Hoodie

by S. Walden

  “Actually once you learn cursive, it’s easier and faster to write that way,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess you right. You always be scribblin’ so fast in class takin’ them notes,” he observed. “You prolly write down every single word Mr. Cantinori says.”

  She looked at him oddly and suddenly he felt self-conscious. How could he slip up like that? Now she knew he looked at her, watched her when she was completely oblivious to it. He prayed silently that she wouldn’t say it out loud, wouldn’t ask him why he was looking at her in class.

  “Do you want me to teach you how to write your name?” she offered after a moment.

  He was beyond grateful. He almost thought he could kiss her for not saying anything.

  “Uh, okay.”

  She scooted closer to him, and he watched as she spelled ‘Anton’ on the page in a neat, slanted script. He studied his name, the way she made it appear on the page, and decided that he liked it. He liked it very much. He wanted her to write his name again. And again.

  “Okay, did you watch me form the letters?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, now you try,” she said, and offered him her pen.

  “But you left-handed. I’m a righty. Won’t it be different for me?” he asked.

  Emma thought for a moment.

  “Well, the letters look the same, but you’re right. Your hand is going to move differently. I didn’t think about that,” she said, mostly to herself.

  Anton held the pen poised over the paper. He was unsure what to do and felt mildly ridiculous like he was back in kindergarten learning how to write for the first time.

  Emma looked as though she were deciding something.

  “Well, I guess I can try,” she said to herself, and then placed her right hand over his.

  His heart jumped at the feel of her hand. It was so small and warm, covering only a portion of his. She began guiding his hand to form the loops of his name. She giggled when they finished. It looked like chicken scratch.

  “Okay, I so cannot write with my right hand,” she said, scrutinizing the name they had both written.

  She did not notice that her hand was still covering his. She was so intent on studying the name. But he noticed, and he said nothing. She could keep her hand there as long as she wanted.

  “Let’s try one more time,” she said determined.

  He let her guide him once more, forming the uncertain loops of his name, feeling the softness of her hand as she tried for control. She withdrew her hand suddenly and stared at the page.

  “I give up,” she said. “Someone else will have to show you how to write in cursive. Someone right-handed.”

  But Anton thought that he didn’t want a right-handed person, and he almost voiced it aloud.

  “It ain’t no big deal,” he said casually, trying to hide the disappointment he felt that her hand was gone.

  He noticed that she did not scoot back to where she was originally sitting. She stayed close beside him. He was sure that she simply wasn’t aware that she stayed put, but he felt excited anyway. He could imagine that she stayed close to him on purpose, and it made him giddy.

  “You smell nice,” she said after a moment.

  He thought he would die. She kept noticing everything. The hat earlier. Now his cologne. He was tempted to flex his arm and show her his muscles. Maybe that would put her on her back for him. He shook his head. Get yo’ head outta the gutter, he thought frustrated.

  “Thanks,” he managed.

  She immediately delved into their project, asking him questions about certain chapters in the book, contemplating the characters, making connections with what they had learned already about each other’s lives. His heart dropped. He could not understand her. How in one minute she could tell him he smelled nice and then in the next breath ask him his thoughts on Carrie Meeber. He didn’t give a shit about no gold diggin’ ho, he thought. Why didn’t she just put her hand on his again and try for a third time with his name?

  He pretended to care. That’s how he could keep her there with him. If he listened to her and answered her questions with even the slightest bit of thoughtfulness, he could keep her on the blanket all afternoon. Maybe even until the sun set. Maybe until the stars came out. Maybe forever. He watched her bite her lower lip in concentration. Every now and then she absent-mindedly touched the stud in her earlobe, fingering it and spinning it slowly.

  They worked for an hour before she closed her binder. He was afraid she wanted to leave. They had not been there that long, he thought. How could he make her stay? But she did not want to leave; she was just tired of writing and needed a break.

  “There’s a guy at the park entrance who sells bread,” she said. “To feed the ducks. He charges way too much, but he’s convenient. And we could feed the ducks. If you want.”

  He agreed, and they left their blanket under the tree. She took her bag and binder, and he thought it funny that she entertained the notion that someone might steal their English paper notes.

  “You never know,” she said, smacking his arm as he laughed at her.

  She was right. The old loaves of bread were overpriced, but she paid for one anyway and walked with him back down to the water’s edge, dropping her bag and binder on the blanket as they went. The ducks could sense the food, swimming hurriedly to the edge of the lake then waddling as quickly as they could towards her. There were more ducks than usual, she noticed, huddling around them and quacking demands. The ones closest to Emma and Anton poked them impatiently with their bills. Emma could sense Anton’s growing unease. He couldn’t possibly be afraid of ducks, she thought. Grinning, she tossed the loaf to him, and he instinctively ran.

  The ducks chased him down the lake’s edge as he tore off pieces of the loaf and threw them behind him. She noted the expression on his face when he turned back to see if they were still at his heels. He looked like a cartoon character, she thought laughing aloud, his eyes wide with fright, arms flailing as he hoofed it down the bank.

