Smash It!

by Francina Simone

  Jackie shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not into that casual shit. Either a nigga loves me or he’s not getting this pussy.”

  “So, you’re a swan.” I explain what Al told me about mating for life.

  “Bitch, I did not say I only ever wanted one dick in my whole life! I said he better be into me or he better keep walking.” She’s clapping at me for emphasis. Sometimes I feel like Jackie is used to fighting just to have opinions.

  Lennox is lying on my bed like she always does. She’s rubbing Twinks’s stomach, which is making Twinks’s eyes go crazy. “You’re not the casual type. Just tell him no.”

  I start sorting through my flute music, pretending to finger through my parts. I want to tell Lennox she doesn’t know what type I am, but she might be right. I don’t know, I think my idea has merit. I can be casual with Kai as long as it’s not my first time.

  Lennox and Jackie take out their laptops to edit a film project for drama. I can’t concentrate on the sheet music, and to be honest, it’s showed in the last few weeks. Mr. Kaminski pulled me aside yesterday to ask if everything was all right with me. It’s like he doesn’t get that I’m in high school. I have shit to do. I also have a job and, you know, chores. Life is busy, and music isn’t all there is.

  But now that I’m sitting on my bed packing away my flute, I’m thinking maybe the problem is me. Maybe music isn’t all there is to me. The more time I spend in theatre, the more I feel alive, and I never get that feeling in band. I mean, I enjoy performing in band, I enjoy that moment when we’re all on the same wave and we’re creating music...but that’s about it. I enjoy all the in-between moments more in theatre than I do in band.

  Lennox looks up and sighs for the tenth time in a minute. Her legs are sprawled on my purple rag rug and she spins the laptop toward me. “Guys. Look at this and tell me what you think. Your honest opinion. I can’t tell anymore.”

  We watch the short film she’s done. It’s of her arguing with a puppet. It’s funny, kinda deep when they get into the part about what makes us alive, and the editing looks way more professional than a school project. I tell her as much, but she shakes her head.

  “Something’s not right.”

  Jackie slams her laptop shut and starts massaging her temples. “You’re fucking telling me. Mrs. G says she won’t accept my vlog for a grade. She says that not all drama is theatrical. What the fuck does that even mean?”

  Twinks is drooling on Jackie’s legs, and I think they’re becoming good friends, because she picks her up and starts hugging Twinks like her big fat body is a stress ball.

  I finish packing up my flute and sit on the bed next to Jackie. “I take it the film projects aren’t going well?”

  They both look at me like that’s not even the half of it.

  Jackie puts Twinks down. “Like, for real, I love Mrs. G and all, but the bitch is backward. She thinks we have to do everything the way she did back in the fucking colonial days in order to have a career. And don’t get me started on the fact that she doesn’t think YouTube or what it takes for me to plan, film, and edit these videos is real acting. She thinks the internet has only done harm to the art and that I’m not serious and—” Jackie’s starting to cry, but she’s looking up at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “It’s just bullshit.”

  She stands up and paces the room, and her hair falls over her shoulder, so we can’t see her actually cry.

  Lennox is grinding her teeth. “It is. I’m busting my ass on this, and I know no matter what I do, it’s not going to be good enough. Like, what is the point of doing any of this if we’re never going to be good enough?”

  I’ve heard this before. Actually, I’ve heard it in my room before, when Dré and Eli tried to get Mr. Kaminski to add them to our last spring concert as their own act. Mr. Kaminski said it wasn’t the time or place and that they had a lot to learn about musicianship before commanding a stage—and he still rides Dré’s ass for not trying hard enough in class.

  I won’t let my girls give on up on their dreams just because our teachers are too old to get what’s going on in the world around them. “To hell with Mrs. G’s opinion. She might be our teacher, but she isn’t the law.”

  Lennox shrugs. “But she’s in control of my grades.”

  “Okay,” I say. “But she can’t be in control of how you see yourself. You know—you guys are so incredibly talented. Jackie, you have almost a million subscribers. That’s almost a million people who watch you. Now—imagine what it will be like in five years or ten.”

