Trash Can Days

by Teddy Steinkellner

  I wish I had been more ready for what happened next. Right before she turned to walk in, Hannah grabbed both my hands with hers and she tilted her head up at me and leaned in closer to me a little bit. I didn’t do anything for a second. I wasn’t even looking at her full on. I was confused and stuff, but then I got it and started to bring my head in. But then right when I got it, she smiled at me. It was one of those little smiles where the girl pokes her tongue between her teeth really quick then brings it back. A little teasing smile. Then Hannah put her head down, squeezed my hands, turned around and walked up her driveway, doing that slow butt-bouncing walk that drives every guy crazy.

  I don’t know why I was such a fool. Of course she wanted to kiss me. And of course I wanted to kiss her. I was just nervous, I guess. I mean like, I haven’t ever actually really kissed a girl before. This summer I told Jake that I made out with this girl Jordan at camp, but I only said that because he was bragging about how he kissed this other chick. And like, it’s embarrassing that he would kiss someone before me.

  But you know what would be mad embarrassing for him? If I kissed his sister. And you know what? I am going to kiss his sister. Not that he has to know.

  To my dearest sisterfriend in the world, Miss Emily-Bear,

  So I’m sitting here in science and it’s soooo boring and I want to die but OMG the funniest thing ever—literally ever—just happened. I’m sure you’ll have heard about what happened with Hannah’s brother by the time you get this note, but I think you deserve the whole story in all its amaaazing details. Srsly. I saw everything go down right in front of me. I swear that what I’m about to write is absolutely true.

  So this was like 15 mins ago, right at the beginning of nutrition break. Meghan and I went to our lockers to re-gloss and hopefully maybe catch a glimpse of Marco, that hot new Italian exchange student. ;)

  Anyway, so we’re at our lockers and suddenly I see something dark moving behind the trash can in the hall. And I’m like wtf, so I walk over and I look behind the can and it’s that weird sevvy Asian girl, Dorothy Yoo or whatever, the one who decorates her binder with pictures of her getting married to video game characters and stuff. And she’s crouching behind the garbage, trying super-hard to keep still and quiet, wearing all black, and even though I’m right above her, she doesn’t notice me, because she has her eyes dead set on the lockers across from us.

  Then, without warning, Dorothy looks to her left and she makes a little gasping sound and her body kind of spasms. Like she’s just seen a ghost, or a hot guy. Only what she actually saw was even better. Coming down the hallway, right where Crazy Asian had looked, was Hannah’s little brother. You know, the one with the Velcro hair. And he had on this little blue polo shirt and these beige khakis just like Mommy bought for him, and he looked maybe 3% cute, 97% loserdork.

  He headed straight for the locker where Dorothy had been staring a few seconds earlier. So this is when I realized—omg—love connection—he’s the one who’s been getting all those weird presents, like that creepy soap child. And she’s his mystery gift giver. And I just know I’m about to see something classic.

  So Hannah’s brother walks up to his locker, and there’s this sign taped to it—this red-and-green piece of construction paper—and it says TURN AROUND on it. And I’d completely forgotten about Dorothy at this point, but while Hannah’s brother was looking at the sign, she had jumped out from behind the trash can and flung herself across the hall, and by the time he turned around, there she was, inches away from him, standing there in all her loser glory.

  And I’ll never forget what happened next. Little Bro turned around and he had this kind of confused look on his face, and he said, “Hey, Dorothy. Did…Whitney send you?” I think he was talking about Whitney Sheehan, the one who hooked up with Chad in the bathroom during the motivational speaker assembly last week. But he could’ve meant Whitney Ostertag—you know, that slut who only sweats under one armpit. Or maybe he meant that sevvy Whitney, the weird horse girl.

  Anyway, Dorothy, as if he hasn’t even just asked her a question, she throws her hands up in the air and she shouts at the top of her lungs, “I’M DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

  No idea what “Dee” is, but it must’ve meant something to Hannah’s brother, because he stares at Dorothy and he just starts—no joke—crying. Bawling. Full-on, streaming, mucus-mixing-in, call-the-waaambulance tears. I swear he morphed into a five-year-old right before my eyes. And before she can say anything to him, he just turns around and bolts down the hallway and ducks into the nearest boys’ bathroom.

