Rogue Wave: Cake Series Book Five

by J. Bengtsson

  Laughter burst forth from table thirteen. Poor Sanjay. In the minute or so it took for him to relocate to the back of the classroom, he’d already managed to earn himself an unflattering nickname: V-Dicky – short, of course, for valedictorian. No one could claim the jocks weren’t creative when it came to ridicule. I could only hope and pray their attention would not somehow divert to me.

  It was humiliating enough that I was in a college prep chemistry class instead of Advanced Placement, so the last thing I needed was for my nose to be rubbed in my failures. Sanjay was like me – one of the smart kids who didn’t excel in the sciences. I know it sounded like an oxymoron, but students like us did, in fact, exist. We’d calculated the risks and determined our best bet for admittance into a high-ranking university was to take, and excel, in the lower-level college prep classes for the subjects we weren’t as strong in. And while I shone in reading, writing, and the arts, that special area of the brain used for scientific thinking had never fully developed in me. Any mention of a pop quiz in this study area was enough to send me to the nurse’s office to ride out a series of faked menstrual cramps.

  “Number twenty-nine!” the teacher hollered back to me. “Tell me your name, please.”

  Every set of eyes in the classroom swiveled in my direction, and I cringed. Great, just what I needed – to be singled out on the day I hadn’t shaved my legs.

  “Samantha Anderson.”

  “Louder, please. I can’t hear you.”

  What did she expect? I’d been banished to Siberia.

  I repeated myself, this time giving my voice the push it needed to project across the great divide.

  “Well, Samantha, I’m sure we’ll get another student in here at some point, but until then, you get the best partner of all – me.”

  Finding herself hilarious, Mrs. Lee giggled like a schoolgirl. I realized my teacher was trying to be light-hearted and funny, but there was a time and place for adults to be comedians, and this clearly wasn’t it. The longer she drew this out, the pokier the hairs on my legs became.

  Before the Bunsen burner lottery began, I’d just been hoping not to be partnered up with Nosebleed Nathan. Legend had it he’d once pulled a blood clot from his nostril the length of his forearm. And yet, still, I’d prefer daily bloodletting over being best buds with my chemistry teacher.

  Mrs. Lee moved onto the classroom rules, allowing me to relax a bit and take in my new surroundings. Table fourteen sported two girls who were getting to know each other by talking non-stop throughout the teacher’s speech. As annoying as they were, I envied them. Not because they were interrupting class, but because of the ease with which they apparently made friends. I was the girl in school with one friend, and sadly that one friend had severe allergies that kept her out of school on a regular basis. So, when she was home on one of her many sick days, I was the girl who sat in the library and read a book.

  It’s not that I was necessarily a weird kid; I’d just never managed to find a place to belong. Maybe it was because I’d come in late to the game – midway through sophomore year – and long after all the social cliques were filled. I wandered for weeks before Shannon, in all her sneezing glory, swooped in and saved me from complete social annihilation.

  The door to the classroom opened just a smidge and hovered there a moment in suspended animation. A voice could be heard laughing on the other side. All heads swiveled toward the interruption, forcing Mrs. Lee to stop enjoying the sound of her own voice and swing her head toward the source of the commotion.

  Lips pressed in a thin line, she grimaced as she called out. “Excuse me.”

  The voice on the other side of the door continued to chatter away, not in the least bit concerned he was disrupting the class fifteen minutes after the start bell had rung.

  Mrs. Lee, who’d been resting her newly minted ‘best friend’ rump on the front of her desk, stood up and walked to the door, yanking it inward with all the strength her tiny body could muster. The reason for the resistance was the male arm attached to the door handle on the other side. The wider the door got, the more of the body attached to the anonymous arm followed, and into the classroom stumbled a boy, laughing as if he hadn’t a care in the world. There was no mistaking that face. Or that laugh.

  Every person in the room sat up a little straighter, smiles already brightening their faces. Pearl Beach High’s very own Jeff Spicoli had just entered the building in the form of Keith McKallister – arguably the most disruptive student in school. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a bully or anything like that – but he was always ready with a sarcastic remark or a perfectly timed interruption. If this guy managed to find his way into your classroom, you just knew you were in for an entertaining semester.

