Ten Times Fast

by Mallory Lopez

  We’re friends.

  Friends. Friends. Friends.

  “All right, class. Settle down,” says Mr. Kovsky. Brett and I exchange glances because Mr. Kovsky looks horrifically near death––like, the year is 1348 and he’s had the Black Plague for weeks, kind of death.

  The class stares at him in unmasked disgust.

  “I’m sick and there is no substitute available. On the board is the assignment. Do it now, do it at home, do it with a partner, I don’t care just stay in your seats and don’t be disruptive.” He moves back to his seat and slumps down.

  I open my textbook to the assigned page and start working. I only last about ten minutes before I get bored. I decide to drop a note to Brett.

  Ready for the big game?

  I reach over and throw it on his desk to the left of me. I don’t have to be sneaky. Mr. Death was slumped down in his chair pretending to do work on his computer though now, his head is hanging to the side and he’s very clearly sleeping. I wonder if he’s hung over.

  No, Ramona. Not every adult gets drunk on weekdays. I start to get lost in thought when Brett returns my note. I control my excitement and bite my grin.

  I’m pumped. Although, I’m hoping I don’t choke in front of you tonight.

  Well, don’t worry. I would give you the Heimlich.

  Real funny. How was the rest of your birthday?

  I turn pink remembering how badly I wanted Brett to touch me.

  No, Ramona! Focus on a normal conversation.

  I remember Mom twirling her glass of pinot noir and only setting it down to cut her steak. The way it was glued to her hand like an expensive piece of jewelry as precious as her wedding ring. I frown. Even though I’ve known Brett for a long time, he doesn’t know about my Mom. Nobody does–except Veronica and Jimmy.

  Good. Went to William’s and got steak for dinner.

  After I pass the note back I feel him eyeing me. I pretend to actually do the math work praying to the Lord that my skirt isn’t tucked anywhere it’s not supposed to be.

  Help me with these confusing, complicated calculus questions?

  I know he’s setting me up, but I take the bait anyway.

  SAY THAT TEN TIMES FAST

  I stifle my laughter when I hear him whispering to himself for a minute.

  Confushinilnatedalmpiuskesh... help now?

  It’s boring. I really don’t even want to do it.

  Of course it’s boring. But you’re good at it. Help me before I start begging.

  I really do want to help him...and sit inches away from him. Before I have time to write him back, he reaches over, grabs both of my desk legs and drags the entire freaking desk with me in it over to him. I’m dumbfounded.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Huh?” I ask, momentarily lost in my astonishment. I shake my head. “No. I’m...surprised. I didn’t know you were that strong,” I admit. He relaxes and leans in closer to whisper in my ear.

  “I didn’t know you were that easy to impress.”

  I feel heat rise to my head. There’s a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking over my stomach.

  I look around the classroom and see that everyone else is minding their own business, mostly talking and only a couple students actually doing the work. Jet is animatedly talking about some Packers game.

  Whatever the hell a Packer is.

  “So, can you help me? By the way, have I told you how impeccably smart you are? How you are the smartest person I know? Certainly the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met.” I roll my eyes at his manipulative flattery. I playfully elbow him.

  He slips his arm through my elbow and slides my homework sheet to where he can see it. I’m trying not to obsess over the fact that our arms are linked and that he smells clean and musky like dark, dense woods.

  RAMONA, FOCUS.

  “Your flattery won’t work on me. But I’m feeling generous so yes, I will help you. And if it makes you feel better, you’re right. I am excellent at this and I am impeccably smart. You also forgot beautiful and charming.”

  He leans in so close that his lips touch my hair and I feel his breath on my ear as he whispers, “I didn’t forget. I just hadn’t gotten there yet.”

  I swallow hard and my cheeks feel fire. He un-loops his arm from mine, regrettably, but his distance allows me to gain my composure.

  Friends. Friends. Friends, I repeat my mantra.

  “Oh, sure, yeah, okay,” I say sarcastically. He’s looking at me seriously. My eyes grow wide. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

  He looks me dead in the eyes. “Ramon Bean Scott, you are as charming and beautiful as you are impeccably smart.”

