Freshman Year (15 page)

Garrett doesn't get a chance to answer because
Señora
Cabrera starts class, already glaring in our direction. Twenty minutes pass, and I figure Garrett's forgotten about the plan, but then a note gets dumped on my desk like a giant piece of doggie doo. The delivery is so obvious to everyone, especially
Señora
Cabrera, who scoops it up before I have a chance to react.

“Well, well, well.”
Señora
Cabrera unfolds the note. “Let's just see what you two have to say that is so important.”

“No,
Señora
Cabrera!
Por favor,
no lo lea
. We promise never to pass notes again,” Garrett begs, in an obviously overdramatic way, but
Señora
Cabrera doesn't catch on.

I sink as low as I can in my seat. What if the note says something about Keeta? If it does, I will drop out of school and become a cave dweller.

I peek up at
Señora
Cabrera and it appears that the look of irritation has left her face now that she's halfway through reading the letter to herself. She looks down at me, then at Garrett, and smiles slightly. “I'll see you two after class,”
Señora
Cabrera says and actually gives the note back to me. And that's when I know I've been right all along about Garrett. She
is
good at everything.

After class,
Señora
Cabrera explains that she also lost her dad at a young age, and she totally understands why I'm so sad around the anniversary of my dad's passing (which is not anywhere near today), and I'm lucky to have such a good friend who would give up so much of her time to help me through this “dark period.” Then she gives us both an extension on our late homework. She even says she'll talk to Mr. Hughes, my social studies teacher, about the overdue project I've only halfway finished.

I wait until we're all the way down the hall before slapping Garrett's arm. “Oh my God, G, where do you come up with this stuff? You're freakin' crazy.”

“What can I say? My mom taught me well,” she brags. “Plus, my girl Tai listens in on every conversation she can while doing her duty as a student aide in the office. She could be CIA by the time she graduates, I swear. She's the one who gave me the scoop on
Señora
Cabrera and the scoop on you.”

“Wow, you two are a good team in a scary sort of way. I guess I better watch my back around you and Tai, huh?”

“Yes, it's true. My power knows no bounds!” Then she throws her head back and laughs insanely, “Muahahahaha!”

Her laugh makes me laugh, too, which helps me get rid of the guilt growing in my gut. This is the first time I've ever used (or let someone else use) my dad's accident to get away with something, but what Garrett said in that letter worked. Now, all we have to do is make up our homework and we're golden again. It was definitely worth it because now, instead of worry, I feel something unfamiliar: happiness. And it's all because of Garrett. She makes me feel like, I don't know, like a regular teenager, not an unsure freshman or someone who has something to hide.

But as soon as we see Stef leaning against my locker, her eyes bloodshot from crying, all fun comes to an abrupt stop.

“Dude,” Garrett says and links Stef's arm in hers, “it looks like we need an emergency girl-talk session in the bathroom.”

After finally getting a sufficient amount of toilet paper from the one-square-at-a-time dispensers, Stef blows her nose and tells us what's wrong. “I'm moving,” she says and then starts to cry again.

Good thing Garrett is there to be concerned and upset because I'm too busy choking on a bit of relief and earning points in the Crappiest Friend of the Year contest that I am apparently participating in.

“My stupid mom accepted a job transfer and we're moving to Phoenix. She said it wasn't because of anything related to me being, whatever, in love with a freaking girl, but come on. We all know what a bunch of bull that is.”

“Damn,” Garrett says. “Well, at least it's only like an hour and a half away.”

“Then, of course, we had a big stupid fight last night, so I snuck out to Keeta's and my mom came over there at like two in the morning to get me, and Keeta was so ticked off she started yelling at my mom. I thought she was going to punch a hole in the wall, but then Keeta's grandma came out and calmed everyone down. I was so embarrassed. I hate my mom so much.” At this point, Stef kicks the metal trash can, which slides across the dirty linoleum and slams into the wall. “I'm so pissed! This whole thing is stupid!”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Garrett says.

Then it's quiet and I know it's my turn to say something, anything, so I say, “I can't believe your mom would do that.”

