by RH Tucker
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” I straighten back up in my seat.
Ethan's a nice guy, and we're friendly, but I wouldn't go as far as to call him my friend. It's not like we hang out or anything. Maybe classmate is a better way of describing him, and most of the other seniors in my class. Jen's my best friend, but other than that, I think I can count on one hand the number of people I'm close with in school. Jen's the extrovert of our duo, and I'm the introvert. She always teases me about it, calling me the ‘cliché artsy girl' who keeps to herself. Which, I guess is true. But it's not because I'm shy. There are just lots of fake people.
Jocks pretending to be super cool, half of them already the popular kids, acting like big shots. But I’ve seen what happens to those popular kids at school. The prom kings and queens. My mom was prom queen. Then, one year after high school, she marries my dad, has a baby, and she’s been a housewife ever since. Wow, that sounds like I’m trashing my mom, and I don’t mean to. I love her. But she’s the one who’s ingrained it in me ever since I started high school.
“Esmeralda,” she said, giving me a serious look as she pulled into the parking lot, my freshman year. “High school can be fun, but don’t let what happens here, change who you are. Kids will be kids. Some of them cruel, some stuck up, and some jerks. But high school is only four years. And when it’s over, then you find out who you are.”
I didn’t even try to understand it at the time. I kept nervously looking over my shoulder as Jen waited for me to get out of the car. But over my high school career, that morning has always stuck with me. And I’ve done what I want to do. I take art classes. I volunteer. I do things that I want to do, even if other people think it’s stupid or lame, because like she said, high school is only four years. When it ends, that’s when life really begins. It’s another reason I’ve never bothered trying to date anyone at school either. Not that I have a whole line of guys waiting to ask me out.
Which is another thing that Jen and I are opposites on. She loves boys. Okay, I love boys too, but she really loves them and has no problem calling herself a flirt. And she tries to get me to go on double dates with her all the time. I tried it a couple of times, but it was obvious the guys were there to try and make a move.
“If you’d just put something normal on,” Jen said one time, which led to the biggest fight we’ve ever had.
She’d convinced me to go out with her and a guy she was dating last year. When she came and picked me up, I was dressed how I always dress; however I want to. I decided to go with some skinny jeans, a crop top, and my Chucks. Hey, I said they’re comfy. I guess that would’ve been normal enough, but I topped it off with my Hufflepuff necktie, loosely wrapped around my neck and wore a thick pair of glasses. I usually wear my contacts, but I wanted the nerdy glasses look, which I've always kind of liked.
As the night progressed, my date kept commenting on my tie, asking me to take it off. He kept saying it looked dorky, especially since I ‘had to’ wear my glasses that night. I ignored him for the rest of the night and by the time we got home–which was earlier than Jen wanted because my date was ‘over the night’–she yelled at me.
“What does it matter what I’m wearing? It’s just a tie!” I’d yelled back at her.
“And your glasses?”
“Jen, you know I wear glasses.”
"Ha!" She exaggerated the sound. "You always wear contacts. Why put on your glasses tonight? And even then, I know I've seen other glasses you have. Why'd you have to wear those? Chad was totally put off."
“I don’t care!” I yelled back. “If he gets turned off because I’m wearing glasses, then he’s shallower than I thought.”
“Shallow?” Jen looked at me like I had slapped her. “Well, I think that too. Does that mean I’m shallow?”
“Jen, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Maybe it is! God, Emma! Why do always have to be so … different!”
She stormed out of my room, and we didn't talk for two weeks. She finally came over one night, and we settled everything. She apologized for getting upset, and I apologized for how I'd acted. Because, in reality, I did do it on purpose. I could've worn something normal, but I wore my tie and glasses because I didn't want to have to tell that guy no and be looked at as lame. I didn't like him, and since he was a popular guy, I'm sure not many girls had told him no. But I figured he didn't want to be seen kissing some ‘nerd' with a Harry Potter tie and huge glasses. I was right.
After scanning the room one more time, it looks like everyone's turning in their assignment. No tired looks on faces, at least no more than usual. Facing forward, I reach down to my feet. It's been less than an hour, and I already feel my stupid boots hurting.
By the time lunch rolls around, I could feel a blister starting to form under my right big toe. Plopping down next to Jen, I pull out my sandwich and take a bite, while scrolling through my phone.
“So, did you?”
“Did I what?” I answer without looking at her.
“Text them.”
“Oh my God, you’re still going on about that?”
“Well, did you see anyone who looked like a zombie in first period?” I shake my head, taking a drink of water. “So then text them.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know, it’s weird. How crazy is it that someone randomly texts you, thinking it’s someone else, but it’s still someone you might know?”
“If anything, you’d know them, I wouldn’t.”
“Hey, you know people,” she says as she opens a bag of chips. “Anyways, it’s weird though, right? I mean, they could’ve texted anyone. Someone in Wisconsin or something. But they didn’t, so you need to text them.”
