Ten Times Fast

by Mallory Lopez

  Me: OF COURSE he would! He’d be ballz 2 tha wallz nuts-o to say no.

  Veronica: LMAO. Say that ten times fast! You’re turning into Mama Mary Scott!

  My grin fades into a frown as I stare at my phone, reading the words over a few times.

  Veronica: Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.

  Me: I know. It’s ok. I just don’t want to end up like her.

  Veronica: Bean, you’re not your mom! You’re NOT gunna end up like her.

  Me: Thanks. Gotta finish reading

  Veronica: Kk. Love u

  Me: Love you too. And studandesedno = nuts-o to say no

  I attempt to push my mom out of my thoughts for now. I turn my phone off and dive into Botticelli.

  Brett Dixon

  Wednesday 9/9

  I tried talking to Ramona in Math but she gave me that stupid Titanic face and told me she didn’t want to talk to me. Her eyes were black and cold. I think the only other time I’ve ever seen her look like that was a long time ago. The same year I gave her the sunflower.

  I came home from a bike ride and she was sitting on the curb in front of my house. She had her bike next to her and her helmet was a few feet in front of her in the street.

  She was pulling out my Dad’s grass again staring intently at the asphalt in front of her. When I sat down next to her, she flinched but didn’t say anything. She was clenching her jaw and her eyebrows were smashed together. She was very angry. When I asked her if she was okay, her face relaxed a little bit but she didn’t say anything. She just nodded her head.

  I picked up her helmet so nobody would run over it. It had a crack on the top. I looked her over to see if she had any bruises or cuts, but she was fine. I guess she was so angry that she threw her helmet in the street and cracked it. I set it down beside her. We sat for a few more minutes in silence until she got up, told me that she was sorry and rode her bike back home. I never asked her what she was sorry for.

  Maybe she just needs a little more time and then I can try explaining things. She can’t be that mad.

  CHAPTER 12

  WE’RE AT LUNCH AND I’m counting the hours (approximately 20.5) that I’ve been continuously thinking about kissing Ryan. He winked at me in Prayer this morning and it felt like a dream. I passed him when I was getting my food at lunch but we didn’t say hi. I was too afraid to say anything. Plus, he was with his friends and it felt weird to go out of my way and say hi. I keep thinking about next week’s tutoring session and what might happen…what I hope happens.

  I deliberately sit with my back facing Brett so I don’t have to see him and Daphne canoodling all lunch. Although, I keep pretending like I have to scratch my head so I can steal glances. I don’t know why I torture myself like this. Hopefully, if anything else happens with Ryan, I can finally stop caring about Brett and whom he’s doing The Deed with. I’m befuddled at how I can be so mad at him but still care about whom he’s dating. It makes no sense. I shake my distracting thoughts away.

  I notice Veronica and her entire face is sullen.

  “Hey V, what’s wrong?” Veronica and I don’t have twin telepathy, but I can tell when something is off.

  “She’s love sick,” Jimmy dryly teases.

  She sighs, ignoring him. “I’m worried about the game. I’m worried about seeing,” she pauses to scowl in disgust, “Brett. And I’m worried Chase won’t want to hang out after.”

  “Seriously, Veronica, everything with Chase will go well, I promise. As for the other thing...we watch the game, we talk to Chase and we leave. If he comes up to us, I will handle it. I doubt he would even have the nerve. Although, he did save me a seat in Math yesterday.”

  “Oh my god, he did? Did you accept?” Veronica asks me intensely, moving to the front of her chair like she’s about to turn full on Hulk if I say yes.

  “No, of course not. It made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t believe his audacity.” Seeing her on the verge of Mr. Hyde makes me thankful that I did decline...and reassures me that I should continue declining anything Brett related.

  “Good.” She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. Her anxiety manifests itself in anger. Jimmy rolls his eyes, un-amused with this whole conversation. Mentioning Math probably wasn’t the best thing. The mood turns bleak quickly.

