by RH Tucker
“Oh.” I look around. A few students look over, noticing the exchange.
Carter Dixon is one of those cool kids I was talking about. He's got light brown hair, with eyes to match, and a pearly white smile that unleashes a cute dimple. Yes, he's gorgeous, but he's also one of the popular kids. Which means, he tries to act cooler then he probably is. Although to be fair, I don't really know him.
I only really know three things about Carter. One - he's the captain of the varsity basketball team, and I just found out first hand, that all that time shooting basketballs has given him a firm chest and stomach. Something I can also see, as his T-shirt fits snuggly against his chest. Two - he's friends with Jeremy McCormick, who acts like he's God's gift to women and has the ego to match. I have two classes with Jeremy and cringe every time he makes a ‘that's what she said' joke. It's like he waits on the edge of his seat for the teacher to say something–anything–that would be the slightest bit applicable to that joke. And three - Carter probably had sex with Sarah Donovan in the women's restroom at homecoming.
Rumor has it, he's the biggest manwhore at Woodbridge. Hey, I'm not slut shaming anyone. Jen, who I know has had sex and is kind of boy crazy, is my best friend. I don't think any less of her. But imagining Carter with half the girls in our senior class is gross, no matter how hot he is. Hence, my reaction to bumping into him.
“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He gives me a confident grin.
“Well, thanks.” I try to give him a cordial smile, but it vanishes as I see his eyes roam from my face to my chest. He tries to play it off, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine, but I already saw it. Rolling my eyes, I walk into the classroom. Gross.
As I take my seat, I pull out my phone, taking a quick glance at my text messages, but they haven't replied. Mrs. Yanick starts handing out packets of our next subject, covering the Civil War, and I see Carter on the other side of the room. He’s writing something down before he even gets his packet. I scrunch my eyebrows, wondering if he knows what the assignment is already. I’ve heard some of the jocks know what certain assignments are going to be, so they can work on them before whatever game they’re playing.
By the time history is over, I let out a sigh of relief. Art is my last class of the day, and since Ms. Hales has been my art teacher all four years, it's become somewhere I let my hair down. I still do all my work, but it also it doesn't feel like work to me. And since it's Ms. Hales, I plan on finally slipping out of my boots. I don't even care if my socks stink.
Right before I get to the door, my phone chimes.
UNKNOWN: Homework-Buddy. Since u won’t tell me your name
I give my phone an incredulous stare.
ME: My name isn't HW-Buddy either
UNKNOWN: So, what do I call you?
Walking into art class, I drop my bag by my easel and look back at my phone, unsure what to say next.
ME: Um…
I roll my eyes at my lame answer. As if thinking the same thing, they answer with a snarky reply.
UNKNOWN: Okay, Um. Nice to meet you. I’ve never met anyone named Um. Is it foreign?
Even though it's snarky, it's funny, and a smile cracks my lips. But the reply is still dumb.
ME: Don't be a jerk
UNKNOWN: Oh! Ur a girl!
“Emma, class is about to start,” Ms. Hales says.
“Sorry.” I put my phone away, but now I’m even more intrigued. How do they know I’m a girl? Does that mean they’re a girl? What if it’s a boy? Is it a boy I know?
Chapter 5
Carter
I spend the entire time in history working on my calculus assignment and finish it just before the bell rings. I may get a little behind in history, but nothing I can’t make up. I’m pretty confident that my calculus work is all good too, so I’m all smiles as we leave the classroom.
Matt nudges my elbow, pointing at Emma Sanchez walking out. Running into me isn't the worst thing that could've happened. She's pretty and not to sound like a douche, but she could be hot if she tried. But she doesn't try. She wears what she wants and doesn't care what other people think of her. You have to respect that on some level. We both watch as she walks out the door, her purple skirt covering over nylon stockings. Okay, I retract my previous statement. That's hot. And her Star Wars shirt covers her curves perfectly. Or maybe I'm remembering her chest bumping into me.
I give Matt an agreeing nod, as we leave class and head to calculus. On the way there I reply to my mystery texter, and I’m almost positive it’s a girl.
See, they called me a jerk. Now, this isn't a scientific theory, more of a hunch. I don't think a guy would say that. But the last text I sent was telling them I thought they're a girl and haven't received a reply. I wonder if it is and I scared them off?
Mr. Hilton walks around and collects all of our assignments, and I happily hand mine over. Getting through the last class of the day goes by slow, and I can't wait for the bell to ring, eagerly anticipating practice.
I love basketball. And while most people in the LA area are Lakers fans, I'm a Clippers fan. After my dad left, my mom took me to as many games as she could. It's something I'll always remember fondly and appreciate, not only because I always looked at it like it was our bonding time, but she knows next to nothing about basketball. All she knew was that I liked basketball, and Clippers tickets were cheaper than Lakers tickets, so that's where we went.
As soon as the bell rings to end the school day, my phone chirps.
UNKNOWN: Excuse me?
I grin, still almost positive it’s a girl. I look around the hallway, seeing several girls on their phone. I wonder who it is. Maybe it’s someone I know. Someone I thought was hot.
