1
I didn’t lie. Not really.
I just didn’t provide all the details.
Yia Yia would have said that’s lying too because you can feel it in your stomach when you’re holding something back.
Not holding back was the problem, though, because I lunged at him first. I just didn’t tell anybody that.
And I should have known better. It was rule number one of the two rules that Yia Yia drilled into my head before she died.
Rule Number 1: “Bad luck follows lies, agapi mou.”
Rule Number 2: “Leave the Paros family alone.”
Yes, he hit me. But that’s not the full story, and it would be lying to say that it wasn’t just a little bit my fault.
The thing with anxiety is that people think it makes you run from a fight, but that’s not always true. At least not for me.
Sometimes it makes you defensive.
What happens for me is that when that hot, panicky feeling rises up, I just need to get it out of my system, and sometimes the easiest way to do that is to be a jerk. Lash out as quickly as possible to get that instant relief of setting the bad thing free. Just as long as it leaves me alone—as long as it’s not gnawing on the hardware in my brain—I’m cool.
Anyway, it’s actually the school’s fault this happened. Service hours are required, and I’ve always signed up for the jobs that are mostly solitary, like reshelving library books. But this time they assigned us jobs, and someone thought it would be a good idea for me to sell candy at the Snack Shack.
It was the first day back from winter break, so of course the place was swarming with people holding their sweaty money from the holidays, trying to elbow their way to the cash register. And I was behind the counter, responsible for giving them the sugar to keep this orgy of energy going. Jesus Christ. What had I done to deserve this?
I kept telling myself it was only for today, but as more people filled the room, I started to hear a loud buzzing in my ears.
All the Sour Patch Kids went first. Then the fresh cookies. Then the Starbursts.
One guy, Jordan Swansea, gave me forty dollars for three big containers of Red Vines and told me to keep the change as he walked out and distributed them in handfuls to the rest of his impossibly tall group of jock friends.
Overpaying for Red Vines in the Snack Shack just so you can drop money on the counter in front of everyone and walk away is a classic symbol of douchebaggery. That’s probably unfair, but he has that kind of vibe. Maybe it’s not such a big deal for rich people. I wouldn’t know. My high school sits in the middle of a lot of wealthy neighborhoods, so even though my family has always been solidly middle-class, that almost translates to poor here.
That’s what I was thinking when Drake Gibbons, the second douchebag of the day, got to the front of the line. As I was counting back change, he interrupted me. I should probably note that he does that a lot. Interrupts, I mean. He’s been in my class since his family moved here in third grade, and he has always been annoying. He doesn’t really have a filter, which means he was usually responsible for the truest (and meanest) nicknames doled out in elementary school.
I was doing fine trying to ignore the noise and the people, but instead of waiting for me to finish, Drake grabbed a Clif Bar, dropped a wrinkled twenty into the cash box, and said, “Nineteen, dude.”
I would have pegged him for a Slim Jim kinda guy.
“Just a sec.” I was still helping this girl who was trying to pick out all the green apple Jolly Ranchers from the plastic box in front of her, but Drake didn’t want to wait for his change.
“Here, dude, let me help you with that.” He tried to reach into my cash box, but I pulled it back.
“Just a sec. I’m not done with that.”
Jolly Rancher Girl, who also went by Cassie and was in my algebra class, was taking her sweet-ass time pulling out her candy, and I was trying to move her along while Drake kept putting his hand over the counter to grab his change. It wasn’t clicking for him that I was still helping someone else. Like he heard me but didn’t hear me. If that makes any sense.
“Dude, I’ll help you. It’s nineteen bucks.” He was still leaning over the counter. Still in my space. Close enough for me to smell the protein shake on his breath. Cassie glared at him, but he ignored her too.
“Just wait,” I said, gritting my teeth. I put up my hand. The noise in the room was giving me a stomachache, and I had to start over counting back change for the second time.
Then Drake stage-whispered, “Uh-oh, better not make Fat Leo mad.”
I glared at him. Fat Leo was the best nickname he could give me as a kid. Since I subsisted on a diet of moussaka and souvlaki and my pudgy belly stretched most of my clothes, Fat Leo was a suitable choice, I guess, but completely without vision.
He swiped for the cash box, and Cassie once again tried to get me to finish her transaction. That’s when the crowd turned ugly.
“Some of us are HANGRY. Just give me my Funyuns, dude!” said a guy at the back.
“And breath mints,” said his girlfriend.
A bunch of people laughed, but a few other people started sounding really annoyed about the holdup.
The laughter rumbled in my head, making it feel like my temples had a heartbeat.
Why am I here around people and not hiding in a dark corner? Why isn’t that a service hours option?
There was another grab for the cash box, and as I yanked it out of Drake’s reach, I could see people watching with curiosity.
“Jesus,” said Drake. “Just let me grab my change.”
The sound reverberated in my head like a microphone screeching with audio feedback.
“Dude, you got a fifty-seven on your last math test. You think I trust you to figure out your own change?”
I could see immediately that it was embarrassing to him. I handed Cassie her change and then counted out his nineteen bucks, slowly. Deliberately. Then someone pushed him out of the way and I didn’t see him until later that afternoon.
I had a study period before gym. Instead of wandering to the library as usual, I found one of three spots normally unoccupied by people, in a hall just outside the computer lab.
I pulled out some blue chenille yarn and started crocheting a mati.
The mati was the first thing I’d ever learned to make. It’s a black circle in a blue circle surrounded by a white circle. An eye that Greeks put up to keep the devil away. To ward off bad luck. I was going to leave this one at Yia Yia’s grave. I put all my focus into making small, even stitches, even though I totally heard Drake when he walked up to me.