September 25: Audrey

Audrey

My fingers glide over the strings. Pluck. Pull. The bow moves back and forth, fast then slow, then fast again. I lose myself in Mozart’s fifth. I float, higher and higher, on a cloud of chords. No one can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. I am alone with the music on my cloud, cushioned by elegant harmonies. Nothing is better than this feeling.
The timer buzzes, knocking me off of the cloud. That’s an hour. I stand up from the chair and lean my cello in its corner. I leave the music open so I remember where to start tonight. I practice for two hours each day. My fingers are raw, and I love how they throb. I rub them against my khaki pants. I check my bag for the fifth time. All of my notebooks and folders are there. My pencils and pens are lined perfectly in the side pocket. My emergency juice box and crackers are in the other side pocket (I get low blood sugar). School supplies: check.
I stare at myself in the mirror. Khaki pants, lavender long-sleeved shirt, red cardigan, red flats. My hair is the same length it’s been since fourth grade, right above my shoulders. It’s really dark red. Everyone always said it was the color of blood. They called me Bloody Mary in elementary school. I want to dye it, but my mom won’t let me. I put my glasses on. They are brown, plain. Everything about me is plain. I put my grandma’s pearls on. I wear them every day. They are my good luck charm. One day they’ll bring me good luck. Wardrobe: check.
“Audrey,” my mom calls from downstairs.
I run my hands over my hair one last time and pick up my bag. The first day of school always makes me nervous. I’m not sure why; everything is always the same. But this is senior year, so maybe things will be different. Maybe.
I walk down the old oak stairs, where my mom is waiting at the bottom. “You sounded great up there. Just a few minor mistakes, but you can fix those tonight.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I think I’ve just got the first day jitters. It will be perfect tonight.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
That’s the way it is in the Oliver house. Everything has to be perfect. If it’s not, you don’t stop until it is. We are a house of perfectionists. Perfect hair, perfect grades, perfect furniture, perfect color motifs in every room, everything is perfect. My mom checks herself in the mirror in the foyer and wipes off a fleck of dust on the chest beneath it. She smoothes her hand over her black hair, held back in a perfect, tight bun.
“There’s an English muffin and orange juice for you on the counter. Don’t worry about the dishes; Zulma will get them.” She checks her watch. “We’re leaving in ten.”
“Okay.” I go into the kitchen, where Zulma, our housekeeper, is already starting the mop water. She’s ahead of schedule today.
“Hey, Zulma.” I sit down at the breakfast nook and eat my English muffin. I can tell Mom made it because there’s not enough butter on it.
“Hi,” Zulma says and comes over to the table. She hands me a brown paper bag. “Here’s your lunch. Have a good day at school.”
Her English is getting better. I’ve been helping her out since I was twelve.
“Gracias.” She’s been helping me with my Spanish, too. I check the bag. Peanut butter and jelly, graham crackers, and a peach. A pretty good lunch for the first day.
“Come on, Audrey,” my mom calls a few minutes later. I know it hasn’t been ten minutes yet.
I put my dishes in the sink and head outside, where my mom is waiting at the Lincoln.
We pull out of the driveway and head down the familiar road to school. It’s like this every morning, just me and Mom. I’m an only child, and Dad isn’t around very often because he’s a congressman. I wish I was driving to school, like all of the other seniors. But my parents refuse to buy me a car until I graduate with a 4.0. So far, so good. But AP calculus just may be the death of me.
I’m one of those weird people that like school. I am always excited for school. I hate summer break. I love going to class. History is my favorite. I am so ready to graduate and get to Boston University. But I have to get accepted first.
“Are you excited for your first day?” Mom pats my leg.
“Yep.” I nod. That’s a half-truth. I am ready to start classes again, to learn. I am not ready, however, to go back to Five Points. That place is a zoo, a prison.
We whiz through town, Mom reminding me how important this semester is. I just nod and say a few words every now and then. People think my parents pressure me to be perfect. That’s not true. It’s more than that. Perfection is expected. One slip up and my life could be over forever. I have to focus on my future.