ME: You called me a jerk. A dude would’ve called me an asshole or dick, but u said jerk. Hence, girl.
Smiling, the typing prompt appears on my screen. But the longer the typing message is there, the more I begin to feel a little weird. Is it wrong to assume they’re a girl, based on a word? I mean, I have girl friends who curse all the time.
UNKNOWN: Fine, yes. I am a girl… But that must mean you're a chauvinistic waste of the male population
ME: And proud! ;)
UNKNOWN: Disgusting >:
I smile again, making my way to our locker room.
ME: So…
ME: What’s ur name?
UNKNOWN: I’m not giving u my name.
ME: Then what should I call u?
UNKNOWN: What should I call YOU?
ME: BigBaller27 ;P
I chuckle at myself as I open my locker and pull out my jersey. Maybe I’m being a little too revealing, putting my basketball number as my handle. No, first they’d have to watch our games, and even though we have a few good players, we don’t win much. Plus, twenty-seven could be anything. A day of the month. Whatever.
UNKNOWN: Didn’t need much time for that.
UNKNOWN: What r u? Some rich kid?
UNKNOWN: OMG! This isn’t Tommy Harrison, is it?
I know who Tommy is. A rich kid, but his parents live in Woodbridge, so he still goes to school with us. He has a few friends, but they all act superior to everyone else because they have money. Jeremy could be a dick at times, but at least he didn’t act like he was too good for us.
BigBaller27: Y? U got a thing for Tommy?
The bubble that shows them typing pops up, then it goes blank. It appears again, then blank again. She’s definitely trying to think of the right thing to say, in case this is Tommy. I decide to play it cool and put her mind at ease.
BigBaller27: Relax. I’m not ur crush
UNKNOWN: Ew, gross X(
The response makes me laugh again. Even though I have no idea who this person is, it also calms something that I didn't realize I'm feeling. Why am I relieved that a girl I don't know and have only talked to for one day, doesn't like a douchebag like Tommy Harrison? Putting my phone in my locker, I head out to practice.
First practices of the week are usually pretty brutal, except whe
n we have a game the next day, which we do. After running a few drills, we go over plays that worked for us, and stuff we didn’t execute properly at our last game, which we barely won.
I'm the team captain and starting shooting guard. Jeremy plays center, Lucas is our point guard, and Matt's our backup power forward. It sucked at the beginning of the season, learning we all made the starting lineup, except Matt, but as usual with him, he rolled with the punches.
"I'm still playing." He laughed after the starters were announced.
Even though he played it cool, I could tell it bugged him. It bothered me too because he isn't even much of a basketball fan. He's been a starting wide-receiver for our varsity football team since he was a sophomore. And he's our class president. He only joined the basketball team because I asked him too.
After practice, we hit the showers and Jeremy tells us about a party happening this weekend.
“Dude, you just had a party.” I look at him, wrapping a towel around my waist, heading for my locker.
“Yeah, but this isn’t my party. It’s Tamara Winston’s.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Tamara is one of the rich kids, who lives near Jeremy. I nod, opening my locker and remember my text message because Tamara is friends with Tommy. I wonder if my texter has replied.
UNKNOWN: Emerald22
I look at the screen, confused.
BigBaller27: What’s that?
UNKNOWN: That’s what you can call me.
After putting on my clothes and locking up my locker, I edit her contact info.
BigBaller27: Okay, Dorothy :P
Emerald22: It’s not about Wizard of Oz.
BigBaller27: My bad
I slip my phone into my pocket and head out to my car in the student parking lot, for some reason with a feeling of accomplishment. I'm talking to a girl, I have no idea who she is, and don't even know what she looks like. Crazy.
There are only a few cars left in the lot. Across the way, some cheerleaders are on the football field going over routines. I don't want to linger too long since I know Sarah is probably over there somewhere, but I wonder if Emerald22 is out there. Is she a cheerleader? Is she in any of my classes?
Chapter 6
Emma
“What’s Emerald22?” Jen asks as we hang out in my room.
"Well, emerald is my birthstone."
“And your birthday is May 22nd. Clever.” She smiles as she scrolls through Instagram.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“I don’t know.” She looks at her phone a little closer. “This might be him.”
I look over her shoulder at her screen, as we both lay on top of my bed. It’s open to the profile of a guy that kind of looks familiar. His profile says his name is Steve. Under that, it reads ‘Livin’ Large in So Cal $$$’.
“Steve?” I ask.
"Yeah, Steven Perez, I think? He hangs out with Tamara and all them."
“Hmm.” I examine the screen. “He’s kinda cute.”
She shrugs. “Meh. But if he hangs out with the richies, he’s most likely a dick.”
"Jen!" I glare at her. She returns it to me. "Yeah, you're probably right. I think Big Baller is nice though. At least, nice at heart."
“And you would know this how?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sitting up. “I mean, who asks for a homework assignment? He could’ve copied from one of his friends or something.”
She closes the app and sits up. “I guess so. Still kind of a stupid name. Big Baller? I mean, come on!”