  And so then Dorothy—God, she’s so lame, she should’ve expected this, but poor girl—then she starts crying, probably even harder than Hannah’s brother. And so then she turns around and runs in the opposite direction before bursting into the girls’ room. Also, as she was running, some of those Peach Ring candies flew out of her jacket pockets and fell on the ground. Which…ew. That’s really gross when you think about it. Candy in your pockets. Shudder.

  So, yeah, there were maybe like, fifteen of us in the hallway who watched this whole thing happen, and once both of them ran away, we were all just in shock. We didn’t know whether to like, laugh or applaud or cry or what. I mean SP is definitely a crazy place, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.

  Wow—the bell’s about to ring. I can’t believe I spent the entire period writing you this story. You better enjoy it, bee-yotch! See you in sixth.

  Can’t wait till this weeeeekend for the party at Hannah’s house and then our sleeeeepovaaaaa at ur place! So stoked. Maybe we should invite Marco lol.

  Your BFF 4eva,

  Jamie Boo

  The Club Chronicles

  Part 27: The Maelstrom of Lost Souls

  By Dorothy Wu

  Poseidon gave a hearty guffaw, the kind of deep laugh that makes the islands shake. Once he had laughed for several seconds, he stared down at Princess Dorothy with intense water eyes.

  “YOUUUU LOOOVE THIS CAD, EH?” he roared, motioning to Prince Jacobim.

  Dorothy glanced over at her beloved. Jacobim looked so pitiful and sad trapped in his eternal prison. Then Dorothy looked up at the Aqua God and nodded the bravest of nods.

  “HOWWW MUCH DO YOU LOVE HIM?” bellowed Poseidon.

  “Enough…enough to do whatever it takes to set him free!” Dorothy cried.

  “ENOUGH TO…SELL YOUR SOOOOOUUUL?”

  Dorothy knew that Poseidon was playing a dangerous game with her. Whatever she agreed to would probably hurt her very badly. But she had the chance to set Jacobim free! So what did her soul matter? After all, what are souls when compared with love?

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “I would give my soul for Jacobim’s freedom.”

  Poseidon began to smirk a devious water smirk.

  “VERY WELL…” he howled. “YOU DAFT HUMAN!”

  Poseidon blinked thrice, powerful blinks, and all of a sudden the water prison around Jacobim collapsed into a colossal splash and just as quickly reformed itself into a gigantic swirling whirlpool. Dorothy felt the current start to pull at her. She knew what this was—it was the Maelstrom of Lost Souls, Poseidon’s preferred method of sending his enemies straight to the Underworld, where his cruel brother Hades awaited. The Underworld—where Dorothy would be forced to struggle forever with mundane tasks such as rolling boulders up hills and cleaning large messes. But she did not care what happened to her—Jacobim was free!

  “WELL, WELL, WELL!” Poseidon shouted. “NOW THAT THE GIRL’S SOUL IS MINE FOREVER…JACOBIM, PERHAPS WE SHOULD LET HER IN ON OUR LITTLE SECRET!”

  Dorothy, struggling to keep her face above the waves as she got sucked into submission, looked up at her liberated lover. He was…smiling? Maliciously?

  “Dorothy, my dim-witted friend!” Jacobim screamed. “You were an idiot in the name of love! I never cared for you…not at all. But I knew that if I feigned love for you, if I seduced you, that together Poseidon and I would be able to capture you—just li
ke we captured the rest of your pathetic Lunch Club comrades! Ha! Ha!”

  “It cannot be true!” Dorothy cried desperately. “The things you said to me…things you said no one else knew… please, Jacobim!”

  “Oh, that is the other thing…” Jacobim whispered, an evil look in his eyes. “My name is not Jacobim—IT IS JAKE!”

  “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!” Dorothy wailed, her tears mingling with ocean water as the waves dragged her farther into the abyss.

  “YES,” Jake snarled. “You were stupid to love me.”

  15 • Hannah Schwartz

  Friday, December 18

  My family’s annual Hanukkah party has always been one of the highlights of my year. And not just because it’s an excuse to get dressed up. And not just because I get to watch former child stars drunkenly hit on my mom. I think I love it so much because every year it’s this great night where my friends and I can get together, look classy, sneak sips of champagne, and all in all just have an amazing time living it up.

