by Lance Rubin
“I did, yes, but—”
The homeroom bell rings. We’re both late, but Evan gives no indication that he’s going anywhere. “When else have I thrown you into a situation?” he asks, making finger quotes around thrown you into a situation.
I’m not a fan of finger quotes.
And at the moment, I can’t think of other examples of him doing this, even though I’m quite sure there are some.
“If I’m just forcing you to do all this stuff, then say you don’t want to do it.”
“You’re not forcing me,” I say.
“Well, that’s not what you just said.” Why, hello there, Reason I Never Brought This Up Earlier. Part of me is annoyed that he’s reacting this way, but another part wonders if some of the blame lies with me and wants to calm the situation down.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
“Do you two have somewhere to be?”
We turn to see our freakishly tall principal, Mr. Bettis, hands in his pockets, handsome and empty-headed as ever.
“Oh, uh, yessir,” Evan says. “We just did the announcements, so we were discussing how it went.”
“Oh, that was you?” Mr. Bettis leans his head back, like he’s only now seeing us clearly. “You both did a wonderful job. Terrific diction.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to smile that he just complimented our diction.
“I’d say the only spot for improvement was the Pledge.” My stomach lurches. “Which of you did that?” He’s asking to be polite, but obviously it was me, the female with the feminine voice.
I slowly raise a hand.
“Ah yes,” Mr. Bettis says. “The rhythms were a little off. A bit glitchy.”
Glitchy?
“She’s still getting her sea legs,” Evan says. I would have preferred I asked her last-minute so she had no time to prep, but it’s better than nothing.
“Well, kudos to both of you. Now why don’t you head on over to first period?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Evan says.
“Thanks,” I say again, not even sure what I’m thanking him for.
We stride down the hallway side by side. Evan’s looking straight ahead, obviously still frustrated by our conversation. I am very good at being in a relationship. Only took me a day to completely eff it up.
As my homeroom comes into view, and we’re out of sight of Mr. Bettis, I decide to speak, since Evan clearly isn’t going to. “Hey, I’m sorry I said that stuff. That wasn’t entirely fair.”
“Did you think I was forcing you to go to the movies, too?” He’s still not looking at me.
“No, of course not,” I say. He’s taking this harder than I would have expected. I’m actually starting to feel bad for him. “I think you misinterpreted what I said.” I’m choosing my words very carefully. “I really like hanging out with you, and I’m so glad you asked me to do the announcements.” Evan finally looks at me. “I would just love more of a heads-up next time.”
Evan smiles. “So you’re basically saying we had a fight because you couldn’t remember the Pledge.”
That’s not how I would characterize the situation, but okay. At least he’s not pouting anymore. “I’m saying we had a fight because our love triangle with Ms. DiMicelli is starting to stress me out.”
Evan laughs. “I choose you, okay? Ms. DiMicelli is a thing of the past.” He stops and takes my hands, and we’re right back where we were first thing this morning, as if the fight never even happened. “So, Winnie Friedman, I would like to officially invite you to do the announcements again with me tomorrow. How’s that for a heads-up?”
“Hey, that was really good. I’m proud of you,” I say. “I would love to.” I’m gonna get a chance to redeem myself after this morning’s shit-show! Hallelujah.
“Awesome. Then I shall catch you later.” Evan leans toward me, and I realize a second before his lips touch mine that he’s about to kiss me. In school.
It’s just a peck on the lips, but still. We’re suddenly the couple fighting and kissing goodbye in the hallway. Who even am I?
“You’re late,” Mr. Novack says from his perch on the front of his desk as I step gingerly into class. I’m realizing I ran out of the office so fast I forgot to get a late pass.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say, the entire class staring at me. “I was…doing the morning announcements.”
“That was you who bungled the Pledge?”
A few of my classmates snicker. Of course I have homeroom with the most Pledge-obsessed teacher of all time. I look down. I want to cry.
“Okay,” Mr. Novack says, moving on before I can answer, a rare graceful gesture, “take your seat. We have a lot to get through this morning.”
At my desk, I listen to Mr. Novack drone on about the way revenge functions in the plot of Tess of the d’Urbervilles, and my brain has chosen this moment to feel bad that I didn’t get to see Leili and Azadeh this morning. I know they’ll understand, but it’s such a regular part of my routine, it feels like I left the house without getting dressed. I pretend to be reaching down into my bag for a pen and surreptitiously rattle off a text to them.
Someone clears his throat behind me.
I turn to see Fletcher at his desk wagging his finger back and forth like an old schoolmarm.
I narrow my eyes at him.
He slowly shakes his head, in this way that’s so intense, I end up smiling.
An eternity later, Mr. Novack’s voice is finally done filling the room, and I’m about to peek into my bag to see if Leili and Azadeh have texted back when Fletcher appears beside me.
“Flying close to the sun, Friedman,” he says as we walk into the hallway.
“It’s not what you think,” I say.
“You weren’t reaching into your bag to text during class?” He hasn’t cracked a smile, still pretending to be angry.
“No, I was, uh, feeding my pet baby chick.”
Fletcher’s face finally relaxes. “Oh, why didn’t you say so? I love baby chicks.”
