“Okay.”
We pick up the pace, and in a quarter mile, I feel like I’m going to fall apart. Literally. My arms will drop off first, then my legs, then as my body hits the ground, my head will snap off and roll away. Jamie, who is loping easily alongside me, says, “Keep going. We’ll take it down a notch, but keep going.” I’m panting. I’m so desperate for rest, I think I might cry. I glance at her. Please, let me stop. “You can do it,” she insists. “Control your breathing.” I try. “You look like you’re about to cry. Relax your face.” Well, I am about to cry. But I fix my face, and oddly, I feel a teeny, tiny bit better. “Come on, you can do it.”
And finally, I do. I drag myself into the parking lot thinking, I never want to do that again. But Jamie pats me on the back and says, “Way to tough it out, Sana. I’m impressed.” I’m bent over double, hands on my knees, gasping, but I feel a tiny fizz of energy inside because Jamie is impressed. And frankly, so am I.
I raise my head to look at her. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
“Yeah, I kinda did, too.” She grins at me. “But you’re tough. You’ll get used to it.”
“‘You’ll get used to it?’ Not, ‘It gets easier’?”
“No, it does get easier. But it also gets harder—you know, like school. The better you get, the harder you have to work. Coach always says you gotta have something special to run cross-country.”
“A death wish?”
Jamie laughs and gives me a push. Yes. She thinks I’m funny.
“I like you,” she says. “C’mon, let’s get a drink.” She leads me to the water station, and we’re smiling at each other as we walk. “So what classes are you in?”
“Uh . . . trig, Spanish Three, Honors American Lit, Honors American History, physics, psychology.” The same list sounded normal when I told Reggie, Elaine, and Hanh, but now it suddenly sounds like I’m showing off about how smart I am, and I wish I hadn’t rattled it off so quickly.
But Jamie says, “Yeah, me too! How come we’re not in anything together? Who do you have for trig?”
“Green.” And now I’m embarrassed that I assumed she wasn’t in any classes with me. Should I say something?
But Jamie just keeps going. “Lucky. I have The Bird. She’s like, epically bad. And she’s a bitch.” Ohhkay, that seems a little harsh. I’m probably a prude, but it just seems wrong to use swear words about teachers. Though I’ve actually already heard of Mrs. Byrd, and she does seem to be a bit of a legend in the—in that category. Jamie launches into a long list of The Bird’s many and varied punishments for crimes real and imagined—mostly tardies, talking, and late homework. “Everyone’s terrified of her,” says Jamie. It’s hard for me to imagine Jamie being terrified of anyone.
Coach calls everyone back, and I don’t get another chance to talk to Jamie for the rest of practice. Oh well. Hopefully I’ll get a chance tomorrow.
On the way home, I indulge in a little fantasy about being best friends with Jamie. We’re in all the same classes, basically, so she could come over after school and we could do our homework together. And then I’d say, “Wanna stay over?” and she’d say, “Sure,” and we’d curl up under a blanket together and share a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and eat popcorn and watch movies together, and she could sleep in my bed, and we’d stay up all night talking. It wouldn’t be like with Trish. Jamie’s much nicer, I can tell. So if I ever felt like, say . . . oh, I don’t know . . . kissing her, let’s say, I’d feel totally comfortable telling her. And I bet she’d probably be open to it. Just for fun. Okay, maybe that’s going a little too far.
Still. Cross-country was definitely the right decision.
10
CALEB, THE GOTH FROM TRIG, CALLED IT THAT first day. I’ve become one of the Asian girls. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice—they kind of snapped me right up—but it’s fine. So we’re all Asian. Who cares?
I’ve noticed that a lot of kids at school tend to hang out with kids with the same ethnic background: the Filipino kids all seem to know each other, groups of turbaned Sikh boys hang out in pods, and the Samoan kids have a couple of lunch tables all to themselves.
I see Jamie during lunch every day, but she’s all the way across the quad. I wish I could walk up and say hi to her, but her friends make me nervous. For one thing, they don’t seem very welcoming. Christina is . . . mean. JJ, one of the guys, is in psychology with me, and he just sits there all through class with his arms folded and his legs stretched out in front of him, and he never knows any answers. I bet they’d think I’m a sheltered little Asian nerd. Technically they’re not wrong, but I’m not eager to go over and test that theory.
Next week is a special week where the whole school will be participating in some kind of anti-drug campaign. Greg Nakamura, the student body president, got on the P.A. during first period and read a short anti-drug blurb and a long list of all the Special Activities meant to remind us that it’s fun not to do drugs.
In addition to the activities, we’re supposed to come dressed according to a different theme each day: Mexican on Macarena Monday (Dance Away Drugs!), boots on Tuesday (Give Drugs the Boot!), etc. Student government representatives will go around during first period and count the number of people in each classroom who are dressed for the theme. The classroom with the most thematically dressed people in one week wins a pizza party. Groans from everyone, everywhere.
Well, almost everyone. The cheerleaders, Stacy and Rochelle, are pleading, “Come on, you guys! It’ll be fun!” Andy Chin, in his role as junior class president, is going, “Show some spirit! Help fight drugs! Come on, we could win a pizza party!”
Caleb says, loudly enough for Andy to hear, “Don’t do drugs. Because pizza.”
Andy just grins and shrugs.
Caleb leans over and whispers, “He’s such a hypocrite. He gets high every weekend.”
I’ve heard that Andy is kind of a party animal, but really? I have a hard time believing it after all the confirmation I’ve had about other Asian parents being as strict as—or stricter than—mine.
“How do you know?”
“We have the same . . . source. If you know what I mean.”
My mouth drops open. Nice. Way to reveal what a nerd I am.
“What? It’s not a big deal.”
“I know it’s not a big deal,” I say defensively.
Caleb mimics me in a prim falsetto, “I know it’s not a big deal.”
Mr. Green is at the front of the room saying, “Time to talk about cosines,” which gives me a good excuse to turn around and ignore Caleb.
When class ends, Caleb continues our conversation. “C’mon, don’t get all shocked on me,” he says. And then, jerking his chin at Andy, “All the cool kids do it.”