  Of course, this year there was one small problem getting in the way of that: I hate all my friends. Ever since Chadgate, all my supposed bffs have turned into these awful, rumor-spreading yotch people. They want everyone to believe that I’m a slut because they don’t have anything better on me and they’re jealous and they’re the real sluts and I hate them forever. Seriously, I would rather hang out in the barrio with Chicle and Luz than with them. I’m not even joking—those chicas are pretty fun. Ughhh, but no matter how hateful my “friends” have been, they were all still invited to the party tonight because all of their parents are still brunch companions and golf buddies with my parents. So I went into tonight expecting the worst.

  And what I got was the best night of my year. Why? Well, why else? A boy.

  There was a lot of buzz about the party at school today. Everyone was extra nice to me in the halls and on the blacktop at lunch. They all probably thought that if they so much as brought up the bathroom wall that I would disinvite them. I definitely don’t have that kind of power. But hey, if it seems like I do, then more power to me.

  When that seventh period bell rang, it was a huge relief—no school for two and a half weeks. But I also started to stress really hard—I only had a few short hours to get ready for the party. And I wanted to look good. Beautiful good. Hot good.

  I’m not gonna sell myself short, either. By the time 7:30 rolled around, I looked fully fabulous. I had on the emerald-green halter dress with the sweetheart neckline that I was planning on wearing to homecoming next year until I just had to break it out tonight instead, my silver H necklace that my mom gave me that I’ve only ever worn four times, and a pair of black Sergio Rossi heels that literally made me almost as tall as Danny. Every guy from school was checking me out all night—and no one more than Chad.

  Who, annoyingly, was one of the first people to arrive. Like, seriously, him and his parents showed up before the caterers even sent out the first plate of hors d’ouevres. And once Chad showed up, he proceeded to not leave me alone, not for a second. When I went to go hang out in the designated not-for-grown-ups room, there he was reciting his BS poems to all the idiot girls from our grade—and staring at me out of the corner of his eye. When I went to go get some food, there he was lurking by the fondue fountain. When I went to get a breath of fresh air out on the courtyard, there he was, bringing my dad a drink.

  I realize that I’m conveniently choosing to direct all of my hatred toward Chad, simply because he makes for the easiest target. But don’t worry. I hate my other friends too.

  I hate Kristen and Alex for basically deciding to get married in eighth grade while totally ignoring the existence of everyone else. It’s made both of them so much less fun. And no one likes your ugly promise ring, Krist. No one believes it, either.

  I hate Emily for acting super sweet to my face tonight even though I know it was definitely her who sent me that “anonymous” e-mail about the dangers of being a teenage whore.

  I hate Jamie Mackintosh for acting like she’s Hannah Schwartz: Ginger Edition even though we only started inviting her to cool things like a month ago. I mean she didn’t even go to Arlington—her dad’s like, a Gap manager or something—and now she’s acting all queen bee, and it totally disrupts the order of the universe.

  I hate Rachel Sloan for wearing a dress that looked suspiciously exactly like mine even though I had told her specifically not to wear anything remotely resembling emerald.

  And I hate Lauren Gardner-Smith because…well, I’ve always hated her. Even when I tolerated her, I thought she was a waste of space. And hyphenated names are so two years ago.

  So, wait. Hold on. Tonight I hosted a party attended by my creepy ex and by my completely fake ex-friends. How exactly was it the best night ever?

  Oh, that’s right. Mr. Uribe.

  It’s a very sexy name to say: Daniel Uribe. I love rolling my r’s when I say it. Almost as much as I love saying “¡Danielllito!” But not nearly as much as I love it when he speaks in Spanish to me.

  So going into tonight, my game plan with Danny was this: no communication whatsoever. No eye contact, no chatting, and definitely no long conversations. It’s not that I’m afraid of being seen near him, it’s not that at all. It’s just that my family’s Hanukkah party—attended by every gossip in Seabrook, the gossip capital of the world—would be a terrible time to make a first appearance as a boy-girl pairing. And Danny and I aren’t ready to be seen together anyway, because we don’t even know what we are yet. Although we might have come closer to figuring it out tonight.