  She looks at me, wiping her eyes to keep her mascara from smearing. “O, I get what you’re saying, but I don’t want to be a YouTuber for the rest of my life. I want to act. I want to be in movies, maybe direct and produce them.”

  I look between them. “You guys don’t see it because you’re in it, but what you’re doing now, being you and not being what Mrs. G wants everyone to be, is how you get where you want to go.”

  It’s like how Mr. Kaminski praises Zora for feeding off his every word and playing her part the exact way he wants her to—no deviation. We’re playing out his vision, his dream. I know he wants us to grow and be better, but what about Dré and Eli? If they’d listened to him, they’d still be singing cover songs in the garage with just me listening while I do my homework.

  “If you do it the way she wants, you’ll get a good grade and feel like shit. If you do it your way and keep perfecting your way, you’ll get harsh critiques, but feel amazing. You’ll attract the people who love the way you do it.”

  Jackie’s holding Twinks again and looking at Lennox. “This bitch needs an office. She’s like a life coach.”

  It’s not me. It’s Dré—he was the one with the balls to do it his way. And it’s Eli’s dedication that kept them perfecting what they do. They’re the reason I’ve got the guts to do this Year of Fuck It.

  Then I realize—what does that say about me? I’m not that different from Zora. I go to class and play out Mr. Kaminski’s vision—that is, I did. But now that I’ve been doing Othello, I’ve been living out my own vision of me. I know I’ve got a small role and I’m barely into rehearsals, but I’m really doing it.

  I get goose bumps.

  Lennox is reaching for her laptop again. “You’re right. Mrs. G is going to shit on whatever I turn in, so I might as well do something I’m proud of, right?”

  Jackie shakes her head. “But what about me? I can’t turn in the vlog. A year’s worth of work that I’ve put my all into that’s probably more put together than what everyone else is doing—no offense,” she adds to Lennox, “won’t fly with her.”

  Lennox holds up her finger. “No, but you can make a film about you. Not you, but Jackie the YouTuber.”

  I pick up what Lennox is putting down. “Oh my god—like a biography. Like Beyoncé.”

  Jackie’s smiling now. “Biiiiitch.” She puts Twinks on my pillows and grabs her laptop. But before she starts typing up a plan, she looks at me. “Can we pause a second to acknowledge how our girl just talked us off a cliff though.”

  I shrug. “I mean, you guys talked me off the casual sex cliff, least I can do.”

  Lennox is pulling out paper and a pen. “Or we can make it a mini biography about O losing her virginity.”

  I pull out my math book. “And this is when I exit the conversation.”

  They’re laughing at me, but it’s better than when they were crying over their dreams, so I count it as a win.

  They’re deep in the zone with their respective projects, so I slip off my bed and pull my list off my mirror.

  1. BE BOLD—DO THE THINGS THAT SCARE ME.

  2. LEARN TO TAKE A COMPLIMENT.

  3. STAND OUT INSTEAD OF BACK.

  4. GO ON A DATE.

  5. STOP CRUSHING AND MOVE ON.

  6. DON’T LET BITCHES TRY ME.

  7. F
IND SOME FUCKING CONFIDENCE.

  I’ve been pretty good about doing most of it. I’m actually proud of myself, but I’m adding a new entry to the list:

  8. IT.

  I’m not about to write down Have sex, because my mom could walk in and see this, not to mention I don’t need Jackie snickering about how precious I am. But I’m ready.

  I want to take this next step, and if putting it on the list makes that happen, then I’m underlining it twice. But I’m not exactly comfortable with the deal Kai’s offering—so the question is, if not with him, then who?

  * * *

  I’m at rehearsals again, and before it starts, Cleo’s waving me over to the curtains. We’ve been chattier, but...not a whole lot. But at least we’re not actively avoiding each other.

  “I heard what happened with Jackie and David,” Cleo says and she’s glaring around like Jackie’s going to pop out of the curtains. “I told you she starts shit.”

