Since You Asked...

by Maurene Goo

  “I just spent my last dollar on new strings.”

  “Ugh. You’re so annoying.”

  “You’re annoying. Let’s just go to Marty’s, then.”

  “Nuh-uh. Too close. Next.” Marty’s is the used bookstore in Pacific Beach. I usually love it, but it’s only like two minutes away from my house.

  “Hiz, you can’t shoot down all my ideas.”

  “What? That was only one idea. And you’re shooting down MINE first!”

  “Jeeeeez-uh. Let’s call Carrie and Liz and see what they think.”

  A few minutes later I was heading out to meet up with everyone at the Burrito Shack. But, of course, as I was pulling on my shoes in the foyer, my dad ambled by.

  “Oh!” He halted in front of me. “Where are you going, Holly?”

  I didn’t make eye contact with him. Making eye contact is the quickest way to get roped into some chore or another.

  “I’m going to get lunch with my friends.”

  “Lunch? With who?”

  Okay, seriously. My dad acts like this every single time I say I’m doing anything, as if the idea of having lunch with friends is as surprising as me declaring I was moving out.

  “Daaad! With Carrie, Elizabeth, and David. Who else?”

  My mother chose that moment to pop her head into the foyer and squawk, “Why are you yelling at your dad?”

  My sister stuck her head in, too. “Hey, how come Holly doesn’t have to clean her room? No faaaair.”

  Steam was literally, literally pouring out my ears.

  “I’M NOT YELLING! I’M GOING TO EAT LUNCH! AND THEN PROCEED TO KILL BABIES!”

  Mom glared at me. “That mouth of yours gets worse every day! Who speaks that way to her own parents?”

  Dad chimed in. “Why do you have to go out to eat lunch with your friends? Are you rich? Do you not have a family? You should eat here at your own house!”

  All three of them were now looking at me expectantly.

  “Oh. My. GOD.”

  With that, I ran out the door and hopped onto my bike, pedaling down the street with murderous rage propelling me at record speeds.

  I knew I’d get another earful when I got home, but at the moment I just needed to escape before my clothes were ripped off by the huge green muscles that might grow spontaneously from my body.

  I pulled up to the Burrito Shack to see that Carrie and David were already seated outside with their bikes parked in front. I locked up my seafoam-green cruiser and jogged over to them.

  Carrie took one look at my face and said, “Let me guess. Your parents were super excited you were coming out to meet us!”

  I plopped down on a seat next to her and across from David. “Don’t even get me started. I am counting the days until I can graduate and leave that prison.”

  David placed his elbows on the table and leaned in toward me. “Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic here? It can’t be that bad.”

  Before I could open my mouth to school him, a BMW and a Porsche squealed up in front of us, sending exhaust straight into our faces. People piled out of the two cars, making a huge scene — girls in their up-the-butt shorts and thousand-dollar handbags, guys in their aviator shades and popped collars. Leading the pack was Matthew Reynolds, water polo captain and popular kid extraordinaire. In other words, the BEST GROUP OF PEOPLE EVER!

  “Slumming it at the Burrito Shack, I see,” I said, turning my back to them.

  “Yeah, what the heck, this is our place. No burritos in La Jolla?” Carrie muttered. La Jolla was an exclusive beach town just north of us, and most of the insufferable rich jock brains usually hung out there.

  “Even the lamest among us know where to find the best burritos,” David said lazily, propping his bubbly skater shoes up onto the bench next to me.

  I pushed them off and stood up reluctantly. “Did you guys order already?” They nodded, so I walked over to wait in line by myself. I stood behind two girls in Matthew’s crew, a petite, overly tan brunette named Jessica and a blonde named Megan with a severe case of bitchface.

  “I’m not really into the Barneys sale. All it does is bring out all the Chinese hordes hunting for discounted jeans,” said Megan.

  I held my tongue and resisted the urge to poke the girl in the eyes. Instead, I cleared my throat loudly to let my Asian presence be known. They barely noticed me. How did they know I wasn’t Chinese? The fact of the matter is, they didn’t care. I didn’t even exist to them.

