My Senior Year of Awesome (3 page)

“C’mon, Jana, we’ve known him since kindergarten. I don’t even think of him as a boy, really. He’s more like a blot on the wall that likes to annoy us with a bunch of dumb jokes.”

“A blot who is now your future betrothed. What were you guys talking about in class, anyway?”

“Nothing, really. He acted as if he didn’t know anything about fixing the Superlative vote. Plus, he was excited about doing extra physics homework over vacation and couldn’t wait to tell me about it.”

Jana arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Really? Why did he want to tell
you
exactly?”

I hold up my hand to block Jana’s curiosity. “Don’t go there. You’re imagining things.”

“I do have a wild imagination. But, if you don’t want him, maybe you can talk him in to taking Colette to the freshman dance. She would be your friend for life.”

“Oh, no. She needs to woman up and ask him herself. It’s a rite of passage.”

“Fine. I’ll tell her to stop acting like a big baby about it. But still, be nice to Andy. I can’t imagine him trying to fix the vote. He thought he was a lock for
Most Likely to Succeed
.”

“And now he’ll never get over the disappointment.” I still can’t conjure up much pity for him, though. “You know what, Jana? If Colette likes Andy so much, maybe she can walk down the aisle with him in a few years. I’ll gladly surrender my supposed claim on him.”

After school, I cruise by the yearbook moderator’s classroom to investigate the Senior Superlative voting process.

“Mrs. Downey, do you happen to have a record of the votes?” I ask after she hears my knock and ushers me inside.

She regards me from above her reading glasses. “The homeroom teachers collected the votes before winter break. We recycled the paperwork after entering everything online.”

“Do you know who counted my category?” And now, I’m even more suspicious.

“May I remind you the results are confidential?” Mrs. Downey drums her fingers on her desk.

Geez, I’m not trying to undermine CIA intelligence here. I just want to know who wrote my name on a paper enough times to win a meaningless Senior Superlative vote.

Determined to find an answer, I fold my arms in front of me and remain planted in front of her desk. “I don’t need to know exactly how many votes I received. I just want to know if someone possibly made an input error.”

“There are thirty students on the committee,” she answers, her nostrils flaring. “I’ve no idea who tallied each individual vote. We’ve never had anyone question the results before.”

Great. So now I can’t even use the whole ‘it was a big mistake’ excuse. I heave a sigh and drop my arms to my side. “Okay. Thanks, anyway.”

A thin smile appears on her normally pinched face. “I’m sorry if this took you by surprise, Sadie. I understand that you and Andy aren’t even dating, which is not typical of the couple voted
Most Likely to Be Married
. But, honestly, you could do much worse than be associated with Mr. Kosolowski.”

“Yes, apparently Andy is quite the catch,” I say, through my gritted teeth.

***

“High school is only four years. So, if we hit the jackpot and make it to one hundred, it sucks up less than five percent of our time on Earth. Why do we feel so much pressure to make these years count for something?” Jana philosophizes later that week, as we wind our way toward the cafeteria, neither of us hungry for lunch. Somehow, Jana and I always get stuck with the earliest lunch period. The sun has yet to rise above the phys ed wing, but the cafeteria ladies work at a frenetic pace, frying heaps of chicken cutlets, Thursday’s featured menu item.

“According to my mom, this is the highpoint of our lives. And she spent half of senior year knocked-up.”

“Oh, I really hope this isn’t the best for me,” Jana wails. “My happiest memories cannot revolve around vile cafeteria food at ten a.m., calculus exams, and required reading.”

“What do you think we’ll talk about at our fifty-year reunion?”

Jana’s lips twitch into a smile. I feel an Andy joke coming on. “I picture you showing up with your husband. And Andy showing up with his wife. And the two of you laughing about being voted
Most Likely to Be Married
.”

“Yeah, it will be even funnier if my husband is Dominic.”

“And Andy can marry Colette.”

I nod, approving Jana’s vision of the future. “Sounds like a plan.”

Inside the cafeteria, the smell of burnt broccoli wafts in the air, prompting us to move quickly through the lunch line.

After skipping past the cutlets and perusing today’s alternate selections, we decide to split a turkey hoagie. Prison-grade lunchmeat disagrees with my stomach, but my best friend could digest rusty nails without ill effects.

