2 - Samantha
Last period drags byas I watch the clock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. This time, I don’t need to run to the nearest bathroom stall. No, this time I need to tame the beast that growls uncontrollably. Have you ever had to fast for blood work or surgery, and by the time it’s your turn, you’re starved out of your mind? I’m not talking about the hungry feeling you get that’s easily sufficed by walking twenty steps to the kitchen. I’m talking about the belly-button-eating-your-spine starving. It’s this kind of hunger causing my bottomless pit of a stomach feeling. When the final bell sounds, I leave with conviction, straight for my locker hoping my best friend will be ready.
To my surprise, she isn’t too far behind. She’s easy to spot in the crowd when I scan the hallway. Her jet-black hair, complete with a blunt baby-doll bang haircut and heavy eye makeup, stands out among our peers. She has a style all her own which usually includes several necklaces and bracelets, fingernails painted a wide spectrum of colors, and mismatched clothes. Some days she’s more outrageous than others, but the extreme fashion sense she sports never grows dull. She isn’t without beauty though. She has a 1950’s pin-up kind of attractiveness that is different than the southern-bell pageant look that blankets the halls of our school.
“Are you ready?” I double-check because she’s notorious for being forgetful.
She takes a quick glance at the books in her arm and nods. “I’m good.”
“Great. I’m starving.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and slam my locker shut. The volume of the noisy hall fades as we make our way to the parking lot, which offers its own joys. It’s the typical sea of cars. Half the students are interested in going home while the other half seem to be taking part in a tailgate party or other social function. Friday afternoons are always more jumbled because people are trying to solidify their plans for the weekend.
Eventually, I drive us straight home so I can get my hands on some much-needed food. When I say I drove us, I mean literally drove both Cynthia and myself home. She’s not only my best friend but she’s also my neighbor. Her sweet sixteen came and went, but she never expressed any interest in driving. No one gives her any grief over it either, for good reason, but I hope one day she’ll reconsider. Maybe someday she’ll want to.
As usual, Cyn raids my kitchen cabinets the minute we reach home. I sit down with half a cold-cut sandwich and some fruit while she goes straight for her junk food stash. She usually keeps some at my house, especially during football season when they eat healthy. Coach, as they call their dad, won’t allow junk food in the house. He regulates most everything in their household and because Phillip is quarterback, nothing much happens without Coach’s approval. He’s more lenient with Cyn, however, but I think that’s in part because she can’t play football. Harbine Hurricane football is the air you breathe over there, and it isn’t by choice from what I gather.
“Do you have to cover the game tonight?” Cyn asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Since I’m on the Yearbook staff, we take turns covering different school events. “No, Eric’s covering it. I told you that earlier, remember? I’ve got next week’s dance.” I’m always reminding her of everything.
She crunches her chips and nods her head in agreement. “So, what’s the plan then? I’m thinking I might wanna go to the game. Yearbook Eric is kind of a hottie.” Cyn amuses herself. She jumps down from her perch on my kitchen counter and swiftly makes her way to the fridge to grab a soda. Again, another staple at my house just for her.
“You don’t think Knox would mind you gawking at Eric?” I tease. Trent “Knox” Knoxville is the guy that she’s been going out with since the end of junior year.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she frowns. “Knox isn’t into sharing.” Her carefree laugh cackles. “So, you going?”
“Hmm. A loud stadium, students going crazy not paying attention to the game, parents getting heated on the sidelines.” Phillip would be the only perk, but I’m not gonna tell her that. I tap my chin dramatically with the tip of my finger. “Let me think...”
Cyn rolls her eyes. “You can’t fool me, Sam. You like my brother, admit it.”
That pulls me up short, but I quickly recover. “I don’t want to be a third wheel,” I answer defensively. “Besides, I think I’m going to stay here tonight. I still don’t trust my stomach. I don’t know if this will stay down or not,” I say, gesturing to my sandwich. “But you go and have fun.” It’s a plausible story. I really don’t trust my stomach. And I don’t need to chance me throwing up at the game just to get an occasional glimpse of Phillip. After all, he is my neighbor. I can see him whenever I want. Sort of. Besides, I don’t feel like listening to Cyn accuse me of the truth.