  I was fuming by the time I ordered my California burrito (a delicious masterpiece of carne asada — marinated beef — French fries, and guacamole. Holy heart attack in a tortilla!). As I headed toward my seat, I heard a low wolf whistle behind me. I turned around to see Elizabeth closing the door on her red Mini Cooper, sending a glare to the guys in Matthew’s crew.

  One of them, a particularly overly buff football player named Roderick, yelled out, “You gonna call a jihad?” then started chanting an exaggerated, high-pitched “Ai yi yi yi yi yi!” The other two guys with him burst into laughter, dudeing and high-fiving like mad. Matthew seemed to be ignoring the entire scene, looking at his phone while sitting with Megan and Jessica, who were taking photos of each other with pursed lips. Liz walked over to us, ignoring the chanting.

  “Do you want me to kill them?” David asked as he popped a tortilla chip into his mouth. Nothing about his lethargic posture indicated murderous capabilities.

  “Oh, let me!” said Carrie, her face already turning red.

  The chanting grew louder and louder. Other customers were staring at them, but it didn’t seem to bother them that much.

  “Are you f-ing KIDDING ME?” I shouted over the noise.

  “SHUT UP!” Carrie bellowed.

  I looked over at Liz, who was applying a coat of lip gloss, seemingly nonplussed by what was happening. David was also silent, but I could see him twirling his straw between his fingers — something David only did when he was pissed but keeping it in. Even though he might not show it, I know he hated this group of guys more than all of us did combined.

  A loud whistle pierced through the noise and the chanting stopped abruptly. I craned my neck to see Matthew standing with his hands up. “All right, everyone, chill.” With that, he put his aviators back on and sat down. Jessica draped her arm over him possessively and purred, “Good job, Matty.” He shrugged her off and bit into his burrito. After one last “Ai yi!” from Roderick, the other guys jostled each other as they finally joined Matthew and the girls.

  “I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s go somewhere else,” I said, shoving my barely touched burrito away from me.

  “Yeah, this place has officially been tainted by a huge infiltration of SUCK,” David announced loudly.

  Liz just shrugged. “It’s cool, you guys. They’re idiots. Like bratty little children, they’ll stop their bad behavior if you ignore them.”

  “Or if their god, Matthew, shuts them up?” Carrie said, furiously chomping on her bean-and-cheese burrito.

  “They’re just so entitled. Who thinks it’s okay to act like that in public? I’m over it!” I seethed.

  As if my pestering family wasn’t enough, my day was now further ruined by a group of spoiled brats who only cared about which Barneys sale had the least amount of Chinese customers.

  “I can’t wait for this weekend to be over,” I muttered.

  I watched Amir Kattan barf onto his computer.

  “Ohhhh, nooooo, man,” he groaned. My instinct was to scream and run in the opposite direction, but Amir — our usually virile and overly testosteroned sports editor — looked seriously ill.

  “Err … don’t worry, Amir, I’ll make sure it gets cleaned. You should probably go to the nurse’s office though, yeah?” I patted his back awkwardly and tried not to breathe in through my nose.

  As other people in the journalism room noticed what had happened they either ran to get paper towels or doubled over in laughter. Nice. Mr. Williams walked Amir to the nurse’s office, sending
everyone a stern look as he headed out.

  I tried to continue copyediting a riveting article on the new cafeteria supervisor, but it was difficult to concentrate with fresh barf scent lingering on the desk next to mine. Oh, yes, and it was hard to copyedit when I kept dozing off after reading each sentence of this boring piece of crap.

  “Hey, Holly.”

  Ugh. Isabel. The last time she came over to me with that cloying voice I almost got suspended.

  “Yes?”

  She pushed her wire-framed glasses up on her nose. “So, I don’t think Amir is coming back for a few days. Mr. Williams just called and said Amir’s been fighting off the stomach flu or something.”

  Ew. Note to self: disinfect workstation and spray down entire body with Purell.

  “Anyway, he’s on deadline for a big feature we’re doing on Matthew Reynolds. Soooo, since you’re working on your last copyediting piece, I’m going to have you take over the assignment.”

