The weekend goes by pretty slowly. After I drop James off at Whole Foods on Saturday morning, I go to work. When I get there, I remember that my shift does not, in fact, start for another thirty minutes, so I sit in the break room and attempt to do my pre-calc homework. I don’t get why James is so scared of me going to his house. I told for the billionth time that I didn’t mind dropping him off at his house, but he refused. He claimed that his house was too messy, and that his dad would be home. I’m really starting to think he just doesn’t want me over at all.
I work, then do more homework, then think about James, then work, then go home, then do homework, then watch the Phillies kick the Atlanta Braves in the ass with my dad. (I told him we would win. He didn’t believe me).
Despite the fact that it’s the weekend and I have some time to myself, breaks are scarce. I remained holed up in my room for most of Saturday night waiting for my parents work friends to leave. The last thing I need is nine forty-year-olds cooing over how ‘handsome’ I am.
I tried to make plans with Marina, James and Emily on Sunday since I had a morning shift, but none of them were available. I was almost relieved to have time to do absolutely nothing. It was always hard to try and meet up with everyone unless we’d been planning it for weeks. Someone is always busy. The way this week looks, that’s not going to change anytime soon. I’m so busy that I barely have room to breathe. I check out my planner, each box filled entirely.
Sunday - Work
Monday - Practice
Tuesday -Spanish Test; (Marina - Track Meet)
Wednesday - Practice, Work
Thursday - Math Test; GAME DAY!
Friday - English paper
Saturday - Prom
It could be worse, right? I could have two tests and a paper due on the same day. Instead of looking for the silver lining, though, my heart starts racing as soon as I see “prom”. It feels unreal somehow, like I’m one of those weird Disney characters in those movies my sister made me watch when she was younger.
When my alarm goes off at 6:45 on Monday morning, the last thing I want to do is get up. The weather has barely cleared up since Friday; a hazy mist blows against my face as I walk out to my car. I throw my smorgasbord of bags into the back of my car, including my baseball bag, two bats, my backpack, a lunchbox and the prom poster for Marina. “Great,” I think, “Now I’m going to have glitter all over the back of my car.” Small bubble gum pink flakes already reside on my baseball bag. By 7:00, Casey still hasn’t walked out of the door yet. I run up to the door. “Casey! Come on, we’ve got to leave, or you’re gonna miss the bus!”
“Sorry!” She calls, “I was putting on makeup.” She runs out the front door. “Well, you should have done that earlier, come on!”
“They want to take pictures of the girl’s lacrosse team for the website today so I figured I’d look my best.” She walks over to the back of the car to throw her bags in as I roll my eyes and scowl at her. “Ah - no.” I say. “What? I put my bags in the back every day.”
“Not today, Case. My poster for Marina is back there.”
“Ha. Your poster for Marina.” I sigh. It’s moments like these that I wish she’d shut up, but naturally, being an eighth grader, she doesn’t. As we back out of the driveway, the teasing begins. She starts with a classic. “James and Peyton sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” I change the radio station to 70’s rock. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes- well. I guess you can’t make babies.” I turn up the volume slowly, “Oh my god, shut up. You’re an eighth grader for crying out loud.”
“Johnny makes jokes like that all the time.”
“Johnny’s a sophomore in college, so shut up.”
“Ha ha, you love me.”
“I totally do not.” But I do, despite her constant teasing, I do love my sister. The torture doesn’t cease until we get to her stop. It’s only five minutes away, but god, if it doesn’t feel like an eternity. She gets out of the car and sprints to the bus making kissy faces and pressing her hands to her cheeks. I speed off as fast as I can without hydroplaning.
James and I decided that the best time to give Marina the poster would be in the morning. Marina’s usually there early, and since Casey’s bus leaves at 7:10 and my school doesn’t start till 8:00, I’m always there early. I pull into the school parking lot at 7:30. Struggling to carry the broad assortment of bags in my trunk, I leave my baseball bag in my car, deciding that it’s in my best interest to just get it after school. Poster in one hand, lunch box in the other, I march through the school longing for sleep, and find my way to the orchestra hall where we sit in the mornings. James almost never gets to school on time, but he insisted he would get here as early as possible. He walks into school no less than thirty seconds after I do, and immediately Emily begins rambling on about how cute Marina and I will be, and how this is the best thing she’s ever heard of and whatever else teenage girls say to each other about this kind of stuff. I’m starting to regret telling her in the first place. “What’s so great about this, anyways? I’m not asking her to marry me.”
