Sidekick

by Natalie Whipple

  I don’t bother grabbing books, since I only have about a minute to get to class. And it’s Life Skills, which is this lame class that only seniors can take. Basically, they teach you stuff for when you’re “on your own,” like ironing and money management and basic sewing. You’re guaranteed an A. That’s why I signed up.

  Usually I don’t mind Life Skills, but today I almost consider sneaking to the weight room. Coach wouldn’t mind, but I’ll have to face the girl eventually. May as well get it over with. I open the door, and sure enough, the only open seat is next to Mercedes.

  She looks like shit.

  And that’s saying something, because Mercedes is the kind of girl who could wear dumpy mom jeans and a unicorn sweater and still look hot. Today her face is swollen, especially around her brown eyes. Her black hair looks oily and ratty. My guess is her mom forced her to go to school, because she’d never come like that willingly.

  I reluctantly sit down. The post breakup is never hard on Garret. Girls are excited to sink their teeth into him again. But his exes? Their lives are over. Rumors fly about why they got dumped, they get labeled sluts if they move on too fast, and they mope for weeks. For some reason, they have to tell me all about it.

  “So I guess you know,” Mercedes says to her desk, though I’m sure she’s talking to me.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Do you know the real reason why?”

  “Um…” The bell rings, and our teacher starts going on about different cooking appliances. I know this stuff, so I put my head on my desk and try to get a couple minutes of sleep.

  Someone nudges me. I look up to find Mercedes standing there. In over-sized sweats. That is so wrong. “What?”

  “Did you not hear any of that?”

  I shake my head. Mom says I have an amazing talent for tuning stuff out. It’s not a talent—it’s practice.

  “C’mon, we have to cook something. You’re my partner.”

  We head to the back, which looks like a bunch of kitchens smashed together on one side and a sewing sweat shop on the other. Everything a Home Ec room could want.

  The ovens are old but clean, and there’s an assortment of pots and pans in the drawers. Baking supplies and spices sit in the cupboards. The only things on the counters are recipe books and mangled, half-melted cutting boards. At the back there’s a refrigerator the teacher keeps stocked with whatever we need.

  “We can make chocolate chip cookies or tacos,” Mercedes says as she flips open the recipe book. “What do you want to do?”

  “Tacos.” I lean on the counter next to her and look at the recipe. It says to mix a packet of spice mix with meat, cook it, and fill the pre-bought taco shells. I purse my lips. “Wait, is this for real?”

  Mercedes tilts her head, her dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s not a recipe! That’s, like, instructions for instant mac and cheese.”

  “So? It’ll be easy. Since when did you become an over-achiever?” She sets the book down and grabs some pans. Mercedes and I have been in a lot of the average people classes together, the ones Garret is too smart for. Actually, it was average people math where Mercedes made her first Petition to Date Garret. It didn’t bother me as much as the other girls, so I invited her to lunch at Parker’s with us, where she had a wimpy salad with no bacon. Blasphemy. She and Garret were making out by the end of the week.

  “I’m not being an over-achiever. I’d just prefer not to be treated like a total idiot. I can follow an actual recipe.”

  “Oh, you can, huh?” She bites back a smile. “I’d like to see that. I don’t even care if we fail when you burn it all.”

  “Fine. Be right back.” I go to the fridge and grab the goods—ground meat, corn tortillas, garlic, peppers, onions, tomato, and lime. I rummage around for cilantro, and as luck would have it, there it is. The teacher must have at least a few over-achievers in her cooking classes. Either that or she has a lot of false hope.

  “You really know what to do with all that?” Mercedes asks.

  “Just stay out of my way, whine about Garret, and I won’t tell about you not helping.”

  She glares. “Fine.”

  I grab a knife and get chopping, which takes longer than usual because the blade is duller than plastic scissors. Mercedes doesn’t talk, but I can feel her looking at me. I wait for the dam to break and busy myself with the meat in the meantime.

