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Science and Stuff

I looked it up on the Internet
, and in the unlikely event that the Earth suddenly stopped spinning: We, the People of Earth, would be history. As in past. Gone. Everything not bolted down would fly off into space. But that’s not going to happen. Unless the Earth is hit by a ginormous meteor. But I won’t tell Becca this. I’ll just keep it to myself.

Blue Hawaii

I have a job. Well, not much of a job.
Five hours a week. Saturday mornings. On a trial basis.

Why do I have a job? Probably because I’ve been hounding Roman for three months now about getting me a job at his mother’s travel agency.

Ever since Dad died, financially we’ve just been getting by. My parents were never exactly the planning types. So there may not be money in the bank, but we
do
have a great collection of rare sheet music from the 1920s. And some
awesome
vintage concert posters from the 1960s, because we
all
know how practical posters of Buffalo Springfield and Captain Beefheart are.

What I found out today is that having a job is:

•
1. boring,

•
2. not as much fun as I thought it would be, and

•
3. seven dollars an hour under the table.

So that’s what? One outfit a week if I spend my money wisely (which I probably won’t). Or I can buy Mom dinner (which I probably will). Or I’ll save it for Christmas presents (sadly, I probably won’t).

I like the way Roman’s mom Sylvia calls me
mija
and keeps the fridge stocked with Dr Pepper.

Today, I answered the phone, “Blue Hawaii Travel, Stacy speaking. May I help you?”

Mostly, I take messages, sort mail, clean, and do whatever random tasks Sylvia asks me to do. It’s strangely responsible of me.

I think Roman maybe got me the job, though, because he wanted to talk about Becca. He brought her up on the drive home. He was staring straight ahead, not looking at me at all.

“Stacy, um…” he cleared his throat “…have you noticed how Becca’s been acting lately?”

I watched him, and he looked like a scared little boy. I tried to play it off like I wasn’t worried, and I looked down at my nails like I was checking my polish.

“She’s been pretty wacky lately.”

“Stacy, I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I know you are. It’s just that I have no idea what’s wrong, and it’s freaking me out a little.” I let out a big sigh. “Have you talked to her about it?”

(I kind of already knew the answer. Becca can be pretty intimidating, even with Roman, and they’ve been together for over two years now, practically joined at the hip.)

“Nah. I keep thinking she’ll go back to normal, but then she doesn’t.”

That’s the thing: she didn’t go back to normal. No matter how much I wished it, she seemed to keep getting stranger.

We rode home the rest of the way in silence. Uncomfortable silence until Roman reached over and cranked up the stereo. Sometimes it’s better to not think about things.

Chad May Be A Robot

In English, I decided to be brave. It’s ridiculous.
Chad was in the next row, like maybe four feet away from me. I’m a big dork, so I pretended to drop my pencil, then I looked over my right shoulder and waited until he noticed me. We made eye contact.

“Hi, Chad!”

“Hey.” (Very monotone, robot-like voice.)

That’s all he said. But at least he talked to me.

Stacy to Chad: Get over it, you big dork. It’s been weeks now. What the
heck
, Chad?

Actually, now that I think about it, he’s starting to really tick me off. I mean, it’s not like I led him on. I didn’t pull an Anthony on him. I didn’t do anything other than be his friend and write his speech (which won him the election, by the way). If he doesn’t watch it, I may stop speaking to him. How would he like
that
?

That Temporary
Warm Fuzzy Feeling

Today Chad said hello unprompted
, meaning I didn’t have to pretend to drop my pencil. He said, “Hey, Stacy,” with a slight smile. The barest hint of one. Lips turned up just a little. He appears to be thawing out. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Even Robots Smile

Toward the end of the period when Mr. Selden gave us time to work on our essays
, Chad walked over to the empty seat in front of me and sat down backwards, resting his arms over the top of the seat, casually leaning over. I couldn’t help but notice that he was looking kind of handsome (I mean, for Chad.). His hair’s growing out now, and the curls have become relaxed and wavy, not sticking up at awkward angles.

He looked right into my eyes, serious look on his face. “A priest, a rabbi, and a nun walk into a bar. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

“I’ve heard this one before. But you can tell me again.”

“Actually, that’s all I’ve got.” And he gave a little shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“It takes one to know one.”

“Good comeback, Chad. Did you ride your dinosaur to school today?”

I missed our witty conversations. (At least witty for us. Maybe no one else in the world would find us funny. But we think we’re funny, and that’s all that matters.)

I missed Chad, I really did. I missed him so much, it hurt. Sometimes you don’t realize how important someone is to you until they’re gone.

“So, going to the game tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so. At least, I was thinking about it.”

I was just about to ask him if he wanted to sit with Rose and Bethany and me, when he said, very casually, “So, what’s going on with you and Anthony? I haven’t seen you two together since the party.”

The party. Horrible Chelsea’s awful party with snake-y Anthony. So this was the real reason he came over. I guess what goes around comes around? No, that’s not true. I didn’t set out to break his heart. That’s not a fair comparison at all. But still, he seemed maybe kind of mad at me, even though it was really none of his business.

