Ant rolled his eyes. My father’s glare stopped him cold.
“And what about you, mister? You going to bring home some decent grades for a change?”
Here comes World War III.
“Sure, Pop. I’m all over it.”
“What does this mean: ‘I’m all over it?’ Is this English?”
“He’s trying to sound cool, Dad.”
“Instead of sounding cool, why don’t you try getting smart?”
Although I didn’t mind hearing my brother get chastised, it bothered me our father came down so hard on him all the time. He said he was tougher on Ant than me because he didn’t want him to become a mammoni—a mama’s boy. But it was too late for that.
2
Flirting Practice
The routine of school soon replaced the awkwardness of that first day. My friends and I lived for nut break, lunch and the minutes between classes, giving us opportunities to talk, gossip and ogle boys.
Michelle and I habitually flirted with guys on the soccer team during our lunch break. Her older brother, Roger, played on the team. He was our excuse to stop, hang out and chat with these cuties.
I zeroed in on Ken Trainor, the blue-eyed babe from my first period class. Michelle’s affections fell on Steve Connor, whose body bulged with stare-worthy muscles.
We found them lounging in the hallway of the 30 Building, where jocks and popular kids fraternized.
“What do you want now?” Roger said, acting annoyed. His hair was as bushy as Michelle’s, only blonde. Owing to his senior status, he sported a full-blown matching mustache. “You sophomores are so pesky.”
“You know you love us, Rog,” I said. “Plus, we’re the only girls in school paying you any attention.”
He guffawed, but there was some truth to that. “I guess you’re alright, Trapani. You aren’t as gumpy as those other friends of Michelle’s, but you are still a bunch of teenyboppers.”
“I am not a teenybopper, or a slopmore or any other stupid name you all have for us.” I glanced to Ken for backup as another sophomore. He smiled, and I forgot my train of thought. He had the whitest teeth…
“When’s the next game?” Michelle said, knowing full well as the schedule was taped to her refrigerator. Roger stared at her sideways but let it slide.
“Friday,” Ken said. “You coming? We could use the support.”
I beamed. He asked us to watch him play! “Sure! We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Michelle?” She nodded enthusiastically, right on cue. “Don’t people come to your games?”
Ken shook his head. “Not really.”
“Except our mothers,” Pete O’Reilly said, his tone sarcastic. Usually the quiet one, his response surprised me. He leaned against the wall of gray lockers in his navy tracksuit, one Adidas-sneakered foot propped against a locker in the bottom row. Super cute.
“I guess soccer isn’t as well-known as some other sports,” I said, guilt-ridden about attending every football game so far. “I’m not even sure how you play. I mean, I understand you score goals, but I’m not familiar with any of the positions or rules.”
“Soccer is more complex than kicking the ball into a net, and it takes a hell of a lot more skill than football,” Roger said. “Everywhere else in the world, soccer is the number one sport. People are a little slow to catch on around here.”
The boys launched into a discussion about games, international players and specific plays. Michelle and I tried to keep up, but gave up and discreetly scooted away.
Once out of earshot, I grabbed Michelle’s arm. “He asked us to come! Do you think it’s like a date?”
She shrugged. “Does it matter? He wants us there. That can only be a good sign.”
“What am I going to wear? God, he is so fine!”
“You should go for it,” Michelle said. “I tried measuring myself against Steve today. If I put on the flattest shoes I own, we’ll be the same height. I could live with that.”
I doubted that would be the issue when it came to Michelle hooking Steve’s attention. She needed so much help in every way, but I didn’t want to discourage her. “Try talking to him at the game. Maybe we’ll all go out for pizza afterward!”
We made plans for Friday. Those consuming thoughts made it difficult to concentrate in the rest of my classes as I daydreamed about the possibilities.
I passed Katy a note between periods giving her the juicy details and inviting her to the game. She wrote back, disinterested, and called soccer a lame sport. Then she challenged whether Ken had asked me out, saying I was reaching. Of course, she droned on about capturing the attention of some football player and blah, blah, blah. She thought she was so perfect—but, reality check: Nay Nay, Little Ray! It bummed me out she could be such a downer.
In my journal entry that night, I wrote:
Ken Trainor is a total fox, and he wants ME to come to his game! I think I’m in love!!!! Plus, our babies would be so good-looking. And Katy can kiss me where the sun doesn’t shine. She is such a killjoy sometimes! Maybe she’s jealous. Whatever!
The soccer match started right after school at Merritt College. Before leaving Skyline, I stopped at the girl’s bathroom for a quick touch-up. I brushed my hair, cooperative for a change. I’d picked the right outfit with my flared jeans, hunter green v-neck tee and black choker with a tiny silver heart dangling from the center. Casual yet beguiling. And natural—I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
“Don’t embarrass me,” Roger told Michelle on our way to the field. “Remember, I drove you here as a favor.”
“Since when do I ever embarrass you?”
“Every. Single. Day.”
I bit my tongue, as I’m sure did Michelle. I would swallow almost