“I’m just excited! I’ve never been in on one of these before.” She quirks her lip to the side, before asking, “Will you go out after prom though? A lot of people go as friends and get together afterwards.” This takes me by surprise. I hadn’t even considered that. What if Emily and James get together? Permanently. I stare at my shoes. “It was just a question, damn.” She said. “Oh, sorry. I totally spaced out there,” I say, trying to sound more tired and less like I’m not having an existential crisis. “We’re just proud of you kids!” Emily says, putting her arm around James. He awkwardly scoots closer to her. “That’s the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said, Em. Please don’t make it worse,” he says. She turns to him and makes a pouty face. He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. Oh my God I’m going to die.
“You're lucky you’re pretty,” James teases. Emily starts to respond, “Oh my gosh, you literally su-” she barely lets the word ‘suck’ escape her mouth before she screams into my ear, “OMG it's Marina!”
“Dios mío, I’m gonna go deaf from being in a five foot vicinity of you.” She leaps to her feet, phone in hand. I stand up, taking my time, and wait for Marina to make it to our end of the hallway. “Peyton. What a pleasant surprise.” She says, not surprised at all, but smiling from ear to ear anyways. The 7:55 bell rings as I roll open the poster. “Marina, would you like to accompany my loser ass at prom?”
“Absolutely.” Though my back is to Emily, I can feel the excitement radiating off of her body. I hug Marina because it seemed like the right thing to do. “What's her deal?” She asks, glancing at Emily. “She's never been in on a promposal before.”
“Huh.”
“Hey, where’d James go?” Emily asks, putting her phone back into her pocket. “He probably went to class, the bell just rang,” Marina says as-a-matter-of-fact-ly. “Maybe he was just annoyed with your over-the-top excitement,” I suggest. “You don’t think I actually annoyed him, do you?” Emily asks. Marina looks at her flatly. “You? Annoy James? Probably not. Though to be fair, I don’t think there’s a whole lot out there that could annoy James,” Sure enough, James texts me immediately at 8:10
ohmygod im so sorry. i was supposed to turn something into the art teacher this morning before school so i could get credit for it!!
Nbd. She said yes :)
yay! group prom?
Success.
Nice.
That afternoon, James decides to watch baseball practice. He usually waits inside, but the rain had brought in some extra humidity and warmth, so he decided to do homework on the bleachers. I gaze at him softly, his round glasses reflecting the sun that’s starting to set. He’s not even paying attention to us; his nose is buried in his chemistry binder.
“Yo, Reyes. Look out!” Jared Smith, the shortstop, shouts. “Huh?” Half a second before a pop fly digs into my shoulder, I step out of the way. The entire field goes silent. “Dude, are you okay?” Jared asks. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”
“Goddamnit, Reyes. I cannot risk my best pitcher getting injured the week before championships. Get your head together, son!” Coach Flynn yells. “I put you in the outfield so we can warm up all of our pitchers, not to get rid of you.”
“Uh, sorry.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see James’ head look up from his binder. He’s smiling, trying to retain his laughter. “Seriously, boys. We’ve got one week. One friggin’ week. Don’t make me pull out my dictionary of colorful language.”
“Yes, Coach,” we all mumble in unison. “All right, why don’t y’all get back to your normal positions.”
I’m pitching now, since out-fielding really isn’t my thing, apparently. I think really hard about where I want the ball to go. I put all my energy into focusing, then I throw a perfect strike. Coach clasps his hands together dramatically. “That’s so much better!”
“Yeah when Peyton stops daydreaming about riding the Bullet-” Kurt says. “Holy shit, shut the fuck up.” God, I hate it when people talk about Marina like that. It’s more frequent than I’d ever hope. Marina’s a really pretty girl with golden hair full of beach waves, and perfectly defined facial features. She’s bigger, sure, but she owns it. I think her self confidence bothers people. This isn’t even the first time I’ve heard people make jokes about having sex with her. I swear I’ve come so close to beating some kids up that it would take the force of an actual bullet to contain me.
“Hey Reyes, watch your language. I’m the only one that gets to swear here.” Coach says. “Sorry, coach.”
“Like hell you are.” James is snickering again from the bleachers. I wave to him theatrically like an actor in a play. He does a golf clap back.
After practice, he trails after me to the locker rooms, chemistry books in hand. “Who knew so much drama goes on behind the scenes,” he says. “Does that mean you’ll actually try to pay attention at the games now?”
“Not a chance. I'll pay attention to you, though." I turn away from him so he can't see me blush. “So you’re still coming on Thursday, right?”
“I’m a man of my word, Reyes.”
“Right.”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me, his periwinkle eyes dancing in the sun. “Let’s go home then, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says, “Lets go.”
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