“Me too. How was your weekend?” Seamlessly shifting from a joke into actual conversation is one of my favorite things.
“Chill. Boring. Worked a lot.” Fletcher takes a pack of Fruit Stripe gum out of his pocket and unwraps a piece before folding it into his mouth. “You want?”
I stare at the zebra on the package. He’s playing soccer. “I haven’t had Fruit Stripe since I was, like, six. The flavor goes away so quickly.”
“I know, but it’s damn good while it lasts.”
I shrug and take a piece. It’s zigzagged with blue zebra stripes, and he’s right, that first moment of chewing is pretty damn good.
“See?” Fletcher says, as enthusiastic as I’ve ever seen him. “That first burst is undeniable.”
“I think I’m ready to spit it out now.”
Fletcher laughs. “Thought maybe you and your dad would come into the store again.”
“Oh. Yeah. No.” Mom insisted on doing the food shopping this weekend. Dad wanted to, but she thought he needed another week to get the hang of walking with his cane. I can’t say I disagreed; watching my father fall at Stop & Shop two weeks in a row is not my idea of a good time. “We didn’t want my dad to fall again.”
“Word. I get that.”
“Yeah.”
“Is he all right, by the way?”
I lift my shoulders. “Eh.”
“I don’t mean to get all in your business.”
“No, it’s fine.” I actually mean that. And before I even know what I’m doing, I tell him. “He has ALS.”
“Oh shit, seriously? That’s, like, Lou Gehrig’s disease, right?”
I nod.
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
He says it with so much genuine empathy that my eyes are suddenly wet.
Damn you, Fletcher Handy.
“My uncle died from cancer,” he says. “Two years ago.”
It shouldn’t make me feel better—cancer and ALS have nothing to do with each other, and why would I want to hear about someone dying right now—but for some reason, it’s a calming reminder that everyone has pain.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That sucks.”
Fletcher pops another piece of Fruit Stripe into his mouth as we walk in silence. I’m tempted to say something else to fill the dead air, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so I don’t.
* * *
—
Leili and Azadeh don’t seem mad about me not seeing them this morning, but not to worry, there’s tension at our table anyway.
Azadeh and Roxanne are doing their laughing thing again.
They’re leaning into each other and nudging knees under the table. Leili is quietly eating her feta flatbread sandwich while Evan and I try to figure out what’s so funny.
It came out of nowhere. We were all talking about how Principal Bettis’s pants never seem to fit him right, and then Roxanne looked at Azadeh for a second, and they lost it. It’s disorienting. I’m used to decoding Azadeh and Leili’s nonverbal twinspeak, but this language I’m not fluent in.
“Wow, hard-core giggle fit,” Evan says, which is like pouring gasoline onto a fire, the giggle flames climbing higher. Like last time, Azadeh and Roxanne are simultaneously cute—they clearly like being together—and annoying. Ol’ Tattoo Shirt is absent today, but I almost wish he weren’t. He could be an irritating counterbalance.
“Yeah,” I say, trying and failing to make eye contact with Leili, who’s staring across the room. “Save some laughs for the rest of us.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Azadeh says, pulling herself together. “It’s not even that funny.”
“Is it about that thing Siobhan on the field hockey team does?” Leili asks while looking at the table. Her sarcasm levels are off the charts.
“Wait…what’s up?” Azadeh asks, her love bubble momentarily pierced.
“Nothing’s up,” Leili says. “I’m great.”
“Okay,” Azadeh says, sharing a look with Roxanne like Uh, she definitely doesn’t seem great. I feel a pang of jealousy, a small taste of what Leili might be feeling, as I’m usually the person Azadeh looks to in those moments. “Well, it’s really not a big deal.”
“Okay,” Leili says. “I didn’t say it was.”
I want to jump in on her behalf, but again, taking sides with the twins has always come back to bite me in the butt.
“Great then,” Azadeh says. “So. It’s not a big deal.”
We’re all silent.
“Whatever, fine,” Leili says, packing what’s left of her lunch back in the sleek purple lunchbox she always uses. “I’m gonna go. I have yearbook stuff to do anyway.”
I can’t remember a single other time Leili has left lunch early.
“You’re leaving?” Azadeh says. “Because we laughed?”
“I just feel bad for Siobhan,” Leili says, even more sarcastic than last time, and man, she can really turn the knife when she wants to. I’m expecting Azadeh to say something else, to tell her to stay, but she just makes her offended face.
So I’ll be the one. “Leili, stay.”
Leili looks at me for the first time since the giggles. “What do you care?”
I stare back at her with an open mouth.
“See what I mean?” Leili says before swinging her backpack over her shoulders and walking away.
“What? Of course I care!” I shout at her back, too late.
I should follow her. I know I need to.
Across the table, Azadeh and Roxanne are speaking in hushed tones. Leili is almost at the far cafeteria door.
Maybe she needs the time alone. I mean, sure, the laughing was annoying, but I get the excitement of being in a new relationship, and maybe Leili could be a little more understanding. And furthermore, I’ve had a hard morning too, majorly beefing the announcements. I mean, I said antu! As if it were a real word!
So I don’t follow.
