My Senior Year of Awesome Read online

  “Yeah, sure you did.” His feet seem mammoth-sized when he steps closer. I clutch Andy’s leg and hoist myself to a standing position, nearly taking him down in the process.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, trying to shake me off of him.

  “I said I was hurt.” I grimace and moan to further elaborate. “Are you going to walk me back to school or do you want to just watch me limp the whole half-mile? I can’t call Dominic, the love of my life from here. And now the person everyone thinks I’m going to marry won’t help me either!” Enraged by the stupidity of our discussion, I push away from Andy and hobble back along the cross-country trail, dragging my injured leg behind me.

  I count ten steps before the possibility strikes me that he intends to watch me suffer the whole way back to school. I never imagined Andy having this capacity for hatred. A cry chokes me, but before I let it out, he comes up from behind and sweeps me in his arms like I’m a rag doll.

  I can’t resist curling my arms around him. “Wow. You’re deceptively strong for such a skinny guy.”

  His lips press together like he’s fighting not to smile. “And you’re deceptively evil for such a cute girl.”

  “You think I’m cute?” I ask, wriggling beneath his vise-like grip.

  He cranes his neck, checking out a jet flying overhead, marking the sky with a tail of white smoke. “You’re not—ugly.”

  I poke his chest to bring his attention back to me. “If you had to rate me on a scale of one to ten, where would I be?” Curiosity kills me every time.

  “Hmmm. Is one good or bad?”

  “One is bad, math wizard. Ten is totally hot.”

  “Then I plead the fifth.”

  I pick my head up from his shoulder. “You think I’m a five?”

  “No. I refuse to answer, because if I do, it will only get me in trouble.”

  “How bad-looking can I be?” I wonder aloud. “You kissed me.”

  “I was drunk,” he says, with a grin.

  I bring my face closer to his. “You were so not drunk. You were only at the party for like two minutes. Plus, there was no AOB.”

  “AOB?”

  “Alcohol on breath. I didn’t smell anything. When I hugged you after our first driving lesson, you hugged me back. Do you remember that?”

  He rolls his eyes. “How could I forget? I still have nightmares about you almost crashing through my windshield.”

  “Sadie! Over here.” Geez. Somehow Jana times her appearance to perfectly destroy the first enjoyable conversation I’ve had with Andy in days. Her shrill voice startles him, and he drops me like a bag of hot rocks.

  “Ouch.” My tailbone connects with the hard ground, jolting my spine out of alignment.

  “Sorry,” Andy says, sounding not the least bit apologetic. Ben and Jana round the corner, walking hand in hand along the running trail.

  “Your friends can help you the rest of the way. See ya.” With a wave, Andy ventures off in the direction of the student parking lot.

  “What happened?” Jana manages to tear her eyes away from Ben when she hears me groaning.

  “I was running—like you were also supposed to be doing—and Andy jumped out from behind the school sign. He scared the bejeezus out of me, and I fell. Now my leg hurts. I can barely walk.”

  Jana and Ben hoist me up from the ground and cart me back to the Phys Ed building. When I describe my fall and the burning pain to Coach Jenkins, he shakes his head sadly.

  “Hamstring,” he pronounces. “You could be out for the season.”

  “What!?!” Jana and I cry in unison.

  “I didn’t even run in one race yet,” I say. I glance at my best friend. The success of our high school achievement list now rests on her shoulders. She needs to step up and earn our varsity letter or all the hours we spent running in circles will be a waste. And unless she possesses a previously undiscovered talent for pole vaulting, we’re completely doomed.

  After delivering the bad news, Coach packs ice around my thigh and sends me on my way. Ben volunteers to drive Jana and me home. He runs to fetch his minivan, promising to meet us by the cafeteria doors while Jana acts as my human crutch, supporting me in front of my locker as I gather my homework.

  “What happened, Sadie?” Mrs. McCaffrey steps out of her classroom when she notices me limping by.

  “I think I wrenched my hamstring at track practice.”

