ground. Fries, after all, had been our whole reason for walking through the quad. “Class starts soon.” I realize that I can’t even remember what class I have. Biology? Do I go to biology class first period?
“They’ve been on and off since seventh grade.” I notice the soft edge in Drew’s voice. “But it’s really more her than him. I give that chick kudos for perseverance.”
“He didn’t look too unhappy,” I say, still studying the ground.
“A guy only has so much willpower, Calle. She throws herself at him. You can’t blame him.”
At this, I look at him. “Can’t I?”
Drew flushes. “I just mean…Look, he isn’t the type of guy to tell her no.”
“Well, that’s just great. It is.” The unfairness of it courses through me, and I fight at the tears coming. “She gets to be with him because she’s pushy? And skinny. And perfect.” The tears begin to gain ground, and I’m in no position to stop them.
Drew frowns. “I wouldn’t say perfect. Skinny, yes. Perfect? Calle, this is Amber. This is the girl who, in eighth grade, managed to get her hair stuck in her own locker and then forget the combination. But rather than have anyone cut her hair — just at the end — she waited four hours for someone to come cut the lock off. Four hours. She’s pretty damn focused. She’s always been insane about Sam Atkins. If anything, admire her stamina. He’s the dumbass who can’t tell her no.”
I take a shaky breath. “She should give seminars. How to harass someone into being with you.”
Quietly, Drew says, “Maybe Eli should take it.”
The words sting, but they stop the tears. “What’s your point, Drew? I should be with Eli even if I don’t feel that way about him?” The bell rings for class, and students start to file into the small alleyway between the buildings where we are standing.
“No. It makes more sense than you and Sam Atkins, but no.” He stops. He’s clearly already said more than he meant to, and now we have an audience. Drew, unlike many of the other actors, only likes an audience when he’s in control. “I have to get to class or I’ll be late. Don’t forget we have lunch rehearsal today.”
“Right.” I wipe at my wet eyes. “You’re real worried about tardiness.”
He digs his hands into the front pocket of his Billabong sweatshirt and turns to go. The sweatshirt says “BONG” in big orange letters. For sure, his first-period teacher will make him turn it inside out. Funny, Drew’s always willing to push confrontation about things that don’t really matter.
***
At lunch, I don’t go to rehearsal; instead, I walk out behind the gym to the empty, cold football field. My mind is full. Sam. Eli. My fight with Drew. My father in jail. My mother’s lies.
The stadium hibernates, a massive sleeping bear. I walk one whole loop around the track before I notice the lone figure crammed into the lower corner of the bleachers. On the visitors’ side.
Sam.
He nods when he sees me see him and gives a small wave. I hesitate, then decide to join him.
“Hey.” His hands are crammed into the pockets of his grandfather’s letterman jacket. Next to him sits an empty plastic Pepsi bottle and a crumpled brown lunch sack.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
He smiles slightly. “Hiding from Amber. She won’t come out here. Too cold.”
I cram my own freezing hands into the pouch of my sweatshirt. “You weren’t doing too much hiding this morning in front of the library.”
He flushes, staring out at the wintry stretch of field. “You saw that?”
“I’m surprised Yard Duty doesn’t start charging you by the hour.”
He takes his hands from his pockets and runs them through his hair. “I’m sorry about that.” He looks sideways at me, but I won’t catch his eye. I stare at the cement floor of the stadium, the gray amoebas of smashed gum, the faded illegible graffiti. He says, “I guess we’re sort of together now.”
“I guess you
“They’ve been on and off since seventh grade.” I notice the soft edge in Drew’s voice. “But it’s really more her than him. I give that chick kudos for perseverance.”
“He didn’t look too unhappy,” I say, still studying the ground.
“A guy only has so much willpower, Calle. She throws herself at him. You can’t blame him.”
At this, I look at him. “Can’t I?”
Drew flushes. “I just mean…Look, he isn’t the type of guy to tell her no.”
“Well, that’s just great. It is.” The unfairness of it courses through me, and I fight at the tears coming. “She gets to be with him because she’s pushy? And skinny. And perfect.” The tears begin to gain ground, and I’m in no position to stop them.
Drew frowns. “I wouldn’t say perfect. Skinny, yes. Perfect? Calle, this is Amber. This is the girl who, in eighth grade, managed to get her hair stuck in her own locker and then forget the combination. But rather than have anyone cut her hair — just at the end — she waited four hours for someone to come cut the lock off. Four hours. She’s pretty damn focused. She’s always been insane about Sam Atkins. If anything, admire her stamina. He’s the dumbass who can’t tell her no.”
I take a shaky breath. “She should give seminars. How to harass someone into being with you.”
Quietly, Drew says, “Maybe Eli should take it.”
The words sting, but they stop the tears. “What’s your point, Drew? I should be with Eli even if I don’t feel that way about him?” The bell rings for class, and students start to file into the small alleyway between the buildings where we are standing.
“No. It makes more sense than you and Sam Atkins, but no.” He stops. He’s clearly already said more than he meant to, and now we have an audience. Drew, unlike many of the other actors, only likes an audience when he’s in control. “I have to get to class or I’ll be late. Don’t forget we have lunch rehearsal today.”
“Right.” I wipe at my wet eyes. “You’re real worried about tardiness.”
He digs his hands into the front pocket of his Billabong sweatshirt and turns to go. The sweatshirt says “BONG” in big orange letters. For sure, his first-period teacher will make him turn it inside out. Funny, Drew’s always willing to push confrontation about things that don’t really matter.
***
At lunch, I don’t go to rehearsal; instead, I walk out behind the gym to the empty, cold football field. My mind is full. Sam. Eli. My fight with Drew. My father in jail. My mother’s lies.
The stadium hibernates, a massive sleeping bear. I walk one whole loop around the track before I notice the lone figure crammed into the lower corner of the bleachers. On the visitors’ side.
Sam.
He nods when he sees me see him and gives a small wave. I hesitate, then decide to join him.
“Hey.” His hands are crammed into the pockets of his grandfather’s letterman jacket. Next to him sits an empty plastic Pepsi bottle and a crumpled brown lunch sack.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
He smiles slightly. “Hiding from Amber. She won’t come out here. Too cold.”
I cram my own freezing hands into the pouch of my sweatshirt. “You weren’t doing too much hiding this morning in front of the library.”
He flushes, staring out at the wintry stretch of field. “You saw that?”
“I’m surprised Yard Duty doesn’t start charging you by the hour.”
He takes his hands from his pockets and runs them through his hair. “I’m sorry about that.” He looks sideways at me, but I won’t catch his eye. I stare at the cement floor of the stadium, the gray amoebas of smashed gum, the faded illegible graffiti. He says, “I guess we’re sort of together now.”
“I guess you
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