April 16th:
When I finally opened my eyes to daylight, it was entirely on my own. However, not alert enough to comprehend this phenomenon (Grandad always wakes me up when I visit), I reached across the bed, grabbed my spare pillow, and pulled it to me...
...and then, closing my eyes again, I hugged it to my chest...
...while pretended that it was Sam I was holding in my arms. But after less than fifteen minutes my eyes snapped open again...
...because it had finally occurred to me that something highly unusual was going on. Letting go of the pillow, I rolled over onto my back; and looked over, through sleep-hazy eyes, at my alarm clock.
It was 8:52 in the morning...
...and he hadn't called me.
But...why?
Still in a semi-conscious state (which only added to my confusion), I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out why, for the first time ever, Grandad was letting me sleep in so incredibly late (for him, that is).
Unable to come up with any reason(s); and, even more importantly, since I had zero interest in facing the day, now that I knew it was going to be the first of about fifty more spent here in Yakima...
...I didn't even consider getting out of bed...
...deciding instead to just go back to sleep; even going as far as lying on my stomach again (my favorite sleeping position) and pulling the covers over my head...
...but after a few minutes, as comfortable as I was (and as groggy), I reluctantly decided against it...
...because what if Grandad thought I was staying in bed all day because I felt ill? Then he'd absolutely insist that I go to the doctor...and that was the last thing I was in the mood for at the moment.
Rolling over onto my back again, I put my hands behind my head and stared at up at the bedroom ceiling...
...which on this particular morning was a uniform shade of dull, lifeless gray, just like the sky outside my window...
...and stretched above my head like a dark, ominous, foreshadowing cloud.
Six weeks of school...
...here in Yakima.
Shit.
And no way out, either, I thought...
...unless I convinced Grandad to hire a tutor for me instead.
Seconds later, though, I had abandoned that idea.
No. Not an option.
As unnerving as the prospect of attending Yakima High was, I realized that it would at least give me the opportunity to get away from the house...and from him...for five days every week...
...and that was, unquestionably, an escape I definitely needed. Still, I didn't feel like going to school here...
...or anywhere else for that matter; because even though I was less than a week into my vacation I found that I was becoming very accustomed to being away from classrooms, homework, and teachers.
But then again, what did that matter? Regardless of how I felt about any of this, I still was trapped here...
...for the next six and a half weeks...
...which meant that I was (somehow) going to have to find a way to deal with it.
And then, as I lay there mulling all of this over, I was unexpectedly reminded of something I'd seen on TV over a year ago.
During one particularly uneventful evening (programming-wise), while I was randomly flipping channels, trying to find something...anything...worth watching, I'd tuned in for about ten minutes to some Courtroom Drama-type show. The defendant had just been convicted of...I don't remember what...and had been sentenced to prison for seven years. As he was being cuffed and led away, the judge told him, 'Mr. Manson, don't serve the time...let the time serve you'...
...and then, only two scenes later, he was studying to become a lawyer.
For some reason, my subconscious had stored that bit of information, and had now dredged it up from somewhere deep within the recesses of my memory.
Let the time serve you...
...definitely an interesting idea...
...but, under these circumstances, how could it possibly help me? But then again, I wondered, why would I even remember it at all..
...unless I deliberately was meant to?
Unable to answer any of this, but determined not to start my day until I had, I pulled the covers up over my head and closed my eyes again.
Well, I began, the main problem was school itself...
...but then again, I thought, would it really be a problem? Even though I'd be spending six weeks in unfamiliar surroundings...
...surrounded by unfamiliar people...
...I'd also have access to the school's computers...
...which meant that I'd have the perfect opportunity to apply for summer jobs, for hours on end, well away from Grandad. Instead of possibly arousing his suspicions by going to the public library every day, I could easily justify all the extra time spent at school by telling him that the current curriculum was so different from Ridgeway's that I needed to stay after classes and get additional help...
...every single afternoon.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect...
...and it had taken less than five minutes for me to reason it out!
Once I'd turned this solution over in my mind a few times, I actually felt a lot better.
Maybe this wasn't going to be so horrible after all, I thought. I'll just focus all of my energies on finding a job, instead of how miserable this town makes me...
...and, proud that I'd come up with such a productive answer so quickly and with so little effort, I actually smiled...
...and as I did, I suddenly felt like I was now confident enough to face the day. I also was becoming curious as to what was going on with Grandad; and why he hadn't woken me up; and so, wanting to make sure that he was okay, I finally climbed out of bed and stumbled out the door.
A few short minutes later, as I shuffled out of the bathroom and back into the hallway, I noticed something unusual.
The door to Grandad's office was closed...
...which it almost never is.
Not at all sure what this meant, I silently moved a few steps closer to it and strained my ears...
...to hear the murmur of someone speaking on the other side of it.
I couldn't make out what was being said...but after listening for a little over a minute I realized that the only voice I heard was his...
...which meant that he was probably talking on the phone.
Yay.
Relieved that he'd temporarily found something (other than criticizing me) to occupy his time, I sneaked back up the hall and headed toward the kitchen. About twenty minutes later, just as I was sitting down to scrambled eggs and toast (still in my pajamas), he walked in.
Judging from his expression, I was fairly certain that nothing was wrong.
"Good morning, Carly."
"Good morning, Grandad," I answered. "Would you like me to make you some something?"
"No, thanks," he replied, sitting down in the chair across from mine, "I've already had breakfast. So, did you enjoy sleeping in?"
"Well, uh, yes actually," I admitted...
...trying not to sound too ecstatic, for any number of reasons.
"That's good to hear," he answered, "especially since you were up so late last night." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I just got off the phone with Spencer. He told me about his new casino project...and that you'll be going to school here for the rest of the term, instead of back in Seattle."
Unsure exactly what Spencer had said regarding how long he was really going to be in Atlantic City, I merely nodded.
"I then called the high school; and told them that you'd be transferring," Grandad added...