  This is kind of old news by now. I don’t mean because it happened a long time ago, more like because, between then and now, Markus was caught trying to have sex with his girlfriend in the changing room and that’s all everyone has been talking about when Mrs. G isn’t in earshot. “Yeah,” I say, “she didn’t really start that.”

  Cleo’s shaking her head. “The thing is, everyone thinks you’re a part of their little posse and, you know, birds of a feather flock together.”

  Oh my god. Cleo is talking like our grandmother now, and I can’t. I think someone told her she had an old soul once, and she took it to heart.

  “Cleo, it’s cool.”

  But then she does the slow eye roll, which means she’s not done. “Well, remember how I told you not to date anybody here? Angelina saw you taking off with Kai, and Rodney’s been talking about how y’all were all boo’d up at some party, and it’s not looking good.”

  I’m not going to lie, I’m really irritated that Angelina is talking about me. And I really don’t like knowing she’s watching my every move. Kai and I were smart enough to wait until everyone left before we got hot and heavy, but I still feel violated.

  Still, that’s for me to be angry about. Cleo’s looking at me like it’s her problem. I don’t get why she cares. She’s trying to make me feel bad about my friends, about Kai, and there is literally nothing wrong in either of those departments. “I don’t even know what you mean by not looking good. There is nothing wrong with me hanging out with Kai, and—maybe you shouldn’t care so much about what other people think.”

  I’m saying this, but the me from the Halloween party is chiming in with maybe I should. Why can’t I enjoy my life without other people having commentary about it? No. I’m not going back to being that sad bitch who cares way too much about how other people see her.

  She sighs and throws up her hands. “I’m just saying maybe you should care a little more. It’s your reputation.” She sounds like my mom and I swear, as much as our moms bicker, they are the same person, because I know this is where Cleo gets the whole protect your reputation thing. “People know you hang around Lennox, and when you and Kai are the last to leave the parking lot, people talk.”

  “Then let them talk.” I don’t know how to express to her just how much none of this should matter—I mean, not really. What I do and with who is my business.

  Cleo shrugs. “I’m just saying. That’s all. Watch your back.”

  By the time rehearsals start, I’m thinking about going back to avoiding Cleo. She’s probably more problematic than David, and considering I just heard him try to explain to Stephanie why tampons and pads aren’t the most environmentally friendly products, that’s saying a lot.

  I’m looking around our circle while Mrs. G reads the schedule for today. It’s so jacked up, but I feel like they’re all thinking about me and imagining what happened between Kai and me. I look across the circle, and Eli’s eyes move from me to Kai.

  I know I shouldn’t care, because nothing happened—and even if it had, I shouldn’t be ashamed—but it’s hard to actually take the advice to not care about what other people think. Especially when that person is Eli.

  When we break to set up for blocking, Dré’s giving me the look. The one that says I should just come out and say what’s on my mind before he mines it out of me.

  “People are talking,” is all I say.

  He sighs. “So. You like dude?” At least he’s not calling him Big Hawaii.

  I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know if it’s going anywhere.”

  Dré’s got a weird look on his face as we grab a few plastic oak trees to put onstage. “Then fuck what everybody else has to say. Just do you.”

  Markus calls him over to help find the helm of the ship.

  Dré’s right. As soon as I get home, I’m adding another thing to the list: 9. Fuck gossip.

  After the first hour of practice, Mrs. G has us pair off to work lines in different parts of the theatre. Dré and I are working on our scene in the sound booth. We can see everything from up here, and we’ve kept the light off, so no one can see us snooping.

  When Mrs. G steps out of the theatre, we use the mic system to make demonic noises at David and Angelina. They have no idea where the sounds are coming from until Lennox points to us in the booth.

  We lie on the floor with time still left on the clock until a run-through of act two.

  “Kmart officially dropped the charges,” he says. His voice is quiet, so I know he’s just keeping me updated. He doesn’t really want to talk about it.

  “Thank Jesus.”

