Bacon Pie

by Candace Robinson

  Shaking his head, Barnabas gives a loud chuckle that echoes through the room. “No, I’m not gay, but I do have another young lady in mind.”

  I cringe. “It’s not me, right?” I joke.

  “Gross! Not that you’re gross, but that would be too weird.” He grimaces. That would be strange—he’s practically my brother from another mother. “No, but seriously, just tell Sophie I said, thanks for the offer.”

  “How about you tell her.” I don’t really want to deliver the message back to Sophie.

  “Look, just tell her I have too much on my mind with the harp right now. And that is the only lady I have time for in my life at the moment.” Barnabas strums the strings to stress his point.

  “I’m never doing this again,” I mutter to myself as I walk away, heading back to where Sophie’s still patiently waiting. She actually did stay here and wait the whole time—what a sad day this is going to be.

  In anticipation, Sophie’s big eyes turn wider, like those little stuffed TY animals, but I don’t feel sorry for her. I’m more annoyed I have to break this awkward news.

  “So? What did he say?” Stepping toward me, Sophie grabs my elbow to walk across the hall.

  Staring down at her hand on my elbow, I shake her off. “Barnabas said he has too much going on right now with ‘the harp’ to have anyone in his life at the moment. He has All-State auditions coming up.”

  I’m waiting for the tears or a sad face to come, but instead, a huge smile crosses her face as she looks up toward the ceiling. “Thanks so much.” She throws her arms around me, and I attempt to shake out of that, too, but she’s latched around me like a boa constrictor. “Just ask him after All-State for me.”

  Finally escaping her hold, I pat her shoulder with the tip of my finger. “I have a better idea. How about you ask him?” I grin. Next time Barnabas can deal with this himself.

  “Okay, great. See you in third period, Lia.” Sophie bounces off to a table, nodding her head at four girls seated and watching in our direction.

  All the girls smile and one shouts, “I knew he’d be interested.”

  Poor Barnabas.

  As soon as I turn around to head back and sit down, the bell rings. Feeling relieved, I walk to first period. Government is a class I wish would go away. I try to understand it, I really do, but I can’t!

  I take a right down the hall and walk through the first door on my left. Mr. Walker is not at his desk yet. He’s sometimes late for class because he also coaches the soccer team’s practice before school starts.

  When I look toward my desk, I halt in place. I’m not surprised to see Kiev’s perfect brown hair in his seat beside mine, because Mr. Know-It-All is always there before me. But his douchebag friend, Cole, is sitting in my seat. Not that I have a reason for thinking he’s a douchebag, besides the fact he hangs out with Kiev.

  Marching right up to Cole, I stop in front of him and place my hand on top of the desk. “This is my seat.”

  “Do you own it?” he asks, not moving an inch.

  “For the hour I do.” I take off my backpack and set it on the desk.

  Cole looks around the mostly empty classroom. “This temple of learning contains a multitude of unoccupied seats, Miss Ophelia Abbie.”

  Clenching my teeth, I say, “It’s Lia.” I hate when people use my full first name. “Also, you aren’t even in this class.”

  “Is that a crime? Besides, I’m here to converse with my best friend.” His blue eyes slowly look me up and down.

  “Do I even care about that? Get up, before I make you get up.”

  I’m about to yank him up by his collar when he starts to stand up from the seat, smiling. Holding his hands up, his eyes studying Kiev. “Mr. Kiev Jimenez says you’re … you…”

  “What did he say?” My eyes shift toward Kiev’s gray ones—his whole face and neck are red.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Kiev exclaims.

  Cole grins. “Inform her. If your mouth fails to produce words, your humble server can speak on your behalf.”

  “Go to class, dude,” Kiev says, annoyed.

  “Your wish is my command, Mr. Kiev Jimenez, who shall live forever,” Cole says, then faces me and bows his head. “Later, Miss Ophelia Abbie.” He snickers before heading out of the classroom.

  What an idiot.

  My eyes bulge at Kiev whose face is still all tomato-like.

