Chapter 8 - Common Blue
AUGUST 31 - Friday.

They’re here this morning.

Wow.

Ginerva Oleander and Argus Miller are lined up in front of our homeroom teacher, at his desk, carrying Manila packets and indifferent faces. I’m three people behind them, waiting to sign my name on the attendance roster just ahead. We haven’t crossed gazes, and I don’t think they know I’m here.

When I woke this morning, covered in sweat and dust from my van, the last thing on my agenda was returning Gina’s pregnancy tests and asking Argus about “Craig’s Creativity Corner”. Neither of the two students had shown up for three days, and since lots of people skip homeroom apart from the first day, I figured they wouldn’t cross paths with me again.

I owe something to one of them and need information from the other, but my stomach churns at the mere thought of communicating with either of the two. (I usually don’t strike up a conversation in order to obtain what I need, not even in my public speaking course last year, where I refused to do any of the speeches, constantly landing myself into reprimands I fully deserved.)

“Last day for packets! Otherwise, turn your documents into the registrar’s office. I don’t want to see your faces back here next week. Got it?” says our homeroom teacher. The line moves up a bit.

Gina bends down to sign her name and turn in her required disclaimers, her backpack is as huge as before. I think maybe she’s restocked on pregnancy tests.

It’s kinda weird knowing some girl’s secret - if it even still is a secret. Three days ago, I would have shrugged and spared my thoughts for more important things, gone about my day without thinking another millisecond about other people. But my encounter with Trini has left me wondering.

What if Gina has a Trinidad in her life, and that’s why she’s not bringing her baby daddy to school like some of the other, braver, pregnant girls I’ve seen? Or maybe her partner’s a shit head, one of those deadbeats in the making like Erik Flores. She could be hiding a real winner or a real loser, but I’m sure this school isn’t going to find out unless one of us snitches. And I ain’t no snitch.

People would gossip. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

People can talk all they want, and it’s always up to us to be strong enough to handle it. Not sure Gina is the strong type though, which is a pity. She doesn’t seem at all a bad person, but I only have one thing to base that judgment on. She's yet to hunt me down for taking ten bucks from her wallet.

"Oh!"

The line moves up, and Gina turns away from her spot to find a desk but, instead, finds me. In this tiny, white-walled classroom, there are so little places you can go before you bump into someone familiar.

“Oh,” she mouths again. I note that she doesn’t say “excuse me.”

I nod my head, chin up, in her direction.

Her gaze flees to the safety of the ugly tiled floor, reminding me of our bathroom encounter, of how easy it was for me to scare her by simple way of watching.

“Hello,” I say.

And that surprises me.

It’s the first time in years since I’ve said hello, and I can tell from the frown on Gina’s face that it sounds unnatural between us. Machine-like. This is my best attempt at friendliness, born from the guilt of breaking my deal with her. And while I know that she has no reason to say it back, I have a small, unwitting, hope she does.

“Hi,” she says. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

I didn’t think...

Gina hurries to a desk near the door.