Garrett glances over at me, and I sense she's using her powers to see through my friendly façade. Then the bell rings and saves my pathetic self. “Shoot, I have to go you guys. I can't be late again.” I pick up my bag and move toward the door.

“Dude, Abs, where's the fire?” Garrett asks coolly.

“You guys might not care about getting detention, but my mom will totally…” Then I realize I don't know what she'll do. I haven't actually ever really gotten in trouble at school before. “Anyway, she'll lose her mind.”

“What class do you have next?” Garrett asks.

“English with Mr. Davison,” I say quickly and peek out the bathroom door. The halls are clear, and in a matter of seconds, the supervisors are going to be sucking up meandering slackers like a Hoover vacuum and writing them up.

“Relax, Abbey,” Garrett says. Then she takes a small pad of paper out of her backpack and starts to fill in the blanks.

I lean in for a closer look and see it's an official school hall pass. “How did you get ahold of those?” I'm definitely in awe and, if I had room in my manic head for it, I swear I could start to crush on her, too.

“Oh, I've got my connections.”

Stef laughs. “Yeah, like she's sleeping with the fifth-period office aide.”

“Man, you are so lucky,” I say and make a mental note to look into becoming an office aide next year.

Garrett smirks and signs the pass. “I know you're both jealous, but she's mine.”

“See, Abbey? Being a dyke has its advantages,” Stef says while putting on makeup to try to disguise her tear-streaked face. “Too bad you'll never know the joys of dating girls. Just think, you could be me right now.”

The thought has crossed my mind. What if I told my mom I was gay, or whatever…that I thought I liked a girl? Would she kick me out? Would she send me off to get electroshock therapy? The worst thing she could do to me, though, is be disappointed. The worst thing she could say would be, “I'm glad your father isn't here to see this.” I'd rather be put out on the street than hear that from her.

Garrett tears off the pass and hands it to me. The signature is totally unrecognizable but looks very grown up. “Thanks, G. See you guys at practice.”

*

Since we have a game on Friday, we'll be spending the next four days running our plays. And since I'm no longer injured, I finally get to be part of the team again.

“Hey, Crutch, welcome back to the court,” Garrett says and the other girls laugh.

Eva high-fives Garrett and says, “Excellent. From this point forward, Abbey will be known as Crutch.” Eva laughs and slaps my butt, which I am still not really used to, but I roll with it.

“Okay, I guess I deserve that one,” I say to her, like I'm bugged by it, but inside I'm actually ecstatic. The only other team nickname I've had was Amelia Earhart, which I got from the Doolen mathlete advisor because my mom and I got lost on my way to the middle school mathlete finals in Scottsdale and missed the whole thing. Now I'm not only Amara, but I'm also Crutch. And I like being these people so much more than just plain Abbey.

Later at practice, after a painfully boring hour of watching my teammates run plays, Coach finally says, “Brooks, you're in for Galvan.”

“Yes, Coach.” I quickly stretch my quads and take my position on the glossy painted floor. We run through the play and, as my virgin sneakers squeak on the court, I imagine the stands full of cheering fans screaming my new name:
Crutch, Crutch, Crutch
. I'd get a behind-the-back pass from Garrett and go in for a layup but then slam dunk it instead, shocking the crowd. There would be postgame interviews in the locker room with Channel 4 and replays of my sweet moves on the ten o'clock news. And of course I'd give my adoring fans waiting outside all the autographs they want.

Back in the real world, though, I end up on the wrong side of the key, which causes me to ram right into Garrett as she's running by trying to set a screen for Stef. Garrett lands hard on her butt and, instead of cheers, all I hear is my pathetic voice apologizing profusely, as I help her up. “I'm so sorry, G.”

She laughs and pats my head. “It's cool, Crutch.”

“Brooks! What the hell are you doing?” Apparently, Coach doesn't think it's at all cool. “Where are you supposed to be right now? Can you at least tell me that?”

I start to speak and point, but before I can make a sound, he blows his whistle. We all head toward the baseline to get ready for another set of suicides, which is a fitting description for the endless running on the court from end line to end line that we're about to do.

