sure the stinking algebra test is going to get the best of me.
Then again, you never know.
Dad jumps in the car, starts
it, and as the engine idles
to “warm,” I remind him,
“Zelda’s making me dinner.”
Obviously, he’s forgotten,
if he ever really knew. What?
She didn’t invite me, did she?
“Um, I wouldn’t know, Dad.”
Definitely in need of a keeper.
“But I’m going over after practice.
She wants me to meet her nephew.”
Oh yeah. I remember now.
He turns, gives me a long, hard assessment. That’s not what you’re planning to wear, is it?
I glance down at myself,
unsure of what his concern
might be. “What’s wrong with
what I’m wearing? It’s clean.”
Is that supposed to be a joke?
Why is he so pissed? “No, Dad.
I just don’t understand why
my outfit bothers you.”
It’s a little too provocative.
Jeans and a peasant blouse?
Everything’s covered, though
the blouse is a gauzy material.
I could argue, but maybe he’s right.
“One sec.” I run into the house, change into a long-sleeved
T-shirt, hoping we won’t be late.
That’s better, Dad says when I get back. Never forget . . . He winks at me. All guys only want one thing.
Not Exactly a Problem
But it could be if I protest too much.
So I nod and wink back. “I’ll remember,
Dad. But don’t worry. Zelda will supervise.”
Engine suitably tepid, he puts the car
in gear, backs out onto the main road.
Guns it. You’ll need a ride home, though.
“Not sure. Maybe Zelda will bring me,
or maybe Gabe has a car. First day,
he probably won’t go for that one thing.”
Yeah, well, if he does—if any dude ever does—you tell me, hear? I’ll take care of it so it never happens again, that’s for sure.
If I ever experience something like that, I think I’ll deal with it and keep it to myself.
I have to admit I’m pretty naive about sex.
Other than a few leering comments, guys
haven’t exactly lined up to take interest in me. I’ve never even been to first base, let alone circled the field. Not with a boy.
Not with a girl. I’ve come closer with Monica than I should have, because I know as soon as I fall in love, Dad’ll find a reason to move.
Moving away from “home” would be bad.
Moving away from love would be devastating.
School Isn’t So Bad Today
Even algebra goes smoothly.
I know the test answers, or at least think I do. Pretty sure I’ll pass anyway. History
is interesting for a change, and psychology is fascinating.
I took psych as an elective.
Syrah says I’m dumb, that art would be easier, and I guess she’s right. But dissecting the human mind is something I might choose as a career path.
God knows, just checking out the people in the halls, mental health issues are everywhere.
Substance abuse. Eating disorders.
Depression. Thoughts of suicide.
It’s a bottomless bowl of nuts.
Okay, I know a health-care
professional wouldn’t use
the term “nuts,” but right now, picturing Hillary as a pecan makes me smile. Usually when I see her I want to run for cover.
Hillary Grantham
Is one of those girls
everyone pretends to like,
though actually liking her
would be extremely hard.
Hillary’s parents own a huge ranch. Thoroughbred horses
and black Angus cattle dot
the rolling hillsides, requiring the oversight of a decent-size crew of laborers. Local kids sometimes get jobs out there, mucking stalls and tossing hay.
Hillary would never stoop so low, despite her love of all things equine. The girl defines arrogance, which isn’t totally her fault.
Not only is she privileged, but she also happens to be smart, talented, and a decent athlete.
The all-around rich American girl.
I’m not nearly as intelligent, have no real talents to speak of.
The only place I’ve got her beat is on the basketball court.
Today, However
She holds her own in practice,
which makes me work that much
harder, not that I have one damn thing to prove, except to myself.
Coach loves me just as I am,
and so do my teammates (especially one of them, who I’m dangerously close to loving back). And honestly, even Hillary treats me with respect on the court, though she ignores me anywhere else, other than to maybe nod slightly, the way she might reward the hired help. Regardless, we play together on a team, and our shared goals matter there. Guess you don’t have to like someone to appreciate their ability. I do admire Hillary’s.
But I have to admit I’m glad mine is at least marginally better. If that makes me immature, sticks and stones.
After Practice
I take the time to shower off the sweat and wash my hair. Sometimes I’ll wait until I get home to clean up, knowing Syrah smells just as bad as I do, but I don’t think Zelda would appreciate me showing up scented like effort.
Or Gabe, either, not that I care
what he thinks. I’m not dressing to impress some random guy, though
it’s only polite to show up clean.