We pull into the front of the school. I am dropped off with a bunch of underclassmen. How embarrassing. Not that any of them are noticing me anyway. I say goodbye to my mom and tighten my fists as I walk in through the front doors. I really hate this place.
I like to get here early, so I can dodge all of the crowds. People make me nervous, especially the popular people. They don’t remember my name until they need help with their term paper, or need someone to cheat off of in class. There aren’t many people here yet. I take the usual path to the resource building: through the main lobby, out the side door and straight ahead.
The library is my safe haven. It sounds too cliché, but I am a geek. Geeks find comfort in a room filled with shelves of books. I don’t know why that is. The other geeks are already here, but I don’t really talk to them much. There is a hierarchy of geeks. They are more computer science. I am a history geek.
I sit at a table next to them and try to tune out their conversation about the latest Call of Duty game. I check my watch. It is 7:23.Dakota should be here soon. He’s really my only friend. We’ve been friends since kindergarten.
“Sorry I’m late,” I hear his voice a few seconds later. “Starbucks was extra slow today. Here’s your latte.”
He hands me a hot cup of coffee. It’s vanilla, my favorite. He always brings coffee in the morning. My mother would absolutely die if she knew I was drinking caffeine right now.
He pulls off his gold and purple scarf, sits down across from me, and crosses his legs. Dakota is gay. He gels his blonde hair so that it is perfect. He’s skinny, has amazing fashion sense, and is the closest thing to a diva I’ve ever met. But he is quiet just like me. And he’s only had one boyfriend, Gabe DeCarteret. They really only dated for a few days though, because Gabe’s parents got suspicious.
Gabe goes to my church. He’s big into theater, and everyone knows he is gay. We just don’t talk about it. Because if his parents ever found out, they would go crazy. Probably like mine did when Dakota came out. They wouldn’t let me hang out with him for almost a year when they found out. Now I get to hang out with him on occasion, but mostly at school. Catholics are just like that I guess, crazy.
So we don’t talk about homosexuality much around here. As far as I know, Gabe and Dakota are the only two gay people here, unless you count the emo girls who ‘experiment’ with each other. Gay or not, I love Dakota. He’s the only person I have.
“So, what’s new?”
“Not much.” I shrug. “I almost got through the Mozart piece today. I’ll have it by tonight.”
“Sweet.” Dakota immediately gets giddy. He’s a musician like me; he plays piano. “I’ve been working on that piece I wrote for us. Have you started looking at it yet?”
“Not yet.” I shake my head. “Mom wants me to have everything ready for my recital, so I just have to practice it when I have more free time.”
“Well that will never happen.” Dakota rolls his eyes. “AP history, AP chemistry, and AP calculus? If I were you I’d just put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.”
“You know I love it.” I shrug. Dakota isn’t into school like I am. He does just enough to get by, but that’s it. “I just hope we have German together like we hoped.”
“Me too.” He nods. “So...” He stretches his arms across the table and reaches for my hands. “I may have met someone.”
“A boy?” I ask.
“No, silly.” He rolls his eyes. “Of course a boy. I met him while you were in Peru last month.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” I pinch his hand.
“Ow,” he whisper-screams. “Because, I didn’t know if it was anything serious. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.”
“So, it is serious?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I still don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Well, who is it?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to jinx it. I’ll tell you soon, though. I promise.”
“Fine.” I take a sip of my hot coffee. “Well, I’m still single, as usual.”
“Well maybe if you’d take that cardigan off and show some flesh, you wouldn’t be.” He snaps his fingers.
“Hey, I like my cardigan.” I run my hands over my clothes. I always get self-conscious about my clothes.
“It’s plain.” He rolls his eyes.
“It’s old-fashioned,” I insist. “It’s old-fashioned like me. And Audrey Hepburn.”She is my idol. Not because we have the same name, but because she is beautiful, and smart, and remembered. She is perfect.
He chuckles. “You’re losing your virginity this year.”
“Shut up!” This time I whisper-scream and check to make sure nobody heard him.
