Freshman Year

by Annameekee Hesik

  “Oh, Keeta’s an expert at lies and deception. She never puts real names on that stuff. It was probably for some bitch at Sabino High. She’s always had it for this blond slut on their team.”

  I feel foolish that for a second I thought the letter could have been written to me.

  “It just hurts, Abbey,” Stef says, as another round of tears begins to fall. Then she collapses in a heap on the bench and, somehow, ends up resting her head on my lap.

  My body instantly tenses up every muscle because now there’s a half-naked lesbian resting her head in my lap. What if someone sees us like this? I mean, I know Stef doesn’t like me like that and I haven’t ever thought of her like that, but still.

  “I hope I never see her again,” Stef cries.

  I consider shoving her off me, but then I remind myself that this is obviously just a friend thing. If it were Kate, I would console her if her heart had just been broken, even if she was in a sports bra. It shouldn’t be any different now.

  I look down at Stef and push back a lock of her curly blond hair that is stuck to her wet cheek. Then I say the only thing I can think of to say. “I’m so sorry, Stef.” And I really am. I’m sorry for everything.

  *

  Thursday after practice, I find myself standing in front of my mom’s easel with the intention of telling her about my date with Jake. The last minute approach I had planned was questioned by Kate and Garrett, so I decide to be more mature and give my mom at least twenty-four hours’ notice.

  “Are you just admiring my work or is there something you need to say?” my mom asks after five minutes pass and all I’ve managed to do is help the paint dry with my heavy breathing. She looks up at me over the rim of her glasses and can instantly tell I’m on the verge of confession. “Okay, spill it, Abbey Road. What did you do?”

  “God, Mom. Nothing.”

  “Well, then, what is it?”

  “I just was wondering, uh, what you’re doing tomorrow night.”

  She drops her brush in a glass of cloudy water and picks up her coffee. “Tomorrow night? You know, the usual one-woman Scrabble tournament. Why? What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Uh…” Is it this hard for the ordinary teenage girl to tell her mom she’s got a date with a boy? I don’t know, but I have a feeling this conversation is a lot easier for other girls and probably involves a shared squeal and a special mom-daughter shopping excursion afterward.

  “Can we speed this up a little, Abbey? I need to start dinner soon.”

  I grab a lock of hair and remember Garrett’s suggested tactic: don’t ask for permission, just nonchalantly inform her of your plans. “Well, there’s this guy in guitar who wants to take me to an all-ages concert at Club Congress and I was thinking I’d like to go. No biggie.”

  “I see. And does this guy have a name and an age?”

  “Jake. He’s sixteen?” I say like a question because I can’t tell how this is going.

  “And who else is going to the concert?”

  “Just me and him, and the other hundred people who show up,” I say before realizing that it was the totally wrong thing to say.

  Now my mom looks only slightly less freaked out than me. “So this is a date?”

  “Well, I guess if you need to label it you could call it a date.”

  Mom nods her head slowly, like she’s having a side conversation with an invisible person. “Right,” she says, getting her cool back.

  “As in ‘all right’?” I ask. Is she saying yes? In my head, I hadn’t quite imagined that I’d actually go through with this date with Jake. Surely, like everything else in my life, something would go wrong. “I can go?”

  “Not quite, honey. I guess I should have told you this sooner, but Dad and I discussed this a long time ago and we decided no dating for you until sophomore year. Sorry.”

  “But, Mom, that’s not fair. He already bought the tickets,” I say in a whiny, spoiled-brat way because it’s one thing to not want to go, but it’s entirely different to be told you can’t go.

  “He’ll just have to sell them or take someone else because you’re not going. End of discussion.” She gets up and walks into the kitchen to start cooking, making her decision more final.

  I follow in hot pursuit. “But, Mom, I’m almost fifteen. You can change the rules. Dad’s not even here. How would he know?” Even as I say the words, I know I just pushed the worst button on the keyboard that runs my mom’s emotions.

  She pops up from behind the fridge door with a combined look of anger, shock, and disappointment. “Abbey Road, how dare you say that? Your father will always be here.”

