My Senior Year of Awesome Page 3

  A group of overachieving juniors and sophomores comprises the rest of our team, along with Jana’s little sister Colette. Mrs. McCaffrey plucked her out of Freshman Honors Math after reviewing her high school entrance test. During matheletes practice, Colette stations herself close to Andy, as if she hopes his gifted brainwaves will penetrate her mind and further increase her cognitive abilities. She’s totally hero-worshipping.

  When Andy offers to help her solve some complicated theorem, Jana’s little sister looks like she’s on the brink of wetting her pants. Her face turns magenta, and her dark curls bob up and down as she follows Andy’s step-by-step explanation.

  “Ignoramus. He’s toying with her,” Jana whispers to me as we watch the scene from across the room.

  “Jana, he’s a guy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He doesn’t think things through enough to purposely lead her on. He treats her like his pet guinea pig because he sees her as a cute little ball of fluff following him around and trying to climb on his lap.” Then Jana and I excuse ourselves for a quick bathroom trip because we’re now practically peeing our pants from laughing so hard.

  Once we contain ourselves and return to practice, I notice a new addition to our mathletes family. Dominic Freakin’ Altomeri.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, sliding back into my seat.

  His expression turns sour. “McCaffrey found out I put mathletes on my app for East Carolina. They emailed her to confirm attendance. Who does that?”

  My jaw drops. “You lied on a college application? Who does that?”

  “Hey, take it easy on the accusations. I didn’t lie. I signed up for mathletes, but with all my cross country races, I kept missing practices. Check McCaffrey’s roster—my name’s at the top of the list.”

  How did I not notice that? Come to think of it, I didn’t even know an official roster existed. Geez, why don’t they just make all of us wear a big nerd badge stuck to the front of our “Pi is great” t-shirts?

  “So, where’d ya get in?” Dom interrupts my thoughts with the question we seniors ask each other fifty times each day. If only he knew the truth—I haven’t completed one stinking application. For some reason, the thought of leaving Harmony High and entering the great unknown paralyzes me.

  I fixate on the sheet of theorems Mrs. McCaffrey handed out. “Oh, I, um haven’t exactly committed.”

  “Cool. Still thinking, huh? A girl like you must have at least ten acceptance letters.” His smile sends warm shivers down my spine.

  “What do you mean, a girl like me?”

  “Smart. Responsible.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not all that.”

  “You take awesome notes.”

  “Which you must need to copy.”

  “Right on—I zoned out in bio today.”

  With a sigh, I reach into my backpack and pull out my class binder.

  For the next few weeks, Dom stays after mathletes to run for Coach Jenkins on Thursdays while Jana and I sneak out the back door and head for Starbucks. Meanwhile, Andy lingers in Mrs. McCaffrey’s room for extra math practice, even though he’s one of those super-intellectuals who figures out all the answers without even writing things down. Calculus actually makes sense to him. And whenever Jana and I bomb an answer, he just laughs, all “heh, heh, heh,” a sound that reminds me of a creepy Muppet. But, after a few weeks of careful observation, I admit that Jana’s right about Andy’s slight improvement on the Datable Guy-O-Meter. In the last few years, his voice deepened a bit, and the “heh-heh” doesn’t sound as Elmoish anymore. More like a hiccupping zombie on the loose, I decide. In a good way, of course.

  Fill It In – February 7th

  Ten Things To Do On A Snow Day – High School Style

  1. After your mother wakes you up from a dead sleep to tell you school is cancelled, sleep in.

  2. Brave blizzard conditions as you trek across town to help your best friend hide her boy band posters before the wrong person (a.k.a. Colette) steals them.

  3. Binge-watch romantic vampire movies.

  4. Burn through the iTunes gift cards you got for Christmas.

  5. Start panicking because high school is almost over and you can’t imagine being apart from your best friend when she goes to a high-class university next year on a partial scholarship.

  6. Continue freaking out because you still haven’t picked a college. To be honest, you haven’t even submitted one application.

