Lainey’s List, Chapter Three
Cell phones, at least the old ones, don’t last very long. I discover this as I ready myself for school. Halfway in between shoveling cereal into my mouth and checking to make sure all my math homework is in my backpack, I reach for my phone to read Nick’s messages. But my relentless review of them all night has had two results. One, I’ve memorized them, and two, the phone is dead.
Reciting the messages in my head isn’t the same as looking at them. Without the visual proof of them on the tiny green-gray screen, I could have written them. The whole thing could be a farce.
But there’s no time to run upstairs and charge it because the bus will be here in less than five minutes and even a cell phone owning novice such as myself knows I can’t charge the danged thing in that amount of time.
Still…the phone is my only connection to Nick so after rinsing out my bowl, I stuff the dead electronic into my bag and haul ass to the curb.
The Booker T. Washington High School is this weird mix of rich kids and poor kids. There’s a small pocket of really wealthy folks who live in Old Town, just south of Grand. The rest of us come from low-income, subsidized housing.
I’ve heard from time to time that the rich Booker residents are really proud of the diversity of the school and brag about it to their friends. As if the non-rich students are study aids to provide a more “real” high school experience.
Real high school is making sure you know where you slot into the overall hierarchy. You don’t want to reach too high because someone’s there to hit you right on the head to send you sliding back down the ladder. And you always end up lower than where you started.
Serafina Doll is a prime example of this. Serafina was before my time but I overheard Tito and Carlos talking about her once. Serafina was a gorgeous half-Filipino girl whose mother got knocked up by a sailor. Before Serafina was born, the sailor brought her mom to the US and then took off, never to be seen again. Serafina caught the eye of the high school quarterback who promptly dumped his girlfriend, Colleen Hilliard. Sera and the quarterback, Austin, started dating, or screwing, depending on who tells the story.
Colleen patiently waited for Austin to come to his senses. Apparently, she didn’t care that he was wallowing in the gutter; she cared when he wallowed in the gutter too long. After a couple of months of watching her ex-boyfriend and the east side, piece of trash make out in the hallways, Colleen had had enough. She went to her father, a man who wasn’t even a judge but apparently had connections to the immigration office, and had Serafina’s mother deported. Serafina was a citizen but she didn’t have any family here. Never really knew her father. All of her mom’s family was back in the Philippines. So Serafina left too. And within a few weeks, Austin was back walking the hallways hand-in-hand with Colleen.
When Carlos tells the story, his words are tinged with awe. I nearly pissed my pants I was so scared at the end of it. Truly, there isn’t a more frightening story. It’s not that mama or grandmamma can be sent away; it’s the mere idea that one girl has so much power over another.
Colleen Hilliard has graduated. She’s with Austin at Baylor, last I heard. But there are Colleens still trawling the halls at Booker T. I learned this lesson the minute Tito left for college. While he was around, everyone was relatively nice to me—in case he made it big. If he goes on to play for the Rangers or Astros, they all want to be able to ask for tickets or at least claim some kind of association. And being mean to his little cousin is a sure way of getting onto his blacklist.
But now that he’s gone and can’t keep tabs on anyone, the only recourse I have is keeping my head down. Way down. Floor level, really.
This means I sit in the second to the front seat of the bus, far away from the Old Town girls in the back. But the joke’s on those Colleens because I can’t stand sitting in the back of the bus. I get carsick.
Being in the front also means I’m out and into the school before anyone can accidentally trip me, wipe honey in my hair, or spit on my shoes. And if I’m quick enough, I can be at my desk for AP Lit before the bell rings.
Thea McEntire was already at her locker when I arrived. Standing only slightly higher than five feet, it’s easy to miss Thea. She has pale skin and equally pale hair. The only vibrancy in her face is her bright green eyes but so few people probably take the time to notice that.
“Be careful. Sarah Kampack is on the warpath.”
“What now?” Sarah is our current reigning Colleen. Only a junior, she managed to usurp the senior Colleen by spreading a rumor that Colleen the Elder had a dirty cooter. When Colleen the Elder showed up two days later with a cold sore, that rumor hardened into fact—no matter what the truth was.
Colleen the Elder did not return to school for second semester. She tried to float the word she graduated early and was attending community college, which may actually have been factual, but that couldn’t overcome most people’s belief that she had a terrible STD that had rendered her disfigured in some fashion.
“Apparently, last night at cheer practice, she left the bathroom with toilet paper hanging out of her leggings. Boys laughed at her.”
“Ouch. Sounds like there’ll be an execution soon.” One of her minions was going down for that. But Thea and I are far enough away from that crowd that we won’t be affected. Oh, we might be the subject of some hallway taunt and the ripple effect from Sarah’s tsunami might make our feet wet, but overall, we’ll weather this storm without a problem. “How’d you hear about it?”
