So, after watching herds of females trail Dom around school for most of the day, of course I’m shocked out of my mind when I walk into A.P. Bio and find our resident studly guy alone at a lab table.
Glancing around the room, I realize the seat next to Dom is the only one available. And sitting across the aisle from him is Andy. My tongue immediately swells to what feels like six times its normal size. At least the sudden impairment prevents any screeching mixture of horror and amazement from escaping.
I direct an uneasy glance at Jana, who’s shacking up with Arlene Murphy. What the heck? My best friend sold me out for Arlene, whose anti-establishment protests include refusing to wash her hair or shave her legs.
“Welcome back, Sadie. We’re switching lab partners today,” Dr. Brownstein says when he notices me cowering in the doorway. A long-standing member of the ancient guard at Harmony High, he’s been teaching in this very classroom since the dawn of the dinosaurs. He wears the same clothes every day—yellow rubber boots, faded jeans, and a flannel shirt, like he spent the morning mucking around in a swamp, searching for exotic reptiles.
And, truth be told, Dr. Brownstein kind of resembles a lizard, with big green eyes bugging out of his head and a tongue that flicks in and out when he speaks. The tongue thing skeeves me, which is why I avoid looking directly at his face.
“Why don’t you work with Mr. Altomeri?” Dr. Brownstein asks, with a barely discernible hiss.
Well, duh. It’s the only seat left. I’d never have been late to class if I’d known about the mid-year lab partner reassignment. After hiding in bathrooms all day to avoid Senior Superlative-related pointing and staring, I’d dashed through the halls to the Science wing, leaving only seconds to spare before the bell. Seeing Andy, I briefly wonder how he’s dealt with our arranged future engagement, but then I remember that most likely he had something to do with the oddly skewed results. Because I surely did not.
I take a deep breath and propel myself forward, stopping right in front of Dom. As I settle into my new seat, his dark eyes roam from my head to my toes, making me wish I’d worn something nicer than ratty jeans and a gray fleece sweatshirt. “Looks like we’re stuck together.” He aims a smirk in Andy’s direction. “Hope your husband doesn’t mind.”
“Not my husband. We’re nothing. He’s nothing to me,” I stammer, peeking at Andy as well. He’s immersed in conversation with Sidh Eknath, his long-time friend. How did they manage to stay together? Seriously, you get away with so much more when you’re at the top of the class. Either that or Dr. B. has no idea who our lab partners were last semester. If I hadn’t been late, Jana and I might not have been separated. I turn to Jana and mouth the words, “I’m sorry.” She shrugs and scoots her chair further from Arlene.
Forty-five minutes of extreme awkwardness and hormonal torture later, sweat drips down my spine, soaking the innermost layer of my sweatshirt. After three and a half years of inhaling Jana’s vanilla-scented perfume, Dom’s musky guy smell has me melting into a puddle of pent-up desire. Every time I look down at my paper, my overlong bangs fall forward, and I need to push them out of my line of vision in order to take proper notes. My breathing sounds abnormal, like I’m blowing air out through a tiny kazoo. Then, horror of horrors, right in the middle of Dr. Brownstein’s lecture, my pen runs low on ink. When I shake it, my arm bumps Dom’s elbow, sending a shock of heat through me.
I am so not washing my clothes tonight.
“Why are you writing?” Dom whispers, running a hand through his dark spiky hair, as if he fears our physical contact has disturbed his mane of perfection. “The notes are on the class website.”
Red heat creeps up my neck like mercury surging in a thermometer. “I remember things better when I write them down.” I set down my pen, deciding to pass on note taking for the remainder of the class.
With Dom throwing my power of concentration out of whack, I almost forget about Andy with his moppy hair, thick glasses sliding down his nose, and shoestring body with its bundle of flailing arms and legs. It’s not until Dr. B. turns the lights out for a slide show that I steal a glance at the next table, wondering for the hundredth time today why a large percentage of the senior class would picture Andy and me together. It must be a huge mistake. Someone miscounted the votes. Oh, shoot, he’s looking right at me.