“Well, that was unexpected,” I said. I couldn’t help myself, so I just told him straight out. “If you really want to know, he completely blew me off, if it makes you feel any better. Never called. Nothing.”

Chad raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything for a second. He looked like he was weighing his words carefully, and then, “Yeah, it kind of
does
make me feel better,” and he smiled like he was joking with me, but I don’t think he was.

“Anything to brighten your day, Chad,” I said maybe a little too loud as he sat back down at his desk. Freaky Daria shot me a dirty look, I guess because she was working away as usual, either that or working on some kind of love spell for Coach Rob.

Betrayal, Heartbreak,
And Other
Not-So-Terrific Things

I didn’t really want to go to the football game
, yet I didn’t want to stay home either. I didn’t want to worry about tiptoeing around Becca and her strangeness.

When Mom dropped me off, I found Bethany and Rose in front of the ticket booth.

We waited in line at the snack bar for nachos and sodas, chatting the whole time and saying hello to other kids we knew. It felt like such a
normal
Friday night high school thing to do.

When I saw Chad walking close with horrible Vanessa, I felt a twinge. She was laughing, and he was laughing. He casually slipped an arm around her shoulder.
Smooth, Chad. Very smooth
. My heart sank. But why
shouldn’t
he be happy? I mean, shouldn’t I feel happy for him? But I didn’t. I guess I’m just a selfish person, and I’m not happy about being selfish, but it’s true.

“Oh, look, there’s Chad with Vanessa,” Bethany said. “I didn’t know they were going out. Did you, Stacy? Did you know they were going out?”

“Um, no. We haven’t exactly been close lately.” I glared at Bethany.

“Sorry,” she said, shrinking back, as if I’d just bitten her head off, turning her attention to her nachos.

“Chad’s a sweetheart,” Rose said, ignoring my reaction.

Yeah, he is a sweetheart. He really is. Well, except when he’s not. It’s good that he had someone else to focus his attention on. I mean, I was
trying
to be happy for him, I really was. But then there was horrible Vanessa. Of all the people to see him with. I had to question his taste in women.

Wait a minute. So what does that say about me?

We found our seats, and we were
so
not there for the game. I don’t really understand football anyway. Dad would try to explain it to me, and I’d just sit there with my eyes glazing over. Poor Dad stuck living with a bunch of women. I should have at least followed along and pretended to be interested.

The cheerleaders looked so perky in their little outfits. They didn’t look anything like Becca and her goth cheerleader costume. They were much more polished and clean, ponytails and sparkles, not all caked eyeliner and ratted hair.

Everything was fine, everything was normal.

While Rose chatted away about Darrell, the boy she’s interested in, I watched Anthony sitting a few rows ahead of us with Summer. It was weird because, for a second, it didn’t hit me. Anthony and Summer were together.

My friend Summer. My f
ormer
friend Summer.

“This can’t be happening,” I said without really thinking about it.

Bethany and Rose looked over at the two traitors and then at me. “That jerk,” Rose said. “What a jerk! I can’t believe him.”

“Him? What about her?” Bethany said. “Some friend.”

Summer’s never been one of Bethany’s favorite people.

It was the worst kind of betrayal. The two of them were entwined. She was practically sitting in his lap. OctoMan seemed to have returned, but this time he had another victim. But this time, his victim wasn’t really a victim at all.

In seconds I experienced: pain, shock, eyes burning. My face was getting hot, my heart was pounding. Then breaking. I felt a hard little knot form in the back of my throat, and I tried to keep the tears from coming. I tried to keep from losing complete control of myself. Another sucker punch. I wanted to run.

Summer
knew
I’d been in love with Anthony. She’d known since the seventh grade when we had our sleepovers and would braid each other’s hair and share all of our deepest secrets. Yet there she sat with him. It was a betrayal right out of
Macbeth
. Their hands were joined together pushing the dagger into my heart, then twisting it. I felt so like poor King Duncan, and I hated them both. They didn’t even know they were killing me.

I got up, hand to my stomach, and felt the wave of nausea coming over me. I gave Rose a little nudge.

“Rose, I’m leaving. This isn’t working for me at all.”

Rose and Bethany looked first at me, then at Summer and Anthony.

Loyal Rose was fuming. “I’m gonna kill her,” she said, hitting her hand with her fist like she was ready to jump over the seats and hurt them. (And I
really
love that about her.)

“Her? What about him? He’s a pig,” Bethany said.

“He’s a—I’m not going to say what he is. I can’t sit here, though. You guys stay. I’m gonna call my mom.” They let me go after I promised I’d be okay, which was probably a mistake. I
really
should’ve called my mom for a ride.

As I walked—angry—a telephone conversation with Summer ran through my head. She called me the day after Chelsea’s party. It went something like this:

Summer: “Stacy! I saw you with Anthony last night!” (Apparently when she wasn’t hanging out with Chelsea’s older brother and his mustache.)

Me: “Yes! Did you see us? I can’t believe it!”

