A Conspicuous Conspiracy (Ch. 12)
Title: A Conspicuous Conspiracy
Author: clanket
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Callie and Arizona are best friends. As they navigate through their final year of high school, will they realize that they're more than just friends?
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Set two days after the bowling alley, and leading up to the volleyball game discussed back when they were watching Saw II. Sorry for the super long break but school has been stickin’ it to me where the sun don’t shine. Additionally, I plan to have the next instalment up within the next two weeks, studies permitting. Conspicuous Conspiracy is back (I hope)!
A/N II: Dedicated to my LJ wife (AKA walrus) who I may have promised a chapter for back in January (sorry :[). A big ‘thank you’ to roughian for helping me out like a great LJ wife does!
Ch. 12
“I want you to know,” I clear my throat and start over. “I want you to know that before, just now,” I say and nod my head toward her lap then wait for confirmation that she understands.
“Before, it wasn’t just you it was affecting.
“And earlier, at the house…well, you weren’t the only one I was teasing.”
xxx
“Mom, can I take the car today, pleaaase?” I begged. Dad never lets me drive!
“Dad never lets me take the car out and he’s not here so it’s your call and I know you love me because I’m your little baby and you want me to be happy and the car today would make me really happy,” I keep on.
Mom turns her attention toward me with a playfully disbelieving look then rolls her eyes.
“Why do you need it today of all days, m’ija?” she asks as she turns back to the eggs frying in the pan.
“Because dad’s not here to say I can’t,” I say with a slight smirk. Mom has always been more lenient with us than dad.
“And what makes you think I wouldn’t agree with him?”
“Because you’re awesome,” I flatter. Arizona and I really hang out too much; we have identical speaking patterns.
“Plus, I really don’t feel like taking the bus this morning. It’s always so sad when you’re the only one on it,” I muse. It’s normal to be uncomfortably squished up against strangers on public buses but when you’re alone it’s just cold and sad and empty.
I hear mom take in a deep breath, mulling it over; I hold mine in case it sways her decision in the wrong direction.
“Fine,” she breathes out. I can’t help the face-splitting smile that appears on my mouth of its own accord.
“Yes! Can I take Doro-”
“No, you can take my car.”
I can feel myself pouting. I mean, a BMW is a nice car and all but it’s far from a classic with all the personal touches of three generations of Torreses.
I watch as mom scoops the eggs onto the awaiting plate in her other hand before finishing it off with buttered toast. She brings it over to me at the table.
“Mom, you know we’re supposed to eat healthy during the season,” I complain. Not that I don’t like eggs; the problem is that I like them too much and there’s something about cholesterol or calories…I dunno, something with a ‘c’ in there that’s not supposed to be good for you.
“I know, that’s why I saved the bacon for your sister,” she teases as she runs her hand over my head and leans down to kiss my forehead.
“But I love bacon,” I whine. “Can I have that instead and leave the eggs?”
I put on my best innocent eyes and pout slightly. Mom looks at me, places her hands on her hips like all mothers do, and gives me a curt, “No” before walking back to the stove to clean up.
Whatever, at least I can take the car today! I grab my phone from the pocket of my hoodie and send Arizona a quick text to let her know I’m going to pick her up for practice. Pushing up my sleeves, I dig into my two mostly-sunny-side up eggs (mom likes to spoon the excess butter overtop to make sure I don’t get salmonella poisoning or something), using pieces of toast to dig into the gooey yokes.
“Mama?” I say in a faux-innocent voice that lets her know that I want something.
“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” she says without turning from the sink. It’s so weird that she washes the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher; doesn’t that just defeat the purpose of having one?
I press on, knowing this is just our usual variety of banter and ask, “Any chance you wanna get me a glass of milk?” and put on a wide smile, even if she won’t see it. People say you can hear when a person’s smiling so I may as well try it out.
She lets out a dramatic breath and shakes her head. A moment later the pan is in the dishwasher and she’s grabbing a glass from the cupboard above her. I knew she loved me.
