"If you see Jordan, tell him he makes me sick," I said.
"I don't get it. It's one kid." Chris shrugged to himself, a weird habit he had. "What is it that makes you hate Jordan Pudnik so much?"
"He's just such a dick." I felt stupid right after I'd said it.
"Whatever. Brian, are you going to eat that?" Andrew McMahon's intense brown eyes were on my slice of "Home-Made Apple Pie", fresh from the cafeteria freezer. He took it without waiting for me to answer. I have never understood how Andrew can eat so much and stay so well in shape. He's always been the "good-looking one", the one all the girls swoon over.
Katanya Weber handed her piece of half-eaten pie to me. "Here, I didn't want it anyway."
"Hey, thanks." I took a bite and knew why she didn't want it, but I appreciated it all the same.
"Adonde va Isabella? Cuando? Por que?"
I looked up to see Mike eyeing us expectantly, pen posed readily in his hand.
"Having trouble with your Spanish homework again?" I asked. He nodded. "I always thought someone with a last name like Herrera would know Spanish."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Do you know Irish?"
I laughed. "Yeah, well, no..." Never mind my last name being Ireland.
Chris Carraba, who had taken three years of Spanish, spoke up. "What?" He leaned over and looked at Mike's book. "Well, Mike, how are we supposed to know when, why, and where Isabella went--it's in the reading."
Mike shrugged and scrawled down something in loopy black hand, undoubtedly wrong. Andrew placed a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Your second year of Spanish I, my friend..." Mike shrugged it off and continued writing.
Starla Roe set down her lunch tray down across from me and sighed, running a hand through her perfect blonde hair.
"Mr. Nenezich is such a prick," she announced. "He had me stay late after class just to go over every answer I got wrong on the last test--personal criticism along with each one."
"I'm sorry," Chris said sincerely.
"Umm...how many did you get wrong?" I asked her.
Starla's eyes narrowed at the wall. "Seventeen."
"Out of..."
"Twenty," she mumbled. She looked at me, and I saw her icy eyes ripple.
"That sucks." I didn't know what else to say. I cleared my throat. "Here...have a slice of pie."
Though seven hours had been wasted at M. Damone High School, the day was still considerably young at two-thirty, and we all decided to go down to the beach. The nicest thing about living in xx is that it's right near the ocean, and Tyler's Beach is within walking distance of school. A lot of times the seagulls get annoying and the salty air makes me sputter, but I have to admit that it can be pretty calming sometimes.
"So, where was Jillie today, Chris?" Katanya asked as we walked barefoot across the sand.
"Oh, my sister? She's sick," Chris responded. "Well, 'sick'. You never know with Jillie."
"Dude--someone go steal the wheelchair from that old lady over there!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, pointing to an elderly woman strolling along the sidewalk. I profusely hoped she was hard of hearing and didn't hear Mike's request.
"What are you talking about, dude?" Andrew laughed.
"Grab it, then put me in it...or get me on a plane. Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane..." Before long, Mike had launched into a screechy rendition of his favorite Ramones song.
"No, no, no, it is ALL about 'Rock 'n' Roll High School', Mike!" Andrew countered. Then he began singing at the top of his lungs, over Mike.
"What a beautiful cacophony," Starla said with a laugh.
"Quite so, quite so." I smiled.
I looked over to the sidewalk to see the old lady staring at Mike and Andrew. I heard a faint, wobbly "Keep it down!" from her direction, muffled by the wind, the seagulls, and the two oblivious high school kids.
Once Mike was done, he flung himself onto the sand. Eventually, the rest of us sat down, too.
"Sorry I was so pissed off today, you guys," Starla started.
"Happens to the best of us," Katanya said.
"Yeah, Nenezich is a dick, anyway. I'd be pissed off if I had to spend any extra time with him, too," I offered.
"Furlong is coming to town in a few weeks," Chris said out of the blue, running a hand through his untame, dark brown hair.
"Awesome!" Starla exclaimed.
"You like them?" Chris asked, seeming surprised.
"Yeah...they're great."
"Who's Furlong?" Mike asked.
"Some indie band, I'm guessing," I responded.
"Katanya's cousin is in it," Chris informed us.
"No kidding." I couldn't help being impressed.