  “All he said was that we’d grown apart,” she says as I put the hamburger in a skillet and throw in some seasoning. “I didn’t know anything was wrong. He never seemed unhappy. We never fought about anything. He…he…” She sniffles.

  “Sorry, Mercedes.” I break up the meat with a spatula. “He’s been acting weird lately. I don’t think I know any more than you do.”

  “But you’re his best friend!”

  I restrain the groan. Girls always assume that guy best friends talk about everything like girl best friends do. Well, we don’t. Garret tells me more than other people, but I definitely don’t know everything. I know that Keira has something to do with it, but she can’t be the only reason. He was going to break up with Mercedes before we met Keira. Skater girl just sped up the process.

  “And why do you think I’m his best friend?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer. I grab the diced vegetables and throw them in with the meat. I add a little water and some flour to thicken the sauce, then go for the spice rack for more seasonings. Mercedes leans next to the stove. “Do you actually know what those taste like?”

  “Yeah, didn’t you ever taste the spices in your mom’s kitchen?” When my mom made her cooking resolution, she also bought a spice rack. After I discovered the wonders of cumin in the cooking class, I spent an afternoon smelling and tasting spices just because I was curious. How could you not want to know what something like coriander tastes like? Or thyme? Or oregano? Such weird names.

  “My mom’s kitchen is KFC.” Mercedes sighs. “I guess you’re his best friend because you keep your mouth shut.”

  I smile. “That’s one reason.”

  “Wish I could have just one friend like you, Russ.”

  I put a hand to my chest. “I’m not your friend? Ouch. After all the stupid classes we’ve been through, I thought I meant more to you!”

  “Shut up!” She punches my shoulder, but a smile creeps onto her lips. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

  I turn the burner to low and then look right at her perfect face, the kind of face they put on billboards. Well, maybe not after so much crying. She’s lightened up enough for the pep talk. “I really am sorry, Mercedes. I’m sorry I can’t explain it to you, but please don’t wallow around because of this. You’re too good for that. You’re the hottest girl in school! If Garret can’t see that, then it’s his loss, right?”

  Her eyes well up with tears, and for a moment I worry she’ll blubber all over the food. But she pushes them back and nods. “Thanks, Russ.”

  “No prob.” I pour some oil in another pan to fry the tortillas. “Will you grate some cheese? We’re almost done here.”

  “Sure.” She snickers. “Then I can say I helped.”

  After I fry up ten shells, we assemble the tacos with about five minutes left in class. When the teacher tastes them, her eyes roll back in her head. I feel like I should give her a private moment with the food. “This is incredible. Whose recipe is this?”

  “We both helped,” I say, since the rest of the class is looking on. Cooking well would probably make me look like a girl. Nothing against girls, but I’m not one and don’t want to be called one. “We kind of made it up together.”

  “You make a great team.” Her mouth is full of taco, but she grabs another one. “You could open a restaurant.”

  Mercedes nudges me. “We do make a great team.”

  I force down the lump in my throat. No, Mercedes can’t be giving me The Look. She has to know I never date Garret’s ex-girlfriends. But then she bites her lip, and I’m pos
itive she’s hitting on me.

  Chapter Six

  At least I can avoid Mercedes at lunch. I sit next to Garret and the rest of our single teammates. The ones with girlfriends sit with them. Or make out in the hall. Whatever. Dallas Green, the quarterback, cracks some perverted joke about getting into Mercedes’s pants. It never takes long for the breakup news to spread.

  “Dude, don’t talk like that,” Garret says with his mouth full of fries.

  Dallas throws an apple at him—Garret catches it—and Dallas doesn’t say anything else. I’d never tell him, but I hate Dallas. He’s the kind of guy who uses his popularity to get away with a ton of shit.

  Digging into the crap cafeteria pizza, I pretend not to see Izzy’s neon yellow wig in the corner of my eye. She’s with Daphne and Colin, as usual. Daphne is as tough and indifferent as ever. Colin holds two food trays, his and Izzy’s. They stop walking and Izzy waves at someone animatedly. I can’t turn to see who it is without the guys noticing, so I laugh at whatever lame joke Dallas spews and wait for the person to come into view.

