The Cake is a Lie (5 page)

The ogres were restless. Duncan
apologized profusely and everyone but me played around with the
engine and gave their opinion as to what was wrong. An air of
tension hung over the conversation. Their eyes scanned over Duncan,
Jonsen and me. Duncan finally offered to pay for the scooter if it
couldn’t be fixed and gave them his number. We were allowed to
leave.

As we walked back, we retold our
versions of the day like war veterans. Jonsen told the story like
he was ready to beat all four of them up at any moment. Duncan’s
version beat everyone when he boasted that the number he gave them
was actually fake. It was a clever move. I already knew he could
never pay for it anyways, they were hundreds of dollars. Duncan was
going to Kellogg next year anyways, Shoreline’s other middle
school, he’d never see them again anytime soon.

Waiting in the morning fog,
standing in the aura of the giant half-asleep
8
^th
graders, I finally made up my mind to sit in the middle of the
bus. Not in the back, everyone knew 8
^th
graders sat in the back, but
not in the front. I was somebody, I was best friends with Jonsen
Palmer.

By the end of summer I was usually
ready to go back to school. New school years were exciting, meeting
new people, reuniting with old friends. The week before school my
dad would always take me to our local department store to get new
clothes. When my dad wasn’t wearing a suit he was usually wearing
something from a thrift store so he’d stand back and let me do my
thing. I’m a naturally talented visual artist.

Every once in a while he’d grumble over
prices and try to guide me towards the deals by saying, “Hey Marco,
aren’t these shoes cool? They’re 50% off.” I resented this and as
soon as he suggested something I immediately hated it. I also
believed that things were only on sale because they
sucked.

Ritualistically, the night
before a new school year, I carefully laid out my outfit for the
first day, complete with a new pair of socks and underwear. That
night, before 7
^th
grade, I laid out my favorite solid blue sweater
vest–my favorite from 6
^th
grade–on top of a white undershirt. Best to go
with a sure thing on such an important day. I’d struck out with
brand new clothes in previous years, it’s bound to happen to
anyone. Last year I’d picked out a shirt that was too tight and
Alia Lee had told me I had man boobs in front of all her
girlfriends. I couldn’t risk that again, not on such a big day. I
was learning. My new pants were a sure thing. Cargo shorts had
become all the rage, and, after resisting for a year, I finally
caved to their coolness and bought a pair. But I wanted to be
unique so I picked out a pair of dark green ones.

Loren had told me about
middle school. He’d watched a kid get “swirlied” by a group of
8
^th
graders. His friends would “can” kids all the time.

I’d talked to Loren about my
predicament with the dang scooter and he’d assured me that he knew
everyone our middle school, Einstein, and if Mark and Chris were to
give me any trouble at all I could just come find him and he would
take care of it.

The most popular
8
^th
grader on my bus route was Matt Robinson. He was short and
chubby like me, but all the other 8
^th
graders on our bus hung on
his every word, waiting for his next joke. I did, too,
eavesdropping from the middle row. It wasn’t what he was saying,
the art was in how he cut in and screamed out decrees over everyone
else, not all the time, but just enough.

“
I wouldn’t touch Terra
Richie, she’s so gross! Terra Richie tries to go down on more pipes
than Mario. Slurp slurp slurp.” What a cocky punk.

If my nervousness that day had a sound
it would’ve been the screech of the bus breaks when we pulled up to
the sprawling white walls of Einstein. One by one we filed out into
the blur of frenzied preteens. Anxiety ran in my family so I was
walking slightly faster than the hundreds of kids scurrying around
me to sort themselves out. I had to find a circle. I couldn’t be
seen just by myself looking around with nowhere to go. I saw people
I knew from little league, tennis club, kindergarten. Losers. All
losers. I couldn’t be seen with them. I felt the sting of a
hundreds judgments. I walked around at a desperate pace searching
for Jonsen, but he was nowhere to be found. Einstein was very
confusing, one story spread out like a maze.