  For awhile he was out of sight until she saw him running back, still followed by a few ducks that had gotten none of the bread. He tossed the remainder of the loaf to Emma and hid behind her. He listened as she scolded the ducks for being mean then gave them the last of the loaf. When they discovered that Emma and Anton had nothing else for them, they waddled back to the water and continued their lazy swim.

  “You did that on purpose,” Anton said, still breathing heavily from his run.

  “I would never do such a thing,” she said affecting shock at his accusation.

  “You knew exactly what you was doin’,” he went on. “I can’t even believe how scared I was over them ducks.”

  Emma laughed heartily then screamed when Anton picked her up and cradled her like a baby. She smelled the mixture of light perspiration and cologne on him, and she liked it.

  “You think you funny,” he said making his way down to the edge of the lake.

  “Oh my God, don’t!” she squealed, clinging to his shoulders.

  He ignored her. “But how funny you think it’d be if I tossed you in that water?”

  “Anton, don’t you dare,” she warned. She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Well, I think it’s only fair. You had those ferocious ducks chasing me. Now you need to go in the water,” he said, feeling her squeeze him hard and bury her face in his shoulder.

  He would never throw her in. He could not bear to feel her leave him. He wanted her arms around him forever, her face nuzzled into his neck for eternity. No, he would not throw her in. But he would tease her. He walked closer until he was inches away from the water.

  “How ‘bout just a little?” he asked. “I won’t put you in all the way.”

  He tossed her lightly and she screamed.

  “We could call it even then?” he went on feeling her clutch at him in desperation.

  He began lowering her towards the water.

  “Stop!” she cried in between laughter. �
�I’m begging!”

  “Well, if I don’t put you in this water then we ain’t even. What am I supposed to do with you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said frantically. “I’ll think of something.”

  He grinned at her and turned back to their blanket. He could have set her on her feet then, but he wanted to prolong the ecstasy of holding her, so he carried her back to the blanket before setting her down gently. It was difficult for him to let go of her not knowing when he would be able to touch her next. He only did it when the opportunity presented itself. It was never forced. He would never touch her without feeling like it was safe.

  Anton sat down beside her and watched her reopen her notebook. He willed himself to get focused, but all he could think about was the feel of her tiny arms around his neck, squeezing him until he was sure he would have to kiss her. They resumed their work, and he affected interest in it though his mind was very far away.

  CHAPTER 5

  TUESDAY, APRIL 20

  “I cannot believe you have to work with him,” Morgan said, scowling as she watched Anton change out books in his locker. “He’s such a thug.”

  “He’s not a thug, Morgan,” Emma replied amused.

  She checked her face in the mirror attached to the inside of her locker door, and deciding she needed a touch up, dug out lip gloss from inside her purse. She glided the applicator gently over her lips, pressed them together then studied herself again.

  “Oh my God. He’s watching you,” Morgan observed.

  Emma looked in Anton’s direction, and he quickly turned his face away when their eyes met.

  “No he wasn’t,” she said. Her heart gave a small jolt.

  “Yes he was. I’m so grossed out right now,” Morgan replied.

  Emma watched Anton joke with his friends. There were four of them. He said something and they laughed, one of them smacking him in the back of his head. He retaliated with a light punch to the arm. She watched them walk down the hallway, turning the corner until they were out of sight.

  “Are you listening to me?” Morgan asked.

  “Yeah. You said you have to go to the dentist this afternoon,” Emma said. She grinned at her best friend.

  “No, actually I didn’t say that at all,” Morgan replied. “Listen to me, Emma!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Emma said, closing her locker and falling in step with Morgan as they walked down the corridor.

  “What am I gonna do about Brian?” Morgan asked. “He’s starting to act all jealous about me, like he doesn’t want me going anywhere without him.”

  “You want my honest opinion?” Emma asked. She didn’t wait for a reply. “I think he’s a loser.”

  “Hey! That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about!”

  “Morgan, you said yourself he was a loser,” Emma pointed out.

  “Well, I know,” she said thoughtfully. “God, he’s such a freakin’ loser.”

  Emma chuckled. “You know, we all just put up with him because we love you.”

  “What, Aubrey and Sarah think he’s a loser, too?” Morgan asked.

  “Um, yeah,” Emma said bewildered. How could she not know that? “Listen, you’re so pretty and smart and funny. Why are you with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan said shrugging. “Because he’s there?”

  Emma laughed as they made their way into history class, the only other class she shared with Anton. She was careful to avoid looking at him. He shared this class with two of his friends, and while in the past she had never given any of them a single thought, she now felt slightly nervous being in a room with them. She had even decided to avoid speaking up in class so as not to draw attention to herself or give his friends reason to snicker at her. The laughter that ensued after her confrontation with Anton a few days back was still fresh in her mind.

  She walked past them and heard one of them ask teasingly, “How yo’ project goin’, Anton?”

  “It’s fine,” Anton replied. He knew she could hear them.

