Notes to Self (12 page)

“Nope. I don’t think it’s possible for me to get into trouble, really. If I did something scandalous, I could just blame it on my effed-up brain.”

“You wanna go knock off a Target?”

“Very funny. Anyway, my mom took me. I think Dr. K. called her and said he was worried I wasn’t sleeping enough, so now I get to sleep as late as I want to in the morning. I woke up at nine today, so she let me skip.”

“How’s Em?” Reno lay down on his stomach to get a closer look at the pool water. “There’s a dead gecko in here. Wait. Two.”

“Gross. The same, I guess. I babble on and on like an idiot and she just lies there.”

“I’m sorry.”

Reno used a stick to fish the dead lizards out of the pool, even though no one cared if they were in there or not. I took off my shoes and put my feet over the side. I wiggled my toes and made sure there weren’t any bugs—dead or alive—near my legs. The water was cold.

“Do you think I should try out for the basketball team?” Reno stood up and shot an imaginary ball into an imaginary basket.

“Huh? Why?” I swirled my legs around, trying to create a mini whirlpool in the water. It wasn’t working.

“I don’t know. Exercise? Also, Kyle’s on the team and he likes it.” Kyle was Reno’s twin. They weren’t identical: you could hardly even tell they were brothers.

“I s’pose you could. You know how I feel about sports, though.” I wasn’t a huge fan. Why would you want to chase some ball around when you could be reading the Internet? Also, how was it possible that people could talk about one single game for, like, a whole hour? I didn’t get it.

“Yeah. But you’re a girl. No one cares that much if you aren’t athletic. I’m not sure I want to go through my entire high school career as a geek. It’s hard to impress, you know, the ladies.” He grinned, sheepish. It was fairly adorable.

People care, I thought. “The ladies? You want a girlfriend?” I tried to use my foot to splash him, but all I did was get my shorts kind of wet.

“Maybe. Well,
one
anyway.”

“Which one?” This was serious. Reno had never liked anyone but me.
Had he?

“Theresa Lindsey.” He said the name quietly.

“I don’t trust girls with two first names.” I frowned. I wasn’t sure I approved of this new development at all. If Reno started going out with Theresa Lindsey, who was going to keep me company?

“You’d like her. She’s really nice.” His eyes lit up and I knew for sure. I didn’t like it.

“Who says I like nice people? I can barely stand you.” I tried to splash him again; again, I got myself wet. That was enough pool time. I climbed away from the edge and walked around to dry my feet.

He ignored my snarkiness. “Can we practice layups?”

“I guess. Can I just stand there and make fun of you?” This Theresa Lindsey business had officially put me in a bad mood.

“Yeah, okay.”

While Reno practiced his dribbling and shooting, I thought about Josh Burns. At the beginning of eighth grade, our class got a bunch of new kids and Josh was one of them. There were actually two new boys and they were both named Josh. Josh Burns and Josh Ramirez. Within four seconds flat, practically every girl in the school—even the sixth graders, those horny little bitches—got a crush on Josh Ramirez. He had black curly hair and he was a monster on the soccer field. He was also really funny and you could just tell he was cool. Josh Burns was quieter. He carried a sketchbook around with him all day and drew these awesome cartoons in class. I sat behind him in World Cultures and in Math and watched him draw. Once in a while, the tip of his tongue would stick out while he was working and I fixated on it, on that little piece of flesh that I thought contained multitudes of information about its owner. It had often bothered me that the only way you could make other people understand what was in your mind was through words, so I prided myself on noticing, in other people, expressions of themselves that didn’t involve aggressively witty comments. I thought the tip of his tongue had soul in it.

I thought I was so clever, getting a crush on Josh Burns instead of Josh R. Josh Ramirez was the obvious choice. Josh Burns was the subtle one. I started paying even closer attention to JB (my secret, oh-so-clever nickname for him), trying to figure out a way to get to know him without being awkward. I knew it wouldn’t do to keep being my old, quiet self, because quiet girls did not get asked out by boys. I tried to have conversations with Emily in his vicinity so he’d overhear me say something clever, but it never really worked. He never paid attention to us and I didn’t say clever things all that often.

