“Do not talk back to me. I didn’t hear Jet McCoy. I heard you.” Mrs. R pulls out a detention slip and scribbles fiercely on it. She rips the white slip off her pad and hands it to Veronica. Veronica hastily grabs it, crumples it and throws it across the cafeteria. All of our eyes go wide, including Mrs. R’s. Veronica’s never gotten into trouble. None of us have.
The lunchroom goes quiet.
“Veronica...” Jimmy hisses, shaking his head disapprovingly.
Mrs. R points her crooked finger at Veronica. “You are on thin ice, missy! Throwing that paper does not change the fact that you now have detention every day for the rest of the week. Keep it up and I’ll be calling your parents.”
“So, what?” Veronica blares. “So you can tell them some asshole is harassing their son? GO FOR IT,” she roars in Mrs. R’s face.
Mrs. R turns so fiercely red that I expect Devil horns to start growing from her forehead.
“That is it, Veronica Wilder! You are coming with me. Lets go.” Mrs. R begins to walk away and notices Veronica is firmly planted. “I am not messing around. Get to that office right now.”
“No,” Veronica says self-assuredly.
“Listen,” Mrs. R hisses in a low voice. “I will not tell you again. Go to the office.”
“No.” I’m pretty sure I can see a capillary bust in Mrs. R’s face. She waivers, her mouth twitches.
“Fine. We’ll see what Principal Favreau has to say about this.” She storms off leaving the cafeteria dead silent for a moment.
Veronica growls and smacks her fists on the table so hard it nearly topples over. She sits back down, her eyes completely glazed over. She’s glaring straight ahead with her face scrunched, lost in thought. None of us dares to say anything. Today is not at all turning out how I expected. The first bell rings but none of us moves. Jimmy gives me a head nod, silently telling me to go.
At times like these, Jimmy is the only one who knows how to handle Veronica.
Brett Dixon
Tuesday, 10/8
I hate Jet. I have no idea why I didn’t say anything to him. It just seemed like it wouldn’t have mattered if I did. I didn’t know what to say. Anything I said would’ve just made Jet start calling me a faggot too. Then all the guys on the Lacrosse team would join in and I wouldn’t be able to be friends or talk to Jimmy anymore.
I didn’t even want to sit with him! The only reason I did was because of Daphne. She’s becoming an unnecessary pain.
Honestly, I don’t even care that Jimmy’s gay. He’s been my friend forever and I’ve pretty much always known. It never mattered to me. I didn’t care and it wasn’t an issue. I had his back all throughout middle school when people would call him names but he wasn’t out of the closet then. I can’t have people getting the wrong idea and going around calling me a fag just because I defend him. It’s too much stress right now.
I already have a lot going on with lacrosse, and college apps and possibly even a lacrosse scholarship. Lacrosse paired with my academics...I could almost get a full ride to a good school. IF I can pull off good grades this year. I can’t deal with the guys harassing me. It would throw off the entire dynamic of the team and we can’t handle any losses this season.
Chapter 11
I’VE BEEN DREADING CALC since Tuesday’s lunch. Every time I think about it, I get anxiety.
I officially despise Jet.
More than running.
And every time I even imagine seeing Brett, my stomach does so many uncomfortable backflips, I want to vomit. I made it to class two minutes earlier than I usually do in order to find a seat away from the both of them.
Then, from behind me, a familiar voice. Brett softly says, “Hey Ramona, saved you a seat.”
My spine stiffens.
In eighth grade, Jimmy sat the four of us down and made us watch Titanic as part of what he called: Jimmy’s Classic Film Series (which also included The Godfather, Singing in the Rain, and The Graduate). He said it would be a “travesty to enter high school without experiencing the most passionate and tragic romances in film history.” We cried, loved it and then cried more. Even Brett teared up, though he’ll never admit it.