  “I didn’t say that. No one in their right mind would care what you look like under your—” he stutters. “I mean, I don’t know what I mean.”

  “Under my what?” I say through gritted teeth.

  “N-nothing,”

  Ignoring Kiev, I take a seat in the already warm chair and grimace—I hate feeling someone else’s butt heat in a chair. I don’t really care if it was Cole being an idiot or not. They are both jerkoffs.

  Kiev points at my head. “Also, you need to take off your cap before Mr. Walker comes in.”

  My eyebrows furrow, and I turn my head to face him. “What are you? School police patrol?”

  “Just warning you.” He shrugs.

  “Whatever.”

  He shrugs his stupid shoulders again and looks back down to read something in front of him. Forgetting about him, I pull out my phone and send Barnabas a quick text.

  Me: The Caterpillar still has her hopes set. Just a warning.

  Smiling to myself, I put my phone away.

  Mr. “Dead” Walker, as the class likes to call him, ambles into the room with his brown buzz-cut hair and lanky body. His dark eyes with heavy bags underneath turn toward me, narrowing. “What did I tell you about that hat, Miss Abbie? This is your last chance before I write you up. That means you’ll have detention for a week if it happens again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, smiling as sweetly as I can muster. When he looks away, I frown and slide my hat into my backpack.

  To my right, a movement pulls at my vision to look that way, and Kiev has a hand over his mouth. With a smirk on his face, he places it back on the edge of his notebook.

  “Told you so,” he mouths to me.

  I’d like to smack that smirk right off his face.

  Chapter Five

  Kiev + Not-Horatio

  When I got home from having dinner with Cole at Kumi’s yesterday, I headed straight to my room and dropped onto my bed. And thought of nothing while watching Pepe nibble at his cage’s bars.

  It worked, until I arrived at school today.

  Now, Monica Serrano getting Horatio’s part sinks in, making my stomach flatten into a pancake. To top it off, I mumbled the wrong thing to Lia in Government class after the teacher asked her to put her baseball cap away. “I told you so,” I said to her, causing her to shoot me an angry stare.

  It’s lunchtime now, so I drag my feet to the cafeteria, where I find Cole sitting at our usual table. As I walk toward him, the smell of fried food wafting in the air makes my pancake of a stomach do a small somersault.

  I slide into the seat in front of him and sigh. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

  Cole pokes a finger at his chest. “I’m not that ugly, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  “For real.” I rub my temples. “I feel nauseous.”

  “I’d too feel nauseous if I was wearing that t-shirt.” He points at my chest.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

  “It’s puke green.” He bobs his head. “My brain fails to understand the words scribbled on it—The Fast and The Crucible. Explain that to me.”

  Monica, my archenemy, appears, holding a tray. “Can I sit here?”

  Her presence and the burger on her tray make me hurl inside.

  “Of course.” Cole puts his elbows on the table and cradles his head in his hands. “Your presence lights up our lives, Miss Monica Serrano.”

  She peers at me and bites her lower lip. “¿Me puedo sentar contigo?”

  Cole bobs his head. “I’m sorry, but this humble peasant of yours doesn’t speak the language of the royals.”
>
  “Can I sit with you?” she asks me, as if she needed my permission.

  I nod.

  Setting her food on the table, she smooths down her tight blouse and slides right next to me, smiling with her ruby lips and dentist-perfect white teeth. She blinks at me, blue eyelids going up and down, along with long-long eyelashes—can’t deny she’s attractive.

  Monica grabs her burger and nibbles at it, then looks at me. “You’re not eating?”

  I want to say: No, because you stole Horatio from me. No, because the idea of food right now makes me sick. “I’m not feeling well.” I gag a little. “Excuse me.” I spring off my chair and dart toward the restroom.

  “Think of snow!” Cole shouts behind me. “That should help.”

  I rush to the most secluded restroom—the one that’s so far, nobody wants to go to it. Cheap air freshener combines with a hint of crap as I enter the empty restroom. Holding my stomach, I step to the sink, splash my face with cold water, and take deep breaths through my mouth.

