"It's not official, but Coach Wilson probably isn't coming back." Adam and Portman were lab partners in their Advanced Biology class. Adam was filling Portman in on the current predicament the team faced with Wilson's departure. "We're probably on our own at practice today, so I guess I'm going to have to run it, or something." Adam glanced sideways at Portman to see if he was listening.
The two of them were at opposite ends of the visual spectrum. Both boys wore the standard crisp white lab coat and goggles, but still their differences shone through. Adam wore crisp khaki slacks with carefully ironed cuffs and creases, an All-American blue plaid button-down shirt and his hair fastidiously styled. The thick, black and square-framed glasses he wore for safety reasons instead of his contacts on lab days gave Adam's features a serious and expressionless tone. Portman, on the other hand, was something completely different. Portman dressed in his standard black jeans with ripped knees, black Morgan Park t-shirt and handkerchief tied across his unruly, shaggy black hair. He looked nothing like the standard Eden Hall Academy honors student, yet at this moment Portman was intently mixing a solution as outlined in their lab instructions.
"Portman? Are you hearing anything that I'm saying?"
Portman looked up and handed a beaker to Adam, indicating the set of instructions in the lab Adam was supposed to follow. "Yeah, go on."
Adam continued while pouring various chemicals into his beaker. "So, anyway, I'm going to fill the seniors in at lunch today and we can—"
Portman interrupted. "Don't forget to dilute the sodium nitrate so that it prolongs the reaction and makes it easier to observe—and replace the tip of that micropipette before you forget and adulterate our results."
Adam stopped himself from adding the chemical. "Oh, yeah—thanks, Portman." Adam raised his eyebrow. "You're really prepared for this lab. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you really enjoy this stuff. Don't think I didn't see you reading ahead in our T.S. Eliot book for AdLit."
"Don't be ridiculous, preppy. I'm just biding my time until Turner lets me ditch these classes."
Adam kept himself from laughing aloud at Portman's none-too-convincing tone. "Alright, Portman—whatever you say. Practice at 3:30—don't forget."
Guy sat with Francesca Nielson at a lunch table in the cafeteria, trying to zone out her vapid conversation with a bunch of her fellow blond, perfect friends. He contemplated with great energy about the fork he held in his hand. Guy's forehead scrunched in concentration as he imagined the said fork piercing into his eye. That would suck, he thought, but it could not possibly be more painful than listening to this incessant droning of high- pitched, faked voices.
"And then Rachel said that Nora said that Tina made out with Jack behind Greg's back! Can you believe that? And then Rachel said that Greg found out because he found Tina's lip gloss in Jack's car." Francesca gave her friends a knowing look. "What am I always saying? Lip gloss tells tales. I bet that it was a tube of cheap lip gloss, too. You've all seen Tina try to hide that tube of Strawberry Smackers she has."
The other girls nodded in enraptured agreement while Guy glanced across the table, where Luis and Kenny were sitting. They gave Guy a glare that said that they would kill him for causing them this torture—sometime soon, like at practice this afternoon. Guy covertly mouthed "I'm sorry," while pushing away his lunch plate. All of this shallow conversation was making him lose his appetite.
Had Francesca ever said anything remotely meaningful or interesting to Guy in the time that they had known each other? Guy acknowledged that he was not a particularly deep guy, but come on. Once in awhile, he would like to have a conversation with his girlfriend that was not about the latest gossip about who kissed whom. Guy thought involuntarily about his relationship with Connie. They didn't have much in common, other than hockey, but they managed to have some spirited and memorable conversations nonetheless. Guy pushed the thought out of his mind—things with Connie were over and good riddance.
Suddenly Kenny gave Guy a look that meant, turn around and look, NOW. Kenny's expression alarmed Guy, but he turned his head as casually as humanely possible. However, all pretence of casualness was blown to pieces at what he saw. Connie had just entered the cafeteria--looking vibrantly pretty Guy noticed--with the arm of a tall, burly, brown-haired guy around her shoulders.
"You've got to be kidding me. Luis, please tell me this is a joke."
Luis gave Guy a look of pity and nodded. "That's Zach Graft—the senior on the Varsity football team."
"How the hell did that happen?" Guy tried hard not to look distressed, and was confused as to why he felt this way.
"Zach's always had a thing for Connie, so when he heard she was single yesterday he just moved on in. That guy is used to getting what he wants, and apparently Connie had no objections—I guess they're an item now."
The sight of Connie wearing Graft's Varsity letterman jacket inexplicably made Guy want to throw up. "This is total bullshit."
Francesca turned to Guy suddenly and stroked his cheek with a gentle finger. "What's bullshit, honey?"
Guy was flustered and stood up quickly. "I'll be right back." Guy walked like a man on a mission, yet did not know what exactly he was going to do. He settled for an informal approach, and tapped Connie on the shoulder. "We need to talk."
Connie opened her mouth as if to respond, but closed it. She detached herself from Zach's side and whispered something in his ear. Zach smiled and nodded and Connie gave him a kiss on his cheek. Guy did his best to look away. Connie followed Guy silently out of the cafeteria and they walked, not really knowing where they were going. Connie and Guy ended up sitting on a bench on Commons Field.
Guy spoke first. "What the hell are you doing with that Graft guy? He's a Grade-A jerk athlete who can't think for himself long enough to warm the car seat of that Mercedes he drives—except when he's thinking about how to get into the pants of whatever girl he's chasing at the moment."
Connie gave him a defiant look. "As far as I know, the only jerk is the one sitting next to me right now. From what I can see, you're being a hypocrite with that FRANCESCA NIELSON." At the mention of the girl's name, Connie had an expression of disdain. "Or is there an actual personality trapped under that veneer of vacancy and shallowness?"
Guy shifted uncomfortably in his seat because deep down he realized the factual nature of her statement. "This isn't about me, Connie. It's about you and Zach Graft. He's totally wrong for you."
Connie and Guy sat in silence, a tension prevalent in the air. When Connie finally spoke, her voice was cold. "Guy...You lost your say in that matter a long time ago."