  Needless to say, Keith was a hit among the student body. Guys loved him because he made them laugh, and girls loved him because he made them swoon. I myself didn’t have an opinion on him one way or another. He’d never spoken to me. He’d never looked at me. He’d never even breathed in my direction, so any judgment I might have of him was based solely on hearsay from those in the know.

  There were so many words circulating around campus to describe Keith McKallister, but some of the most common ones were dumb, stoned surfer and hilariously hot fuckup. Again, I couldn’t confirm or deny these character assessments, but they seemed fairly accurate to me, given the alarming rate at which girls at the school fell victim to his doped-up charms. Sure, he was a good-looking guy, but Keith McKallister was not boyfriend material. He was the guy you hit up if you needed some weed or if you wanted a guaranteed good time at prom. He was not, I repeat, not the guy you wanted to bring home to meet Mommy.

  Not like such a scenario would ever pertain to me. I stood so far outside of Keith’s realm I might as well have been in a different solar system. It wasn’t just that he was a senior and I a lowly junior, but in order to have a shot at enjoying Keith’s unpredictable company, you’d have to be in the first or second tier of popularity. That ruled me out immediately, as I was down there on the fourth out of five tiers. Yes, I’d raised myself up a notch because, please, I had to be at least a level above the guy who pulled snot taffy out of his nose.

  “Are you in my class?” Mrs. Lee asked, taking a decidedly defensive stance with one hand wedged on her hip. It probably goes without saying, but the teachers and staff at Pearl Beach High weren’t as fond of Keith as the student body was. It was rumored there were bidding wars at the beginning of the semester to see which unlucky educators would get stuck with him.

  Keith stood motionless, appearing uncertain himself if this class was where he belonged. His confusion was understandable. He was one of those guys who routinely wandered around the halls until someone on staff pointed him and his fellow potheads in the right direction.

  “I don’t know,” he answered in a low drawl. “What class is this?”

  “I don’t know,” she mimicked. “What class do you think it is?”

  “Um… Chemistry?” he tried, as if he truly were just taking a wild guess.

  Giggles erupted as my fellow students salivated at the possibility of having Keith amuse them on a daily basis. However, Mrs. Lee was clearly not one of his admirers and resisted allowing him passage into her sanctuary.

  “You’re not on my student list, Mr. McKallister.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Trust me. I check at the beginning of every semester.”

  “Yeah, so, Mr. Friend said he didn’t have room and that I’d been transferred to you.”

  “Oh, did he now?” Mrs. Lee asked, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. “How convenient for Mr. Friend.”

  Keith shrugged, not picking up on the diss at all. “I guess.”

  “All right, well, go sit. We’ll get this straightened out later. Don’t get too attached to my classroom, because you’re going right on back to Mr. Friend first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Dude, I don’t think so.” Keith shook his head. “He s
aid something about having a doctor’s note excusing him from having me repeat his class another semester.”

  Mrs. Lee sighed so loudly even I could hear it all the way in the back of the classroom. “We’ll just see if that will be enough to save Mr. Friend. All right. I’ll get this all straightened out later, but for now you’re number thirty – last table left side. Move along, dude.”

  Number thirty? Oh, no. I couldn’t be Keith’s partner. I sucked at science. I needed someone who could help me or, at the very least, someone who wouldn’t drag me down with him. Mr. Friend had to take him back, even if it meant my circulating a petition on Keith’s behalf.

  With every step he took in my direction, I could sense my list of choice colleges shrinking. Panic rising, I sat transfixed in my seat as Keith confidently strolled through the classroom, high-fiving and hugging everyone along the way. I did notice, however, that he wisely sidestepped Nosebleed Nathan.

  My brand spankin’ new lab partner stopped at table fifteen.

  “Hey you,” he said, flashing me his most disarming smile. “Can I sit?”

