Okay, now this is something concrete I can answer.
Yes! Back to school tomorrow. Getting my shit together. I got caught LOL.
I tell him about dinner at Mags’ and how I put my foot in my mouth and absentmindedly gave it away to Mom that I skipped school. He sends a laughing face emoji. I’m enjoying texting back and forth with him. It doesn’t seem weird at all. It’s easy, like two old friends having a conversation. But his next text makes me choke.
I’m sitting here eating popcorn and watching TV with my boyfriend Jamal.
My chest tightens as I stare at the screen. Boyfriend? OMG! Hector is gay! Is everyone around me gay? In a panic, I turn off my phone before he asks any questions I’m not ready to answer. I crawl back under the covers. Maybe Mom is right, and I should look for a girlfriend. I’m asleep in minutes.
8
A Boy Named Pajamas
The first alarm goes off, and I am awake in an instant. Laser-focused, I do everything right. I get up, brush my teeth, shower, dress, and feed Sammy. I even have time to eat a bowl of cereal and still get out the door before Mom or Carole get up. Don’t think, Simon, just act! And that’s exactly what I do.
I arrive at school early and go straight to the office for my schedule. I expect judgmental looks or a stern, Why weren’t you at school yesterday? All I get is indifference and a blank face.
“Hi! I’m new. I couldn’t be here yesterday because I was sick, but I’m here now and I need my class schedule. Can you help me?”
“Name?”
“Simon. Simon Bugg. You know, like a…bug. But with an extra g.”
Blank Face types furiously on her keyboard. She leans forward and squints at the computer screen like she is staring at the sun. With a final click of the mouse, the printer fires up, and she retrieves several pieces of paper which she tucks in a folder along with a few brochures.
“Here you go. This is everything you should need. Your first class is Calculus. Room 112. You have plenty of time to get there. Your locker number is 2232. Just take a left out of this office and then take a right at the bathrooms. Go to the end of the hall, and take another right, and you should be in good shape. Do you have any other questions?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you for your help.”
I walk out of the office and look for my locker while thinking about the lady who helped me. Her blank face and monotone voice remind me of something or someone. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite recall it. I find my locker and unpack some junk that has cluttered my backpack since junior high. I’m not great about getting rid of stuff. I pull out a slightly broken protractor, my lucky erasers that don’t erase for shit, and a handful of Snapple lids, and shove them onto the top shelf of my locker. I have some time to spare, so I pull out a random Snapple cap and read the Real Fact. The King of Hearts is the only king without a mustache. Seems dubious.
No one seems especially friendly as I make my way to Calculus. Do they know I’m the new guy? Most everyone appears to be in their established cliques chatting away. Even the single folks passing in the hall don’t give me a second glance. I know I’m small in stature, but come on, I’m not invisible! They either look at the floor or right through me as they walk by carrying their books and fancy backpacks. Just about everyone has fresh haircuts and nice clothes. I am wearing a T-shirt and shorts from Target. I hold my backpack tighter to me and, once again, curse Mom for making me change schools.
I arrive at Room 112 and take a seat in the back. A few people look up, but no one seems to notice that a new student has joined the class.
The day flies by, but it isn’t until third period—Psychology—that anyone talks to me. A girl with shiny, brown hair spilling over her shoulders, turns around in her seat and leans toward me.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I say, perking up a bit.
“It must suck to change schools. Where are you from?”
“I used to live in Columbia, only about forty-five minutes away.”
“Weird.”
I start to tell her about my mom getting a new job, but by the middle of my story, it’s clear she has lost interest. I’m mid-sentence when she turns to talk to the boy on her other side. Wow! I love this place already. I guess she is not girlfriend material. I look out the window and let my mind wander to what the cafeteria food is like here. Probably crap, I’m assuming.
To my surprise, it turns out the food, less terrible than I had expected, is the highlight of my day. Neel has always teased me for liking school pizza which he says tastes like cardboard, but this one is pretty darn good. Hot and gooey, just like I like it. It’s also possible that it tastes like my old school’s pizza. Either way, it’s pizza, and I don’t have a sophisticated palate.
I take my lunch outside to the brick wall I sat on yesterday when I talked to Mags before everything went to shit.
I people-watch as I munch on my pizza. A couple of sporty bros slap each other on the back, and two girls paint each other’s faces with makeup brushes. I also notice a few uptight-looking kids with their noses buried in textbooks. Finally, something interesting catches my eye. A small group of kids duck secretively into the trees. Within minutes, a dizzying smell wafts from the foliage and has me wanting to puke up my pizza. I know that smell well and recall my first experience with it. It’s not long before security chases the stoners from the trees.
When I was ten years old, my uncle Brian took me to my very first concert—Bruce Springsteen. Uncle Brian is married to Mom’s sister, Sarah. And with Dad out of the picture, Brian was the male figure my mom assumed I needed in my life. I remember the concert like it was yesterday. Bruce was fantastic. I spent the entire concert wide-eyed, attempting to sing along to words I didn’t know. Brian knew every word and sang along loudly and out of tune between chugs of beer.
I used to say that was the best night of my life. It was the first step of my journey into falling in love with classic rock and roll. At some point during the concert, Brian took out an odd-looking cigarette and lit it up. It gave off a funny smell. That was the first time I smelled pot, and I hated it. To this day, the smell nauseates me.
