Freshman Year

by Annameekee Hesik

  “Abbey, no more secrets remember?”

  “I know, I know,” I say and have no choice but to tell her the truth. “See, the thing is, I don’t know if we’re dating, or girlfriends, or what you would call us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And you want the whole truth?”

  She gives me a look of exasperation, so I take that as a yes.

  “Um”—I can’t look at her when I say it—“she’s still sort of dating Stef, I think.”

  “Well, when is Keeta planning on breaking it off with Stef?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Don’t you think you should find out?”

  She makes it sound so easy. “I tried this morning. Kind of.”

  “So, how long have you and Keeta been, you know, more than friends?”

  “We just kissed for the first time yesterday. So, like, not long.” It’s so weird talking to Kate about my private kiss with Keeta, and I wonder whether honesty really is the best policy.

  Then, just outside the nurse’s door, Kate asks me one more question. “Do you even know anything about her?”

  It’s a simple question. Easily answered with a yes or a no or with details about what I know about Reyna Moreno, who goes by Keeta for some reason. When she asks it, though, I feel a rush of fear shoot through my middle. I know pretty much nothing about Keeta except for her first and last name, that she plays basketball and guitar, and that she’s perfectly willing to cheat on her girlfriend with a dork of a freshman like me. That isn’t much to go on, so I shrug my shoulders. “No. Not really.”

  Kate rolls her eyes and says, “Well, I have to go. See you later,” and leaves me standing here feeling like I have a giant L on my forehead—L for loser, not for lesbian.

  *

  After Spanish class, Stef, Garrett, and I walk over to my locker to make plans for my Saturday Night Birthday Extravaganza.

  “Hey, I know, let’s go bowling,” Stef says. “They have those cool lights where everything glows, and I think it costs like three dollars per bowler or something.”

  My guilt about what I did to Stef is seriously killing me on the inside, but I hide it by saying, “Yeah, that sounds superfun!”

  Garrett scrunches up her nose. “Nah, it has to be special. Something mature. Our little baby is growing up.”

  “Oh please,” I say, “spare me. I’ve already got my mom in tears every time she looks at me. It’s not like I’m dying. I’m just turning fifteen.”

  After my third attempt, I get my locker open, and as I search for my social studies book, a note falls out of my locker, landing face up onto the gritty linoleum floor. Written across the front in beautiful lettering is my secret name: Amara.

  I see it. And Garrett sees it. But Stef, who is yelling down the hall at one of our teammates, doesn’t see it. My muscles go into atrophy and I’m unable to do anything to save myself.

  Thankfully, Garrett was born with the common sense I lack and she quickly covers up the note with her foot. I know Stef told her about the letter she found in Keeta’s bag, so even if Garrett doesn’t know about my special name, Garrett probably recognized Keeta’s handwriting and is smart enough to put it all together. We both glance quickly at Stef, who is now digging in her backpack for something.

  Garrett takes hold of Stef’s arm. “Well, we will figure out the appropriate affair for the Duchess’s celebration,” Garrett says in a perfect British accent. “In the meantime, we will see you after school at practice. Come along, Ms. Woodside. We must be off.” She turns on her foot but doesn’t lift it.

  “Ta ta, Abbey darling,” Stef says over her shoulder.

  As they walk away, Garrett kicks my letter behind her, looks over her shoulder, and smiles coolly at me.

  I think I manage to smile back, but inside I’m totally confused. She has covered for me without giving it a second thought, keeping my secret closer than I did. What kind of friend is she to Stef anyway?

  As soon as the coast is clear, I pick up the letter and dust off Garrett’s shoeprint. I wait ten more seconds to be sure they’re out of range then unfold it in my locker and read Keeta’s words:

  Amara,

  Hey girl, why’d you leave guitar so quickly? I wanted a kiss good-bye! Anyway, I hope you feel our kisses as deeply as I do. You know, at first I was freaked out about how I felt for you because you’re like soooo much younger than me. I mean, a senior with a freshman? But I think you’re more mature than most girls I know. I just hope I don’t make you too nervous. Maybe I’m not your first, but if I am, we can take things slow, okay? You just let me know what you need. No te quiero apresurar. Though I did like your kisses this morning, so I wouldn’t mind getting more of those really soon.