  “She bein’ nice to you?” the other asked.

  “Man, everything fine. She fine,” Anton said. He shifted nervously in his seat at the back of the class.

  “You makin’ her do all the work? Shit, I’d make her do all the work. She so fuckin’ smart and all.”

  “Will you shut up, man?” Anton said.

  His friends moved on to another topic of conversation as he watched Emma take her seat on the opposite side of the classroom. She was engaged in a conversation with her friend, and Anton realized that her friend was really the uptight bitch. He caught her giving him dirty looks on occasion in the hallway between classes, and he tried to understand that it was her way of being protective of her friend. Still, it pissed him off thinking of all the things she was saying to Emma about him—feeding her mind with hateful prejudices. He scowled watching her play with her long blonde hair while she listened to Emma talk. How could Emma be friends with her, he wondered?

  The bell finally rang, and he settled himself for a fifty minute mind-numbing lecture on U.S. law. He stole glances in Emma’s direction, watching her take notes. She was always so diligent in class. He was amazed by her fervor. She acted like she genuinely cared about school. He only worked as hard as he had to. He knew what grades he needed to get into a community college. He realized he’d have to start there and not at a four-year university. He screwed up those chances in ninth grade. Once he recognized that he needed to get his act together, it was too late. But he figured that there was nothing wrong with community college. He knew a lot of other students starting there before going off to a big university.

  He caught sight of Emma looking his way. She smiled at him, and he didn’t know what to do. He turned away, sensing that her face fell with disappointment. Why didn’t he just smile back? He couldn’t risk his friends seeing. They’d want to know why he was smiling at her, if he liked her, and then they would give him unimaginable hell over it. No, he was right to look away. If she got her feelings hurt over that, then she was way too sensitive, he thought.

  The bell rang. Another fifty minutes of his life wasted. He wondered how high school could be so unimportant, how four years of his life could be so dull and inconsequential. He felt like he was in a prison and was sure many other students felt the same, shuffling like zombies from one room to the other at the sound of a bell. What the hell was that?

  Emma brushed by him on her way out of the room. She did not look at him, and he was certain she was mad. Over a smile, he thought, and chuckled. He followed her lazily down the hallway to his locker. His friends had disappeared leaving him alone to stare at her all he wanted unnoticed, unbothered. Her friend wasn’t with her, and he plucked up the courage to go and talk to her. It was safe, he thought.

  He approached her locker as she was shutting it.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” she answered, aloof.

  “When you wanna get together again?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of busy this week,” she replied.

  “You mad at me about somethin’?” Better to just confront it, he thought.

  “Why would I be mad at you?” she replied.

  “I don’t know.”

  He hated when girls did that. And they were so good at doing that—affecting indifference when they were really pissed off. Why didn’t they just say what they felt? It would make life for men so much easier.

  They stared at one another. She seemed to be making up her mind about something.

  “I guess we can meet somewhere tomorrow after school,” she said finally.

  So she was going to let it go, he thought relieved.

  “You wanna come over to my house?” Anton asked.

  “What? So you can get a ride home?” She grinned at him.

  “Well, that too,” he admitted. “You don’t know what it’s like riding that bus home. It’s awful.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never ridden a bus
to school,” she said.

  “Imagine that,” he said sarcastically, and she playfully punched his arm.

  “You’re such a butthead,” she said.

  Anton laughed hard.

  “What?” she asked grinning.

  “Nothin’. I don’t know. You the first person ever call me a butthead,” he said still chuckling.

  “I’m sure I won’t be the last,” she offered.

  He looked down at her and smiled. His friends were right. She was scrappy. A scrappy munchkin, he thought. She didn’t know what went through his mind as he looked at her, but she knew that she liked him looking at her that way.

  “I guess I could come over today, too,” she said. “I mean, that’s if you’re not busy. I know you’ve got that new job.”

  “I don’t start ‘til next week,” he said.

  A thought occurred to her. “How will you get to work? I mean, since you don’t have a car.”

  Anton laughed. “Girl, you ever hear of public transportation? Man, what am I sayin’? ‘Course you haven’t. The bus line don’t go anywhere near yo’ house.”

  “Whatever,” she replied, trying to brush him off. How could she ask such a stupid question?

  “I’m just playin’ with you. You know that.”

  “Do you want me to come over today or not?” she asked.

  “Sure. I mean, whatever. If you want,” he said trying to sound casual.

  Emma placed her hands on her hips and looked up at him. Her eyebrow was raised in a question, and he knew that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she heard him say it.

  “Yes, Emma, I want you to come over today,” he said.

  She turned to leave and he followed after her.

  “You gonna give me a ride home, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she replied, picking up her speed to beat the tardy bell.

  Anton stopped following her and watched her disappear into a classroom at the end of the hall. Just then the bell rang, and he couldn’t remember what class he was supposed to be in.

  ***

  They had been working for nearly an hour sharing childhood stories and trying to decide if anything was worth including in their paper when a knock sounded at the front door. Anton excused himself and left the room.