In Titanic, Rose gets upset and gives a nasty look to her fiancé after he disses her lover, Jack. He notices her taciturn expression and comments on her “displeased face.” In the past, this face had been an on-going joke between all of us. We occasionally still use it from time to time. I glance at Brett and give him my “Rose Is Displeased Face,” knowing that he’ll get the message. I keep walking and take a seat in the front row.
I spent the entire class raising my hand to answer questions, taking notes and getting most of my homework done by the end of the period. I never thought investing myself in Calculus would be therapeutic but perhaps it was all the curve sketching. Veronica once described to me that that’s how illustrious she feels after she runs. If that’s the case, I feel like I ran five miles. This whole math thing could be good for me. The bell rings and students begin to trickle out. I take my time packing my things.
“Ramona.” Brett comes out from behind me. I ignore him. “Come on, Bean, I just want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I have to talk to Mr. Kovsky.” I coldly turn away from him and march up to our teacher’s desk.
“Maybe later then.” Brett hesitates, and then walks out.
“Hi, Ramona. Good work today. Keep it up and you could win the academic award for math this year.”
“Oh...thanks. I was thinking that maybe I could do some extra credit work or something, if it’s available.”
“I would say yes but I reserve extra credit opportunities to students who actually need it. You’re currently the best in the class. Is there a reason you feel you need extra credit? If you feel you’re not being challenged enough I can give you alternative homework that could be more satisfying,” Mr. Kovsky offers sweetly.
I quickly say, “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I just thought maybe I could use the extra practice or something. It just feels nice to be good at something, I guess. Thanks, anyways.” I turn for the door but he stops me.
“Well, hold on now. You don’t need extra practice but…let me think for a second.” Mr. Kovsky leans back in his desk chair, and studies his messy notes from his notebook.
His gray hairs sprout up sporadically throughout his entire head giving him a salt and pepper look. The wrinkles around his eyes have deepened since Freshman year and his eyes have sunken slightly in. I wonder if it’s his students that have taken a toll on him, if it’s something bigger like family problems or maybe he has the same problem as my mom. I try to inconspicuously sniff for alcohol, but don’t smell anything.
Up until third grade, I really believed that teachers lived at school. I thought the classroom’s shelves pulled down and away from the wall, to expose the teacher’s beds. I pictured them cooking dinner in the cafeteria, praying with the pastor before eating their elaborate meal while sipping their church wine. I was convinced that they were swinging on the monkey bars and twirling on the tire swing before bedtime.
Fast forward to Senior year and now I’m wondering if they get drunk every night.
His silence starts to make me nervous.
Never trust a math genius, their brains work in mysterious ways.
“I think I have an idea. It seems to me that you’re looking for something that makes you feel good––important, if you will. I need one more after school tutor for a student in my regular calculus class. It would only be one day a week. Do you have time and interest in tutoring? You can think about it and let me know.”
I do need extracurricular activities and investing my brain in something is fulfilling.
And distracting.
“I don’t need time to think. I’ll do it.”
“Excellent! We meet here Wednesdays after school at 1:00. Can you start today? I have a student coming in for his first session that could really use your help.”
“Thank you, Ramona. See you after school.”
“A Positive, productive, purpose driven day.”
Just like that motivational speaker, Julian Sanchez, always says on TV.
I walk out feeling confident and gratified.
***
WE’RE STANDING IN THE hallway during our short break between classes. There’s a buzz of tension in the air. Veronica didn’t get suspended, (I’m sure her parents had a lot to say to Principal Favreau about their child being verbally abused) and escaped with only three detentions. No one has ever said anything half as bad as Jet did yesterday. People got bored of harassing Jimmy since he’s been out and now that he’s a senior, I didn’t think anybody had the gall to mess with him.
“So, I signed up for math tutoring on Wednesdays. I’ll be there today tutoring someone,” I tell Jimmy and Veronica as she bites into a snack size Twix candy bar.
“I salute your aspiration to tutor the kids in remedial calc. I would probably shoot one of them. Genius I may be, but teacher I am not,” Jimmy comments.
“Hopefully, I won’t get paired with anyone unbearable.” I sigh. “Hey V, what time do you get out of detention?”
