Keeping Up With Piper

by Amanda Adair

  “They don’t have law at community colleges,” Piper says.

  Tammy opens her mouth but doesn’t make a sound.

  “You’re next, Penelope,” Piper says and leans forward again to grab more cookies.

  “I’ve had a threesome,” Penelope says. What kind of town is this where teens do stuff like that? I honestly just want to go home now. Penelope harrumphs and conitnues, “My favorite series is Orange Is The New Black and I take forty minutes to shower.”

  “I’ve never seen you watch Orange Is The New Black,” Piper says. “That’s a lie.”

  “You’ve never had a threesome,” Axel says. “Because I wasn’t involved. The only threesome you should have is with me and babe.” He looks at Piper and winks at her.

  “Pig,” Penelope says. “But yes, that’s the lie, the rest is true.”

  “You really miss out on something,” Jason says.

  “Let’s play something else,” Piper says.

  “Like what?,” Jason asks.

  “Truth or dare.”

  “Seriously?,” Penelope asks.

  “Truth or dare, Penny?,” Piper asks and leans forward, not to get a cookie but to look at Penelope. She lays her arms on her knee.

  “Truth,” Penelope chooses.

  “Boring,” Axel shouts.

  “Why did you never have a threesome?,” Piper wants to know.

  Penelope grabs her glass and emties it again. “Because I didn’t.”

  “Is it because you didn’t want to?,” Piper asks.

  “Because it never happened.” Penelope now seems emotionless.

  “Do you want to have a threesome?,” Axel asks,

  “Axel,” Piper says. “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare,” he says.

  “Why not truth?,” she asks.

  “It’s not truth, it’s dare, so you can’t ask questions,” he says.

  “I dare you to anwer that.”

  “Okay, I’ll figure out something for Axel,” Tammy gets involved in their conversation. “Run around naked in the garden.”

  Without saying anything he takes of his shirt, then opens the zipper of this jeans. He does have some muscles, but also some fat layers above them. He continues to undress himself. I don’t know where to look. He even removes his underwear, then he walks towards the terrace door.

  “Why, Tammy? It’s dark outside, that’s no real challenge,” Penelope says.

  “Whatever,” Axel says and steps outside. Through the large ceiling-high windows we watch him dance through the garden. It’s indeed quite dark but in the moonlight he’s not exactly invisible. As he walks back inside I look at the table and the snacks. I grab some salt sticks and wait until his skin’s covered with garments.

  “Piper,” Jason says. “Your turn.”

  “Dare,” she says.

  “Touch Samantha’s boobs,” Axel says. “Again.” He laughs.

  Did she tell him that she touched my bra? I don’t understand why she did that.

  “Good idea,” Penelope says.

  Piper looks at me, then touches my left breast. “Done.”

  “Not the shirt, her boob, stupid,” Axel says.

  It all goes so fast. Piper puts her hand under my t-shirt, under my bra, as look down in surprise. Her hand feels so cold on my bare skin. The next thing I recognize is Penelope taking out her phone and taking a picture.

  “Cuties,” she comments as Piper removes my hand.

  “Why did you take a picture?,” I ask.

  “You look cute,” Penelope says. “It’s just fun.”

  “Hey, if you want a picture of us, just take one,” Piper says and pulls up her shirt, so we all can see her bra.

  “Piper,” Axel say. “You have huge tits.”

  “Can’t you just delete it please?,” I say as Piper puts her shirt back down.

  “I’ll go next,” Penelope says, ignoring my question.

  “Truth or dare?,” Axel asks.

  Why did Penelope take a picture? She didn’t take a picture of Axel but of me and Piper. I don’t feel comfortable with her having a photo of us. I shouldn’t have come here and I should leave as soon as possible.

  “Dare,” she says.

  “Are you crazy?,” Piper asks her.

  “You chose dare as well,” she reminds her.

  “Okay,” Piper says and looks at Axel. “Lick some guacamole from his dick.” Piper pushes a small bowl with some green dip towards Penelope.