  I groaned. “MATTHEW REYNOLDS?”

  Isabel rolled her eyes. “Yes, Matthew Reynolds. You know, all-American football player, captain of the water polo team, and BHS leading point guard?”

  “I know who he is. And, no offense, but no thanks.”

  “Holly, we all know you hate him. But he’s also a star athlete and we’ve been planning this feature for weeks. So, no offense, but you’re doing the story.”

  I frowned as deeply as humanly possible. “Fine. When’s the deadline and how long does it have to be?”

  “Um, the deadline is actually this Friday and it has to be a thousand words.”

  I blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “Just do it. He was supposed to meet Amir after school today so he could interview him at home.”

  “HIS home?”

  “Yes. Oh yeah, and don’t forget to mention Thanksgiving somehow. Get a glowing picture of how ridiculously wholesome and American his family is by describing their Thanksgiving dinner or something. Good luck, bye-bye.” She skipped away, her neon-yellow Reeboks squeaking along the tile floor.

  I stared at Isabel’s back as I thought of the incident with Matthew’s friends at the Burrito Shack. Why in the world did I ever decide to work for The Weasel Times?

  * * *

  “C’mon, Carrie! Just this once!”

  Carrie turned her back to Liz. “No! I am not letting you give me a pedicure. Gross, no way will I ever let another human touch my feet.”

  “You know what’s gross? The state of your toenails,” Liz said, pointing a French-tipped fingernail at Carrie’s feet.

  “Dude, Holly, get this psycho off my back. Let’s go to D’s house and play Wii Sports Resort!” Carrie exclaimed. It was after school and we were all standing outside BHS’s entrance.

  David skated around me in circles. (He does this sometimes to make me motion sick.) “Yeah, Hizzle, we need a Speed Slice rematch!”

  I nervously searched for the unmistakable jockish hulk that was Matthew Reynolds. “Um, yeah, can’t make it today, guys. You will not believe it, but I have to hang out with Matthew Reynolds today to write a story on His Douchiness.”

  Both Liz and Carrie made faces, and David stopped in his tracks, almost falling off his skateboard. “WHAT?”

  “I know. This is torture.” I lowered my voice to a whisper in case he or any of his minions were around. “I have to go to his house.”

  Liz looked horrified. “OMG. Please don’t touch anything or you might come back with an STD.”

  David snickered. “Or worse. You may come back stupider.”

  “I hear he like, has his own ‘suite’ for getting it on with girls,” Carrie said in a hushed voice. “His parents like, built it for him.”

  I shuddered. “Well, I’ll scream if we go anywhere near a bedroom.”

  David scowled and fixed his beanie. “Why does this guy need an entire article written about him anyway? High schools always glorify these idiot jocks — reinforcing the idea that high school sports actually matter in life. In a few years these lameoids will be fat and unhappily married with no job skills.”

  Liz poked him jokingly. “As opposed to the job skills you get from skating?”

  “Well, that’s just cool. When I’m old, I’ll just be cool.”

  At that moment, I spotted Matthew.

  Walking with his usual entourage of bitchez and arses, he was about a head taller than everyone else. His dark blond hair was perfectly tousled, a very groomed surfer look. Wearing a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of navy blue shorts that fit just so, he looked every bit the privileged little San Diego teen. He even had the walk perfected — this lazy swagger with a puffed chest. He was so assured in knowing that the world was his oyster. How does one get to be so ridiculously full of oneself? Maybe I’d bring him down a notch.

  “See you guys later,” I said mournfully, and gave one last glance to my three best friends, who all looked like they were sending me off to the electric chair.

  I walked up to Matthew, and bitchface Megan standing by him stopped midsentence to throw me a disgusted look. I threw a nasty one right back at her. Hell if I was going to let these people get to me again.

  “Matty, uh, someone’s here to see you, I think,” Roderick said in his nasally prepster voice. Everyone stared at me and some even snickered. Really? Are we in the freaking seventh grade again?

  “Why do you look familiar to me? Oh yeah, the one with the hot friend. Ai yi yi!” said Roderick with a sharp bark of laughter. Douche.

