The Cake is a Lie (7 page)

I would hear how Jonsen was cheating on
the beautiful and sweet Nicole with the gangsterish, half-Chinese,
sexy bad-girl Karen. I even heard about him and my precious Mia
Illy, how he made out with her pussy. The musketeers even had a
song they teased Mia with: “Mia, Mia, you’re the man. Nobody can
eat a pussy like Jonsen can.” All this when I knew Jonsen was still
in love with Mari Smith from our grade school class. She had gone
to Kellogg, and as expected, started dating the most popular boys
there. I knew she still loved him, too, but couldn’t take him back
after all the cheating.

I heard about one of the richest girls
in our school, Tanya Tillman. She was kind of cute minus her
general chubbiness and corresponding need to wear really tight
clothing and tons of makeup. I heard how Lauren was always inviting
Chris, Mark and Morris over to her mansion in Richmond beach. How
they would hang out in her hot tub and eat all her food. About how
Chris wouldn’t kiss her, but finally let her suck his dick in a
closet at her house. How they locked her in the closet
afterward.

Janae was dating some guy four years
older and acting too cool for everyone these days.

When I’d watch Matt on the bus acting
like he was the coolest man alive I’d smile, knowing his little
secret.

Jonsen went on the school
field trip to New York. Except for sheer formality everyone knew
the school field trip was only for 8
^th
graders only. One night Mark
and Chris grabbed John Webb, one of their roommates, out of the
shower and locked him out in the hallway naked. Everyone took naked
pictures of him on their cell phones.

Pacey was always trying to get Rachel
Goody, the second coolest girl at Einstein, to give him hand jobs
under the table during their science class.

Karina Cannon was once my best
kindergarten friend, we would run around the multicolored carpet
all day on our hands and knees playing Lion King together. She
would be Nalla and I would be Symba. Nalla and Symba would clash
and fight but inevitably we would get married and start a family by
the end of the day. Karina went to hang out with Jonsen and DMF
after school one day. After Karina walked all the way to DMF’s,
Jonsen and DMF ran inside DMF’s house and locked her outside. DMF
finally agreed to let her come in on the condition that she gave
him a blow job through the window first. When she finished, they
shut the window and told her to go home. Better to be tricked than
forced.[3]

Above all, I heard about
weed. They were all smoking weed. I heard about how Danny O, the
most bad-ass, don’t give a fuck 8
^th
grader at Einstein (his dad
was in prison) was always keeping his weed in his hat because the
teachers didn’t search there. About how Jonsen, Tim, Kace, and DMF
would just leave school before first period and mysteriously never
come back.

And with every story I heard, I became
more certain of what I wanted. How could I live life without ever
being friends with Janae, without getting Loren and Jonsen back?
Without dating Mia Illy? Could you call that a life?

[3]
Karina
skyrocketed to popularity in middle school, on behalf of her
well-developed body and penchant for weed, alcohol, and boys. Every
month she got a little chubbier though, and as her muffin top grew
the mole on her forehead bothered you more and more and her tight
jeans and shirts became more and more trashy. By freshmen year it
was all over, well she still hung around the party scene, and you
always said hi when you saw her, briefly, out of respect for what
she once had been.

“
Ms. Chicovic!” I waved my
hand in the air beckoning our moderately pretty science teacher
over to my table.

“
Yes, Marco?”

“
Ms. Chicovic, I love your
sweater. You’re so stylish.” My worksheet partner suppressed a
snicker into his shoulder.

“
Well thank you, Marco,” She
laughed, “Do you have a question?”

“
Yes, we’re stumped on
number 7. What is the powerhouse of the cell? Is it the
DNA?”

“
Well the DNA is like the
boss of the cell, so you’re close, but the powerhouse is the
Mitochondria, that’s where all the cell’s energy comes
from.”

I tuned out everything except for
‘Mitochondria,’ and happily filled in the blank.

