My Senior Year of Awesome (17 page)

I arrive at school later than usual, but Jana must have decided to dump me like a burning radish when I didn’t show up on time, because she’s nowhere in sight. I consider shuffling by Ben’s locker, but ultimately just suck it up and rely on myself.

Seconds before the bell, Jana rushes into homeroom, looking very un-Jana like with disheveled hair and smeared lipstick. She pulls out her compact and finger-combs her hair through announcements.

We catch up on our way to first period. “You never told me about kissing Ben in front of the school sign yesterday. What happened?”

Jana lifts a shoulder. “We ran into Andy on the way to the sign, and Ben suggested we hide out in his minivan for a few minutes. He did kiss me, though.”

“Yeah, that much I could tell. The dopey looks and hand holding gave it away.”

“Was it that obvious?” she asks, breaking into a happy grin. “We were circling back to the sign when we saw you.”

“So, shy Ben actually made a move, huh?”

“Did he ever.” Jana laughs. “I nearly passed out when he did. Oh, and by the way, he asked me to go to the movies with him this weekend.”

“Can you double with Dominic and get a ride in his car? Because I’ve been killing myself for this list, Jana, and you promised to take care of that one.”

“Hey—I’m killing myself too. I’m half the plant, remember? I cut homeroom, too.”

“I sat through detention! I kissed two guys! And one guy was totally gross, and the other one …” Jana’s eyes widen and she claps her hand to her mouth, masking the bottom half of her terrified expression. “Is right behind me, isn’t he?”

A shadow falls over us as Andy approaches, his tall form blocking the glare from the overhead lights in the hallway.

“Am I the gross one or the one you will be insulting at a later date?” he asks as he lopes by without breaking his pace. I guess he isn’t all that interested in my response.

***

Thanks to my latest inadvertent insult, I now have fossilized Andy, the huge, inert object taking up space at the lab table next to mine. A.P. Bio class equals supreme awkwardness. And just to make my day more fun, the other slice of my hot guy sandwich quickly senses the tension between Andy and me. Always in search of non-academic entertainment, Dominic decides to occupy himself by loudly reminiscing about our closet hook-up.

The minute I let my guard down, Dom jabs my side with the sharp point of his lead pencil, sending my backside airborne. I pop into the aisle, dropping to the floor to avoid a collision with Andy’s elbow. By the end of class, my nerves are wound up like a rubber band ball, ready to snap. Through it all, the Andy Kosolowski fixture next to me refuses to budge. Even his mess of curls seems plastered to his head, unmoving.

Then, we march down to mathletes practice to continue our three-way, dysfunctional relationship.

For the next two weeks, the awkward routine continues. Dominic usually hangs out in Mrs. McCaffrey’s room for twenty minutes, solves some problems, recites pi to the fiftieth decibel to impress the sophomore and junior girls, and then makes a show stopping exit.

On his way out the door, he likes to drop a bomb about sharing chicks with Andy. Everyone in nerdville, besides Jana and I, interprets Dom’s rudeness as some kind of inside senior guy joke. They laugh at the very thought of Dom and Andy going out with the same girl. But, I’m positive that if I dare glance in the direction of our mathletes captain, I’d see steam blowing out of his red ears.

If Dom’s particularly bored, he tugs my ponytail or winks at me in a bizarre fashion, first one eye twitching, and then the other. On track meet days, Dom skips mathletes altogether. Those are my favorite days. On mathelete competition days, he runs at night, after a long afternoon of algebraic lightning rounds.

Meanwhile, Jana and I juggle mathletes with
Little Shop of Horrors
practice, but drama rarely conflicts with after-school activities. Ms. Cutler holds marathon length run-throughs of the show on Saturdays and Sundays, so during the week, I’m stuck calculating functions and pretending not to notice Andy ignoring me.

At Dom’s special request, I even do my famous Andy countdown when Mrs. McCaffrey hands out the county championship practice sheets. The rest of the team joins in, but nothing distracts Andy from calculus. He doesn’t even crack a smile, just blows through his work and sets down his pencil before we get to one. Everyone bursts into cheers.

