Petrelli looms over me, nostrils flaring in and out. The vain in the almost center of his forehead is sure to burst at any moment. It's all blue and purple-y, which is a huge contrast to his tomato colored cheeks.
A hush settles across the room. The only sound is the whoosh of air sailing through Petrelli's still flared nostrils. He leans in close, the smell of bacon grease is evident on his breath. He is about to say something when the bell interrupts him. I expected everyone to leap to their feet and scramble for the door, as is the routine after every bell, but they don't. They remain glued to their chairs, eyes magnetized to me and Petrelli. With a smirk, I say to him, "Maybe we can continue this conversation tomorrow?"
"There won't be a tomorrow."
I shrug with one shoulder. "Whoops," the smirk still plastered on my face.
The classroom then springs to life as everyone gathers up their textbooks and stuffs them inside their backpacks. I look back to where Xander was sitting, but his chair is empty. He must have left without me noticing.
I take my sweet time gathering my stuff. As I walk out of the classroom, I can practically feel Petrelli's stare burn into the back of my head. Ah! What better way to end high school than to leave your teacher with the realization they lost an argument to one of their students. I should treat myself to a latte. And a new pair a shoes. Louis Vuitton perhaps?
As I make my way back to my locker, I don't see Xander anywhere in the crowded hall. It's lunchtime, so maybe he's already fueling those muscles of his with raw protein?
My phone jingles from inside my back pocket, halting my stride; mother just sent a text.
Mother: Hey, sweetie! Hope UR day is going gr8. I just wanted to let U know a letter from Stanford arrived just a few minutes ago.
Me: OMW!!!!!!!! That is totes amaze-balls! What did it say?!!
Mother: I thought it would B nice if we opened it together.
Me: No!! Don't tease me! What did it say?! Did I get accepted???
Mother: LOL. C U when you get home from school. Love U
It's rather funny to realize mother can text. I mean, to actually, really text. Like, the same way a cool person would text. I remember when Smartphones first hit the market; I navigated it straight out of the box like I had been born with one in my hand. Mother and father weren't as quick to adapt. Father asked me one time if he actually had to laugh out loud whenever he would typed the word LOL. Pretty sure I rolled my eyes at that question. I shove my phone back inside my skinny jeans.
Aurora comes rushing up, shoes squeaking across the floor, and slams shoulder first into her locker. The door jolts from within its hinges, but she doesn't seem to notice the pain. "Are you crazy? Wait! Don't answer that. I already know you're crazy." She clears her throat. "Are you insane?"
I fluff my hair in the reflection of the door mirror, then apply a fresh coat of lip-gloss. "What?"
"Oh! Don't you what me. What were you thinking? You could have been given detention, or worse, expelled!" She gasps theatrically. "And then you wouldn't get your diploma, which means you wouldn't get a good paying job, and then ten years from now I would stumble upon you living under a bridge!"
I slam my locker door. "Relax drama queen. I didn't get expelled. And gross! The only way I'd be caught living under a bridge is if I was murdered and my body dumped there."
Aurora opens her own locker and exchanges some of her textbooks. The inside is decorated with stickers of video game characters and album covers. "You never know. I read in the newspaper this week that this economic recession is getting worse. We could be living in cardboard boxes and eating earthworms by the end of the year if we're not careful."
I slap a ruby red fingernail over her lips. "I hear you talking, but all I can comprehend is blah, blah, blah. Now. Tell me. Did you see which way Xander went?"
"Yeah. I think I saw him walking toward the cafeteria a few minutes ago."
"Great!"
As expected, Xander is already in the cafeteria. He and the Shadow Hawks are eating at their usual table. It's this big circular table in the center of the cafeteria. When sitting there, they've always reminded me of King Arthur and his loyal Knights; Xander being Arthur, of course. After all, he is my knight in shining armor. Would that make me Guinevere? I fit the part of a queen quite nicely, if I do say so myself. And a castle - oh, how I'd love to live in a castle!