  Saliva dried in my throat, rendering me speechless. Say something. Anything. But I just sat there staring, fighting the horror of my predicament with a smile that flatlined before it ever formed.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, my body reacted in a similarly embarrassing fashion, heating up areas I’d prefer stayed frosty. Perspiration instantly squirted from my pores, flattening my hair to my forehead. Suddenly I wished I were Thad’s partner. I’d take the nickname V-Dicky any day over this.

  Keith kept his eyes on me, a knowing smile settling onto his face. And even though I kept that weird killer clown smile on mine, I cringed inside as I waited for the nasty comments I was sure were about to befall me. I’d heard them all before, but the ones that hurt the worst were the ones hardest for me to change.

  I wasn’t pretty or skinny or engaging, I knew that, but to constantly be reminded of my faults was like a dagger to my heart. And boys like Keith, ones who slayed with their tousled good looks, did not suffer fools easily, especially not sweaty, unshaven squinty-eyed ones. Sadly, mortification seemed the only realistic path forward.

  “I like your necklace. That's an agate, right?”

  I blinked in shock, trying to process his words and the friendly way in which they’d been spoken. Glancing down at the security blanket dangling around my neck, I blushed. Rubbing the stone in times of stress had become a habit of mine, one I wasn’t aware I was doing until someone pointed it out to me… someone like Keith. Keith McKallister. My lab partner. Lucky number thirty. Oh, god, I think I might pass out.

  Somehow in the sea of sweat and stubble, I found my voice. “Yes, blue lace agate.”

  Keith, his eyes bloodshot and rolling just slightly in their sockets, replied in a clear tone of voice. “I dig the triangular shape – it looks like a guitar pick. And those colors in yours, dude, they remind me of totally iridescent waves.”

  Was I supposed to answer? Agree? Ask about the weather? Aside from the cool ocean patterns racing through the smooth stone surface, there was nothing outwardly special about the leather cord necklace I wore. Inwardly, however, well… that was a different story.

  Gripping the stone tighter, I rubbed the hell out of it like the little freak I was. “Um… thank you.”

  Taken aback by the compliment, I nonetheless steeled myself for the assault. Come on, skater boy, hit me with your best insult. Just get it over with. I’ve been through way worse than anything you could dream up. Deflecting a few rude comments from a stoner was all in a day’s work for me. Yet that affable, glazed-over expression of his never faded and, slowly but surely, the tension eased from my bones.

  “Can I sit?” He repeated his earlier question as if he required my permission. This guy could do just about anything he wanted in this school with very little consequence. He was, after all, Keith McKallister, dope-dealer extraordinaire, and that made him about as close to a celebrity at Pearl Beach High School as one could get. Everybody knew of him, but few actually knew him. That’s not to say he was some complicated guy who kept the world at arm’s length. On the contrary, Keith was just high a lot of the time and a little difficult to have a conversation with.

  “Um… yeah… sure.” I swallowed hard, observing him with broad, unblinking eyes as my chem partner slid onto the stool beside me. Surprisingly, the faint pong of weed clinging to his clothing took a backseat to the smell of salt and seaweed. As a rule, I hated the smell of seaweed… but not on him. The scent was a surprisingly pleasant one when it was clinging to his bronzed skin.

  Unsure what to do with myself, I opened my notebook and stared at the blank page. I needed to do something, anything, but I was nearly paralyzed with indecision.

  A silly giggle erupted from the boy beside me. “I had the weirdest dream last night,” he began.

  My first instinct was to ignore him – not to be rude, mind you, but because I had no idea how to respond. Was he just musing, or was he looking for an in-depth analysis of his nocturnal adventures?

  His continued amusement piqued my curiosity to a point where it could no longer be denied. “What was your dream about?” I asked, cautiously.

  “A platypus.”

  I cast him a sideways glance as a spontaneous smile jumped to my lips. Why did that not surprise me? This guy was all kinds of weird. Or stoned. Or a combination of the two. But I didn’t care because it had been a long time since I’d met someone quirky enough to pull me out of a nearly two-year funk. Simply put, Keith was a breath of ‘not so’ fresh air.

