So I'm a Double Threat (Double Threat Series) (3 page)

“We’ll be ready. I can’t wait.” I’m confident. We’re going to be up here dancing at next year’s freshmen orientation.

Thank God. Orientation is over. I figured out where my classes are. Mr. Mitchell is pretty cool. My friends are still awesome. The upperclassmen are all right. The dance team was so freakin’ cool. And Alex...his sweaty, sexy body, he was just...
priceless
.

Carver High School...ready or not, here I come.

––––––––

H
oly shit. This crap only happens to me. I swear I set the alarm on my cell for five thirty in the morning so I can take my time getting ready. But, of course, my alarm never goes off and I wake up in a panic.

It’s like I’m watching a scary movie and the bad guy jumps out to get me. I gasp, sit up, and my eyes pop open. My heart is beating fast. I pick up my phone to see it’s almost seven. No way. School starts in forty minutes. Shit. Shit. Shit. I set my alarm for 5:30 p.m.. Loser. Think fast, think fast.

I jump in the shower, grab my loofah, squeeze some body wash on it and quickly swipe it all over my body. I throw conditioner in my hair—no time for shampoo—run my fingers through my golden locks, and rinse it all out in a matter of seconds. I dry off as I run to my room to get dressed. I squirt some mousse in my hair. It’s going to have to be a curly, messy hair day. No time for the flat iron. A dab of mascara and lip gloss, grab the back pack, and I’m out. No one will notice I just rolled out of bed, right?

Ugh. It sucks to get to school in a sweat. My legs hurt from walking so fast. I can feel the shin splints burning through my flesh. I get to the front of the bathroom, where they post the class lists, just as the first bell rings. Where the hell is my name? I pass up the A-Fs. On to the G-Js. Okay, there’s the Ms. Martinez. McMillan. Mester. Meza. And finally, there’s Miller. With only a few Millers, I find my name quickly, Miller, Megan. That’s me. Whew. My class didn’t change. I’m in the clear. I already know where my first period is.

Crap. I forgot to turn off my cell phone. I can hear my ringtone, humming from somewhere in my backpack. I dig around for it, finding it just in time.

“Where in the hell are you?” Stephanie shouts into the phone. “I’m standing in front of our science class and I don’t see your late butt anywhere.”

“Shit, Steph, I’m on my way.” A loud beeping sound erupts from the intercom. “Damn, is that the minute bell?”

“Yeah, I think so. You better hurry up. I’m gonna go in and save us some seats.”

This sucks, I’m totally late on my first day of high school. I look like ass and I probably smell like it too after practically sprinting here. My legs are now throbbing. Seriously, why can’t I go to a private school? This place is so big, it’s like walking across a college campus. It takes like fifteen minutes to get from one building to another, but you only get seven minutes in between classes. What the hell kind of crap is that?

Are you kidding me? Are. You. Kidding. Me? I walk into class and the only seat left is in the front. Thanks, Steph. Oh frick, I’m gonna be stuck between Marvin Johnson and Lacey Lam (originally Qian Na—who I’ve always been jealous of because she got to change her name. In kindergarten, I asked my mom if I could be Samantha or Sara instead. Of course, her answer was no). Kill me now.

Anyway, I kind of stare at the seat. Steph’s in the back of the class. She scored an awesome seat next to some hot guy I have never seen before. Some chicks have all the luck. Apparently, I’m not one of them.

Mrs. Caldwell catches my gaze, and eyeballs the seat in front. I walk over to it quickly, as if I haven’t already drawn enough attention to myself, with my fiery red cheeks, wet hair, and panting. I probably look like a mangy, golden mutt. I still haven’t had the chance to fully catch my breath. Every time I inhale, I feel like my lungs are on fire. It can’t get any worse than this.

“Good. Morning. Ladies. And. Gentlemen. Welcome. To. Earth. Science.” Mrs. Caldwell has the most monotone, dreary voice I’ve ever had to listen to. It reminds me of that goofy teacher in
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,
“Bueller...Bueller...Bueller.” This is going to be a freakin’ nightmare at seven forty in the morning
every day
. I doubt I’ll even survive to make it to second period.

Well, it could’ve been worse. I could’ve gotten P.E. first period.

The rest of the day is the same old, same old. Introductions here, introductions there, passing out information sheets for parents to sign (first homework assignment, of course), and the inevitable icebreakers, as if breaking the ice is possible in a room full of teenagers.

How annoying is it that some teachers feel the need to be all touchy feely, “I care about you and your feelings,” all “I really want to get to know all of you” crap, and the, of course, “if you need anything, you can come to me, I’m here for you.” What a load of bull. I swear, if I have to play another game of “I’m going on a picnic and I’m going to bring...”—you know the one where you say your name and something you’ll bring that starts with the first letter of your first name—I’m going to take all the picnic crap and shove it straight up these teachers...never mind, I’ll
try
to be nice. Try.

I can’t believe I even made it through the first half of the day: first period was Earth. Science. Second period was Math (hallelujah). I’m in Algebra two as a freshman, because I’m a genius. Ha ha. My teacher, Mr. Higgins, is also known as the Mad Hatter. Spanish was third period with Mrs. O’Brien. Yeah, an O’Brien teaching me Spanish. I laughed at that one, too. Next thing you know, Mrs. Apolinar Hererra-Reyes will be teaching German.

Fourth period finally arrives. This is supposed to be my kick-back class. ASB. Mr. Mitchell is dramatic, just like orientation. I swear he reaches his voice so loudly across the room, he doesn’t need a microphone. He is already in project mode, with the Welcome Back assembly coming up. Wow. Can you believe this craziness? We barely started school and we’re already expected to plan a rally.

Mr. Mitchell should stop worrying and put Steph in charge. She will be good at this; she has the party planning gene in her family. I swear, they always have the entire
familia
over for every occasion. All her
tias
,
tios
, cousins, friends,
ninas
, and
ninos
go to her house for practically anything. Every day is a holiday at Casa Ayala.

Anyway, we’re placed into committees, which totally sucks, because the fab four get split up. Keesha and I get selected for Activities, while Amy and Steph are slated for Rally committee. All the upperclassmen say these are the best committees, and we should feel lucky. I guess I’m excited but I’d rather us all be together. I guess my mom is right, I still have some growing up to do.

Oh well, I’m over it. At least I still have Keesh with me.

Amy and Steph disappear with their group to plan the assembly. First, we reluctantly say goodbye to each other, severing the figurative umbilical cord that connects us. It’s like someone cut off my hands without them here.

Keesh and I follow the older kids into the cafeteria to hammer out details for the halftime activities for the first football game. Yes, did you hear that? Football. I get to plan something for the football team. I get to plan something for ALEX.

Oh, my gosh. I can hardly contain myself. My knee is bouncing up and down at turbo speed. All these thoughts are going through my head. Will he see me? Of course he will—he will run out of the locker room, onto the field, and stop in front of me for a good-luck kiss before taking the field to run for the winning touchdown. Okay. I know, I’m nuts. Sometimes my imagination runs wild. It’s like a freakin’ filmstrip running out of control. But really, wouldn’t it be totally cool if that happened with Alex?

Like always, Keesh whips me back to reality.

“Ow. What’s your problem?” She nudged me in the arm so hard I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.

She shoots me an irritated look. “Pay attention, dumbass. They were just asking you a question,” she whispers.

I try to catch what’s happening, but the conversation has moved on. I still don’t know what’s going on before the bell rings. That’s okay though, I’ll ask Keesha after class.

All that matters is I’m one step closer to my man, Alex Aguilar. Yummy. How blessed are the women of Carver, to have this hot steamy guy to pine over everyday.

Thank goodness we all have the same fourth period class. This means we all have the same lunch. Yay. Can you imagine what it would be like if we had separate lunches? It would be a social disaster.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, I’m famished. I left in such a hurry this morning, I didn’t have a chance to grab anything to eat. I’m lucky I put money in my backpack or I’d have to chew my fingernails off for lunch—I guess it’s better than eating my toenails. Ha ha. No. Not really. Any one of my friends would let me bum something from their lunch or would buy me something of my own.

Baked chips, salads, mini everything...this healthy kids crap sucks. What happened to the good ol’ days of pizzas, cookies, and nachos? I guess I’ll have to settle for a granola bar and water. I’ll just stuff my face with whatever I can find when I get home. This nutritious food is not going to cut it. If only all those lazy fat
mo-fos
would just turn off their video games and go outside and run around a little, we wouldn’t have to eat this cardboard crap they’re trying to pass off as healthy. Okay, so I know I’m not skinny...just a little
big-boned
, but at least I exercise, sometimes.

I stop abruptly as we begin to walk away from the snack bar line.

“Where in the hell are we gonna sit?” I ask. There are students everywhere. They already have their spots. I get nervous all of a sudden.

“Just keep walking. Act like we know where we’re going,” Amy says, as she leads the way.

“How about there, by the tree?” Keesh suggests.

I walk ahead. “Let’s go for it. I don’t want to walk in circles all lunch period.”

We find our spot in the middle of the quad. A small hill, with a shady tree, in the middle of a grassy area. I open my granola bar and begin searching for Alex. I practically break my neck scanning every inch of the quad for a glimpse of his hotness. Much to my disappointment, I cannot find him anywhere. He must have a secret place or have first lunch. Oh, that would suck. Although, I’m sure I can find some other candidates to feed my boy-crazy appetite. High school is like a buffet of cute guys.

Lunch doesn’t last long before the bell rings and the masses start migrating to fifth period. All of us have P.E. next, then English. It’s kind of cool we have so many classes together. The only classes we don’t share are first and second, they’re flip-flopped though—Steph and I in one, Amy and Keesha in the other. It’s to be expected, since we’re all on the honors track. I think the four of us have basically had the same classes together since sixth grade. That’s the way it works. All the smart kids are always grouped together. They wouldn’t dare put us with the
regular
kids. Our parents would probably flip thinking we’d start doing all sorts of bad things from fraternizing with the riffraff. Little do they know, it’s really the other way around. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, though.

“So, what’d you think of Ms. Gelson?” Keesha asks, as we leave our sixth period class.

Amy speaks up first. “She seems all right, but seriously, do we have to start off the year with Shakespeare?”

“I was thinking the same thing. Isn’t there an author who lived like in the last ten, even hundred years, who is worth reading?” I roll my eyes. “I mean, it’s like the whole world evolves except for in literature class. I think our parents, and grandparents, maybe even Jesus Himself read freakin’ Shakespeare their freshmen year in high school.” My voice gets higher and my face hotter as I complain. I
hate
Shakespeare.

Steph is waiting, on edge, to get a word in. “What the hell is the point in reading
Romeo and Juliet
in the first place? It’s not like we all don’t know the sad stupid story. What psycho girl would kill herself over a dumb guy anyway? Chicas.” We all look at Steph and she begins, “Friends are forever.”

“Boys, whatever,” we all shout, putting our hands together to form a “W.” We stop, look at each other again, and then laugh our asses off. Hey, it’s silly. I know, but it’s much better than what the guys say,
Bros Before Hos
. This has been one of our favorite shout-outs since we were in middle school. That sounds funny, doesn’t it?
Since we were in middle school
.

It’s only our first day of high school and already junior high seems like so long ago.

––––––––

W
aiting two weeks for the first home football game seems like an eternity, but now the time is here. I get to see Alex in his football uniform. You know, the one with the tight pants that show off his muscular legs, firm bootie and...other
thrilling
shapes.

I can’t wait.

Time is dragging as I begin to get ready. School has been out for about an hour and I’m going nuts with boredom, killing time till I get to jet out of the house for the game. My parents wanted me to be home immediately after school—without any of my friends in tow—since I’m going to be out for most of the night. My friends’ parents followed suit, and they all had to spend “quality time” at home as well.

What’s the deal with that? I hate when parents think too much. We all know this ridiculous irrational mentality.
Since you are going out tomorrow, you need to stay home with your family tonight
. As if they’re going to spend time with me contemplating the meaning of life, or reminiscing about the good old days. Yeah right. They just want to know I’m here, in this house, with them, dreading the slow, lonely passing hours till I get to escape.

Okay, so it’s not too bad—I’ve been known to exaggerate—but it would be so much better if my girls were here with me, or if I was with them. It pretty much sucks trying to figure out what I’m going to wear all by myself. Well, not really by myself—I think I’ve called Steph, like five times, and Keesha has called me a couple times too, and they have each talked to Amy.