  “Are you serious?,” Penelope asks.

  “I am,” she says.

  Now I’m glad I wasn’t dared to do that. Maybe I should pretend like someone’s calling me, and just leave.

  “Do it,” Piper urges. “Come one.”

  Jason and Tammy just sit there in silence. Jason’s mouth is open a bit, he looks either shocked or interested.

  “She doesn’t have to, right?,” Tammy asks and turns to Penelope. “You don’t have to.”

  “Sure she does. She could also lick it off Jason’s dick because it wasn’t his turn yet and Axel already jumped around naked.”

  Jason doesn’t say anything but looks at Penelope as if he wants her to say yes.

  “Alright, guys,” Penelope says and takes the bowl with guacamole. She sticks her finger inside and licks her finger, then she starts laughing. “Just kidding.”

  “Oh, so sad for the boys,” Piper comments and looks at her phone. “It’s late, let’s just stop playing.”

  I look at my phone as well. It’s already half past nine. Mom will freak out. I’ve missed two phone calls. As Piper and the others get up I quickly text her that I was busy but I’m ready now.

  “Just leave it there,” Piper says when Axel starts clearing the table.

  “Okay,” he says and walks towards the door.

  I look at my phone again. Mom answered me she’s coming to get me.

  “I need to pee first,” Tammy says and opens a door next to the entrance.

  “Bye guys,” says Piper and walks upstairs. Penelope is following her.

  Jason and Axel have just left, and I check my phone again. Mom will be here any minute, so I step outside and wait in the front garden.

  24

  I wake up as soon as the sun shines through the window in my bedroom. I couldn’t fall asleep yesterday. It took me an hour minimum to finally drop off. I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday evening. I thought about why, of all places in this world, I had to end up in Maywood. I will just forget that evening and concentrate on becoming friends with other girls than Piper and Penelope. They seem to be a bit perturbed, to be honest. I woke up before my alarm goes off, so I lie in bed, staring at the white painted ceiling for a while. I’m wide awake but I won’t get up until it’s really time for getting up. It feels like hours but it’s probably just a few minutes until my alarm sounds. I get up, open my mouth widely and yawn. I walk towards my closet, grab a shirt, some jeans and underwear, and get dressed inside my bathroom. Simultaneously I try brushing my teeth and washing my face. It’s a mess but I manage to go downstairs within five minutes, ready and wide awake.

  “Good morning,” Mom says cheerfully. She’s almost singing the words. “Pancakes?”

  Mom never makes pancakes in the morning. Never, really. It’s such a stereotypical thing to do when you’re living somewhere in North America, but she never does that. She either makes me a sandwich with her sandwich maker or some cereals with non-dairy milk that’s either almond milk or soy milk. There’s even maple syrup standing on the table. I wonder when she bought that. Maybe yesterday after she dropped me off at school. Maybe she wants to cheer me up because moving isn’t always easy.

  “Sure,” I say. Just because it’s not common for the Goldingers to eat pancakes in the morning, or ever, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.

  “Your Dad’s already gone,” she says.

  “Okay,” I answer and sit down.

  From the kitchen table I have a stunning view at the sunrise. It’s all pinkish on the bott
om, close to the lawn, but light blue at the top, where the clouds are slowly passing by. I felt like a racket before I got here, now I’m one of those laggard white clouds. I felt like there’s so many possibilities out there waiting for me. Not anymore. Everything that’s out here is the postman with some letters, Mom’s car and a blonde lady in her mid-fifties with curlers in her hair who happens to be our neighbor. She’s taking out her trash.

  “I can drop you off at school again if you wish,” she offers.

  “Okay,” I say. I think of Bran and what he said to me. Why is he like that?

  I pour so much maple syrup onto my pancakes that they almost start swimming away.

  “Honey, you know that’s a lot of sugar, right?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’ll just grab my purse, and then we’re ready to go, Samantha?”

