Page 37 of The Two of Us

11

THEN (AGE 14)

“Presentations will begin at the start of class, first thing on Monday.”

The entire class groans in unison.

“You all have four years left of this. I suggest you get used to it now.”

A girl who goes by Cee speaks up from the back of the classroom. “But Mr. Moinyhan, this weekend is homecoming. All the other teachers are postponing assignments.”

Mr. Moinyhan twirls the piece of yarn he always has wrapped around his index finger. It’s a fascinating habit and one that always catches my attention. The fog on his bifocals grows thick from his heavy breathing.

“Miss Lowe, I’m aware of the festivities taking place this weekend. It’s not homecoming without sweaty teenagers, questionable dancing and young ladies crying in the bathrooms—trust me when I say that the smell of a school dance has permeated through the air.”

I laugh into my notebook.

“However,” he continues, “we will push forth with the original purpose of this institution and that is to get an education. Which is why I’m very much looking forward to hearing you all present on the riveting causes and aftermath of the Revolutionary War.”

The groaning continues. Everyone is pretty much in sync by this point.

“Believe it or not, when I was your age, I preferred to excel in school, rather than be consumed with the trivial nature of school dances.”

“Yeah, probably because no one would go with you,” a boy mutters from the back, eliciting a few snickers.

“Mr. Santos, since you are so eager to engage with the class, you and your partner will be up first to present on Monday.”

Louise Santos and the girl he’s paired with make a sound of disappointment as the bell rings overhead, freeing us from the period. Cat loops her arm through mine as we make our way to our neighboring lockers. When Cat originally found out her locker was assigned to another hallway, she bribed the girl next to mine to switch. She still won’t tell me what the bribe was.

“I hate that class,” she says. “I mean, why even call it World History if we spend the majority of the time talking about the United States? No wonder the rest of the world hates us.”

I secretly agree with her.

“And I’m sorry, but that yarn finger thing he does is just weird.”

“Cat, it’s probably a nervous tic, be nice.”

She sighs. “You’re right. I’m just on edge because Maitland hasn’t asked me to the dance yet.”

“He’s gonna ask, just give him some time.”

“Mara, the dance is tomorrow.”

“Maybe… maybe he’s too intimidated and doesn’t know how to ask.”

Cat swings open her locker and begins aggressively reapplying her lip gloss. “Whatever. He’s probably going to ask Alexa Marx. Why wouldn’t he want to ask a sophomore over fresh meat?” She lowers her voice and leans toward me. “I heard she got a nose job over the summer.”

“Why don’t you ask him? You don’t need to wait around for some guy to make the first move.”

She ponders my advice as I swap my history book for Spanish. “You know what? You’re right. I will ask him. I love this feminist energy you’re giving off—it’s very Susan B. Anthony of you. Also, I still can’t believe you won’t come.”

“I already told you, the idea of forcing myself to attend an event with that many people makes me want to puke into a sock.”

She makes a face of disgust at the mental image. “You’re a mysterious creature, Mara Makinen.”

I laugh as the warning bell music rings out, alerting us of the one minute we have to make it to our next class. It’s only the first semester and I’m already desperate to never hear The Lone Ranger theme song ever again.

I hoist my bag over my shoulder. “I can’t be late for Spanish. Let me know what he says. I’ll see you at lunch.”

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