“Someone put a picture of her up on Snapchat.”
“Oh holy hell. That has to be a limited number of people, right?”
Thea shakes her head. “Not really. Apparently the football team was lifting in the gym at the same time so it could have been one of them.”
“I hope she doesn’t go on some crazy witch hunt.” The waves might reach our knees if Sarah doesn’t get retribution immediately. I reach into the locker to hang my backpack up and my hand brushes the bulge in the side pocket. “Hey, I got a cell phone!”
“Really?” Thea claps her hands. “Tell me what your number is and I’ll text you the picture.”
I grimace and hold up the ancient flip. “No can do. I can text, make phone calls, and I think there’s a simple game on here but pics are a non-starter. And because I’m an idiot, I can’t do any of those things because I forgot to plug it in last night.”
“That’s not a phone. That’s a doorstopper.” Thea inspects it. “I didn’t even know they made these any more.”
She hands it back and I tuck it into my back pocket. “Beggars can’t be choosers. But I had to get the phone because my friend, the one from the game, sent me his cell phone number.”
Thea taps her fingers against her notebook for a moment and then blurts out, “Are you sure you should be texting him? I mean, messaging him in a game is one thing but texting him?”
She says the last two words in scandalized surprise as if I suggested going down on the guy in the hallway. Something we’ve actually both seen a time or two in the stairwell in the north hall.
“What’s the difference?” I finish shoving my backpack in my locker. I grab the books I need for my next two classes and slam the door shut.
“He knows where you live now.”
“Um, unless he’s some kind of wizard hacker then no, he doesn’t. And if he were a wizard hacker, he’d have been able to tell where I lived when I was playing the game. Besides, I like him.”
“That’s not normal, Lainey.”
“So?” Who cares what’s normal? I like Nick. I like texting him. I feel closer to him sometimes than I do my own family.
Thea heaves a sigh and then scribbles something on a notebook. “Here.” She rips out of the notepaper and hands it to me. “Here’s my number. Call me tonight and let me know if you hear anything about Sarah.”
“On it.”
I slide into AP Lit, a class made up of primarily juniors and seniors, just as the bell rings. My show and tell with Thea making me about five minutes late. I hear energetic buzz around me, probably about Sarah and her online humiliation. The noise and laughter and mockery swells, like a huge tidal wave. I don’t know what Sarah must be feeling right now, but being the butt end of small jokes and sly digs is no fun for me. It must be awful for her.
I can already feel the droplets of the storm. My first instinct is to bury my head. After all, I’m a sophomore sitting amongst a bunch of upperclassmen. Most, if not all, don’t even know my name. So why I feel the need to turn around and defend a Colleen, of all people, I don’t know. But I do. It’s the biggest mistake I make in high school.
“Jesus, you guys. You’d think you never made a mistake your entire lives,” I snap out.
Half the class turns to me in unison. I cringe, rounding my shoulders to make myself a smaller target.
“What’re you talking about?” Griffin Carroll asks coldly. The star point guard of the basketball game curls his hands around the end of his desk and leans toward me. His face is derisive and his tone clearly says I should shut up and mind my own business.
“I, uh, the Snapchat thing. With Sarah,” I stammer out, withering under his stare.
“What Snapchat thing? We were talking about the game this Thursday. Weren’t we guys?” He turns and everyone else nods. “You were the only one to bring up the embarrassing events of last night involving Sarah.” He points to the front of the room.
I know what I’m going to see even before I look; Sarah’s standing just inside the door. If Griff’s tone was cold, Sarah’s expression is glacial.
“Who are you?” she asks, advancing toward me, each click of her heel on the linoleum sounding more ominous than the last. “Why is my name even coming out of those chapped, ugly lips?”
I rub said lips together self-consciously.
“I think she was trying to get Griff to pay attention to her. Just a nobody,” a high, unfriendly voice offers from the rear. I have no idea who that is or whether the statement is designed to help me or hurt me.
Sarah pauses by my desk. “Just a nobody? I can see that just by looking at her.” She bends down; close enough that I can smell the flowers in her delicate perfume. “For your own good, you should stay a nobody.”
Telling her I was defending her isn’t going to make a difference. “Sorry,” I mutter for lack of anything better to say.
She straightens and digs in her purse. A stick of gum lands on my book. “Here, have a stick of gum and next time try to remember to brush your teeth before you leave the house.” She raises a hand to her nose and proceeds to her desk, the entire class tittering with laughter.
My face burns with embarrassment. It’s not normal to want to escape this place? These people? I pull out my phone and clutch it. There are a few people in my life who make me feel good. Nick is one of them. I don’t give a rat’s behind that it’s not normal. He’s a lifeline that I can’t imagine ever giving up.
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