A few of the Hawks are horsing around with wads of napkins, tossing them in the garbage can from twenty feet away. They cheer obnoxiously loud with each successful shot. Xander watches as he eats his lunch. He takes a bite of his burger, his manly hands enveloping it with ease. It's this big thing, three meat patties with a bunch of vegetables sandwiched between two golden sesame buns. It looks tasty. For a moment, I almost regret being on this health kick. As he raises it toward his open mouth, barbeque sauce drips from the other side and onto his tan khakis. He grumbles in disdain. A couple of the Hawks laugh at him, then throw him one of the napkins. He dunks the end of it into his water glass, then dabs at the stain.
"You gonna get in line, or you wanna stare at Mr. Wonderful some more?" Aurora nudges me in the rib. I yield to her jesting comment and we get in line, grabbing a tray and a set of plastic utensils. Every couple of steps, I turn back to watch Xander, hoping he will notice me. His attention is still fixed on the Hawks clowning around with the napkins. Aurora looks at me, then over at Xander, then back at me. "Why don't you just ask him if you can come to the party? I'm sure he'll say yes."
"No. That's not romantic. I want this to be perfect. It must be perfect!"
"Want me to ask him for you?" she smiles mischievously.
"No! Don't you dare. Don't you even think about it! Don't even think about thinking about it. Don't even-" she walks off in Xander's direction.
"Hey, Xander! My bestest, best friend in the whole wide, big, fat petroleum polluted world wants to know if she can come to your party!"
I yank her back in line. "Shhh!" Fortunately, the cafeteria is too loud; Xander, amazingly so, doesn't hear her outburst. "You're impossible, you know that?" I'm completely embarrassed, but I can't help laughing just a little.
Today's lunch special is fried cod with coal slaw, which is always drowning in cabbage water, or chow mein with an egg roll. I order off the alternative menu: a Caesar salad with low-fat dressing and an apple as my side item, then swipe my school card through the machine to pay for it. A table, two down from where Xander is sitting, is open, so I snatch it. Aurora plops down in the seat across from me with a plate piled high of chow mein and a side order of French fries. She sees me eyeing the massive amount of carbohydrates in front of her. "What?" her voice filled with innocence. "I really like noodles."
"That's a ton of food, Rora. Will you even be able to cheer tonight?"
She waves a dismissive hand at me. "I know you'll be there to revive me if I end up in a noodle coma." She imitates the electric zap of a defibrillator. "Clear!"
"That's not funny. I need my co-captain at my side tonight."
"Stop worrying. I'll be there."
I turn my thoughts back towards Xander. He's still dabbing at the barbeque stain. His lips are moving just slightly, almost like he is muttering over the fact that his pants are now stained. I have a Tide-to-Go pen in my purse. Should I give it to him? He might think I'm degrading his manliness. After all, he is a guy, a very, cute and perfect guy, but still a guy; they don't exactly mind having stained clothes. But then again, he might be grateful. Yeah. And it would be a good conversation starter, and also give him the chance to ask me to the party. Flash-forward to the day when we're revisiting this crumbled heap for our ten year reunion, we could tell everyone that our relationship started all because of a detergent pen! Talk about romantic.
"You're going to die alone, you know that?" I focus my attention back on Aurora. She's now shaking the ketchup bottle vivaciously. I lean away from her, suddenly afraid the cap will fly off and spray me with ketchup.
"What are you talking about?
"
"You! You're staring. And sighing. It's pathetic. And creepy." She flips the cap open and shoots a stream onto her plate. It makes that horrendous gurgling sound as it comes out.
"I'm not staring!" She arches a judgemental eyebrow. "Okay. I am staring. But it's not the creepy kind of staring."
"Since when is staring never not creepy?"
I stab a cucumber with my fork. Aurora has been single for as long as I've known her. I don't know why. She's not ugly. In fact, she's has a lot of cute attributes about her. She's just never seemed interested in relationships. "You should find someone. Then we could go on double dates and take group photographs in one of the kiosk thingies and stuff."
She dips a French fry in the blob of ketchup. "Sorry. Fries before guys. And besides, I've already found my soul mate: carbs."
