How to Ruin My Teenage Life (11 page)

13

From the beginning when the Israelites were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt to the Nazis' attempt to annihilate the Jewish race, Jews have suffered—but in the end have prevailed and become stronger.
They've even overcome God's anger (Exodus 32:10).
Overcoming obstacles is in my Jewish blood.

“The whole school thinks I'm gay.”

I'm standing at my locker, fishing for my U.S. history book. It's in here somewhere. “Did you say something?” I say sweetly to Nathan, still keeping my attention on the books stacked in my locker.

“Amy.”

Oh, there it is. I reach out and grab my book, wondering when Mr. Krazinski will spring a pop quiz on us. Maybe I should take the book home tonight and read it.

Nathan grabs my arm, pulling me away from my locker. “Ouch,” I say. He's stronger than I'd ever give him credit for, but it doesn't hurt. I rub my arm for effect.

“I didn't hurt you. Yet.”

“What do you want from me, Nathan? I've got to get to class and I'm already late.”

He's wearing a stark white button-down shirt and pleated navy pants. I'm not even concentrating on his lack of fashion sense because I'm trying not to look at his eyes. I keep thinking about that ludicrous comment Miranda said about emeralds.

“I want you to admit you told the entire school I'm gay.”

Leaning back against the lockers while avoiding his eyes, I say, “Listen, Nathan. I didn't tell anyone you're gay. I
may
have said you're not into girls.”

“Why, 'cause I'm not into you?”

“That's low, Nathan.”

“Oh, I can get lower, Amy. Just try me.” He steps forward and straddles both hands on the lockers behind me, locking me in. “Look at me.”

I'd like to still keep my gaze on the wall opposite him, but that would be cowardly. I'm anything but a coward. He's tall and close. I can smell spicy cologne radiating off his body. And when I look up, I'm staring straight into his eyes because his glasses have slipped down. I swallow then say, “What's wrong with people thinking you're gay? Jason Hill is gay and he's probably the most popular guy in school—with girls as well as guys.”

“If I was, I wouldn't give a shit. But I'm not.”

“So tell everyone you're hetero. Just like I have to tell everyone I didn't join a dating service.” I shove his arm out of the way and head to class, thinking all the while that his personality does not in any way match his looks. It's like dressing a buffalo up as a hyena. It's just not right.

Jessica is in my U.S. history class. I sit in my usual spot next to her after being grilled by Mr. Krazinski about why I was late. I lied and said it was
a feminine problem
and that quieted him real quick.

Jess looks horrible. I'd be surprised if she took a shower this morning, she looks so disheveled. Her brown hair is frizzed out; she's wearing sweats and no makeup. I don't care if she was insensitive to me last night. I need to find out what's going on. I've been best friends with Jess for twelve years. Our friendship can weather any fight.

I hope.

Now I'm worried. She won't even look in my direction, so I wait until the bell rings to corner her. I swear this school should be called Drama Academy instead of Chicago Academy today.

When the bell rings, Jess grabs her stuff and hurries out of the classroom faster than a jackrabbit being chased by a dog. I push the other students out of my way to catch up with her. I'm hearing curses from guys as I shove past them but all I can think about is my friend in trouble.

I find her in the girls' bathroom. “Jess, I know you're in here. I
saw
you.” When I get no answer, I continue. “I admit I've been wrapped up in my own crap and have ignored you, but
please
let's talk about it.”

The door to one of the stalls opens. It's Roxanne Jeffries.

With a toss of her red hair and a smirk on her face, she says, “I hear Mitch dumped Jessica for a freshman.”

“Shut up, Roxy, or I'll tell people you got implants last summer when you told everyone you went to overnight camp,” I hiss.

“You're a bitch,” Roxanne says with a huff.

“So I've been told. Now scram. Your perfume is making me ill. Or maybe it's your B.O. that reeks.”

Roxanne washes her hands, then storms out of the bathroom.

“You're not a bitch,” Jessica's voice bellows from one of the stalls. I can tell from her tone she's been crying. “You're just preoccupied.”

“No, I think everyone's right. I'm a bitch because no matter what's going on in my own life, I should never let down my best friend.”

Jess pushes open the stall door with bundled-up tissue in her hand. “I'm sorry what I said about you and Avi.”

“I'm sorry for not realizing earlier that you're having a crisis. What's up? Is what Roxanne just said true?”

