Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters

by Meredith Zeitlin

  Of course, I’m thinking, Lexi wears glasses? and People teased Lexi? For real? How awesome! But then I feel bad, so I just say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

  Lexi asks, “Do you ever freak out your friends by moving your contact in your eye?”

  “Yes! All the time—Em thinks it’s the nastiest thing ever.”

  Lexi laughs and starts touching her contact lens in her eye and making this awful puking face and now I’m laughing, too.

  Then we realize we’re in Jordan’s and Seth’s bathroom, so we go through the medicine cabinet and find really weird stuff in it like nose-hair clippers and milk of magnesia and a crusty bottle of little-kid cough syrup that looks about a hundred years old.

  “Maybe I should give these tweezers to Julie,” I suggest, holding up a pair. “She could certainly use them.”

  “Oh, yeah, definitely. I think that will really help your relationship.” Lexi giggles, takes a compact out of her tiny purse, and starts reapplying her lip gloss.

  I sigh. “I’m never going to get out of being goalie, am I?”

  “Well … maybe someone will volunteer?”

  “Yeah, right.” I finish wiping off the smeared mascara from under my eyes with a tissue and turn to Lexi. “Ready to go?”

  Lexi holds up her hand to stop me from opening the door. “Actually, Kelsey, can I tell you something?”

  “Um … sure. What’s up?” This is weird. What could she possibly have to—

  “This might sound super lame, but I think you’re really cool and funny … and even though I’ve sort of inherited my cousin’s friends, it’s still hard to be the new girl, you know? Anyway, I thought maybe … we could hang out sometime after practice or something?”

  I’m so shocked that my mouth actually falls open for a second, just like in a cartoon. I quickly close it. Wow. It certainly never occurred to me that I’d ever end up bonding with Lexi in a bathroom next to my crush’s foot fungus cream, but here we are. Maybe Em was right about her—she is really nice. And thinks I’m awesome, apparently. Was I too quick to judge her because of horrible Jemma?

  I sputter, “No, I mean, yes—of course we should. That would be great.” And as a matter of fact, it would be. It really is amazing how a chuckle over cough syrup and a few compliments can make you forget the intense dislike you’ve held for someone for over a month, isn’t it?

  Unless I find out she is having sex with Jordan. Or even just making out with him.

  Then I will have to destroy her.

  Lexi and I grab our red cups, I slap my hard hat back on, and we leave the bathroom, only to discover there’s a line of people down the hall waiting. From around the corner, out of sight, I hear a huffy “Finally! What, did you forget which way a tampon goes or something?” and recognize the obnoxious voice of Julie Nelson. I start to tug Lexi in the other direction when Cass comes dashing past. Her headdress is kind of a mess and her Indian makeup is smeared.

  What has she been up to? Something with a mysterious text buddy, perhaps?

  Before I have time to check out the near vicinity for clues, Cass sees me and practically squeals, “Kels, there you are! Let’s go get another drink!”

  Julie, her eyebrows (which really enhance what I assume is a very convincing Frida Kahlo outfit), and Ned Garman come stomping over, presumably to see what the holdup by the bathroom is. Ned isn’t even wearing a costume—he has on the same black outfit he always wears.

  Julie glares at us, turns to Ned, and sneers, “Oh my God. They let freshmen into this party? How pathetic! Does Seth know about this?” She gulps down some of her drink. “No offense, Lexi.”

  “Um, Jordan invited us personally, for your infor—,” Cass starts unsteadily.

  “Cass, come on, let’s just go back to the party,” I hiss. I grab her arm—the last thing I need is to deal with Julie right now. A full-on scene will not help Mission Makeout at all.

  Cass scowls at Julie and theatrically links her arm through mine. Unfortunately, she knocks against the hand holding my still-full cup of beer, which splashes all over the front of Julie’s shirt.

  She starts shrieking, “My shirt! This is Zac Posen, you stupid idiot!” To me, by the way, not Cassidy, who of course slinks away from the scene.

  “Oh my God, Julie, I’m so sorry.” I gulp. “It was an accident. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I’ll give you my soul, whatever!” But she just screams wordlessly in my face and storms off with Ned in tow.

