Trash Can Days

by Teddy Steinkellner

  The food was gross but in a tasty kind of way. After a tough win, there’s really nothing better than some cheap, fake Mexican food. All of us were having the best time sitting around the table, remembering all the cool stuff we did during the game, making fun of those wack Westside guys from the other team, giving each other crazy nicknames.

  After we’d been sitting around the table for a while, Guillermo, who we’d just given the name “Frida Kahlo,” tapped me on the shoulder and he asked if the two of us could talk for a second. It made me feel kind of weird when he did that. I didn’t know what to expect. At least I knew it couldn’t be worse than the last time someone wanted to have “a talk” with me.

  I followed Guillermo out to the alley behind the restaurant. I’m not gonna lie, when he first led me out there I actually got nervous for a second. Everyone knows the kinds of things that Guillermo’s maybe done. But then he slapped hands and bumped fists with me and brought me in for a little hug, like a gangster kind of a hug.

  “Danny,” he said. “I wanna let you know something. I’ve noticed your leadership on this team. I respect the way you treat everyone right, even the white kid. Just wanted to let you know that if you ever wanna join the family, we’ll make it good for you.”

  He gave me a nod. Then, just like that, he walked back into Taco Bell.

  I’m still not really sure what to think. “The family…” Did Guillermo offer me to join the Raiders? And not just that, but like a legit position? Basically he said he would want me to be a leader, right? Like how I am on the team. The whole deal is crazy.

  I went back inside, where we all hung out for a few more minutes. Then Javy and Carlos said everyone was invited to their house for a post-post-game celebration. There would be chips and girls and boxing on TV and maybe, if they could find them, some of their dad’s Coronas. It sounded fun to me. I really wanted to go. But I’d already promised Jake that I’d be there for the movie at his house. Hannah would be at the movie, too. Not that she would talk to me or anything, but what if she did? I told the guys I had to peace. They said, “Really, Danielito?” I said really. They got on the bus headed for the Eastside and I got on the one to Seabrook.

  When I walked into the Schwartz’s TV room, the whole family was there, plus a couple of Hannah’s friends. Also Dorothy from writing club. They were all already watching the movie. I looked at the screen. A T. rex was fighting a dragon. Keanu Reeves was riding the dragon. Mr. Schwartz was explaining how it took them like, five years to get the computer graphics on this scene just right. Jake turned back to me and said, in his most annoying voice possible, “You’re thirty-five minutes late.” Hannah didn’t turn back at all.

  I sat down to watch the movie. I guess it was pretty good, but after all that had happened to me today, it was hard to focus. It was a lot more fun to close my eyes and imagine that I was hitting the game-winning shot again. Or that I was making out with Hannah. Or that I was punching Jake in the arm.

  25 • Hannah Schwartz

  Tuesday, March 2

  Queen Hannah’s How-to of the Day

  How I Can Judge You Based Solely on Your Profile Picture

  Who says I have to get to know you in order to know everything about you? Using this handy guide, I can tell exactly how awesome/lame/creepy you are within just one second of looking at your FB profile pic. Remember, I don’t need a thousand words—just the picture.

  Type of picture: You as an adorable baby/toddler.

  What you’re trying to say: “Look how cute I used to be!”

  What you’re really saying: “Not anymore!!”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as an after-school playdate with one of those girls who your mom made you be friends with because the girl had no other friends.

  Type of picture: You among a large group of people.

  What you’re trying to say: “I have so many besties!”

  What you’re really saying: “I have no individual worth!”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as being the 400th girl to wear plaid to school. (Queen Hannah = cuh-learly the first.)

  Type of picture: You with other members of your family.

  What you’re trying to say: “Family is the most important thing in my life!”

  What you’re really saying: “I’m homeschooled!”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as this sentence: “Teacher? I mean… Mom?”

  Type of picture: You dropping a gangsta sign.

  What you’re trying to say: “Thug liiiiife!”

  What you’re really saying: “White girrrrrl!”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as a homey from Seabrook.

  Type of picture: You in nature.