The darn
Fill It In
achievement list is the only reason I refuse to bail on mathletes. Well, that, along with the fact that I can’t stomach the thought of Andy chasing me away from something important. Because, for some reason, earning this varsity letter has become the ultimate achievement in my mind. Boring Sadie, who was happy to fly under the high school radar for the last three and half years, now has the potential to win the same award as a mathematical genius like Andrew Kosolowski. The Sadie Matthews whose previous award count totaled one—the nebulous senior superlative award, which is still surrounded by an air of mystery. I bet people think I’m like one of those super athletes later found out to be taking steroids. Everyone must suspect I rigged the
Most Likely to Get Married
votes, but no one can pinpoint exactly how I did it. And, it’s not like I even wanted that award. Who wants to have their future predicted for them? I want the excitement of figuring it out myself.

Plus, I promised Jana to do whatever it takes to make sure we fill in our entire list before graduation. Who would have thought adding and multiplying long columns of numbers would be my only shot for a stupid varsity letter? I sigh heavily and flip through my practice worksheets.

Back in January, I’d never have guessed how much winning a Senior Superlative Award and brainstorming a bunch of lame achievements would royally screw with my life.

Fill It In – April 2nd

Top Ten Ways to Cure Boredom

(When You’re Stuck in the House Resting a Pulled Hamstring)

1. Re-watch every episode of The Vampire Diaries.

2. Write I Heart Andy over and over in the margins of your copybook.

3. Write Mrs. Sadie Kosolowski and then decide no matter how much you love your future husband, there is no way you are taking his name.

4. Word Finds. Lots of them.

5. Catch up on Fill It In because you’ve been too busy to work on your daily lists.

6. Paint your toenails black and then blue and then black again.

7. Practice origami with cheap napkins.

8. Memorize Jana’s lines for Audrey II in case she completely freaks out on opening night.

9. Start thinking about college applications—just thinking, though.

10. Call Andy’s cell phone (listed on the mathletes’ roster) and hang up before he answers. Repeat fifty times.

Two weeks after my hamstring pull, Mom notices my slight but persistent limp. Without bothering to ask my opinion, she books me an after school appointment with Dr. Kosolowski.

“Mom. Please. Not Dr. K.,” I say when she breaks the news to me on my way out the door.

“Why not? Do you want to see a female doctor now that you’re, er, mature?” Her gaze drops to my chest, as if she’s finally realizing I need to go bra shopping. Admittedly, I’m still on the small side, chest-wise, but I’d upgraded from a tank top five years ago. “If you have questions, I can ask for Adelaide, our nurse practitioner.”

Not a medical question
, I think. I just don’t want to discuss his son. Or talk about waffles. Or how great the Super K family is. The memory of the one meal I shared with Andy’s family floats into my mind, and I feel as if an imaginary hand is tugging a shoestring looped around my heart. To avoid Mom’s probing, I stick my head in the closet and root around for my spring jacket.

“Dr. Kosolowski is the best in town,” she says, her voice muffled by the wool coat scratching the side of my face. “Plus, he knows you personally. In fact, last week he mentioned how you stopped by his house for breakfast one day. You’re friends with his son? Andrew?”

Long pause. She’s fishing. Let her sink her hook in someone else, because I am not going there.

“I’m late for school. Three-fifteen, right?” I locate my jacket, wrestle it off the hanger, and breeze out of the apartment.

“Three-fifteen. Have a good day, Sadie.” She calls after me as I shuffle down the stairs, leaning on the railing to ease the pressure on my leg. She sounds heartbroken over my unwillingness to spill details. Since when is breakfast with Andy’s family such big news? I sigh and hoist my back pack higher on my shoulder. Guilt is a powerful tool in Mom’s arsenal.

***

Dr. Kosolowski’s office always smells like extra-strength Lysol and rubbing alcohol. Stepping into the waiting room, I’m greeted by Day-Glo murals of monster-sized children painted on the walls. A mixture of hideous and cheery.

A motion sensor bings, informing Mom of my arrival. She glances up from the stack of files on her desk. Between patients, she works on updating the office’s new computerized medical records system. Have I mentioned that my mother’s computer skills rival her medical expertise? Thankfully, she’s a people person.

“Busy day?” I ask when she slides the glass window open and hands me a sign-in sheet.

