At least that’s what I was thinking around third period after I saw her in the hall, trying to make myself feel better.
By lunch, I witnessed Cami hanging all over Jake in the quad. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, like they were together. A couple. I vaguely remember them being together our sophomore year for a while, and if you really think about it, they make sense. They should be a couple. He’s the star quarterback, she’s the cheer captain. He’s attractive, she’s attractive. He probably has a black soul. And she definitely has a black soul.
Right after lunch, there was a rally, and while I tried my best to feel enthusiastic and full of spirit, it was tough. The entire football team was on the floor in the middle of the gym, Jake standing front and center and waving at everyone when they announced his name, an arrogant smile on his face. He got the biggest applause out of all of them and I couldn’t help but notice Cami bouncing up and down as she stood with the rest of the cheer team on the sidelines, screaming out Jake’s name.
God, it was so annoying.
“I hate Cami Lockhart,” Marty says, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no one is nearby before he continues. “That bitch made my life a living hell freshman year.”
Lots of people have made Marty’s life a living hell at some point during his middle and high school career. Why are people so cruel?
“She’s in our world religions class,” Sophie says, nodding toward me. “And I’m not quite sure how she got in there. She’s kind of an idiot.”
I have to agree—Cami is a complete idiot. She asks the most ridiculous questions in class, ones I assume everyone knows the answer to already. I’m not sure how she got in our honors class that has dual enrollment—we’re getting college credit for taking the class—but there she was the first day of school, her expression assured, like she belonged there.
“I thought she’s been in remedial classes her entire high school life.” Sophie says laughingly and I send her a look, feeling guilty about what I thought only a moment ago. She goes quiet immediately, though Marty’s still laughing, and I guess I can’t blame him.
Cami definitely sucks. And she’s a bitch, we all know this. But should it really make us feel better to make fun of someone else? She clearly has some sort of learning disability. Or she’s just plain dumb and doesn’t pay attention. But we shouldn’t lift ourselves up by tearing down others.
I sound just like my mom when she used to talk to me about that sort of stuff after someone made fun of me, but it’s true.
“Forget Cami. Just—go to the game with me, you guys, okay? It’ll be fun.” Sophie smiles. “Please?”
“It’s so expensive to get into the game,” I say in protest. It’s a weak protest, but still.
Sophie rolls her eyes. “It’s a dollar to get in with an ASB card.”
Oh. I have an ASB card. I also have a dollar. Somewhere. But I can’t forget the only reason I’m able to eat this meal is because Sophie and Marty covered the cost for me. I’m that broke. Plus, you order two chicken-and-fries baskets and it can feed four people. We didn’t need to order the fried zucchini, but Marty had a craving, as he called it.
“You’ll give me a ride?” I ask Sophie.
She nods. “Definitely. I’ll even give you a ride.” She smiles over at Marty, who ducks his head.
“I really don’t want to go,” he practically moans. “My tía will be there cheering on my asshole cousin, and it could turn into a whole thing. I bet my other cousins will be there too. And then they’ll make me join them when they go down to the field to talk to Diego after the game…I don’t want to deal.”
He seriously dislikes his cousin. And I don’t have a doubt that everything he just described would totally happen. His family is hardcore. Meaning, they all get together for every little thing. Marty’s birthday? They all show up in force—upwards of fifty people in his parents’ tiny house at a time. Diego’s playing football? I’m sure they all show up en masse for that as well.
Not that I’d know. I can’t remember the last time I went to a football game. Maybe the beginning of our sophomore year?
“So it’s me and you then?” Sophie asks, quietly letting Marty off the hook. We aren’t out to torture him.
“Sure,” I say quickly, trying not to second-guess myself.
“Yay!” Sophie actually claps her hands and bounces in her seat. I’m actually shocked by her behavior. She’s so animated, like she’s sincerely excited about going to a game and a party. If this happened our junior year, she would’ve come up with every excuse possible not to go. “Okay, this is going to be fun. We’ll go back to my house and get ready and then we’ll go to the game.”
“Wait a minute—get ready?” I glance down at myself before I return my gaze to my friend. “I can’t just wear this?”
A grimace flits across Sophie’s face for the briefest moment before it’s replaced by a sunny smile. “Um, no. Let’s get dressed up!”
“I don’t have anything to dress up in. Besides, it’s a football game.” I’m wearing a pale lavender T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The shirt has paint smudges on it because I made a bit of a mess today in art class. Oh, and I’m wearing my favorite—and only—pair of Birkenstocks, which are kind of ratty looking. And if I’m being honest with myself, they’re a little smelly.
Okay, they’re a lot smelly. But I can’t afford to get another pair and I love them so much, especially when I wear them with a cute pair of socks.
“You can raid my closet,” Sophie offers.
I start to laugh. “You’re way taller than me.”
“And I have things that are too short that you are more than welcome to try on.” Sophie has an answer for everything. I kind of hate it. But I love her too much to let it bother me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go, Marty?”
“And witness my family lose their minds over the faux amazingness that is Diego? I don’t think so.” Marty shakes his head. “Though I’m sure you two will have a great time.”
I wish I felt as positive as Marty sounds.
We show up to the game right when “The Star-Spangled Banner” starts. Instead of paying and walking inside, we have to wait until the national anthem is finished. We stand in front of the table where we buy our tickets, our hands over our hearts, the ladies who are working the ticket table doing the same thing. It’s serious business, and I notice how solemn everyone is. Respectful.
It makes me feel like I’m about to witness something really important.
The second the anthem is over, the entire crowd whoops and yells, and the ladies take our money before stamping the back of our hands. A few members of the girls’ basketball team are trying to sell us game programs, and Sophie, the kind soul that she is, buys one for two dollars.
“Why do you want that?” I ask her as we make our way to the stands.
“So we can look at the pictures of the football team and see which guy is the hottest. Duh.” Sophie rolls her eyes and laughs, and I can’t help but laugh with her.