I turn back to my plate, satisfied that my drink will arrive shortly. A few moments later, mom places a glass of deliciously cold milk in front of me with her left hand and rubs my back soothingly with the right. She stands at my side for a few moments, just watching me. After a quick swig, I look up at her and smile. She smiles back in that way that a new mother smiles at her baby; that look that no one else can give you, then bites her lower lip lightly and shakes her head from side to side.
She does this once in a while; just looks at me like she can’t believe I’m here. And I can understand it because it took so long for them to have me. Six years. Six years of trying to get pregnant; of fertility treatments; of multiple miscarriages. Then, just as they had given up and had resigned to the fact that they’d never have children of their own, I showed up. Full of surprises from the beginning, I guess.
And that same look is sometimes directed toward Aria because it took them years to finally find a baby that was the perfect one; their one. It took them so long to go through the adoption process that by the time they had jumped through all the legal hoops, mom was pregnant with me. When it was all said and done, I was only 11 months older than Aria - and we couldn’t be more different. Well, on the inside, anyway.
No one would ever tell you that we aren’t blood-related since we have the same Mexican background; same tan complexion, ebony hair, full lips and dark eyes. She’s much more leanly built but I kind of prefer my curves to the four-pack abs she’s got going on.
Mom drags her hand up my neck and runs her fingers back through my hair.
“You have beautiful hair, m’ija. Never cut it,” she says as she plays with a few wavy tendrils. She then pushes it back from my face and hooks the loose bits behind my ear, still smiling.
“You know I love you, right?”
Questions like this are supposed to be rhetorical. Of course I know she loves me; she doesn’t just tell me but always shows me with how she takes care of me when I need her and even when I think I don’t. She makes me soup when I’m sick, used to rub my stomach when I had a tummy ache, held me when I cried and makes me laugh just about every day. No to mention she actually cares about where I am and who I hang out with. So many people I go to school with are allowed to do anything they want and their parents don’t so much ask as whether they’ll be coming home at night. But my mom? My mom always wants to know where I am, who I’m with, where I’ll be sleeping; and more than that, she cares about those same things with my friends.
She adores Addison and pretty much considers Arizona to be her own daughter, never asking whether she’s going to be staying for family meals and just setting her a place anyway.
It might seem overbearing but, really, it just makes me feel like she cares.
“Of course I know, mom. I love you, too,” I tell her as I stand up give her a quick hug. “Thanks for breakfast,” and give her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving for the door.
“Thanks for putting your plate in the sink, Calliope,” I hear her yell after me.
“Just thought I’d give you something to do; I know how much you like taking care of me,” I shout back from the doorway. I wait a moment, one hand on the doorknob, gym bag and keys in the other; backpack over one shoulder. Satisfied when I hear a small snicker, I finally step out onto the porch to make my way to not Dorothy the Ruby Red Classic. Friggin’ BMW.
xxx
“Alright ladies, I know we were all looking forward to having tonight’s match on home turf but the team the guys were supposed to play tonight had a plumbing problem and their gym was flooded overnight,” Coach Stratton explained to us. “This means that we’re going to have our match at Aldershot and the guys are going to play here.”
Coach nods his head a few times, somewhat agreeing with the chorus of low complaints and grumbles that come from nearly every member of the team. He raises both hands to us, palms out, signalling for us to quiet down.
“I know, I know. I don’t like it any more than you ladies do but we don’t have a choice. Besides,” he says with a sly smirk, “this just means that we can beat them in their own house.
“We’re better than them, aren’t we?” he says, trying to rile us up. A few girls let out half hearted ‘yeahs’ and a couple of hoots.
“Come on - aren’t we?” he goads again.
This time we all let out a small holler, still a little tired from the intense workout we just finished and a little bummed that we have lost our home-court advantage against our rivals.
“Alright, go get changed for class and I’ll see you all out front at 2:45,” he instructs then yells, “and don’t forget to remind your teachers to let you out early.”
We all make our way to the change rooms across the hall from the gym, grumbling the entire way about having to play our third away game in a row.
