I'm ashamed to admit that in the aftermath of my impromptu meeting with Darnell and Leah I'm a little shaken. Shaken is the wrong word to use. I feel more like I've been poured into a blender and blitzed into puree. But that's on the dramatic side so I'll stick to shaken.
I manage to hold it together long enough to place my tray of drinks onto a nearby table and hightail it out of the party. Heading back the same way I came, away from the events garden and up the path to the main building.
My ability to compartmentalize is all screwed up leading to an oil spillage of thoughts. Darnell kissed me. He may or may not like me. A piece of information he confessed to on a date with another girl. The facts weren't at all consistent with the image I'd built up of him in my head. Not consistent with the boy I'd known when I was younger, the boy who went out of the way to be kind to a stranger.
"My theory is she's just toying with him."
Anika told me that and now I had to wonder if she had it all wrong. If he was the one toying with us, with me.
Timothy offers little resistance when I tell him it's time to leave. He has a mini Peter Parker painted on his cheek and his arms are laden with two gift bags. When I comment on the fact his response is vague. I don't grill him too hard though, one of them is going to me anyway.
*****
Monday rolls into my life like an uninvited guest. And I'm about as prepared for her as David walking into a fight with a giant, armed with three stones and a slingshot. But that story ends well so it's not all bad.
In the time it takes me to get ready for school I spill a gallon of milk on my shirt and have to search through dirty laundry to find a clean one. I know, the irony. I lose (and find) Timothy's geography project counting for half his grade and I stub my toe in the hallway and proceed to cry like a baby for a full five minutes.
A typical Monday.
It's just my luck that this Monday happens to fall into the most hellish week of the year. Hellish for a few reasons in particular:
1. Midterm fever is in full swing punctuated by an increase in the number of Starbucks coffee cups littering our hallways and trashcans.
2. My parents are set to arrive by this afternoon bringing with them my Come to Jesus moment.
3. Anika is still icing me out in the longest cold war of our friendship. Except this one is a war of No words.
And no. 4 with perhaps the most painful reason. A boy. It's always about a boy.
I don't think I've ever felt more naked or exposed than I do right now. Except in that dream where I'm at our senior prom clad in nothing but my underwear. But there were too many unicorns in that dream for me to ever take it seriously. After an entire weekend of obsessively stewing over the current state of my life the only emotion I can confidently identify is embarrassment.
I'm embarrassed that I wore Darnell's hoodie all night on Friday like some kind of idiot. I'm embarrassed that I let him kiss me, that I started to believe it meant something more. I colour with shame every time I remember that I told him that I wanted something more than friendship.
What the hell was wrong with me? Had common sense escaped me?
The entire encounter had uncovered the insecurities I'd long buried. Leaving me raw and volatile. Seeing him with Leah made me feel something I didn't want to name just yet. It made me feel less. Less than, less worthy. I don't know. All I knew was sometimes it took standing next to someone in silk to realize your shirt was made of cheap polyester.
All very positive thoughts.
I had hoped that by Monday the attention surrounding the vandalism of the Lizards statue would die down, swamped under everything else going on around school. Namely midterms, the theatre clubs debut production and Ms. Foster's pregnancy announcement. But I was wrong. Over the weekend it had amassed even more hype owing to the fact that no one had confessed yet.
And no one ever will if I have anything to do with it.
Under the influence of chaos and adrenaline, vandalizing Nellie the Lizard seemed like a smart thing to do. Getting revenge and humiliating North-side all while remaining anonymous. Plus it was really funny to watch the video someone posted of the statue being discovered by their team. Actually it wasn't just funny it was freaking hilarious.
But now after an adrenaline crash of the same force, I stand in front of my locker on a day that started out so hot I couldn't believe. It's only nine AM but I'm already sweating through my t-shirt. My fault for wearing black. I've sobered up and remembered I have things to lose. An honorary place on the basketball team, a permanent record unmarred by suspension and parents to disappoint only marginally. Darnell my not care about basketball and have grades good enough to get into any school but I didn't. I needed to see that.
We weren't the same.
It's that realization that causes me to slam my locker a little harder than usual, startling my neighbour. But before I can follow the rules of high drama and storm out of the hall, the PA system crackles to life, filling the hallway with static and white noise.