  I momentarily get lost his honest hazel eyes. The eye contact is too much for me so I retort with a cocky, “I know,” and look down at my assignment sheet. I can’t help but steal a glance.

  A grin spreads across his face.

  I wonder when Brett got undeniably confident.

  I also wonder how I’m going to control my body when I’m around him because I’m finding that I really want to be around him.

  Brett Dixon

  Friday, 10/4

  I’m sitting at home replaying today’s Calc class in my mind. I should be eating and getting ready to go to the game but whatever.

  Ramona seems to have brushed off the eskimo kiss from Tuesday. I can’t believe I did that. I’m still embarrassed.

  I meant to mind my own business in class but then Mr. Kovsky was sick and it didn’t make sense for us not to work together. She was sitting right next to me. We went all week only having small talk. I needed a little more. Now I feel like I’m off the deep end.

  I can’t get her smell out of my nose. She smelled like some of those magnolia flowers my mom always buys at the Sunday Farmer’s Market. It was soft, sweet and also clean and fresh. I would have nuzzled my face in her hair if I could.

  I really hope she believed me when I told her she’s smart and beautiful. I wanted to reach over and touch her. Tuck her hair behind her ear. Every time I look her in the eyes she blushes. She’s the cutest fu damn thing I’ve ever seen. I want to take her in my arms and hug her all the time.

  I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m never this way with girls... I’m definitely not this way with Daphne.

  Ramona’s coming to the game tonight and I hope I don’t mess up. I want her to see me be really good at something.

  Daphne’s coming too. She wants to hang out after the game, but I’m being forced to go to my Grandparent’s. I bet Bean, Jimmy and V are all going to go play N64 and pig out on junk food after. I would even ditch Daphne for that if I could.

  I wonder if Ramona cares about me dating Daphne. It hasn’t seemed like it so far. Daphne’s hot as fu, but not the nicest person in the world.

  What am I even saying?

  Ramona doesn’t have feelings for me at all. I could be misreading this entire thing. But...I’m pretty sure she was flirting with me today. I would put money on it. I can feel the way she tenses when I get close to her. And how she gravitates toward me. I don’t even think she realizes she does it.

  I have Daphne though. I’ll give it a little while longer while I feel out this Ramona thing. There’s something there between us, I can tell. Ramona isn’t the type of girl that you can hit and quit. She’s the kind of girl that you want to take care of because...she takes care of you. I just don’t know if I can be what she needs. What she deserves. I want to find out but if it doesn’t work out then I’ll lose her forever. We wouldn’t be able to be friends after that.

  She’s officially starting to drive me nuts and she doesn’t even know it...I wonder what she’s doing right now...no, no, NO DIRTY THOUGHTS.

  CHAPTER 7

  “RAMONA! IS THAT YOU?” Mom shouts as I walk through the front door into our house after school.

  “No! It’s a robber! I’ve come to rob you!” I pause, waiting for a response. “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” I smile at myself. “H
a. That rhymed.”

  She greets me in the entryway. “I knew it would be you,” she says, as if she had some sort of premonition before I walked in. “How was school, sweetheart?”

  She helps me take off my jacket and almost falls over walking four steps to the closet door to hang it up. She grips the wall to regain balance. “Whoops! My equilibrium is off today.”

  I frown, worried. I’m certain that it’s not her “equilibrium.”

  “So? How was school? Come in here and tell me all about it.” I swear, she just sits at home waiting for me to come home and entertain her. It boggles my mind how she can just sit at home all day. I follow her into the kitchen anyway, take a seat at the counter and sling my backpack on the stool next to me. She kills her remaining martini. “Are you hungry? Want a snack before dinner?”

  “Yeah, totally. That sounds good.” I firmly believe there are only few things better than an after school snack.

  She walks to the fridge and pulls out a jar of green olives, vodka, vermouth, and all natural organic peanut butter. Then, she pulls out the crackers from the pantry. “All right, spill the beans, Bean. What happened at school today? Spare no details.” She starts concocting her elixir.

