Take My Advice

"As always, Mr. Kramer." I pasted on my brightest, most cheerful smile. He was not going to win this battle of wills.  

He lifted his head and gave a little snort. I'm serious-he looked exactly like a horse. You know how they toss their heads and act like they're trying to blow their noses-yeah. I almost started to laugh, but I didn't. That would have been bad. 

He started right in with a recap of everything we'd discussed in our last math class. Apparently we'd been attacked by brain-sucking zombies over the weekend and had no recollection of those facts for ourselves. Bless his heart for reminding us.  

Then he launched into today's discussion, which was, creepily, almost word-for-word of the recap. In fact, I couldn't tell where one left off and the next started, and it was a good thing that he announced that he was now presenting the next lesson or I never would have figured it out. 

At this point, I started to zone out. I wanted to pay attention, I really did, but my brain had other ideas.  

See, I'd gotten some really intriguing e-mails the night before and I couldn't wait to get started on my next column. The one I'd just turned in was awesome-some of my best work-but this batch was going to challenge me in new ways. One girl wanted to know if she should dye her hair in order to get more attention. And a guy asked how he should tell his girlfriend that he'd fallen for her sister. We were getting into the stuff I loved-the relationship stuff. Not that I had a whole lot of personal experience, but I watched the talk shows. I considered myself pretty well versed in what to say. 

I stayed entertained for the rest of the class period by plotting out my advice to these poor lovelorn individuals, and then escaped the torture chamber as soon as the bell rang. It was time for lunch, thank goodness-nothing made my blood sugar drop like listening to Mr. Kramer drone on and on. And on. 

"Hey!" Amanda, my best friend, came up to me in the hall and tucked her arm through mine. She was like that-cute and a little cuddly. Sort of like a puppy. "Did you get your column turned in?" 

"Of course. Right on time." 

"I can't wait to read it this week. From what you said, it sounds great." 

The problem with being the advice columnist for a high school newspaper is that you can't share everything with your best friend, even when you really want to. It's not like I knew the names of the kids who sent in their questions-they weren't supposed to sign their letters, and all the e-mails were forwarded to me by my student adviser, who stripped out the personal information-but even the stuff I did know, I couldn't share. I could only drop hints like, "Wow, I gave the most amazing advice today." And while that's fun, it's not as fun as it could be. If you get what I'm saying. So everyone knew who I was, but I didn't know who they were. That seemed a little unfair. Oh, well-she could read the final results in the newspaper, just like everyone else. 

"Yeah, I think it'll make for some good reading." I tried to sound noncommittal, like I was supposed to. "And as usual, Colby barely looked at me when I handed it in." 

"I'm sorry. You know what-someday that dork is going to realize how wonderful you are and then kick himself for ignoring you." 

"And by then, I'll be off to college, and his chance will be gone. There's some poetic justice in that, I guess." 

We had reached the lunchroom, and I paused before going in. This was where the major bulk of the teasing would take place. It was like an arena where all the cool kids would pick on all the not-cool kids and everyone else would gather around to watch, like the Romans and their chariot races and throwing Christians to get eaten by lions and stuff like that. The things people did for entertainment . . .  

"Hey, it's Dr. Jill," one of the jocks called out, and I smiled. There was only so much teasing and tormenting a person could take before it was old. I was about there. 

"Hey, Bruce. I saw you trying out that new meditation thing before the game the other night. How's that workin' for ya?" I called back in my best Dr. Phil drawl. 

"Ooooooo." The crowd seemed appropriately impressed by my acumen. I nodded and made my way to the lunch line. It would take Bruce a minute to come up with a snarky response, and by then, I hoped to have my tray. I'm a multi-tasker like that. 

Amanda and I found seats and began eating. A second later, a shadow fell across my food. I looked up and saw a new guy standing over me, holding his tray with both hands and looking a little awkward. 

"Hi," he said. "My name's Dylan. I'm told that the best way to make friends is to walk right up and introduce myself. May I sit here?" 

"Sure," Amanda said. "Knock yourself out." 

I would have responded, but my mouth was full of food. Low blood sugar, remember? I needed to shovel it in there fast before I went into some sort of diabetic coma. Not that I was diabetic, but Kramer could put anyone in a coma. 

"So, I just moved here from Denver." 

"I've been skiing in Denver," Amanda replied. 

I still wasn't talking. Chewing was my first priority. 

"And you are . . . " he prompted. 

"Oh, sorry. I'm Amanda, and she's Jill. She's eating. She probably won't talk, or even acknowledge that we're here, for another five minutes or so. She's got this thing with food." 

"Low blood sugar," I growled. 

"I think it's an avoidance mechanism," Amanda stage-whispered behind her hand. "That's the excuse she gives whenever she wants time to emotionally withdraw." 

"And now look who's giving out advice. I'm not withdrawing-I'm hungry." I turned to Dylan, giving him the full benefit of my attention. "Welcome to our high school. We're glad to have you." 

He seemed a little taken aback by my formality. I admit, I did that on purpose. It was mostly to annoy Amanda-I didn't mean to catch the guy in the crosshairs. "Thanks, Jill," he said. "So you're the one in the flyers I've been seeing all over the place today." 

"Yeah, every so often someone decides to poke fun at my column. What they don't understand is that dispensing advice is at the very heart of our culture. Mothers have advised their daughters, sons have looked to their fathers-we all rely on each other for the benefit of our shared wisdom. Don't you agree?" I ignored Amanda. She was shooting daggers at me with her eyes. I didn't care.  

"I do, actually. From an anthropological standpoint, without the sharing of experiences, where would we be? Our young wouldn't know how to hunt or fish or make their own huts. We need to pass on these lessons or we will die out as an entire breed." 

I blinked. I had not expected that response from this fresh-faced, good-looking-in-a-mild-way, slightly dorky kid. "This is what I'm saying," I finally replied. 

"It looks like I chose the right table. This is turning out to be a really great first day after all." Dylan picked up his tray. It was empty now-I have no idea how he managed to clean it so fast-and headed toward the trash to throw away his milk carton. 

"Why did you have to be so tough on the guy?" Amanda asked as soon as Dylan was out of earshot. 

"I was doing it to bug you. I didn't know he was so . . . bookish and stuff." 

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Well, it's about time someone knew what to say to you and all your weirdness. Come on, we'll be late for English." 

English. Sigh. The one class I shared with Colby . . . the class I dreamed about (literally-I dreamed about it), prepared for, dressed my cutest for. I was definitely going to be on time for English. Those artery-clogging students in the hallway had better not get underfoot.