  “I’m sure it will be fine, you guys.” Jimmy says, devoid of emotion.

  “All right,” I say, slapping my hands down on the table. “It’s locker time.”

  “Let’s roll,” Jimmy agrees.

  We gather our trays and head to our lockers to prepare for our next class. On this particular day, I need to get to class early to refresh on the reading and put on my Botticelli “game face” for our quiz. A sudden uneasy feeling washes over me out of nowhere.

  Something tells me that I should be putting my “game face” on for tonight’s game.

  I can sense a storm coming.

  Brett Dixon

  Thursday 10/10

  Ramona kept looking at Daphne and I all lunch. I can’t figure out why. I kept pushing Daphne off of me because I didn’t want Ramona to see her feeding me food and kissing my neck and shi stuff like that. She’s starting to get on my nerves. I probably do need to break up with her.

  I can’t stop thinking about Ramona. I was laying on my bed tossing my lacrosse ball around thinking about when we were kids. It’s become a ritual lately.

  I remember this one time in middle school right the day after I got my braces on. The four of us were eating lunch together but my teeth hurt so bad. I couldn’t eat anything my Dad packed for me. But it was okay because Ramona remembered and she packed me raspberry jello and shared her chicken and stars soup.

  I can’t remember if I ever thanked for that.

  Chapter 13

  RYAN IS FLICKING HIS pen around in History class and my eyes follow his movement like an eager dog being tantalized by a treat. Suddenly, he loses his grip and the pen comes flying back toward me. I jump, breaking my trance. I whip around to face the white board so he doesn’t catch me staring.

  He turns back and kneels back towards the floor and that’s when I glance over to realize the pen is by my leg. He reaches his hand down by my leg and I watch as his gaze slowly goes up my legs and to my skirt. He looks up and we make eye contact. He flashes his entrancing crooked grin and winks. My face heats up. I turn my head casually back to the whiteboard, biting my grin as if his charm has no effect on me whatsoever. He moves back to his seat and I begin to calm my nerves.

  Class ends and we both walk out without so much as a glance at each other. I feel somewhat relieved but also disappointed. We haven’t actually spoken any words to each other since we left tutoring on Wednesday. I shake my head to snap out of the trance that only Ryan can suck me into.

  Of course, I get to Math seconds before the bell rings even though I hauled ass so I could score a desk far away from both Jet and Brett. I walk in and sure enough, the only seat is behind Brett.

  Just my luck.

  Why doesn’t Mr. Kovsky have more desks?

  I make a mental note to ask him later.

  I sit and Brett immediately turns around with a pleading look on his face. “Bean...”

  “Class is about to start,” I say sharply while keeping my gaze intently on Mr. Kovsky. He sighs and turns around without argument. Thank God because as much as he repulses me right now, I have not failed to notice how his arm and back muscles become more defined when he turns. I shake my head to get the illegal thoughts and emotions out.

  Mr. Kovsky begins explaining the last homework assignment. I do my best to focus on the board and Mr. K’s words even though I already know everything he’s teaching.

  I’m focusing so deeply at the whiteboard that I am startled by the piece of paper that drops down on me out of nowhere, grazing my hair. I look up at Jet to see if he is throwing things at me. He is staring straight ahead, taking notes maniacally. I look down at the paper and see that it’s folded. I open it and my jaw tightens.r />
  Ramona, I’m sorry. Jet was such a dick. I didn’t know what to do. How’s Jimmy?

  My eyes narrow and brows furrow. I feel the heat of anger rise up inside of me. I want to yell in his face, “How hard is it to stand up for your friend? How could you not know what to say? If you want to know if Jimmy’s okay, ask him!”

  I contemplate getting up and blatantly throwing away his note, asking Mr. Kovsky if I can change seats or outing Brett as a note passer and tell Mr. K that he’s disrupting me.

  In the end, I decide to do the most obnoxious of all the choices and ignore him completely.