"Good morning Irvine High. I interrupt this programming to give you—" But Kite's boisterous voice is cut off before he can finish.
"Just hand me the microphone, Forrester."
"Yes ma'am." Kite says and the mike clicks silent and then buzzes on again.
This time without the pleasantries.
"On Friday night our basketball team played against the North-side Lizards. I'm told although we played valiantly we still lost the game." No one in the school's administrative department would ever use the word valiantly in a sentence save for one, Deputy Principal Vincent who transferred from a school in England. A fact we were reminded of by her accent every single day.
She continues: "There's no shame in losing, however there is shame in lashing out against another team because they outplayed us. It's an act of pure cowardice."
Something in her tone makes me feel as though I'm receiving a governess style scolding. Principal Vincent was simultaneously hated by one half of the school and lusted after by the other. I'll give you one guess as to which side I'm on.
"Hours after the game, North-side High school was broken into and their team mascot was vandalized in our colors. All evidence recovered points to the crime being committed by a member of our student body."
Someone in the hall yells out a woo but is shushed by the rest of us. We're all anticipating some kind of big reveal. As though Vincent is about to unmask the true culprits in a dramatic Scooby Doo-esque scene.
"It's an example of poor sportsmanship in all forms. Something Irvine High does not stand for. Make no mistake students, the administration is planning a full investigation into the matter and we will not rest until the perpetrators are held accountable. If you or someone you know was involved feel free to visit my office."
Which in so many flowery words means they don't know who did what yet.
Just when I think she's done she says, "And one more thing, I strongly suggest you stop sharing the photo's of the incident on social media unless you'd like to become a person of interest."
Any other day I would have admired her take no prisoners approach to education but today was not one of those days.
Person of Interest. It was vandalism, a stupid poorly thought out prank. How had she leveled it up to criminal status?
Last time I checked breaking and entering was a crime.
But I dismiss that voice of reason, gnawing at my nail beds instead. Then I think better of it. No use looking guilty now. Besides there was no way anybody could know I was involved unless one of my accomplices decided to start talking.
I groan, Sam's probably told the entire school by now.
*****
I want skip basketball practice.
I badly want to sit in the bathroom and just wait for it to end. I could read a book, try to beat the Temple Run high score Timothy set on my phone or I could cry. And I really, really want to cry. I'm not normally this weepy but it was close to the end of the month and according to the Flo app my hormones were at a peak. Every single month like clockwork I get moody, cry my heart out and wake up the next day wondering why I had been such a sappy mess. Today, I needed to expel some of that emotional energy before an offhand comment about my hair drove me to tears.
I looped my laces through my trainers while the volleyball girls filed into the room, bringing with them chatter and musical laughter.
The noise didn't do much to distract me though. My stomach turned, nausea rising at the thought of heading onto court. I didn't want to see Darnell. I didn't want to hear what Coach Carter or anyone else had to say about the Lizards statue, which was steadily becoming a bigger issue that I could have foreseen. In short I was avoiding all my problems. Team Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms for the win.
I head to practice after a few minutes of convincing myself to man up. Which is much harder to do when you're a PMSing teenage girl.
By minute thirty-three of practice Coach Carter along with the team assistants still haven't shown up. Which is highly unusual for him. The man shows up hell or high water. Coincidentally, it takes exactly thirty-three minutes for our team to descend into total anarchy without adult supervision.
For the first few minutes we manage quite well without being told what to do, everyone lines up and we start with warm ups. Then jogging which eventually breaks into sprinting and court suicide runs. By minute eight, Xavier our freaking team captain says "Screw it" and walks out of the gym. In a chain reaction, the boys who claim not to give a crap about anything slowly start to walk off the court one by one. I guess a big part of being a senior means you no longer have any shits left to give. Their desertion leaves our team of twelve to a straggly group of six. And only one of whom is a starter.
Either way I'm proud of myself. And not just because my sprint times have improved despite my human condition. When I first got onto court Darnell walked, no bounced up to me.
It was wild how much audacity boys could summon when approaching the girls they had wronged. Wild.
As a result I didn't give him the time of day. Before he could explain himself or mortify me any further I was walking away to join the rest of the team. It was possibly the most unbothered and empowered thing I'd ever done in the history of my existence. Like Beyonce' herself had decided to steal my body for the afternoon and use me for the advancement of women all over campus.