  At this point Em comes up and says, “There you are—oh, hi, Lexi! Listen, Kels, did you leave your purse downstairs? I think some guy may have just puked on it. And did you find you-know-who yet? Because Keith Mayhew is asking everyone where you are and half the people here think he’s your boyfriend. Just so you know …”

  And a very happy Halloween to me.

  12

  So that was pretty much the Halloween party. We decided to cut our losses shortly thereafter and grab a cab back to JoJo’s—all before I even saw Jordan, much less made out with him. So much for believing in miracles. I seriously don’t understand where he could have been all night that I didn’t see him even once. And after all my careful planning …

  I am trying, despite everything, to retain my cheerful demeanor. Another opportunity to hook up with Jordan is around the corner—it has to be. Positive thinking is hard, but I’m really working on it.

  You know what would help? A big bag of free candy. Maybe I should’ve just gone trick-or-treating with Travis and called it a night.

  Anyway, now it’s back to the daily grind, looking forward to Thanksgiving, winter break, and of course, the end of the tragic soccer season.

  Soccer sucks.

  Most years, my heart breaks at the thought of the season coming to an end. This year, I’m literally counting the days till the last horrible game is over. Ever since the cleating incident, I’m not only bored inside the net but terrified as well, which means my performance as goalie has not improved. The only games we’ve won all season have been the ones where the other team is so awful they don’t get anywhere near our goal, which is to say, me. I thought for sure Coach Cantwell would make somebody else take over after I helped us lose a stunning six games in a row, but she seems determined to “build up my confidence” and “not give up on me.”

  Oh, how I wish she would.

  The only reason everyone on the team hasn’t murdered me is because they know it’s not strictly my fault. Even so, everyone on defense has to work twice as hard because I’m so tragically useless, and it’s pretty tense in the locker room.

  Since the Halloween party, Julie won’t even speak to me—not even to yell. She just glares, her eyebrows waggling ferociously. I’m honestly not sure what’s worse, frankly.

  Next year, I may have to take up tennis.

  After a couple weeks of not much else going on (November really is the most boring month, except for maybe March), I’m heading to meet Em by her locker before lunch when I’m intercepted by Keith. I can see from down the hall that Em is texting away and not in a hurry to go, so I stop and say, “Hey, Keith. What’s up?”

  “Oh … y’know. Glad to be back in school. That E. coli thing really blew.”

  “Right, I heard about that. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” I glance at Em. Still devotedly texting. Doesn’t James have school? I try to catch her eye for a swift rescue, but no luck. “So, uh … got any big plans for the weekend?”

  “Yeah, well, y’know, the Foreign Scarves are playing on Saturday night, so, y’know … I’m gonna check that out.”

  I love the Foreign Scarves—they are, without question, my number one favorite band right now. People have been buzzing about the concert this weekend for ages. Unfortunately, the cheapest tickets are like eighty bucks, so I will not be attending.

  “Keith, that is so fantastic!” I gush. “Oh my God, I’m so jealous of you right now. How’d you get tickets?” Keith looks a bit shocked—I guess this is the most excitement I’ve ever ex
pressed in his direction.

  “Well, my dad works for Sony, y’know, so he gets tickets to stuff all the time. They’re a pretty cool group—”

  “They are the best. Have you heard their new live album? I am obsessed with the fourth track—JoJo burned it for me and I listen to it constantly. You are so lucky!” This is just typical—of course Keith’s dad works at Sony while mine works for Boring & Lame, Partners at Law. All I ever get from there are free legal pads to do homework on. Yippee.

  “Anyway, so I have this extra ticket and I figured, y’know, you probably had plans, but if you wanted to go, maybe … ?”

  And just like that, the clouds part and the sun is shining on me once again. My life is not going to be a total disaster from start to finish!

  I basically have a total meltdown all over Keith, which I’m now very worried has given him the wrong idea. But I’m just so excited that I can’t help it! The Foreign Scarves—live! I seriously cannot wait.