Josh Burns didn’t try out for any of the fall sports teams, but he liked to run. I saw him out on the school track doing laps. He didn’t even use an iPod when he ran; he just ran with no music. I liked that about him. It seemed very mature or old-fashioned or something.

In the bathroom at lunchtime Emily said, “OMG. Just talk to him. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Tell him you lost your math book and ask if you can share with him in class.” She fixed her mascara like an expert. Em was always bemoaning her reddish-golden eyelashes and covering them up.

“But he never brings his math book to class. He just sketches cartoons.” I checked my teeth to make sure they were free of avocado. I would have to transfer schools if I accidentally smiled at someone with a green chunk stuck in my mouth.

“You’re being too logical. Flirting doesn’t have anything to do with actually learning math, Ro Ro.” Emily threw her makeup into her backpack and wrinkled her nose at me.

“I know. I just don’t want to sound dumb.” I compared our outfits. She wore a really cute green jacket over a shirt dress with ankle boots. I wore jeans and two tank tops, layered. I needed to try harder, but shopping was so boring when you had no money.

“You won’t! Okay, how about telling him we’re going to City Walk on Friday night and asking him if he wants to come?” She headed for the door and I followed her.

“Just the three of us? That’s weird. Also, you have to walk forever to get in there once someone drops you off, and he might get confused. And the traffic is so bad on Friday, there is no way your brother would take us.”

“Robin. Stop being logical! You’re a total pussy. I mean scrotum.” Scrotums were fragile and weak, she explained. I never said that word. It sounded too clinical or something. Not that anyone else had a problem saying it.

“I know. I can’t help it. Oh crap, I just remembered the mile run is this afternoon. The fitness test.” The last time I had run the mile I’d nearly thrown up. I clutched my stomach and started moaning.

“Just tell Mr. P. you have your period. That’s what I did.” She nodded at my moaning, like,
very convincing.

“I said that last week. And the week before.”

“Damn. So did I. I guess I’m running too. Oh well, it’s just a mile.” She linked her arm with mine and we headed to the locker rooms to get changed. “That’s, what, like from here to the caf?” I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. From here to the cafeteria was about fifty yards.

Twenty minutes later as the sun beat down on all of us, Mr. P. explained the course (basically two loops around the soccer and football fields). He said we would start in groups of four. I heard Mr. P. call my name, followed directly by the name Josh Burns. Oh. My. God. It was my chance to talk to him! I quickly did some stretches and tried not to think about the avocado wrap rumbling around in my stomach.

Josh stretched near me and smiled. “Ready?” he asked.

I swallowed a huge lump in my throat and tried to breathe normally. “Totally,” I said. “Um, I love running.”

“I do, too! Maybe we’ll set a new record.”

“Definitely.” I hoped he didn’t notice the thin sheen of sweat that had already appeared on my forehead.

My stomach was flipping around like I’d recently swallowed a living toad, and Emily was giving me the thumbs-up with wiggling eyebrows, like a demented person. Her group was supposed to start two behind mine. I tried to think of something else to say to Josh—preferably something fascinating—when Mr. P. called our group to start.

I managed to keep up with Josh for approximately forty seconds. In that time, he found out two things about me: one, I get really, really red in the face when I run; and two, I’m a big liar. Anyone who sounds like a ninety-year-old asthmatic smoker when she jogs clearly doesn’t love running. The last thing I said before he pulled ahead with an apologetic grin and joined Tarie Calderon from the tennis team? “No fair, your legs are longer than mine!”

Brilliant.

I jogged alone at a snail’s pace after that for a little while, but then, with a full two thirds of a mile left to go, I gave up and sat on the bleachers on the far side of the field where Mr. P. couldn’t see me. I concentrated on not puking and not crying.

I succeeded on both accounts, but just barely.

Emily’s group rounded the field then and she spotted me. She was jogging at a slow, steady pace, but she stopped and sat down next to me.

“You should keep going,” I said, hiccupping. “Mr. P. is going to have a conniption fit if he sees us out here. He’ll make you start over.”

“Whatever. You okay? I saw you take off after Josh like a racecar driver. Admirable. Did you ask him out?”

