Pretenders (2 page)

Authors: Lisi Harrison

Why did you call me out on that burp?
(Me. Not letting it go.)

Sniffle, sniffle.
I’m sorry.
(Meryl.)

She took off her signature blue-framed glasses, jammed them in the pocket of her Lucky Brand denim jacket, and wiped her wet cheeks. I rolled my eyes.

Watch those tears, little freshman!
(Some random blond guy.)

He had choppy layers and blue eyes like Niall Horan from One Direction. But zero of Niall’s charm. I’m guessing from
his rounded shoulders that he underdelivered on stage presence too. Anyway, after the tears comment he said:
I drove a convertible. If you make it rain I’m going to stuff you in my trunk.
Then he jingled his car keys in Audri’s face the way my mom used to do with the twins.

What was that for?
(Me, after he left.)

Audri shrugged and put her glasses back on.

FLASHBACK OVER
.

Whatever Zero Direction meant about the rain, he was right. It’s been pouring for hours. The good news is there have been no further embarrassments. The horrible news is that Audri and I don’t have a single class together. Not even lunch. And so far no one has made any effort to meet me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll channel a more approachable blonde like Reese Witherspoon.

Ms. Silver just gave us the ten-minute warning. So far she’s my favorite teacher. All we’ve done is write in these journals. She wants us to fill these pages by the end of the year. She swears she won’t read them. To prove it she gave us these leather cases with locks on them. She said she’d flip through the journals at the end of the year to make sure they’re full but that’s it. All she cares about is getting us away from computers. I’m going to record everything and eventually adapt these musings into a one-woman show. I can’t wait to tell Audri so she can do it too.

OMG! So the guy beside me is writing with unbridled passion. Hold on. I have to peek.

OMG! OMG! I side-eyed him at the exact same time he was side-eyeing me. A simultaneous side-eye. How romantic comedy is
that
? I smiled my eyes into narrow crinkles (like Blake’s). I must look fetching in my Russian Red lipstick because he got all nervous and looked away. He appears to be drawing hearts!

Are alleged hearts for me? Is he even cute? I want to peek again but—

The bell.

To Be Continued…

END SCENE
.

Tuesday

Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Everyone calls me Duffy. Duffy. Duffy. Duffy. Duffyyyyyyyyyyy.

Duffy.

Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um.

How am I supposed to write 250 pages about feelings in one year? Do we even have 250 feelings?

I’d ask Ms. Silver but she said no questions. Just write. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or structure. Just write. She said some other stuff about pressure and being a freshman, but I yawned, and when I yawn I go deaf for a second. So I missed that part. Then she gave out these cases with locks so our thoughts stay private. But the logo on my case is the same as the one on those boxes my sisters jam in the trash. A half-open flower or something.

Uh, Ms. Silver, I don’t see how carrying a purse full of feelings is gonna help me deal with being a freshman. It might get me killed, though.

Some skinny dude by the window is drumming on his journal with a pencil. It’s kinda annoying and kinda bold cuz it’s a major diss to the teacher. She keeps looking up from her laptop but he’s not stopping. I bet he’s gonna be this year’s Class-
ick
. Last year it was Benji Stryker. He stole Hud’s DS and offered to sell it back to him for double the price. And Hud actually—

Ms. Silver just busted the drummer. He’s wearing this old Rolling Stones concert shirt and she called him Mick. Mostly everyone laughed. I didn’t. It would have been cooler if she called him Charlie Watts, cuz Charlie’s the drummer in the Stones. The guy does have a Mick thing going on, though, even though the real Mick’s
hair is brown and the Class-
ick
’s is auburn. (I know that means reddish-brown because my sister Mandy is always stinking up the bathroom with her “auburn” hair color kits.) But their cuts are similar. You know, long and choppy. And he’s got that frog face girls would like if he was famous. Anyway, he stopped pencil drumming, so that’s good.

I want to look behind me and see what Coops is doing so I will. I will look behind me and see what Coops is doing. One, two, three…

I just saw Coops’s scalp. Either he has lice or dandruff because there were these white specks in his hair. His head is down like he’s taking a test. What is he writing about? Our other buddy Hudson is in a different class. Which is fine, I guess. We’ll all be on the basketball team together. I can’t wait for tryouts. Playing Varsity is going to be so cool.

Now what? Now what?

Now what?

NOW WHAT?

Those
What I Did Over Summer Vacation
essays were cool because I got to write the same thing every year.

1.Listen to my older sisters fight.

2.Basketball camp.

3.Shoot hoops with Coops and Hud after camp so I don’t have to listen to my older sisters fight.

4.Go on a boys-only fly-fishing trip with my dad so we don’t have to listen to my older sisters fight.

My essay was in paragraph form, but I decided to write it this way because numbering takes up more space.

Duffy. Duffy has the ball. Duffy is on fire. Duffy is unstoppable. Duffy shoots the winning basket!

Woo-hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Some girl in a yellow dress saw me making those o’s. Then she smiled. She has red lipstick on her tooth. I turned away really fast like I had some big feeling that needed to be written down. And now I’m just writing and writing to look busy. I hope someone tells her about her tooth. It looks like blood but I know it’s not, because my Bubbie Libby gets that all the time.

Bubbie is what Jewish people call their grandmothers. We’re not Jewish. But Bubbie Libby is. She converted when my grandfather died because she thinks Jewish men are good listeners, and she wants to die knowing what it feels like to have a real conversation. So she lives with us and waits for the Chosen One. Whatever that’s about.

Maybe I’ll email Amelia tonight. She got a scholarship to an all girls college in New York. She’s into poetry and women’s rights and talking about girl things that me and my dad do
NOT want to hear about. She’s smart with journals and has tons of them locked in a safe. Like anyone would ever want to read this stuff.

The bell.