  I catch the neon green skinny jeans first—on legs too long and perfect—then the tight black tank, hot-pink belt, and blonde pigtails.

  It’s Keira.

  Izzy points me out—I know it even without looking—and now Keira stares at me and Garret with wide eyes. Without so much as a breath to consider social circles, she charges toward us. I jab Garret’s side. “Dude, we got a problem.”

  “What?” He turns. “Oh, shit.”

  But we can’t do anything. She’s already at the end of the table, her hands on the corners and her cleavage spilling out for all of us to see. The whole table goes silent as she takes in a deep breath.

  “You guys play football, huh?” she says through her teeth. “Funny, you never mentioned that.”

  “Does it matter?” Garret asks.

  “Maybe. Lie to me again and I’ll kick your asses.”

  I want to point out that we didn’t lie, but she’s already back with Izzy and crew. In our defense, she never asked what we did at school. It’s not like we intentionally kept the information from her. Well, maybe a little, but only after we saw her skating.

  “What was that about?” Dallas asks.

  “Nothing,” Garret says. “She’s new. We met her at Parker’s after the Homecoming game. I guess she’s pissed we didn’t spill our guts.”

  “She’d be a sweet piece of ass if she wasn’t such a freak,” Dallas says. This, for some reason, is funny. At least the other guys are laughing.

  Was I like this last year? I might have been. I don’t know what’s changed, but it’s all so stupid. Keira is cooler than all of them combined, and for a second I want to pick up my tray and sit with Izzy. But I don’t. It’s too much of a statement. I decide on a subtler route. I turn to Dallas. “You’re only saying that because she’d never sleep with you.”

  The guys “ooo” as Dallas’s smile drops into a grimace. I chug my chocolate milk, satisfied at his silence. He might be able to dish it out, but he can’t take it. Garret bumps my shoulder, and I know he’s saying I’m awesome.

  “Let’s get an early start on weights,” he says.

  “Sure.” I stand, not giving Dallas even a nod as we leave. I feel Izzy’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn. I don’t know how she found Keira so fast, but Izzy’s probably mad I didn’t mention I’d already met her. She likes to keep tabs on “her people” at all times. She’s like the Godfather of Freaks.

  Garret and I don’t talk much when we lift. It’s mostly a series of grunts and numbers. Everything is clearer when I exercise, though. The effort it takes to work my body to the brink pushes out the stupid stuff. Right now I couldn’t care less about Dallas or Mercedes or even Keira. It’s just me and the dumbbells.

  The team slowly files in after the bell rings. Coach Hernandez takes roll and gives his usual Monday pep talk. “We got Clovis North this week. They’ve got a killer defensive line, but it’s nothing Taylor and Pearson can’t handle if we’re on top of things. I expect all of you to put in your best. No slacking at weights or practice, got it?”

  “Yes, Coach!” we call back.

  After weights we suit up and go straight to after-school practice, running plays that Coach thinks will work against Clovis North. I can tell Dallas is still pissed about what I said at lunch because he throws the ball at my face instead of my hands. When he passes to me at all, that is. Garret gets most of the plays, even though Coach says they’ll be covering him like crazy.

  I try not to let it bother me. I have my plays memorized anyway. I might not be Garret, but I’m not a bad player. He didn’t beat me out for receiver because I couldn’t catch the ball. He’s just faster on his feet, and I can take more hits, which is a good attribute for a running back. We can all blame Dallas if we lose.

  By the time practice ends I’m so hungry my stomach is about to consume my other organs. Right on cue, Garret says, “Parker’s?”

  I nod.

  We shower fast, staring at the ceiling like everyone else. There’s a lot of talk about Mercedes today, despite Garret telling them to shut up. At least half the team is happy they broke up, as if they were waiting for their chance with her. I don’t see what the big deal is. Yeah, Mercedes is hot, but other than that she’s average. I was never jealous of Garret getting her. Not like with Keira.