...and immediately, my stomach knotted up.
"Wh-what did they say?" I asked, retrieving my fork, which had slipped from my hand and clattered onto the tabletop.
Reaching for the morning paper, he replied, "The woman I spoke to said that they were going to request your records, and that they'd let me know when they received them...and then we'd take it from there."
At this announcement I felt my stomach unclench; and relieved that I didn't have to deal with any of that unpleasantness just yet, I turned back to my food while Grandad began reading.
Between bites I asked, "So, does this school go from seventh grade, up to twelfth, like Ridgeway does?"
Eyes still on the front page, he answered, "No. The main school did until about three years ago; but by then it was becoming too crowded to accommodate that many students; so a second school was built, about a mile away, for eleventh and twelfth grades only. That's the one you'll be going to."
"It sounds really small," I observed...
...unsure if that was a bad thing or a good one.
Grandad looked up from his paper.
"I think there's about four hundred students there," he replied. "It's called the Rebecca Mulford Senior High School;and the building is still relatively new, which means that the students haven't beaten it up too badly...yet."
As I was trying to come up with an appropriate answer to this, he asked, "Have you finished eating?"
Without glancing down at my nearly empty plate, I nodded.
"Well that's good," he replied. "Go take a shower and get dressed. Today you and I are running errands."
Oh no.
When I didn't move (because I was trying desperately to think of a way out), he urged, "Go on. We have a busy day ahead of us."
Realizing by the expression on his face (and by my failure to come up with anything resembling a valid excuse), that there was no alternative, I said, reluctantly, "Uh, okay...so, what exactly are we doing?"
Grandad looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Well, I need to stop at the insurance agents, and the dry cleaners...oh yes, and the grocery store. We forgot to buy oatmeal yesterday."
While trying to hide my disgust that he'd noticed, I asked, "So, that doesn't sound like it's going to take very lon-"
"Wait, there's more on our 'To Do' list than that," he declared, "a lot more. I also need to get a haircut, and we'll stop somewhere for lunch, and after that-"
"A haircut?" I interrupted, glancing over at the kitchen clock. "What time is your appointment?"
Grandad looked confused.
"Appointment?" he asked. "Do you think I'm going to some sissy salon? The barber shop only accepts walk-ins."
At this info, I nodded amiably, hoping that he'd reached the end of his list.
Nope.
"And then," he continued, "I have to go the office supply store, too...and while we're there you can pick up some school supplies; and then we need to stop at Garden World. I haven't had a chance to start my tomatoes, basil, peppers, and lettuce from seed yet, and since it's now the middle of April, that's kind of late, so this year we're going to buy plants; plus some topsoil, peat moss, and fertilizer. Oh yes, and I need a new trowel."
Great, I thought.
Just great.
The last thing I felt like doing that morning was getting grimy by helping to haul all of his gardening crap; but nevertheless, with a nod (and a silent sigh), I got up from the table, cleared it, and then went to take a shower...
...wondering why I was bothering to clean up at all since, in a couple of hours, I was just going to be dirty again. Even worse, I thought, what if, upon arriving home, Grandad decided to transplant his seedlings right away, and dragged me out into the back yard with him?
It was gonna be a l-o-o-o-o-o-ng day!
Back in my bedroom, with a second, much louder sigh, I opened my closet door...
...promptly closing it again. Since I was about to get filthy, it only made sense to dress for it; and so I crossed the room and opened my bottom dresser drawer instead.
Anticipating (correctly) that Grandad would expect me to help him with household projects during my visit to Yakima, I'd brought a shabby outfit along...
..and, ten minutes later, wearing a pair of faded, holey jeans, and a well-worn T-shirt, I pulled on the older of the two pairs of sneakers I'd brought with me; which, when I'd originally bought them two years ago had been white, but now were looking pretty beat.
Not bothering to tie them, I walked back into the kitchen...but Grandad wasn't there. He wasn't in the living room either; and, just as I was about to call down the hall toward his bedroom...
...I heard a loud, clanging noise coming from outside; and realizing that he was in the garage, I walked out of the house, locking the front door behind me.
About ten minutes later, after Grandad had evaluated his current stash of gardening supplies and written a list of what he needed, we got into the car and drove into town.
Our first stop was the barber shop...
...which fortunately wasn't crowded, because I soon realized that there was no way I was going to enjoy the wait...
...not when I discovered that the most current magazine they had was from three years ago...
...and that its cover featured a stocky, smiling man, dressed completely in camouflage; standing proudly, rifle in hand...
...with one foot on top of the very dead moose he'd just shot!
Anyway, after only twenty minutes, I gratefully followed Grandad out of the shop.
Back in the car, as we were driving north, I asked, "So, what's our next stop?"
Without taking his eyes off the road, he replied, "Hamilton Office Supplies; because I'm almost out of-oh, drat!"
His phone was ringing.
Pulling over to the side of the road, he fished it from his pocket.
"Hello?" he said. "Oh, yes. No, I wasn't expecting to hear from you so...really? No, I wasn't aware of that. Right now?"
Grandad shook his left shirt cuff back and glanced at his watch.
"Oh, I see," he continued. "Well, yes, I think so. I was just heading over that way. In about fifteen minutes? All right, see you then."
He hung up.
Sliding his phone back into his inside jacket pocket, he turned to me.
"There's been a slight change in plans," he announced.
"Okay," I replied agreeably...
...secretly hoping that it involved something far more entertaining than what was on the current itinerary.
"It turns out," he continued, "that on the way to Hamilton, we have to stop by the school and fill out your transfer papers."
"What?" I asked loudly, while praying that I'd heard him wrong. "Right now?"
"Yes," he replied, "right now. Ridgeway has already faxed your transcripts to Mulford."
"B-but I c-can't," I exclaimed, staring down at my beat-up attire, "I'm not dressed for that!"
"You'll be fine," he replied calmly.