“So have you and Arizona talked since Sunday?” Addison asks as she sidles up next to me on the bench.
I shake my head and let out an exasperated sigh as I pull off my shorts and throw them into my gym bag, simultaneously pulling out a pair of jeans.
“We barely even saw each other yesterday; she had that tutoring thing and slept at home. I picked her up this morning but the ten minute ride to school didn’t exactly afford us the time to talk about anything serious.”
I continue changing as Addie glances around to make sure Arizona isn’t within earshot before carrying on.
“So when are you gonna do it?”
“I dunno,” I tell her honestly before pulling a clean t-shirt over my head. “I’m not sure she really thinks it meant anything,” I say with a shrug. I purposely avoid eye contact, knowing she’ll have a thing or two to say about that.
“What?” she practically screams. I look up at her suddenly then glance around the room to see that about half our teammates have looks up to see what all the fuss was about.
“Keep it down, would you?” I hiss.
“What?” she repeats in a strong whisper. I drop my hands to my sides, sweaty workout shirt half folded in one, and give her a look to let her know she really didn’t actually need to repeat that.
“How could she not know what it meant? She’s not dumb; why the hell else would you two have been holding hands and eye-screwing each other all night?
“No to mention she’s totally into you! You’re hot and have ‘amazing deep eyes’ and stuff, I mean-”
Addie finally looks at me instead of frantically scanning her eyes all over the place then suddenly stops when she notices my surprised expression.
“Oh crap, that was - I mean, you know, you’re hot and stuff,” she spits out with an awkward wave of her hand.
“Addison,” I say slowly, “do you know something?”
I narrow my eyes at her, watching for any little twitch of her muscles and slight change in body language that would give her away. She kind of furrows one eyebrow, the other going up slightly and lets her bottom lip out in a show of thought before shaking her head.
“No, I mean, you’re hot. I don’t have to be a lesbian to figure that out. I mean, it’s no accident that half the guys in this school drool over you-”
I roll my eyes and let out a breath at that, returning to the folding of my shirt.
“- and that’s just because the other half hasn’t seen you yet!”
Addie quickly turns to her bag on the bench and starts stuffing all her belongings into it.
“Seriously, Addison, how does your stuff not mold? It’s gross how disorganised your bag is.”
She shrugs her shoulders and puts most of her weight onto her court shoes, willing the zipper to safely make its way over the protruding lump. I shake my head.
“I’ll be surprised if that thing makes it to tonight’s game,” I mumble, my own bag coming together perfectly with my practice clothes on one side, warm up outfit on the other with my uniform spread evenly across both; my court shoes go on top in separate plastic bags to keep the clothes clean; knee pads occupy one side pocket, water bottle the other. I smile triumphantly at how perfectly everything fits into this bag.
“Hey guys.”
I look over my shoulder to find Arizona standing there in her regular dark jeans and girly top, bag hanging heavily from her shoulder.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” Addie asks.
“I went to the washroom and decided to just change in there. Did I miss anything juicy?”
“Nope, nothing at all,” Addie says a little too quickly. I look at her curiously again; she’s not easily flustered. Is she trying to cover for me or herself?
“Okkkay,” Arizona drags out. “Class then?”
xxx
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
My hand shoots up into the air, willing Mrs. Davis to pick me to speak. As much as I love to read, my idea of a good English teacher isn’t spending 45 minutes of each class listening to how ‘precious’ her cat is or her daughter’s recent promotion, whose life I swear I know more about than Jackson’s. Judging by the three students sleeping on their desks and about another dozen doodling in their notebooks, I’d say they agree with me.
“Yes, Callie?”
“It’s 2:45. I need to go catch the bus for our game.”
She gives me the go-ahead and I quickly throw my copy of King Lear into my knapsack and rush out the door. This seriously has to be the fastest exit I’ve ever made.
I rush into the girls’ change room, gym bag in hand from my detour to the lockers, and throw on my uniform and knee pads, letting them rest at my ankles for the moment, before pulling my black and gold East Seattle Titans track suit over top. I rush to the front entrance of the school to meet up with the girls who have already changed, quickly spotting Arizona and going over to her.