  I thank Keith about sixteen times and tell him I’ll e-mail him later to figure out the details. Then I zip over to Em’s locker and pry her away from her phone to tell her the great news as we walk to the cafeteria.

  “… and the best part is, maybe Jordan will hear that I’m going to the concert with Keith and Jordan’ll think it’s a date and then it’ll, like, spur him on a bit to ask me out himself. Don’t you think?”

  “Sure, Kels, but … does Keith think this is a date? Because you don’t want to hurt his feelings, right?”

  “No, of course I don’t! I’ve made it clear a million times that we’re just friends. And of course I wouldn’t want to make him feel bad—you know I like Keith. It’s just that he’s, well … Keith.”

  We go inside and grab chairs at our usual table. JoJo is already there, chatting to some friends and chowing down. Her bangs are bright pink today, and she’s wearing an asymmetrical shirt that has one long sleeve and one spaghetti strap. I’d look like a total poser in it, but JoJo looks great.

  “Hey, cool shirt!” Em says, pulling a sandwich out of her brown paper bag.

  “Oh, thanks—I made it last night. Just playing around with my mom’s old sewing machine.”

  “I love that you were ‘playing around’ and made an actual shirt that looks good. Anyone else would’ve made a muumuu or something, probably,” I point out.

  “What can I say?” JoJo grins. She opens her mouth to add something else, but I can’t hold it in—I’m ready to burst with my news.

  “I’m going to see the Foreign Scarves on Saturday!” I scream as quietly as possible. (We are, after all, still freshmen, i.e., the lowest rung on the cafeteria totem pole.) Predictably, everyone at the table goes wild.

  “How did you get tickets?” JoJo demands. “The show is totally sold out—even my dad couldn’t get me any!”

  Oh, how I wish I could say something like Oh, you know, Jordan and I are going in a stretch Hummer. After the show we’re going to swing by SoHo House for a quiet drink. After that, well … I really shouldn’t say … Instead I mumble into my applesauce, “Keith is taking me.”

  “Keith is taking you where?” Cass asks as she slides into the seat next to me. She’s a bit out of breath and her hair is messy, like she ran all the way to the caf or something. Odd.

  “The Foreign Scarves concert!”

  “Oh my God, I’m going too!” she squeals.

  “You are?!” JoJo sputters. “How’d you get a ticket?”

  “And why didn’t you tell us?!” Em demands.

  “Oh, uh … Nathan gave me a ticket. For my birthday. An early birthday present,” Cass says, looking kind of uncomfortable. “He just gave it to me, like, yesterday, but then I had that Spanish test, so I forgot to—”

  “Uh, Nathan, your brother?” I cut in. “As in, the guy who usually gives you something he already owns and doesn’t want anymore? That Nathan?”

  “Yeah, well … he felt bad about that. I mean, he’s my brother. Don’t badmouth him, Kelsey, okay?” Cass takes a bite of her pear and turns away from me. Well, now I feel bad—but she’s the one who brings that stuff up all the time. She can’t stand her brother!

  “Cass, I was only kidding. You know I didn’t—”

  “Whatever, it’s fine,” she says, chewing. We fall into an awkward silence.

  “Well, I have something to share,” JoJo finally says, breaking the tension. “Something I think you will be very interested in, Kels.” She reaches into her bag, pulls out a newspaper, and hands it to me.

  I look down and see it’s the new issue of The Reflector. I look at JoJo questioningly.

  “Hot off the presses! Doesn’t officially come out till tomorrow, but I’ve got an inside connection.”

  “Your parents must be so proud.” Em laughs.

  “Anywaaaay,” JoJo continues, pointing at me, “I thought you’d want to know that you made the big time again. Our little star … But this time you’re off the hook, so don’t worry.”

  “JoJo, what the heck are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Turn to the sports section.”

  I turn to the last page of the paper and gasp. There, splashed across the page, is a headline that reads: GIRLS’ JV SOCCER GAME ENDS WITH BOGUS CALL. Under that is an article, and next to the article is a huge picture—a truly spectacular action shot.

  Of me.