"No I won't!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Remember, you're always telling me how important first impressions are; and right now I look like some 'hood rat...who just stepped out of-"
"I said you'll be fine," he repeated, beginning to sound slightly annoyed. "Your clothes are clean...and so are you. We're just going in to sign some papers; and besides, I told them that we'd be there within fifteen minutes so there's no time for you to go home and change."
"Please, can't you call them back and reschedule?" I begged. "I promise you I'll go first thing tomorrow morning and-"
"No," he answered curtly, "I can't. And neither can you because, as it turns out, the school schedule here is different from Seattle's. Since Yakima's public schools were closed for eleven days last winter due to snow, our Spring Break ends today, and that means you'll be starting classes tomorrow."
"What!" I yelled, now stunned as well as horrified. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes...tomorrow," he confirmed. "That's why they asked us to come in right away."
Highly upset that I was about to make such a shabby first impression, and that my vacation was being cut so cruelly short, I opened my mouth to argue again...
...promptly shutting it again when I saw the expression on Grandad's face.
His mind was made up...
...which meant that there was no way out...
...and so, slumping back against my seat in defeat, I said nothing as we drove the rest of the way there.
Ten minutes later Grandad parked the car, and we entered the school through its front doors...
...our footsteps echoing ominously through the otherwise empty halls, as we headed (me less than enthusiastically) toward the Admissions Office...
...which also was empty, except for two middle-aged ladies seated behind desks...
...one of whom looked up at me the moment I walked in...
...and, as her eyes dropped from my face to what I was wearing...
...the expression on her face left little doubt that she Did Not like what she saw.
Crap.
Not a good beginning.
To my relief, the lady at the other desk then waved us over to where she was sitting; and, as she smiled and greeted us pleasantly, I sank down gratefully into the chair she'd indicated, while Grandad took the one next to it.
The meeting was mercifully short. After only about ten minutes, Grandad and I filled out a couple of forms, and then we walked out to the car and drove back into town.
I won't bore you with every detail of the rest of our errands; but they consisted, for the most part, of shopping for things I had no interest in; while chatting with countless acquaintances of Grandad's, who I also had no interest in...
...every single place we went.
Right after we'd had lunch at his favorite coffee shop, we stopped a nearby sporting goods store, and he bought me a new backpack since mine was back in Seattle...
...and then, to my complete astonishment, he handed me nine hundred dollars...
...while saying that, since I'd only brought a few outfits to Yakima, I should buy more school clothes.
One thing I have to say for him: As insufferable as he can be (and usually is), Grandad has always been incredibly generous.
Since we hadn't finished our other errands yet, there was no time to shop for clothes that day...
...but that was just as well. Even though I knew from my meeting earlier that morning that RMHS didn't have a dress code, I had made up my mind to wait and see what everyone else would be wearing before I went shopping.
After making three more (infuriatingly-long) stops, our To-Do list was (finally) finished...
...and by that time, to my delight, the already overcast sky was rapidly turning a very nasty shade of dark gray.
The instant we reached home it started to rain, so Grandad decided to postpone his garden project for a day or two; and, after helping him haul all of his gardening supplies into the garage...
...I gratefully hauled my tired, grimy self into the shower.
That evening, right after dinner, Sam called.
"Hi, Honey!" I exclaimed, before she'd even had a chance to say 'hello'. "You have no idea how great it is to hear your voi-"
"Carls," she cut in, with solemnity, "I'm really sorry."
Surprised by her unexpected confession, I asked, "Wh-what do you mean? Sorry for what?"
"I...just am," she stated.
"But...why?" I persisted.
"Well," she began slowly, "I've been thinking and...and I feel like it's all my fault that you've ended up in this mess...halfway across the state and living with that trol-I mean...you know, I'm really happy for Spencer and everything, but still..."
"It's okay, really!" I replied quickly, not wanting her to continue beating herself up over what had happened...
...because, after all, there was no need for both of us to be miserable.
"No, it's not," she insisted. "Now you're stuck way out in the middle of nowhere...for a month and a half...and it's all because of my last wish!"
"Don't be so hard on yourself; you had no idea that this would happen," I reminded her.
"Well, yeah, but my wish was completely unselfish...so how did something so horrible still happen to you?" she demanded.
"I have no idea," I admitted, "especially since your wish was so...so-"
Suddenly, I stopped speaking...
…for nearly a minute...
...because I'd just experienced an unspeakably-horrible revelation...
...and, feeling my blood run cold in my veins, I blurted out, "Sam! I'm not here because of you!"
"Of course you are," she retorted immediately. "If it weren't for my last wish, none of this would have hap-"
"Sam...none of this is your fault," I insisted. "It's mine!"
After a short stretch of profound silence from us both, I heard her ask, "Huh? How do you figure that?"
"Because," I exclaimed, now shocked at what had happened...
...and that I hadn't realized it until now, "you didn't make the last wish...I did!"
"Wh-what do you mean, Carls?"
Furious with myself for having been so stupid, I blurted out, "The night we went to the circus? After we got back to my place, right after I got out of the elevator and was walking to my apartment, I wished with all my heart that, 'tomorrow was here already, because I so desperately want and need to be in Sam's arms again'!"
She gasped.
"You did? Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes!" I declared. "So all of this was my fault, not yours!" When she didn't answer, I added, "Don't you see? I was being incredibly selfish...And now I'm being punished for it!"
"Well," she observed (accurately), "no matter how all of this happened, it still sucks! And even worse, next week you'll be starting school down there in that hick town."
"No, not next week," I corrected her. "More like tomorrow!"
"What?" she yelped. "Tomorrow? No way! How did that happen?"
I told her.
"Well," she declared, obviously trying to minimize how awful I felt, "at least you'll have a project to keep you busy...looking for a job."
"True," I replied, "I was just thinking about that this morning."
"And while we're on the subject of jobs," she continued, "Two days ago, I submitted nineteen applications online. I'll send you an email listing which ones; and I hope you'll apply for the same positions, because it would be really cool if we could both work in the same place."