“Hey,” she greets.
“‘Hey’ to you. How was your day, I didn’t see you at lunch?” I say as I drop my bag onto the floor next to my feet. Arizona turns to face me, effectively blocking the other girls out of our conversation and crosses her arms across her chest. I smile, knowing that this means there’s a little rant coming.
“I know, it’s ridiculous! Remember how I got paired up with Tyler Johnston for that chem experiment about the dilutions?”
I nod to let her know I remember and she rolls her eyes in exasperation.
“Well it turns out not all the quiet ones are nerds. Not only does he totally suck at chemistry but he didn’t even bother trying to do his half of the equations which meant that if I wanted a good mark, which, obviously, I do, then I would have to use my lunch hour to hold his hand as he runs through them.”
She lets out a grunt in frustration before leaning forward into me to rest her forehead on my shoulder. I bring my hand up to rub soothing circles across her back.
“Why can’t people just do what they’re supposed to?”
The sentence is muffled but I understand it easily and chuckle. I bring my other hand around to meet the right and pull her small body into mine. For a moment she lets me hold her, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. After a couple of deep breaths, though, she relaxes and allows her arms fall comfortably around my waist.
“Why couldn’t we just have all the same classes like in elementary school?” she whines. I laugh again and tighten my hold on her.
“Because there are a lot more students here than there were there,” I tell her. “That, and we chose different electives. Have fun with your home ec. class, by the way.”
“Shut up. I can’t believe they still offer that,” she groans.
I sway us back and forth, a gesture I’ve always found comforting. The other girls have never mentioned that it was odd for us to be so touchy with each other; I guess they just got used to the fact that we grew up together and are close enough to always be in contact.
“You smell good,” she admits and I break into yet another smile. She has that effect on me.
“Thanks, I showered this morning.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
Before I can reply, Coach Stratton’s voice echoes through the hall.
“Alright, ladies, load up!”
Next Chapter
Author: clanket
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Callie and Arizona are best friends. As they navigate through their final year of high school, will they realize that they're more than just friends?
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Set two days after the bowling alley, and leading up to the volleyball game discussed back when they were watching Saw II. Sorry for the super long break but school has been stickin’ it to me where the sun don’t shine. Additionally, I plan to have the next instalment up within the next two weeks, studies permitting. Conspicuous Conspiracy is back (I hope)!
A/N II: Dedicated to my LJ wife (AKA walrus) who I may have promised a chapter for back in January (sorry :[). A big ‘thank you’ to roughian for helping me out like a great LJ wife does!
Ch. 12
“I want you to know,” I clear my throat and start over. “I want you to know that before, just now,” I say and nod my head toward her lap then wait for confirmation that she understands.
“Before, it wasn’t just you it was affecting.
“And earlier, at the house…well, you weren’t the only one I was teasing.”
xxx
“Mom, can I take the car today, pleaaase?” I begged. Dad never lets me drive!
“Dad never lets me take the car out and he’s not here so it’s your call and I know you love me because I’m your little baby and you want me to be happy and the car today would make me really happy,” I keep on.
Mom turns her attention toward me with a playfully disbelieving look then rolls her eyes.
“Why do you need it today of all days, m’ija?” she asks as she turns back to the eggs frying in the pan.
“Because dad’s not here to say I can’t,” I say with a slight smirk. Mom has always been more lenient with us than dad.
“And what makes you think I wouldn’t agree with him?”
“Because you’re awesome,” I flatter. Arizona and I really hang out too much; we have identical speaking patterns.
“Plus, I really don’t feel like taking the bus this morning. It’s always so sad when you’re the only one on it,” I muse. It’s normal to be uncomfortably squished up against strangers on public buses but when you’re alone it’s just cold and sad and empty.
I hear mom take in a deep breath, mulling it over; I hold mine in case it sways her decision in the wrong direction.
