So I'm A Double Threat Read online

  Why does Amy have to get here right now, when all the guys are still around? Ugh.

  The football players started gawking as she sashayed through the quad like she was on a freakin’ runway. Of course, she gets the looks, the nods, the “hmm hmm, fresh meat” leers. Seriously, they sure as heck didn’t look at me that way. I doubt they even looked at all. But then again, why wouldn’t they stare at the tall blonde blue-eyed bombshell? Maybe if I plastered on as much make-up as Amy does, they’d be gawking at me too.

  I’m surprised Alex even notices me. He shoots a wave and a casual “what up” my way, after a lingering stare at Amy. Ugh. I wish he hadn’t talked to me at the party. Now I’m obsessed. He invades my every thought, my dreams, and even my nightmares when I stop to consider he is dating Steph’s sister. Dang, this perfect guy is taken. Big deal, right. Like my size nine ass has a chance at him anyway.

  But oh, can’t a girl dream? Fantasize? Here comes that Thunder again.

  “Heeeeyyy!” Stephanie shouts, ripping me from my dreams, letting everyone know she has arrived. She has to be a good twenty feet away but sounds like she is right in front of my face.

  I begin to feel better now that Steph is here. I don’t have to feel so…poofy standing next to Amy. Steph makes me look supermodel thin. I feel bad for thinking this way about her, but I can’t help it.

  We all give each other hugs, as if we haven’t seen or talked to each other in years. In reality, we were at my house last night watching chick flicks, planning out our weddings to all the hot celebs.

  It’s not like we didn’t spend the whole morning on the phone either, discussing what to wear. We didn’t want to be too dressed up or too dressed down. We have a rep to protect. Not just anyone can get into ASB as a ninth grader. You have to be one of the “in” kids in junior high. You have to know people who can put your name on “the list”. We were the shit in junior high. We know people. So we have to get this right.

  The guys are long gone by the time Keesha gets here.

  “Dang, Keesh.” I snap at her. This heat is getting to me.

  “It’s about time.” Amy finishes my thought.

  “It’s not easy to look this good,” she slides her hands down the sides of her curvy body, “…all the time.”

  “Are you ever on time to anything?” I swear it takes her like five hours just to pick out a pair of underwear. As if it matters which thong you wear when it’s going to go straight up your ass. I don’t get it. I spent my whole elementary and middle school years picking my wedgies. I can’t understand why some of my friends act as if starting high school requires throwing away your hip-huggers or boy shorts in exchange for dental floss. I will definitely have to pass on the chafing feeling of thread between my cheeks.

  “We’ve only been friends since kindergarten. Have you ever known me to be on time?”

  “Alright, alright,” I say. She has a point.

  Amy and Steph have been watching us talk, turning their heads from Keesh to me, then back to Keesh like they’re watching a tennis match.

  Amy’s the first to jump in. “Well, I guess it was worth the wait…you look good, Keesh.”

  “Thanks, Amy.” Keesha looks stunned by the comment.

  That is a huge compliment, coming from Amy. She doesn’t give them out often. Keesh does look good though. With her tight jeans and cute fitted top, her dark skin contrasts nicely with the hot pink colors. She has this classy way of being cute without looking like a hoochie mama.

  By the time we finish exchanging “hellos” and checking out what each other is wearing, we’re no longer alone. Our new teacher, our ASB advisor, Mr. Mitchell, has arrived and corralled the class into the ASB room. The upperclassmen are all wearing school colors, orange and black, for the good ol’ Carver Bengals.

  I’ve been waiting to meet this teacher, the one everyone talks about. He’s like a legend at this school. I hear he wears crazy outfits and dances around at rallies like a freak. The first chance I get, I take a good look at him. He is interesting alright, with bright orange pants and a cat tail coming out from his behind, and tiger ears peeking from the top of his head. Within seconds, he has the older students cheering, slapping hands, raising the roof, wooo wooo-ing.

  “This is your year, Seniors! We’re gonna make it happen. Rallies, dances, football games, track meets, whatever. This will be the most memorable year of your high school careers. Arrrrre youuuuuu reaaaadddy?”