  “Don’t you usually use ice to make martinis? That’s how they do it in the movies.”

  “You can, but I don’t. The ice waters it down. I shake it still but keep the vodka in the freezer and vermouth in the fridge. So it’s cold.”

  “That’s tactfully planned and very strategic of you,” I commend her, tonelessly. Both attributes I would typically admire under different circumstances. She smiles smugly, proud of her cleverness.

  “School was pretty uneventful,” I shrug. “Hey, can I sleep at Veronica’s tonight? Brett’s lacrosse game is tonight and he asked us if we could go. We haven’t ever been to a game of his so we want to show our support.” She begins spreading peanut butter on the crackers and hands one to me. I don’t mess around––I shove the entire thing in my mouth.

  “Brett Dixon? Are you starting to hang out with him again? I know he stopped by the other day. It was nice seeing him.” She sips her refilled beverage.

  “Oh, um. Maybe, a little bit. He was returning something I lost,” I mumble, choosing not to elaborate on the bedroom debacle. “It’s just that he and Jimmy aren’t best friends anymore so we don’t really hang out with him or see him too often. Not to mention, he hangs out with the jocks. Not really our scene.”

  “Oh. And Jimmy, poor thing...is he still...you know...”

  “Gay? Is Jimmy still gay, Mother? Yes, he is.” I snap at her, irritated that she would ask me that.

  “Struggling with his grandparents, is what I was going to say, Ramona Bean Scott. I know they weren’t thrilled when he came out of the closet.” She slurps again, looking at me sternly through her eyelashes.

  “Okay, jeez, sorry. So...can I go?”

  “Not if you keep getting an attitude. How is Veronica doing?” I wish she would give me a straight answer but it’s obvious she’s lonely. This makes me more irritated but pity creeps in so I let go of my attitude.

  A little.

  “I haven’t been able to see her a whole lot since we don’t have as many classes together as usual. Which is why I want to sleepover. We need time to catch up,” I say, popping another cracker into my mouth.

  When I look up, I notice her face.

  She’s gazing into her drink, deep in thought. A frown naturally takes over her mouth and her eyes are dark and intense like the calm before a storm. It’s silent for a minute. I don’t know what to say to bring her back.

  More time passes.

  “I was hoping we could all watch a movie or something when Dad gets home.”

  She remains somberly peering into her murky, extra dirty glass, carefully twirling it by the stem. She looks up at me and pastes a tiny grin. “But of course you can go, sweet Bean. Another time.” She gulps the rest of that five-minute-old martini. “There’s money in my wallet.”

  I sit in awe that she just chugged an entire glass of vodka. She goes to the cabinet and opens one of her pill bottles, plopping two on the counter. I get her wallet and pass it to her as she’s already in the middle of pouring another round from the shaker. “Thanks. Here’s forty bucks,” she offers, passing me the cash.

  I start to feel that the black cloud of guilt looming above me is ready to consume me whole.

  Her despair pulls at my heartstrings.

  It’s becoming more and more frequent.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. We can have our movie night tomorrow, if you want,” I encourage.

  She gives me a petite smile. A faint flicker of life awakens in her eyes. I wonder if she will be okay here alone.

  I wonder if we’ll ever get her back to the way she was.

  I know that if I decide not to go to the game, she will only manipulate me into staying in with her more.

  So, I decide to stick to my guns.

  “I would like that. What time are you leaving?”

  I look at the clock. It’s already almost five. “In an hour. I’m going to go do my homework and then get ready to roll.”

  “Sounds good, honey. Let me know before you head out, okay? Make sure you get your homework as close to finished as you can.”

  I hope off the stool, grabbing my bag. “Will do. Thanks for the snack, Mom.” I kiss her cheek and head for the stairs. I look back, finding her fixating on the drink again. She swallows down her pills, pausing with her head back and eyes closed as I’ve become accustomed to seeing the last couple of weeks. I turn back and fight the atrocious pang of guilt.