  “She’s so not hot. More like tacky Shahs of Sunset material,” Jessica, the future skin cancer patient, said.

  The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Better that than Jersey Shore, Snooki,” I said.

  All chatting stopped and everyone stared at me. Why was I messing with these people? They were the kind of evil high school villains who would douse my head in pig’s blood without a second thought.

  The silence was suddenly interrupted by a choked laugh. I looked up in surprise at Matthew, who was turning red behind a fist that unsuccessfully hid a smile.

  Jessica pouted and tugged on his arm. “Matty, are you going to let her talk to me like that?”

  “You started it,” I said under my breath.

  Matthew removed her hand and looked at me. “Sooo, can I help you with something?”

  My momentary bravado left me and I got super self-conscious, patting down my messy crop of hair and adjusting my backpack. This was my first time talking to Matthew even though I’d gone through elementary and middle school with him. And even though I made fun of him endlessly and was disgusted by his mere existence, it was a little terrifying to be the object of his attention, no matter how briefly.

  “Yeah, um, I’m taking over the Weasel Times story. Amir’s sick,” I said, trying to feign nonchalance.

  Matthew raised an eyebrow. “You? Aren’t you the one with that like, little column?”

  “Little Miss Big Mouth. Don’t say much in person, though, huh?” Roderick said with a sneer that would make James Spader proud.

  Do not resort to violence. Do not resort to violence.

  Anger and humiliation were clouding my vision, so I turned around instinctively, looking for my friends. They were gone. I bit my lip — I was in this alone.

  “Your friends left, honey,” Jessica said with a smile.

  I was through with this hilarious popular-kids-versus-me banter. “Can we just get this over with?”

  Matthew looked at me with slight disbelief. “Wow, rude much?”

  “Uh, have you MET your friends?” I responded with lightning-quick speed.

  He yawned a few inches away from my face. Without covering his mouth. Who does this guy think he IS? “Whatever, man.”

  He grunted a few good-byes to his friends, who were openly glaring at me, then said, “Now what?”

  “Um … your house, I think?” I said, almost cringing.

  “Right. I’ll drive.”

  Of
course he would.

  Shoving my body as close to the car door as humanly possible, I peered out the window at the huge houses we were driving past. Of course this is where he would live. We were riding through a super exclusive beach community — many of the houses were gated and hidden behind huge expanses of lawns and trees.

  The ten-minute drive had been excruciating. He’d blasted Linkin Park and Fall Out Boy, and it took every ounce of my willpower to refrain from smashing his iPhone to smithereens.

  “All right, we’re here,” he announced with zero enthusiasm as we pulled into a gated driveway and parked directly at his doorstep.

  My jaw dropped. His house was enormous. But that wasn’t the surprising part, as I didn’t doubt for a moment that a d-bag like Matthew would live in some mansion. But it was actually really cool — modern with glass walls and beautiful wood panels. I had imagined some tacky columned fortress.

  “Uh, wow. Cool house,” I managed to eek out.

  He shrugged (seriously — was he capable of any other gesture in LIFE?) and walked toward the house, keys loosely dangling in his hand. “I guess. It’s good for parties.”

  Matthew was also notorious for his ragers — people always talked about them like he was Hugh Hefner. I, obviously, had never been to one. Why would I ever want to do such a thing?

  We entered through a massive door that blended seamlessly into the house, and I stood in the entrance gawking for a bit. The entire west side of the place was paneled in glass and the Pacific spread out as far as the eye could see.

  “Wow.” I didn’t know how else to articulate myself.

  He sauntered over to the kitchen, which was just kind of floating in the middle of the living area. “You want something to drink?”

  It was an oddly polite question. But again, I’m sure he was used to being a host. “Okay, what do you have?”

  He opened the stainless-steel refrigerator door wide open in response. It was completely filled with beverages. Sodas, beer, juices, sparkling water — you name it.

  “Whoa. I guess some apple juice?” I wasn’t even thirsty but everything looked so delicious and pristine.

  He pulled out a bottle and poured it into a glass for me. I took it awkwardly. “Thanks. So, where’s all the food? Do you have a separate fridge for it or something?”