Levy
The alarm buzzed over and over again. I suppressed a groan as I reached over and slapped the snooze button without looking at what I was doing. These morning lacrosse practices were death served up on a silver platter. I laid in bed for a few more minutes, wishing I could sleep in past 5 in the morning. I thought Mondays couldn't get worse, but here we are. Finally, I gathered my strength and pushed myself out of bed. I threw on my practice clothes, brushed my teeth, tied my shoes, and hit the button to turn off the snooze alarmist before I walked out the door. The grass is damp and by the time I reach my truck, my shoes are damp and my fingers are stiff from the cold. California doesn't ever actually get cold, but February mornings are damp and it's much colder than I'm used to. I climb in my truck, shove the key in the ignition, and it roars to life. I twist the knob to get the heat going and roll out onto the street, driving the few miles between me and the school very quickly with no other cars on the road.
Southview just your typical small town. Well, small for Las Angeles. It's a mixed bag of apartment buildings, horse properties, condos, houses, and Garden Hills Estates, or just the Hills. My truck was just heating up as I reached the only high school in town. I was a few minutes early, so I just sat there, willing the heat to absorb into my body. The dew from my shoes had given the air inside a warm, humid feeling. I loved when it rained — though it rarely did — because I could escape to my truck after school, crank the heater, and watch the windows fog up slightly. Also sometimes that meant practice was canceled. My eyes snapped open. I hadn't realized I had begun to drift off to the memory of the mesmerizing sound of rain. I turned the key, and opened the door, feeling the cold seep into my bones. This was the beginning of a long day.
"Levitt, let's go!" Coach Keys yells as I jog up to where everyone else is beginning to warm up.
"Sorry, Coach. I fell asleep in the car." Keys laughs. He likes to pretend he's hard on us, but because he's so young, he's really just another one of the guys.
I pull my right arm across my body, holding it with my left. The pull on the muscles hurts but in a good way. "Henderson's assigning a group project in Chem today." I jump.
"How do you move so quietly?" I grumbled. My best friend, Darrin, just laughed. Another group project? I moaned to myself. I hate them with a passion. My schedule is insane with practice and other homework. It's impossible to find a time when everyone in the group is free to meet up and work on it. Also, there's the problem of other people not contributing as much as they should...
"Listen up, boys," Keys gets our attention when everyone is finished stretching and warming up. "We have a big game tomorrow, so take it easy today. You've got three miles, then you're free." The team lets out a collective groan. We always have to run absurd distances before games. Coach doesn't want us doing any hard workouts or drills to keep us from being sore or injured before a game, so running it is.
I jogged my laps as fast as my body would allow me to travel for that long, then hit the shower. The warm water was a relief and helped loosen the unwarranted tension in my shoulders. I got out, dried off, got dressed for the day in jeans, a Southview Lacrosse t-shirt, and a Burton hoodie. I shook all the water out of my hair the best I could, grabbed my bag, and left the locker rooms, heading for my first-period class. The first bell had just rung by the time I took my seat, so I pulled out my phone as I waited. I saw text with the newest weather report from the nearest ski and snowboarding resort and sighed with longing. Five inches of fresh snow with more expected today and tomorrow. There was no way I'd be able to go snowboarding, with tomorrow's game, my regular homework, and this new group project that was being assigned.
My train of thought was in the middle of thinking through the details of how group projects are exactly like a miniature form of Communism when the bell rang. The room had filled around me while I brooded. I did my best to fix my face into something that looked less threatening. I was a happy person in general, but I got really deep into my thinking and I'd forget I was in public. Never one to waste a moment, Mrs. Hinderson was talking before the bell was even finished.
"Good morning, class. Today we are going to begin a project on periodic trends. This was going to be a group assignment, but because of all the complaining I've heard, it's now a pairs assignment." The only thing that could be worse... the same amount of work, the same amount of frustration of trying to find a time to meet up, the same having to deal with flakes. "Also, I'm assigning the pairs." There was some muttering from the class, but nobody wanted to make it worse, so they kept quiet for the most part. "Your pairs are chosen based on your last name, so Anderson and Avery, you'll be working together. Beck and Diaz..." I waited to hear my name and who I'd be partnered with. "Lucas and Levitt," she continued down the list. What a rough morning. I looked up and saw honey-colored eyes lock with mine as she made her way towards me through the sea of other students trying to find their partners. I recognized her — a tan, dark blonde ponytail, whose eyes, skin, and hair were all very close to the same color — but I didn't really know her. It was hard to pick out an individual in the group of popular girls from the Hills that all looked the same. She set her backpack down on the floor, her coffee on the desk, and took a seat next to mine before holding out her hand.
