Page 12 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Yeah, that’s it. These last few days weren’t...great and...and I missed talking to you.” He stops outside his class and pauses. It seems like he’s waiting for something, though I’m not sure what. When it doesn’t come, he nods toward the door. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you around, Bella.”

And that’s what he leaves me with. An emotionless declaration that he missed me followed by anI’ll see you around. What am I supposed to make of that? He’s very strange. I’m so distracted that I accidentally bump into Audrey as I make my way to my class further down the hall.

“Watch it, you fat whore!”

I don’t know why she’s always so bitchy to me. So I slept with her boyfriend. Who cares? It was onlyonetime. Talk about melodramatic.

“Morning Audrey,” I greet with a friendly smile and that annoys her more.

Crossing the hallway, I walk into class and drop into the seat in front of my friend Lana. She tosses her long braids over her shoulder and rests her forearms on the desk. Lana is stunning. Her mother is Ethiopian, and her father is Swedish, so she has the most exotic features—high cheekbones, dark chocolate skin, and striking ice-blue eyes. Although our friendship could never be considered deep, we get along like a house on fire.

“What’s got you lit up like a Christmas tree?” she asks.

“What are you talking about?”

“You are glowing, positively radiant. You either won the lottery or you finally had an orgasm?”

I giggle. “I wish. I haven’t had one of those in alongtime. High school boys and orgasms are like oil and water. They just don’t go together. I almost told Steven to switch on the GPS in his mother’s minivan so it could help him locate my clit.”

“Yep, it’s a big problem. We need to start hooking up with older guys.”

“How old? Like college guys...or like married guys?”

“Anyguy who knows how to work a penis. It’s like they don’t read the instructions that come with it. Most of them just got to the part where it says:Insert hereand then stopped reading.” She sighs. “So, if it’s not the big O, why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing.” Am I blushing? Why would I be blushing? So he said he missed me. So he thinks I’m pretty. So what? I’m not blushing. “Nothing happened. It was the same as every other day except this morning I had the pleasure of running into Audrey. She called me a fat whore, and I really felt like we bonded this time.”

She feigns shock. “Screw you, bitch! I thought I was your favorite.”

“You’re a dime a dozen, and you’ve been replaced. I like her better?”

“Shut up!” She quickly checks her reflection using her compact mirror. Not that she needs to. Unlike me, she has perfectly smooth skin. She doesn’t even need makeup. “My man just stepped in.”

She’s referring to the new social studies teacher, Mr. Williams, and she is convinced he is going to be her future baby-daddy. He starts the lesson, and she stares dreamily at him the whole time. We go through the next few periods separately, then meet at the benches outside the cafeteria for lunch. She hands me a tray with a beef casserole and an apple. I hate eating in the cafeteria because a few of the assholes on the football team take pleasure in insulting my sister and I, and there is a high probability that I’ll end up stabbing one of them. My mom is constantly telling me to control my temper and not get into fights and the only way to do that is by staying out of there.

Some of Lana’s other friends usually join us for lunch, but they seem to be preoccupied with the cheerleading routine they’re practicing for the next game, so it’s just the two of us today. I’m grateful. I’m not really in the mood for company.

“Do you have anything to drink?” I ask Lana.

She takes out a water bottle from her bag and casually hands it to me like it actually contains water. The sting of the vodka shaves off a tiny sliver of pain, so I gulp down a few more sips to cut off a bigger chunk. It doesn’t work, but I’m ambitious. I commit. There are days I drink the entire bottle to numb the pain. It’s still there when I sober up, but the point is I tried and that’s all that matters. My mama didn’t raise no quitter and my determination gets an A+ from me. It’s the only A I’m going to get this year, so I’m owning it.

I’m a little tipsy when we walk back inside. As the day goes on, that slight giddiness I felt earlier evaporates, and I fall back into my depressed stupor. How sad is my life that one small interaction with a guy who doesn’t even like me ends up being the highlight of my entire week? I’m pathetic!

My biology teacher asks me to stay behind after class, and internally I pray he doesn’t ask me about what went on in today’s lesson because I can’t remember any of it and my answer will disappoint both of us.

“Ms. Diaz, I wanted to talk to you about your attendance and overall performance.” He stands up, then sits on the edge of the desk so he can look me in the eye. “You skip class a lot, and when you attend, you’re either on your phone or not paying attention at all. It’s already showing because you got a D on the quiz you submitted last week. If you don’t change your attitude and improve your grade on the next one, I’m going to have to call your parents in.”

I snort a tired laugh, taking a seat on the nearest chair so he doesn’t notice my body swaying. “My dad might not be able to make it. He’s otherwise detained. Being dead will do that to ya.”

He shuts his eyes for a brief second, as if only realizing his words now. “I’m sorry. I misspoke, but?”

“I’m sure my mom will come. She works sixteen-hour days just to make ends meet, so I’m sure she can find time in her schedule to come all the way here to have a discussion with you about the D I got in a subject that is in no way going to help me in the real world. It’s not like I want to be a...doctor or anything.”

“Isabella, I understand that you’re going through a lot, and we have support and resources at the school to assist you. Ms. Jeffries is a great counselor if you need to talk. I just want you to realize the impact of the decisions you’re making because bad choices can make the knock-on effect of this tragedy even worse.”

This tragedy. He says it like it’s something that can be isolated to one aspect of my life. It can’t. It isn’t. I know what he wants to hear, so I say it simply to end the conversation. “I’ll make more of an effort in class and try to do better going forward.”

“Thank you.”

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