  “Yeah!” “Yes!” “Seniors, Seniors!” They all holler. The rest of us clap in amazement.

  “But first, we’ve gotta welcome the newbies. This year’s freshmen class. Welcome, freshmen.”

  “Booo!” “Seniors, Seniors!” “Booo!” the upperclassmen yell, while some point and laugh at the same time.

  “Okay. Let’s be nice to the kiddos. Let’s not scare them away,” he shouts, smiling and laughing like the others. It’s all in good fun, but it’s still a bit intimidating.

  Mr. Mitchell continues with his speech. The energy is intense. Steph’s parents, Carver alums, would be proud. The ninth graders, including me, have this kinda deer-in-the-headlights look on our faces, but we eventually catch on. We cheer. We yell. We clap. We yell some more. When we finally do start participating, Mr. Mitchell appears pleased. He quiets the class, starts giving out instructions, and delegating jobs.

  The orientation itself is in the hot, stuffy auditorium. Without air conditioning. I go to a super old school. Don’t get me wrong, the auditorium is gorgeous. I’d expect to see a Broadway show in a place like this. But today, students and parents shuffle in. Parents appear bright-eyed and nervous their babies are in high school. The freshmen hang their heads low, humiliated they’re walking on campus with their parents.

  Some freshmen are lucky enough to ditch the parentals and come alone, which is cool because they don’t have go to all the lame presentations later on. They can take a quick tour of this ginormous campus, find their classes, and then just kick back and chill with friends. On the other hand, the suckers with parents are going to be stuck following the agenda minute by minute making sure not to miss a thing. Hallelujah, my parents had to work.

  Being in ASB has perks. We don’t have to listen to the principal drone on about rules and regulations. Instead, we sit in the back, making faces at each other, texting back and forth, and making each other crack up for no apparent reason. I can’t believe people actually come to these things. I feel like I’m being tortured.

  The principal announces the counselors one by one. They walk on stage and just stand there, showing no emotion whatsoever. One counselor actually waves, the others look at her like she’s crazy. These are the people who are supposed to “counsel” us? I hope I get the one who waved, she’s probably cool.

  We all sit up straight and at attention when the cheerleaders are announced. They do a little spirit cheer, but the crowd is almost completely silent. The music starts to play and the rah-rahs begin to dance. They’re pretty good, but a few are stiff and don’t have any rhythm. It’s almost painful to watch. But the others are so peppy they get most of the attention. Amy, of course, wants to join cheer. You can see the desire burning in her eyes. She is smiling from ear to ear and clapping every time they complete a stunt. Seriously, she would totally fit in. She has the attitude for it. All she needs is the tramp stamp and she’ll be set. She already has the lower back tat picked out.

  Keesha and I, on the other hand, get anxious as the dance team replaces the cheer squad on stage. We love to dance. We can sit in front of the tube all day watching music videos and practicing dance moves. The dance team is even better than I expected. They’re all in sync with each other. They get into so many formations and never skip a beat. It’s like watching a live concert.

  I lean over to whisper in Keesh’s ear. “We’ve gotta try out for dance. They’re freaking awesome.”

  “I know. I wanna jump on stage right now, but they don’t let freshmen on the team. We can’t try out till May for next y
ear’s team.”

  “We’ll be ready. I can’t wait.” I’m confident. We’re going to be up here dancing at next year’s freshmen orientation.

  Thank God. Orientation is over. I figured out where my classes are. Mr. Mitchell is pretty cool. My friends are still awesome. The upperclassmen are alright. The dance team was so freakin’ cool. And Alex… his sweaty, sexy body, he’s just…Priceless.

  Carver High School…ready or not, here I come.

  Chapter Three

  Holy shit. This crap only happens to me. I swear I set the alarm on my cell for 5:30 so I can take my time getting ready this morning. But, of course, my alarm never goes off and I wake up in a panic.

  It’s like I’m watching a scary movie and the bad guy jumps out to get me. I gasp, sit up, and my eyes pop open. My heart is beating fast. I pick up my phone to see it’s almost seven. No way. School starts in forty minutes. Shit. Shit. Shit. I set my alarm for 5:30. P.M. Loser! Think fast, think fast.