  7. Microwave mac and cheese for a chemical-filled lunch.

  8. Follow that up by devouring an entire bag of Oreos for dessert. Fact: Oreos are vegan because the creamy center contains absolutely no trace of dairy products. So, they’re healthy, right?

  9. After carb-loading, take a nap.

  10. Pull out your empty list of awesome achievements and strategize.

  Chapter Four

  The Rodriguez family lives in a three-story, red brick townhouse at the end of a cobblestone street in the center of town. The entire third floor belongs to Jana because her mother’s bad knee can’t take two flights of stairs. As the oldest child, she also outranks Colette, their baby brother Joey (still in middle school), and Mr. Rodriguez, the guy who technically owns the place.

  Jana’s abundance of personal space is the reason we spend most of our free time hanging out at her house. Décor-wise, it’s not the hippest spot for two high school seniors. The walls are such a vibrant pink, I’d swear a flock of flamingos exploded and spewed beta-carotene-enhanced bird parts everywhere. Frilly blankets and glitzy pillows cover her bed, but we usually push everything to the floor when we watch our favorite shows.

  Friday night, we turn on a movie, but rather than zone out over a silly rom-com, we stare longingly at the empty spot on her wall where the Austin Mahone poster once hung. Jana’s simultaneously packing for college and hiding stuff from her sometimes-klepto little sister. I wish I could find the desire to sort through life and move on. But, leaving my mom alone in the only apartment I’ve ever known feels too sad. I sense we’re both avoiding the inevitable, as she hasn’t pestered me about my college search since the end of winter break.

  “Did you check the drama club’s bulletin board lately? I think play auditions are next week,” Jana says.

  “Not a play. In the spring, drama club puts on a musical.”

  “A musical? You mean with singing? And dancing?” Jana springs up from the bed like her backside has caught fire. “We’re screwed.”

  “Stop worrying. Anyone can do a box step. It’s not like the glee club kids are so supremely talented,” I insist.

  “How do we prepare? Do we need to sign up ahead of time?” Jana paces the room, her long sweater flapping against the sides of her legs.

  “No idea. I figured they would make a homeroom announcement or something.”

  Jana comes to a fast stop and folds her arms across her chest. “I’ll find out, then. You’re so not into this. Is it for obvious reasons?”

  “Like what?” Obviously, my reasons aren’t obvious to me.

  “Lack of cute guys in the performing arts program?”

  “Didn’t Greg Spinner play the lead in Footloose two years ago? He’s gorg.”

  “He only tried out to get publicity for his band,” Jana says, plopping down in her desk chair and lifting the screen on her laptop. “He had a lot of free time after he was tossed from the baseball team for skipping practice to meet with booking agents.”

  “Ohhh. Is that why all those freshman girls joined the chorus?”

  “Of course! They all thought they had a chance with him. Why didn’t we think of that?” Jana slaps herself on the forehead, two years too late.

  “Like I said, dancing and singing in front of an audience was never high on my list of things to accomplish.” Not even for an amazing guitarist-athlete like Greg Spinner. I roll onto my side and peer at Jana’s computer screen. “You know what, I’ve never even seen one of the
school musicals. Why are we bothering with this?”

  “Because we wanted to try new and amazing things, remember? Our list?” Jana holds up our still blank paper, which was sitting next to her laptop. I wonder if she checks it every night before bed.

  “Try new things, yes. Look like an imbecile, no,” I say. “Do you think we have a shot at a decent part?”

  “Depends on the musical. I’m not the best singer. Okay, let me see, how do you get to drama club’s page … oh, wait, Out of Tune is up. Well, lookee-here. Your friend Andy made the front page.”

  I scoot closer, squinting to read the minimized print. Lately, any sentence containing the word Andy includes my name too. The thought of headlining the school paper stops my heart mid-beat.

  “Oooh, I know why Melinda was so interested in him,” Jana says, pointing to the byline of the Andy article.

  Most Likely to Succeed or Most Likely to Get Married? Cindy Min and Andy Kosolowski discuss the most surprising Senior Superlative vote in years.

