Cameo (5 page)

“The hourglass means it's still working. We'll come back,” Jason said. He led me away from the computer, through the dining room into the kitchen. My eyes were glued to the floor as I pondered,
Why me?

My mother had left the cobbler on the counter. I guess she figured we'd make our way into the kitchen at some point. I cut us two pieces in silence.

“You cook often?” Jason asked.

“I don't know. Maybe. Here and there.”

Jason took his first bite of the cobbler. “You made this from scratch?”

“Yeah.”

“You could be a chef,” he said.

I laughed.

“Not a chef, then. What are you going to study in college?” he asked.

“I don't know yet. I'm undecided”

“Word? I thought you had it all figured out.”

“What about you?”

“I'm studying law.”

“Really? You? A lawyer?”

“Well, I'm going to be a political science major anyway, and I'll see. Four years is a long time.”

“That's true. I don't know. I always imagined that I would be a writer someday. I want to write a detective series about an undercover sleuth. I love mysteries,” I said.

“You could study literature,” Jason said.

“I know, but I like so many things. I really like science. I might want to be a biochemist. And I could write in my spare time,” I said.

“I still think you should be a chef. This pie is off the chain,” Jason said.

“So I told you something about me, what about you? What do you like to do?”

“I cook a little. … Nah, I can't even boil water. I kayak. Have you ever been kayaking?”

“Kayaking? No.”

“In the summer, I go with my father and my little brother.”

“You have a little brother?”

“Yup. He's six. He loves boats. If you bring some pie with you, I could maybe show you how to kayak one day,” Jason said.

“Maybe one day I might go. Is the pie my admission fee?” I asked.

“Yup. Something like that.” Guys were always making promises they didn't intend to keep. “I'm going to…”

“Okay,” I abruptly cut him off. I needed to end that conversation about our future. What future? I walked to the living room. He followed. I snapped up his backpack. He got on my computer and opened the file we had just been working on. I thought he was leaving.

“Here's the stuff we worked on. See? It's all good,” he said.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Emailing it to myself,” he said. “I'll work on it at home tonight.”

“Well … I'll do some work tonight too.”

“Okay. I'll hit you up on email then,” he said.

“Definitely hit me up,” I said. I followed him to the door.

“Um … all right then,” he said as he grasped the strings on his mountain backpack. Guys thought that was fashionable. An $80 backpack meant for hiking in the mountains can carry two books at most.

“Okay,” I said.

“Good evening,” he said.

“So formal.” I laughed.

He cleared his throat. Could it be? Did I make him nervous? I stepped out onto the porch. We stood there face to face.

“Good evening,” I mocked him.

He looked away from me, embarrassed.

“What's with the extra storage?” I tugged at his backpack.

“You never know when you're going to snap someone up in your passenger seat and need to carry an extra book or two in your backpack,” he said.

I pretended the meaning of that had totally eluded me. I found myself wanting to kiss him on the cheek. Damn it! I hated that I was so susceptible to a cute smile and compliments on my cobbler. He seemed so available. Yet I knew better. Guys like him always had girlfriends. Not that I cared so much, it wasn't my place—I wasn't in the market for a date.

Too soon had I forgotten how he had kissed me and never called. He slowly walked down the porch steps backwards. I just watched him. The more I said, the more he would think I liked him. I had to nip this in the bud. He made it down the steps and all the way to the curb, successfully keeping one eye on me the whole time. I had to give it to him, he was definitely smooth. He waved at me before I watched him walk to his car and pull off. His smile was kind. It almost made him seem trustworthy. Part of me thought he would be the kind of boyfriend who would stop at nothing to please me. But I wouldn't let him get me all loopy. I couldn't let him change me. How could that thought even cross my mind? Kayaking? What reasonable teenager went kayaking?

I had promised myself not to think of him the rest of the night. Just when I thought the last four weeks of school were going to be a breeze, the plot was beginning to thicken.