"Somehow, we're going to," I assured her eagerly, "because I want to make up for all the time you and I have been apart!"
"Same here, Cupcake," she declared. " And I promise that, as soon as we get to A.C., I'm going to spend every second of every day with you!"
I went to bed happy.
Waking up the next morning, however, was another matter.
Even though I'd promised myself (and Sam) that I was going to stay focused on my job search...
...instead of on how horrible the next six weeks were going to be...
...I found that (despite my best efforts) my resolve was slipping; and so I decided that for one day only I'd give in to it. After all, since it was my first day of school at R.M. it would probably be a good idea to devote most of my attention on settling in anyway. And so, after vowing to myself to get right back on track with my program first thing tomorrow, I got out of bed, showered, and then returned to my room and opened my closet.
I didn't have to think about what I was going to pull out of it.
As I mentioned earlier, I had no idea what the other students would be wearing, only that the school didn't have a dress code...
...but still, I was determined to make the best first impression possible...
...and so I decided, for this first day, to wear the dressiest outfit that I'd brought to Yakima (knowing that Grandad would be taking me out to dinner at least once).
Ten minutes later I stood in front of my mirror...
...easily giving full approval to my pleated gray flannel pants, my white silk shirt, and my gray tweed jacket. And then, after a moment's consideration, I walked across the room, and picked up the small zip case that was lying on top of my desk.
The one that contained the few pieces of jewelry that I'd brought with me.
Opening it, I immediately pulled out a small, hinged beige velvet box and lifted the lid.
And then, I looked down at what was inside...
...and smiled...
...at my mother's 19th century antique brooch.
A single large, marquis-cut cornflower blue sapphire, bordered with tiny diamonds, in an elaborately scrolled, 18 karat yellow gold setting.
Dad had given it to Mom on their wedding day.
For luck, I pinned it to my left lapel and then walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table...
...where I immediately discovered that I was way too nervous to eat.
"Come on, now," Grandad urged, "you can't concentrate on your studies if you have an empty stomach."
"I'm not hungry," I promptly informed him.
Well then, just have a banana," he suggested, gesturing to the bowl of fruit in the center of the table, "or some toast and jam...or, if you'd like I'll make you a bowl of oat-"
Before he could finish extending that offer, let alone act on it, I snatched a piece of toast from the plate next to the fruit bowl and stuffed it into my mouth.
"There, that's it," he said with an encouraging smile.
After ten minutes I'd actually managed to finish two pieces of toast and some cranberry juice; and once it became obvious that I wasn't going to be able to stomach anything else, Grandad cleared the table while I shouldered my backpack...
...and then, dragging my feet, I followed him out the front door.
Since I hadn't made arrangements yesterday for bus transportation , Grandad drove me to school...
...and began cursing when, after we'd been on the road for less than five minutes, his oil light came on.
Making a detour, we drove to the nearest gas station, where he sat fuming for nearly twenty-five minutes, while the sole mechanic on duty serviced the car ahead of ours.
Wanting to be helpful (it was always in my best interests to keep him from getting too cranky), I suggested that we just buy some oil at the convenience store across the street, and that he put in in himself...
...but he quickly vetoed that idea...
...by saying that, as soon as he'd dropped me off, he was headed straight to Mrs. Lippincott's house, and taking her out to lunch; and therefore, he didn't want to get his hands and clothes grimy.
Finally, it was our turn to be helped; and, after the filter had been replaced and the oil tank had been filled, we were back on the road...
...arriving at school twelve minutes late...
...with Grandad still in a foul mood (he's always been adamant about punctuality).
Insisting that I could manage by myself (so there was no need for him to escort me in), I got out of the car; and after he'd wished me luck and driven off I walked, reluctantly, through the school's front doors.
Since classes had already started, there were no other students in the hallways, so they were just as silent as they'd been yesterday, the only sound bding my echoing footsteps...
...as I walked toward my doom.
About halfway to Admissions, I stopped suddenly...
...seeing something that I hadn't noticed the day before...
...and, grateful for something...anything...to delay what was coming, I walked over to a display of photos on the left-hand wall, right next to the trophy case.
The banner above it read 'Who's Who at Mulford'.
Figuring that, since I was already so late a few more minutes wouldn't matter, I spent the next five or so studying the twenty-one pictures in front of me; which, according to the names and titles under them, were the leaders of Mulford's Student Government, sports teams, cheer leading squad, etc.
I took my time, assessing each student at length, thinking as I did that most of them looked friendly enough...
...but finally, realizing that I'd run out of excuses and it was time to face the inevitable, I turned and walked the rest of the way down the hall...
...into the the Admissions Office...
…and straight over to the desk of Mrs. Stewart (who I'd met with yesterday), grateful as I did to see that the other, scowling lady wasn't in at the moment.
Mrs. S. was currently in the middle of a phone call, so I sat down and waited politely...
...but less than ten minutes later, I was (with heart pounding) following her down the hallway...
...and then, turning into an adjacent one...
...we walked all the way to its end...
...both of us coming to a halt in front of a room marked 'QUAD B'.
Mrs. Stewart knocked.
"Come in," I heard a woman's voice reply.
A second later, Mrs. S. opened the door...
...and then, taking a deep breath, I walked into the room behind her.
Once she'd introduced me to my teacher, Mrs. Griffin, I looked over, warily, at my new classmates. As they looked back at me, I saw several friendly smiles, obviously of recognition...
...which meant that some of them definitely watched the show...
...and profoundly thankful for this, I found myself breathing a bit easier.
After Mrs. Stewart had left and Mrs. Griffin (who didn't seem to know me or iCarly) had introduced me to the class, she handed me an English textbook and asked me to take a seat.
Unfortunately, the only empty one available was in the front row...
...dead center.
I sat down where she had indicated, slightly disappointed. Due to my location, I now had no real chance to size up any of the other kids. Oh well, I thought, there was always the chance to get a better seat in my next class, which was History.