I passed the cool kid circles. I saw
Pacey Baker standing around in one. He wasn’t even talking to
anyone, he had headphones on and was singing along loudly to a
song, “Call it what you wanna call it, I’m a fucking alcoholic.”
The other kids in the circle were just standing around in silence
listening to him. What an idiot, I observed, who would brag about
being an alcoholic? God, gangster rappers are so dumb.

At last, I came across my
opportunity. I saw Robin Spoon. One of my best friends from our
neighborhood. Robin and her friends used to come knock on my door
and ask me to hangout. My whole family was very impressed and my
mom had boasted to everyone about how groups of girls would come to
the door asking for me. Robin was a year older, she was standing in
a cool 8
^th
grade circle, it was perfect, I went for it.

“
Robin.” I shouted
enthusiastically as I ran over to her.

She didn’t respond, reluctant to even
look at me.

“
Who are you?” A
weasel-faced boy standing next to Robin questioned me very nastily.
He was tiny, I wasn’t intimidated.

“
Who the fuck are you?” I
questioned back.

Silence fell over the group. Silence
for too long. I looked around at the other girls, the other faces.
I was clearly not wanted. I turned around and walked away,
embarrassed out of my mind. How could Robin do that to me? Someday
she would regret that. I carried the shame with me all the way
through my first three classes. Robin’s cold stare slowly ate all
my confidence away. I’d been one of the most social kids at my
elementary school. But Middle school was a whole new playing field,
these were kids from Highland Terrace, Ridgecrest, Lake Forest
Park… Each one its own unique universe. These were the best of the
best. My grade school accomplishments meant nothing now.

By the time lunch came
around I’d learned my place in the world. Jonsen finally appeared.
He was standing at the top of the rec hall stairs, talking with the
three other coolest 7
^th
graders. Kace Rogers, Tim Wright and Derren
Martin-Farrell—DMF for short. They were all sagging their jeans to
their knees, daringly hanging their butts out into their
boxers.

Kace was famous for putting a bag of
weed and a pipe in his cubby, in his grade school cubby! Kace and
DMF were tall like Jonsen. There are very few indicators of class
as distinct as height amongst preteen boys. Tim was Kace’s
prepubescent right hand man. They were all good looking. I watched
them in all their glory. As they talked they made sure to laugh
loudly so the whole hall could hear them. They jumped on each
other, play punched each other.

Jonsen was hitting on every girl that
walked by, he didn’t give an f. He was even hitting on the quiet
nerd girls.

“
Sup chicas? My name’s
Jonsen Palmer, I do what my name specifies.” The shy girls didn’t
even make eye contact as they cowered and scurried by.

Then the next group came along “Girl
I’m the clit commander. I love you long time.”

The girls had no idea what to do, half
laugh, half just kept their head down and ignored it.

Some actually tried talking with him. I
felt bad for those ones, they actually thought maybe they could
tame him. It was all so wild, I stared in fascination. Whatever
happened they laughed it off and moved on to the next group coming
by. Jonsen had found his zone, high on unlimited confidence.
Unleashed upon the world.

I’d once asked my brother for advice in
getting a girl I had a crush on. He’d told me very self-assuredly
“Marco, it’s all about being confident in yourself. The best part
is you don’t even have to back it up with anything. Who can back up
anything anyways? Everyone’s so anxious and self-conscious. You’ll
realize that as you get older. It’s not about your haircut, it’s
about how you wear it.”

But watching Jonsen in the
hallway I came to my own realization that my brother was wrong.
There was no faking
that
, what Jonsen had. Jonsen’s confidence was a monument, built
out of a thousand small incremental baby blocks of overwhelming
positive feedback. The pure oozing stuff.