  She’s right, but because I’m mad I don’t tell her so. Instead I yell, “Whatever, Mom,” and storm to my room, in a slow, clumsy sprained-ankle sort of way.

  *

  Later that night, I end up over at Kate’s house because that’s where I always go after my mom and I fight. Because I’m still hurt, though, I have to ask my mom for a ride, which takes the powerful punch out of my planned silent treatment. But my mom wants me out of the house, anyway, so everyone wins.

  “You must be totally bummed,” Kate says, as she grabs another handful of Spicy Nacho Doritos. “And I can’t believe you said that stuff about your dad.”

  “I know. It just came out.” I adjust the pillow under my foot and scratch around my healing knee scab. “Anyway, now I have to tell Jake. This sucks,” I say, hoping to convince Kate that my canceled date is tearing me up inside, when really I feel relaxed for the first time since he asked me out.

  “Well, anyway, Derrick is so wonderful.” Leave it Kate to change the topic to Derrick without any logical lead-in.

  “Wow, a new record. Five minutes without talking about him,” I say and flip through the muted channels on the TV.

  “Did I tell you I moved into his locker?”

  “Yes, only about ten thousand times.”

  Then we hear what sounds like a bowling ball slowly thunk-thunk-thunking down the basement stairs. We both look over to see Jenn, the Queen of Mean, but we return to our conversation before she has a chance to call us names.

  “Yeah, my chem book and his chem book sit side by side, like they’re kissing all day long.”

  “Oh God,” I groan.

  “I know. It’s disgusting, huh?” Jenn says. Normally, this is when she would ask/demand for us to leave, with threats, so she can have the basement all to herself, but instead she tosses my crutches aside, plops on the couch next to me, and sighs heavily. Her behavior is definitely odd, but I figure it has something to do with her recent breakup.

  Jenn lets out another long sigh then says, “Boys suck rat diarrhea through straws.”

  “I agree,” I say, like I’m an authority on the topic.

  “Not all boys suck,” Kate chimes in.

  Jenn and I give Kate a synchronized eye roll. “Just because you think you’re in love doesn’t give you the right to stick up for them,” Jenn says. “And, FYI, I’ll seriously beat the crap out of you if I hear any talk of you losing your goddamn virginity to this idiot. I’m serious, Kate. I’ll kick your ass back to last week and kick his to next year.”

  Kate’s mouth opens, and closes, then opens again. It’s a remarkable thing when she’s speechless. I don’t blame Kate for not talking back, though. Jenn’s scarier than ever these days. Even so, I wish I could have a sister like Jenn who could kick someone’s ass for me.

  “Anyway,” Jenn says casually, like she hadn’t just threatened Kate’s life, “I was wondering if you guys wanted a ride to school tomorrow. Since I don’t have to pick up that loser anymore, I have more time to pick you up, Abbey.” Jenn pats me on the knee. She’s never actually touched me before, so I jump a little and look over at Kate. What the hell? I say with my eyes.

  “Sound good?’ Jenn smiles at me.

  We really can’t tell if she’s for real, so neither of us says a word.

  “Okay, fine.” She gets up to leave. “Your loss. I was just
trying to be nice,” she says, as she starts walking up the stairs.

  “Why?” Kate dares to ask.

  Jenn stops and turns around. “Do you guys think I’m some sort of bitch or something?”

  Kate plays with the pile of chips in her hand, and I pull at my blond arm hair while simultaneously twirling a lock of hair with my other hand.

  “Okay, so maybe I have been a bitch,” she says, then pauses for a second. “Well, get over it. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abbey, at seven sharp. Don’t make us wait.”

  I’m now convinced love can totally mess you up. On one hand, Jenn’s being nice, which is very out of character. And on the other, Kate isn’t doing an ounce of homework, which is beyond unnatural, even for the new Ultracool Kate. I just don’t get how she can let her life fall apart for some dumb boy. I mean, I like Keeta, but I’m not going to let my wishful thoughts of her distract me from everything else in my life.