Her eyes get watery and I hand her a paper towel. “Mitch called me before I left for the youth group thing last night. He said he had something important to talk to me about. I tried getting it out of him, but he said we'd just talk later. I asked him if it was good news and he said no.”

I bite my bottom lip in fear. “He didn't?”

“Yep. After I got home from the youth group thing I called him. He broke up with me and said he was asking Kailey Pulson to the Valentine's Dance.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Kailey Pulson? Freshman Kailey Pulson?” Kailey Pulson is a total jock girl. I think she rock climbs for fun.

Tears run down Jess's cheeks as she nods. “Now what am I gonna do?”

The bell rings again. I'm late for another class. “I'll figure something out, Jess. They don't call me your best friend for nothing. What we have to do is find us both hot dates for the dance. Leave it to me.”

Jess sniffles. “To be honest, right now I don't want to go. The last thing I want to do is see Kailey and Mitch together.”

She has a point. As I open the door to the bathroom, I turn back and face my best friend. “Then we'll just hang out, the two of us dateless girls. We'll watch DVDs, order pizza, and gossip all night. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Amy,” Jess says.

I got to English class late because of my chitchat with Jess in the bathroom, but Miss Haskell has a sub so it wasn't a big deal. Can it be a sign of good karma coming my way?

At lunch I pay for the salad bar, then search for Mitch. I'm going to find my old boyfriend and give him a piece of my mind. Jessica told me not to. She wants me to leave him alone but I can't.

“Barbie,” a male voice says from behind me. I whip around. Of course it's Nathan. Nobody else would have the nerve to call me Barbie. Without saying another word, he pulls me close and starts kissing me.

I mean
really
kissing me. To the point where I drop my food tray and don't even care I've just made a mess on the floor and on my shoes with a mixture of lettuce and vegetables and Thousand Island dressing. Nathan's soft, inviting lips are open to mine and just when I'm about to pull back and yell at him, he snakes his hand around my waist and pulls me closer.

My brain is telling me to pull away even though my lips are as involved as Nathan's are right now. I grab onto Nathan's biceps and attempt to push him away, but he's too strong and I'm not as determined as I want to be.

Nathan is the one to pull back first, after his glasses hit my face and I wince. He turns to the crowd with a huge grin after he pushes his glasses up and says,
“Fine
, I'll go to the Valentine's Dance with you.”

Fine?
Nothing is
fine
around here.

The cafeteria is in an uproar with cheers from the guys. I'm still in a daze when the lunchroom lady, Gladys, sees the salad mess on the floor and moves us aside with a look of disgust and comments about PDA rules at Chicago Academy.

When my eyes finally focus, I'm still in shock. Nathan tries to help pick up the mess with Gladys, but she shoos him away with a wave of her hand.

Without a word, I walk through the cafeteria and plop myself down at a lunch table next to an open-mouthed Miranda. I know. I never sit at Miranda's table. I just know Miranda and her friends don't gossip like my friends do. I give her a small smile. Unfortunately Mr. Emerald Eyes follows my lead and sits down next to me.

“Here,” he says, shoving a brown bag at me. “It's my lunch. You can have it since you dropped yours.”

As if he's a gentleman. Puh
leaze
.

I look over at Jessica, sitting at the popular girls' table. Less than two hours ago I told her I'd stay home for the Valentine's Dance instead of going. She probably thinks I was lying and I'm hooking up with Nathan.

“I'm not hungry.” I bark the words at Nathan. In fact, I don't think I could eat all day after that kiss.

14

I love listening to Hebrew prayers put to song.
I have no clue what the words mean,
but hearing the cantor and congregation sing together makes me want to chant
right along with them.

Okay, I admit it. Nathan surprised me. I would have never guessed the guy would go ahead and do a crazy thing like kiss me in the cafeteria and declare us a Valentine's Dance couple. Now all the kids at school are whispering about us behind my back, in front of my back, and all around me. They're waiting with bated breath for another Amy/Nathan spotting.

I'm not gonna let that happen.

So after school I take a cab home instead of waiting for the bus. If Nathan has no problems kissing me in front of half of the student body, what other stunt is he going to pull on the bus ride home?

After I let Mutt do his duty, I walk over to Perk Me Up! The rich smells coming from the café immediately make me feel energized and lift my spirits. I don't even need to consume the coffee in order to get the caffeine fix.

Marla hands me an apron and I'm immediately into Perk Me Up! employee mode. I clean off tables, start taking orders, and try to keep a big bright smile on my face.
Show teeth when you smile
, Marla told me last week. Yeah, I'm trying.