  Cindy Min, senior at Harmony High, pulled off a huge upset a few weeks ago when she was named Most Likely to Succeed over Andy Kosolowski, who’s currently ranked first in the class. When I spoke with Cindy, she claimed to be just as surprised as everyone else at Harmony High. “Who knew Andy and Sadie were secretly in love? They must have tried to hide their relationship to guarantee him the Most Likely to Succeed Award. But what they say is true—love conquers all.”

  I need to sit up before I choke on my own saliva. Jana reaches over to pat me on the back. We continue reading.

  But this reporter investigated further. According to Andy, he is currently very much single and has never dated Sadie Matthews. “I’m just as confused as everyone,” he said. So, what really happened? Was the vote sabotaged? Or does someone else out there know the real truth behind the Andy and Sadie mystery? Anonymous tips can be directed to the Out of Tune inbox. We follow up on each and every message in a timely fashion.

  “Oh. My. God.” I start to hiccup and taste the pizza Jana and I split for dinner.

  “It’s okay, chica. Andy was trying to help you out.” Jana’s brow furrows. “At least, I think he was.”

  “By bringing everything up again in the school newspaper? And what’s with Melinda—why does she care so much about Andy’s dating status?”

  “Maybe she likes quirky guys?” Jana clicks the x on her browser to close out the page. “Okay, back to drama …”

  “Right. Because my life needs more drama.”

  “Pfft.” Jana waves her hand in front of my face. “No one reads the school paper. It’s only an extra-curricular for people thinking about their future career in journalism.” Jana flips down the top of her laptop and reaches for her phone. “Let’s call Leslie Cooke for scoop about auditions.”

  Leslie has starred in every school play since our kindergarten talent show, where she sang a memorable solo version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”. Thousands of dollars’ worth of voice lessons later, she belts out songs a la Kelly Clarkson, with the vocal range of Mariah Carey.

  “Hi, y’all!” Leslie’s honey-coated voice drips through the speaker phone. She must be working on her southern accent.

  We quickly fill her in on our desire to try out for the spring musical. Jana and I are ready to fight fair and audition well. We simply want to be recognized for our natural talent. Because we’re pretty sure at least one of us possesses some form of intense acting ability. We’re just waiting for some big movie producer to discover our talent on YouTube.

  After Jana tells Leslie about our sudden interest in drama, she responds with an ugly, hyena laugh, blasting through the speaker phone. When she regains her power of speech, Leslie informs us that Ms. Cutler, Harmony High’s music teacher and spring musical director, will be staging The Little Shop of Horrors. Leslie plans on auditioning for the part of Audrey, but she suggests one of us would make a spectacular Audrey II. Jana assumes this means one of us will be Leslie’s understudy.

  “If we’re the lead understudies, will that count as an awesome achievement?” Jana asks, after disconnecting the phone.

  “Only if she eats too many cafeteria french fries before the show and comes down with a case of food poisoning. Then we can fill her part at the last minute,” I say, knowing full well we’d never seriously hope for something so bad to happen to a friend. Or even a casual acquaintance.

  “Leslie doesn’t eat cafeteria food. She packs a healthy lunch. Seaweed leaves and no-salt pretzel sticks. That’s why she’s shaped like a toothpick,” Jana says. “I guess there’s a chance she may take that break a leg thing literally.”

  “But we would never wish bad luck on her. This list should not turn us into mean girls.”

  “Maybe we should rethink this achievement stuff and stick to passing Calculus,” Jana says.

  “After auditions. We can’t give up without even trying.” But I bury my face in one of Jana’s fluffy pink pillows, hiding an eye twitch that fires up every time I think about singing in public.

  Fill It In – Random List #1

  Ten Reasons Why Sadie Matthews Will Never Pass Her Driver’s License Exam

  1. I freak out when I’m behind the wheel. I have trouble remembering which button turns on the headlights. The windshield wipers swish. Then I have to cover my idiocy by pretending to see raindrops.