  In my goalie outfit, right at the moment of impact when that awful middy cleated me in the back weeks ago. Why? Why is the Reflector staff out to get me? Stupid school paper. Stupid retroactive reporting! Couldn’t they find anything else to write about? Cass glances over at the picture and giggles.

  I no longer feel bad about dissing her brother.

  “Well, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go torch the Reflector office,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “Then I’m going to write a warm thank-you note to”—I squint at the teensily printed photo credit under the picture; yup, it’s the same generic STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER as the first one—“whoever, thank him or her for giving me my second beautiful moment in the paper, and respectfully request that it be my last. Why don’t they have photo credits? This is the worst newspaper I’ve ever seen!” I crumple the page up, mentally formulating a plan to go flush my head down a toilet in the girls’ bathroom.

  “Kelsey, wait! You missed the most important part!” JoJo grabs the paper back, smoothes it out, and points to the caption. It reads: JV GOALIE KATIE STOLTING VICIOUSLY ATTACKED BY OPPOSING PLAYER.

  I scan the article, and the whole thing is about Katie. Ha! Whoever wrote it must have looked at the old team roster from before Katie broke her ankle—so no one will know that it’s me! I sink back into my seat with relief. I may have led the team in a downward spiral as far as the season goes, but at least it’s not on the record.

  “This is great!” Em exclaims. “I mean, not really great, but … you know. It’s kind of weird, actually. Shouldn’t the newspaper be up on fact-checking and everything? I mean, I know it’s only a school paper and the news is always out-of-date and stuff, but still …”

  “Well, I think in this case it’s definitely for the best,” I say.

  Of course, that really is a tragic photo of me. Maybe I can go see if it’s too late to change it? Perhaps to a nice shot of Julie looking mean and scary?

  “Hey, guys—got room for one more?”

  It’s Lexi, hovering next to our table with her tray. She often sits with us, but she always asks first if it’s okay—like we might say no. Does she not realize that she could sit anywhere she wanted without asking, even with the seniors if she felt like it? Perfect people really are a mystery.

  “Of course!” I smile. I slide over so she can squeeze in between me and Em. “Here’s what you missed—Cass and I are going to the Scarves concert on Saturday, and JoJo has an inside connection at the school paper. Major stuff.”

  “Seriously?” Lexi asks. “That’s awesome—I saw them in LA last summer and they killed.” Then she turns to JoJo. “I’ve actu
ally been thinking about submitting an article or something to the newspaper—I used to write for the one at my old school. What’s your big connection, JoJo?”

  JoJo laughs. “Nothing, actually! Someone just left a copy of the new edition in the computer lab.”

  “I’m pretty sure The Reflector would welcome you—or anyone even remotely literate, for that matter—with open arms,” I tell Lexi. “Why don’t you just go to the next meeting or e-mail the editor or something?”

  “Yeah, maybe … I just feel weird about walking in and being like, ‘Hi, can I please be part of your club?’ or whatever.”

  “Lexi. Are you serious? There are at least seven guys staring at you right now, as we speak. You’ve been here less than three months and everyone worships you. Why would you feel weird to go into the newspaper office?”

  Lexi fiddles with her sandwich crusts and shrugs. “I’m not good at putting myself out there, you know? I dunno … I guess I’m just shy about that stuff.” She brightens, putting her hand on my arm. “Hey—would you go with me? Then I wouldn’t feel like such a dork.”

  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I just don’t understand this girl. I like her, now that I’ve gotten to know her. But I do not get her at all. How could she ever feel like a dork? She knows she could win America’s Next Top Model without even auditioning for the show, right? Could this possibly be a brilliant fake-out? Is she in cahoots with Julie Nelson?

  But she seems serious.

  “Uh, yeah, if you want me to, sure. Why not?”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I open it up to a text from Em, less than three feet away. It reads: See? I told you she was nice!

  13

  So, tonight is the Foreign Scarves concert, and there are some major questions to be answered. Such as: What should I wear? How can I make sure Keith doesn’t mistake this totally platonic outing for an evening of romance? What are the chances the band will spot me in the crowd and pull me on stage with them?