  Chapter Eleven

  This morning, Jake walks into guitar smiling and whistling. He even leans down and gives me a hug, our first ever, then sits down next to me. “This concert’s gonna blow your mind, Abbey. Wait ’til you see Perla Paul jam. You won’t be able to take your eyes off her.”

  Keeta is within listening distance, writing notes on the chalkboard, and I swear I hear her laugh and say, “I bet she won’t.”

  I tug at the bottom of my T-shirt. “Yeah, about tonight…” I know I have to break the news to him, but he’s so happy. I didn’t think this was going to be this hard. “I bet she’s awesome, but I won’t be able to see her.”

  “Are you serious? Why not?”

  “Well, it’s my mom…”

  “Yeah?” he says, leaning forward and pushing his curly hair behind his ears. “She okay?”

  I consider telling a lie because the truth just seems so humiliating, but I kind of want out of this dating-Jake thing for good. And there’s only one way to do that: tell the truth. “Yeah, she’s okay, I mean, besides having a brain disorder and thinking we live in the freaking fifties or something.”

  Jake’s not catching on, but why would he? It’s not like I’m making any sense.

  “Bottom line is I can’t go to the concert with you tonight because my mom just decided to inform me last night I can’t date until I’m a sophomore.”

  I hear Keeta laugh again, and this time I am sure it’s at my expense.

  “Dude”—Jake sits back in his folding chair—“that blows.”

  “I told her you probably already bought the tickets, but she was all bitchy and was like, ‘I don’t care!’ and then got all crazy and grounded me.” Slight exaggeration, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Well.” He looks over at me and smiles. Is it weird that I like the way he looks at me, even if I don’t feel much in return? “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but mom’s rules always trump, huh? It’s cool, though. I’ll go with my bro. He’ll be stoked to get out of the house.”

  “All right. Sorry, again.” Then I don’t know what to say or do next. I mean, it’s not like I hate him. “But, hey. I’ll Google Perla Paul tonight and check her out.”

  “Cool,” he says and nods.

  “Cool,” I say back. And that’s the end of that.

  *

  At lunch, Sarah, Isabella (Sarah’s unexpected new iPod earphone friend from English), and I are spread out on the grass in the quad. After dumping Jake in guitar, my mood has steadily been getting better and I’m enjoying the less intense October sun on my face, as we eat lunch. Then a skinny shadow falls over us. It’s Kate, and remarkably, her face is detached from Derrick’s. Actually, it’s the first time she’s associated with us at lunch since she started dating him. So much for Rule #20.

  “Stranger danger,” I say, as Kate sits down.

  Kate ignores my remark, slips on her new Gucci sunglasses (a gift from her barf-bag boyfriend), and asks, “Got room for one more, ladies?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah says. “This is sort of an exclusive group. There’s a secret handshake, dues, etcetera.”

  I hide my laugh in my hand. Sarah’s funniest when she’s making fun of people who aren’t me.

  “Ha, ha,” Kate says then slaps Sarah’s arm and sips on a soda like nothing has changed and she’s still in charge. “So, what’s new?”

  Sarah and I shrug our shoulders.

  “Nothing. This is Isabella,” Sarah finally says and points to the new girl connected to her by a white cord. She already seems a little frightened of Kate.

  I get as quiet as a bug and make a little pile of yellow grass on my empty nacho tray.

  “Where’s Mari?” Kate asks.

  “I don’t know. Off making out with a guy, I guess. You know how people can be…totally self-absorbed, and stuff.”

  “Very subtle, Sarah,” Kate says then slaps my knee. “How come you didn’t tell me Mari has a boyfriend?”

  I don’t feel like looking at her so I speak to the grass. “Sarah’s delusional. Mari joined some debate club that meets at lunch or something, but she didn’t want to tell you due to the high polyester count in the jackets. Besides, I hardly ever see you anyway. When exactly would I have told you? It’s not like you call me anymore.” I want to say some other stuff that’s been on my mind, like, how since she started dating Derrick she’s dropped us like we’re a handful of peeing gerbils. But I don’t.