“1:45. Detention is so awful. We just have to sit there with nothing but our thoughts. We can’t even do homework. It’s the biggest waste of time. An hour of my life that I’ll never get back.” She stuffs another Twix into her mouth.
“Stop eating your feelings, Veronica,” Jimmy tells her, slapping her hand. She shoots him a dirty look and continues chewing. “You’re going to get diabetes.”
“Mahbe, I whan dhiabehteh,” she says, matter-of-factly through a mouthful of gooey caramel and chocolate. She swallows.
“Nobody wants diabetes.”
“Well maybe I do.”
“Speaking of diabetes...I get done at the same time. Let’s go get pie at the diner when we’re all done,” I suggest, feebly trying to lighten the mood.
“I love pie.” She says this any time anyone brings up pie. We all know, yet she still reminds us. Rather than it being annoying, it’s actually become quite endearing to me. “You know I can’t say no to pie,” she continues. “Jimmy, you cool with that?”
“For sure, but starting tomorrow, no more hoarding snack size candy in your messenger bag. I’ll text Dad after school and let him know.”
“Whatever, all I care about is pie.”
Pie has made the mood lighter. Success. I feel like I’m kicking ass today. It feels good to invest in other people and put my problems aside for a little while.
***
I WALK INTO MR. KOVSKY’S classroom, anxious to find out which student I’ll be working with. There’s a number of students chatting, meeting up and finding desks to sit in. Mr. Kovsky steps out from behind his desk to greet me.
“Ramona, I need you to work with Ryan Applebaum.”
My cheeks flush just from hearing both our names in the same sentence.
“He’s not here yet but when he gets here, you guys can stay in here and work or go find a study room in the library. Just be back here at 1:45. He has homework you guys can get started on. Any questions?” He falters. “You still okay with this? You look daunted.”
“No, no, I’m totally fine. I’ll just wait for Ryan, I guess.” I silently send praise to the immaculate angels above who have granted this tutoring miracle upon me.
Thank you, God and Jesus and Mary and angel cherub cupid babies–
“Perfect. I’ll be here if you have any questions. Thanks again, Ramona. Speaking of the devil, here he is.” Ryan walks through the door and my body starts to get warm. “Ryan, Ramona is going to help you out today.”
There it is again––our names in the same sentence.
He looks at me and shoots that stunning grin of his. His one and only left dimple shows and it gives me a heart palpitation that leaves me no choice but return a shining smile.
Hopefully I don’t have my lo mein lunch stuck in my teeth––or worse, soy sauce breath.
“Hey, you want to go to the library? It’s a little crowded in here,” I ask, closing the distance between us.
“Let’s do it,” he replies, leading the way. “How was your day?”
“It’s been great. Other than a minor hiccup in math, it’s been a stellar day. How about you?”
“Glad to hear it. It’s been an all right day. I start training tonight for baseball season. I have zero time to be falling behind in math,” he explains. I start to walk toward the study rooms. “Hey, let’s go over here and find a quiet place.” He lightly brushes my fingers with his and I turn fuzzy inside.
I could get used to this.
He leads me to a little corner behind the encyclopedias and maps. A surprisingly dead zone considering we’re in a high school library. He takes a seat on the ground with his back against the wall.
“I used to come in here and do my homework before practice freshman and sophomore year before I could drive,” he says, motioning for me to join him. I sit cross- legged next to him and I get flashbacks of Prayer and Spirituality class. I attempt to find my confidence.
“Let’s try and get your assignment done so you don’t have to worry about it tonight after training.”
“I like the way you think, Bean,” he admires, using my middle name for the first time. He looks at me and hurriedly asks, “Is it okay for me to call you that?”
I’m over the moon that he wants to join my middle name club. I look in his eyes. They look like marbles in a glass jar shining in the sunlight. I’m pretty sure I swoon like a maniac because he’s looking back at me, grinning. My heart speeds up and I notice I keep looking at his mouth.
I think I want him to kiss me.