  I look at the mirror. “Horatio’s part’s taken.”

  My reflection rakes a hand through light-brown hair. “It’s just a stupid part.”

  “It’s not.”

  My double focuses his gray eyes on me. “You’re so dramatic.”

  I shake my head, and he does too.

  “Drama queen.”

  My reflection and I raise brows in unison—that voice wasn’t either of us. I turn my attention to the open door.

  Cole stands there with crossed arms. “You’re talking to your doppelganger again.”

  “No.” I glance at the mirror. “Yes.”

  He joins me and addresses the mirror, “Care to explain the situation, Mr. Doppelganger Jimenez?”

  Cole’s doppelganger and mine stand side by side, an eight-inch distance separating them.

  “When are you gonna grow taller?” I gesture at Cole’s reflection.

  “Never.” He glances down and wiggles his blond eyebrows. “Females like short guys with big—”

  I throw a hand up. “Don’t say it.”

  “Not big. Huge, super huge—”

  I swat a hand at him. “Dude!”

  “Big, super huge, hearts.” His reflection bobs his head.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I turn to the paper towel dispenser next to me. “No towels.”

  “How is that a problem?” he asks.

  I face his mirror image. “Not a problem.” I run a hand down my face, trying to dry it.

  He finger-combs his hair. “Miss Monica Serrano said I’m hot.”

  “Sure,” I say sarcastically.

  He touches my upper arm. “Allow me to explain.”

  I give him a nod. “I’m listening.”

  “Yesterday, backstage, in the comfort of darkness, she touched my shoulder and said, ‘You feel hot. Are you running a fever?’” He smiles. “And, what could I say, Mr. Kiev Jimenez? That I was running a love fever for her and her hotness? That her curves veer my car off the road?”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Sometimes, I think you’re disconnected from reality.”

  “What’s reality, anyway?” He grabs an invisible something from the sink and lifts it, holding it with his index finger and thumb. “This blue pill will allow you to stay in your false reality.” He grabs another invisible pill from the sink. “The red one is cherry flavored.”

  I smack him upside the head. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Ouch.” Cole massages his head. “That hurt.” He looks at his mirror image. “Right, Mr. Doppelganger Novotny?”

  “Enough nonsense. Let’s go.” I turn to leave.

  “Wait,” he says as I’m about to push the door open.

  I look over my shoulder.

  “You never explained the ‘Oh, no, the world is ending, and I want to throw up’ situation,” he says, air quotes and all.

  I step back to him. “That’s because you turned the conversation into ADD babbling about girls and colorful pills.”

  He crosses his arms. “Girls are our favorite subject, if you recall, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  This time I do roll my eyes. “Your favorite subject.”

  He puffs out his chest. “What can I say? I’m a male human of the straight kind with a super-huge”—he looks down—“you-know-what.”

  “Perv.”

  “Perv with a huge—”

  I raise a hand. “Dude, focus.”

  “I am focused on Miss Monica Serrano.” He pokes my chest. “And she’s playing Horatio.”

  I concentrate on the floor for a long second. “Not Horatio for me.”

  “Nope.” He stretches his arms to the sides. “Embrace Bernardo, your new part.”

  I sigh. “You’re right.”

  Cole rubs his chin. “That’s still a shit part.”

  “Not funny.” I shove him.

  “It’s the truth.” He presses a hand against his heart. “But having one part is better than no part, even if it’s a shit part.” He darts out the door before I can punch him in the nose. I don’t know why Cole and I are close friends—it’s not like we’re super compatible. Oh, well. It’s another life mystery.

  I spend the rest of the school day fighting with images of Monica dressed in Horatio’s outfits—a voluptuous Horatio doesn’t compute. But there’s a reason Mr. Butrow chose her.

  When school ends, I storm out of the classroom and turn onto a hallway when a girl in tight jeans appears—Monica.