  I nod. I’m not but she is. I finish my pancakes and look at the plate that stands near the stove. There are about five medium-sized pancakes left. I’d love to eat them but it’s already late.

  Mom drops me off five minutes before classes start.

  “Don’t forget your backpack.”

  I grab my backpack that I threw on the back seat and wave Mom goodbye.

  “Bye,” I whisper as she drives away.

  I turn around and walk inside the building. The school smells like a hospital. I can’t figure out why, it looks exactly like yesterday. Maybe someone hurt himself and that’s the smell of the first-aid room. I look at all those lockers. I still have to pick up my “welcome package” from the principal’s office. I don’t want to carry all those books around all day long. I still have ten minutes left so I decide to drop by now. The secretary looks like the sister of the woman behind the cafeteria’s counter. She has that friendly, carefree smile.

  “What can I help you with?,” she asks me as soon as I step foot in the office. At one end of the counter there’s Piper, filling out some document. She smiles at me and I smile back.

  “I’m Samantha Goldinger,” I say and lean over the counter. “I think there’s some welcome package for me.”

  A welcome package wasn’t a thing at my middle school. On our first day there we did a tour through the building and we were introduced to all the teachers, principal and other staff. Apparently this is not happening here. While I wait for her to get me the documents I see from the corner of my eye that Piper leaves the sheet of paper on the counter and walks outside.

  “Right,” she says and looks at her computer, then she gets up and walks to a low shelf right underneath the window. It takes a few seconds for her to find a brown envelope with my name on it and hand it to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” I say and leave her office.

  I open the envelope and go through the documents quickly. As soon as I find a key with a number on it I walk around the hallway and search for that number. It’s one of those blue lockers in front of the classroom where we did math yesterday. I hurry to tuck the books I don’t need today in the locker. I close it and sprint to the classroom for Spanish. I’m just on time, soon after I set foot inside the room the teacher closes the door. The room’s crowded and it takes a while for me to spot a free space at the end of the first row. As I look around I see Everly, Anna and Jason sitting somewhere in the second row. I sit next to Bran. There’s always a spare seat where he sits.

  “Buenos días a todos,” the teacher says. “I’m Mr. Hernández and this is your first Spanish lesson this year. How many of you have had Spanish before?”

  Everyone except me and a girl I haven’t met before in the third row raise their hands.

  “That’s fine,” he says and looks at me, then at the other girl who looks a bit like Arya Stark from Game of Thrones. “You’ll catch up, there’s an extra seminar for you two.”

  That is why Mom puts so much effort into researching the schools and spends hours reading the school’s website and googling the teachers. It’s so she knows they’re taking care of me and teach me the basics of Spanish when I haven’t yet learned the language.

  “For starters you get together in pairs and ask and answer the following questions,” instructs Mr. Hernández and turns around to write onto the blackboard:

  Hola, ¿cómo te llamas?

  ¿De dónde eres?

  ¿Cuántos años tienes?

  ¿Cuáles son tus aficiones?

  ¿Hablas otros idiomas?

  ¿Tienes alguna mascota?

  ¿Qué día es? ¿Que hora es?

  “Feel free to google in case you don’t know a word but make sure to talk to each other as much as you can,” he adds. “I want you all to get up and get together in pairs with someone you don’t know, someone you haven’t worked with before.”

  I get up, just like everybody else. I look around, into blue, green and brown eyes, girls’ and boys’ faces, and try to make eye contact with somebody I can get together with for this task. My eyes meet with the ones of a girl in the third row, we nod, so I walk towards her. She’s wearing a shirt with the New York Giants logo.

  “Hey,” each of us says. It’s quite a mess how all of us just try to find a place to sit with our partners. We can’t sit down right away, so we just stand next to the window. Outside it’s foggy and it looks like it’s going to rain today. There’s not a single soul walking on the streets in front of the school building. It’s either too cold and rainy today or all inhabitants of Maywood are inside sleeping.

  “I’m Melissa,” she says.