It doesn't take long for me to finish my salad, so I whip out my phone and take a series of selfies. It's been almost a whole week and I haven't changed my social media picture once. I peek around the edge of my phone; Aurora looks like she's struggling to finish her food. And there's still a mountain of noodles on her plate. "You've hit the wall, haven't you?"
She leans forward and moans. "Mmm, get the dolly from the janitor's closet; I'm gonna need to be wheeled out of here."
"Yeah. And the only dance move you'll be able to do is the ball formation. " I twirl my fingers in a circle. "We can roll you across the court like Violet Beauregarde."
Sixth period usually lets out around two o' clock. The Blue Jays' photoshoot is scheduled at three. I give thought to what formation of poses we'll do. The pyramid is always a good go-to choice. Besides, I get to showcase myself at the top when we do it.
I notice one of the geeks from the nerd herd eyeing me from a few tables over. "They are a waste to society." Aurora looks over her shoulder to see who I'm referring to. "I mean, look at them, they don't even know how to tie their own shoes." Most of them don't actually know how to tie their shoes. Either they settle for this pathetic formation of intertwined laces they call a "bow-tie knot", or they wear loafers. I remember in freshmen year one of them got a tardy slip because some kids tied his shoes together out in the hall. It took him almost ten minutes to untie them and then retie them correctly, and even then it looked like a four year old did it. He stumbled into the classroom, practically tripping over his loose laces, head hung low as he reached for the detention slip in the teacher's outstretched hand.
"They're not a waste." Aurora lifts her phone in display. "It's people like them who make beautiful devices like this possible."
I then look down at my own phone, thoughtfully, realizing she has a point. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I suppose they do have a place. But they should be locked in a laboratory or something, where they aren't allowed to intermingle with us popular people or something like that."
A small frown spreads across Aurora's face. "You can't be serious? They're regular people just like us."
"I'm kidding. Mostly."
In that moment, one of them stands up and starts walking my way. He presses his oversized glasses back up the bridge of his nose and straightens his cardigan. I'm not sure if he's just walking in this general direction, or if he has a mission to walk over to me in particular. His gaze levels with mine, eyebrows lock in a determined expression. It isn't in question anymore, he is definitely walking over to me. "M-m-Mc-McKenzie," his voice is high and squeaky. "I-uh, I, well . . . I-"
"Spit it out brain drain!" I feel my irritation rising, like steam being squeezed out of a tea kettle.
He straightens his glasses once more, and wipes his moist palms on his food stained collared shirt, which is buttoned clear up to his skinny throat. "I was wondering if you would . . . if you would like to, uh, go to the afterparty with, well, um . . . me?"
I'm stunned at what I've just heard. A nerd is asking me, me, the most popular girl in all of Stardust High, to go to a party with him! It takes a struggling amount of effort to force back the laugh that is ready to leap from my throat. "I would rather kiss a pig."
He takes a step back at the sound of my refusal. Does he seriously think he has a chance with me? As if! Who does he think he is anyway? The nerve of some people! He's just a little dweeb, who only thinks about going home to play video games, or what new superhero movie will be released next. He's not a man. He's hardly a boy. I need someone with a strong sense of leadership and a solid foundation of reliability, not some braniac who's arms rival the size of a twelve year old.
"Well, uh, if you, um, change your mind, then-"
"I must not have made it clear enough for you to understand. Guess that brain of yours isn't as useful as I first thought." I lean forward, resting both arms on the table. "I wouldn't go out with you even if you and I were the last humans on earth." He swallows loudly. Maybe now he'll wise up to the obvious fact that people like him don't belong in the same universe, let alone the same room, as me.
After he had gone, Aurora tilts her head at my behavior. "That wasn't very nice."
"Wasn't very nice?" I scoff at her remark, folding my arms over my chest. "Please, I could've said something a whole lot worse. I hate it, hate it, when stupid people ask stupid questions. He knew he was going to get rejected long before he walked over here, or at least he should have. In any case, I'm with Xander and he's with me. I'm taken."
"You mean you're together in that fantasy of yours?"
"Okaaaaay. Fine! I'm practically taken. Happy now?"