I let out a little chuckle. I agree with her, and I said the same thing when he texted that, but it is funny. Oh God, what am I doing?
“This is stupid.” I get up from my bed. “Why am I wondering who he is? He probably won’t text again. I know I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Jen gives me a mischievous smile.
“No. I mean, I shouldn’t. It’s dumb. I don’t even know him.”
“Stop.”
I stop and look at her, suddenly realizing I’m pacing my room. “Sorry.”
“If he did text you again though, what would you say?”
I stare at her, and my mind goes blank. What would I say? I guess it depends on what he’d say. Then I shake my head again, for what feels like the millionth time today. Why am I freaking out about this so much? As if reading my mind, Jen speaks up.
“It’s cuz you like him.” She smirks.
“What?” I stare at her with a deadpan expression. “Jen, that’s insane. I don’t even know him.”
“But you’re getting to know him. Or at least, you want to. I can tell. You already made that homework comment. He’s probably smart, so that already gets you going. I know how you like the nerds.”
I hold up a finger. “First of all, that’s rude. I’m a nerd.”
“No, you’re not. You’re … eccentric.”
“Same thing. And secondly, how is texting him for one day–”
“A day and a half.”
“Whatever. How is that getting to know him?”
“You know he needed—or wanted—to do his homework. So, he’s at least somewhat smart. He’s got money or likes to think he does, with a handle like that. He teased you about liking Tommy, which kind of means he may like you to.”
“What?”
"You know, how like in grade school the boys would tease you at recess if they liked you."
“I always stayed inside during recess.”
“Of course, you did. Anyways, the most important part, you found out he’s a boy.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Don’t be gross.”
“Hey, just because you don’t date, doesn’t mean you don’t think about those things. I know you do, Emma.”
“Hey, I date.” I scold her.
"The last date you went on was with me, last year when you pulled that glasses and tie stunt. You didn't even want to be there. I don't think that qualifies as dating."
“So, I don’t date all the time.”
“Never.”
“It’s just because I have priorities. Plus, most of the guys at school are stupid. Stupid high school boys.” I fold my arms, daring her to counter my argument.
“But–”
“No buts.”
“Oh!” She grins. “I wonder if he’s got a cute butt.”
“You’re so stupid.” I laugh, as my mom calls out that dinner’s ready.
Jen ends up staying over for my mom's dinner, which is enchiladas. She makes this amazing green sauce that's to die for. While we're eating, I glance at my phone a few times, and Jen notices it on more than one occasion. She finally bumps my leg under the table and motions to my phone, but I shake my head that I haven't received any texts.
By the time dinner's over, Jen goes home, and I hang out with my parents for a little while, as we watch TV and forget about my phone. Later, as I'm getting ready for bed, I plug it into the charger and open my text messages. The last exchange was him saying ‘my bad'. Maybe he thought I was mad when I said my name didn't have anything to do with Wizard of Oz. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but I didn’t add any emojis or anything. Those always lighten up the conversation. Or maybe he forgot about me.
Putting my phone back on my nightstand, I stare up at the dark ceiling. Maybe it’s for the best. He may go to my school, but he could be some freak. But I don’t think he’s a freak. What kind of freak cracks jokes and asks for homework assignments. Letting out a deep breath, I try to forget everything and will myself to sleep.
As soon as I wake up, I grab my phone out of habit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed to see I had no new text messages. Why? Why am I disappointed? After scrolling my usual social media apps, as I do every morning, I finally get up and get ready for school. Looking through my closet, my Chucks are the first thing I decide to wear today. My glorious, comfy Chucks.
When we first get to school, I find myself eyeing everyone on campus. Everyone I walk by in the student parking l
ot, as I get out of Jen's car. Everyone in the hallway. I even start scanning Mr. Hilton's class again, since that's the only class I know he has. But no one looks familiar. Which sounds dumb, but I thought I might be able to match up a face, just by the few texts I'd received. I know, I know. Dumb.
By the time second period comes around, I start to forget about the messages. My sound reasoning comes back, and I know it's for the best. Are we going to fall madly in love through text messages, and then reveal ourselves to each other at prom? Yeah, right. This was a stupid coincidence, and I know I should get on with life.
Pulling out my sandwich for lunch, I slide next to Jen at the table we usually sit at in the quad. The tables here are a little further out then the main lunch area tables, so it’s not as noisy.
“Hey,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich.
"Jeez, I thought your mood would be better than this morning, but it's worse."
“What?” I gape at her. “My mood is fine, thank you very much.”
“No new texts?”
“No.” Now I’m painfully aware of how grumpy I sound. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be as bummed out about it as I am. It’s stupid, right? I don’t even know him.”
I do a quick glance around, making sure I didn't say it loud enough for someone else to hear. Micah and Lana, who usually sit with us, haven't shown up yet, so I feel a little more comfortable talking about it.
“It’s not stupid,” she says before taking a drink of her Diet Coke. “It’s like when a guy asks for your number and doesn’t call. It sucks.”