We carry our trays to our usual table, and I remove three slices of carcinogen-laced turkey from my sandwich before biting into processed cheese sludge, shredded lettuce, and a mushy roll.

“I just don’t see the need for us to vote on who’s going to end up married,” I say, after filling Jana in on my failed attempt to find answers to the Senior Superlative mystery. “This is a new millennium. We’re all strong, independent young men and women. Shouldn’t we focus our efforts on something important, like saving the manatees? Or discovering the true reason we were put on this planet?”

“Don’t go all existential on me, chica. Everyone knows the Senior Superlative vote is the best part of high school. Besides, manatees live in the Gulf of Mexico, not the Northern Atlantic.”

I scratch my fingernail over a crack in the plastic lunch tray. “Seems like we can find a better use of our collective high school brainpower than deciding who’s most likely going to end up in jail or something.”

Jana sets down her half hoagie, gearing up for a much-needed best friend pep talk. “Don’t let it get to you. The Senior Superlative vote was a total fluke. You’ve never even been on one date with Andy. Have you ever held his hand at a dance or something?”

“No! Never. That’s why this is all so upsetting. I’m not the type of person to campaign for votes. I didn’t even think most of our classmates know my last name.” I drown my sorrows in a long sip of orange Gatorade.

“Well, it doesn’t look like he really believes the results either.” Jana tilts her head in the direction of Geek Haven, otherwise known as Andy’s lunch table. Melinda Banner, a tall sophomore with fabulous long auburn hair, is currently sitting across from my so-called better half, talking excitedly. She’s pretty, in a wide-eyed, innocent sort of way, with her pale-but-no-too-pale complexion and just enough freckles to look cute, but not spotty. When Andy lifts his eyes from his PB&J to mutter a few words, she begins writing furiously in a small notebook.

“Why is she talking to him?” I ask. “She can’t be … interested.”

“Of course not.” Jana shrugs. “She must need his help with … something.”

Too weird. I turn away from Geek Haven, but still, my lunch jumps around in my stomach. “So, did you come up with any items for our awesome achievements list?”

“We should at least try out for a sport,” Jana says, covering her mouth with her hand to prevent anyone from catching a glimpse of half-chewed food, one of her many odd dining habits. “If we don’t make a team, we can move on to something else.”

“Then, I guess we start running with wolves.”

“You do mean the track team, right?”

I nod and feel my stomach dance around once more, not solely due to the aftereffects of a gross hoagie. I’ve never found any form of running to be enjoyable. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. Who likes sweating for no reason? But, I take solace in the fact that if I somehow survive the season, I’ll be in great shape for senior week at the beach. Sporting ultra-toned abs in a bikini is a super-awesome achievement in my book.

***

According to Coach Jenkins, track is a year-round sport. So, even though the calendar just flipped to February, once Jana and I turn in our medical forms he immediately devises a daily conditioning routine for the two of us. Everyone runs in track, Coach says. Even those of us who only want to throw a javelin or attempt the long jump.

At least we’re off on Thursdays, because Mrs. McCaffrey requires all mathletes to attend at least one practice each week. Also known as “The Harmony High Division of the Suburban Math League,” mathletes is possibly the most cringe-worthy club in school, but moderated by the coolest teacher ever.

Toward the end of junior year, Mrs. McCaffrey sent home a conference request for my mother. I promptly lost the note in my backpack. Because everyone knows a parent-teacher meeting only happens for one of two reasons.

Reason one:
You are in big, big trouble for cheating, and the teacher wants to present the evidence to your official guardian.

Reason two:
Even worse, the instructor believes you are seriously mistracked and wishes to recommend that you be moved up or down to fit in with classmates at a more appropriate achievement level.

Admittedly, I wasn’t 100%, beyond a reasonable doubt, sure my eyes hadn’t wandered onto my neighbor’s test paper during our last algebra exam. Likewise, I was 100% sure that switching classes and being without Jana would be the worst possible scenario in my high school academic life.