“Hey, Sadie,” he says, offering me a friendly smile. For a second, I think he’s going to say something about the Senior Superlative, but he doesn’t. “What’d you do over break?”
“Not much, Andy. How about you?” I aim for polite, but distant enough to discourage a longer conversation. Right now, I must seize the opportunity to captivate Dominic with my devastating wit and charm. Oh shoot, Andy’s talking again.
“I went to Penn State for a physics seminar.”
“Voluntarily?” I have to ask.
Andy smiles. “Yeah. Four days of Quantum Mechanics. Then I went skiing in Vermont on New Year’s Day.”
“And you didn’t break a leg? Impressive,” Dom says, while keeping his eyes glued to Dr. Brownstein’s million and one pictures of amoebas.
“Can you believe what happened with the Superlatives?” Okay, Andy’s going there. Why does he have to bring it up now, in front of the coolest guy who’s talked to me in years? “I mean, it’s not like we ever … ” he shakes his head.
“It must be a mistake,” I say with a short wave of my hand. “I’ll swing by Mrs. Downey’s room after school and sort it out.” To avoid further discussion, I develop a fake obsession with single-celled creatures, crafting a glazed expression which rivals Dominic’s sleeping-while-simultaneously-appearing-enthralled look. As Dr. Brownstein drones and hisses his way through class, I focus straight ahead, refusing to slide my eyes in the direction of Andy’s table again, hoping he’ll forget about me. Thankfully, he does.
“You are so lucky!” Jana wails, after the bell. “You get to sit between two hot guys, and I’m stuck between Arlene and the wall.”
“Are you sure you looked at the right guys? Dominic is supreme hotness, but Andy is just a hot mess.”
“Are we not looking at the same Andy? Cause I was thinking of moving him up from a four to a decent six or seven on our Datable Guy-O-Meter.”
“A seven? Did you cut through the chem-lab on the way to class and inhale some methane?”
“C’mon, admit it. Andy’s blue eyes are gorgeous. Triple-snap worthy. Potential husband worthy,” Jana says, knocking her shoulder into mine as we round the corner, heading toward our lockers.
My brain clicks through a mental math exercise, silently calculating the number of days left in the school year. Way too many to stomach daily Sadie marries Andy jokes. I might need to drop out and take my GED.
“I can’t really see his eyes behind his glasses,” I admit.
“He wears contacts outside of school. I ran into him at the Harmony Inn once or twice, eating dinner with his family.”
“Are they magical contacts that turn him into Prince Charming?”
“Like Superman when he takes off those humongous Clark Kent frames?” Jana laughs. “If Andy would bother to push a comb through his hair once in a while, he might even be an eight. Colette loves him. She’s always talking about how great he is. They worked together last semester helping a bunch of mini-geniuses at the middle school with some science fair project.”
I burst out laughing. “Colette loves Andy? He isn’t a five on any list of mine, even if I’m seeing double and count his score twice.”
“Whaaaat? You’re saying Andy’s a two and a half?”
“C’mon, Jana, we’ve known him since kindergarten. I don’t even think of him as a boy, really. He’s more like a blot on the wall that likes to annoy us with a bunch of dumb jokes.”
“A blot who is now your future betrothed. What were you guys talking about in class, anyway?”
“Nothing, really. He acted as if he didn’t know anything about fixing the Superlative
vote. Plus, he was excited about doing extra physics homework over vacation and couldn’t wait to tell me about it.”
Jana arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Really? Why did he want to tell you exactly?”
I hold up my hand to block Jana’s curiosity. “Don’t go there. You’re imagining things.”
“I do have a wild imagination. But, if you don’t want him, maybe you can talk him in to taking Colette to the freshman dance. She would be your friend for life.”
“Oh, no. She needs to woman up and ask him herself. It’s a rite of passage.”
“Fine. I’ll tell her to stop acting like a big baby about it. But still, be nice to Andy. I can’t imagine him trying to fix the vote. He thought he was a lock for Most Likely to Succeed.”