When I turn my attention back to the table, Evan is cracking up at some video on his phone. “Yo, check this out,” he says, “they’re pranking this girl by replacing the frosting on her cupcake with wasabi.”
I already regret my decision.
21
“You ready?” Evan asks, finger hovering over the PA button.
“Oh yeah,” I say, patriotic words surging through my brain.
I spent most of last night in my room, reciting the Pledge approximately one thousand times in a row. Evan had finally given me advance notice on the announcements; I was going to make it count.
“Should we be worried?” Mom said, poking in her head to find me lying on my bed, right hand on heart, shouting the Pledge at the ceiling.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Okay, great.” She smiled and left me alone. Mom can be frustrating sometimes, but credit where it’s due: she’s usually good at staying out of my business.
The whole bus ride this morning, I stared out the window and mouthed the Pledge of Allegiance. Whatever, people already think I’m weird anyway.
I know I could save myself all this trouble by reading it off a piece of paper, but it feels like that would be admitting defeat.
Whether I can remember it or not will be made very clear within seconds, as Evan pushes the button and gestures to me to start. I see Ms. Moore and Ms. DiMicelli in my peripheral vision, both leaning forward slightly, anxious to see if I derail again. Bring it on, ladies. I got this.
“Please stand for the Pledge to the Flag,” I say before launching into a bold, confident recitation.
It feels amazing. Like I’m finding the poetry in the words. Like I’m truly proud to be an American. Like I’m a goddamn superhero. As my tongue, teeth, and lips form the sounds, I picture my classmates, every student in school, all engaged in this same act at the same time, all of us connected by invisible strands, which web out to all the other high school students across the country also saying the Pledge at this exact moment.
“…with liberty and justice…for all.” I let the last words hang there, my chest puffed out with pride.
I did it. I nailed it. I nailed that Pledge.
I look to Evan, my eyes shining with tears. He seems concerned.
Are you okay? he mouths.
It immediately takes me out of my moment. I nod and glance over to Ms. Moore and Ms. DiMicelli, both of whom have stopped paying attention. Heathens.
Evan dives into the first announcement, which momentarily throws me off, as I sort of forgot there was anything beyond the Pledge. But along with my obsessive drilling last night, I was also prepping to be my best and funniest self during the rest of the announcements, mostly by YouTubing old “Weekend Update” segments from SNL. The Tina Fey–Amy Poehler years, obviously.
Evan finishes letting people know about some Fall Sports Journal thing, and it’s my turn. “For all those on the MHS bowling team,” I say, “there will be an informational meeting Thursday in Room B-44 immediately after school.” That’s what’s written on the paper, but I push myself to go further. “Maybe you will learn why bowling is the only sport that forces you to share shoes with thousands of other people. Which is super-gross, no matter how much spray-in-a-can you use.”
Evan is smiling, but in this shocked way, like he can’t believe what I just said. I don’t see what the big deal is. He riffs all the time.
Including now, as he reminds seniors that sign-ups for retakes of senior photos will start today outside Room 229. “So, if you blinked, or sneezed, or had mad crazy pimples when you took your photo, now’s your big chance for a do-over.” He looks over at me and smiles, like suddenly this is a competition, and I smile back. Game on.
&nbs
p; “Join the MHS Travel Club,” I read. “First meeting is Wednesday after school in Room 310 with Mrs. Winters.” I add, completely straight-faced (er, straight-voiced), “And by travel, we mean time travel. Our first trip will be to prehistoric times, so please bring camouflage clothes that will keep you hidden from the dinosaurs.”
Evan straight-up guffaws at this, and I look back, expecting Ms. Moore and Ms. DiMicelli to be glaring at us, but they’re chuckling too.
I am invincible.
The rest of the announcements pass by in a joyous blur, with Evan and me trying to top each other with gags. Finally we get to the last one; it’s my turn. I make a plea for anyone who finds two missing sequined Show Choir vests to please return them to Mrs. Zomro. “You obviously can’t see us right now,” I say, “but if you could, you would know that we are definitely not wearing stolen sequined vests. Again, I repeat: we are not wearing the vests that have been lost. Or at least, we won’t be once these announcements end.” I pause a moment, then shout “You’ll never catch us!” straight into the microphone while laughing maniacally. I’m hoping to push the button because I can’t think of a more perfect way to end the morning announcements, but Evan leans in front of me before I can.
“Thanks, everybody!” he says. “Have a delightful day!” Then he pushes the button and looks at me. “Whoa, you were on fire! Totally out of control but on fire.”
“What do you mean ‘totally out of control’? I was doing exactly what you do.”
“I mean, yeah, I’ll make a comment here and there, but you just went for full-on, like, comedy bits.”
“I actually found that to be very humorous,” Ms. DiMicelli says, and I once again want to kiss her.
“It was a little much for my taste,” Ms. Moore says as she cuts a muffin with a plastic knife, “but you’re definitely creative.”
“Thanks.” I’ll take it! Evan, meanwhile, seems bewildered. “I figure the funnier it is,” I say to him, “the more people will pay attention, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Evan says. “But, like, within reason. I mean, I don’t want Mrs. Costa to get mad.”