And a second later,
when he reads what it says on all of our shirts,
he starts chuckling to himself, shaking his head.
“Brilliant…” he says.
“Where can I get one of those?”
So I grab a thick black marker off his desk
and say, “Allow me.”
A Few Minutes Later
Rachel gives us the secret footshake
and rushes off to algebra.
Then, the rest of the people in Schultz’s class
start trickling into the room.
When they see the words on Schultz’s T-shirt,
some of them look confused,
some of them look uneasy,
but most of them look confused and uneasy.
Though these two girls we’ve never even talked to,
Bubba Shalhoub and Anita Fraker,
actually give Sophie and me little smiles of support
when they see what I’ve written on his shirt:
I AM SUCH A SCHULTZ.
Just as the Bell Rings
Zak slinks in.
And when he reads Schultz’s shirt,
his eyes pop a little.
Schultz just stands there in front of the class,
sort of rocking back and forth on his heels,
looking at us with this mischievous gleam in his eye.
Then he says,
“How do you like
my new shirt, kiddos?”
There’s a few seconds of total silence,
until Zak finally says,
“It sucks, Mr. S.”
And the really weird thing is:
not a single person laughs when he says this.
Schultz pushes out his lower lip.
“Oh, dear me,” he says.
“Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”
At which point,
everyone does laugh.
Except for Zak.
Schultz Strikes Again
He puts on this old CD
of Coleman Hawkins wailing out
this ancient jazz on tenor sax,
then tells us all to close our eyes
and listen for a while.
A few kids groan,
but pretty soon they quiet down,
and then there’s just this lazy sound
of breathy riffs that wind themselves
around the tinkling of piano keys …
It may not be old rock and roll,
but this stuff’s cool in other ways—
cool in hot ways, sexy ways,
that make me think of Sophie
under satin sheets …
of both of us
with no clothes on,
together in a darkened room,
alone and pressing
skin to skin …
“And now, for today’s assignment,”
Schultz’s voice breaks in.
“I want all of you to keep listening to the music,
then draw what it’s making you see.”
What it’s making me see?!
Dude.
I’m screwed.
It’s 3:23 p.m.
And I’ve been standing here
waiting by the goalpost,
with my heart beating faster every minute.
Sophie’s never been this late before.
What if something awful’s happened to her?
Then finally,
she bursts through the back door of the building.
But she’s not alone—
Rachel’s with her.
And as I watch them heading toward me,
laughing and leaning in
to share some little secret,
this sinking feeling grabs hold of my stomach.
Because the whole afternoon,
all I could think about was how much
I wanted to celebrate with Sophie,
and how I could hardly wait to be alone with her—
so I could talk to her about
all the amazing things that happened to us today,
so I could grab her and kiss her
and wrap myself around her …
But I can’t do any of that stuff
in front of Rachel.
Which Totally Sucks
And, as if that isn’t bad enough,
Sophie says she hopes I don’t mind,
but she promised Rachel we’d help her
with her psychology project this afternoon:
which is to go trick-or-treating
(even though it’s February)
and then use a hidden video camera
to record how people react.
in these real tacky middle-aged clothes.
And she dresses up as our daughter,
in this puffy pink dress and a sparkly tiara.
Then, we go out into the neighborhood,
and before we ring the bell each time,
Rachel gets down on her knees,
hiding her legs underneath her skirt.
So that when the people open their doors,
she looks sort of like a teenager
who’s pretending to be a little kid
who’s pretending to be a princess.
And I kind of hate to admit it,
but when Rachel smiles up at them,
holds out her paper bag, and shouts, “Trick or treat!”
the expressions that the people get on their faces
are pretty hilarious.
But Later
When we go over to Rachel’s house
to watch the footage we shot with the hidden camera,
that sinking feeling grabs hold of my stomach again,
even tighter than it did before.
Because just when I’m getting ready
to snuggle up to Sophie on the couch,
Rachel plunks herself down
right between us.
And the thing is,
Sophie doesn’t even seem to notice.
Or if she does,
she sure doesn’t seem to mind.
But what really gets to me
is what happens when we finish watching the video
and I offer to walk Sophie home,
hoping for at least a few minutes alone with her.
Because that’s when Sophie
just smiles over at Rachel,
like they’ve got lots of catching up to do,
and says I should go on home
without her.
Sophie Gives Me a Sisterly Peck on the Cheek Good-bye
And I trudge off through the aching cold
of the subzero dusk,
feeling way sorry for myself.
And way confused.
I mean,
what is wrong with me, anyway?
I’ve spent the entire last month
wishing that Sophie could have her old friends back.