“And now he’ll never get over the disappointment.” I still can’t conjure up much pity for him, though. “You know what, Jana? If Colette likes Andy so much, maybe she can walk down the aisle with him in a few years. I’ll gladly surrender my supposed claim on him.”
Chapter Three
After school, I cruise by the yearbook moderator’s classroom to investigate the Senior Superlative voting process.
“Mrs. Downey, do you happen to have a record of the votes?” I ask after she hears my knock and ushers me inside.
She regards me from above her reading glasses. “The homeroom teachers collected the votes before winter break. We recycled the paperwork after entering everything online.”
“Do you know who counted my category?” And now, I’m even more suspicious.
“May I remind you the results are confidential?” Mrs. Downey drums her fingers on her desk.
Geez, I’m not trying to undermine CIA intelligence here. I just want to know who wrote my name on a paper enough times to win a meaningless Senior Superlative vote.
Determined to find an answer, I fold my arms in front of me and remain planted in front of her desk. “I don’t need to know exactly how many votes I received. I just want to know if someone possibly made an input error.”
“There are thirty students on the committee,” she answers, her nostrils flaring. “I’ve no idea who tallied each individual vote. We’ve never had anyone question the results before.”
Great. So now I can’t even use the whole ‘it was a big mistake’ excuse. I heave a sigh and drop my arms to my side. “Okay. Thanks, anyway.”
A thin smile appears on her normally pinched face. “I’m sorry if this took you by surprise, Sadie. I understand that you and Andy aren’t even dating, which is not typical of the couple voted Most Likely to Be Married. But, honestly, you could do much worse than be associated with Mr. Kosolowski.”
“Yes, apparently Andy is quite the catch,” I say, through my gritted teeth.
***
“High school is only four years. So, if we hit the jackpot and make it to one hundred, it sucks up less than five percent of our time on Earth. Why do we feel so much pressure to make these years count for something?” Jana philosophizes later that week, as we wind our way toward the cafeteria, neither of us hungry for lunch. Somehow, Jana and I always get stuck with the earliest lunch period. The sun has yet to rise above the phys ed wing, but the cafeteria ladies work at a frenetic pace, frying heaps of chicken cutlets, Thursday’s featured menu item.
“According to my mom, this is the highpoint of our lives. And she spent half of senior year knocked-up.”
“Oh, I really hope this isn’t the best for me,” Jana wails. “My happiest memories cannot revolve around vile cafeteria food at ten a.m., calculus exams, and required reading.”
“What do you think we’ll talk about at our fifty-year reunion?”
Jana’s lips twitch into a smile. I feel an Andy joke coming on. “I picture you showing up with your husband. And Andy showing up with his wife. And the two of you laughing about being voted Most Likely to Be Married.”
“Yeah, it will be even funnier if my husband is Dominic.”
“And Andy can marry Colette.”
I nod, approving Jana’s vision of the future. “Sounds like a plan.”
Inside the cafeteria, the smell of burnt broccoli wafts in the air, prompting us to move quickly through the lunch line.
After skipping past the cutlets and perusing today’s alternate selections, we decide to split a turkey hoagie. Prison-grade lunchmeat disagrees with my stomach, but my best friend could digest rusty nails without ill effects.
We carry our trays to our usual table, and I remove three slices of carcinogen-laced turkey from my sandwich before biting into processed cheese sludge, shredded lettuce, and a mushy roll.
“I just don’t see the need for us to vote on who’s going to end up married,” I say, after filling Jana in on my failed attempt to find answers to the Senior Superlative mystery. “This is a new millennium. We’re all strong, independent young men and women. Shouldn’t we focus our efforts on something important, like saving the manatees? Or discovering the true reason we were put on this planet?”
“Don’t go all existential on me, chica. Everyone knows the Senior Superlative vote is the best part of high school. Besides, manatees live in the Gulf of Mexico, not the Northern Atlantic.”
I scratch my fingernail over a crack in the plastic lunch tray. “Seems like we can find a better use of our collective high school brainpower than deciding who’s most likely going to end up in jail or something.”