  What you’re trying to say: “When I’m outside…yeah…that’s when I feel the most free.”

  What you’re really saying: “I like nature! I! Am! Inherently! Uninteresting!”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as a girl peeing outdoors.

  Type of picture: Not a picture of you, but a picture of a well-known celebrity/cute animal.

  What you’re trying to say: “This isn’t really me…but imagine if it were!”

  What you’re really saying: “This isn’t really me…isn’t it depressing that I wish I were Beyoncé…or a rabbit?”

  Where you rank on the lameness scale: As lame as being insecure.

  Rumor Mill

  An anonymous source confirms that Meghan Moore and Lauren Gardner-Smith made out at a sleepover last weekend. It remains unclear whether it was just late-night-let’s-put-this-on-YouTube antics or a serious lesbian thing. My money’s on the latter.

  Avery Sinclair was seen out shopping with his mom on Sunday afternoon. Allegedly he purchased new underwear…and bed-wetting pills.

  Nisha Patel was spotted walking into the principal’s office this afternoon. In tears. Rumor has it that Little Ms. ASB President scored a little too well on her latest math test. Stars! They Cheat Like Us!

  Ashley Clarke was recently spotted at the movies canoodling with David Harmer, the youngest of the Harmer boys. That’s all three of them now, isn’t it, Ashley?

  Queen Hannah’s Words of Wisdom

  Never start a legit relationship in middle school. We’re ready for a little fun, but not the real thing. (Plus, you don’t want to end up like Kristen and Alex. YECH.)

  (P.S. No offense, Krist. Love you girl!)

  HANNAH OUT.

  So that is the fourth—and so far, juiciest—post of my all-new blog. It’s only been up a few hours and already it’s got 216 hits. Yeah, I know, basically I’ve reached phenomenon status. Dirty Little Secrets is the biggest thing to hit San Paulo since Chicle Rodriguez’s butt. Oooh, that’s so harsh, I know. Once I get into gossip-blog mode, it’s kinda hard for me to switch out.

  I don’t care, though. This thing has done wonders for my image. No one ever talks about my recent embarrassing moments anymore. And yeah, I guess maybe that’s because the entire student body is too scared of me now to say anything. But hey, as Daddy says when he’s negotiating with Hollywood people, It is better to be feared than loved.

  I love my dad. For the whole week after the dance, I did not want to talk about what happened. Not with anyone. I couldn’t talk to my mom because she can’t know about Danny. I couldn’t talk to my friends because they can’t know about Danny. I couldn’t talk to Jake because I refuse to ever speak to that little snitch again for as long as I live. And I couldn’t talk to Danny. I just couldn’t. I can’t. He wouldn’t understand.

  And the other day, when Dad knocked on my door after a week of being down in L.A. doing Oscars press, I didn’t really want to talk to him either.

  “Please go away, Daddy,” I told him.

  “Heard you haven’t been feeling so great,” he said, through the door.

  “Yeah,” I said, “but I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “But
can I come in?”

  “Maybe later,” I said.

  So of course he opened the door right then and came in with the prettiest potted orchid wrapped in a big purple ribbon and my favorite skinny vanilla latte from Starbucks.

  “What’s going on?” he said, handing me the latte.

  “Life sucks,” I said.

  So he said, “Well, why don’t you do something about it?”

  I said, “What do you mean, Dad?”

  He said, “Get creative, Hannah.”

  So I did, and an Internet sensation was born.

  Who knew I could be so powerful? I mean, DLS is literally me just typing down the things I used to say at lunch or in passing period. That’s all it is. Only now, what I say matters so much more. Five minutes after I posted this latest entry, Jamie Mackintosh changed her profile pic from her as a baby to her in a bikini sitting on that Italian exchange student’s lap. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do when I post tomorrow’s entry: “Five ways your Facebook profile makes you look like a whore.”

  The other insane thing has been how little work I’ve had to put into this. I mean, obviously I write everything myself—who else is as sassily snarkified as me?—but I get all the rumors and stuff from outside sources. People will reveal the most scandalous secrets to me—in class, at club V-ball practice, by sending anonymous e-mails. It’s like everyone was dying to spread this stuff all along. Now that they’ve got me, they have a way to make everyone’s dirty laundry everyone’s business.