Then I shouted, “You’re the best ever,
Ms. Chicovic, seriously, Ms. Chicovic, will you marry me?” This bit
killed, I picked up the routine from Loren. He was always being
playfully forward to cute teachers, walking the fine line between
enthusiastic suck-up and flirtatious player.

Ms. Chicovic and everyone in my
vicinity laughed except for the one person I was trying to make
laugh. Brandon Ledoux, my meal ticket back to the big time. I’d
been sitting behind him, or next to him, or in front of him all
quarter.

Brandon was the head of one
of the mediocrely cool 7
^th
grade guy cliques at
Einstein. Three had risen above the rest, although none were close
to Jonsen, Kace, DMF and Tim. One was the skater clique, a
respectable bunch of social up and comers. Another one revolved
around a punk rock band a few guys had formed, “Seconds to
Failure.” Lastly, there was Brandon’s clique, the sports guys.
Their niche wasn’t as strong as the other groups, they weren’t
sports stars or anything, but they wore basketball shorts and
jerseys all the time.

I wasn’t good at skating or music so
the sports guys were my best bet. And fate put me and Brandon
Ledoux in the same science class.

Brandon’s masculine, G.I. Joe face came
complete with a dimple in his prominent chin. He was only medium
height but his puffy, shaggy naturally-highlighted blond hair made
him look two inches taller. He didn’t like to smile because of his
bad teeth. He listened to his headphones most of the time in class,
slouched in his chair like was too cool to be there. I was the
total opposite, I was always trying to show off in class, either by
shouting out the next joke or getting the right answer. I prided
myself on being a straight-A student.

Brandon knew about me too, well he knew
I knew Jonsen. It was enough that he nodded at me when we made eye
contact walking into class in the morning.

“
Alright class,” Ms.
Chicovic announced. “If you haven’t finished the worksheets take it
home as homework. We have to talk about your end of the quarter
group projects.” A pool of anxiety throbbed inside me. I’d been
anticipating this partner project—it was my big opportunity. I
stared at the back of Brandon’s Shawn Kemp jersey. How long until I
got another opportunity like this? A year? Who else was he going to
partner with? He made it very clear every day he didn’t have any
friends in the class.

“
Yo, Ledoux.” I whispered,
leaning forward–calling people by their last names will always be
in.

He turned around.

“
Be my partner.”

He nodded, “I’m down.”

We didn’t talk about it again until the
day before it was due. It wasn’t cool to pester your partner about
science projects. We made plans to meet after school at his
house.

Standing on his porch that afternoon I
knew I had to bring my A-game to get Brandon to like me. I knocked
and rang the doorbell but no one answered, I walked around the well
landscaped rambler and looked in the windows, but the inside was
dark and empty. I waited around the porch awkwardly for a half hour
before giving up. Brooding in my own despair I stayed up all night
doing the project by myself. I came up with Ian the Ice-Cube, a
cape wearing superhero that could transform into a solid, liquid,
or gas to fight crime.

When I got to science class the next
day Brandon looked worried sick. His headphone wearing, emotionless
shield couldn’t even hide it.

He didn’t even have a good excuse, “I’m
sorry man I forgot.” He certainly didn’t grovel, an F clearly
wasn’t the end of the world for him.

I kept it cool, “No worries.” I handed
him the big project board so he could see I put his name on
it.

Our presentation was a success, I did
all the talking, Brandon didn’t push his luck and try to talk. When
we sat back down I saw a side of Brandon I’d never seen before. He
was noticeably excited.

“
Do you… Do you like
wrestling?” He asked vulnerably. I paused, I knew of wrestling. But
the wrestling fad had come and gone years ago. It was all staged. I
looked at Brandon and wondered if this was a test, was I missing
something? He seemed genuine so I took the risk.

“
Ya, I love wrestling,” I
lied.

16 pillows were sprawled across
Brandon’s living room floor, gathered from every room in his house.
I was hunched over in the middle pretending to be “dazed,” letting
my arms and head dangle loosely.