“Then everyone will start calling you Bloody Mary again.” He throws a napkin at my head and laughs.
“Shut up,” I repeat. “That’s not happening. Ever.” I shake my head.
“We’ll see.” He shrugs.
I quickly change the subject and we talk about music stuff for the next twenty minutes.
Homeroom is the biggest waste of time. I’m ready to get to third period, history, with Doctor Stephens. My teacher passes out everyone’s schedules and goes over the rules that we’ve all heard a million times.
My phone buzzes with a text message. It is from Dakota: I have German fourth period! And C lunch!
I put my phone away without responding. The last thing I need is an office referral on the first day.
“Audrey Oliver,” my teacher calls out. She looks around the room, as if she hasn’t had me for homeroom for the last four years and I don’t look exactly the same way I did freshman year.
I hold my hand up and she gives me my schedule card. I read it over quickly; I already know what it should say: AP chemistry first period, AP Calculus second period, AP European history third period, C lunch, and German One fourth period.
Only something isn’t right. I don’t have German fourth period. Instead, it says Woodshop. That can’t be right. I raise my hand.
“Yes?” The teacher looks at me through her thick glasses.
“I need to see Mister Hall.”
“It will have to wait until the announcements are over, dear.” She points to the television and continues to pass out schedule cards.
Ruby’s face appears on the screen. She’s our president. I should’ve been president. But here, everything is about popularity. Ruby knows everyone and everyone knows Ruby. So she got president, and I got vice president. It’s still a good position, although my dad wasn’t very happy about it. But, I wouldn’t be able to do the announcements anyway. Cameras make me nervous. So does talking.
I can’t focus on the announcements because all I can think about is fourth period woodshop. Woodshop is not okay for my schedule. It doesn’t look good on a transcript. And I know what kind of people take woodshop. Not my kind of people, although I don’t really have people.
Ruby finishes the announcements and the bell rings a few minutes later. I’m the first one out of the classroom and hurry straight for the office. I try to dodge all of the people around me, most of them bigger than me. They don’t even see me. I’m used to being invisible by now. I get to the office and walk right up to the secretary’s desk.
“Hey, Jean.”
“Oh, hi Audrey.” It’s sad that the school secretary is one of the only people that know my name here. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to see Mister Hall.” I pull out my schedule card. “There’s been a mistake on my schedule.”
“Okay, honey.” She looks over the card quickly. “He’s dealing with a new student right now, but you can wait for him on the bench outside of his office.”
“Okay,” I say anxiously. I really don’t want to be late for chemistry. But I really don’t want to take woodshop. I guess I’ll just have to wait.
I walk around to the bench facing the back lobby. Some kid is sitting there. He must be a freshman. I sit down beside him, still furious. I cross my arms over my chest and try not to make eye contact with any of the people passing by me.
The lobby is full, with everyone in their usual place. I try to spend as little time in here as possible. It makes me nervous. The rival gangs stand on opposite sides of the lobby. Manny Aviles stands in the middle of a big group of Hispanics. He scares me. He is what we call a super senior. Nobody knows when he’ll graduate, if he ever does. We had class together my freshman year. He cheated off of me the whole semester; I never stopped him. I helped him get through his second time in geometry.
A few minutes later, the bell rings and everyone starts to clear out. The freshman doesn’t leave. It’s awkward. Story of my life.
Once the lobby is cleared out, I see Mr. Hall coming towards us with Ruby St. Clair. The guy beside me stands up.
“Here he is,” he says.
“Hey Audrey.” Ruby smiles at me.
Before I can respond, Mr. Hall continues talking. I try not to listen. From what I gather, the kid is new here and he needs someone to show him around. And of course, Ruby was the first pick for tour guide.
“Thanks again, Ruby.” Mr. Hall turns to me. “Let’s go into my office, Audrey.”
I stand up and follow him into his office without saying goodbye to Ruby or the freshman.
“How was your summer, Audrey?” he asks once we are in his office.