She shrugs. "I just think you could've been a bit nicer, that's all."
I clap my hands together. "Boring conversation. Let's talk about a subject more interesting, such as me. Mother texted a little bit ago and said an envelope arrived in the mail with Stanford's address on the front jacket."
"Aw, that's awesome! What'd it say? Did you get in? Were you accepted?"
"I don't know. She said she wanted to wait for me until opening it."
"You nervous?"
"Nervous? Ha! Not even a little. They would be complete idiots not to accept me. I'm a good student; I get straight A's in all my subjects, and I earn afterschool credit for being on the squad. I'm practically the poster child of a high school student."
Aurora raises the small carton of chocolate milk to her lips. "Well, I hope you get accepted. You deserve it." She takes a sip. A smudge of chocolate milk sticks to her upper lip.
I throw a napkin at her. "Yo! Chocolate-stache at twelve o' clock. Wipe it before it drips on your shirt." She leaves the napkin on the table and decides to use the back of her hand. Typical Aurora. "So, what about you? You hear back from CUNY yet?"
She sighs heavily, so much so I feel the air escape her mouth from clear across the table. "No. And I'm starting to get worried. Maybe I won't get accepted."
"Nonsense. They're probably just backed up with a lot of submissions or something."
"No, Kenz, you don't understand. I need to get accepted. If I don't, then I won't get a college degree as an audiologist, and if I don't get a degree then how will I ever pay back the money my parents have spent on me to attend school all these years? It's really taken a toll on our finances. I'm not sure how long we can keep going."
"Whoa. Slow down. You'll get accepted. Trust me. You've got the whole summer before school starts back up. I'm sure they'll send you an acceptance letter before then."
She slumps in her seat, the look of fear and disappointment clouds her face. "I hope you're right. I really need this to work out. I don't want to have to get a job working at McDonalds or somewhere. Not that I'm not willing, I am, but if I do, then that'll take up most of my time and it'll be even harder to study for exams, and I'll have to enroll in night school, which will cost even more money, and then I'll have to buy a car 'cause there won't be a school bus to take me to school anymore, which will cost more money even yet, and-"
"Rora!" The rims of her jaded green eyes are starting to fill with tears. "Worrying about it won't do you any good. Just be patient. Good things come to those who wait.
And worse comes to worse, I'll loan you the money."
She firmly shakes her head. "No. I don't want you to do that. I already feel indebted to my parents; I don't want another name added to that list."
Aurora finally admits defeat to the pile of noodles. No surprise, really. I knew she wouldn't be able to finish it. She can hardly keep her eyes open right now. She's all slumped down in the chair, hand slowly rubbing her noodle loaded belly.
"Are you gonna make it?"
She moans loudly. I hope she isn't about to puke. "I'll be fine. I just need . . . a . . . nap . . ." her eyes fully closed now. I kick the underside of her chair, the jolt snaps her eyes open. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"
"We better not have a replay of kindergarten; getting puked on once in a lifetime was enough thank you. And you better not bail on me tonight. We're doing some extra exertive dance numbers and I don't want our pyramid to turn into a pancake."
She flexes her biceps. "Don't worry, Captain; I won't let you down." However, her words don't reassure me. Aurora has a great body for cheerleading, not nearly as great as mine, but still good. She's lean and average height, which makes her the perfect size for a basket toss; the downside being she isn't very muscular. Typically, I place the stockier girls at the base of the pyramid, they aren't as attractive to showcase anyway with all their excess fat jiggling around, not that me or the other girls could lift them even if we tried. But, they're needful for base support, so reluctantly I had no choice but to include a few hefty girls when I constructed the squad. I just learned to look at it like they are merely the seat to my throne. I'm the icing. They're the cake. And really, everyone eats cake strictly for the icing.
Lunch time is almost over and the photoshoot is just two hours away. My beautiful face will be in the school paper yet again, and in the varsity section of the yearbook. One day I'll be able to pull its dusty self off the bookshelf and show it to my kids, grandkids even. Who knows, maybe even great grandkids.
Paraplegic Page 3