  Why? No clue.

  “You don’t mind if I ask her out, right, Garr?” Dallas says when we leave the locker room.

  Garret pauses, like he’s about to say no, but then he takes a deep breath. “Why would I care?”

  “Awesome.” He flashes this crooked smile and heads to his car.

  Mercedes would never date Dallas anyway. She may not be a genius, but she’s not stupid either. She’s always dated nice guys, the kind who would never leave her. I pause, realizing Garret’s the first guy to dump her. No wonder she was so upset.

  “Russ?”

  I look up. Garr’s a few steps ahead of me. One of his eyebrows is raised under his shaggy hair. “You okay?”

  “Fine, just starving.”

  We drive to Parker’s, and by the time we get there I’m so hungry I can’t think of anything else. The bacon assaults my senses and I start to shake. I’m ordering three burgers today. Luckily, this is the perfect time to go to Parker’s—too late for lunch and too soon for dinner. Sometimes the line is out the door and you have to stand there with the scent of bacon torturing you for half an hour before you can even order.

  Trent is at the counter today, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Truth is he would. He’s the only Parker who hates the family business, and his parents aren’t too happy about him wanting to go into animation. I can hardly imagine that kind of fight. My parents would be ecstatic if I showed any interest in college.

  “Hey,” he says as he pushes his hair back. He looks miserable, like shaving his eyebrows off would be a better alternative.

  “Old Man won’t let you quit, huh?” I ask.

  “You don’t quit family,” Trent mimics his dad’s voice. Then he shrugs. “The usual?”

  “Plus one.” I hand him a twenty. My parents give me forty a week for mowing the lawn and chores. I pretty much spend it all at Parker’s. I’ve thought about getting a job, but I’d have to quit sports. I’m not ready to give that up, even if this is my last football season. Maybe after that.

  Garr and I sit in our usual booth and dig in like we haven’t eaten in months. I barely swallow between bites, and before I realize it I’m two bacon burgers down and starting on the third.

  “Russ?”

  “Yeah?” I look up from my food. Garret’s staring out the window, his eyebrows pulled down over his dark eyes.

  “Do you think she hates me?”

  “Who? Mercedes?”

  His head snaps to me. “What? No, of course she hates me. I meant Keira.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know.”

  He puts his head in his hands. “We should hav
e told her. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been mad.”

  “Maybe.” I take a bite, trying to decide what I should say. Garret hides it well, but he’s horribly insecure. He freaks out when people don’t like him. In fifth grade, Sharly Martin said she hated him and he spent weeks trying to find out why. “What if she does hate you?”

  His eyes grow wide. “What?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. “I’m just saying, Garr. Who cares? There are a lot of girls out there who’d kill to have you so interested.”

  “But they don’t know me!” He pounds the table, and I almost slap him for acting like such a drama geek.

  “And Keira does?”

  He pauses. “No…but…”

  “But what?”

  He stuffs his mouth with fries while he sulks. Then he swallows. “I just…want her to know me, I guess. I don’t want her to hate me.”

  Suddenly all that bacon burger turns over in my stomach. I hate being here—between my own feelings and my best friend’s. It would be so easy to tell him to give up, to keep Keira to myself, to screw him over. And what’s worse, part of me wants to.

  But he’s Garret. He stuck up for me in kindergarten when I accidentally peed myself in front of the class. He helped me beat up a high school kid who made fun of Izzy when we were in junior high. He dragged me home last year when I got too drunk and almost jumped into Dallas’s pool from a third story window.

  He’s always been there for me. I won’t betray him.

  If I told him I liked Keira too, he might get angry with me. Or worse, he’d bow out. Winning by default is the same thing as losing. There’s only one way to handle this. Keira should choose. He can’t get angry over that. I take a long drink, deciding I have to say it. “Invoking the bonds of best friendship. Penalty is deliberately fumbling a winning play.”

  Garret tilts his head. “You’re totally jinxing me, but of course.”