  I’m smiling right now just thinking about you. When I close my eyes, I picture your lips, your fiendishly flirtatious sparkling blue eyes, and your long, silky blond hair. Not to mention your legs. Chale, I’ve never felt so short in my life, but I’ll get over it. Haha.

  So, this might sound really weird, but when I’m with you, the whole world seems to disappear, Amara. It’s like tú eres mi mundo. I even had a dream about you last night. I am not going to give you all the details because it’s way too embarrassing, but you were there and I was there and the moon was very full. Órale, it was an interesting one. Hmm, if you come to guitar class early again tomorrow, maybe I’ll tell you about it. Geez, maybe I’ll have a new dream to talk about. Quién sabe. All I know is you’re different, Abbey…in all the good ways.

  Okay, I’ve said way too much already. Ya me voy a historia. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow in guitar. Which reminds me, you better stop practicing so much or I won’t have a reason to stop by and “help” you. (wink, wink)

  Te estaré mirando,

  Keeta

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Come on, Abbey. It’s time to get up,” my mom says, standing over my bed.

  My “Here Comes the Sun” alarm is also going off and the combo attack of the two of them is driving me crazy. “I’m up!” I shout but roll over and cover my head with my pillow.

  “I’ll make you some good-luck pancakes, but only if you get up right now.”

  “Mom, please just let me sleep.” I’m groggy and cranky because last night I tossed and turned like a sock dancing in the dryer while worrying about today’s game against Saguaro High. Though my ankle is better, Coach didn’t let me play in or even dress out for our first game. Then yesterday at practice he told me I’d be starting as center today. About 1.4 percent of me was excited when I heard that bit of news, but the other 98.6 percent wanted to run away and hide in the caves.

  And my mom is only making things worse. When she’s nice to me like this, I feel like a rotten daughter. Like, it’s just another reminder that I can never break it to her that her only child is falling in love with a girl at school. This fear is totally unrelated to the real issue at hand, that I’m too nervous to play in the game, but every worry is torturing me this morning.

  “You don’t want to miss your chance to show off your hard work, honey,” she yells from the kitchen. “And, just so you know, I’m not falling for your usual sore-throat act.”

  I whine, but know she’s right. What’s the point of practicing if I hide in my room whenever we have a game? “Okay, okay. Start the dang pancakes.”

  *

  After a well-balanced meal and a hug from my mom, I leave the house feeling somewhat confident. Maybe it’s the push-up bra I borrowed from Kate, maybe it’s the eyeliner and mascara, but when I walk into guitar and Keeta notices my new mature look, I feel even better. Keeta’s kisses in first period definitely sweeten my day, too. But by fifth period, I’m back to feeling nauseated and am starting to regret the extra jalapenos I piled on top of my nachos at lunch. I’m just about to ask Mr. Zamora if I can be excused, when Tai waltzes through the door exuding her usual generous amount of coolness.

  After she hands Mr. Zamora the pass, she looks right at me, smiles big
, and then leaves, shaking her head like she knows something I’ve done and should be ashamed of doing.

  Mr. Zamora holds up the square of paper but continues writing on the overhead. “You’ll need to take your things, Abbey. Class is nearly over.”

  I don’t look at the pass until I step outside the room. It’s addressed to Mr. Zamora from Mrs. Guzman, the librarian. I haven’t checked out any books, so I’m a little confused about why the librarian wants to see me.

  “Don’t worry,” Tai says, leaning against the wall, out of view of Mr. Zamora’s classroom. “You’re not in trouble. She just had to see you.”

  “The librarian?” I ask.