My toothy smile fades when Nathan walks in to the café. He has his backpack slung over his shoulder and I didn't notice it before, but he's got splotches of Thousand Island dressing on his white shirt. I don't think those stains are going to come out.

“I'm sorry,” he says when he reaches the register. Unfortunately nobody else is in line behind him.

Marla stands beside me, watching and listening.

I ignore Nathan's apology and instead say to him, “Welcome to Perk Me Up! Can I take your order, sir?”

“Come on, Barbie. You kissed me yesterday. Why am I the villain for kissing you today?”

“You kissed him?” Marla asks.

I turn to her. “Only because I wanted him to stop hating me.”

Marla's eyebrows furrow in fascination. “You kiss people who hate you?”

“I don't hate her,” Nathan chimes in.

“Oh, really?” I say sarcastically, putting my hands on my hips. “Then why do you keep calling me Barbie? And why didn't you kiss me back yesterday when we were in the elevator, but today you have no problem making out with me with the entire school watching?”

“It was to prove a point.”

“To prove you're not gay? Listen, you're not cute enough to be gay.”

Nathan laughs. “Are you kidding me? You are the most stereotypical, insensitive, and obnoxious girl I've ever met.”

“I take offense to that,” I say, then cross my arms in front of my chest.

“Me, too,” Marla interjects. “Amy's rough around the edges, but she's as good as gold.”

“Oh, you're so sweet, Marla,” I say, then hug her.

Nathan points to me. “She thinks I'm a dork because I wear old clothes and have glasses.”

“Well, he thinks I'm a bitch because I say out loud what everyone else is thinking.”

“You know what
I
think?” Marla says, stepping closer to the counter.

Nathan and I say, “What?” in unison.

“I think you two like each other.”

I roll my eyes while Nathan does a shiver as if the thought of liking me grosses him out.

“Nope,” he says.

“Not
at all
,” I say. “Besides, I have Avi. And he's got Bucky.”

“Bicky.”

“Whatever.”

“Yep,” Marla says, then saunters to the supply room like she knows what's going on. “You guys definitely like each other.”

Nathan starts to laugh.

“It's not funny,” I say. More customers come into the café, so it's my chance to say to Nathan, “Please order or step aside so I can wait on someone else.”

“I'll have a medium green tea with ice, no sweetener,” he says, diverting my attention back to him.

Figures he'd order something so plain.

After I take his money and turn around to make his boring drink, Nathan says so only I can hear, “Don't spit in it.”

As if I would. Puh
leaze
.

I hand his drink to him and focus my attention on the other customers.

The hour goes by fast. Making drinks, cleaning off the tables, and ignoring Nathan typing away in the computer corner is exhausting, though. I sigh in relief when my dad walks through the door to pick me up.

My dad has already changed clothes from work. He's wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeve tee. I've convinced him to grow his hair out a bit, so he resembles a cuter and cooler dad but he's still got about two months to go before he can get a good style going.

“Hey,
Aba
,” I greet him.

Out of the corner of my eye I swear I see Nathan watching us.

“How was school today?” my dad asks.

I look over at Nathan. Now he's pretending to read the computer screen, but I know he's not reading a damn thing. He's wondering if I'll tell my dad what happened in the cafeteria. “Nothing much. What about you?”

My dad kisses the top of my head. “Just preparing for a presentation in D.C. You ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Great. Where to?”

I grab my dad's elbow and journey into the cold outside air. “Follow me,” I say, leading him down State Street.

I lean into my dad to try and soak up some of the warmth of his strong commando arm. “I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday,” I say. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I'm sorry, too. You didn't make any more dates for me, did you?”

“Here we are,” I tell him as we turn down artsy Oak Street with the designer shops and upscale salons. I pull him into the first building we come to, a place called Sheer-Ahz. I purposely leave out the speed-dating thing I signed him up for at the last minute.

“You're getting a haircut?” he asks when he realizes Sheer-Ahz is a salon.

“Nope.”

He halts his steps abruptly. “Then why the salon?”

I look up at him and smile widely as if he was a customer at Perk Me Up! “We're getting manicures.”

“You mean
you're
getting a manicure.”

“Nope. You heard me right the first time,
Aba
.”

“Men don't get manicures.”

“Come, on. Haven't you heard of metrosexual men?”

My dad shakes his head. “No. And I'm sure I don't want to be one.”