  I fold his note back up following the already creased lines and toss it in the open pocket of my bag.

  Halfway through the class, Brett turns around to look at my desk, no note to be found. Right away Mr. K says, “Brett, focus. If you miss any part of this lesson today you’ll be behind for the remainder of the semester.”

  Brett turns around but not without throwing a confused glance at me. I look him dead in the eye with the best poker face I can muster. Once he turns around completely, I continue my note taking, feeling the sides of my mouth curl upwards ever so slightly.

  I score my mental note:

  Brett: 0

  Ramona: 1

  A few minutes before the bell rings, I surreptitiously organize my desk belongings. As the bell hits, I slide everything into the main pocket of my backpack and bolt.

  “Hey, Ramona.” I run into Emmy immediately after evacuating Mr. Kovsky’s classroom. Emmy’s name is actually Emerald Evans-Green. It’s a gorgeous name but she goes by Emmy so people don’t giggle that her name is basically Green Green. Not only is she on Student Council but she also started the Environmental Sustainability Club.

  Emmy begins passionately explaining the new agenda she is trying to push onto the school administration. “The school recognizes Columbus Day but we are trying to get them to change it to Indigenous People’s Day. It’s a load of crap that America recognizes––nay, praises a man whose ignorance and xenophobia started the desolation of a culture and the genocide of the people of whom this land really belongs. We should be recognizing the people whose lives were brutally cut short in order for the colonization of America as we now know it...”

  I totally zone out focusing on trying to get to the cafeteria before the jocks clear out the pepperoni pizza.

  “So, will you sign it?” she asks hopefully.

  “Sign what?”

  “Sign the petition to change Columbus Day to Indigenous People’s Day.”

  “Isn’t Columbus Day a federally recognized holiday that is, in fact, called Columbus Day? How is the school changing the name to Indigenous People’s Day going to help the government change the name? Isn’t that the real goal here? To get the federal government to change the name of the holiday?” I challenge her even though I agree with everything that I’ve heard her say, albeit I wasn’t listening to all of it.

  “Right, well, that’s what I was saying. Change doesn’t happen over night. We have to take the necessary steps, despite how small or insignificant they may seem, in order to begin the process of social change. It might seem like the school changing the holiday’s name doesn’t have any real point but it does. By changing the name we are informing our community of the respect we have for the indigenous people of America and raising awareness of the national disgrace it is to have a holiday named after such an awful human.”

  “I’ll sign it. Do you have a pen?” She fumbles but pulls a pen out of her pocket and hands me the paper.

  “Thanks, Ramona. I knew you’d sign it. You always understand me and my desire for social change,” she says with a proud grin. "You should come to some student council meetings. We need more student activists present. You don’t have to be on student council to come to meetings. You should really consider it.”

  With that statement she walks off in the direction of the Student Council office and leaves me standing in front of the cafeteria, dazed from her sermon. I walk through the line and as suspected, the pizza is all gone. But at least I put my foot forward in the steps of positive social change. At least that’s what I tell myself to feel better about missing the pizza.

  “I saw you with Emmy. Did you sign the petition?” Veronica says as I sit down beside her.

  “Yeah. It’s admirable that she’s passionate about important issues. The only thing I’m passionate about is pizza.” I say, glancing longingly at Veronica’s slice.

  “Here, eat half of mine. I got a salad and cookie too.” She slides her plate of half eaten pizza over to me. Only best friends let you share their coveted pizza, even if it’s dingy school pizza.

  “Ah, thanks! Where’s Jimmy?” I ask, noticing his absence.

  “In the library with Ricky Rodriguez working on their Physics project.”

  “Gross, physics.” I shake my head in disgust.

  “Physics is the way the world works.”

  “You sound like Jimmy.” We laugh.

  “Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. It has to be the whole twin telepathy thing. Physics is gross. Anyways, I’m excited for the game tonight!”

  “You’re excited for the game or you’re excited to see Chase?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

  She responds by rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’m excited to see Chase. I’m nervous but I really can’t help it, Ramona. He gives me butterflies.”

