PART I - SOFIA
Week two. Week two of thirty-five. I made a cross on my calendar.
I heard my mom and Santiago laugh in the kitchen. After two years together, they were still annoyingly cute. Thank you for reminding me that I was single.
The Romeo and Juliet script lay on my nightstand. It took me three days, until Saturday, until I found the part I wanted to perform. It needed to go well. It must.
"Oye, Santi," I said when I walked into the kitchen. He and my mom were standing on the other side of the kitchen island, mom was about to pour milk over her cereal.
He looked at me and smiled warmly.
"Can you go over my drawings? I did the ones you suggested and some more – just tell me what you think."
"Of course, Sofia," he said, taking the stack of paper. His eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. "Can I take them with me? I need to leave right now – or like five minutes ago."
I nodded. "Sure. Thanks." Though I wasn't sure. To trust him with my drawings was one thing, let him leave with them was another. They could probably withstand a short deduction, a real inspection – not so much.
Santiago kissed Mom and squeezed my arm quickly before rushing out of the kitchen.
"Stop looking after him like a puppy," I teased her.
She turned her face back to the cereal bowl and looked at the milk carton as if she'd forgotten what to do with it. "I wasn't!"
I grinned. "Sure."
I got another bowl and poured cereal and milk. Next thing I knew, mom and I were mirroring each other, both standing at the kitchen island, our hips leaned against it, eating our breakfast.
"Aaaaand?" She asked dragging the vowel. "Are you excited to see a special someone again?"
Instead of an answer, I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, come on, Sofi. Give me something!"
I swallowed the next bite. "I told you everything there is to know. I'll tell you more tonight."
She winked. "It's a date."
It was raining outside, so Mom offered to drive me. Over the past week, I had perfected my skateboarding route to school. I knew exactly where to cross the streets to avoid eh– unskateable ground.
It was the first time she was driving me since Santi had brought me the last week. We only had time to sing along to two songs before we came to a stop in front of the building. Mom kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good day then she waited in the car until I entered the building. I was painfully aware of her stare on my back and I knew that she wanted me to greet people on my way to the entrance. She hoped I had friends I would meet in front of the school. That I would settle down. That I would be happy.
Too bad that the only real friend I made during my first week was not waiting outside for me. Baker was usually the last person to enter the classroom, and I was almost certain that he was one of those people who were chronically late.
The first person I saw every morning was Helen.
Helen appeared on our locker every morning quarter to eight, punctual like a clockwork. It's been a week and it was still our locker. Mrs. Hudson had promised that she would find a solution that has not had happened yet.
Every morning, I saw Helen open our locker, take out her books and folders for English and Biology (the lab was located in a different building which was closer to the English department than our locker), close the door, and march down the hallway.
And yes, I watched her, every morning. I was fascinated by her. Not by her opening our locker, but the rest of her routine.
Helen seemed to know every single person in that hallway. One younger girl stopped every day and kissed her on the cheek, the locker next to ours belonged to her friend Alison with whom she chatted most days, on her way up and down the hallway she stopped to talk to different people about their sports, classes or the student council. On two days, Jamie had accompanied her, but no one took notice of him when Helen was present.
I had seen Jamie, too, around his friends and one time at football practice, where he was the center of attention. Not so when he was with Helen. Never, when he was with Helen.
I wondered whether Jamie liked standing in her shadow. I couldn't imagine Jamie being someone who liked playing the second fiddle. He was too social, good-looking, and rich (I had seen his car) for that.