  “A platypus?” I questioned, always the analytical one. “Like the animal?”

  “No, like the breakfast cereal.” He chuckled. “Of course, the animal.”

  And then I did something I hadn’t done in ages: I laughed. Unencumbered by self-doubt, endorphins skipped their way from one neuron to the next. I felt almost weightless.

  “You’re funny,” he said.

  No. I was so far from funny that even old people with their hearing aids turned down didn’t chuckle awkwardly at me. But you know what? I’d accept Keith’s compliment and blush over it for days.

  “So, um…” Come on, Samantha. You can do this. Deep breath. Talk. “Platypus dreams, huh? They can’t be all that common.”

  He laughed, nudging into me with his shoulder as if we were the oldest of friends. “I know, right?”

  I giggled – actually giggled. What was happening here? How on earth had I gone from sad, lonely number twenty-nine into a tittering dream analyst for Pearl Beach’s hottest stoner? A lifetime of self-preservation, and now suddenly I was throwing caution to the wind with the guy who kept my fellow classmates in a steady supply of mind-altering drugs. I should fear him. Why didn’t I? He was the school stoner. By definition, that made him the least trustworthy person in town.

  Yet here I was finding actual words to speak. “So, what exactly was this platypus doing in your dream?”

  Keith leaned in, a grave expression transforming his goofy face. It was as if what he was about to say was of critical importance to the security of the nation. “She wanted her baby back.”

  Never had I been as riveted by a story as I was this one. I matched his serious face and whispered a response of my own. “Where was her baby?”

  Number thirty tilted upright once more, returning to me the personal space he’d just stolen. He shrugged. “How would I know? It was a dream.”

  Gaping openly at him, I waited for the continuation of his story – willed it from his depths – yet nothing more was revealed. That couldn’t be it! There were too many unanswered questions. “Wait, what?”

  “Exactly, dude. Trippy, right?”

  “That was…” I cocked my head, blinking at him. Was he for real? Being a lifelong reader, I knew a thing or two about plot holes, and his tale was littered with craters. “I’m sorry, but that was the worst bit of storytelling I’ve ever heard.”

  Keith laughed as he fold
ed his arms on the table like a pillow, laid his head down, and smiled up at me from his relaxed position. Holy crap, he was handsome. My heart did a little summersault. I guess maybe I’d never given him the credit he deserved, but in my defense, I’d also never been this close to such perfect imperfection. Keith’s shoulder-length sandy brown hair, streaked by the sun, was a tangled mess, and his deeply tanned skin was strewn with sun splotches and road-burn-style scratches. His tattered clothing completed the haphazard picture.

  Yet, that face.

  It was like something out of a teen dream magazine, and I could easily picture him smiling back at me from a poster on my wall. Thankfully, my goggling didn’t seem to register with my lab partner; either he was used to the reaction or he just didn’t care. But a strange thing happened to me in that moment – a feeling of weightlessness came over me, filling me up as the stress I’d been holding onto for so long suddenly evaporated. Two years I’d tried to rid myself of the strain, and this wild, handsome boy waltzed in with gemstone compliments and unfinished dreams and suddenly I had a reason to laugh again.

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’m Keith, by the way.”

  “Samantha.”

  “Cool. I’m gonna take a nap now.”

  I nodded.

  Summer school, here I come.

  2

  Keith: Wasted Space

  “Kali, wake up.”

  Hands jostled my slumbering frame. Keeping my eyes firmly closed, I groaned my displeasure while swatting blindly at the annoying gnat-like creature invading my privacy.

  “You got any skunk on you?” the voice slobber-whispered into my unprotected orifice. I cringed as his spittle slow-dripped into my earhole.

  “Can’t you see I’m napping?” I grumbled, irritated that my pot-laced brownie high had worn off after such a short amount of shuteye. I really needed to sell better shit.

  “Well, you might want to wake up, because the bell’s rung, and as we speak, Mrs. Lee’s on her way over to kick your ass.”