The lesson itself wasn't hard (English is easily my best subject), but at the end of it I found, to my surprise, that we weren't going to be leaving the room...
...because these 'quad' classes were different from the ones I'd had at Ridgeway. For some reason, when changing subjects at R.M., it's the teachers who travel from room to room instead of the students. Maybe they think that this will result in a more orderly transition between classes; I don't know...
...but anyway, I wasn't exactly thrilled to find that I was going to be stuck sitting where I was for the rest of the day...not only because I couldn't study my classmates...
...but because I immediately realized that most of them were studying me (I could feel their eyes on my back). But still, I made the best of it, getting successfully through both History and Science (which as it turned out, consisted of theory rather than lab work).
Finally, the lunch bell rang.
While I was packing my books and homework assignments, I heard someone say, "Excuse me, Carly?"
As I looked up in surprise, to find two smiling, friendly-looking girls standing next to my desk, the taller of them spoke again.
"Hi! I'm Amy, and this is Renee. We love your show, and were wondering if you'd like to sit with us at lunch?"
"Sure," I answered, smiling back, "I'd love to."
Shouldering my backpack, I followed them (happily) toward the classroom door, getting as far as the teacher's desk when Mr. Shelton, who taught Science, reached over and tapped me on the arm.
"Carly, I need to speak to you."
I looked over, apologetically, at Amy and Renee.
"Sorry," I said, "but uh, don't wait around for me...can I meet up with you both in a few minutes?"
They assured me that I could.
After I'd filled out a form arranging for bus transportation and had been given my locker assignment, I hurried out of the room, straight to the cafeteria...and then rushed through the lunch line and into the dining area...
...but, as I looked across the crowded room, over to where Amy and Renee were sitting, I was disappointed to see that their table was now completely full. Apparently, they had been unable to save me a seat.
Oh, well, I thought, there's always tomorrow.
Glancing around the room once again, I spied an empty chair several tables away and made my way over to it. As I asked, "Mind if I join you?" the six jocks who were already sitting there, deep in conversation, looked up...
...and every one of them smiled at me...
...while a couple looked me up and down, obviously appraising/evaluating the 'scenery'...
...but still, almost in unison, all of them said, "Yeah, sure!"
With an appreciative smile, I sat down in the table's only empty chair, ready to introduce myself and strike up a conversation...
...but, as I just mentioned, one was already in progress; and turning away from me immediately, all six of them put their heads back together and resumed discussing the Mariners' chances this season (which had already started), while debating the various pros and cons of the team's current line up...
...and so, not wanting to interrupt, I turned my attention to my food; which for the record wasn't bad at all, considering that it was school cafeteria chow.
I had just taken my second bite of lasagna when I heard an excited-sounding voice, coming from somewhere behind me.
"Look! It's Carly Shay from iCarly...can I have your autograph?"
Since I didn't want to answer with my mouth full, I merely nodded, while dragging my backpack toward me. Quickly pulling my pen and an index card from its front pocket, I wrote what I usually did on such occasions: Very Best Wishes, Carly Shay.
Pushing my chair back from the table, I stood up and turned around...
...to see that four very attractive girls were standing behind me.
But...which one was I supposed to give the card to?
"Uh, hi! I'm not sure who asked me for this," I stated...
...and the girl second from the left raised her hand slightly.
"I did," she replied...
...and, with a smile, I held the card out to her.
To my surprise, she didn't take it.
"What...you didn't think I was serious, did you?" she asked...
...in a highly-sarcastic tone of voice...
...and, card still in hand, I froze.
When I didn't reply, she continued, with a condescending smirk, "You know, it's really presumptuous of you to think that I'd ever want your autograph...but then again, I shouldn't be surprised, considering that you're so full of yourself!"
As this unexpected accusation, I felt the color rapidly draining from my face; and my mind beginning to spin from quickly-mounting confusion, as I tried to figure out what was going on...
...wondering how this girl could possibly be so insulting toward someone she'd never even met before...
...but, unfortunately, my brain wasn't cooperating.
Meanwhile, she just stood there with her friends, the four of them waiting in silence for me to respond...
...but I couldn't...
...because suddenly, a very possible reason for her contempt had occurred to me...
...and, now panicking, I began wracking my mind...
...frantically trying to recall if I had ever mentioned on iCarly that I absolutely hate Yakima...
...because if I had...and she'd heard...then of course she'd be upset with me.
And she'd have every right to be, considering that I'd trashed her hometown on the World Wide Web.
However, in my self-conscious apprehension, I couldn't remember whether I had ever been that rude or not; and so, deciding that it definitely would be better to err on the side of caution and give her the full benefit of the doubt, I smiled warmly and answered, now slightly nervous, "Um, look, I...I know that sometimes on iCarly things get a little...crazy...but if we've ever said or done anything that you find...well, offensive, then I'd like to apologize for it...sincerely...right now."
"Well then," she replied, tossing her long blonde hair back off her shoulders, "in that case, I hope you don't have any other plans for this month, because you're going to spend the rest of it apologizing to me...for every single episode of that travesty you call a show!"
Realizing that my mouth was hanging open, I shut it again...
...staring at her in shocked speechlessness, as she continued, "Seriously...you consider that crap to be entertainment? 'Making Chicken Soup in the Toilet'? A 'Talking Bra'? 'Street Fishing'? 'Random Duncing'?"
"Uh, Tiffy," one of the other girls spoke up, "I think you mean 'Random Dancing'."
Tiffy whipped around to face her.
"Shut it, Marci, I know what I said!" she snapped. Turning back to me she continued, "Oh, yes, and speaking of dunces, let's not forget the 'Idiot Farm Girl'...but at least, acting-wise, that one can't have been too much of a stretch for you."
The two girls standing to her left snickered at this...
...and suddenly, feeling my face flush (even though my hands felt oddly cold), I remembered that, earlier that morning, I'd seen her picture on the 'Who's Who' display.