The real Hazel Monroe was somewhere along Rodeo Drive recording a highly anticipated album.
Darnell didn't owe me anything. But that went both ways. I didn't owe him jack either. I wasn't obligated to talk to him and hence I wouldn't.
It didn't end there. I kept my distance from him during warm ups. Running to get out of his way which led to the boost in my times. When we were done and Darnell was tossing people bottles of chilled water I literally jumped out of the way of the one he threw to me. Letting it roll onto the floor instead. He looked at me real weird in that instant. I didn't know I possessed the I'd-much-rather-die-of-thirst type of stubbornness until today.
It took a lot of strength to ignore a boy who made even our school issued sports uniforms look good. But I managed the feat.
All day temperatures had skyrocketed and this was their climax, a whooping 110 degrees Fahrenheit. I couldn't wait for Fall, pumpkin spice and Scream movie marathons would be a blessed change of pace from this brain melting heat. To avoid heatstroke and spontaneous combustion most of the athletic teams had either canceled their practice or moved indoors. For us that meant we would have to share our court with the volleyball team.
They hadn't even started playing yet but they were already taking up more than their fair share of space.
Then they started playing. Forgive my language but it was a freaking shit-show.
"Why are they playing so bad?" Someone asks from where the remainder of our team sits, lounging on the bleachers. Once our numbers were down everyone lost the motivation to divide into teams and actually play. Instead we sit and observe as the girls lob balls across their net.
The talk among the team relating to the vandalism is split. Some people think it was a group of drunk students, others say that North-side staged the entire thing right down to the brassiere. I already know which narrative I prefer. At the moment no one suspects anyone from our team.
"They're hungover." One of the boys sitting beside me says. Michael I think. "They won their game on Sunday and they go hard after a win."
At least the sports department is enjoying wins to some degree, even if it's just volleyball. For the next several minutes we watch the game progress, witnessing some of the sloppiest athletic ability to ever grace the basketball court. It's bad enough to rival our performance on Friday. I'm kidding nothing can beat how bad we played on Friday.
One of them spikes the ball and it flies over into our huddle, sending us scattering to avoid getting hit. The ball lands at my feet and I grab it and throw it back to their side of court.
"Thank you, boys." The girl receiving the ball says. A girl who occupies the space opposite mine in the changing room. It's odd how she says thank you boys, when I was the one to pass back the ball. Well not odd. It's plain annoying. But whatever.
As she walks back the only senior who hasn't left yet, Nic, goes: "That ass though."
The group laughs at the comment but I can only roll my eyes. One of the downsides of spending this much time with boys is that after a while the casual misogyny doesn't bother you as much. At first I used to verbalize my irritation at their remarks but that didn't make me any friends. Now I pick my battles and let the rest roll off my back.
Darnell sits on the bleacher that's a few steps above me and so I don't look up even once. I can feel his stare boring onto the spot above my shoulder but I refuse to pay him any attention.
"We can play 21," Micah suggests rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. It's not a bad idea. Anything is better than doing nothing.
"Too much effort." Nic says with a groan.
Remember what I just said about letting things roll off your back. Screw that.
"Which is why you're a substitute." I say without thinking.
For a full second no one, not even me, can believe I just said that. I clamp up my mouth. Resisting the immediate need to apologize for the disrespect in my tone. But there's no turning back now.
"Damn," Sam says, articulating what everyone else is thinking.
"The fuck did you say to me?" He asks. I don't dare look back at him.
"I said that's why you're a substitute." I don't know why I think repeating it will help. He heard me the first time.
My filter, the most crucial part of my social engineering is broken and I can't for the life of me stop saying what I think. I haven't just insulted Nic, I've insulted every single substitute sitting at the bleachers beside me. People who just last week I might have considered friends.
"You don't even play on the team," He growls at me. "And somehow you think you're better than everyone in the room. You always have."
I don't respond, I merely shrug.
He jumps off the bleachers and walks up to where Micah stands with the ball. "You think you're all that, come over here and prove it."
He looks at me with an unmet challenge in his eyes and I stare right back.
I have a headache building right above my brow, my anxiety is through the roof and my stomach spasms at the mention of any further physical activity. But despite all that I'm already getting onto my feet and tying my hair into a tighter top knot.
I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially coming from a boy like Nic Cohen.