  Today Chad came up to me at lunch and said that my blog was the coolest thing to ever happen at San Paulo, even cooler than the time he went paintballing with his bros at midnight near a retirement community. Honestly, that’s some pretty high praise. And I mean, obviously, yeah, Chad’s opinion doesn’t mean much to me, but it’s still pretty awesome that he said that, you know?

  Chad Beck is right. I’m back, slutbags, and better than ever. All that stuff that happened in the past is a distant memory. All anyone notices is what I’m doing now. I’m feared and I love it.

  Jamie Boo,

  Could there possibly be a more pointless class than journalism? I’m sitting here in seventh—twenty minutes till the bell—and I’m supposed to be writing this article about the wrestling team, but I know that no one will ever read it. No one cares about the newspaper at this school. After all, what’s a newspaper when compared to a blog?

  Hannah’s post on DLS last night was brrrutal, wasn’t it? She basically indirectly called you an ugly. And, well, no offense, but it’s not like you were the cutest baby that ever lived. Redhead babies are weird. No offense. I mean, you’re a total goddess now. It’s good you changed your prof pic to that super-cute one of you on Marco’s lap. There’s nothing bad that Hannah can say about that, right?

  BTW, how are you and Marco? Is he getting better at English or is he still all like, “Ciao, Bella! Pizza pizza, Mario Luigi!” LOL. But srsly, who cares how bad he is at our language? He’s so hot it doesn’t matter.

  Ten mins till school gets out—which means only 24 hours and 10 mins till my mom takes us to get our mani-pedis! Ahhhh! BFF date! So excited. Can we wear matching outfits to the spa and everythang? I wanna do twin ponytails.

  Soooooo bored right now in case you couldn’t tell. I have to write another article this week, and there is srsly nothing newsworthy on this campus to cover. Hannah already puts all the good juicy stuff on her blog. I guess I could ask one of the Mexis in our class what’s going on w/ the gangsters. Those guys r always up to something lol.

  Actually maybe I could write something about all those weird signs. You’ve seen them in the bathroom stalls, right? The ones w/ the big picture of the sword on them. They say “SSS” or something like that? Creepy. I heard that the janitors keep taking them down, but then the next day the signs keep popping back up. No one knows how or why. I even heard that the office is starting to get concerned. They think it’s like a cholo thing. Maybe Greene will take a break from solving the seventh grade/eighth grade crisis that’s TEARING THIS SCHOOL APART (eyeroll) long enough to check this sitch out.

  Oh, there’s the bell. Can’t wait for our after school adventure mañana! My fingernails and toenails are so stoked.

  All my love till the end of time,

  Emily-Bear

  Hannah,

  I miss you. It’s been a long time since we talked and I think we should get together sometime. It would be cool if we

  Dear Hannah,

  It’s been more than a month since we talked. Don’t you think that’s a really long time? I don’t understand

  Hannah,

  What happened at the dance sucked. Your brother ruined what we had. He ruined our lives. But really, don’t you think we could

  Dear Hannah,

  We were a great couple. Even if people didn’t know about us, I knew about us and that’s why I’m so

  Hannah,

  I miss us. Don’t you

  Dear Hannah,

  I don’t know if you realize it, but I think you need me.

  Hannah,

  Remember Jake’s room?

  Dear Hannah,

  I convinced Luz and Chicle that we weren’t ever even a couple. Maybe if you want to

  My Hannah,

  Dear Hannah,

  I know I’m never gonna find another girl like you again. It makes me

  Hannah,

  Hannah,

  26 • Jake Schwartz

  Wednesday, March 17

  I forgot to wear green today. I woke up this morning, I saw that it was March 17th on my “This Day in History” calendar, and still I somehow failed to realize that it was St. Patrick’s Day. I put on brown pants, my black New York Public Library T-shirt, and my gray hoodie, same as any normal day. No green. I would come to regret this decision.