I want him to want to kiss me.
I swallow hard.
“Sure. Yeah, you can call me that,” I say, finding my words while fixating on his lips. My breath becomes uneven. I want to reach out and touch his lips with my fingers to see if they’re as soft as they appear to be. My eyes float back up to his gray eyes and he is looking back at me. His eyes flick down to my mouth and then back up. I can feel my heart beats coming even faster.
“Good,” he says.
He swiftly puts his hand on my chin, leans in and kisses me gently. I’m shocked, but only for a second. I part from him abruptly and he looks confused. I’m stunned that he just kissed me here, in the library. Anybody strolling through the References and Encyclopedias section could’ve gotten an eyeful.
“We should, uh, finish this so you can, g–get it out of the way,” I remind him, feeling flustered.
Ryan Applebaum kissed me and I want to shout it out on the rooftop and do my happy dance. A smile spreads across my face.
Kissed me, kissed me, kissed me–
“Okay. Let’s do it,” he says, completely casually and like he hadn’t just kissed me between stacks of dusty old dictionaries. I never thought I could be so ridiculously happy (and turned on) while being surrounded by hoards of paper. I do my best to act cool about it like he is and begin focusing on calculus.
I start to explain problems to him and he picks it up quickly. I might be better at this tutoring thing than I thought I would be.
When we part ways outside Mr. Kovsky’s classroom he says, “So, Bean, I’ll see you next week right?” He has on the cutest little crooked grin where one side of his mouth goes slightly higher than the other and I get a sneak peak of his pearly whites. That one dimple alone is enough to make me swoon.
I smile sweetly and say, “Sure. I’ll see you.” I walk away as Ryan walks the opposite direction. I bite my bottom lip, squeeze my eyes closed and try insanely hard not to squeal.
I wait for a few minutes outside of detention for Veronica. Finally, she comes out looking as if she was just released from jail: aloof, confused but ult
imately free. She looks up and sees my face.
“Ramona...what happened?”
“What? How do you know something happened?” I’m smiling uncontrollably. I can’t wait to tell her about my kiss with Ryan.
“Because you are glowing and beaming like a fool. Also, I’m your best friend and I know everything about you.”
Jimmy joins us as we walk toward the parking lot. He gives me a double take and asks, “Why do you look like that? What happened?”
“You guys, nothing happened. I’m just excited for pie,” I tell them, still fiercely unable to stop grinning and squealing.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get it out of you,” Veronica says, squinting her eyes at me suspiciously.
***
I’M SITTING ON MY bed listening to classical music[4] and reading about the Italian Renaissance when I get a text.
Veronica: There’s another LAX game on Friday. Wanna go?
Me: Seriously???
Veronica: Ya.
Me: Wait, is this about Chase?
Veronica: ☺Maybe. He asked me to go and I don’t wanna go alone. J has plans w/ Ricky Rodriguez.
Me: IDK, V. Brett and Daphne will be there.
Veronica: I know but duck them.
Me: LMAO, auto-correct ^^^
Veronica: LOL, shut up. Come on! Please? We can chill w/o my ugly bro.
Me: Ugly? He’s your twin! Hahahaha
Veronica: One of us had to be the ugly one and it’s not me.
Me: Bahahaha K, I’ll go.
Veronica: Yay! I wanna ask Chase to hang after the game. You think he’d say yes?
The fact that she thinks any boy in the world would say no to her, is astounding. Veronica Wilder is a beacon of beauty with her shiny, long blonde hair and even longer silky, white legs that contrast against her red and black cheer uniform magnificently. Her eyes are just like Jimmy’s: a brilliant green like grass after rain falls. She could have any boy in this entire town.
Our freshman and sophomore year, she got asked out by so many guys, but only went out with a couple of them. She said she just wasn’t super into boys yet and would rather focus on school, running and cheering. Eventually, the boys stopped asking her. She never seemed to mind. She has never shown much interest in any of the guys at Mount St. Mary’s––until now. Chase Washington is one lucky guy.
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