  “Samantha,” I say. I can’t stand it when people call me Sam, so I always introduce myself as Samantha and hope no one misunderstands and uses nicknames like Sam and Sammy out of nowhere. Sammy sounds way to similar to Tammy or Penny, how Penelope is sometimes called, so I’d rather have people here use my full name.

  “So, you didn’t have Spanish in school, did you?,” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No, just French.”

  I like French. It’s a beautiful sounding language but hard to learn and pronounce and remember.

  “Oh look, my table’s empty.”

  She points at the table she sat at. The two guys who stood in the way a few minutes ago now stand next to a shelf in the back, so we sit down.

  “That’s so cool, that you’ve learned French,” she says and looks at the blackboard. “Cómo te llamas? That’s something we can talk about. You understand that, right?”

  I guess I do. Comment tu t'appelles is a lot different from cómo te llamas but it’s not like I have never seen or heard any Spanish in my life.

  “Me llamo Samantha,” I try to imitate the sentence she just used for introducing herself. When reading all the questions Mr. Hernández wrote down I recognize a lot of words like llamas, años or idiomas, but I definitely don’t understand those questions right away. I need some context, then most languages and sentences start making sense after some time. I just have absolutely no idea how the Spanish grammar works.

  “Encantada de conocerle,” she says.

  I squint my eyes. I guess that means nice to meet you.

  “¿Cuáles son tus afi–” She stops in the middle of the sentence and looks at her phone that lies on the table, half covered by some books and notebooks. She starts giggling, then puts her phone away.

  “Estás en problemas,” she says, but I don’t understand anything except problems.

  “What?”

  “Sorry,” she says but can’t stop giggling. “¿Cuáles son tus aficiones?”

  “Okay, guys,” Mr. Hernández interrupts us. “We don’t have much time left. I want you to practice these questions and answers as your homework until next week. Write some dialogues and read them out loud during the next lesson.”

  He looks at his watch, and in that very moment the bell rings. Maywood’s teachers have a talent for ending the lesson just in time.

  Melissa doesn’t look at me anymore but quietly packs her things with a smile. I return to my seat and put everything on the table back int
o my blue backpack, then leave for the next lesson, which is English. In English I’m together with Cora and Anna again, but also Piper and Tammy. They came in after me but didn’t sit down on the spare seats on either of my sides. Piper smiled at me, the other two didn’t look at me at all. Maybe they didn’t recognize me.

  “Good morning, everybody,” a chubby forty-year-old man with glasses says and puts his hands on his hips. “I’m Mr. Schuller and this is your English class. In case English is not on your schedule for today, you’re probably in the wrong class.”

  We start this lesson with writing a short story about anything we want. “Be as creative as possible,” Mr. Schuller said.

  As I fill my paper with words, sentences, paragraphs I realize a lot of people in this room have their eyes upon me. Not the teacher, he stares at a book in front of him and doesn’t look up, but my classmates including Cora, Piper and Tammy. Those forty-five minutes of class feel like hours, even like days. I’m used to being looked at, from ice skating, from standing on theater stage, but I’m not used to people giggling and pointing at me behind my back. It feels like being the main attraction of a circus, of a freak show. I don’t know how to react. I could just ask them what’s wrong but we’re in the middle of a super silent study phase. Talking, even whispering would mean everyone could hear it. I don’t know why the teacher doesn’t realize most of the students are giggling quietly. It for sure isn’t loud but as soon as I saw them holding their hands in front of their mouths and staring at me it felt like every one of them is directly at my ear, in front of my face. I’m completely tensed up, every single minute and every single second in class. I can barely concentrate on writing my short story. This is not what I signed up for.

  I hate this school. I hate being here.

  25

  The stares and giggles continued in history and algebra. I sat there, both confused and annoyed, hoping this would soon come to an end. It wasn’t until lunch that I finally see a chance to figure out what’s happening. When I go get some pasta with tomato sauce I come across Anna.

  “Hey,” I say and smile. “What’s up? Everything’s fine?”