  “You’re running track? Is that why you’ve cut back on mathletes?”

  “Yeah. Sadie may be out for the season,” Jana adds. “Looks like we’re not earning any varsity letters before we graduate.”

  “It wasn’t really ever going to happen, anyway,” I say. “But at least we tried.”

  “If you want to earn a varsity letter, then why not stick with mathletes?” Mrs. McCaffrey asks, looking back and forth between us, confused. “If we win the first round competition and make it to the county championships, everyone on the team automatically letters.”

  Excitement burns in my chest. “Really? With Andy in our group, we’re a lock for the first round.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Jana holds up one finger as she works the idea through her brain. “Did you say the whole team letters, even if we individually stink at math?”

  “Neither of you stinks at math,” Mrs. McCaffrey says. “You may not be a pair of mathematical geniuses, like Mr. Kosolowski, but the two of you can hold your own against any other high school senior. I would never have asked you to be on the team if you couldn’t do the work.”

  Jana whoops loudly and throws her arms around me, almost taking me down for the third time that afternoon.

  “Ouch,” I wince, stumbling when my weight shifts onto my bad leg. But Jana is past caring about my personal discomfort.

  “Our dream is alive, Sadie!”

  “Great,” I say, attempting to work up to her level of enthusiasm. “But I think I prefer running with a pulled hamstring over seeing Andy Kosolowski at mathletes practice every day.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  On the way to my apartment, Jana’s eyes are glued on Ben. She’s completely forgotten about her severely injured best friend in the backseat. Holy awkwardness. She’d kill me if I poked my head between them and asked if they managed to kiss in front of the school sign. I can’t bring up our achievement list in front of her current love interest. Especially not after the way Andy reacted when he found out kissing boys is part of my apparently misguided attempt to enjoy my final semester of high school.

  Seriously, guys are such babies.

  Like if Andy’s situation was reversed and the opportunity arose for him to make out with two girls in one night, he would do the honorable thing and fully disclose all prior hooking up to female number two. And if Andy had bothered to get to the party on time, I might have kissed him first and avoided my Dominic experience altogether.

  Anyway, after Ben and Jana help me up the stairs, they dump me in front of my apartment and make a run for it. I open my door and glance back to say thanks for the lift, but they’re already gone. Sigh. I hop into the kitchen and refill the cold pack Coach gave me with new ice. Then I limp over to our sofa and collapse. Once my leg completely numbs, I switch to a heating pad. About an hour into the rest, ice, heat, elevate circuit, Mom’s key scratches in the lock, signaling the end to my peaceful afternoon.

  “Sadie! Are you hurt?” Her face turns nine shades of green when she notices my leg propped up on a stack of pillows.

  “I think I strained my hamstring at track practice. I’m okay, though.”

  “Do I need to look at it? Because I don’t know if I can.” She covers her eyes with her hands.

  “Mom. You work in a medical office. Don’t you see sports injuries all the time?”

  “Yes, but you’re my child. It’s different when your baby is in pain.”

  “I’m not a baby anymore, and I promise you, I’ll be fine. But it looks like
I’m off the track team.”

  “It’s that bad? I’ll call Dr. Kosolowski. Ask him what to do.” Mom zigzags around the apartment like a confused mouse caught in a never-ending maze.

  “No, wait. Anyone but him!” But she’s already yakking away to the nighttime receptionist, demanding to speak with her boss. Dr. Kosolowski returns the page ten minutes later, and Mom hands me the phone.

  “He wants you to describe your symptoms.”

  He must know how well my mother deals with these types of situations. I describe my pain on the meaningless one to ten scale (I give it an eight when I’m moving, otherwise a one and a half) and update him on my self-care. When he asks how the injury occurred, I mention my track practice and stretching routine, but I cover for Andy and don’t rat out his rude behavior to his father.

  After much lengthy discussion, Dr. Kosolowski’s recommended course of action matches Coach Jenkins’ instructions almost word for word. When I pass the phone back to Mom, she finally appears convinced that I managed to avoid permanent damage.