I only run half the lines at half pace due to my healing ankle, but we run for so long I'm convinced I'll need new shoes before the end of the day. However cruel and unusual Coach's punishments are, they definitely work because I don't mess up again.

At the end of practice I get another chance to redeem myself when Coach puts me back in during a rundown of our full-court press play. I took meticulous notes on this play and can do it with my eyes closed.

Tori slaps the ball to signal the play, so I set the screen for Eva, fake out Natalie, break through the press, catch the long pass from Tori, and make the layup at the other end. My teammates give me high fives and Coach nods in approval. It feels so amazing, and I can't hide my smile as we set up to run it again.

Then I see Kate standing in the locker room doorway. She's grinning and clapping quietly like a golf fan. I know she's teasing me, so I curtsy and blow a kiss in her direction, which is a little risky considering the latest rumors, but I'm too happy to worry. She's my best friend again, and I know I have to make sure I tell her the truth. Or at least make sure she never finds it out from anyone else.

*

“Listen up people,” Mr. Zamora says at the start of bio. “So far, only three of you have turned in your project. Now, I don't know what you're doing with yourselves after school, but you might want to consider…”

And that's right about where I lose interest. I used to be one of the students who did the homework, but now I'm the one ignoring the lecture that's supposed to inspire me or scare me into doing my work. I should probably feel like a loser, or at least a little ashamed, but I'm feeling…I don't know, okay about my life. Like, it's finally on the right track. I love being a part of the basketball team, Kate and I are friends, I'm successfully avoiding serious contact with Keeta, and my mom is too busy finishing a painting for an art show to notice I'm not spending much time on homework.

Then, just as Mr. Zamora concludes his rant and tells us to read silently as a punishment, in walks Tai. Of course, Tai and Keeta are, like, best friends. And I've seen her with Garrett in the hallway but have been too shy to approach them when they're together, so I always avoid them, which seems stupid now that I think about it. Tai's as tall as me, maybe even taller. And, to quote Garrett, Tai's skin is “the color of dark chocolate.” What I notice most about her is the way she walks into a room; like Keeta, Garrett, and Stef, she's got so much confidence.

Tai hands Mr. Zamora the note and I glance down at my book so it won't look like I'm staring, but when I look up again, she's the one staring at me. I hold my breath until she leaves the room, and then I sort of freak out because the last thing I need is for a rumor to go around that I'm after Garrett's girlfriend.

“Abbey, you're needed in the office. Finish your chapter, then come and get your pass.”

“Okay, Mr. Z,” I say.

I shade my eyes with my hand and to try to focus on the small textbook print, but now I'm too nervous to concentrate. Since the day of my dad's accident, being called out of class has made me feel sick with anxiety. So instead of reading, I twirl a clump of hair and move my eyes over the words to fake it because it's all stuff my dad taught me before he died. He used to buy old high school science books from the Salvation Army thrift store, and for fun, we'd read through them and then he'd quiz me at dinner. My mom entered us into the father-daughter Jeopardy tournament, but we weren't selected because I was too young. I bet we could have wiped out the competition and taken home thousands.

When I think an appropriate amount of time has passed, I pack up and get my pass from Mr. Zamora. It says to report to Ms. Morvay's office “at the teacher's convenience,” which makes me feel a little relieved.

This time there's no line, so I walk right up to Ms. Morvay's door and knock.

“Come on in, Abbey,” she says.

I enter and close the door behind me. “Hey,” I say and do my usual hair-twirling, spastic-leg-shaking thing right after I take the seat in front of her desk. “What's up?”

She does her leaning-back-in-her-black-leather-chair-while-drinking-coffee-and-looking-at-me-thoughtfully thing then says, “Well, I'd like to talk to you about something.”

I feel a little more comfortable with her this time, so I get us right to the point. “Is this about my grades?

“Yes, that's part of it,” she says.

“Okay, I'm totally going to fix everything. In fact, I've already talked to
Señora
Cabrera and Mr. Hughes and they gave me due-date extensions on my late work.”