By now, I had hoped to chalk up that farmer giggle thing to my imagination. There were more pressing things on my mind. Right? Wrong! Buried in my deepest fears was that it wasn't something that I had imagined. But I kept those fears socked away in my subconscious right along with the fear that I would end up a jobless loser after high school, unable to complete college for no apparent reason. Upon recalling such a scary thought, I decided to get myself a bowl of ice cream and go to bed early.

Thank goodness for the bell. Our electronic school bells were, like, the best inventions since sliced bread. They were always on time. First period was about to start in five minutes. Cindy and I walked down the nosebleed section of lockers where all the misfits, ex-jocks, wannabe cheerleaders, punk rockers, and the socially anxious hid from the rest of the school. Personally, I think lockers should be assigned rather than chosen so we could all learn to get along and appreciate each others' differences. But the idea of an over-talkative, Red Bull–addicted, burnt-out cheerleader accosting me every time I needed to go to my locker did sort of weird me out.

“I so need to clean out my locker,” Cindy said. She dumped her books at the top of the locker. She had two pairs of shoes, three pairs of jeans, a minimal number of books, and a cosmetics bag the size of a small suitcase stuffed into her locker.

“Okay, don't think I'm weird,” I said.

“Too late for that.”

“Well …” I paused to think about the psychological ramifications of revealing that I might have imagined the whole thing. “I think I saw someone run past my bedroom and snicker the other night.”

Let's just say Cindy couldn't contain herself. You would've thought she'd invented uproarious laughter there in that moment. That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for.

“Okay. Change the subject. How's Roger working out?”

Though I knew Cindy wanted to know more about the phantom snicker, I also knew she could never pass up an opportunity to rant about how she had yet again been wronged by Mr. Sui. Cindy's face quickly turned from a smile to a serious grimace. Such a choice left me wanting more than ever to
hash this thing out. I woke up this morning with the snicker on my mind. I needed to talk about this with someone.

“I just want you to know I have made major sacrifices for the benefit of my college career! I had to give that wheelie-carrying nerd my phone number. He text messages me once every hour.”

“Uh, maybe he's working really hard on the project.”

“Cut the crap. Save it for your presentation,” Cindy said.

I did feel a little sorry for him. The glamourati of our school were far more screwed up than he was. “He's not that bad. He has a genuine smile. You can't fake a genuine smile,” I said.

“If I was thirty and desperate, maybe that line would work. As of now, I'm unconvinced,” Cindy said.

“Thirty is my scary age too!” I said.

“We met in study hall this morning, before second period, and he sat so close to me I could feel his breath on my cheek. By the way, it reeked of broccoli! Who eats broccoli for breakfast?” Cindy said.

“He does have braces,” I said.

Cindy let out a long sigh. “That is so gross,” she said.

“Think happy thoughts! Think of Peter,” I said.

I caught Michelle eyeing us. She walked by with her two sidekicks. “Did you see the new charm bracelet Craig gave me? One for each day we kissed before we were official,” Michelle yelled across the hallway.

Michelle was this girl I had never even noticed before Craig. Even when we dated, I never talked to her. I might've seen her around once or twice. It's like she fell out of the sky onto the scene.

“Oh. Wow. This is so great,” Lucy said in her whiny voice. It was like listening to nails scratch a chalkboard. Michelle pushed Lucy into me.

“Excuse you,” I said.

“Does anybody hear the sound of ex-football trash?” Lucy asked Michelle and Michellette, an unidentifiable Michelle mini-me whose sole purpose in life was to laugh at Michelle's jokes. To think that in the rank of airheads there could be someone lower on the scale than Lucy.

“They should only be so blessed we've even passed by the loser row of lockers,” Michelle said. “Bitch,” she whispered when she walked pass me. I had had enough. I definitely wasn't the “b” in this situation.

I stopped Michelle right in her tracks. Face to face, she wasn't all that. Not even close. I hated her full set of fake lashes, full face powder foundation, and overdone eye shadow and blush. No one who was really pretty needed all that makeup. “I didn't catch that.”

