Tanya’s still fuming. But Mera only did in class what Tanya and every other double-X chromosome in the school does to her every day at school. Treat her like crap. She hums the presidential march and says, “Voted Most Forgettable Senior at Carson High.”
Amy laughs. Then Tanya laughs. Hollow. Mean.
I try to blow it off, but it bugs me. Why do chicks have to do that? I look at Tanya again and all I see is ugly. Plus the whole idea of being voted Most Forgettable makes somebody unforgettable, undermining the entire insult. But I don’t say anything.
Maybe Mera’s right and she doesn’t have enough calories to keep her brain functioning. Her collarbone juts out like a shelf with a ripple of ribs that fan like a grooved shell below it. I don’t think you’re supposed to see somebody’s ribs from the front. Suddenly all I want to do is fill her up with protein smoothies from Comma Coffee.
My sympathy doesn’t linger, because now Amy and Tanya are talking about how weird Mera smells.
“Enough,” I say. “Jusst. Enough.”
Tanya and Amy stop laughing and do that oh-my-God gaping-mouth stare chicks are really good at. I guess I broke some kind of code or something.
Mera’s cheeks are blotchy red in the cold wind. “Mera!” I holler out to her.
“What?” She turns to me, throwing her backpack in the passenger seat of her dad’s old meat van. She has a bumper sticker that says I ’ VECHAFEDINPLACESTHATYOU ’ VENEVERHEARDOF with a picture of a worn-out pair of running shoes on it.
We’ve had lots of laughs about the bumper sticker. Now I feel pretty bad about that.
“Enjoy Bourdain!” I wave.
She smiles. “You too,” she says.
She opens the door and scoots in, rolling down the window. When she drives by us, she waves at me. I feel like I have a little piece of me back—something I’ve been missing.
“Like, are you guys friends ?” Amy asks.
Before I can answer, Luc says, “We all grew up together.” He runs his fingers through his damp hair.
Amy says, “Sorry. I didn’t know she was your friend.”
“Should it make a difference?” I say.
Tanya and Amy look away. Tanya scuffs her shoe across the pavement.
“Shit, are we gonna stand here all day doing the After-School Special thing and staring at the asphalt or get some juice? I’m freezing.” Luc flashes his Colgate smile and rolls his eyes at me. “Chicks are like that,” he’d say. He’d know. He’s hitting a different one every other weekend.
I clear my throat. “Let’s go,” I say, forcing myself to smile at Tanya, trying to look past her words even though they’re still hanging out there in the cold air.
She says them. We all think them. Maybe she’s okay and we’re all hypocrites. Christ, I don’t know.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Amy says. We pile into Luc’s car and head to Comma Coffee.
I open my wallet. “Ah, Christ. I don’t have cash.”
Luc shrugs. “It’s on me.” Amy titters and does some kind of swoony thing she probably saw in a chick flick. Admittedly, it looks pretty hot. I glance at Tanya and she’s smiling at me.
Luc looks in the rearview mirror and says, “I’ve got you covered too, Tanya.”
She smiles and blushes.
Shit. He’s doing that Latin gentleman thing. Tomorrow, though, he’ll hit me up for my drink, Tanya’s, and probably make me chip in for gas. Cheap-ass. He looks at me through the rearview mirror and grins, mouthing, “Guevón.”
Comma Coffee is packed. We find a table in the back corner. Tanya orders black coffee. Amy, too. Luc and I each have extra-large caramel-pump caffeine-blasters. I try to coax Tanya into eating a bagel. Anything. She smiles, bats her eyes like Amy did earlier, but they’re so fucking big I swear I feel a breeze coming from her lashes and hear a weird, winglike whooshing sound. She sips on the bitter black coffee.
Luc, Amy, and Tanya talk about the game, school, pep rallies, winter dances. About nothing. I nod. It’s like I’m on
Amy laughs. Then Tanya laughs. Hollow. Mean.
I try to blow it off, but it bugs me. Why do chicks have to do that? I look at Tanya again and all I see is ugly. Plus the whole idea of being voted Most Forgettable makes somebody unforgettable, undermining the entire insult. But I don’t say anything.
Maybe Mera’s right and she doesn’t have enough calories to keep her brain functioning. Her collarbone juts out like a shelf with a ripple of ribs that fan like a grooved shell below it. I don’t think you’re supposed to see somebody’s ribs from the front. Suddenly all I want to do is fill her up with protein smoothies from Comma Coffee.
My sympathy doesn’t linger, because now Amy and Tanya are talking about how weird Mera smells.
“Enough,” I say. “Jusst. Enough.”
Tanya and Amy stop laughing and do that oh-my-God gaping-mouth stare chicks are really good at. I guess I broke some kind of code or something.
Mera’s cheeks are blotchy red in the cold wind. “Mera!” I holler out to her.
“What?” She turns to me, throwing her backpack in the passenger seat of her dad’s old meat van. She has a bumper sticker that says I ’ VECHAFEDINPLACESTHATYOU ’ VENEVERHEARDOF with a picture of a worn-out pair of running shoes on it.
We’ve had lots of laughs about the bumper sticker. Now I feel pretty bad about that.
“Enjoy Bourdain!” I wave.
She smiles. “You too,” she says.
She opens the door and scoots in, rolling down the window. When she drives by us, she waves at me. I feel like I have a little piece of me back—something I’ve been missing.
“Like, are you guys friends ?” Amy asks.
Before I can answer, Luc says, “We all grew up together.” He runs his fingers through his damp hair.
Amy says, “Sorry. I didn’t know she was your friend.”
“Should it make a difference?” I say.
Tanya and Amy look away. Tanya scuffs her shoe across the pavement.
“Shit, are we gonna stand here all day doing the After-School Special thing and staring at the asphalt or get some juice? I’m freezing.” Luc flashes his Colgate smile and rolls his eyes at me. “Chicks are like that,” he’d say. He’d know. He’s hitting a different one every other weekend.
I clear my throat. “Let’s go,” I say, forcing myself to smile at Tanya, trying to look past her words even though they’re still hanging out there in the cold air.
She says them. We all think them. Maybe she’s okay and we’re all hypocrites. Christ, I don’t know.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Amy says. We pile into Luc’s car and head to Comma Coffee.
I open my wallet. “Ah, Christ. I don’t have cash.”
Luc shrugs. “It’s on me.” Amy titters and does some kind of swoony thing she probably saw in a chick flick. Admittedly, it looks pretty hot. I glance at Tanya and she’s smiling at me.
Luc looks in the rearview mirror and says, “I’ve got you covered too, Tanya.”
She smiles and blushes.
Shit. He’s doing that Latin gentleman thing. Tomorrow, though, he’ll hit me up for my drink, Tanya’s, and probably make me chip in for gas. Cheap-ass. He looks at me through the rearview mirror and grins, mouthing, “Guevón.”
Comma Coffee is packed. We find a table in the back corner. Tanya orders black coffee. Amy, too. Luc and I each have extra-large caramel-pump caffeine-blasters. I try to coax Tanya into eating a bagel. Anything. She smiles, bats her eyes like Amy did earlier, but they’re so fucking big I swear I feel a breeze coming from her lashes and hear a weird, winglike whooshing sound. She sips on the bitter black coffee.
Luc, Amy, and Tanya talk about the game, school, pep rallies, winter dances. About nothing. I nod. It’s like I’m on
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