  My innocent question makes Tai laugh. “Garrett says you’re a pretty smart girl, but I’m beginning to wonder.”

  I stare blankly at her.

  “Girl, it’s K. She’s in the library waiting for you.”

  I try, but I can’t hold back my smile. Then my stomach sinks again. Tai does know something I should be ashamed of. I wonder if it was Garrett or Keeta who told her. More importantly, I wonder how much longer I have before someone spills it to Stef.

  “I gotta tell you, Abbey, K’s my best friend, but you should be careful. She’s the kind of girl who always gets what she wants.”

  At first I’m embarrassed by Tai’s warning, but then I say, “Is it really so bad to always get what you want?” and I think I shock us both with that.

  “Well, damn, I guess not.” She hands me a new pass. “Give this one to Mrs. Guzman. Oh, and Keeta’s waiting for you in the poetry section.”

  “Poetry?” I smile wider. “Thanks, Tai.”

  “Sure. And, hey…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to stay out of trouble, freshie.” She pulls another pass out of her pocket. “Speaking of trouble, time to get my girl out of chemistry. She really shouldn’t be around combustibles. Basta.”

  *

  Just like I was told to do, I give Mrs. Guzman my new pass which is addressed to her from Mr. Zamora. I wonder how Tai memorized all their signatures but then realize that maybe teachers don’t really pay as much attention to these things as we all think.

  I have no idea where the poetry section is, but I don’t dare ask and risk blowing our cover. So I just wander around looking very intent and focused. Finally, Keeta grabs my arm and pulls me behind a tall shelf of books.

  “I can’t believe you, Keeta. We could get so busted,” I whisper and look over my shoulder.

  “Shh…we won’t get caught. Mrs. G never leaves her station. I promise we’re safe.”

  “Why here? Why not the locker room or instrument closet? I mean, I’m so happy to see you, but it’s not very private.” I want to kiss her so badly.

  “I know,” she whispers, “but I wanted you to see my favorite hangout.” She takes a book off the shelf and sits down.

  She pats the carpet and I sit on the floor next to her. At least the poetry section is sort of secluded from the rest of the library.

  “Now close your eyes and listen.”

  I do as I’m told and she reads a poem to me.

  There’s a word for what you’ve done to me; the only one that says it all.

  This word captures the surprise in my eyes when I first saw you.

  It tells the story of my heart and what it wants to do.

  It explains why I dream of you day and night.

  It describes how your smile lights up my life.

  Yes, there is a word for what you’ve done to me; the only one that says it all.

  When she finishes reading, I don’t know what to say. The only poems anyone has ever read to me were by Shel Silverstein, and those are the opposite of romantic.

  “That poem kind of says how I feel about you, Amara.”

  I look at her and lose myself in her eyes. “Yeah?”

  Her smile reassures me.

  “Who wrote it?” I ask when I finally recover.

  “Well, did you like it?” she takes a piece of paper from the book and hands it to me. For a moment, she looks sort of shy, which is definitely the first time I’ve ever seen her look anything but certain.

  “I liked it very much. It was sweet,” I say then unfold the paper. “What’s this?”

  Her confidence returns. “It’s the poem. I wrote it…” She hesitates. “For you.” And then she kisses my cheek.

  I can recognize her handwriting and see her name on the bottom but ask, “You wrote this?” I guess my astonishment isn’t exactly a compliment.

  “Yeah, Amara, I write poetry. There’s a lot more to me than basketball and my nice ass.”

  The mention of her butt makes me blush, but I change the subject back to a more serious topic. “That’s just it, Keeta. I feel like I don’t know anything about you. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be around you every waking minute of the day.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s how I feel and I’m just trying to be honest for once.

  She slides her hand into mine. “Yeah. Okay. I get you.”

  “I mean, I feel so…I mean, I don’t even know where your locker is or what you have third period.” I don’t use this opportunity to mention that I do know where she lives, her blood type, and her home phone number.

  “Well, I suppose I should at least give you my digits and my locker location since I now have yours, thanks to Garrett and Tai.”