“Fine.” I close the door behind me and sit on the other side of his desk. “I’m here to talk to you about my schedule.”
“What’s wrong with it?”He crosses his arms. “And speak up, please Audrey.”
I hand him my schedule card. “I was supposed to be signed up for German, but instead I got put in woodshop. There’s been some sort of mistake.”
He pushes his glasses up on his face and looks over the card. “Well, let me explain that.” He hands the card back to me. “Misses Allen, one of the German teachers, had some medical issues. She’s not going to be here for the semester, and it was too late to find a replacement. That leaves only one German teacher for right now, and we had too many students signed up for the class. You already have your foreign language requirements, so you were one of the students who had to be moved.”
“Into woodshop?” I try not to raise my voice. “I’m sorry Mister. Hall, but you know my dad. He’s not going to be okay with me taking woodshop.”
“I understand, Audrey.” Mr. Hall nods. “But with budget cutbacks, we had to let a lot of teachers go this year. We had to put students in classes that had space. You are on the fast track to graduation. You’ve completed almost all of the courses you need. Woodshop was the only option.”
“Please, Mister. Hall,” I beg. “Anything but woodshop.”
“I’m sorry, Audrey.” He shakes his head. “The schedules are final. You know, colleges look for a variety of classes on a student’s transcript. Maybe this will be good for you.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”I feel my face flushing. I will not cry.
“If something comes up, you’ll be the first to know.” He stands up from the desk. “Now you need to get to class and I need to take care of some principal business.”
“Okay.” I sigh and stand up. “Thanks for your help.” Not.
He opens the door for me and I walk out quickly. I check my watch. I’m only a few minutes late.
“Whoa,” someone says just before I bump into them. I look up. It is Anderson Stone, captain of the football team.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer.
“Audrey.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “What did I tell you about walking with your head down? You’re gonna walk into a wall and get yourself hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I’m late for class.”
“Me too,” he shrugs. “Who cares? It’s just the first day.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I try to keep walking but he stops me again.
“Hey, is there any way we can work out a deal like last year?” He smiles. “I’ve got U.S. history this year, and you know how bad I am at history. I need to get an A if I want that scholarship.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. Last year, Anderson paid me twenty dollars a week to write his history papers. He begged me. I couldn’t say no. It was fun for me, and an easy twenty dollars a week to add to my college savings. But this year is going to be really stressful; I don’t know if I can do it.
“Please?” His eyes are light brown, like peanut butter. They make me melt like chocolate. I am a chocolate-y, peanut butter-y puddle.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”
“Great.” He rubs my shoulder. “Thanks, Audrey. I really appreciate it. I‘ll be sure and give you a list of all my assignments.” He pats my arm. “I’ll see you around, Red.”
I love when he calls me Red. He smiles again before turning and walking away.
“Bye,” I mumble.
Anderson Stone is the most popular boy in school. He is perfect in every way, even if he is the biggest bully. Too bad he only knows I exist when it’s time for midterms.
I snap myself out of my daze and continue to the math and science building for chemistry. I get there thirteen minutes late.
“Sorry, Kate,” I say to the teacher and find a seat at one of the lab tables.
Kate is my favorite teacher. She’s got wild, frizzy blonde hair that sticks out everywhere. She has tattoos and wears old clothes. She is in her mid-forties, completely herself, and the biggest science geek I’ve ever met. She is one hundred percent okay with who she is. She is my other idol.
“You’re fine, Audrey.” She walks over to my table and hands me a copy of the course syllabus.
“We were just reviewing the periodic table.” She walks back to the front of the class. “Would you mind refreshing our memories and tell us what the thirteenth element is?”
“Aluminum,” I say without thinking. I know my elements. Aluminum is one of my favorites.
“Very good.” Kate throws me a Tootsie Roll and moves on. I open the candy and eat it. Chocolate and science. Everything is okay, for just this moment.
AP Calculus is going to kill me. I force myself to stay awake as the teacher drones on and on about proofs. AP European history, however, is a good class. It goes by way too fast, and soon I am following the crowd to the cafeteria. Dakota is waiting for me by his locker.