  “Are you feeling better?” Her face shows genuine concern.

  I freeze.

  She steps closer. “Estás pálido.”

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out, so I clear my throat. “I-I’m pale—that’s my normal skin color.”

  “Paler?” She wrinkles her nose.

  “I’m fine.”

  She puts a tan hand on my shoulder. “If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to contact me.” She squeezes my shoulder before pulling up her phone. “What’s your Facebook ID?”

  “Don’t have one,” I mumble.

  She rubs her black eyebrow. “Snapchat?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Twitter?”

  “Who uses that nowadays?”

  She looks down for a moment. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me.” She blinks, as if holding back tears.

  “I’ll give you my phone number.” The moment I say it, I regret it, but it hurts to see a damsel in distress.

  A smile illuminates her face as I dictate her my number. Then we pocket our phones.

  “So,” I say, “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  She nods. “At rehearsals.”

  Again, I imagine her playing Horatio’s part, and my heartbeat slows down.

  “Hello, people of the world,” Cole says, joining us. He sniffs. “What’s cooking?”

  “Hey, Cole,” Monica says.

  “Your humble server is honored with your presence, My Queen.” He bows, but as he raises, his eyes stay glued to her boobs. I can imagine him turning Monica by the shoulders and checking out her butt. He’s that subtle.

  She curtsies, lifting a nonexistent skirt, her waist-length, jet-black hair cascading to the front.

  He gives her a goofy smile, the kind he produces when he’s in love. Which happens every other day with every other girl—such a big, huge heart.

  “Excuse me,” a girl says.

  I turn my attention to her—Lia. My cheeks warm up a bit at her sight, and I am petrified and can’t speak, thinking about the cap incident. Cole elbows my ribs, taking me out of my frozen state.

  “Can I pass through?” Lia divides a stare among the three of us.

  We stay silent until I realize we’re blocking her way.

  “Yeah, no problem.” I step out of the way, but Cole doesn’t move. I yank him out of the way, while Monica steps aside.

  Lia passes through without a word.

  Cole waves goodbye at her. “Have a good ev
ening, Miss Ophelia Abbie.”

  She halts and looks up for a moment, then marches down the hallway, fading as she walks away.

  “Que enojona,” Monica says, brushing hair from her face.

  Cole presses a hand against his heart. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  I glower at him. “She said Lia is grumpy.”

  He covers his mouth for a second. “Oh, the revelation.”

  I face Monica. “Look, Lia has her days, but she means well.”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  I nod back. “Okay.”

  Cole contributes to the nod-fest with a nod of his own. “You like her, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

  Monica inclines her head. “Do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Good, because she looks boy-ish.” Monica sets a hand on my shoulder. “You deserve better.”

  “Don’t.” I shrug her off and stare at her. “Don’t discriminate based on looks. She’s a person and deserves all our respect.”

  Thick silence engulfs us.

  Cole raises a hand. “Permission to speak freely, Captain Jimenez.”

  I inhale and exhale. “Go ahead.”

  “Sorry to say this, Captain, but this event is undeniable proof that you have the stomach birds for her.”

  I turn my attention to Monica. “Sorry for snapping at you.” I shake my head. “I’m not usually this way.”

  Cole pats my back. “I second that.”

  She bites her lower lip. “I promise to be more sensitive next time, Kiev.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Okay,” Cole says. “Now that we’ve signed world peace, would you like to have early dinner with us, Miss Monica Serrano?”

  “I’d love to,” she says.

  Cole throws a pump in the air. “Awesome!”

  “But…” She looks down for a moment. “I was hoping…” She shakes her head. “It’s so silly. Forget it.”

  I know that kind of hesitation—she’s fishing. “It’s been forgotten already,” I say.

  “Nothing is silly,” Cole says, taking the bait. “Please, tell us. Your wish is our command, Miss Monica Serrano.”

  “It’s really silly.” She smiles. “I was wondering if Kiev and I could rehearse our lines at my house this afternoon?” She concentrates on me. “Kiev?”