And So It Goes by Judy Colella (some good books to read .txt) 📕

Jacob stood, and now his smile was natural and rather nice. I’m going to punch myself in the face later for thinking that, by the way. “I was right about you, Shasta – you’re cool. Thanks. And, yeah, it was refreshing to see someone refuse to back down when Lacy’s being a – ”

“Being a what, Jacob?”

Lacy. Great. The crowd around my desk was growing – joy!

“A biatch, Lacy. But I love you anyway.” Jacob patted her on the fanny, making me wonder if maybe she played football on the side. He gave me a salute, kissed Lacy on the top of her bleached little head, and sauntered away. Seriously. The guy sauntered.

Lacy watched his theatrical exit, too, but then turned those hate-lasers she uses for eyes back on me. “You’re – ”

“Dead. I know. Or at least that’s what you claim. Not that I had a damn thing to do with Jacob saying…you know what? I don’t care what you think. I don’t like him, I like you even less, and I wish you’d go away. Your perfume is making me gag, and my I.Q. feels like it’s withering in your presence. So please – don’t pester me and I won’t return the favor.” There. If that wasn’t the first step toward a grisly death, I didn’t know what was.

A huge gasp next to me told me that Gina was allowing herself to breathe again.

Lacy crossed her arms, thrust out her jaw, and nodded. I was amazed at her sudden ability to multi-task. “You’d better not like him.”

“The threat is totally unnecessary. I don’t hang out with guys who think they were created for the sole purpose of making girls feel alive. In fact, if he ever tried hitting on me, I’d gladly throw up on his shoes. I hate barfing as much as the next person, but for him, I’d make an exception.”

Her mean gene faltered; I could see it in her expression. “O…okay. But just – fine. Whatever.” She waved a hand, flashing nails that had been treated like miniature Sistine Chapel ceilings, and sashayed away. Yep. Sashayed. No wonder she and Jacob were having problems – sauntering and sashaying were a toxic combination in my book.

About my “book.” It has all kinds of interesting things in it. Opinions, mostly, with an objective observation or two. One of the entries is the memory of a guy who claimed to be my father. Well, for about five minutes, anyway.

I was only around four years old, but I clearly recall my mom opening the front door one afternoon and saying something pithy like, “You!” A guy had pushed into the apartment, looked around, and asked where his daughter was. I started looking around as well, because I couldn’t remember mom letting anyone else inside – did some girl sneak in and hide in a closet or something?

Next thing I knew, Mom had grabbed me, and holding me by the shoulders, turned me to face this daughter-seeking person. At the time I thought he was a Ken doll that had come to life - not because he was good-looking or anything, but his clothes were so crisp and perfect, I figured he had to be a doll of some kind. Normal people didn’t dress like that (one of the earliest entries in my book). I remember him crouching down in front of me, rather like Jacob had, and staring into my face for a stupid long time. Then he stood up, made a grumpy-sounding snort, and said, “My mistake.”

“It certainly wasn’t, but you’re right. She’s not yours.” That was my mother, and for some reason, her words stayed with me. Maybe because they were so odd to my ears. So yeah. The guy didn’t just leave, he sauntered out. So in my book, guys who saunter are, um, Richards. Girls who sashay, on the other hand (according to that same book), are desperate. Toxic combo there. In my book.

“…alive?”

I realized that someone had been talking to me, probably at length. I looked up from a page full of doodles and into the eyes of my history teacher. Fantastic. “Sorry?”

“I asked if you knew the answer to the question on the board. Then I asked if you had even seen the board. After that, I asked if you wouldn’t mind paying attention. Finally, I asked if you were even alive. It would seem you are, but clearly not present. What are doing, Miss Darby?”

I swallowed a gulp – or is it the other way around – and looked down at my notebook. “Doodling. Sorry.”

“Well, if I ever give you a pop quiz on doodling, you can feel confident about getting a passing grade. Now please pay attention.” She turned and trudged back to the front of the classroom.

Sauntering, sashaying, trudging – what was next? I felt a Monty Python sketch coming on. Since this was history class, I banished thoughts about people who walked weird on purpose and focused. My grades in this subject had so far been, as some old geezer on television said in some nutty show, “fair to middlin’.” Which meant I wasn’t failing, but the trip to Flunk Town was a short walk.

Somewhere between pondering the possibility that Winston Churchill was a boring relative of W.C. Fields (my mom may well be responsible for my brain being old-school-movie oatmeal), and realizing I’d left my lunch money sitting on the counter at home, someone put a note on my desk. How did I miss that happening?

Not wanting to attract the teacher’s back-of-the-head radar, I forced myself not to stare around to see who might have…you know, that never works. Staring around like that, I mean. Why not? Because if someone slips you a note, they probably don’t want to be associated with it in case you get caught reading it. Huh. A lot of “it” pronouns in that sentence…Ack! I have so got to stop interrupting myself!

The note. Right. I opened it and placed it flat on the other page of my notebook so I could read it without being obvious.

