The Game

3. The Game

Once I got passed the swarm of people flooding into the hallways, I met Bobby at my locker. I always met Bobby after a class.
He clapped.
"I just heard about the good show you put on in English. Finally, something to do in there besides listening to McBitchy droan on and on about something I don't care about."
I wasn’t even mildly shocked that Bobby had already heard of the squabble that ensued during Ms. McCarthy’s 3rd period AP English class. Gossip at Westwood High spread like wildfire.
I simply huffed and nudged past him in order to open my locker and toss Shakespeare’s masterpiece in with other books that weren’t worthy of it’s presence.
"And guess what we have next? GYM! Oh boy!" Bobby was very sarcastic.
"Yeah, well, at least gym is closer to lunch." I groaned simultaneously with my stomach.
"Last one to the gym buys lunch." I hated racing Bobby, even though I was much better in real life than in video game format. He always won. Most of the time, it was because I let him.
Once we reached the gymnasium and Bobby listed what I had to purchase at lunch, we scrambled into the locker rooms to do what people do in locker rooms.
Bobby shook some hands with some followers and I went towards my locker. Some of them were decent human beings by comparison to the extreme, I guess. But there was one person in particular who caused most of my high school anxiety: Freddie Teresio. Not the nicest fellow in the world, and definitely not the brightest crayon in the box.
He was a senior captain of the track team who was friends with Bobby in order to fend off any remaining threats of unpopularity. He was also a tyrant. It was practically his job to oppress the lower classmen. It was understood that everyone feared the pompous tormenter more than they hated him. So nothing was said. Guys who detested his egotism gave him high fives. Girls who loathed his ignorance dated him. And that was how it went. Freddie Teresio lived a lie.

So it was pretty unfortunate that he possessed the locker next to mine and extremely unfortunate that Angie was his sister.
"How you doin', Sam?" I knew from the moment the conversation started that it would lead to uncomfortable threatening.
"Hi, Freddie."
He walked closer to me and stared at me hard in the face, but I kept my eyes from falling on his brooding expression.
"You didn't answer my question. I said, How are you doing, Sam?" He gave me a slight shove. I should've ignored him and looked away. I should've never answered.
"Good. I'm doing good."
My eyes darted, trying to find a witness, but everyone was either in the stalls putting on their uniform or making their way into the gymnasium.
"Look, I heard what happened in McCarthy's class. You better watch what you say. That's my sister you're talking to."
“Ok,” I muttered.
"You stay away from her, understand?" I nodded.
With a crack of his knuckles, Freddie left the locker room. And I eventually followed.

Everyone has a certain goal to achieve in high school. To achieve this goal they have to ask each other the same question: "How can I have the best experience and still get the result I wish for?"
But let's face the facts, teenagers are stupid. That's why there are so many laws against their own personal decisions; because they tend to make stupid choices. So usually, the answer to everyone's question is: "I have to be well-liked, everyone has to like me or I’ll be miserable and unworthy."
That was Freddie's answer. And no matter what, he was determined to get what he wanted, which was, apparently, also what his sister wanted.
That was definitely the wrong answer. Anyone who heard of Death of a Salesman would know that. That was the pink rabbit and the purple frog.
So what was my answer? I don’t think I ever even asked myself the question. I never really saw a consequence to my life at Westwood High, if I had one. I never really had a goal at the institution. I would wait until it was all over, and then I’d wait until I attended the next institution, and then I’d wait until I received a job at another institution, and then I’d wait until I was placed in an institution, and then I’d wait until I was dust. There was no need for any sort of experience. I wasn’t like Bobby.