"Yeah. Just a little indie band." Katanya smiled. "We should all go. It'd be fun."
I nodded. "Let us know..." A gust of wind picked up. I shivered in my Dickies shorts, wishing I'd worn pants.
"Gettin' chilly," Andrew commented.
"Hey, what's that?" Chris asked.
"What?" Starla inquired.
"That..." Chris was pointing at something flimsy and black that the wind was carring a few feet away from us.
"Dude, that's my sock!" Mike jumped up and ran after it. The rest of us started laughing as he scrambled after the flying sock.
"That would be so funny if a seagull swooped down and, like, flew off with it," Andrew thought out loud.
"Don't jinx it--with Mike's luck it might happen," Katanya laughed.
To Andrew's dismay, it didn't happen. Mike got back, tired and windblown. "Laugh all you want, my friends. Next time your sock goes flying, I won't lift a finger to help!"
"I dread the day," Andrew said, smiling his perfect smile.
"Oh, hey, what time is it?" Chris asked suddenly. "I just remembered I was supposed to get home early and stay with Jillie."
"It's about ten to three," Katanya responded, looking at her colorful, plastic watch.
"Thanks. Well, I've gotta go. Hopefully my parents haven't called." Chris pulled on his socks and shoes and stood up, brushing sand off his pants.
"Bye, Chris," Starla said.
We all waved, and after maybe half an hour of Ralph impressions, punk rock songs, and goofing off in general, we dispersed. I hitched a ride home with Andrew, since I couldn't quite drive yet. He was sixteen and had his driver's license already, whereas I had yet to go and get my permit. I was just lazy about it, I guess.
As Andrew turned the ignition of his old, white Honda, the cheerful sound of the Aquabats filled the little car. I hated the Aquabats.
"Aquabats okay for you?" Andrew asked cheerfully as we started down the road.
"Yeah. Fine," I said.
When I got home, I went immediately up to my room. I turned on the Clash with a satisfied smile.
**
Author's Note: It's going somewhere. Maybe not *fast* but trust me. :) And, for those of you who were wondering, or those who weren't, M. Damone High School is a tribute to the fabulous Mike Damone of 'Fast Times At Ridgemont High.' :) Cheers.
"I don't get it. It's one kid." Chris shrugged to himself, a weird habit he had. "What is it that makes you hate Jordan Pudnik so much?"
"He's just such a dick." I felt stupid right after I'd said it.
"Whatever. Brian, are you going to eat that?" Andrew McMahon's intense brown eyes were on my slice of "Home-Made Apple Pie", fresh from the cafeteria freezer. He took it without waiting for me to answer. I have never understood how Andrew can eat so much and stay so well in shape. He's always been the "good-looking one", the one all the girls swoon over.
Katanya Weber handed her piece of half-eaten pie to me. "Here, I didn't want it anyway."
"Hey, thanks." I took a bite and knew why she didn't want it, but I appreciated it all the same.
"Adonde va Isabella? Cuando? Por que?"
I looked up to see Mike eyeing us expectantly, pen posed readily in his hand.
"Having trouble with your Spanish homework again?" I asked. He nodded. "I always thought someone with a last name like Herrera would know Spanish."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Do you know Irish?"
I laughed. "Yeah, well, no..." Never mind my last name being Ireland.
Chris Carraba, who had taken three years of Spanish, spoke up. "What?" He leaned over and looked at Mike's book. "Well, Mike, how are we supposed to know when, why, and where Isabella went--it's in the reading."
Mike shrugged and scrawled down something in loopy black hand, undoubtedly wrong. Andrew placed a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Your second year of Spanish I, my friend..." Mike shrugged it off and continued writing.
Starla Roe set down her lunch tray down across from me and sighed, running a hand through her perfect blonde hair.
"Mr. Nenezich is such a prick," she announced. "He had me stay late after class just to go over every answer I got wrong on the last test--personal criticism along with each one."
"I'm sorry," Chris said sincerely.
"Umm...how many did you get wrong?" I asked her.
Starla's eyes narrowed at the wall. "Seventeen."
"Out of..."
"Twenty," she mumbled. She looked at me, and I saw her icy eyes ripple.
"That sucks." I didn't know what else to say. I cleared my throat. "Here...have a slice of pie."