“So,” he says and puts his arm around me. “Woodshop?”
“Don’t remind me,” I grumble. “Mister Hall refused to even try to help me. My parents are gonna flip.”
“It’ll probably be good for you to take a bird course,” Dakota insists. “Maybe then you’ll see what it’s like to be one of us mere mortals.”
“Shut up.” I sigh. We walk into the cafeteria, where all hell has broken loose. Kids are running around everywhere.
Lunch is my least favorite part of the day. Everyone gathers in their corners and it reminds me that I don’t belong anywhere. We don’t even get a table. As we walk through the big, loud room, I see all of the cliques in their spots. They are all laughing and loud, some of them are playing around, and others are sitting with their boyfriend or girlfriend. The preps, the royalty of the school, glow. The happiness radiates in their faces. The blacks and the Hispanics seem happy too, even though they hate each other.
I am not like these people. I am the geek; the nerd. I hide behind the books because I know what could happen if I lose control. I can’t end up like them; I can’t want to.
We head outside to sit at our usual spot. We used to be the only ones that sat out here, but now it has become over run with stoners and skaters.
Our ex-best friend, Janey Boyd sits outside with her group of emo girls. We were best friends in elementary and middle school, even though I’m older than her. But last year when she was a freshman, Janey went away for two weeks. I don’t know where she went, but when she came back, she had changed. She used to be like me, but now she wears black nail polish and colors her hair. I think she was just tired of not fitting in anywhere.
Dakota and I always sit on the bench outside of the memorial garden. The garden was built a few years ago in memory of a student who died in a gang fight. I didn’t know him, but the garden is still pretty. Most of the flowers are still blooming and it is really relaxing.
“Well, English is going to be a piece of cake,” Dakota says once we’ve sat down. “And with two theater classes and German, I think this semester is going to be the whole cake. It’s cake. It’s just cake.”
“Stop talking about cake.” I pull out my sandwich.
We sit there. He eats his sandwich with tuna (no mayonnaise) and bean sprouts. I eat my peanut butter and jelly. We don’t talk much when we eat lunch. Sometimes neither of us has much to say. Or we both have too much to say; we just don’t say it.
The stoners whiz past me on their skateboards. Their hair is in their faces. Their clothes are dirty. They smell like cigarettes. I should hate them; I was raised to hate them. But instead, I envy them. They jump and turn tricks. They don’t care. They laugh. They are loose. They are wild. They are free. I try not to watch them; I don’t want them to catch me staring at them. But I can’t stop.
They are free.
Before lunch is over, I go to the bathroom. I avoid going to the one in the cafeteria if at all possible, so I go to the one in the prep hallway. I know they are all at lunch, so I don’t have to worry about running into anyone.
I make it quick anyway. I’m washing my hands when I hear several giggles. I turn and see six preppy robots walk in. They all look the same. Samantha West, captain of the cheerleading squad, is in front. Her sidekick, Lena (the only brunette), stands beside her. I don’t know the rest of their names, but they all seem to know me.
“What are you doing in here, Brainiac?” Lena puts her hands on her hips.
I reach for a paper towel and dry my hands quickly. “I just needed to use the bathroom.”
“This is our bathroom,” says the blonde with the blue v-neck.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t think anyone would be in here.” I throw the paper towel away and start towards the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lena puts her hand on my chest.
“The bell’s about ring.”
Lena ignores me. “Did your boobs grow over the summer, Brainiac? Or did you just start stuffing?”
“I think she stuffs.” The blonde with short hair snickers.
No I don’t, I say in my head. I’m scared if I say it out loud, Lena will slap me. She’s made it a hobby to make fun of me since fourth grade. I pull my cardigan tight over my chest and cross my arms. They all stare at me; I look at the ground. I wish Samantha would say something. We’ve lived across the street from each other since we were little. We used to play together, before popularity was an issue. She usually doesn’t say anything during these altercations; she just watches, which is worse than what Lena does.