  Hearing their names makes my hands sweat. “Do they know?” I whisper.

  “I also found out some other interesting things about you,” she says instead of answering my question.

  I know I’m being ignored, but Keeta must have a good reason, so I let it go. “Great, what else did those losers tell you?”

  “Well, loads of stuff. But most importantly, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

  “Yep, it is.” I hadn’t thought about how having a sort-of girlfriend might improve my birthday spirit. I mean, it could be fun to celebrate with Keeta, instead of with my mom, Kate, and a couple of other friends like usual.

  “So can I take you out Saturday night?”

  I feel like screaming, Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, which is an entirely different reaction than I had with Jake, but then I remember my weekend plans. “Chale. I can’t. Garrett and…well, we’re already going out that night.”

  She nods her head but doesn’t say anything for a second, so I see another chance to get something off my chest. “Hey, Keeta?” I ask, this time louder. “What about Stef? I mean, she’s my friend. This is not something I’d normally do to a friend.”

  “I can tell,” Keeta says and pats my leg.

  “It’s just that, when are you going to break up with her? What if she finds out about us? I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems virtually impossible to keep secrets around here.” I swallow loudly and continue. “I just don’t know if I can do this.”

  She pushes my hair behind my ear and runs her fingers through it, which is totally unfair because now I can’t concentrate. “Amara, I will take care of it. I promise. No te preocupes.”

  “But won’t G and Tai tell Stef?”

  Another soft kiss lands on my cheek. “How about Sunday morning? I can make you breakfast at my house.”

  I’m incapacitated by her kiss, so I look at her and nod. No one else seems to think what we are doing is a big deal, so maybe it’s time I stop caring, too.

  “Good, because I make a mean omelet. And, Amara?”

  I blink twice.

  “I promise that by the end of our time together on Sunday, you will know all you want to know about me. No guardaré ningún secreto. No secrets.”

  “Okay.” I still have a ton of ugly worries sprouting in my head like annoying weeds, but right then I just want to hear her read more poetry to me. It’s by far the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me in a library, or anywhere else for that matter.

  I rest my head on her shoulder. “Léeme más poesía, por favor.”

  “Whatever you want, my Amara.”r />
  She flips through the book she had taken off the shelf earlier. It’s called Contemporary Poetry for Lovers. I’m surprised the book is in Gila’s library, but maybe Mrs. Guzman is a hopeless romantic just like the rest of us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Oh my God. This is a disaster.” I’m standing in front of the varsity locker room mirror, seeing myself in my uniform for the first time. “Why do these shorts have to be so short? And why do they have to ride up between my cheeks like butt floss?” It’s an hour before my first basketball game. I’m about to puke from nervousness and my uniform isn’t helping matters at all. “I look so bad.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Garrett says, trying to reassure me.

  Stef shoves her clothes in her locker. “Yeah, after a while, you might even start to enjoy it,” she says and laughs.

  “Gross,” Garrett says.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible.” I pull at my shorts again and then try to stretch out the tight polyester tank that’s smooshing down any bit of boobage I have. Garrett and Stef don’t look at all hideous in their uniforms, but they have much nicer bodies, with curves in all the right places. I just look like a skinny boy in mine.

  Stef gathers her curly blond hair in two small ponytails on either side of her head. Now she looks like a sixteen year old toddler, but that’s still a better look than what I’m rocking. “See you guys out there.”

  “Do you know whose number you have?” Garrett says after we hear the door to the gym slam behind Stef.

  I look down at the blue twenty-one on my chest. It has no special meaning to me; it was just the only one in the pile that sort of fit. “I don’t know. Kobe Bryant?” I ask because that’s the only basketball player I can remember.

  “Come on. Like you don’t know,” she says and goes back to braiding her hair. Garrett’s the only person I know who can french braid her own hair.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You mean you really don’t know?”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “I know nothing, G. Isn’t that obvious by now?”