecting my backside, Mom asked, “How on Earth …”

  Nurse Patty stood. “I’ll give you two some privacy, Mrs. Delacruz.”

  “It’s Murray.”

  “Oh, I sincerely apologize, Ms. Murray.” Nurse Patty scooted her rolly chair under her desk.

  “No problem.” Mom handed Nurse Patty one of her business cards. “If you ever need to sell or buy a house …”

  Seriously? How much does Mom have to embarrass me? It’s bad enough she wears that gold jacket with her real estate company’s name on it and slaps those obnoxious magnetic signs on her car doors like they’re billboards. Now she’s giving her business card to Nurse Patty, trying to sell her house. And what’s up with Mom today? She put my underwear on Nurse Patty’s desk. Who does stuff like that? Doesn’t she know I was the victim of an I-see-London-I-see-France-Everybody-saw-my-underpants episode? And then to add crazy bread to the humiliation pizza order, she had to make a big deal that her last name isn’t the same as mine, practically telling everyone she’s divorced. That’s right everybody! My parents aren’t together anymore. I’m surprised Mom didn’t rent the sign in front of the school to put the announcement in blinking lights.

  Anyway, I grabbed the three-pack of tighty-whiteys.

  “I only need one pair, Mom.” I complained, ripping open the clear plastic with my teeth.

  “Well, sweetie, why don’t you take the others home to your dad’s apartment so you have some for tomorrow and Friday?” Mom leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

  “But I don’t have my backpack” I whined. “It’s in my locker.”

  “Zack,” Mom whined back. “I think you can walk them to your locker without dying. Everybody wears underwear.” With her thumb, she wiped her lipstick from my cheek. Her black heels click-clicked as she crossed the room to the door. “It’ll be all right, Zack.” Mom turned. “Call me tonight and tell me all about it.”

  You had to hand it to Mom. She took care of business.

  CHAPTER 4

  CARDBOARD KHAKIS AND A LOADED DIAPER

  I wrapped my old pant shreds around my Champ the Choo-Choo underwear and then shoved it all in the trash, pushing it to the bottom. I had no choice but to put all three pairs of underwear on at the same time. I wouldn’t be caught dead carrying tighty-whiteys down the hall. That’d get more attention than a live rattlesnake skateboarding through a ring of fire. Especially after already showing my chones to half of the sixth grade at lunch. Wearing three pairs of underwear didn’t feel right—at all. But you do what you have to do in middle school, and I had to save whatever shred of reputation I had left.

  The new khakis were stiff as cardboard. I adjusted several times, unable to get comfortable. I wondered if anyone would think I was wearing a diaper—a diaper with a load.

  I traveled down the hallway to science, the khakis making a swish-swish sound. Swish-swish. Swish-swish. Great! Now I was also the kid who wore a full diaper under cardboard khakis. It just kept getting better.

  In my head, I rehearsed how I was going to get the new girl to see me as something other than the guy who mooned the cafeteria. Swish-swish. I was back to The Fun Facts of San Antonio Distraction. I would overwhelm her with cool things she needed to know about San Antonio. Then maybe she wouldn’t think I was such a dork. Swish-swish.

  I’ll tell the new girl stuff like how there’s more than one way to say “San Antonio.” Raymond Montellongo and his football friends write raps about “San Anto.” Old men, like Grandpa and the announcers at the rodeo, say “San Antone.” And the preacher at the church Mom makes me go to says, “Good morning, ‘San Antonia’!”

  I was almost out of breath rushing down the hall. Swish-swish. Swish-swish.

  The science room door creaked louder and louder the slower I tried to open it. Everyone turned.

  “Hey, he’s back from his Zack Attack!” El Pollo Loco yelled. “Ah! Ha! HA!”

  Everyone joined the laugh-a-thon.

  “Did you get to the bottom of it, Zack?” Cliché Jones shook her head, laughing.

  It was strange having Cliché make fun of me, since she likes Marquis so much. I guess even the shield of being Marquis’s best friend didn’t help anymore.

  “That’s quite enough!” Mr. Stankowitz, our science teacher, said. Brushing back the strands of oily black hair he combed over his bald spot, he turned to me. “Take a seat, Mr. Delacruz. You’re just in time to meet our new student.”

  “I hear his chones met her at lunch,” Sophia raised her hand for someone to give her a high five. “Don’t leave me hangin’!” But the look in Mr. Stankowitz eyes was so strong it forced Sophia’s arm to lower, inch by inch.

  “Blythe.” Mr. Stankowitz motioned for her to change the subject. “Let’s get this show on the road. Please introduce the new student to the class.”