  When I get to my room, I text Dad.

  Me: Going to LAX game tonight. Mom seems pretty sad.

  Dad: LAX??? Why are U going 2 California?

  I snort a laugh.

  Me: LACROSSE game. LOL

  Dad: That’s perfect. I’m almost home. Don’t tell Mom. I’m surprising her w/ flowers and dinner. ;)

  Me: Fun! Love you.

  Dad: Love u too. Have fun and be safe.

  My guilt subsides and I get ready for the game.

  Chapter 8

  THERE ARE ONLY ABOUT forty people at this lacrosse game and I venture to say that two-thirds of them are parents and relatives. It’s nothing compared to the turn out to for the Mount Saint Mary’s football or basketball games. Or even baseball games for that matter.

  “No wonder he wanted us to come,” I say bleakly as we look around.

  “No wonder we don’t cheer for the team,” Veronica adds, dismally.

  “At least there’s enough bleacher space,” Jimmy offers, snorting.

  Veronica asks, “Do we even know anything about lacrosse?”

  We both answer, “No,” sitting down anyway.

  “What number is he again, Bean?”

  “I think number 37...” I say, scanning the field for Brett. Finally, “There he is!” I exclaim like I just found Waldo. I point to Brett who doesn’t yet have his helmet on. He bends over to stretch.

  “Not a bad view either,” Veronica chirps, raising an eyebrow.

  “Woah, Veronica. Chill out,” Jimmy says, while we giggle into our hands.

  “Oh come on, like I’m the only one that’s noticed how hot Brett has gotten over the last year,” she says, trying to defend herself. I stiffen.

  “No, you’re just the only one that will admit it out loud,” I remind her.

  “All right, yes, Brett has gotten...very handsome, but come on! Get your hormones in check. He’s our friend,” Jimmy says, eyeing Veronica with a spiked eyebrow as if to say, don’t even think about it.

  “Oh please. Like you have to worry about me. Brett is not my type.” This is true. Veronica’s type is the quiet, poetic, “mysterious” type.

  I’m even surprised that she is so taken by Chase. With her picky taste, she can hardly find anyone to crush on at our school.

  “True,” Jimmy agrees. “Plus, I think there might be someone else in the picture.” He p
oints to a girl with long braids and a body with curves in all the right places sitting in the front row of bleachers. My heart skips a beat.

  “Oh my god...please tell me that’s not Daphne Krhvyskytyty,” I beg through clenched teeth. I can’t believe my luck.

  “I don’t think that’s her last name, but I’m afraid you’re definitely close,” Jimmy laughs.

  “Kurchovsky,” corrects Veronica.

  “Bless you,” Jimmy says.

  “No, that’s her last name,” Veronica says, her eyes on the field.

  “Bless you?” Jimmy teases.

  “No! Kurchovsky,” Veronica explains, punching Jimmy’s arm.

  “Say that ten times fast!” he shouts loudly in her face.

  She laughs and ends up with a mumbled, “Churtcurschy.”

  “Crazy! You can say her name ten times fast and it still sounds the same,” Jimmy marvels, wide-eyed and making her laugh hysterically.

  “She has a sign for Brett. Are they dating?” Veronica questions, wiping a happy tear.

  “This isn’t happening,” I grumble, my chest tightening. They finally snap out of their hysterics, looking at me.

  “No way he’s dating her,” I answer quickly, covering. “Brett would never date a mean girl.”

  The thought that Brett would fall for her antics is enraging. After she was insanely rude to him in middle school, I can’t believe he would date her.

  I’m fighting a hot steam of perplexities sprouting up inside of me. I’m boggled as to why he didn’t mention that he’s dating someone. I feel jealous, protective and slightly dejected all at the same time.

  He whispers in my ear, saves me a seat for class, comes to my rescue when I get hit with a soccer ball, pulls my shirt out of my underwear and gives me a freaking eskimo kiss. My brain can’t wrap around how he could be hooking up with Daphne at same time.

  I sigh.

  It doesn’t even matter. I can’t like Brett because: