Thursday, December 2, 2010
Basketball practice has started.
Mrs. Kaynes has decided that maybe another 30-minute time can squeeze in through our NuDiet 101 class to amend for the lost period of last week. She said she caught "the flu" and that pink - "or was it violet?" - spots started running up the length of her neck and made a constellation-like patch of freckles on her cheeks. Frankly, I think she was just absolutely red and blooming and all-smiles that time when I passed by the teachers' lounge that a hot-as-coffee gossip of Ms. Monroe saying, "It was a 5-carat something. Cheap. But at least it means there'll be another party!" could answer the bright look on Mrs. Kaynes' face and why for the last hour we sat and waited, not a single shadow of hers came. So Mrs. Kayne's who is still on divorce legalities is turning into Mrs. Insert-A-Family-Name-Here in a few weeks. Is that even allowed? And that would mean more sitting and waiting in class or maybe we'll be having supplementary classes with another tomato teacher for the rest of Mrs. Kayne's honeymoon weekend.
Through the half of the extended half-hour, Mrs. K has been prattling on about how we compute for the desired body weight of a child. This is too easy, it suddenly seemed stupid that I have to sit in the class and wait for another 30 minutes just to listen about weights and numbers and everything else that I already know or I'm too smart enough to know.
I started doodling on the upper right corner of my manual. Basketball practice started 15 minutes ago. That means that 15 minutes ago, Lance had been in the locker room, stowing away his uniform, probably throwing it in his gym bag or carefully hanging it up in his locker. 15 minutes ago, Lance pulled on his number 17 Centerscore High jersey, sat on a bench, bent down, and tied his basketball high-cuts in a hurry. Or maybe neatly and securely. Most possibly, too, 15 minutes ago, he has already run 2 laps around the maple court of Centerscore gymnasium, or maybe ran 3 flights of stairs on the bleachers. Or maybe I'm just thinking of him too much because of the goddamn letter he sent me.
It was also last week. Mrs. K wasn't around, so I snooped in the faculty room to find her. Not there. Maybe the lounge. Not a single student is allowed in there unless you most sportingly wear a red or blue tie that represents your class as a Junior or Senior, respectively. I'm wearing a Yellow, so even if it takes me two more terms and two holidays away from Centerscore it doesn't entirely mean that I'll be allowed 'til then. I wouldn't even wait to have the red tie just to ask around for Mrs. K.
I decided to skip. NuDiet is totally not worth the effort of sitting in class with. I then loitered around the corridors and stood just below the "No Loitering During Class Hours" sign to make my point. Probably. Or maybe I was being a bitch because I hated the stupid courses and the stupid instructors who never came and the stupid uselessness of being in school and their useless rules that we, rule-breakers, never get caught for.
The ring of the bell. The creaks of chairs. The bangs of opened doors. The cramming footsteps of delinquents who seemed to pray minutes ago that their classes wouldn't take forever. And the usual chatter of how difficult the quiz was or how stupid Ramon was for answering -1 out of 10 items. Maybe that was for getting caught cheating. As was usual people ignored the fact that I was standing below a rule. Like I was saying "Hello, I'm under-ruled!" Whatever. People don't mind me for being a loiter. Nobody knows me; I'm smart and yet, I'm invisible. Again, whatever.
I was getting the hang of it; seeing a sea of uniforms, all-black and colorful on the neck and head was distracting and entertaining all the same. Only an ass would disturb me ---
"Excuse me, Carrie?" That sort of ass.
"Yes?" I forgot to wonder how the person learned my name. Maybe I'm popular and I just don't know it.
"Lance is giving you this. He says be there on the 23rd. Bye." The guy walked off and I didn't even get the chance to see his face properly, he was tall and just that.
I was transfixed at the thing he gave me: an envelope. He said Lance gave me this and I was so sure my heart was supposed to skip a beat whenever I hear his name. But then it seemed to stop entirely. A letter, surely it's a letter, from Lance, Lance. He's the basketball guy, right? The one whose name I've drawn doodle hearts around during Sociology classes. The Lance who helped me search for The Count of Monte Cristo in the library (but, he probably forgot about that). What the hell was this anyway? I was always, always invisible to him, now he wants to start a love-letter communication? Why? How?
I ran the length of --- The Secondary Level lobby. I was in the High School building and I didn't even know it? So that's why there was a bell ringing.
I sprinted past the courtyard like a sorority kid streaking - only, with her clothes on. I ran and ran until I probably fast forwarded to most of the days that had passed...