  “This is Abhijana Bhatt. Ah-Bee-Jon-uh Bott. Did I say that right?” Blythe looked back at Abhijana.

  “Yes,” Abhijana smiled. “But everyone can just call me Abhi.” She pronounced it like Abby: A-b-b-y. Her eyes were even prettier than I remembered—gray and blue and clear. Sophia’s flea-market contacts were no match for the real thing.

  For some reason, all I could think about was Abhijana Bhatt. She was like no one I’d ever known—a vegetarian who smells like candles.

  Even though she was wearing the same uniform as all the other girls, red top with a khaki skirt, her black hair was curlier and shinier and longer and newer. I got so lost in my racing thoughts that I missed Blythe’s whole introduction of Abhi. I was so mad at myself for not listening, because there was nothing I was more interested in than Abhi. All I know for sure is Big Mouth Blythe said something that Abhi didn’t like right at the end.

  “But don’t treat me any differently,” Abhi said. “Please.”

  “Abhi,” El Pollo Loco stood and spoke in a deep and breathy voice, like a tela-novella actor. “Welcome to our science class.” He winked, twisting the ends of his nonexistent mustache. “I am El.” He bowed like a combination of Prince Charming and a bullfighter. You could almost hear a trumpet playing.

  Man, I was planning to be the one with charm. Who was this El guy?

  “Abhi,” I stood. “I welcome you to the whole school.”

  “Abhi,” El stood again. “I welcome you to the whole city.”

  “Speaking of cities—fun fact—did you know there are several ways to say ‘San Antonio’?”

  “Abhi,” José interrupted me. “I welcome you to our whole state.”

  “Fun fact—Texas used to be a country.” I forced a smile.

  “Enough, boys!” Mr. Stankowitz ended our Abhi standoff. “Thank you for the social studies lesson, but this is science class and we have other things to accomplish today.”

  I slapped my head. I should’ve led with the cascarones. What was I thinking? I had blown it again.

  “I have an empty seat next to me,” El said, raising his eyebrows up and down, tapping the empty chair.

  “That’s intentional, José.” Mr. Stankowitz gripped the sides of his podium. “You need a buffer zone. And it’s going to stay that way.”

  “That’s quite enough,” El mocked Mr. Stankowitz.

  “Abhi, take a seat behind Zack,” Mr. Stankowitz pointed.

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Hi,” I whispered to her over
my shoulder.

  But she didn’t say anything back, so I whispered louder.

  “Hiii.”

  No answer.

  She wasn’t picking up what I was putting down. She’s probably already decided I was a fool. I mean I had just bared my biscuit to the whole cafeteria. I don’t suppose anyone could miss that—even if it was her first day. Besides kids like Sophia, who weren’t even in the cafeteria, already knew what had happened. And Marquis wasn’t here to stick up for me. I couldn’t catch a break.

  After that, Mr. Stankowitz got busy teaching about atoms and how they make up all matter.

  “Sir,” Janie stood, interrupting. “Matter is like—‘The stuff that things are made of.’”

  “Yes, Janie.” Mr. Stankowitz nodded.

  Janie whispered as she sat down. “Inspired by The Maltese Falcon, nineteen forty-one.”

  “Janie, we talked about this.” Mr. Stankowitz warned. Teachers had been telling Janie to stop quoting movies during class.

  “Starring Mr. Humphrey Bogart,” Janie mumbled into her hand.

  Mr. Stankowitz sighed.

  “Nineteen forty-one? They didn’t even have movies back then!” José shouted.

  “Of course they did,” Abhi chimed in. “I did a report on the history of movies at my school in Minneapolis. The first silent movies were made in the late eighteen hundreds, so movies have been around for over one hundred years.”

  Whoa! I had no idea what Abhi had just said, but she sounded smart, and she put José in his place.

  “Where have you been all my life?” Janie stood again, gazing at Abhi.

  “Janie, sit down.” Mr. Stankowitz walked over to her desk.

  Janie scribbled wildly, writing the name and year of the movie she just quoted.

  “Please give me that.” Mr. Stankowitz held out his hand.

  Janie tore off the edge of the paper and crammed it in her mouth. “It was nothing.” She swallowed.

  I can’t tell you for sure why Janie ate the paper, or how Abhi knew that fact, but I can tell you this, matter has more than one meaning. Like atoms don’t matter to me right now. Not their nuclei made up of protons. Not their neutrons surrounded by electrons. And when Mr. Stankowitz tried to make the atom lesson more interesting by comparing it to a fried egg, he only made me hungry.