“Kim, we gotta go!" someone says right before they hook my backpack in the direction of History.
"Thanks," I reply sarcastically before I turn to my friend, wiping my mouth. I had been trying to get a drink from the fountain, and now it was all down my shirt and notebook. I see that it's Becca: dirty blonde, curly hair, and a sundress so bright you easily overlook her gray eyes.
She speaks as if continuing a conversation, "-and why is it so far away? Why is it on the other freakin’ side of this frickin' building?" I smile, knowing that by “freaking” she means “stupid” and by “frigging” she means yet another F word. "I have to have the skills of a NASCAR pit crew to relieve myself and be on time."
I nod. Becca's first period is English, which is in a portable across the parking lot. It’s even farther away from History than mine.
"Have we reached ancient Egypt yet?" she asks, her feet kicking forward in a speed walk.
I flip open my notebook to find exactly where we had left off. I use this spiral for both History and "Myth and Modern hero". Open it left to right and you'll see my elegant notes detailing Mesopotamia, open it right to left and see my summaries and sketches of Gilgamesh, Esfandyar and Hercules. I find the page with last Friday's date.
"No," I answer, frowning at the water splotches on the pages. "We haven't finished this section yet. I think he said Egypt is coming tomorrow."
"Too bad."
"Why?"
"Cause I did the questions for the first section on Egypt. Now I’m ahead of all you guys."
"What, do your parents just lock you in your room and make you do homework all weekend?”
"Thanks," I reply sarcastically before I turn to my friend, wiping my mouth. I had been trying to get a drink from the fountain, and now it was all down my shirt and notebook. I see that it's Becca: dirty blonde, curly hair, and a sundress so bright you easily overlook her gray eyes.
She speaks as if continuing a conversation, "-and why is it so far away? Why is it on the other freakin’ side of this frickin' building?" I smile, knowing that by “freaking” she means “stupid” and by “frigging” she means yet another F word. "I have to have the skills of a NASCAR pit crew to relieve myself and be on time."
I nod. Becca's first period is English, which is in a portable across the parking lot. It’s even farther away from History than mine.
"Have we reached ancient Egypt yet?" she asks, her feet kicking forward in a speed walk.
I flip open my notebook to find exactly where we had left off. I use this spiral for both History and "Myth and Modern hero". Open it left to right and you'll see my elegant notes detailing Mesopotamia, open it right to left and see my summaries and sketches of Gilgamesh, Esfandyar and Hercules. I find the page with last Friday's date.
"No," I answer, frowning at the water splotches on the pages. "We haven't finished this section yet. I think he said Egypt is coming tomorrow."
"Too bad."
"Why?"
"Cause I did the questions for the first section on Egypt. Now I’m ahead of all you guys."
"What, do your parents just lock you in your room and make you do homework all weekend?”
She is in the “smart” math and “smart” chemistry and “smart” everything else, she’s expected to make it into an Ivy League school, and Liam and I routinely teased her for it.
I reach for the door handle to History, but Becca grabs it first.
“My parents don’t lock me up, but they may as well.”
I search her poker face. “Are you joking? Dude, I can’t always tell if you’re pulling my leg.”
She bites her lip for a second before opening her mouth. I pull her inside the classroom before she can say anything. The bell rings. Becca drops whatever sly comment she had and we take our seats by a mutual friend without a glance at the teacher. A "Hey" escapes from the side of Liam's mouth. Liam: black Irish and still wearing clothes too large. Poor guy probably doesn’t realize that he had stopped growing and was never going to fit them. He quickly gathers the books and water bottle he had used to save us seats by him.
Mr. Brennan launches into lecture: Hammurabi's code. I turn the page, rewrite today’s date on the back and start writing the same bullets listed on the PowerPoint. To my chagrin, there are water droplets on this page, too, the thin blue lines washed away.
1 If any ensnare...then he that ensnared shall be put to death
2 Trial by river, if accuser sinks his stuff goes to accused/floats the accused is put to death
3
I put my pen down for the third law,
Mr. Brennan launches into lecture: Hammurabi's code. I turn the page, rewrite today’s date on the back and start writing the same bullets listed on the PowerPoint. To my chagrin, there are water droplets on this page, too, the thin blue lines washed away.