“Didn't you say I could pick what we do tonight?”

“Yes, but—”

I turn to my dad, one of the few people who takes my crap and loves me despite it. Maybe even more because of it. My dad pretends he's not afraid of anything, but I've just uncovered his weakness … getting his nails trimmed and shaped. Give me a break. “This is what
I
want to do. My nails are all dry and cracked. Think of it as daddy/daughter bonding time.”

“Can't we bond by playing indoor soccer or something like that?” he says.

“I don't do soccer. I do manicures.” I pull all six feet of him up to the front desk. “We have appointments for two manicures,” I inform the lady. “For Amy and Ron Barak.”

She doesn't flinch as she punches our names in the computer, writes something on two tickets, and hands them to us. “Feel free to have refreshments in the meditation room while you're waiting.”

My dad turns to me and says, “Did she just say meditation room?” in his deep, manly voice. I swear he's making it sound deeper than usual.

Once inside the white silk-draped room with scented candles and soft music, he looks nervous. I don't think a retired Israeli commando has ever been in a place like this. He'd probably look more at home in the desert. Or in a war zone.

There are no other guys in the room, just a lady in a terry cloth robe. I bet she's got nothing on underneath. She's reading one of the complimentary magazines and doesn't pay any attention to us.

“Sit down,” I tell my dad while I sink into the plushy, soft, cream-colored chair and breathe to the rhythm of the slow music.

“I'd rather stand,” he says tersely.

My eyes close as my mind drifts. “Suit yourself.”

After a few minutes, two women dressed in long, white coats call out, “Ron and Amy Barak.”

“That's us,” he says, then clasps his hands together and rubs them back and forth. The sound is making me cringe and everyone is staring at him. Real smooth, Dad.

When we're sitting down next to each other, the nail technician takes my dad's hand and places it in a small container of soapy water.

“I don't want a color,” he tells the woman right away.

I want to groan. Does he honestly think they're going to make his nails a brilliant red or fuchsia pink? “
Aba
, guys get clear. Or just a buff.” Duh.

“Oh. Okay … I think.”

Seriously, take a guy out of his element and he gets all confused and insecure. My own nail technician, Sue, is expertly massaging my wrists, palms, and hands as they turn to Jell-O under her skilled touch.

“My daughter made me come here,” my dad tells the women, but he says it loud enough so everyone in the small salon can hear him.
Go, manly man! Yes, tell all women you a strong warrior man
. Spare me.

“
Aba
, you've got calluses and your skin is all dry and cracked. I swear you look like a dinosaur. Right, Sue? Just look at his paws.”

Sue is extremely non-committal as she glances at my dad's hands. She smiles sweetly at him, then continues to work magic with my fingers.

I can tell when my dad's nail tech starts his own hand massage. His shoulders, for the first time since we got here, slump into relaxation mode.

His hair has curled from the dampness in the air, making him look younger and vulnerable. I wonder if he was ever insecure. As a teen did he go through an awkward stage or was he hard and manly and confident since the day he was born?

My dad looks Middle Eastern with his dark olive complexion, dark features, and strong chiseled nose. If he was a stranger, I wouldn't immediately think he was Jewish, though. I wonder if he ever wanted to be something other than what he is.

Because I never thought I'd want to be any religion, but now I feel different. Being Jewish isn't a choice; it's a part of me. A part I just discovered, but it's significant in any case.

“After I convert I want a bat mitzvah,” I tell my dad, bringing him to attention.

“With a big party?” he asks.

Thinking about it more, I decide I don't want a big shindig. “I'd just like Jessica and a few other friends to come over afterward. And Mom and Marc. You know, if it's okay with you.”

“It's fine. In fact, it's great.”

He's watching intently as his cuticles are cut and fortified and his nails are shaped. I think he's enjoying it as much as I am, but I'm not sure if my “manly man” dad will admit it.

I pick a French manicure while he picks out a sheer, almost invisible bottle of polish.

When we're done, the nail techs lead us into the drying area and instruct us to place our wet nails under ultra-violet lights to get them to dry fast.

I put my hands under the lights while my dad picks up his ultra-violet light machine and examines it.

“Put that down before you get us in trouble,” I whisper.

“Before I stick my hands under something, I'd like to know exactly what it is. Don't be so trusting, Amy,” he advises, going into Homeland Security mode.

I chuckle. “Yeah, the nail technicians are the enemy. Be afraid. Be
very
afraid.”