I wish they’d listen to him; it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Basically, my thing is this—and it started freshman year—I had a pack of pink Post-it notes with me on the first day of school because I was so scared I’d forget something important. Before I started at the junior high here, it had been years since I attended a normal school, and I felt pretty sure that junior high wasn’t the same as high school. So yeah, reminders. Inside my locker. On my notebooks. Everywhere.
There’s this girl, Becky, who has great hair, bouncy and red, but she’s … big. Not like me, with a small chest and a big butt, but all over large. So that day, first day of freshman gym, they didn’t have shorts or a tee that would fit her. So she’s sitting in the bleachers in her school clothes, red-faced, shiny-eyed, fighting tears while she hears people saying stuff like “orca” and “lard-ass” as we run laps. I can tell by watching her that she’s about to cry, which will just make her humiliation complete. But the bell rings before she breaks, and we go back to the locker room. The other girls treat her like she’s invisible, and I see her register that this is how high school is going to be; her place in the social strata is already cemented from one bad day. And I couldn’t change that. So I don’t know why I did it—just an inexplicable impulse—but later that afternoon, I wrote You have amazing hair on a pink Post-it and stuck it on her locker, where everyone could see it.
I waited for her to read it, and after she did, Becky looked around to see if somebody was punking her. So I made eye contact to be sure she knew I meant it, smiled, and gave her a thumbs-up. Maybe it was stupid; maybe it didn’t help at all, but from the way she lit up, I feel like it did. She gave me two thumbs back, and we went our separate ways.
However, I liked the feeling. I enjoyed cheering her up. High school is hell and I’m trundling around passing out ice water. Maybe it doesn’t end the torment but if the nice balances out some of the crap, then I feel like it was worth my while. So that’s how Post-its became my thing. Hence the nickname.
I do this daily, scope for somebody having an awful day, and look for a bright side. Sometimes it’s lame, but at least I’m trying. Aunt Gabby says if you put positivity out into the world, it will come back to you tenfold. I don’t know if that’s true, but I want it to be. I’m trying so hard to build up good karma, like when you can’t see how furiously a duck is paddling beneath the placid surface of a pond.
Aunt Gabby is actually my half aunt because she was my dad’s half sister. Apparently she and Dad weren’t raised together; they have the same father, and he was the kind of guy who thought it was awesome to impregnate multiple women and then wander off. I don’t remember my grandma. She passed on when my dad was young … and he died when I was seven. That doesn’t bode well for my potential lifespan, I suppose. But bad ends run in my blood, not genetic disorders or congenital health problems. So whatever goes wrong, at least it’ll be quick.
“Sage!” My best friend, Ryan, wanders out of Mrs. David’s classroom, falling into step. “You going to Green World tonight?”
That’s our eco-awareness group. Supposedly, we’ll come up with ways to save the planet, brainstorm green technologies, and sponsor community cleanup projects. So far, one month into the school year, we’ve only managed to order pizza and screw around.
“Yeah. I hope we actually do something soon.”
“Ditto that. I signed up to pad my college apps, but this failure to launch is becoming problematic.”
“You sound like you already work for NASA,” I say.
“I try.”