“Are you kidding me? I made a total and complete fool of myself. Before we started, I told him I loved to run, and then I couldn’t even keep up with him. Look. He’s running with Tarie now. Her legs are like a mile long.”

“So? I bet he doesn’t even notice. He’s just a faster runner than you are, no biggie. At least you got to talk. Tomorrow you can tell him you have asthma.”

“But I don’t have asthma.”

“Oh yeah. Well, tomorrow you can tell him you think anything athletic is a waste of time, and as a result you have the lung capacity of a small Chihuahua.” Emily crossed her eyes at me, and I giggled.

“Seriously, my side aches so bad I’m pretty sure I’m trying to pass a kidney stone.”

“Drama, drama. Let’s go.”

“Noooooooo. Don’t make me!” I grabbed onto the side of the bleachers like they were a giant life raft.

“Come on, lady. I’m not letting you fail
gym
.” She pulled on my arm and I was forced to stand up. “Jay-sus.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

We finished the mile run in just under ten minutes. Josh’s time? Five minutes, twenty-two seconds. He started going out with Tarie Calderon that weekend.

Note to self:
I hate running.

CHAPTER 32

CAN I GET A RE-DO?

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” I said to Reno. He had made nine baskets in a row. I noticed his legs weren’t as skinny as they used to be and his biceps were kind of impressive.

When did Reno get hot?

“Have you been lifting weights?” I asked.

“Are you messing with me?” He was slightly out of breath, but he sunk his tenth shot. He was sweaty, but when I walked up to him to pass him the rebound, he smelled sort of…nice. As in, not bad.

“No! No, I’m not messing with you.”

“Well then, yeah. I am lifting weights. There’s a workout room at school and sometimes I go in there late, when I know the football players are gone. It feels good. You should try it.”

“No thanks. But, um, that’s cool.” I watched him dribble and wished I had something to sit on. I realized I could just sit on the ground, so that’s what I did.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. I never thought I could be that guy, you know. But maybe I am. I’m going to try out for the team. And I’m going to ask Theresa if she wants to hang out.” When he smiled, I noticed a tiny dimple on the side of his chin I’d never seen before.

“Great.” I zoned out while Reno kept dribbling and shooting. I thought about whether he’d be popular when he made the basketball team. He’d probably start loving school and forget all about me. It reminded me of the first time I realized how much I relied on Reno. When he started middle school, I still had a year left in elementary school. It started out fine, but took a bad turn.

I remember fidgeting in an uncomfortable chair, in an office with a bunch of colorful posters on the wall. Picking at the skin around my thumb nail. Someone I didn’t like was asking me questions.

“Robin, your teachers are concerned. It’s March, and you haven’t turned in any work since January. Mrs. Kettering says you scored at least 95% on all tests and quizzes before winter break, now you’re scoring below 60%. She says you aren’t even bothering to fill in answers.”

The woman looked at me expectantly. I kept staring down at my hands. Hands were so amazing, when you thought about it. So complicated, all the things they could do. Or not do.

“Well?”

“I don’t know,” I finally replied. I just wanted to get out of there. School seemed so completely pointless. I had no friends, and the homework was stupidly simple.

“Do you have something better to do than your school work?” she asked.

I lifted my head up an inch or two, made eye contact with her, and quickly looked back down.

She sighed. “It says here your parents recently separated and that you live with your mother. What is she like?”

I didn’t say anything, just kept picking at my fingernails. I was wearing dark red polish and peeling it off was satisfying. It looked kind of gruesome.

“Do you think it would be a good idea to ask her to join us here today?”

I snorted the tiniest bit.

“I’ll take that as a no,” the lady said. Ms. Mendoza, I think she said her name was. I was annoyed with myself for making any noise at all. “The rest of your classmates are going to graduate fifth grade in the spring, Robin, and enter middle school in the fall. All of your teachers would really like you to join them, but, like I said, they’re concerned.

“Your test scores are very high. There is no reason for you not to be a straight-A student. You
were
a straight-A student.” She looked at my face like it was a computer screen flashing an error message. Like she could press the right combination of keys and get me humming again. Wrong.