Her full name was Tiffany Myers...
...and she was both Cheer Captain and Student Body President.
Oh no.
When I didn't reply, Tiffy, realizing that she needed to hold up both ends of the conversation, continued, "Well, well, well, girls...look at this, there's a Celebri-tard...right here in our midst!"
As I stood there, shocked and silent, desperately searching my brain for way to diffuse the situation...
...the girl on Tiffy's right turned to her.
"Uh, Tiff...being on a web show doesn't really make someone a celebrity," she observed.
"I know that, Trace," Tiffy said, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "but Carly here certainly doesn't!"
Suddenly, she stopped speaking and looked down at my outfit; and then back at her friends.
"By the way," she informed them, "my aunt Liz, who works in Admissions? Last night, she told me that Carly showed up for her interview yesterday dressed like a total bum!"
Before I could offer an explanation for this, she continued, "And look what she's wearing now...it's easy to see that she thinks she's so much better than the rest of us."
At these words, I shifted my eyes from their casual jeans and sweaters to my own dressy outfit.
Suddenly (and thankfully), my ability to speak returned.
"I just...wanted to make a good first im-" was as far as I got...
...before Tiffy cut in.
"It's obvious that she wants to make sure that we're well aware of how superior she is."
"But I-" I began to protest...
...as she continued, "So superior that she thinks can wear whatever she wants, no matter how inappropriate it is...oh, yes, and let's not forget that she feels she can make her own schedule, too. It's her first day of school, and she couldn't even bother to show up on time. Instead she sauntered in over half an hour late," she concluded...
...and my voice deserted me again.
Apparently emboldened by Tiffy's snarky remarks (and by my failure to return them), the girl standing directly on her left suddenly leaned forward and stared at the antique pin on my left lapel...
...the one that my mother had given me shortly before she'd passed away.
"Nice brooch," she remarked. "What is that...plastic?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Jessica," Tiffy immediately interjected, "the only thing that's plastic around here is Carly's personality!"
She quickly scanned the room, and then turned back to me.
"So tell me, Carly, did you transfer here alone? You must have...because I don't see that dyke-sidekick-freak of yours anywhere," she announced rudely...
...and, finally, I lost it.
"Don't you dare call her that!" I shouted...
...not even caring that all the other students were already looking at us...
...most of them obviously anticipating/hoping for a fight.
"Don't call Sam a dyke?" Tiffy asked. "Why not? Everyone else does!"
At this, I felt my cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, as I heard scattered laughter coming from around the dining room.
And now, suddenly desperate for someone...anyone...to come to my defense...
...and to tell Tiffy that they'd watched me on iCarly, and that I seemed to be a decent person...
...and that she should at least get to know me before passing judgment...
...I scanned the entire room frantically; but, not only did no one appear willing to take my side, there also wasn't a single teacher in sight...
...and so I turned, eyes pleading, over to Amy and Renee...
...but, almost immediately, their own eyes dropped to their plates...
...and now realizing that I was wildly grasping at straws, I turned around to my own table and looked down at the six jocks who were sitting there...the ones who, minutes before, had welcomed me...
...hoping as I did that even one of them would be gentlemanly enough to speak up and take my side...
...but, instantly, they all averted their eyes.
No.
Oh, God...no.
It was obvious that she owned the other students...
...every single one of them.
Taking a shaky breath, I quickly stopped to consider my options...
...only to realize that I didn't have any. No matter what Tiffy said or did, there was No Way I could be rude back to her...
...because since it was 'four against one', she and her friends would definitely gang up on me...
...not in the school yard, but in the Principal's Office...
...where they would doubtlessly grossly exaggerate and/or twist everything I'd said; and God knows what would happen then. I mean, none of the faculty knew me yet, and none of the other students would dare to contradict them, so it would be my word against theirs; and, since Tiffy obviously 'could do no wrong' around here (how else could such an evil troll rise to Who's Who status(?) I would come off looking like the troublemaker...
...possibly getting suspended...
...maybe for so long that I ended up in Summer School...
...and there was no way I was going to let that happen.
I wasn't going to allow anyone or anything ruin my summer with Sam.
Sam.
Suddenly realizing that, no matter what, I still wasn't about to let Tiffy...or anyone else attack her...especially when she wasn't here to defend herself, I took a deep breath.
"Look," I said, my voice still surprisingly friendly, "you guys don't know Sam...but I promise you that, if you did, you'd realize that she's a very likeable-"
"Likeable-Muff-Diving-Carpet-Munching-Lesbian?" Tiffy quickly and crudely finished my sentence.
As I opened my mouth to protest, she added, "Carly, it's so obvious that she's a dyke, and if you can't see it, then you're an idiot...or...or maybe you're just sticking up for her because you're a dyke too! Oh, yes," she added, "and while we're on the subject of Sam, has that sick, twisted freak ever tried to stick that filthy, diseased tongue of hers in your-"
At that moment, the bell rang...
...which was just as well, as my appetite was now completely destroyed...
...and, grateful that this confrontation was over, because I was now furious enough to do things to Tiffy that would land her in the hospital...
...and me in prison...
...I snatched up my backpack and lunch tray, and hurried toward the cafeteria's exit...
...making a mental note as I did to spend the next six weeks as far away from Tiffy and her cronies as I possibly could.
This was, however, easier said than done since all four of them were in 'Quad B'.
Two minutes later, back in the classroom, I shrugged my backpack off and sat down at my desk...
...managing, with effort, not to react to the ball of wadded up paper that almost immediately bounced off the back of my right shoulder...
...and now, half-blinded by a screaming headache, I opened my Social Studies book and bent over it; thankful that the teacher had just arrived; which meant that I probably wouldn't be the target of any more projectiles...
...at least until the end of the class...
...which, fortunately, passed otherwise uneventfully...
...as did Algebra.
Finally, the bell rang, and we all left the classroom...
...and walked to the gym.