“Don’t try to hide them.” Lena pulls my arms down. “Maybe if you show them off you’ll get some action and you won’t be such a prude.”
“Nah, she’ll still be a prude.” The blonde with the yellow skirt shakes her head. “Nothing will change that.”
“Let’s give her some shots and some lip gloss,” suggests the curly-headed blonde.
“Would you like that, Bloody Mary?” Lena smiles and tugs on my hair. She’s the one who gave me that nickname.
“I just want to go to class.” I try to push past again.
Lena stops me again. “You’re in my territory now, Brainiac. I decide when you leave. You know the rules.”
Samantha looks at her phone. “You guys, the bell’s about to ring and we still need to freshen up. Let’s let her slide this time.”
“Are you serious?” Lena looks at her.
“We’ll get a freshman after school,” Samantha says. “Come on.” She walks to the sinks and pulls makeup out of her purse. The others follow her, leaving Lena staring at me.
“You’re lucky.” Lena puts her finger in my face. “Stay out of my bathroom.”
I nod slowly. She steps out of my way and I bolt out of the bathroom, ignoring their laughs and fighting back tears.
I don’t tell Dakota about what happened. Once lunch is over, I follow him to his classroom. He hugs me loosely and smiles.
“Don’t think of it as woodshop,” he insists. “Think of it as art class. You like art, right?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “Just pray for me.”
“I will.” He hugs me again and I slowly start the walk to the woodshop room.
The room is a big studio with sawdust on the concrete floor and the smell of copper in the air. There are several stations with tools and scary-looking machinery all around. Several boys have taken seats on stools at tables in the front of the room. I am the only girl in the room. I don’t belong here.
“Come on and take a seat,” says the man standing up front at the whiteboard. He looks maybe fifty or so. “Don’t be shy.”
All of the boys turn and look at me. Some of them laugh quietly; others look me up and down. Most of them don’t even look twice. I recognize Brian Phillips sitting up front. I sit down in a stool as far back as I can, next to no one.
The teacher looks at his watch. “Well, it’s about that time. So let’s get started. I am Mister Henley. You can call me Mike. I’m your teacher, yes. But I’m really just here to make sure nobody loses a finger.”
The boys laugh. I don’t.
“In this class, you’re going to be working on several different projects. I realize that you are all on different levels of skill here. Some of you are already masters of the craft.” He points to a few boys in the front row. “Others of you have probably never touched a power saw in your life.” He looks directly at me. They all laugh again.
“Don’t worry about it. In here, you can take your time. Learn at your own pace. As long as I see you giving your best effort, you’ll pass just fine. This class isn’t like other classes.” He points towards the door. “I’m not going to shove a bunch of facts down your throat or give you a test every week. Here, it’s about being an artist. It’s about creating something that is your own. And I’m going to teach you- No,” he corrects himself. “I’m going to show you how.”
“Sorry I’m late,” a female voice calls from behind us. We all turn around. Walking up, her long, wavy black hair a mess is Evelyn Rhodes.
“It’s alright, Evelyn.” Mike nods. “Have a seat. I was just about to call out your partner assignments.”
Evelyn sits down next to me and looks me over once. I see her eyeing me; I feel the heat of her gaze. I guess she’s used to being the only girl in woodshop. She is wearing a black skirt that is way too short for September weather, sheer black stockings, and black high heeled boots. Her gray tank top is lacy and very low cut. Everything about her screams “dress code violation.” I know what Evelyn Rhodes does. She is “impure,” as my mother would say.
She puts on a fresh coat of lipstick while continuing to stare at me. I can see her out of the corner of my eye. Her lips are big and cherry red.
“I tried to pair my advanced students with students that are beginners. This will help in the learning process. Our peers are our best teachers.” Mike picks up a sheet of paper and starts reading off the list of partners.
The last thing I want is to be paired with one of these people for the rest of the semester. I just want to build a birdhouse and get out of here as quickly as possible. I wait, anticipating my name.
“Audrey Oliver.” Mike looks around the room, as if he doesn’t know who that is.
I raise my hand slowly.