  2. I live within walking distance of my school, a food store, and Abercrombie. Where else could I possibly need to go?

  3. All my friends (except Jana) drive.

  4. If I learn how to drive, I may have to look at colleges.

  5. If I pass my driver’s test, I can’t take Driver’s Ed classes anymore. And let me tell you, if you saw my instructor you would want to fail as much as possible.

  6. I’m pretty sure I would somehow damage any vehicle under my control, which means I would soon be back to not driving again, anyway.

  7. What would happen if I hit the accelerator instead of the brake like those senior citizens on the news, and end up in somebody’s dining room? Totally awkward.

  8. When going on dates, the guy should always pick up the girl at her house, according to my mom. If I can’t drive, it’s not even an option. Unless I go all clandestine and walk myself to the movie theater for a secret romantic interlude.

  9. If I focus too much on driving, I won’t have time to help Jana complete our awesome achievements list. Which is still totally blank.

  10. I can’t log any practice time because Mom refuses to hand over the keys to her car until she’s saved up enough money for new brakes and tires. She’s been saving for three years now.

  Chapter Five

  The sound of a plow scraping asphalt jostles me awake. A glance out the window tells me that well over a foot of snow blanketed Harmony last night.

  I maneuver around the piles of clothes, books, and college mail to retrieve my phone and unplug the charger. Cell in hand, I stretch my arms wide and try to encourage my eyes to remain open. When I hear a ding, I check for a cancellation text, but instead find a message from Jana telling me to meet her in town in an hour. Shoot. Driver’s ed is on.

  I shimmy into my faded weekend jeans and a loose sweater. My apartment is dark, except for a sliver of light poking between the gap in our curtains. Mom’s probably sleeping off last night’s drink specials. Deciding to skip breakfast, I twist an elastic band into my unwashed hair and tug on a pair of tall boots before venturing into the frozen waves of winter slush coating the sidewalks.

  Clumps of gray snow litter the roadways, kicked out from under the tires of careless drivers speeding by as if it’s a warm summer day. I head for Starbucks, where Jana waits, shivering in her faux fur-trimmed parka. Even though it’s an early Saturday morning, the town teems with legal-types filtering in and out of the nearby courthouse; silver-haired judges dressed in three-piece suits, young lawyers in khakis, and blue-haired document runners with nose rings, pedaling their bikes between traffi
c lanes.

  Together, we take stock of the long coffee line, and, after a joint sigh, decide to skip our pre-Driver’s-Ed lattes.

  “Hate Driver’s Ed,” Jana grumbles. We’d both failed our permit tests (because we took them without bothering to study first) and consequently were required to sit through the school’s sponsored driver’s education classes. But, when it comes to studying for Driver’s Ed, Jana and I follow our own academic standards.

  Matthews/Rodriguez Driver’s Ed Principle Number One: We refuse to study for Driver’s Ed because the class is on Saturdays. Saturday! You know, the WEEKEND. Outside the government’s mandated parameters for education.

  Matthews/Rodriguez Driver’s Ed Principle Number Two: If a class does not factor into our high school GPA we see no need to devote more than minimal brain cells to our mastery of the subject.

  Matthews/Rodriguez Driver’s Ed Principle Number Three: We can sit and look at pictures of cars all day long, but in no way will this teach us to become better drivers. We learn by doing.

  In our opinion, driver’s education is a big time waste. We need real life, on the road experience. Because we’re pretty sure that after all this classroom training ends, we’ll both still suck at driving.

  In fact, we only bother to show up for Driver’s Ed because Mr. Drum, our teacher, is kind of hot for an old guy. Ordinarily, I’m not a huge fan of former military, battle fatigue-wearing men with multiple piercings and snake tattoos. Even his eyes look Special Ops-ready, matching the greenish brown of his camo Army Ranger shirt. And I rarely wonder about what teachers do in their spare time, but Mr. Drum sparks my curiosity.

  Who trades the excitement of a military career for teenage driving instruction? Was he honorably discharged or did he go AWOL and decide to hide out in Harmony? Does he crave the constant adrenaline rush associated with near-fatal accidents?