1 If any ensnare...then he that ensnared shall be put to death
2 Trial by river, if accuser sinks his stuff goes to accused/floats the accused is put to death
3
I put my pen down for the third law,
^ ^ ^
<<< > < > < >>>
\/ \/ \/
when my pulse suddenly skyrockets and I feel as if an important thought has just slipped my mind. My pen falls to the floor. A panic attack? Is this what one feels like? I retrieve my pen and try to continue taking notes, but where the third law should have been I find I had written something else:4/1 Lunch- stay out of cafeteria
The muscles in my forehead tense. This is definitely my writing. My eyes jump to the PowerPoint. Brennan clicks and the slide changes past the Code, having given us the rough idea in the first five laws. There was no time for me to have fallen asleep and scribbled this nonsense. There was no time for somebody to have snatched it away to play a prank on me. Since I had opened it for Becca while coming to class, the spiral had not left my hands, and the ink looks like it came after the water had dribbled down the page.
But…no, I just want it to be something strange or mystical. That’s it. I try to shake the eeriness and finally start writing again. It is obviously some April Fool’s joke, lame as it is. I am always teasing people for not being able to read my writing. Someone had gone the length to imitate my script and plant this inane bit of advice.
Stay out of the cafeteria? I recoil at the thought of following somebody else's idea of fun in my notebook. I won't have my time wasted, least of all the time in which I eat my precious chocolate pudding.
Stay out of the cafeteria? I recoil at the thought of following somebody else's idea of fun in my notebook. I won't have my time wasted, least of all the time in which I eat my precious chocolate pudding.
*
"Why do you keep looking around like a meerkat?" Becca asks me after clearing just enough sandwich from her mouth. Her eyebrow is raised. "You that eager for Liam to get here?"
"I have the feeling that something might happen," I answer her, still craning my neck.
Becca shakes her head, not empathizing. "Nothing ever happens. No one has the ambition or plan to pull something for April Fool's. And no one is fool enough to try anything in the cafeteria."
"So what if something did happen?" I pose. "It'd be remembered forever, wouldn't it?"
"The same if the principal strolled by in his underwear, but it’s not going to happen."
"Touché," interjects Liam, appearing behind Becca.
"You're not allowed to say that," I frown at him. “That’s interrupting somebody else’s duel.”
He sets down his Cup of Noodles before patting my head condescendingly. “Yeah, well, you ladies didn’t look like you were playing with sharp objects.”
I duck my head and dig into my pudding as Liam sits down. He places a Tupperware of steaming water next to the Cup of Noodles.
"And isn’t there something you want to tell us, Kim?" Liam asks with a grin.
"Enlighten me."
"About your crack habit."
"Enlighten me."
"About your crack habit."
I look up at him, totally lost. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm sure Becca noticed today. In History you were tweaking out." Liam starts to peel the paper lid to his Cup of Noodles.
Becca laughs but quickly adds, "No, it was nothing. I think he's talking about that one time you twitched and knocked your pen to the floor."
Liam shakes his head, "I'm disappointed in you. I had no idea you would steal my rock."
I stick a spoonful of pudding into my mouth, leaving the spoon in longer than necessary.
"I'm sure Becca noticed today. In History you were tweaking out." Liam starts to peel the paper lid to his Cup of Noodles.
Becca laughs but quickly adds, "No, it was nothing. I think he's talking about that one time you twitched and knocked your pen to the floor."
Liam shakes his head, "I'm disappointed in you. I had no idea you would steal my rock."
I stick a spoonful of pudding into my mouth, leaving the spoon in longer than necessary.
“Well, I think someone tried to play a joke on me using my spiral--”
“Darn this thing,” Liam grunts, not being able to handle the lid. He finally succeeds in ripping it off, his elbow ramming into the Tupperware of water. A geyser erupts onto my crotch.
“Kim! I’m so sorry!” He flies away to acquire something to dry myself with.
“Um, ow.” My voice is high pitched. “Ow!” My inner thighs are scalded. I can feel them turning pink and swelling in my jeans.
“Kim! I’m so sorry!” He flies away to acquire something to dry myself with.
“Um, ow.” My voice is high pitched. “Ow!” My inner thighs are scalded. I can feel them turning pink and swelling in my jeans.
Becca leans over to look at the damage. She giggles behind her hand. “It totally looks like you wet yourself. Come on, I have sweat pants in my locker.”