No one spoke to me.
I followed the rest of the girls into the girls' locker room, where I found the coach, Ms. Butcher, sitting in her office...re-lacing a catcher's mitt. I introduced myself to her; and, after she'd crushed my right hand in a death grip and had assigned me a gym locker, I changed into the T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers I'd brought with me that morning; while the rest of the class did the same (there were no gym uniforms at this school).
Afterward, Ms. Butcher and two of my classmates grabbed several heavy bags of equipment, and the rest of us followed them out of the building...
...and onto the hockey field.
I'm not exactly the most athletic person on the planet, but I'd played a little field hockey during my Phys Ed classes back at Ridgway, so at least I had a clue as to what was about to happen, I thought confidently.
Little did I realize how wrong I was.
Possibly wanting to assess my athletic abilities right away, Ms. Butcher decided to assign me the position of 'blue team' center; and less than a minute later, I found myself, clutching my stick, crouched directly across from the 'red team's' center...
...Tiffany Myers.
It quickly became very clear that, aside from bullying, Tiffany Myers' main purpose on this earth is to play field hockey...
...with sadistic brutality...
...because, after slamming the end of her stick directly (and painfully) into the front of my bare left shin (a second before the first whistle was even blown), she quickly scooped the ball from between us and then leaped past me and tore down the field...
...while I, cursing profusely, hurried along behind her; limping as quickly as I could.
And, believe it or not, that was the most enjoyable moment of the entire class.
Forty-five tortuously-long minutes later; after having been elbowed frequently, body-slammed repeatedly, and kicked relentlessly...
...by both Tiffy and all three of her thugs...
...I limped (with difficulty) to the edge of the field; where I stood bent over, hands on knees, struggling to catch my breath as I watched Ms. Butcher packing up the equipment.
Apparently, Tiffy was watching too...
...because, seeing (and seizing) her chance, she silently crept up behind me...
...and seconds later, I felt her one of her cleats slamming into the back of my right knee...
...and her hockey stick slamming into the back of my left one...
...and the hard ground slamming into the entire rear of me (including my head) as I sprawled backward onto it.
At my loud cry of pain and surprise, Ms. Butcher dropped the equipment bag she was closing and spun around to face me...
...just as Tiffy, bending forward over my battered body, asked loudly, "Carly? Car- oh, my God, honey...are you okay?"
Before I could answer...
...with spectacularly-memorable vulgarity...
...she had grabbed (way too tightly) onto my upper arms and hauled me into an upright position.
"Oh, dear, I don't know who left this stick lying here to someone trip over, but people really should be more careful!" she added...
...while giving me a Very Pointed Look...
...which, unfortunately, Mrs. Butcher didn't witness, since Tiffy wasn't was facing her.
Shaking her hands off me...immediately and disgustedly...I glared at her hatefully...
...instantly regretting it, because it absolutely confirmed that she had finally gotten to me...
...and God knows what that would lead to...
...and now, dirty and aching (from head to toe), I turned my back on Tiffy and her satanically-triumphant smile, and stormed off toward the school building, merely nodding when Ms. B., as I was passing her, asked if I was all right.
Fortunately, Phys. Ed was my last class, so I didn't have to face the showers...
...and whatever horrors Tiffy might have had in store for me there...
...and so, after dusting myself off as best I could and grabbing my stuff from my gym locker, I made a fast call to Grandad, telling him I wouldn't need a ride home; and then left the building and climbed onto the bus (which I now was entitled to do). Looking out my window, I watched as Tiffy and her goon Jessica got into a new, light blue convertible (which I'm pretty sure was Tiffy's, since she was driving), and pulled out of the parking lot...
...while I sat in silence, with my forehead pressed against the bus window, all the way home.
Twenty minutes later, as I limped through the front door and over to the living room couch, Grandad, not looking out from behind his newspaper asked, "Well, how did it go? Did you meet anyone today?"
"Yes, I did...I met a girl named Tiffany Myers!" I replied, quickly...
...eagerly anticipating the look of indignation on his face the instant I told him how horrible she'd been to me.
Immediately, he set his newspaper on the coffee table and looked up at me.
"Oh, yes, little Tiffy," he answered...
...with a fond smile.
"I know her father Jack very well, he continued, "he's been a client of mine for years." (Grandad owns an accounting firm.) "Her maternal grandmother, Rebecca Mulford, donated the land for the school, and was also the building's main benefactor, and so it was named after her. Fine family," he added...
...and my heart plummeted...
...into a vat of icy water...
...as I realized that I could expect no support whatsoever from him.
Great. Just great.
Suddenly, Grandad's gaze dropped to my clothes
"Wow, you got dirty."
"Field hockey," I answered simply.
"Oh," he replied. "Anyway, I was just going to make tea; would you like some?"
Dejectedly, I shook my head.
No, I thought, no tea...
...and certainly no sympathy.
Heading (with considerable effort) to my room, I ditched my backpack and showered as quickly as I could...
...because, now desperate for an understanding audience, I needed to call Sam.
Unfortunately, she wasn't answering.
Wondering what she was doing (and hoping that it didn't involve orange jumpsuits), I left a message, asking her to call me as soon as she could.
Shortly after 7 pm, she did.
"Hi, Carls! How was your first day?"
"They hate me!" I blurted out, with my voice shaking badly. "All of them! They absolutely hate me!"
"Huh?" she replied, obviously confused. "That can't be right."
"It is! An-nd they d-do!" I blubbered, with my lower lip trembling.
"Aw, come on, Cupcake," she answered with a laugh, "how could anyone possibly hate you?"
"They...they..." was all I could get out.
After almost a minute's silence on my end of the line, Sam, still sounding amused, asked, "So...what happened?"
"Well, like always, I was really friendly and outgoing," I replied, suddenly emboldened by my returning rage at how Tiffy had verbally trashed Sam, "but they-"
At that moment, however, I hesitated...