“Oh, do you mean the bitch part? Funny that you didn't get it. It was aimed at you,” Michelle said as she dangled her finger in my face. In my mind, I had grabbed her arm and guided her hand to cover her mouth. She needed to shut her trap! But instead I just rolled my eyes.

“Why don't you just shut up!” I said. Surprisingly she did.

“That's much better,” Cindy said.

“You may think twice about name calling. You see, while you've been brainstorming on names to call me, your boyfriend has been calling me every night for the past … I'd say, week!” I yelled.

Every rumor-disseminating girl stopped in her tracks and pulled out her cell phone immediately. “Oh! She blew up your man's spot!” Cindy said.

“You may have a couple of uncomfortable stares coming your way. Enjoy lunch,” I said to Michelle. I brushed past that witch. She laughed strangely under her breath. She was sort of creepy in a way you just couldn't put your finger on. Craig walked up behind Michelle and put his hand around her waist. “Hey, baby girl,” he said. His voice was so deep it gave me chills. And then there was that hint of scratchiness in it. I had to catch myself. Craig was all about the show. The type of guy who walked down the hall with his laptop open playing music and bopping his head in the crowded hallway rather than using his MP3 player to play music discreetly.

“Hi, baby boy,” Michelle said slowly as if she hoped I could hear. I wouldn't have even been privy to their cuddling escapade if I hadn't had to look for Cindy. I thought she was right behind me.

“You need to control your chick,” Cindy said to Craig. Then she whispered in his ear, “And stop calling Nia. It's a really bad look.”

“Cindy, come on,” I said.

The longer I had to look at him, the more disgusted I became. What made him think he had a right to constantly request my attention by constantly calling me? I hoped he was painfully sorry. I hoped that his heart felt like something had rotted to the core. He was so wack! What irked me more than him calling me was that he sure didn't look sorry.

Michelle growled at Cindy

“Take her to the ASPCA. She needs to be put down for the betterment of mankind,” Cindy said to Craig.

“Was Craig wearing a black turtleneck?” I asked.

Cindy looked worried. “Yeah. He's worn that, like, I don't know how many times,” she said.

“I try to block all memories of him. I never directly look at him for fear I might turn to stone. Have you ever seen him in overalls?” I asked.

“Overalls? No. Why?” she asked.

Just when I was about to cautiously answer, there was that trusty bell again.

“Nia!” Jason called out.

I turned around, and he was sprinting toward me.

“You're so good with the athletes. Tell him to hook me up with one of his friends … if you come up for air,” Cindy said.

“Please, I'm heading to lunch,” I said.

“You know that's your boo,” Cindy said as she glanced at her watch. “I can't be late for Spanish. My parents are all over me about learning to speak Spanish. It's good for a job, they say. Whatever. If I didn't sit next to that gorgeous guy from the school paper, forget about it. That class would be about as exciting as …” Cindy said. She was at a loss for words.

“… As watching paint dry. I know. I took that class last semester,” I said.

“Hey. What up?” Jason said.

“Nothing is going to stand between me and the hot editor boy. Holla …” Cindy's voice trailed down the hall. She left me to deal with the track star. I walked away from him. He followed.

“Did you get the work I emailed you last night?” he asked.

I pulled his email up on my cell phone. Then I showed it to him.

Carolina rammed her big hips in the crawl space between us. I turned right back around and marched to the girl's bathroom at the end of the hall. Carolina was kind of warped. She and Jason might make a good couple. She was the type of girl who considered the words “I want to marry you one day” uttered by a guy in a heated moment as a bona fide proposal. A teenage boy changes his mind as often as he changes his kicks. Talk about weird. What kind of girl, in the age of touch-pad mobile phones, Internet television, and supersize this or kiddie size that, still believed she would get
married at 19 and stay married forever? She thought that by hanging around a guy long enough he'd just give in and confess his secret passion for her. I wished someone would bring her into the 21st century and tell her she resembles more of a groupie than anything. Of course, had she not spilled her guts to the entire locker room during gym two semesters ago I wouldn't know this stuff.