  I jump in the shower, grab my loofah, squeeze some body wash on it and quickly swipe it all over my body. I throw conditioner in my hair—no time for shampoo—run my fingers through my golden locks, and rinse it all out in a matter of seconds. I dry off as I run to my room to get dressed. I squirt some mousse in my hair. It’s going to have to be a curly, messy hair day. No time for the flat iron. A dab of mascara and lip gloss, grab the back pack, and I’m out. No one will notice I just rolled out of bed, right?

  Ugh. It sucks to get to school in a sweat. My legs hurt from walking so fast. I can feel the shin splints burning through my flesh. I get to the front of the bathroom, where they post the class lists, just as the first bell rings. Where the hell is my name? I pass up the A-F’s. On to the G-J’s. Okay, there’s the M’s. Martinez. McMillan. Mester. Meza. And finally, there’s Miller. With only a few Miller’s, I find my name quickly, Miller, Megan. That’s me. Whew. My class didn’t change. I’m in the clear. I already know where my first period is.

  Crap. I forgot to turn off my cell phone. I can hear my ringtone, humming from somewhere in my backpack. I dig around for it, finding it just in time.

  “Where in the hell are you?” Stephanie shouts into the phone. “I’m standing in front of our science class and I don’t see your late butt anywhere.”

  “Shit, Steph, I’m on my way.” A loud beeping sound erupts from the intercom. “Damn, is that the minute bell?”

  “Yeah, I think so. You better hurry up. I’m gonna go in and save us some seats.”

  This sucks, I’m totally late on my first day of high school. I look like ass and I probably smell like it too after practically sprinting here. My legs are now throbbing. Seriously, why can’t I go to a private school? This place is sooo big, it’s like walking across a college campus. It takes like fifteen minutes to get from one building to another, but you only get seven minutes in between classes. What the hell kind of crap is that?

  Are you kidding me? Are. You. Kidding. Me? I walk into class and the only seat left is in the front. Thanks, Steph. Oh frick, I’m gonna be stuck between Marvin Johnson and Lacey Lam (originally Qian Na—who I’ve always been jealous of because she got to change her name. In kindergarten, I asked my mom if I could be Samantha or Sara instead. Of course, her answer was no). Kill me now.

  Anyway, I kind of stare at the seat. Steph’s in the back of the class. She scored an awesome seat next to some hot guy I have never seen before. Some chicks have all the luck. Apparently, I’m not one of them.

  Mrs. Caldwell catches my gaze, and eyeballs the seat in front. I walk over to it quickly, as if I haven’t already drawn enough attention to myself, with my fiery red cheeks, wet hair, and panting. I probably look like a mangy golden mut. I still haven’t had the chance to fully catch my breath. Every time I inhale, I feel like my lungs are on fire. It can’t get any worse than this.

  “Good. Morning. Ladies. And. Gentlemen. Welcome. To. Earth. Science.” Mrs. Caldwell has the most monotone, dreary voice I’ve ever had to listen to. It reminds me of that goofy teacher in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, “Bueller…Bueller…Bueller”. This is going to be a freakin’ nightmare at seven forty in the morning every day. I doubt I’ll even survive to make it to second period.

  Well, it could’ve been worse. I could’ve gotten P.E. first period.

  The rest of the day is the same old, same old. Introductions here, introductions there, passing out information sheets for parents to sign (first homework assignment, of course), and the inevitable icebreakers, as if breaking the ice is possible in a room full of teenagers.

  How annoying is it that some teachers feel the need to be all touchy feely, “I care about you and your feelings”, all “I really want to get to know all of you” crap, and the, of course, “if you need anything, you can come to me, I’m here for you.” What a load of bull. I swear if I have to play another game of “I’m going on a picnic and I’m going to bring…”—you know the one where you say your name and something you’ll bring that starts with the first letter of your first name—I’m going to take all the picnic crap and shove it straight up these teachers…never mind, I’ll try to be nice. Try.