In gym, we did some group "trust" exercises. If someone catches you when you're falling, does that mean you should trust them? Or, does it just mean they don't want you to fall? My gym teachers didn't know this, but there's a big difference.
I trusted Bobby. I didn't trust Valerie Anderson, my gym partner.
Silence loomed between us for the first twenty minutes of the class, but she interrupted when we had to participate in this jump rope game.
"You're going to Bobby's party, right?" I didn't answer right away, I was getting used to the silence.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm going." She smiled faintly and ran her fingers through her wavy blonde hair.
"What are you dressing up as?"
Crap. Somehow, my mind totally forgot that Halloween was associated with wearing costumes. I didn't have a costume. I didn't even have an idea for a costume. Crap.
"I dunno, probably something cliché." She giggled for a while. Was I really that funny?
"I'm going as a candy striper. Surprise, surprise." Surprise, surprise indeed. I nodded to acknowledge her mere existence.
"I heard you weren't going with anyone." See, I knew there was a catch.
“Really? Who did you hear that from?" She blushed and I realized how “mean” I was being. Val was a bitch to everyone else. She stole the fat girl’s granny panties at camp. She shaved the president of Manga Club’s eyebrows off at a sleepover party. She took a picture of a sophomore drooling through her retainer during the lowerclassmen lock-in. You could say that the moral of the stories was to never sleep with Valerie Anderson.
So, she liked to put people that she considered unworthy through mortifying situations. That didn't give me the right to totally disregard her when she was actually never mean to me, did it? She was probably only nice to me because she wanted to be with Bobby. Everyone wanted to be with Bobby.
"No one in particular...just...people."
I smiled, trying to hide the scowl I yearned to reveal. "Well, they're right." I was so quaint with her. She probably thought I was the type to open doors, or rip shirts and throw them over mud puddles, or even end every sentence with “ma’lady” or “ma’am”. The unfortunate part of this Georgia Peach fantasy of me was that if I was asked to do all those things, I probably would’ve done it, for fear of revealing myself. I told you. I was pathetic.
She dropped the jump rope that she was supposed to use to jump with me. Did I mention that our gym teachers were totally incapable of understanding the fact that we were sixteen, not six?
Next thing I knew, her face was about an inch away from mine.
"I'm not going with anyone either."
She wanted me to do the math. Little did she know, I hated math.
"Oh, really?"
How far was she going to go with this? With all my stalling, was she going to have to end up spelling it out for me?
"Yes.” She smiled and started to twist her fingers into her hair. “So…how about you and I go together?"
Well, that took shorter then I thought it would. She giggled and put her hands on my chest. I flinched. I really didn't want to go with her. I guess I didn't answer for a while because she continued to talk.
"I mean, if you want to...and maybe we can go to the dance together too..." By not saying anything I just dug my hole deeper.
In that very minute I had the most random of thoughts. What would Val have done if I just started screaming at her, telling her no, grabbing the jump rope and hissing at her? What was the point of all these games? Why couldn’t I just do what I wanted to? Why couldn’t it be easy? Why?
"Why?" Yes, that's all I could say. Why.
"Why what?"
"What? Oh...just...sure...let's go together, it'll be fun...ok." I could feel my head pounding as I stammered with great petulance. “Did I just say yes to Valerie Anderson?” was the thought to which my head thrummed to.
Her face twisted into a puzzled look that soon turned into a smile. And then she gave me a hug. All I could do was keep my arms to my side and look away from her. Smooth.
Bobby saw us from across the gym and gave me two thumbs up with a stupid grin on his face. I could already see this Valerie thing escalating into something I didn’t want to begin with. But I just let her hug me, and waited for her to let go.
For the rest of the class all Val could do was flirt. It was like by saying yes to taking her to the party and some stupid dance, I was officially her boyfriend. And every time we had to touch each other for each activity, she'd make some comment about how I looked or what I felt like. And I'd get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach as I did when Freddie used to ask me how far I went with his sister. I wished I could just erase that 40 minutes of my life.
The bell rang and gym was finally over. Thank God.
I managed to slip away from Valerie’s sight without saying goodbye and made it all the way to the locker room. When I got there, Bobby was waiting for me.
"I knew it! You want on Val! Oh my God, what happened to the world! Sam Peterson actually got a girl!" he sang.
I knew he was only kidding but I just wanted to punch him. I didn't even know why. None of it was really his fault.
I walked to my locker without saying a word. But Bobby was stubborn. He just followed.
"So, what happened? Did you ask her out? Are you going to the dance?"
"Yeah, and your party."
"Awesome! Dude, I can't believe it. Did you ask her or did she ask you?"
"She asked me."
By the end of the day, everyone in Westwood High knew about me and Valerie. I sat on the bus ride home wondering why I even bothered getting out of bed that morning.