The homeroom teacher does her thing; tells us what’s going on; talks about the spring musical that Tris, Brisa, and Truth are doing; the winter sports we were too late to join, which is cool because I don’t have time; and then tells us permission slips for the spring sports are due.
“Shit,” JT mumbles as he flips through the folder on his desk then hands me his form for baseball, which I sign, along with mine for the surf team, and then pass it forward.
Then she announces some talent show that’s in June. This garners some excitement.
“You should do it,” JT says.
“Yeah, maybe.” I shrug. “Not sure I have time, though.” And I don’t. Lots of shit going on.
“You don’t have time to pluck a few strings and sing?” JT’s brows knit. “Make time. That’s your thing.”
He looks at Savvy. “What’s your thing?”
“Avoiding things,” she says as the bell rings. Then she stands up and quickly exits the classroom.
“She’s a ball of joy,” he says as we stand.
“She’s cool.” I grab my bag.
“Yeah, I’ll take your word for it.”
Once in the hall, we both head in different directions; me toward the senior hall to lay eyes on Kiki, and him toward our next class—AP Calc.
The only classes I don’t have with them is Women Studies and Pottery. Those are the two I get to chill with Savvy.
* * *
Why the hell are we taking classes heavy in AP courses is a question I ask myself often. All three of us are focused on the arts, not STEM, so this is some bullshit torture we students do to ourselves and, in some cases, parents push on their kids to rank against others.
The constant competition is never going to stop, though, and I’m not sure I give half a shit about that in real life. But even in art, there’s competition. With music, it’s charts and now algorithms for what gets shown on social media and in the big monster stores that have killed the mom and pop shops.
Money trumps all, and wrongs are far too often diluted to make them right. The only place that doesn’t play in is home, family, and love—matters of the heart.
As I get older and more exposed to the world, I see where even those get tainted, which is why I want whoever it is I’m going to be with, my forever, to be solid in who they are.
Savvy, as much of a shitshow as her life has been, is the most solid female I’ve yet to meet. I hope her no-bullshit ways never gets fucked by society.
I sit down beside her, Chloe sitting on her other side, and look at her.
“I’ve never seen her so happy.” Chloe smiles and leans her head on Savvy’s shoulder. “Whoever this Trisha is, I’d like to hug her. She’s—”
“Chloe,” Savvy whispers a stern warning as she shimmies her shoulder, trying to get Chloe to stop kittening up to her.
“Sorry.” Chloe straightens up.
“So …” I ask, “who is this Trisha?”
Savvy scowls at me and rolls her eyes as she looks away.
“I said sorry.” I hear Chloe whisper.
Except for homeroom, I haven’t seen her in three days, which is pretty much the longest stretch since we have technically become “friends.” I straight up missed the hell out of her.
I hit the side of her leg with my knee, and she looks at me, her annoyance slowly disappearing, then looks away. Then she pushes her knee against my leg, and it feels better than any kiss I have ever gotten in my life.
I catch her checking me out, and she catches me doing the same.
“Trisha?” I whisper to her, and her lips purse together as she tries not to smile, but that dimple pops.
She sets her phone on the desk, and I see it’s shattered.
“You got the IOS 21 update, huh?”
She rolls her eyes.
The entire class, I spend wondering who the fuck Trisha is.
When the bell rings, she jets out the door again, and I remember what she said about me walking with her. I still think it sucks, but as the saying goes, Rome wasn’t built in a day. It actually took about seven years to completely build the Colosseum alone, and one earthquake to fuck it up forever. I’m hoping seven years isn’t the case with her and me getting closer. Obviously, the goal is to spend the rest of my high school career being with her. I was pretty solid on the fact it was leaning that way … until this Trisha thing came up.
No regrets. I have done what I have done to ensure that any type of physical need that “pops” up—because I’m all sorts of wanting to get up inside her, and not just physically, and she’s pushing me away like she’s done in the past—doesn’t become too hard on my resolve that I hook up with someone to feel the release I crave and ruin something I know could be good. So, JT and I snuck into the city yesterday. Some chick he’s worked with did my piercing, and he decided to do it, too. He’s got a PA; I’ve got a deep shaft reverse PA. The entire way back, he was moaning and whining. Yeah, it hurt, but straight-up, it was quick. I’m giving it a solid four to twelve weeks for healing. By then, I’m hoping she’s figured out what I already know.
She’s been raised to hate men, then she comes here, and these fucks show her she should, but her eyes are opening to the fact that it’s not just men who can be shitbags. Humans have a choice to be good or bad, to love or hate, to crave power or want harmony—none of which are gender neutral.
She says she likes girls, but she never once uttered the words “I’m a lesbian.” If she did, I would accept that and still be her friend—best fucking friend outside my crew—but I would be