*
Becca accompanies me to the bathroom, leaving Liam to mop up the water by himself. I change in one of the stalls and read aloud some of the graffiti (“Math got you down? Adderall up!”). Becca’s sweat pants are a standard gray, but incredibly comfortable. The brand new cotton feels like heaven compared to the denim jeans that previously brushed against my burned inner thighs. Having finished, I open the stall door and find myself face to face with my reflection: boring brown eyes, auburn hair down to my chin and held by a barrette, a mole on my left cheek. Then I see, toward the bottom of the mirror, that Becca is hunched over with her eyes pointed at the dripping faucet. She is either deep in thought or just staring into space. Either way, I’ve never seen her look so serious.
I let her know I’m done. “Thanks again.”
Becca’s reflection changes so drastically it’s like she slipped on one of those Greek comedy masks. She’s all smiles now. “‘Adderall up,’ that’s funny.”
I slip my wet jeans into my backpack. “So, what is Adderall?”
“You’ve never heard of it?” she asks incredulously.
“If it’s something only smart people know about, of course I haven’t heard of it,” I make a jab at her.
Becca grimaces. “Its prescription use is for ADHD, but some people use it to study. It’s becoming sort of popular.”
“They have drugs for studying now?” I’m amazed. “Drugs for rock stars, olympians, and now scholars…what will they think of next?”
Becca rolls her eyes. She replies curtly, “Sad, isn’t it, when people turn to substance abuse and they’re only rewarded for it?”
We step out into the cafeteria, I reeling a little from my friend’s terseness. And who said anything about rewarding? What’s her deal? She has been a little moody off and on all day, maybe it’s just PMS. I hope it’s PMS, because I’m a bit too awkward to give one of those heart to heart talks to find out what’s bothering someone. I tentatively take a step toward our table, the idea now occurring to me that I should suck it up and pull Becca toward an empty hallway instead.
Her hand goes to my arm, saving me from my indecision.
“I'm sorry for the tone I used. Can I explain myself to you later?”
“Is everything alright?” I blurt back to her.
She opens her mouth when a cacophony of clucking begins playing over the intercom and chicken feathers blow down from the vents. I sadly think of the rest of my lunch, which is exposed to the dropping germ parachutes.
*
I lift my red spiral high into the light. I fall under its shadow. “My dear notebook, I’ll never ignore you again.” I then kiss it and set it down as the Mythology teacher, Mr. Pendleton, walks in with his awkward haircut and cheap briefcase.
“Why does the interesting stuff always happen during the first lunch period?” Val laments.
“Because we’re not there,” answers Tina, her younger sister by a year.
Valentina. They both have identical long, straight strawberry blonde hair and refuse to cut it or style it differently from the other, for the first who did “lost”. They take electives together, presumably so that they always have each other’s back if one is absent or struggling. I know better than to think it’s entirely out of good will; they use it mostly as competition and a bargaining tool.
Val doubts the power of the spiral. “I wouldn’t put it past you to write a note to yourself far in advance. And you sleep walk. You could have written it one night on a random page and it happened to be the one you wrote on for April 1st.”
“Why does the interesting stuff always happen during the first lunch period?” Val laments.
“Because we’re not there,” answers Tina, her younger sister by a year.
Valentina. They both have identical long, straight strawberry blonde hair and refuse to cut it or style it differently from the other, for the first who did “lost”. They take electives together, presumably so that they always have each other’s back if one is absent or struggling. I know better than to think it’s entirely out of good will; they use it mostly as competition and a bargaining tool.
Val doubts the power of the spiral. “I wouldn’t put it past you to write a note to yourself far in advance. And you sleep walk. You could have written it one night on a random page and it happened to be the one you wrote on for April 1st.”
“I sleep walk? Since when?”
Tina answers me, “Since you spent the night and scared everything holy out of us.”
To her sister, she says, “You don’t have to stretch so far, Val. It’s an interesting story. Leave it at that.”
I’m not sure how I should feel. Val doesn’t doubt the note, just its significance, and Tina regulates the significance to ‘an interesting story’.
Pendleton addresses the class after peeling some feathers from his seat, “Let’s begin where we left off Friday. What are some commonalities of our heroes so far?”
“A mentor!”
“A quest.”
“The hero’s journey!”
I’m not sure how I should feel. Val doesn’t doubt the note, just its significance, and Tina regulates the significance to ‘an interesting story’.
Pendleton addresses the class after peeling some feathers from his seat, “Let’s begin where we left off Friday. What are some commonalities of our heroes so far?”
“A mentor!”
“A quest.”
“The hero’s journey!”
“Right, we’ll be getting into that full force today. Anything else?”
I raise my hand. “An artifact.”
I raise my hand. “An artifact.”
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