“
Do you smell what the rock
is cooking?” Brandon yelled out behind me. That’s “The Rock’s”
catchphrase. The Rock was the figurehead of the latest wrestling
generation. Brandon was obsessed. The Rock’s catchphrase was the
dumbest thing I’d ever heard—an insult to his predecessor’s “Austin
3:16 says I just whooped your ass.” But I played along for
everything I was worth.

Brandon picked me up from
behind and swung me over his side, slamming me down for the
5
^th
time. He went for the pin but I squirmed out of it with all my
force, I tried to push him onto his back and pin him down for once.
He didn’t like that one bit, he stopped playing nice and kicked and
clawed his way out of it. I was learning it was best to always let
him win. No wonder none of Brandon’s friends liked
wrestling.

The plan was working though, outside of
the wrestling we were bonding. Brandon wasn’t as emotionless and
cold as he pretended at school, deep down he had a passion for
learning and was okay with being goofy. Also importantly, he liked
that I had a know-it-all opinion about everything. I knew that all
our shoes and were made by little girls in sweatshops and I loved
to sarcastically remind everyone about it.

After two weeks of wrestling I even got
a greater say in what we did after school. I stopped voting for
wrestling and gradually we moved on. Soon we even started hanging
out between classes. After doing that for a little bit he
eventually encouraged me to come with him into his clique’s circle.
“Come on man, come with me, it’s no big deal, I got your back.” It
was my first real circle.

Brandon’s three best friends
were Tysen, Devin and Brian. Tysen had a pale face with a huge
smile and wavy blond hair, like an innocent farm boy. Tysen was the
joker of the crew, always bringing comic attention to himself–he
measured up as a worthy steward, but that was
my
thing. Devin was a goody-to-shoes.
Not beyond goggling a girl, but when he did it you couldn’t tell if
he was being sincere or giving you a secret test. Brian was soft
spoken and genuinely just nice. I was just so happy to be
included.

Unfortunately, Devin, Tysen and Brian
weren’t so happy. Their core group of friends had stood since first
grade. And they didn’t go to an alternative grade school where
everyone was more-or-less forced to include everyone like I did.
Regular grade schools were super cut throat. These three had all
earned it and my inclusion was clearly not a group decision, they
wanted me gone. But I’d gotten a foothold and I was going to cling
onto it for dear life. So I pretended not to see their unfriendly
eyes and I ignored their cold body language. When Tysen dumped his
plate of spaghetti on my head for laughs at lunch I fought back
ferociously and dumped my spaghetti right back on his head. I’d
finally made new friends.

I gently rubbed my finger over the
enter button while I mulled over the instant message I was writing
to DeezBfosho4u.

“
Hey Jae, this is Marco. I
lost Kelly’s IM could you tell her I need some weed.” I’d been
doing this the past few nights, writing the text in the box without
sending it. Rewriting it, “yo dawg this is marco i lost kelly’s im
she’s sold me some pot before.”

It wasn’t long after Brandon
and I became friends that I’d caught a break in my other grand
plan. I’d discovered my first pot lead, Jae Yang. Jae was a short
stocky, asian kid with the ego of a giant. When I talked to him it
only took two seconds to figure out all he wanted to do was talk
about himself. I wasn’t a huge fan, you gotta be more tactful than
that. But Jae was top ten in 7
^th
grader popularity, he even
had some 8
^th
grade best friends.

I had P.E. with Jae, and was on his
radar because Jonsen somehow knew Jae’s older sister, Kelly. We’d
hung out at their house a few times. Jae had stared coldly at us
from his kitchen table, eating his bowl of cereal, as Kelly led
Jonsen and me down to their basement. Kelly was three years older
than us. She ultimately resisted Jonsen’s charms, but she had
plenty of fun flirting with him for a while. None of it was what it
seemed, but to Jae, it seemed like Jonsen was the motherfucking
shit, and by association I was someone to know.