Author's Note: I'm typing this at night, although by the time I upload this
and have it up on the site, it'll be morning, or even afternoon. Curse the
business of the weekend! But let's calm down, and enjoy the sweetly sour
story of Luis, shall we? Oh, yeah, and to answer Cakey's question about
what had happened to Luis in his experience with the cheerleaders in his
freshman year to make him want to avoid them, I was referring to his
"relationship" with that varsity cheerleader in D3. Sorry about the
confusion there; I should have been more detailed in my explanation of it.
Yes, I was mad. Actually, I don't know what anger is anymore. I've been feeling that emotion so often now that I'm not totally sure if it truly is anger and not confusion instead. Either way, I wanted to get out. Out of Eden Hall, out of Minnesota, and away from the Ducks, away from the people who didn't know a thing about me. Did they suddenly pull apart from me, or was I the one who had abandoned them?
I believed lunch to be the best part of the school day thus far. But my "friends" had proved me wrong today.
I was entering the abnormally large Eden Hall cafeteria, and, seeing no one else I could sit with and talk to, I resorted to dining with the team. After all, we're not called a team for nothing.
As I approached the table, which was already half-filled with Ducks, I saw Connie glance in my direction. Immediately, I knew to steer clear of her, and I took a seat between Guy and Portman. It was the safest place to be at the moment... I think. Maybe I just wasn't thinking clearly enough in the first place.
When I sat down and mumbled a casual greeting to the rest of the group, I suddenly felt a number of Duck eyes on me. Normally, I would have liked the attention, but I honestly had no idea what they were staring at.
"What's wrong?" I had asked, as soon as I noticed the abrupt silence. My body tensed itself instinctively. I no longer felt comfortable around the team.
Fulton was the first to look down.
"What?" I said more loudly. This suspense thing wasn't working for me. "Should I not be sitting here?"
Averman, sitting across from me with a forkful of mashed potatoes in his hand, shook his head in reply. He looked at Julie. "You tell him, Cat Lady."
Julie frowned back at Averman. "Why me? You're the one who told us!" she whispered aloud.
Portman took charge. "I'll tell you, Luis," he said, before I could say anything.
Everyone, surprised, turned their heads to peer at Portman.
"Really, it's nothing, Luis," Charlie pressed. He glared at Portman to stop talking, but the enforcer simply returned the glare and continued to talk.
"Charlie and Averman here," he pointed at each of them, "think that you're having some relationship problems with us. Mostly with the Connie and Guy thing."
I stared at Charlie, my anger growing. "Really?" I asked sarcastically. "Why would it matter to you guys?"
Goldberg raised his index finger to speak. "Well, it could be because of your characteristic flirtatiousness."
Averman hastily filled in a blank spot in Goldberg's statement with, "Which isn't a bad thing."
Portman snickered. "What they're trying to say is, 'Is there anything going on between you and Moreau?'"
And that was it. I had set myself up for this moment, hadn't I? All these years of "charming Luis" and "pretty-boy Luis" had somehow managed to find their way between what friendship I had left with the Ducks. Just like every other person in the damn school, they had fallen into labeling me as the speedster Duck who had nothing more to characterize him than a talent for hockey and a male teenager's typical love for the opposite sex. In the eye of basically everyone here, I was most closely associated with cheerleaders and the Ducks. I hated it, and I hated them.
So I left. I would have preferred to disappear, but the next best thing was to get up and leave the table. All I remember seeing before I stood up was Connie's weak smile. She was fake. The Ducks were fake. What was I really doing here?
Yes, I was mad. Actually, I don't know what anger is anymore. I've been feeling that emotion so often now that I'm not totally sure if it truly is anger and not confusion instead. Either way, I wanted to get out. Out of Eden Hall, out of Minnesota, and away from the Ducks, away from the people who didn't know a thing about me. Did they suddenly pull apart from me, or was I the one who had abandoned them?
I believed lunch to be the best part of the school day thus far. But my "friends" had proved me wrong today.
I was entering the abnormally large Eden Hall cafeteria, and, seeing no one else I could sit with and talk to, I resorted to dining with the team. After all, we're not called a team for nothing.
As I approached the table, which was already half-filled with Ducks, I saw Connie glance in my direction. Immediately, I knew to steer clear of her, and I took a seat between Guy and Portman. It was the safest place to be at the moment... I think. Maybe I just wasn't thinking clearly enough in the first place.
When I sat down and mumbled a casual greeting to the rest of the group, I suddenly felt a number of Duck eyes on me. Normally, I would have liked the attention, but I honestly had no idea what they were staring at.
"What's wrong?" I had asked, as soon as I noticed the abrupt silence. My body tensed itself instinctively. I no longer felt comfortable around the team.
Fulton was the first to look down.
"What?" I said more loudly. This suspense thing wasn't working for me. "Should I not be sitting here?"
Averman, sitting across from me with a forkful of mashed potatoes in his hand, shook his head in reply. He looked at Julie. "You tell him, Cat Lady."
Julie frowned back at Averman. "Why me? You're the one who told us!" she whispered aloud.
Portman took charge. "I'll tell you, Luis," he said, before I could say anything.
Everyone, surprised, turned their heads to peer at Portman.
"Really, it's nothing, Luis," Charlie pressed. He glared at Portman to stop talking, but the enforcer simply returned the glare and continued to talk.
"Charlie and Averman here," he pointed at each of them, "think that you're having some relationship problems with us. Mostly with the Connie and Guy thing."
I stared at Charlie, my anger growing. "Really?" I asked sarcastically. "Why would it matter to you guys?"
Goldberg raised his index finger to speak. "Well, it could be because of your characteristic flirtatiousness."
Averman hastily filled in a blank spot in Goldberg's statement with, "Which isn't a bad thing."
Portman snickered. "What they're trying to say is, 'Is there anything going on between you and Moreau?'"
And that was it. I had set myself up for this moment, hadn't I? All these years of "charming Luis" and "pretty-boy Luis" had somehow managed to find their way between what friendship I had left with the Ducks. Just like every other person in the damn school, they had fallen into labeling me as the speedster Duck who had nothing more to characterize him than a talent for hockey and a male teenager's typical love for the opposite sex. In the eye of basically everyone here, I was most closely associated with cheerleaders and the Ducks. I hated it, and I hated them.
So I left. I would have preferred to disappear, but the next best thing was to get up and leave the table. All I remember seeing before I stood up was Connie's weak smile. She was fake. The Ducks were fake. What was I really doing here?