Forget Green Gables

Chicken Soup for the (Nearly) Friendless Soul

Cheer practice goes until 6, and since Felix and Jamie rode home with my dad, I hop a ride with one of the senior girls who lives not too far away. Thanking her, I collect my bag and go into the house. No one is to be found. Felix's stereo blasts, so I know he is probably eating dinner at his desk and doing homework. Locating leftover beef with broccoli in the refrigerator, I grab my pair of chopsticks with the Japanese Cherry Blossoms painted on them. Knowing my mother will be less than thrilled with me if I am anywhere in her line of vision if she bothers to leave her bedroom, I retreat to my room to begin doing battle with my math homework. Inequalities suck. Math is only useful when it is applied to something. A string of A's and B's tell me I am gradually getting better at math, but it will never come naturally.

My phone rings as I am erasing half a page of incorrect work. The number is one I do not recognize. "Hello?"

"May I please speak with Cheyanne?"

"This is she..."

"Hi, it's Rebecca." She clears her throat. "Pittman."
"Oh, hey! What's up?"
"Just trying to get some French homework done. You?"

"Inequalities."

"Oh, gross." Rebecca pauses, and then speaks so quickly I wonder if she rehearsed the words first. "The reason I'm calling is to ask what your dinner plans are for homecoming?"
"Well, the cheerleaders have to march together in the parade at 4, but we have from 5 to 6:30 to go eat like the band does. What's up?"

"My mom makes this incredibly good homemade chicken noodle soup, and I wanted you and Jessie and Jamie to come over and eat it and then go to the game together. I know you and Jessie are cheering, and Jamie and I are marching. My dad said he'd pick us up after the parade and then take us back to my house. We have to be back at school at 6:30 too." Rebecca takes a breath.

"That sounds awesome. I'm allergic to milk. Will that be a problem?" My mom acts as if I choose to be deathly allergic to milk.

"No, it won't. Great! I'll see you tomorrow then." How does someone I have only known a few weeks have more compassion for my awful allergy than my own mother?

"Sounds good." I disconnect the phone, flip my planner open, and write "dinner at the Pittmans, 5:00" on Friday. I love my planner.

Science problems follow math, and then comes a speed review of Spanish vocabulary words. Conjugating verbs in the past tense gives me a headache, and I am a native speaker. I keep at it because fluency matters to me, but about a third of the way through homework my mind wanders to Danny and our kiss under the tree the previous week.

"Forget it, this can keep until the morning." I pack up school stuff and change into pajamas. I shake my hair out from its practice bun. My mother has ringlet-curly, jet black hair. My father, strawberry blonde and wavy. Felix and I both ended up with curly auburn hair, which we figure is some sort of compromise between the two. I rub lotion on my legs and arms because I hate being ashy and climb into bed. There's something beautiful about snuggling down into a freshly-made bed with soft sheets that came out of the dryer recently. It's less beautiful when you do your own laundry, but still.

I think about which book I want to read, but fall asleep before I can decide. The phone rings a little while later, startling me out of a sound sleep. The caller ID says "Ashburn, Gregory." Jamie. I peer at the clock. It's only 8:45. I must be exhausted.

"Hello?"

"I woke you up, didn't I? We just got back from our meet."

"How did you do?"

"We won, of course. I had a bunch of aces. She still won't let me play in the front row. The word 'libero' was mentioned."

"Awesome. What's up?"

"Do you remember that guy I've been complaining about in math?"

"Carl?" I yawn through the name.

"Yep, that's him." She pauses for dramatic effect.

"You know that doesn't work on me. What happened?"

She laughs. "He asked me to go to homecoming with him today."

"Did you laugh at him?"

Jamie is quiet for just a bit too long. "Actually, I said I would. Is that stupid of me?"
Mierda. Now I have to answer her. "Well, do you like him?"

"He's growing on me, yeah."

"Then why not?" As soon as the words leave my mouth, an awful sensation that Jamie having anything to do with Carl will lead to nothing but heartache creeps over me. I try to brush it off, but there is just enough superstitious Latina Catholic in me to make me cross myself.