“You wouldn’t believe,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Another stomach bug hit the preschool. Dr. Tim is in room three.” In work, she refers to Andy’s dad by his kid-friendly name. He strives to be both approachable and pronounceable for his young patients. Her desk phone rings and Mom slides the glass partition back into place.

I retrace my steps through the waiting room. Right as I reach the door to the examination area, it swings open and something large and solid barrels into me.

“Whoa,” says Andy, backing up to keep from bulldozing over me. If “whoa” counts as a real word, it’s the first time he’s spoken to me in weeks.

“Sorry,” I mutter, then, “Are you sick?” I eye him suspiciously. I can’t risk catching anything contagious right now, especially a no holds barred, up-all-night stomach virus.

“No, I just stopped by to pick up some samples for my brother. His allergies kicked in, and my dad wants to switch his medication. The office is on the way home from school, so …” he trails off and looks away from me, seeming upset over his inability to ignore my existence.

“So you were being a good brother,” I finish.

“Something like that. See you around.” He steps around me, into the waiting room. “Bye, Ms. Matthews,” I hear him call.

Suck up.

“Have a nice day, Andrew. Did you run into my daughter back there?”

“Yes, ma’am. Literally. I hope she feels better soon,” Andy says. Sure he does. Cause it’s no fun torturing weak-limbed, short people.

“Ah, there’s Sadie.” Dr. Kosolowski emerges from a room marked with his name in gold lettering and waves me deeper into the exam area. “Let’s take a look at your leg. Your mother is worried.”

He smiles broadly, as if we’re sharing a secret joke. The memory of Dr. Tim frying up lumpy, fatty bacon in a nifty sweater vest flashes in my mind, and I cover my face with my hand to hide a nervous giggle. We crossed some sort of doctor/patient barrier over brunch. Did watching my participation in a waffle scarf-down change his opinion of me?

He steps into a dark room and I follow. A clicking noise precedes a flood of light. “Hand-activated switches harbor bacteria,” he explains, as I blink at the brightness. “We use a no-touch system. Hop up on the table.”

I attempt a hop, which turns into more of a backward plunk, setting off loads of crinkling paper action on top of the exam station. Dr. Kosowloski tests my reflexes with a mallet. Next, he contorts my knee in a variety of positions. He wraps up the exam by stretching out my leg.

“Hmm,” he says, giving his professional opinion. “Walk for me.” I slide off the table and limp in a small circle.

“Still bothering you, is it?”

“A bit. Not too bad, though.”

“Level two hamstring pulls can take four to six weeks to heal. I believe exercising through pain isn’t the best long-term solution for a young athlete like you. Is it imperative that you return to running this season?”

“Not at all,” I say, doing a silent cheer and not bothering to correct his athlete label. “My non-athletic activities keep me busy.”

“So I hear. Andy says you’re quite an impressive mathlete.”

Okay, that statement came out of left field.

“No one is as impressive as your son. He’s fearsome when it comes to calculus.”

“You must make a great team, then,” Dr. Kosolowski responds, and I wonder if we’re talking solely about math. “Let your competitors focus on the big guy while you sneak up from behind and crush them with your intellect.”

He shadow boxes around the exam room for emphasis. Now, see, Dr. Tim has a sense of humor. What is his son’s problem?

“I’ll suggest your strategy to Mrs. McCaffrey.” I lean away as his right hook nearly connects with my jaw. “Maybe we can take this mathletes thing all the way to states. Nationals.”

“Phenomenal. Just don’t overdo the victory parade on that leg of yours.” And with that piece of friendly medical advice and a scribbled note to Coach Jenkins excusing me from the track team, I am sent packing.

***

As the end of April nears, tulips and daffodils push up from the ground, the sun rises before me on weekday mornings, and life settles into a new state of normal.

Ben and Jana become an official couple. They are disgustingly cute together.

Andy continues to treat me like a well-chewed piece of bubble gum clinging to the bottom of his extra-large high top.

According to the always-reliable
Out of Tune
gossip column, Dom and Giuliana are dating again. Their relationship appears to be a casual one. On his end, at least.

By the week before Spring Break, I am so ready for time off from play practice, math, and school in general. A full week without trigonometric functions. But, as luck would have it, at our final scheduled meet up before vacation, Mrs. McCaffrey announces our qualification for county competitions. To celebrate, she delivers a whole new binder of worksheets filled with problems for us.