...because it had just occurred to me that this definitely was not a good idea.
If I told her how horribly Tiffy and her cronies had treated me, even though she's broke Sam would find a way to come down here to Yakima...
...immediately...
and would then (single-handedly) pound all four of them to a pulp...
...and that's the last thing I needed.
Expulsion would definitely ruin my summer plans.
Moments later, she broke the silence.
"Look, Carls, whatever it is, just tell me," she urged...
...and, with a sinking heart I answered, "I can't. It's...it's complicated."
"Okay," she agreed, "then let's start at the beginning. What exactly are all these hundreds of haters saying to you?"
"Well, not much of anything," I admitted, (which, technically, was true since, thanks to Tiffy and her posse, no one else was talking to me...at all).
After mulling this information over for only a few seconds, Sam stated, "Well then, don't you see what's happening? Those hicks probably aren't used to having a famous celebrity like you around...so they're shy. Just give them a couple of days, and I'm sure they'll warm up to you...okay?"
"I don't know," I said slowly, "...maybe."
"Don't worry, Carls, I'm sure of it...so just give them a chance," she stated confidently...
...and, at those words, I decided to let the matter drop...
...before she figured out what had really happened, and started taping up her knuckles.
Suddenly, she sneezed.
"God bless you."
"We can only hope!" she replied with a laugh, and then added, "Now, let's forget about school and talk about something much more interesting. You know those nineteen applications that I filed online the other day? I actually got four call backs already!"
Surprised and delighted, I answered, "Really? That's great! Which ones?"
"Randall's, Shallingers, Dock Town, and The Boardwalk Grill," she rattled off...
...and then, unable to resist, I answered, "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I was looking at the list you gave me last night and...why is it that every single place you've applied to is somehow connected with food?" I teased.
"Uh...that was...an...um...a...coincidence," she mumbled...
...and, for the first time that day, I laughed.
"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," I announced, in an obviously fake, highly suspicious tone.
"Okay, okay!" she relented. "I figured that, since I'm going to be stuck working, that I might as well have perks!"
"Oh. I see," I replied gravely.
"But...does it matter, Carls?" she asked, obviously confused.
"Well, no," I admitted, "it's just that, given your history in the Food Service industry...I mean, look what happened when you worked at Chili My Bowl."
"Don't worry," she replied, "I'm doing my research this time...in advance. No food means no Sam! Besides, this job won't be nearly as bad...since we'll both be working in the same place."
April 18th:
Thank God the following day was Saturday...
...because, thanks to having been thoroughly beaten up on the hockey field the previous afternoon, every single inch of me ached.
Even my hair.
Somehow managing (with muscles protesting vehemently) to get out of bed, I dragged my sore self into the bathroom and soaked in a hot bath for nearly an hour...
...with my forehead on my knees...
...while doing my best to ignore the abundance of dark purple bruises which had cropped up overnight, and now covered my legs and arms...
...and while resolutely refusing to give in to the compelling urge to cry...
...because I refused to give that bitch Tiffy the satisfaction.
Suddenly, I heard Grandad tap on the bathroom door.
"Carly? As soon as you're finished in there, have some breakfast, and then meet me in the back yard. It looks like it's going to rain this afternoon, so I want to get the seedlings in the ground this morning."
An entire morning spent crawling around...
...on my battered knees and shins?
Oh.
My.
God.
At this prospect, even though I was naked, I desperately wanted to jump out the bathroom window and sprint into the next county.
There was only one way to avoid the entire excruciating ordeal, I realized...
…and, returning to my room, I strategically put on a pair of shorts.
Twenty minutes later, after a fast bowl of Special J cereal, I walked into the back yard and over to Grandad, who was kneeling in the last row of his garden plot, setting out the basil plants...
...stopping directly in front of him so that when he looked up, the first thing he'd see was my badly-abused shins.
As hoped, they had the desired effect.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. "What happened to you?"
"Field hockey."
He looked thoughtful for a long moment.
"Oh, I see. Well, there's no use in both of us getting muddy so, instead of helping me with this, why don't you sweep out the garage instead?" he said kindly.
Not exactly thrilled at that suggestion (but thankful that I wasn't going to have to crawl around in agony), I willingly did as he asked...
...while apprehensively wondering what else he had planned for me that day...
...and still managing to end up dirty anyway.
To my surprise, as soon as I'd finished sweeping Grandad gave me the rest of the day off; suggesting that I go clothes shopping, which I was only too happy to do. After a fast lunch, I took a shower and then Grandad drove me downtown...and left me...
...and, thankful that he hates shopping so much, I spent the entire afternoon alone, happily trying on clothes. I've never been one to copy what anyone else wears, but it had occurred to me that, under these particular circumstances, it couldn't hurt to try to fit in sartorially; so I kept in mind as I shopped that my classmates were a jeans, polos, and sweaters kind of crowd.
April 19th:
First thing Sunday morning Grandad and I went to church (which he does every week anyway); and once we'd had brunch downtown and had returned home, I found myself at a complete loss for something to do.
Grandad had (thankfully) gone over to Mrs. Payne's, so I was free of him for the time being...
...but both the public and school libraries were closed; which meant that I couldn't get on the computer and start my job search...
...and so, with no idea how to entertain myself, I decided to write a love letter to Sam...
...and spent the next two hours at my desk, throwing page after crumpled-up page into my wastebasket...
...because, no matter how hard I tried to sound sentimental and romantic...
...I just came off as needy and pathetic.
Finally, after more than fifteen attempts, I gave up.
After vowing to try again after a couple of days...
...when I had (hopefully) recovered from having been so physically and mentally traumatized...
...I wandered out into the back yard; and sat down at the picnic table...
..watching Grandad, as he grilled a couple of huge rib eye steaks for our dinner...
...while doing my best to ignore the annoyingly-inquisitive eyes that kept appearing on the other side of his fence...
...and while dreading the knowledge that I'd be walking back into Quad B in a few short hours.