Jonsen and I hadn’t hung out in weeks,
he’d been spending all his time with Kace and Tim. He was clearly
doing fine with his new “best friends.” I was mad, but I
understood. That day I wouldn’t dare to go near Jonsen at Einstein,
definitely not after the Robin incident.

Still unwilling to be seen with anyone
not cool I frantically pretended to speed walk somewhere very
importantly until I finally escaped to the bathroom. I sat in the
stall and open up my back pack and took out my sack lunch. I
dwelled in the stinging pain and took small munches of my peanut
butter and jelly sandwich as the bread soaked up my tears.
Eventually I found a new resolve. A deep down faith that one day I
was going to be popular.

When the last bell finally rang I
joined one of the current of students heading towards the buses. I
just wanted to go home to my afternoon cartoons and cereal and not
think for the rest of the day.

“
MARCOO..” I heard loud
voices howling at me. I looked over to see Mark, Chis and Morris
all waving and smiling at me from the side of the hallway. I stood
dead still but my heart began trying to run away through my
intestines. I walked over to them a condemned man.

Mark did the talking. “So Marco… Have
you talked to your friend about our money?”

He smirked every time he mockingly used
my name. As if to say, “Why do I know your lowly name, bitch?” It
was a great smirk, he used just the right amount of teeth and
looked away from you at all the right moments.

Big Chris was just standing by Mark’s
side with a big goofy, maniacal grin on his face.

“
He’s not answering my
calls,” I responded meekly. I acted scared, lowly. I slouched and
kept my eyes low in an attempt to show them that I knew they were
better than me. Hopefully that offering would be enough and they
wouldn’t give me a swirly.

“
Well dawg, you gotta pay
for your friend, Marco.” Mark talked as if whatever he said was
final because he was just better. They’re straight up bullies, I
thought. I was stunned people like them actually
existed.

“
I didn’t go anywhere near
that scooter,” Was the only thing I had left to say. The hallway
was almost clear now, I was definitely going to miss the bus. They
must not ride the bus. My consciousness squirmed and wailed,
unwilling to come to terms with the fact that I was actually going
to be canned on the first day of Middle School.

“
What up?” Out of nowhere,
Jonsen was all of a sudden standing beside me, standing straight
up. He normally had a slight slouch, he looked an inch or two
taller standing straight up. I felt a rush of joy overcome
me.

“
We’re just talking.” Mark
answered. “We just want your friend’s number that broke our
scooter.”

“
Oh yaa,” Jonsen replied,
like he’d forgotten about the whole thing. “I got the craziest wood
shop teacher,” Jonsen immediately changed the subject,
“Superfinsky, I swear to god it’s only a matter of time before dude
cuts his whole hand off.”

“
Bro, Superfinsky’s savage.”
Mark replied.

“
He’s tight though, I had
him last year.” Chris added.

I was beaming, staring up at Jonsen, my
giant, I couldn’t help it. They all talked awkwardly about woodshop
for another minute or two until Jonsen and I took our
leave.

“
Peace.” Jonsen yelled back
to them as we walked away.

What does that mean? Peace? I thought.
Popular people make the dumbest things cool. I immediately hated
it. What did peace have to do with social status?

Jonsen asked me what I was doing after
school. “Nothing man,” I answered excitedly, “I missed my bus.”
Guys always acted so dully casual about everything, I hated that.
Long ago I’d made it my personal mission to bring enthusiasm and
charisma back to cool people dialogue. He asked me if I wanted to
hang out, “Hell ya.” I responded. He told me he was going to
Janae’s house.

Janae, Janae? I was dumbfounded. I’d
never seen her before, but there was one name that made anyone that
was anyone shut up and pay attention, Janae Bryant. The most
popular girl at Einstein. Everyone knew that.

Loren was always mentioning
Janae, his good friend. Janae had even told Loren the great secret
to her flawless complexion; cum. Letting guys cum on her face. [1]
I looked down the deserted hall, three 8
^th
grade girls were the only
ones left, they seemed to be waiting for us.