Though seven hours had been wasted at M. Damone High School, the day was still considerably young at two-thirty, and we all decided to go down to the beach. The nicest thing about living in xx is that it's right near the ocean, and Tyler's Beach is within walking distance of school. A lot of times the seagulls get annoying and the salty air makes me sputter, but I have to admit that it can be pretty calming sometimes.
"So, where was Jillie today, Chris?" Katanya asked as we walked barefoot across the sand.
"Oh, my sister? She's sick," Chris responded. "Well, 'sick'. You never know with Jillie."
"Dude--someone go steal the wheelchair from that old lady over there!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, pointing to an elderly woman strolling along the sidewalk. I profusely hoped she was hard of hearing and didn't hear Mike's request.
"What are you talking about, dude?" Andrew laughed.
"Grab it, then put me in it...or get me on a plane. Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane..." Before long, Mike had launched into a screechy rendition of his favorite Ramones song.
"No, no, no, it is ALL about 'Rock 'n' Roll High School', Mike!" Andrew countered. Then he began singing at the top of his lungs, over Mike.
"What a beautiful cacophony," Starla said with a laugh.
"Quite so, quite so." I smiled.
I looked over to the sidewalk to see the old lady staring at Mike and Andrew. I heard a faint, wobbly "Keep it down!" from her direction, muffled by the wind, the seagulls, and the two oblivious high school kids.
Once Mike was done, he flung himself onto the sand. Eventually, the rest of us sat down, too.
"Sorry I was so pissed off today, you guys," Starla started.
"Happens to the best of us," Katanya said.
"Yeah, Nenezich is a dick, anyway. I'd be pissed off if I had to spend any extra time with him, too," I offered.
"Furlong is coming to town in a few weeks," Chris said out of the blue, running a hand through his untame, dark brown hair.
"Awesome!" Starla exclaimed.
"You like them?" Chris asked, seeming surprised.
"Yeah...they're great."
"Who's Furlong?" Mike asked.
"Some indie band, I'm guessing," I responded.
"Katanya's cousin is in it," Chris informed us.
"No kidding." I couldn't help being impressed.
"Yeah. Just a little indie band." Katanya smiled. "We should all go. It'd be fun."
I nodded. "Let us know..." A gust of wind picked up. I shivered in my Dickies shorts, wishing I'd worn pants.
"Gettin' chilly," Andrew commented.
"Hey, what's that?" Chris asked.
"What?" Starla inquired.
"That..." Chris was pointing at something flimsy and black that the wind was carring a few feet away from us.
"Dude, that's my sock!" Mike jumped up and ran after it. The rest of us started laughing as he scrambled after the flying sock.
"That would be so funny if a seagull swooped down and, like, flew off with it," Andrew thought out loud.
"Don't jinx it--with Mike's luck it might happen," Katanya laughed.
To Andrew's dismay, it didn't happen. Mike got back, tired and windblown. "Laugh all you want, my friends. Next time your sock goes flying, I won't lift a finger to help!"
"I dread the day," Andrew said, smiling his perfect smile.
"Oh, hey, what time is it?" Chris asked suddenly. "I just remembered I was supposed to get home early and stay with Jillie."
"It's about ten to three," Katanya responded, looking at her colorful, plastic watch.
"Thanks. Well, I've gotta go. Hopefully my parents haven't called." Chris pulled on his socks and shoes and stood up, brushing sand off his pants.
"Bye, Chris," Starla said.
We all waved, and after maybe half an hour of Ralph impressions, punk rock songs, and goofing off in general, we dispersed. I hitched a ride home with Andrew, since I couldn't quite drive yet. He was sixteen and had his driver's license already, whereas I had yet to go and get my permit. I was just lazy about it, I guess.
As Andrew turned the ignition of his old, white Honda, the cheerful sound of the Aquabats filled the little car. I hated the Aquabats.
"Aquabats okay for you?" Andrew asked cheerfully as we started down the road.
"Yeah. Fine," I said.
When I got home, I went immediately up to my room. I turned on the Clash with a satisfied smile.
**
Author's Note: It's going somewhere. Maybe not *fast* but trust me. :) And, for those of you who were wondering, or those who weren't, M. Damone High School is a tribute to the fabulous Mike Damone of 'Fast Times At Ridgemont High.' :) Cheers.