“Fine,” she breathes out. I can’t help the face-splitting smile that appears on my mouth of its own accord.
“Yes! Can I take Doro-”
“No, you can take my car.”
I can feel myself pouting. I mean, a BMW is a nice car and all but it’s far from a classic with all the personal touches of three generations of Torreses.
I watch as mom scoops the eggs onto the awaiting plate in her other hand before finishing it off with buttered toast. She brings it over to me at the table.
“Mom, you know we’re supposed to eat healthy during the season,” I complain. Not that I don’t like eggs; the problem is that I like them too much and there’s something about cholesterol or calories…I dunno, something with a ‘c’ in there that’s not supposed to be good for you.
“I know, that’s why I saved the bacon for your sister,” she teases as she runs her hand over my head and leans down to kiss my forehead.
“But I love bacon,” I whine. “Can I have that instead and leave the eggs?”
I put on my best innocent eyes and pout slightly. Mom looks at me, places her hands on her hips like all mothers do, and gives me a curt, “No” before walking back to the stove to clean up.
Whatever, at least I can take the car today! I grab my phone from the pocket of my hoodie and send Arizona a quick text to let her know I’m going to pick her up for practice. Pushing up my sleeves, I dig into my two mostly-sunny-side up eggs (mom likes to spoon the excess butter overtop to make sure I don’t get salmonella poisoning or something), using pieces of toast to dig into the gooey yokes.
“Mama?” I say in a faux-innocent voice that lets her know that I want something.
“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” she says without turning from the sink. It’s so weird that she washes the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher; doesn’t that just defeat the purpose of having one?
I press on, knowing this is just our usual variety of banter and ask, “Any chance you wanna get me a glass of milk?” and put on a wide smile, even if she won’t see it. People say you can hear when a person’s smiling so I may as well try it out.
She lets out a dramatic breath and shakes her head. A moment later the pan is in the dishwasher and she’s grabbing a glass from the cupboard above her. I knew she loved me.
I turn back to my plate, satisfied that my drink will arrive shortly. A few moments later, mom places a glass of deliciously cold milk in front of me with her left hand and rubs my back soothingly with the right. She stands at my side for a few moments, just watching me. After a quick swig, I look up at her and smile. She smiles back in that way that a new mother smiles at her baby; that look that no one else can give you, then bites her lower lip lightly and shakes her head from side to side.
She does this once in a while; just looks at me like she can’t believe I’m here. And I can understand it because it took so long for them to have me. Six years. Six years of trying to get pregnant; of fertility treatments; of multiple miscarriages. Then, just as they had given up and had resigned to the fact that they’d never have children of their own, I showed up. Full of surprises from the beginning, I guess.
And that same look is sometimes directed toward Aria because it took them years to finally find a baby that was the perfect one; their one. It took them so long to go through the adoption process that by the time they had jumped through all the legal hoops, mom was pregnant with me. When it was all said and done, I was only 11 months older than Aria - and we couldn’t be more different. Well, on the inside, anyway.
No one would ever tell you that we aren’t blood-related since we have the same Mexican background; same tan complexion, ebony hair, full lips and dark eyes. She’s much more leanly built but I kind of prefer my curves to the four-pack abs she’s got going on.
Mom drags her hand up my neck and runs her fingers back through my hair.
“You have beautiful hair, m’ija. Never cut it,” she says as she plays with a few wavy tendrils. She then pushes it back from my face and hooks the loose bits behind my ear, still smiling.
“You know I love you, right?”
Questions like this are supposed to be rhetorical. Of course I know she loves me; she doesn’t just tell me but always shows me with how she takes care of me when I need her and even when I think I don’t. She makes me soup when I’m sick, used to rub my stomach when I had a tummy ache, held me when I cried and makes me laugh just about every day. No to mention she actually cares about where I am and who I hang out with. So many people I go to school with are allowed to do anything they want and their parents don’t so much ask as whether they’ll be coming home at night. But my mom? My mom always wants to know where I am, who I’m with, where I’ll be sleeping; and more than that, she cares about those same things with my friends.