So, Mom never laid eyes on the note. I was home free until Mrs. McCaffrey called the night before the conference to confirm. She told Mom I was capable of advanced courses, and should not be allowed to coast through another year of geometry, like I’d planned. When Mrs. McCaffrey slid in a comment about how a large percentage of former mathletes earned scholarship money for college, I knew I was as good as dead.

At least Mrs. McCaffrey called Jana’s mom the next week and delivered the same spiel about my best friend’s mathematical aptitude. So, now we’re both subjected to calculus and mathletes, although Jana and I found ourselves busy painting our nails on the day Mrs. McCaffrey scheduled the club’s yearbook picture.

Besides Jana and me, our favorite math teacher also recruited Andy, who’s not only a mathlete but the undisputed team champion. Mrs. McCaffrey even stitched a capital “C” (also the symbol for circumference if you’re really geeking out) onto a baseball hat, which he proudly wears to each and every tournament.

A group of overachieving juniors and sophomores comprises the rest of our team, along with Jana’s little sister Colette. Mrs. McCaffrey plucked her out of Freshman Honors Math after reviewing her high school entrance test. During matheletes practice, Colette stations herself close to Andy, as if she hopes his gifted brainwaves will penetrate her mind and further increase her cognitive abilities. She’s totally hero-worshipping.

When Andy offers to help her solve some complicated theorem, Jana’s little sister looks like she’s on the brink of wetting her pants. Her face turns magenta, and her dark curls bob up and down as she follows Andy’s step-by-step explanation.

“Ignoramus. He’s toying with her,” Jana whispers to me as we watch the scene from across the room.

“Jana, he’s a guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t think things through enough to purposely lead her on. He treats her like his pet guinea pig because he sees her as a cute little ball of fluff following him around and trying to climb on his lap.” Then Jana and I excuse ourselves for a quick bathroom trip because we’re now practically peeing our pants from laughing so hard.

Once we contain ourselves and return to practice, I notice a new addition to our mathletes family. Dominic Freakin’ Altomeri.

“Why are you here?” I ask, sliding back into my seat.

His expression turns sour. “McCaffrey found out I put mathletes on my app for East Carolina. They emailed her to confirm attendance. Who does that?”

My jaw drops. “You lied on a college application? Who does that?”

“Hey, take it easy on the accusations. I didn’t lie. I signed up for mathletes, but with all my cross country races, I kept missing practices. Check McCaffrey’s roster—my name’s at the top of the list.”

How did I not notice that? Come to think of it, I didn’t even know an official roster existed. Geez, why don’t they just make all of us wear a big nerd badge stuck to the front of our “Pi is great” t-shirts?

“So, where’d ya get in?” Dom interrupts my thoughts with the question we seniors ask each other fifty times each day. If only he knew the truth—I haven’t completed one stinking application. For some reason, the thought of leaving Harmony High and entering the great unknown paralyzes me.

I fixate on the sheet of theorems Mrs. McCaffrey handed out. “Oh, I, um haven’t exactly committed.”

“Cool. Still thinking, huh? A girl like you must have at least ten acceptance letters.” His smile sends warm shivers down my spine.

“What do you mean, a girl like me?”

“Smart. Responsible.”

“Thanks, but I’m not all that.”

“You take awesome notes.”

“Which you must need to copy.”

“Right on—I zoned out in bio today.”

With a sigh, I reach into my backpack and pull out my class binder.

For the next few weeks, Dom stays after mathletes to run for Coach Jenkins on Thursdays while Jana and I sneak out the back door and head for Starbucks. Meanwhile, Andy lingers in Mrs. McCaffrey’s room for extra math practice, even though he’s one of those super-intellectuals who figures out all the answers without even writing things down. Calculus actually makes sense to him. And whenever Jana and I bomb an answer, he just laughs, all “heh, heh, heh,” a sound that reminds me of a creepy Muppet. But, after a few weeks of careful observation, I admit that Jana’s right about Andy’s slight improvement on the Datable Guy-O-Meter. In the last few years, his voice deepened a bit, and the “heh-heh” doesn’t sound as Elmoish anymore. More like a hiccupping zombie on the loose, I decide. In a good way, of course.

Fill It In – February 7
^th

Ten Things To Do On A Snow Day – High School Style

1. After your mother wakes you up from a dead sleep to tell you school is cancelled, sleep in.