  “Even though you might need to quit the team, I’m still proud of you,” she says, sitting next to me on the couch. “You tried something new. And you still have the play to look forward too.”

  “Yeah, my costume should be ready soon. I’ll be dressed as a giant green plant,” I say, circling my index finger in the air.

  Mom throws her head back and laughs. My part in the musical is a constant source of entertainment for her. “You know what I did for fun in high school? Nothing. Because I got pregnant. Not that I regret having you, but it did put a dent in my social life.”

  “Yeah, I guess midnight feedings limit your ability to party all night.”

  “Somewhat,” she admits. “My advice is to take advantage of your free time. Do something spectacular. You never know where you’re going to end up.”

  “I’m so happy you feel that way, Mom. Because I signed up for skydiving lessons this weekend.”

  Her face turns sheet white. “Really, skydiving? How … adventurous.”

  I force a laugh. “Kidding. One day of real track practice is all the outdoor excitement I ever need.”

  “Your choice, of course. I would never stop you,” she says, with a shake of her head. “Should I make you chicken soup?” Mom is clueless about caring for my leg injury. It’s amazing how she works alongside doctors and nurses every single day without even the slightest bit of medical practicality clicking in her brain.

  “A normal diet will be tolerable,” I say, just to play with her mind.

  “Huh?”

  “Whatever, Mom. I’ll eat anything.”

  We settle on a dinner consisting of of Ellio’s pizza, baked to perfection in the toaster oven, and washed down with strawberry milk. As we eat, I prod my mother to continue her trip down memory lane. She and I never have heart to hearts. I mean, I add and subtract as well as any mathlete, so, knowing how old Mom is now, I can tell she got pregnant with me during senior year. But, I hesitate to ask for exact details, and she never volunteers much information.

  “Was my dad your one true love? Is that why you never married anyone else?”

  Mom ponders this question as she nibbles at the corner of her rectangular tile of pizza. “Maybe I thought I loved him. But marriage? No way. I was too young. And he wasn’t interested in a lasting anything.”

  “You never talked about getting married?” I ask.

  Mom meets my gaze. “We definitely talked about it. But even back then, I thought of marriage as one of the most important decisions I would ever make. Sure, it’s hard to pick a fancy college or a future career, but you can always change where you go to school or work. You can’t just shed your family.” Mom folds her hands on top of the table. “I don’t regret having you, Sadie. But, I also don’t regret staying single. Your father and I went our separate ways. He moved across the country. I wish he’d kept in contact with you, but you can’t force someone to be a parent.” She reaches out and tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear.

  “It’s okay. I’m used to just us.”

  She smiles a sad smile. “Doesn’t make it right, though, does it? I got busy with work and raising you, and the next thing you know I’m comfortable my life. That’s why I like to see you try new things. Take risks. Just try not to break any bones in the process, okay?”

  ***

  By the next morning, I skate along with a barely noticeable limp. My mother manages to power through her anxiety over my injured hamstring (which on the outside looks totally normal, not even bruised), and wraps my leg with a new ace bandage.

  I arrive at school later than usual, but Jana must have decided to dump me like a burning radish when I didn’t show up on time, because she’s nowhere in sight. I consider shuffling by Ben’s locker, but ultimately just suck it up and rely on myself.

  Seconds before the bell, Jana rushes into homeroom, looking very un-Jana like with disheveled hair and smeared lipstick. She pulls out her compact and finger-combs her hair through announcements.

  We catch up on our way to first period. “You never told me about kissing Ben in front of the school sign yesterday. What happened?”

  Jana lifts a shoulder. “We ran into Andy on the way to the sign, and Ben suggested we hide out in his minivan for a few minutes. He did kiss me, though.”

  “Yeah, that much I could tell. The dopey looks and hand holding gave it away.”

  “Was it that obvious?” she asks, breaking into a happy grin. “We were circling back to the sign when we saw you.”

  “So, shy Ben actually made a move, huh?”