  So this no-communication rule was good, it was effective, but it was just killing me. For the first three hours of the party, I was trapped in endless conversations with catty phonies, and Danny had to sit there with Jake and his gang of prepubescent dorks while they made up tall tales about how much action they’d gotten last weekend with imaginary girls. And I didn’t even know it was possible for my little brother to say the word “girl” in a sentence without bursting into tears and running to the nearest bathroom.

  As it got later on in the evening, and as the adults got drunker, and as Chad started getting stalker-ier, I realized—screw appearances, I just want to hang out with Danny. So I went to go look for him, but when I got to Jake’s geek circle, Danny wasn’t there. Oh, he just left, the boys said, didn’t say where he was going. Then they resumed talking about their scrotums.

  So I went looking for Danny everywhere. The main deck, the poolside grotto, the snack tables in the backyard, the open bar, the mini-golf course… But I couldn’t find him. Anywhere. And it was really stressing me out. And I was just about to give up all hope—

  But then I felt a poke in my back. So I turned around, and there he was, wearing this cute black button-up shirt that I don’t know how he got. And he looked so sexy with that manly jawline of his, and he had a smiling look in his eye, and he said:

  “Jake’s room. Five minutes.”

  Jake’s room. Brilliant! It would be too obvious if we went to Danny’s room in his family’s cottage, because then we’d have to walk across the lawn where the adults could see us. And my room wasn’t really an option, because, well, I had stupidly allowed Kristen and Alex to make use of it for their… purposes (ew). But Jake’s room. Jake’s room!

  At 10:49 p.m., that’s where I was. Danny showed up a minute later and closed the door behind him. For a few seconds, we stood there rather awkwardly. Just the two of us, all by ourselves in Jake’s room, being stared at by hundreds of lame action figures and bobblehead dolls.

  Danny had been so confident and so suave in coming up with the idea to sneak in there. Now, suddenly, he looked kind of, well, thirteen years old. And yeah, he looked adorable in his little black shirt, nervous and twitchy, but he didn’t quite seem ready for the moment. He coughed a couple times. He began to breathe so loud I could hear him. Come on, I remember thinking, you’re at the finish line—don’t choke now!

  Danny coughed again and looked up at
the room’s ceiling.

  “It’s too bad,” he said, but his voice cracked on “bad” so he started over. “It’s too bad that there’s not any, um, mistletoe or anything.”

  He wasn’t even making eye contact with me. He wasn’t going to make the first move. He just wasn’t. I knew what I had to do.

  “Danny,” I said in my lowest, smoothest, sexiest voice. “It’s Hanukkah. Who needs mistletoe?”

  At that exact second I threw myself at him, and he threw himself at me and our mouths connected and it was pure perfection. So much better than a movie moment. So much real-er.

  Yeah, Danny was a little tentative at first, not really going for it—I could tell I was his first kiss—but after a while he got the hang of it. Of the four boys I’ve kissed, Danny definitely has the most potential. He’s more patient than Will, not as sloppy as Dylan, gentler than Chad.

  And once we started really exploring with our lips, a little bit with our tongues, a medium bit with our hands…oh, it was so fun. You know how normally you can really enjoy doing something, but after a while you get kind of bored of it? Making out with Danny wasn’t like that at all. It kept getting hotter and hotter as I pulled him down on to the bed, as I jumped on top of him, as we tried making out upside down like Spider-Man for a few minutes, just to see what it’s like. My heart was beating faster and harder with every kiss, with every touch of the tongues. I’d give anything to be back in Jake’s room. I know I’d still be kissing Danny now if it wasn’t for us almost getting walked in on.

  No, we didn’t get walked in on. That would have been a pretty scary ending to what I like to think of as an epic romance. But there was this moment after we had been making out for a while. It was long after I’d put my hair in a ponytail, and right when I was thinking about taking it all out again for hotness factor, when there was this loud bump against the door. Danny and I clenched each other when we heard it—Jake!—but it was just one of Daddy’s friends staggering his way to the bathroom. My money’s on Jerry Bruckheimer.