“Meet me in the hall after class – Jacob”

At least he didn’t ask me to meet him in the janitor’s closet or something. But…wait. What?! Was he trying to get me murdered by Lunatic Lacy? And then there was the fact that I’d meant everything I’d told her about how much I didn’t like Jacob. Why would I want to meet with him in the hall or anywhere else?

Maybe I could go to the bathroom and just hang out there for the rest of the day. Yeah…no. Hmm. I felt like writing a note to Lacy to tell her what her beloved had planned. Of course, I’d probably get seen passing it to her and end up in detention – ha! I couldn’t very well meet the guy if I was in detention, right? But instead of tipping Lacy off and possibly starting a slap-fest somewhere on the school grounds, I decided to send a note back to Jacob.

It said, “No.”

I folded it back up, nudged the girl sitting at the desk between mine and his, and did one of those meaningful nods toward Jacob as I tried to hand her the note.

“Miss Darby!”

Yessss!!! “Ma’am?”

“Are you passing a note in my class?”

I almost told her that no, I was passing a note in my next class, but felt being expelled was more than I needed right then. “Er, yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

She walked up the aisle toward me. This wasn’t going to end well…

“Give me the note.”

Crap. “Here.”

“To whom were you trying to pass it?”

“Jacob.”

Several gasps shot around the room, the loudest coming, I believe, from Lacy. Heh. Good.

“I see.” Without opening the note, the teacher put out her arm toward Jacob. “Kindly take this, Mr. Wainwright.”

He did, but I have no idea what kind of expression was on his face since I was too busy trying to look like I was in a coma.

“That is the last time I want to see something like that in my class, and I’m speaking to all of you, not just Miss Darby. Are we clear? And you – did you go to sleep?”

The outrage in her voice compelled me to open my eyes despite every effort not to. “No, ma’am.”

Prefacing her words with one of those deep through-the-nose intakes of breath, she said, “I want you to stay after the bell rings. It won’t take long, so you won’t be late for your next class – not that I believe you’re overly concerned about that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes you’re not concerned, or yes you’ll stay after class?”

I almost never get headaches. For real. But at that moment, I could feel what I was sure was the beginning of a big one. What was she talking about? How was I supposed to answer what might well be a trick question? Fine. I answered both. “I am concerned, but I’ll stay after class.” There. Take that, trudging teacher. Grrr.

Someone snickered. Had to be Lacy. Sheesh. So…why did I get out of bed?

The bell finally did its thing, and as everyone got up to leave, I avoided looking in Jacob’s direction. Not Gina, though. Nope.

“Lacy grabbed the note from him!”

“Is she holding anything sharp?”

Giggling, Gina shook her head. “What did he say?”

“He wanted me to meet him after class.”

“Oh. My. God! What did you say?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“I said ‘no.’”

“Oh. Well, I gue…ha! Lacy just punched his arm, and not in a nice way.”

I put my books into my backpack and headed for the front of the room. “Is there a nice way to do that?”

“Well, a friendly way, I suppose.”

Shrug. “You better go. See you at lunch.” We didn’t have the next class together, which is probably a good thing. Sex education could get awfully silly, and Gina excelled at silly.

“Laters.”

I hate that expression. Like there’s more than one “later.” I mean, the definition of “later” is “at a future time,” so unless we’re talking about being extras on a show about sliding into parallel universes, there’s only one “later,” right? Note to self: shut up.

“All right, Miss Darby.”

Ah, I was being addressed by Mrs. Everly. Yeah, her name is okay to say. Just forgot to mention it before. Anyhoo… “Sorry, ma’am. About the note-passing thing, I mean. I like never do that.”

“So you decided to start your career in my class?”

My what? “It – I was just ans…never mind.”

She smiled, which took me by surprise. Why did she smile? “I understand – you don’t want to get Jacob in trouble, right?”

Huh. That’s why. Smart cookie, another phrase I detest – cookies have no brains…oh, yuck! Nasty mental image alert! “Right. And he’s probably ticked off at me now anyway because I busted him.”

“It’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “You know, you aren’t doing all that bad in this class, but you could easily fall behind if you don’t start paying attention. Your class participation is a big part of the overall grade. So while you handle tests and homework well, I rarely get any kind of reaction during class time. You should try a little harder on that front, okay? And leave the boyfriend stuff for after school.”

I came within a hairsbreadth of shouting, “He’s not my freaking boyfriend!” but didn’t think that would be smart. She sounded like she was letting me off the detention hook, so I’d be a total idiot to disrupt her generous mood. I opted for another “yes, ma’am,” and when she told me I could leave, I walked out with as much dignity as I could manage. Which lasted until I was out in the hall.

Freaked, I looked wildly up and down the corridor. Where was Jacob? Was he waiting around a corner to strangle me with his jock strap? And what of Lacy? I knew my response to his request would have pleased her, but the fact that he was passing me notes in the first place may still have bothered