Summer: “So has he called you yet?”

Me: “No, not yet, but he said he would. He told me he’d definitely call me today!”

Summer: “Huh.”

Me: “What? What do you mean by that? Do you know something I don’t know?”

Summer: “No, it’s just the way he was all over you, I thought he would’ve called you by now. Huh.”

Me: “Stop saying ‘huh.’”

Summer: “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sure he’ll call.”

And we all know how
that
turned out. Maybe she figured he was fair game. Maybe she was already planning to make her own move. I really don’t know. What I do know, though, is you don’t go after someone that your friend likes, period. Even if there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he’ll ever be interested. That’s just the way it is, and she broke the Girlfriends Code.

I left the stadium—the cheering, happy people. I walked, and I hated as I walked.

My boots crunched the little pebbles on the pavement, and I wanted to punch somebody. Somebody like Anthony. Or Summer. Everything was unfair and wrong, and the world became a blur when I started to cry fat, wet tears that rolled right down my face, tears that I didn’t even bother to wipe away. It occurred to me, though, after I’d been crying and walking for a few minutes, as I ran through the emotions of the whole stupid situation, that maybe I wasn’t so much angry at stupid Anthony and stupid Summer; it was everything wrong in my life put together. The way I’d been feeling so wretchedly alone. Summer, Anthony—they were unimportant. The two of them were insignificant specks of lint I could just flick off my sweater. That made me feel about two percent better.

Cars passed as I walked on the main road. A car full of guys honked at me, and I didn’t even bother to flip them off or curse them out like I usually would.

I cut through the same residential neighborhood I usually cut through, but during the day it’s not so dark. Not nearly so creepy. Everything was quiet; no other cars were around. It seemed like there were a couple street lights out, and the blackness of the night was intimidating.

The night air was clearing my head though. Walking is good for that. It can really take the edge off things. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. I stopped crying and noticed how still everything felt. Peaceful.

I heard the car pull up from behind. It was a car like my grandma’s—a big boat. It stopped, and the man inside motioned for me to come over. (I’m not a complete idiot, I know about staying out of pervert-grabbing range, so I didn’t get too close.) There was something about him. He
seemed
harmless enough, but the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

Pervy Guy rolled the window down.

“Hello, young lady. Can I give you a ride?”

He said it so innocently, like it was nothing at all—a perfectly normal thing for me to do, get in the car with some strange man. It’s kind of funny when I think of it, him thinking that I’d just jump into the car with him. For some reason, I focused on his hair, his terrible comb-over that looked like what was left over from a bird’s nest—the part the birds
didn’t
want.

“Oh, no thanks,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Are you sure?”

“Thank you, but no. I’m good.”

“You know, it’s really not a good idea for you to be out by yourself this late. Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” he said firmly.

“Um, I’m good. Thanks anyway,” I said politely, in case he had an axe and a hammer and a roll of duct tape tucked underneath his seat. For all I knew, he could’ve been the biggest serial rapist/murderer in L.A. I
didn’t
want to set him off; I
didn’t
want to make the news.

I started to walk on, and he shrugged his shoulders like I was making a big mistake. (God, what an ego. Do I look like a hooker or something? Was it the boots? Maybe it was the boots.)

As I walked away, I went from feeling like a pathetic mess to angry. Angry like I wanted to kick someone. Angry that I couldn’t walk down the street at night without being accosted by some old pervert.

When the perv’s car drove about half a block down the street and flipped a U-turn, pulling slowly up next to me, I felt the fear gnawing in the pit of my stomach. He was near me now, maybe three feet away, he’d pulled up so close. His eyebrows looked all shaggy and woolly; my stomach tightened. I also noticed his hands, how big they were, and rough-looking.

“Look. Why don’t you let me give you a ride.” His voice was strong now, commanding.

“Back the hell off, you freaky
bastard
! I don’t want a ride!”

I forgot for a second what type of person he might be, how he might have duct tape under his seat. But for those couple of seconds, it felt good letting loose on him. A quick vision of me punching him a few times in the face flickered through my head. For about two seconds, I felt great. Invincible. Until he turned off his car and opened the driver’s side door.

When I saw his foot hit the ground, that was it. I was gone. Off running. There was
no
way I was going to become a statistic. Not me.

I looked around — quick—considering the option of running up to one of the houses, but the houses nearby were dark, so I kept running. As I ran, I cursed my shoe choice, boots with three-inch heels (Stupid Becca’s boots.). And I tried not to slip on the pavement with all the little potholes.

The cold air hit my face, and I fell into a weird kind of rhythm, running, with each step saying a word in my prayer: “Dear God,” one, two, “please save,” three, four, “me from” five, six, “this lunatic,” six, seven.

I left Comb-over Man in the dust. When I looked over my shoulder, he was nowhere to be seen. I kept running though, and I ran until I got to my front door, gasping for breath. (I admit, I’m not in the world’s greatest shape.) But I made it and burst in through the front door, an out-of-breath, upset, sweaty mess. But I made it.