  I can’t believe I even made it through the first half of the day: first period was Earth. Science. Second period was math (hallelujah). I’m in Alegbra II as a freshmen, cause I’m a genius. Ha ha. My teacher, Mr. Higgins, is also known as the Mad Hatter. Spanish was third period with Mrs. O’Brien. Yeah, an O’Brien teaching me Spanish. I laughed at that one too. Next thing you know, Mrs. Apolinar Hererra-Reyes will be teaching German.

  Fourth period finally arrives. This is supposed to be my kick back class. ASB. Mr. Mitchell is dramatic, just like orientation. I swear he reaches his voice so loudly across the room, he doesn’t need a microphone. He is already in project mode, with the Welcome Back assembly coming up. Wow. Can you believe this craziness? We barely started school and we’re already expected to plan a rally.

  Mr. Mitchell should stop worrying and put Steph in charge. She will be good at this, she has the party planning gene in her family. I swear they always have the entire familia over for every occasion. All her tias, tios, cousins, friends, ninas, and ninos go to her house for practically anything. Every day is a holiday at Casa Ayala.

  Anyway, we’re placed into committees, which totally sucks because the fab four get split up. Keesha and I get selected for the Activities, while Amy and Steph are slated for the Rally committee. All the upperclassmen say these are the best committees, and we should feel lucky. I guess I’m excited but I’d rather us all be together. I guess my mom is right, I still have some growing up to do.

  Oh well, I’m over it. At least I still have Keesh with me.

  Amy and Steph disappear with their group to plan the assembly. First, we reluctantly say goodbye to each other, severing the figurative umbilical cord that connects us. It’s like someone cut off my hands, without them here.

  Keesh and I follow the older kids into the cafeteria to hammer out details for the half-time activities for the first football game. Yes, did you hear that? Football. I get to plan something for the football team. I get to plan something for ALEX.

  Oh my gosh. I can hardly contain myself. My knee is bouncing up and down at turbo speed. All these thoughts are going through my head. Will he see me? Of course, he will—he will run out of the locker room, onto the field, and stop in front of me for a good luck kiss before taking the field to run for the winning touchdown. Okay. I know, I’m nuts. Sometimes my imagination runs wild. It’s like a freakin’ film strip running out of control. But really, wouldn’t it be totally cool if that happened with Alex.

  Like always, Keesh whips me back to reality.

  “Ow. What’s your problem?” She nudged me in the arm so hard I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.

  She shoots me an irritated look. “Pay attention, dumb ass. They were just asking you a question,” she whispers.

  I try to catch what’s happening, but the conversation has moved on. I still don’t know what’s
going on before the bell rings. That’s okay though, I’ll ask Keesha after class.

  All that matters is I’m one step closer to my man, Alex Aguilar. Yummy. How blessed are the women of Carver to have this hot steamy guy to pine over every day.

  Thank goodness we all have the same fourth period class. This means we all have the same lunch. Yay. Can you imagine what it would be like if we had separate lunches. It would be a social disaster.

  By the time the bell rings for lunch, I’m famished. I left in such a hurry this morning, I didn’t have a chance to grab anything to eat. I’m lucky I put money in my backpack or I’d have to chew my finger nails off for lunch—I guess it’s better than eating my toenails. Ha ha. No. Not really. Any one of my friends would let me bum something from their lunch or would buy me something of my own.

  Baked chips, salads, mini everything…this Healthy Kids crap sucks. What happened to the good ol’ days of pizzas, cookies, and nachos? I guess I’ll have to settle for a granola bar and water. I’ll just stuff my face with whatever I can find when I get home. This nutritious food is not going to cut it. If only all those lazy fat mo-fos would just turn off their video games and go outside and run around a little, we wouldn’t have to eat this cardboard crap they’re trying to pass off as healthy. Okay, so I know I’m not skinny…just a little big-boned, but at least I exercise, sometimes.

  I stop abruptly as we begin to walk away from the snack bar line.

  “Where in the hell are we gonna sit?” I ask. There are students everywhere. They already have their spots. I get nervous all the sudden.

  “Just keep walking. Act like we know where we’re going,” Amy says, as she leads the way.

  “How about there, by the tree?” Keesh suggests.

  I walk ahead. “Let’s go for it. I don’t want to walk in circles all lunch period.”