  “Geez, Abbey. I’ve been busy.” Then she laughs at me, like my feelings are a huge joke, and adds, “God, you sound like a jealous girlfriend or something,” which really pisses me off.

  I say, “Whatever,” and try to hide how I feel smaller than the little black ant making its way to a giant glob of nacho cheese sauce on my tray.

  But Sarah and the new girl laugh because Kate is back so they fall right in line and take her lead.

  “Come on, Abbey,” Kate continues, “don’t tell me all the rumors are true. Are those lezzies finally making their moves on you? I knew it!” And then she laughs some more.

  Sarah laughs harder, too, which makes it seem like it’s not the first time she’s heard this rumor.

  But it’s definitely news to me. I had no idea people were talking about me because I’ve never been anything worth talking about. I want to run, but I know my only option is to stay and deny everything. “What the hell are you talking about, Kate?”

  “I mean, it kind of makes sense,” Kate says. “You have always been obsessed with Marilyn Monroe and continue to be resistant to makeup and skirts.”

  Then Sarah, who is finding this way too funny for no reason, keels over and grabs her stomach. “It’s true,” she sputters. “And the only boys you have up in your room are the Beatles.”

  It isn’t in my nature to yell, but they’ve gone too far. “Shut up, you guys!”

  Other students are staring at us now, and the new Kate doesn’t like that at all. Her smile finally fades. “Abbey, forget it. I was just kidding. I mean, they are saying stuff, but it’s just the usual stuff, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God, chillax,” Kate says, using my word. “And don’t act all shocked. I mean, you’re friends with Stef and Garrett, and this is high school, people say stuff. But it’s stupid. Don’t sweat it.”

  “We told you there’d be trouble if you played with them,” Sarah says and throws up her hands.

  “What stuff, Kate?” I demand.

  “What does it matter? It’s not true, so who cares? Right?”

  I glare at her then try to console myself. They’re just stupid rumors. Nobody knows anything.

  “I mean”—she looks at me with the same disgusted look she had when she made me swear we would never join the team—“unless it is true.”

  Now I regret my choice to stay.

  “Well, Abbey?” Kate says, flipping her long hair off her shoulder then smiling, but I can tell it’s kind of fake. “You can tell us the truth. We’re your friends.”

  I look down at the pile of g
rass I’ve made on my tray and at the ant that has changed its course for the tenth time. My dad once told me that to an ant, a tall blade of grass can seem like Mount Everest.

  Kate, Sarah, and Isabella are waiting for an answer, but I don’t even have an answer for myself, let alone for them. I’m so angry that they believe any of it, though. I’ve played along with all their straight games all these years, so there should be no doubt in their minds that I’m just like them. None. All I have to do is deny it, laugh and say how dumb people are. But my friends have let me down, and I’m getting tired of their laughter at my expense. So instead of playing along as usual, I say, “You guys suck.” And as I struggle to push myself up and limp away from my friends, I finally get what my dad was trying to teach me about the ant and the grass.

  I end up in the locker room in the familiar dark row where the lights don’t work. The bell rings for fifth period, but I stay. It rings for sixth period, and then the final bell of the day rings, but I stay. I can’t face the hallway. I can’t stand the thought of seeing Kate. So I lie there wondering how my friends could believe those rumors; then I have my second epiphany of the day and understand why Stef and Garrett are so tough: they have to be. They’re guarded because they can’t really trust anyone. They trust me, though, and that just makes me feel worse.

  So here I am, swimming in the middle of my ocean of sorrow, slowly sinking into the dark, icy core, when a voice calls me back to the surface. “Estás bien, Amara?”

  I sit up quickly. How did she know I’d be here? I pretend that I’m brushing my hair out of my face, not wiping tears away. I feel too embarrassed to look at Keeta, so I stare at the ground. “I’m fine,” I say quietly and think, Now that you’re here.

  “Okay, if you say so. Well, I brought you your guitar. It was getting late and I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. Anyway, here.” She places the guitar carefully against the wall. Then she stands there beside me like she’s waiting for something. “You sure you’re okay?”