“Gah, fine!” I drop my shoulders, giving her an exasperated look. “If it’ll get you to shut up, I’ll text them.”
"I love you." A broad smile crosses her lips.
I look down at my phone and suddenly go blank. Why am I nervous to text a complete stranger? What if it’s someone I did know? Would they want to know me? And why am I analyzing a random text to a stranger so much?
Chapter 3
Carter
My pencil moves furiously, as I scramble it across my paper at our lunch table. I stayed up until three o’clock, working on as much of the assignment as I could before finally going to sleep. I’m going to be dead at practice after school, but I have to make sure the assignment is done.
“Dude.” Jeremy looks over the table as he takes a bite of pizza. “I still can’t believe you turned down what would’ve been at least a BJ, to do homework.”
“Shut up,” I mutter under my breath, scribbling more of the equation I’m working on.
"Don't worry. I made sure my bedroom didn't go to waste."
“I’m sure you did.”
“Carter, why don’t you copy someone’s?” Lucas, who’s sitting next to Jeremy, looks over the table at my paper.
“No way.” I flip over to the next page. “You heard what happened last month. Mr. Hilton caught Phillip and Lewis cheating and is docking them down a whole letter grade at the end of the semester. I can’t afford to get docked down a letter.”
I don’t look up, but he must look confused. “His graduation gift,” Matt says, sitting next to me.
“Oh, that’s right,” Lucas replies. “Well, you can at least look at their work, so you’re not stressing.”
Matt takes a bite of his sandwich. “I told him the same thing,” he says with a mouthful.
“No, you guys.” I finally look up. “Last week he said we’re having a test later this week. It’s most likely on all this stuff, and I gotta pass the test too.”
“Still, man.” Jeremy shoots me a look. “Sarah was looking fine as hell last night. She ended up making out with Scott, I think.”
I give Jeremy a deadpan look. “Yeah, and you wonder why it’s not a big deal that I don’t hook up with her anymore. That girl just gives it away.”
Matt snickers as Lucas let out a laugh.
“True.” Jeremy nods. “Plus, you already had a piece of that pie earlier this year.” He flashes the conceited smile he likes to show.
Jeremy loves to bring up the homecoming incident as if it's a badge of honor. Inwardly, I'm still embarrassed by it, but outwardly, I do joke around about it being awesome. I remember later that night, Jeremy and the rest of our basketball team all high-fiving me. It put me on another level.
Rumors spread quickly that night, and before I knew it, we had committed a number of lewd acts in the women's bathroom, the men's bathroom, and a janitor's closet. I was going to tell Jeremy and Lucas the truth, but by the time school rolled around the following week, my popularity had skyrocketed. After that, more rumors started making their rounds, and with each new one, a new level of popularity was unlocked. A couple of weeks went by, and I couldn't bring myself to tell my friends. I didn't like being so concerned with what people thought about me, but this is high school. Our reputation is, like, what determines our net-worth. And after homecoming, I became worth a whole lot more.
My phone chirps.
UNKNOWN: So’d u finish the assignment?
I grin at the screen, wondering who this person is.
ME: Of course
Hey, no need to tell them I’m still working on it. I decide to ask the mystery texter who they are, wondering if they’re even in my class. That’d be weird.
ME: BTW who is this?
I wait for a couple of minutes, but there's no answer. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn back to my book. Only two more pages to complete and I still have a class before calculus.
UNKNOWN: U tell me first
ME: I asked first
First bell rings, letting everyone know lunch is over and it's time to get to class, so I start packing everything up. Jeremy and Lucas take off, but Matt waits for me since we have our last two classes together. Walking away from the table, my phone chirps.
UNKNOWN: U texted me first. That means I should know who’s texting. Plus, I helped u
I stare at my phone with a little annoyance. Even if I did text them first, I’m not going to give this random person my name.
ME: Watevs. Thanks for the help HW-Buddy
I laugh to myself as I head to my next class with Matt.
Chapter 4
Emma
UNKNOWN: Watevs. Thanks for the help HW-Buddy
“What the heck is ‘HW-Buddy’?”
Jen glances over my shoulder and shrugs, as we get up from our table. “I don’t know. I’ll see you later.” She waves, as she heads down the hallway to her next class.
ME: ???
I switch my phone to silent in case whoever this is decides to text me during class. I'm still looking at the messages, wondering why exactly I'm exchanging texts with a total stranger. I mean, if they are a senior at Woodbridge, then I guess it's not some forty-year-old guy, but still. I probably should end this soon.
I’m about to slide my phone into my pocket when I feel the blister on my toe again and cringe in pain. Then someone shouts, as I slam against a chest.
“Whoa.” Carter Dixon is standing in front of me, between myself and the door to our classroom.
“Ew.” I look up at him, annoyed.
"Excuse me?" He curls a lip. "You walked into me. Of course, I could've let you keep going and run right into the metal door." He knocks his knuckles against the door. "You seemed to be distracted. I saw you behind me and opened the door, but you kept walking."
“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.