  On this day in history, 624 C.E., Muhammad and the Muslims of Medina defeated the Quraysh of Mecca in the Battle of Badr. It was a bad day for the Quraysh.

  On this day in history, 1845 C.E., the rubber band was patented. It was a bad day for tree bark.

  And on this day in history, today C.E., the absolute unluckiest day of my life, I was defeated by Guillermo Torres and the San Paulo Raiders in the Battle of Jake’s Dignity. If only I’d worn green.

  School wasn’t so bad. Yeah, I had to deal with a few kids pinching me, and Brendan Wheeler kept bugging me during math by whispering things like, “Jews don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day! Unless you guys are the leprechauns! Beheheheh!” But honestly, it was fine. Whenever little things like that come up, I always remind myself: I have good friends, I have a good family, things could be a lot worse.

  Then, after school happened. First Dorothy threw a huge hissy fit when I told her I had practice so I wouldn’t be able to meet with her to plan the upcoming return of Writing Club. I explained that the team only has a few more practices before the big end-of-season county tournament, and that honestly, she and I probably aren’t going to be able to successfully bring the club back anyway. But she wasn’t having any of it.

  “Jacob Schwartz!” she screamed in my face. “You, sir, are a cur!”

  Cur. That’s a new one.

  Then, right before practice, I went up to Mr. Morales in the hall to ask him for some of his favorite creative-writing exercises. Dorothy made me do it on behalf of the SSS. Some of the guys overheard Mr. Morales and me as the two of us were talking about character sketches and simile circles.

  “Nerd!” Rudy called me later as we were changing in the locker room.

  “Dork!” shouted Javy.

  “Pussy!” shouted Guillermo.

  “Four-eyes!” shouted Antonio.

  I tried to explain to Antonio that I can’t be a four-eyes, seeing as I don’t wear glasses. He responded by promptly walking over to me and thwomping my left arm with a hell of a hurtful punch, giving me a tender, grayish bruise. Two minutes later, I had seven tender, grayish bruises on my left arm. Everyone but Danny. Thanks, Danny.

&n
bsp; Sometimes when my mom picks me up from practice, she notices I’m in an upset mood and she asks me, “Jake, why are you even doing this? Why is it so important for you to be on this team?” I tell her that I like Mr. Morales, I like hanging out with Danny, and I like the sport of basketball. Of course I like being on the team.

  Well, I guess I’m not exactly the biggest fan of all the running we do. I don’t really like the fact that I bring the team down by sucking so hard. I can’t say I enjoy the name-calling. Or the pushing. Or the bruises.

  All right, fine. I hate it. I mean, it’s too late to quit now, and I’m not a quitter anyway. But yes, it’s true, Mom, I hate being on the team.

  And I especially hated today, March 17th.

  Practice itself was the usual. Edgar didn’t pass me the ball once during our scrimmage, and the one time Danny threw it to me, I got jumpy and shot the ball clear over the backboard. Guillermo basically body-slammed me when I was going for a loose ball, and when I hit the ground I heard a weird cracking noise that I don’t wish to investigate. Antonio wouldn’t stop calling me “Four-eyes.” Then, when he got bored of that, it was “Cuatros Ojos.” Finally, he started calling me “Little White Turd.”

  But really, I could deal with all that. It was after practice I couldn’t deal with.

  We were all heading to the locker room. Usually I prefer to get picked up straight after practice and shower at home, but my mom was going to be a few minutes late since she was at Hannah’s club-volleyball game on the other side of town. Mr. Morales had to run into the main building and make some copies. That left me alone. With the guys.

  Of course I was nervous about changing in front of everyone. But if only that had been all—I didn’t even get to the locker room.

  As we were walking off the courts, I saw Javy and Carlos whispering to each other and laughing. I figured it was about, I don’t know, a girl or something. Then the two of them went up to Guillermo and whispered to him. Guillermo didn’t laugh, but he kind of smirked and nodded.

  I looked away from them and up at Danny. He was a few steps in front of me. I was going to ask him if maybe he wanted to—