“Ah yes.” He looks back at the list. “You will be working with Riley Sutton for the remainder of the semester. You two will start at station six.”
I have no idea who Riley Sutton is, but I hear Evelyn cuss under her breath. A few seconds later, a tall boy with wavy dark hair and a leather jacket stands up. He turns and looks at me before heading my way.
He is the single most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life. His eyes are big and as dark as his hair. They droop at the sides, like a puppy’s. His hair starts to curl just above his eyes and over his ears. He is tall and even with his big jacket on, I can see that he has muscles. For a moment, I don’t think about anything. I can’t even breathe.
“You coming?” He raises an eyebrow. His voice is so deep.
I’m still not breathing. I don’t say anything, just nod my head slowly. My legs are shaking. I prepare myself to stand up, slowly. Evelyn rolls her eyes and pops her gum loudly. I ignore her and follow Riley to our station.
“So let me guess,” he says once we are sitting down. “You are the advanced student and I’m the beginner.” His voice is deep and smooth, like dark chocolate and strong coffee.
I laugh quietly. I don’t say anything for a few seconds. Speak, Audrey. Say something. “I think it’s the other way around.”
“You’re probably right.” He nods and chuckles. “I’ve been taking these classes since freshman year. They’re the only ones I’m good at.”
“Cool,” I mumble. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m kind of scared.”
“Don’t be.” He shakes his head. “I’ll make sure we get an A, don’t worry.” He smiles. His teeth are perfect, his lips are perfect. Everything is perfect.
“For your first assignment,” Mike begins once all of the partners are assigned. “You’ll be learning the basics. Take your books home and read chapter one. I’m handing out guides with pictures of all of the tools and equipment you’ll be using. Study this,” he says as he passes the papers out. “You won’t be touching any of this stuff until I know that you know what you’re working with.”
He hands me a packet and winks. “This class can be very fun if you choose to make it that way. But, please keep in mind that you are surrounded by power drills and wood saws. So, let’s talk about safety.”
He drones on about proper safety precautions. I tune in to hear a few bits of the lecture.
“...make sure you wear safety goggles at all times.” I stare at Riley for a few more minutes.
“This is a drill press. You’ll use this for...” Riley’s face is perfect. His skin is tan. He has a little bit of stubble.
“It is important to remember to...” Breathe, I remind myself every few second. I don’t recognize this feeling. Lust? This isn’t me. I don’t feel like this. Ever.
“...so we will cover the rest tomorrow. Go ahead and discuss with your partners when you can work together outside of class on your projects.”
Riley turns to me. I blink twice, hoping he doesn’t know I was staring. He sighs and opens his notebook.
“So, when is a good time for you to work on stuff?”
It takes me a few seconds to respond. “I’m not sure. I’m pretty busy.”
“Yeah, me too.” He nods. “Well, we can just figure it out when the time comes. We’ll work it out.”
“Okay.”
We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I try to think of something to say. Anything. But nothing comes out.
Finally, the bell rings and breaks the silence. He hops off of his stool and grabs his stuff. “See you around, Audrey.”
“Bye,” I mumble.
I pick up my bag and head towards the door. I feel someone run into me hard from behind. I turn around. It’s Evelyn.
“Watch it, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.” She pops her gum loud in my face.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, even though it wasn’t my fault.
“Yeah, you are.” She looks me up and down. “Nice sweater.”
“Thanks,” I whisper and stare at the ground.
She rolls her eyes and pushes past me, calling after Riley. I stand there for a second to let her get down the hall before I walk out of the classroom.
Dakota is waiting for me when I get out. “How was it?”
I shrug. “Horrible. Evelyn Rhodes is in my class. You know how much she hates me.”
“She’s just jealous because you are smart and beautiful.” He puts his arm around me. “And you don’t have to open your legs to get what you want.”
“I guess,” I shrug.
“You want to stop and get some coffee on the way home?”
I think Dakota is addicted to caffeine. Theater types. “No.” I shake my head. “I’ve got a ton of homework already and I need to practice.”