  “Yeah.” He rolls onto his side, and his fingers graze my side. He’s nudging me.

  “What’s up?”

  Dré’s looking down, picking at some of the wires on the floor. “Thanks.” His eyes flick up at me.

  I keep telling him that our friendship is unconditional, but I think it’s going to take time for it to sink in. “You know what,” I say, “I’m going to need something in return for all this friendship shit.” I smile so he knows I’m joking.

  He lies back again with his arms behind his head. “As long as it doesn’t get me thrown in jail.”

  “Dré.”

  “Too soon?”

  “Too soon.”

  He’s laughing that easy laugh, and I’m thinking maybe I should ask him to sleep with me. It makes sense. He’s someone I trust, and I’d rather think of him as my first than a guy who told me I wasn’t worth the long-distance heartache. I mean, it is the Year of Fuck It.

  Plus—he’d never tell anyone. I’d never have to worry about it getting out. I don’t think Kai would brag about it either, but I want a safe first.

  “You could sleep with me,” I say it before I can not say it.

  His eyes go wide, and then I realize what a massive idiot I am. I just asked my best friend to sleep with me.

  “I’m kidding.” He’s stone still, and I keep saying it. “I’m kidding. I’m just kidding.”

  “Jesus, Liv.” He’s not laughing, but he’s not mad. I don’t know what he is. I just know I’m a freak, and that was probably the dumbest thing I’ve let come out of my mouth since that time I told my sister I came up with the catchphrase Got Milk. I was seven, and I somehow forgot I’d picked it up from a commercial.

  “Dré, it was a joke.”

  Mrs. G calls us all down to the stage, and I get up avoiding his eyes, because I think he knows it wasn’t.

  Chapter 23

  Dré brings up the “joke” whenever we’re close enough for him to whisper about it in my ear. You want a slice of pizza? What else, a Coke, my penis? Or like when I was at my locker and he snuck up behind me to ask, Looking for my penis?

  It’s not funny. He’s not even clever with it. So, when he leans into me, in the middle of rehearsal and says, “You’re begging for it,” I scream at him. Loud. Everyone stops what they’re doing, inclu
ding Mrs. G, and stares at me. He was just saying his line. I’m supposed to say, Just stay with me, but instead I screamed, “Enough with your fucking penis!”

  Mrs. G has me sit out, not for cursing, but for breaking character, and Angelina fills in as Bianca. Fucking great.

  Dré doesn’t say anything else to me for the rest of rehearsal, and it was an overall mess of a day. Everyone missed cues, and we all sang out of tune. Mrs. G yelled and said we sounded like feral cats. She wasn’t wrong.

  She schedules an extra rehearsal to punish us, and we do it all over again on Friday. I refrain from screaming at Dré, but we are completely out of sync, because I can’t look him in the eye without knowing he’s thinking of a way to make fun of me. It doesn’t help that Angelina is having a field day with it. When I pass by the dressing rooms, I hear her retelling the story like everyone didn’t already witness it.

  Needless to say, I’m surprised to see Dré at my door Saturday afternoon. My mom is gone and I’m in the middle of binge-watching all the Housewives episodes I’ve missed. “If you say one more thing about your penis, I will chop it off.”

  Dré slides into my house as I swing the door closed.

  “Lock it, we don’t trust people around here,” I say, walking back to my room. I don’t even keep my show paused. I press Play as Dré sits on my bed and pets Twinks. After about five minutes, he closes my laptop.

  “Liv.” He’s not laughing or smiling or doing his usual Dré business, and I swear, if he tells me he’s committed another crime, I’m getting new friends.

  “What?” I’m actually curious, because he still hasn’t made another joke.

  “I’m sorry.” He’s going to have to be specific.

  I lean back against my headboard. “Oh?” I really like dragging out Dré apologies. They get more flattering the longer I hold out.

  He takes a deep breath, and I realize he’s nervous. Which makes me nervous. He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. “Okay, I’m going to do something and if you want me to stop, just tell me.”