She adores Addison and pretty much considers Arizona to be her own daughter, never asking whether she’s going to be staying for family meals and just setting her a place anyway.
It might seem overbearing but, really, it just makes me feel like she cares.
“Of course I know, mom. I love you, too,” I tell her as I stand up give her a quick hug. “Thanks for breakfast,” and give her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving for the door.
“Thanks for putting your plate in the sink, Calliope,” I hear her yell after me.
“Just thought I’d give you something to do; I know how much you like taking care of me,” I shout back from the doorway. I wait a moment, one hand on the doorknob, gym bag and keys in the other; backpack over one shoulder. Satisfied when I hear a small snicker, I finally step out onto the porch to make my way to not Dorothy the Ruby Red Classic. Friggin’ BMW.
xxx
“Alright ladies, I know we were all looking forward to having tonight’s match on home turf but the team the guys were supposed to play tonight had a plumbing problem and their gym was flooded overnight,” Coach Stratton explained to us. “This means that we’re going to have our match at Aldershot and the guys are going to play here.”
Coach nods his head a few times, somewhat agreeing with the chorus of low complaints and grumbles that come from nearly every member of the team. He raises both hands to us, palms out, signalling for us to quiet down.
“I know, I know. I don’t like it any more than you ladies do but we don’t have a choice. Besides,” he says with a sly smirk, “this just means that we can beat them in their own house.
“We’re better than them, aren’t we?” he says, trying to rile us up. A few girls let out half hearted ‘yeahs’ and a couple of hoots.
“Come on - aren’t we?” he goads again.
This time we all let out a small holler, still a little tired from the intense workout we just finished and a little bummed that we have lost our home-court advantage against our rivals.
“Alright, go get changed for class and I’ll see you all out front at 2:45,” he instructs then yells, “and don’t forget to remind your teachers to let you out early.”
We all make our way to the change rooms across the hall from the gym, grumbling the entire way about having to play our third away game in a row.
“So have you and Arizona talked since Sunday?” Addison asks as she sidles up next to me on the bench.
I shake my head and let out an exasperated sigh as I pull off my shorts and throw them into my gym bag, simultaneously pulling out a pair of jeans.
“We barely even saw each other yesterday; she had that tutoring thing and slept at home. I picked her up this morning but the ten minute ride to school didn’t exactly afford us the time to talk about anything serious.”
I continue changing as Addie glances around to make sure Arizona isn’t within earshot before carrying on.
“So when are you gonna do it?”
“I dunno,” I tell her honestly before pulling a clean t-shirt over my head. “I’m not sure she really thinks it meant anything,” I say with a shrug. I purposely avoid eye contact, knowing she’ll have a thing or two to say about that.
“What?” she practically screams. I look up at her suddenly then glance around the room to see that about half our teammates have looks up to see what all the fuss was about.
“Keep it down, would you?” I hiss.
“What?” she repeats in a strong whisper. I drop my hands to my sides, sweaty workout shirt half folded in one, and give her a look to let her know she really didn’t actually need to repeat that.
“How could she not know what it meant? She’s not dumb; why the hell else would you two have been holding hands and eye-screwing each other all night?
“No to mention she’s totally into you! You’re hot and have ‘amazing deep eyes’ and stuff, I mean-”
Addie finally looks at me instead of frantically scanning her eyes all over the place then suddenly stops when she notices my surprised expression.
“Oh crap, that was - I mean, you know, you’re hot and stuff,” she spits out with an awkward wave of her hand.
“Addison,” I say slowly, “do you know something?”
I narrow my eyes at her, watching for any little twitch of her muscles and slight change in body language that would give her away. She kind of furrows one eyebrow, the other going up slightly and lets her bottom lip out in a show of thought before shaking her head.
“No, I mean, you’re hot. I don’t have to be a lesbian to figure that out. I mean, it’s no accident that half the guys in this school drool over you-”
I roll my eyes and let out a breath at that, returning to the folding of my shirt.