  “Did he ever.” Jana laughs. “I nearly passed out when he did. Oh, and by the way, he asked me to go to the movies with him this weekend.”

  “Can you double with Dominic and get a ride in his car? Because I’ve been killing myself for this list, Jana, and you promised to take care of that one.”

  “Hey—I’m killing myself too. I’m half the plant, remember? I cut homeroom, too.”

  “I sat through detention! I kissed two guys! And one guy was totally gross, and the other one …” Jana’s eyes widen and she claps her hand to her mouth, masking the bottom half of her terrified expression. “Is right behind me, isn’t he?”

  A shadow falls over us as Andy approaches, his tall form blocking the glare from the overhead lights in the hallway.

  “Am I the gross one or the one you will be insulting at a later date?” he asks as he lopes by without breaking his pace. I guess he isn’t all that interested in my response.

  ***

  Thanks to my latest inadvertent insult, I now have fossilized Andy, the huge, inert object taking up space at the lab table next to mine. A.P. Bio class equals supreme awkwardness. And just to make my day more fun, the other slice of my hot guy sandwich quickly senses the tension between Andy and me. Always in search of non-academic entertainment, Dominic decides to occupy himself by loudly reminiscing about our closet hook-up.

  The minute I let my guard down, Dom jabs my side with the sharp point of his lead pencil, sending my backside airborne. I pop into the aisle, dropping to the floor to avoid a collision with Andy’s elbow. By the end of class, my nerves are wound up like a rubber band ball, ready to snap. Through it all, the Andy Kosolowski fixture next to me refuses to budge. Even his mess of curls seems plastered to his head, unmoving.

  Then, we march down to mathletes practice to continue our three-way, dysfunctional relationship.

  For the next two weeks, the awkward routine continues. Dominic usually hangs out in Mrs. McCaffrey’s room for twenty minutes, solves some problems, recites pi to the fiftieth decibel to impress the sophomore and junior girls, and then makes a show stopping exit.

  On his way out the door, he likes to drop a bomb about sharing chicks with Andy. Everyone in nerdville, besides Jana and I, interprets Dom’s rudeness as some kind of inside senior guy joke. They laugh at the very thought of Dom and Andy going out with the same g
irl. But, I’m positive that if I dare glance in the direction of our mathletes captain, I’d see steam blowing out of his red ears.

  If Dom’s particularly bored, he tugs my ponytail or winks at me in a bizarre fashion, first one eye twitching, and then the other. On track meet days, Dom skips mathletes altogether. Those are my favorite days. On mathelete competition days, he runs at night, after a long afternoon of algebraic lightning rounds.

  Meanwhile, Jana and I juggle mathletes with Little Shop of Horrors practice, but drama rarely conflicts with after-school activities. Ms. Cutler holds marathon length run-throughs of the show on Saturdays and Sundays, so during the week, I’m stuck calculating functions and pretending not to notice Andy ignoring me.

  At Dom’s special request, I even do my famous Andy countdown when Mrs. McCaffrey hands out the county championship practice sheets. The rest of the team joins in, but nothing distracts Andy from calculus. He doesn’t even crack a smile, just blows through his work and sets down his pencil before we get to one. Everyone bursts into cheers.

  The darn Fill It In achievement list is the only reason I refuse to bail on mathletes. Well, that, along with the fact that I can’t stomach the thought of Andy chasing me away from something important. Because, for some reason, earning this varsity letter has become the ultimate achievement in my mind. Boring Sadie, who was happy to fly under the high school radar for the last three and half years, now has the potential to win the same award as a mathematical genius like Andrew Kosolowski. The Sadie Matthews whose previous award count totaled one—the nebulous senior superlative award, which is still surrounded by an air of mystery. I bet people think I’m like one of those super athletes later found out to be taking steroids. Everyone must suspect I rigged the Most Likely to Get Married votes, but no one can pinpoint exactly how I did it. And, it’s not like I even wanted that award. Who wants to have their future predicted for them? I want the excitement of figuring it out myself.