  I smile at her nervous smirk. “You think he’s the bee’s knees, huh?”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes again. “Yes, Ramona, I think he’s the bee’s knees.”

  “Good. I hope he is the bee’s knees too and if he isn’t, I’ll break his actual knees for being a jerk,” I say firmly, which makes her smile broaden.

  “Not before I punch him first.” We laugh and high five.

  “Remember our plan for the game: you have fun with Chase and if Brett tries to talk to us or anything I’ll handle it, okay? There’s no reason to let Brett ruin our Friday night. I think he got the message that I didn’t want to talk to him in Calc. He tried to pass me a note and I threw it away without reading it. People say a lot when they say nothing.”

  “Why is he even still trying? You think he would’ve gotten the message by now. What he did really hurt, you know?”

  “I know, V. I love my friends to the moon and back, too. I can’t make sense of any of it.”

  She shakes her head. “Anyways, thanks Bean. I really don’t want to get expelled senior year for punching that douche. I’ll never get into college if they find that out.” She picks a chunk of her cookie off and gracefully places it into her mouth. “Speaking of, have you decided your Top Five choices? I need to start getting applications.”

  “It’s not concrete yet but I’m thinking: Notre Dame, Yale, University of San Diego, Gonzaga University and University of Portland.”

  “Yale? An Ivy League?” She asks, rolling her eyes. “Why Yale?”

  I sigh. “My dad and grandpa went there so I feel like I have to at least apply. I don't think my dad would care if I didn't though. Plus it’s a good school and they have rowing or crew or whatever it’s called.”

  “Crew? You’re applying to Yale because they have crew? You want to be on the crew team?” Veronica’s eyebrows are practically touching her hairline.

  “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I just like the idea of a physical activity you can do sitting down,” I admit. I really have no reason to pick Yale other than it’s an Ivy League school. I’ll never get in but it never hurts to try. “What about you, Miss Critical? What is your Top Five?”

  “University of Oregon, UCLA, Gonzaga, University of San Diego and University of Portland,” she declares.

  I spit out the bite of cookie she gave me.

  “And you’re criticizing Yale?” I laugh and sit up in my chair getting ready to go in on her. She smiles and nods in preparation for what she’s about to hear. “You want to be a Duck?” I tease her, smiling.

  “Oh please, there are
so many worse mascots than that.”

  I chuckle and tell her, “Okay, you’re right. I approve even though I really want you with me,” I tell her sweetly.

  “Ramona, I’ll never get into Notre Dame and there’s no point in even pretending. I’m just hoping I actually get accepted to at least one of them.” She attempts a smile but fails.

  I can see the hesitation and trepidation of the vacant unknown in her currently, dull, green eyes. I understand the look because I see the same look in my mother’s eyes all the time. They’re lost, longing and full of doubt and I’m sorry I can’t help them more.

  “Veronica, you will get into those schools. You have to believe in yourself. You got this,” I confidently tell her.

  She nods her head and refocuses. “Can you imagine how stressful this conversation would be if my neurotic brother were here?”

  She gives me an exhausted look followed by a knowing smile. Her smile infects me and we both start laughing. We spend the rest of lunch imitating his voice and what he would say about our Top Five choices.

  ***

  SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CONJUGATING VERBS and translating parts of The Great Gatsby into Spanish, the voices start from downstairs. They start out as a loud whisper and gradually work their way up, now close to shouting. I’m sitting on my bed surrounded by a colorful assortment of books, notebooks and pens. I begin to squeeze my pillow against my chest. Resting my chin on it, I try to decipher the muffled words to figure out what they’re arguing about.

  “Mary, you cannot keep doing this!”

  “What? What am I doing, hm?”

  “Do not patronize me. This really needs to stop.” Dad’s voice becomes punctuated and firm. My mom groans loudly.

  “This is going in circles and frankly, I’m sick of talking about it!”