"Olivia Lucas. I don't think we've ever actually met."
"Jasper Levvit. Call me Levy." I respond, shaking her hand.
"Ok, class. Has everyone found their partners? Great. This is your assignment," Mrs. Hinderson licked her thumb and separated a small stack of papers, handing them to the first person in each row to hand back. "Please complete the in-class worksheets in the back of the packet, and complete the rest of the lab on your own time. It's due Friday. Good luck." She turned her attention to her computer, typing away at an email.
"Ok so I'll be at the baseball game today, and then I have plans after. We can meet up tomorrow if that works for you." Olivia said, looking at me with those huge, oddly-distracting eyes. I shook my head, partly to clear my mind, and partly to let her know that wouldn't be possible.
"Lacrosse game tomorrow. We could start Wednesday, but I don't know if we'll have time to finish it." I suggested.
"How about tomorrow after the game? Come by and have dinner, and we'll start it." She countered. I didn't really want to make plans that late, but I also didn't want a bad grade on this lab.
"Alright. That's fine," I conceded. I'll be exhausted, but I really just wanted to end this back and forth.
"What's your number? I'll text you the address." I gave it to her, and felt my phone buzz in my back pocket a few seconds later. With that sorted out, we got to work on the stack of pages, and the rest of the period went by quickly and with little more than simple questions and directions between us.
The bell rang and I threw my belongings into my backpack and stood to leave. Olivia was right in front of me, and as we walked out, I saw a tall boy with almost-black hair leaning against the lockers on the wall across from the door to the classroom. I recognized Ethan from our biology class last year, and as Olivia walked up and stood beside him, another piece of information about her came to mind. She was dating Ethan Packer, a senior on the baseball team. I turned right and headed for my second period.
The rest of the day dragged on. Second period English had a sub, so Darrin and I just talked through the whole class, neglecting the poem that sat unannotated in front of us. American history, trigonometry, lunch, Spanish, and photography were over before I could blink, and I was back at practice. We didn't do much, just did our warm-ups, some easy drills, and had a little pep talk. I was on my way to my truck when Darrin caught up to me.
"What's up, brother? Are you going to that party tonight?" he asked.
"It's Monday," I Replied.
"Yeah," he responded, not understanding what I meant.
"Who goes to a party on a Monday night?" I asked, incredulous.
"Obviously not you, dude. You never have any fun." He laughed.
"And you never get any sleep." I laughed back.
"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then."
"See you," I responded, unlocking and climbing into my truck.
When I get home, I walk in the front door and set my backpack down in the entryway. I walk through the kitchen where I see my mom stirring a pan of food. I give her a kiss on the cheek as I walk through. My family might be what some consider old-fashioned. Every day we sit down at the table together and eat a home-cooked meal. Our mother taught my brother, Wyatt, and me to be gentle, kind, and respectful. Our father taught us to work hard, put family first, and treat women like ladies. He always says "Women are not supposed to do everything a man can do. They do everything a man cannot do." When something happens, my father's first response is action, while my mother's is thought and planning. She is the calm and steady to his wildness, and they balance each other perfectly. When we were younger and were upset about something, our mother would pull us into her lap and talk us through it, while our father was unable to form the words. When we need help figuring out what exactly is keeping us from making the right plays, our father is the one we ask. He is the head of our family, but my mother is the heart.
I head to my room, sit down at my desk, and pull out my laptop. I finish the last paragraph of my Spanish essay — the only homework I have for the day — before hearing my mother call us to dinner.
I sit at the table between my father and Henry, across from my mother and dig into the massive pile of lasagne and salad on my plate.
"So," my father says between bites. "How was everyone today?"
"Ugh. I got assigned so much homework today, but my friends and I made a plan to go to the fair after school on Friday. Oh, can I go to the fair on Friday?" Henry blurts out. He's thirteen and in eighth grade — the perfect age to annoy the living daylights out of me.
"Only if Jasper can drive you. We have a dinner for your dad's work on Friday," my mother says, looking to me.
"Yeah, I'll take him," I answer, picking up a slice of garlic bread from the basket in the center of the table.
"How about you, Jaz. How was today?" My father questions.
"It was fine. Not much to report, really. We have a project in chemistry that we have to work on in pairs, so I'll be home late tomorrow." I respond, hiding my dissatisfaction.
"Sounds great." we spent the rest of dinner talking about random topics, laughing over jokes, and just spending time together as a family. After dinner, I went to my room, kicked off my shoes and laid down in bed, pulling up Netflix on my laptop. I had barely started a show when I drifted off to sleep.