We get outside in the parking lot where all of the upperclassmen are standing at their cars. I convinced my parents to let Dakota take me home in the afternoons this year. I think it was just a matter of neither of them having time to pick me up so they didn’t have a choice.
A loud revving catches my attention. Everyone around me looks up too. I see Riley sitting on a motorcycle. My heart stops for a second. I’m not breathing again. Then I see Evelyn Rhodes get on behind him. I breathe again, a sigh of pure disappointment. They ride out of the parking lot a few seconds later, everyone still staring at them.
“Douche bag,” Dakota says and shakes his head.
“That’s my woodshop partner.” I say once we’re in the car.
“Switch.” Dakota starts the car and we pull out of the lot. “He’s nothing but trouble.”
“How do you know?”
“Everybody knows that.” He shrugs. “He’s like the bad boy of the school. He drinks, he smokes, and he plays girls like you play cello. He’s bad news, Audrey.”
“Okay, I get it.” I stare out the window. I should’ve known from the leather jacket. And seeing Evelyn on the back of his bike doesn’t help. But he’s so perfect.
“I’m serious, Audrey.” Dakota’s masculine side starts to surface. “If he even thinks about trying anything, you better tell me.”
“I will,” I mumble.
The rest of the ride to my house is silent. When we pull up to my house, I see Ruby across the street with the twins. Samantha’s BMW isn’t in the driveway. She’s probably got cheerleading practice or something.
“Thanks for the ride.” I open the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Dakota says with concern. “Call me tonight.”
I close the door and head into the house. Our house is way too big for just the three of us. But, my parents are both over the top. They have money and they like to show it. Nobody is home yet. Dad is away on business, as always. Mom is probably at one of the hotels. She owns five hotels on this side of Chicago. Neither of them are ever home.
“Zulma?”I walk into the kitchen. I smell cookies baking.
“Hi, Miss Audrey.” Zulma is bent down at the oven checking the cookies. She pulls the pan out.
Polvorones, my favorite. They are some sort of Spanish cookie. I know they will be hot, but I reach for one anyway. “How was the first day?” Zulma pulls out a glass and pours milk into it.
“Bueno,” I say with a mouthful of cookie. I try to speak to her in Spanish when I can. “My classes are...” I pause for a second. “Muy divertidas.”
She nods her head. “Great.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “Your mom will be late today. What do you want for dinner?” She says it slowly.
I love when she makes dinner for just me, because I can ask for Puerto Rican dishes. My parents don’t like them, but they are my favorite.
“Can we have arroz con gandules?” It is my favorite.
“Claro.” She nods and opens the pantry. I sit at the table and do my homework while she starts preparing the food. This is how most afternoons are during the school year: just me and Zulma.
I am almost done with my chemistry work when the smell has overwhelmed me. I can’t focus anymore. She piles my plate high with the rice and pigeon peas, a Puerto Rican favorite. There is chicken with adobo and other Puerto Rican seasonings too.
“Gracias, Zulma.” I push my homework aside and start to devour the food.
Zulma puts a glass of apple juice in front of me. “I think I’ll go now,” she says slowly. “My son, he needs dinner too.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly. “Thanks for everything, Zulma.”
“Do you need anything else?” She takes off her apron. I can see in her face she doesn’t want to leave me alone.
“No, I’m fine.” I shake my head and take another bite. “Thanks for the polvorones.”
“You are welcome mija.”
She always calls me that, even though I’m not her daughter. I guess I should start calling her my mom, since she’s closest thing I’ve got to one.
“See you tomorrow.”She smiles and gathers her purse and jacket.
“Hasta luego.” I force a smile.
I hear her close the front door. The house is silent now. I sit at the table and finish my dinner alone. Then I finish all of my homework, alone.
I am still alone after the sun has set. I take a shower and get out my cello. I set the timer for one hour and practice alone. Once the timer buzzes, I get in bed and study the terms for woodshop until my brain hurts, thinking my mom might be home soon. I turn off the light at 11:37.
I am still alone.