Jana sets down her half hoagie, gearing up for a much-needed best friend pep talk. “Don’t let it get to you. The Senior Superlative vote was a total fluke. You’ve never even been on one date with Andy. Have you ever held his hand at a dance or something?”
“No! Never. That’s why this is all so upsetting. I’m not the type of person to campaign for votes. I didn’t even think most of our classmates know my last name.” I drown my sorrows in a long sip of orange Gatorade.
“Well, it doesn’t look like he really believes the results either.” Jana tilts her head in the direction of Geek Haven, otherwise known as Andy’s lunch table. Melinda Banner, a tall sophomore with fabulous long auburn hair, is currently sitting across from my so-called better half, talking excitedly. She’s pretty, in a wide-eyed, innocent sort of way, with her pale-but-no-too-pale complexion and just enough freckles to look cute, but not spotty. When Andy lifts his eyes from his PB&J to mutter a few words, she begins writing furiously in a small notebook.
“Why is she talking to him?” I ask. “She can’t be … interested.”
“Of course not.” Jana shrugs. “She must need his help with … something.”
Too weird. I turn away from Geek Haven, but still, my lunch jumps around in my stomach. “So, did you come up with any items for our awesome achievements list?”
“We should at least try out for a sport,” Jana says, covering her mouth with her hand to prevent anyone from catching a glimpse of half-chewed food, one of her many odd dining habits. “If we don’t make a team, we can move on to something else.”
“Then, I guess we start running with wolves.”
“You do mean the track team, right?”
I nod and feel my stomach dance around once more, not solely due to the aftereffects of a gross hoagie. I’ve never found any form of running to be enjoyable. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. Who likes sweating for no reason? But, I take solace in the fact that if I somehow survive the season, I’ll be in great shape for senior week at the beach. Sporting ultra-toned abs in a bikini is a super-awesome achievement in my book.
***
According to Coach Jenkins, track is a year-round sport. So, even though the calendar just flipped to February, once Jana and I turn in our medical forms he immediately devises a daily conditioning routine for the two of us. Everyone runs in track, Coach says. Even those of us who only want to throw a javelin or attempt the long jump.
At least we’re off on Thursdays, because Mrs. McCaffrey requires all mathletes to attend at least one practice each week.
Also known as “The Harmony High Division of the Suburban Math League,” mathletes is possibly the most cringe-worthy club in school, but moderated by the coolest teacher ever.
Toward the end of junior year, Mrs. McCaffrey sent home a conference request for my mother. I promptly lost the note in my backpack. Because everyone knows a parent-teacher meeting only happens for one of two reasons.
Reason one: You are in big, big trouble for cheating, and the teacher wants to present the evidence to your official guardian.
Reason two: Even worse, the instructor believes you are seriously mistracked and wishes to recommend that you be moved up or down to fit in with classmates at a more appropriate achievement level.
Admittedly, I wasn’t 100%, beyond a reasonable doubt, sure my eyes hadn’t wandered onto my neighbor’s test paper during our last algebra exam. Likewise, I was 100% sure that switching classes and being without Jana would be the worst possible scenario in my high school academic life.
So, Mom never laid eyes on the note. I was home free until Mrs. McCaffrey called the night before the conference to confirm. She told Mom I was capable of advanced courses, and should not be allowed to coast through another year of geometry, like I’d planned. When Mrs. McCaffrey slid in a comment about how a large percentage of former mathletes earned scholarship money for college, I knew I was as good as dead.
At least Mrs. McCaffrey called Jana’s mom the next week and delivered the same spiel about my best friend’s mathematical aptitude. So, now we’re both subjected to calculus and mathletes, although Jana and I found ourselves busy painting our nails on the day Mrs. McCaffrey scheduled the club’s yearbook picture.
Besides Jana and me, our favorite math teacher also recruited Andy, who’s not only a mathlete but the undisputed team champion. Mrs. McCaffrey even stitched a capital “C” (also the symbol for circumference if you’re really geeking out) onto a baseball hat, which he proudly wears to each and every tournament.
My Senior Year of Awesome Page 2