“- and that’s just because the other half hasn’t seen you yet!”
Addie quickly turns to her bag on the bench and starts stuffing all her belongings into it.
“Seriously, Addison, how does your stuff not mold? It’s gross how disorganised your bag is.”
She shrugs her shoulders and puts most of her weight onto her court shoes, willing the zipper to safely make its way over the protruding lump. I shake my head.
“I’ll be surprised if that thing makes it to tonight’s game,” I mumble, my own bag coming together perfectly with my practice clothes on one side, warm up outfit on the other with my uniform spread evenly across both; my court shoes go on top in separate plastic bags to keep the clothes clean; knee pads occupy one side pocket, water bottle the other. I smile triumphantly at how perfectly everything fits into this bag.
“Hey guys.”
I look over my shoulder to find Arizona standing there in her regular dark jeans and girly top, bag hanging heavily from her shoulder.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” Addie asks.
“I went to the washroom and decided to just change in there. Did I miss anything juicy?”
“Nope, nothing at all,” Addie says a little too quickly. I look at her curiously again; she’s not easily flustered. Is she trying to cover for me or herself?
“Okkkay,” Arizona drags out. “Class then?”
xxx
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
My hand shoots up into the air, willing Mrs. Davis to pick me to speak. As much as I love to read, my idea of a good English teacher isn’t spending 45 minutes of each class listening to how ‘precious’ her cat is or her daughter’s recent promotion, whose life I swear I know more about than Jackson’s. Judging by the three students sleeping on their desks and about another dozen doodling in their notebooks, I’d say they agree with me.
“Yes, Callie?”
“It’s 2:45. I need to go catch the bus for our game.”
She gives me the go-ahead and I quickly throw my copy of King Lear into my knapsack and rush out the door. This seriously has to be the fastest exit I’ve ever made.
I rush into the girls’ change room, gym bag in hand from my detour to the lockers, and throw on my uniform and knee pads, letting them rest at my ankles for the moment, before pulling my black and gold East Seattle Titans track suit over top. I rush to the front entrance of the school to meet up with the girls who have already changed, quickly spotting Arizona and going over to her.
“Hey,” she greets.
“‘Hey’ to you. How was your day, I didn’t see you at lunch?” I say as I drop my bag onto the floor next to my feet. Arizona turns to face me, effectively blocking the other girls out of our conversation and crosses her arms across her chest. I smile, knowing that this means there’s a little rant coming.
“I know, it’s ridiculous! Remember how I got paired up with Tyler Johnston for that chem experiment about the dilutions?”
I nod to let her know I remember and she rolls her eyes in exasperation.
“Well it turns out not all the quiet ones are nerds. Not only does he totally suck at chemistry but he didn’t even bother trying to do his half of the equations which meant that if I wanted a good mark, which, obviously, I do, then I would have to use my lunch hour to hold his hand as he runs through them.”
She lets out a grunt in frustration before leaning forward into me to rest her forehead on my shoulder. I bring my hand up to rub soothing circles across her back.
“Why can’t people just do what they’re supposed to?”
The sentence is muffled but I understand it easily and chuckle. I bring my other hand around to meet the right and pull her small body into mine. For a moment she lets me hold her, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. After a couple of deep breaths, though, she relaxes and allows her arms fall comfortably around my waist.
“Why couldn’t we just have all the same classes like in elementary school?” she whines. I laugh again and tighten my hold on her.
“Because there are a lot more students here than there were there,” I tell her. “That, and we chose different electives. Have fun with your home ec. class, by the way.”
“Shut up. I can’t believe they still offer that,” she groans.
I sway us back and forth, a gesture I’ve always found comforting. The other girls have never mentioned that it was odd for us to be so touchy with each other; I guess they just got used to the fact that we grew up together and are close enough to always be in contact.
“You smell good,” she admits and I break into yet another smile. She has that effect on me.
“Thanks, I showered this morning.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
Before I can reply, Coach Stratton’s voice echoes through the hall.
“Alright, ladies, load up!”
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