But now that she and Rachel
have been reunited,
I can’t help wishing that things could be
the way they were before,
when it was just Sophie
and me against the world—
and outlaws ruled …
Right After Dinner
I dialed Sophie’s cell.
I don’t really know why.
I guess I just wanted
to hear her voice.
“Robin!” she said,
like she was real happy to hear from me.
Like she had no idea
that anything was even bothering me.
“You got a minute to talk?” I said.
“Oops. Wait a sec,” she said,
“I’m getting another call.” Then she put me on hold.
A second later, she got back on the line.
“It’s Rachel,” she said.
“I’ll call you right back.”
Then she clicked off.
That was an hour ago.
So When I Head Over to Studio B
I’m feeling sort of like the Forgotten Man.
I arrive a little early, but Tessa’s already here.
She grins at me and flashes the peace sign.
“Hey, Rockin’ Robin,” she says, “feelin’ groovy?”
“Oh, you know,” I say. “Could be better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tessa says.
And she looks like she really is.
“Maybe a pop quiz will cheer you up,” she says,
giving me a friendly little squeeze.
“Who was the lead singer of the Troggs?”
I hesitate for a second,
while Tessa sucks in her breath
and crosses her fingers.
Then I fold my arms over my chest
and start shaking my head,
trying my best to look irritatingly smug.
“Aw, that’s too easy,” I say.
“It was Chip Taylor.”
(Even though I know full well it was Reg Presley.)
And when I see the smile
that’s spreading across Tessa’s face,
sort of like the sun coming out after an eclipse,
I do feel a little bit better.
Chelsea’s Back!
But I guess I must be getting used to
staring at fantastic-looking naked women
with unbelievably creamy skin and perfect breasts
who are standing only a few feet away from me.
Because even though she looks,
if anything,
even hotter than she did
the first time she modeled for us,
this time, for some unknown reason,
I’m able to concentrate on drawing her,
instead of just concentrating
on how staggeringly sexy she is.
This time I can actually look at her butt
and see it as a form
that’s defined by areas of light and shadow,
instead of as a form defined by areas
that I wish I could get my hands on.
Tuesday Morning
I’d planned on saying something snide
when I saw Sophie.
You know—
like I’d pull my cell phone out of my pocket,
and say something like:
“Oh. Hey.
How you doing?
I’m still waiting for you
to call me right back …”
But when she and Rachel run up to me in the hall,
and I see that Rachel’s wearing a T-shirt that says:
ANY FRIEND OF STEIN
IS A FRIEND OF MINE,
it sort of takes the wind out of my sails.
This Is So Messed Up
Shouldn’t I
be feeling
a heck of a lot better
right now?
I mean, some people we don’t even know
came up to Sophie and me in the cafeteria today
and asked us if we’d teach them how
to do “that funny foot-shaking thing.”
Then,
when Dylan performed
his daily hat-grabbing ritual,
not a single goon cheered him on.
And a minute ago,
Sophie rushed up to me and told me
that when she walked into math class,
Grace actually made eye contact with her.
She said for a second there
Grace almost sort of looked like
she was getting ready to smile at her.
Only then she didn’t.
Sophie said she knows it’s a real long shot,
but she’s hoping that maybe
if we give Grace a little more time
she might even come over to our side.
So,
shouldn’t I be over the moon?
Tap-dancing on the ceiling?
Doing handsprings or something?
Then how come I’m not?
And how come my life feels like
it’s about a hundred times more complicated
than a quadratic equation?
I’m Waiting by the Goalpost
Hoping that this time
when Sophie comes to me,
she’ll be alone.
Because it’s been so long since I’ve kissed her,
I mean really kissed her,
that I’m practically going into withdrawal.
But when she finally pushes through the back door,
and starts running across the field to me,
Rachel’s trotting along right next to her.
And a minute later,
when they get to the goalpost,
Sophie doesn’t even kiss me on the cheek.
She just tells me that there’s
this amazing sale on at Bloomingdale’s,
and that it just started this morning.
“Sophie has to come with me,” Rachel says,
“My mom’s so worried about perverts abducting me
that she won’t let me cruise the mall alone.”
“I won’t go, though,” Sophie says,
“if you don’t want me to.”
But her eyes plead with mine: Don’t ask me to stay …
So I force myself to say, “That’s okay.”
Then she hugs me, thanks me,
and runs away.
For a Long Time
I keep my eyes trained
on the back of Sophie’s head,
willing her
to glance over her shoulder,
willing her to turn around
and run back to me,
willing her
to fling her arms around my neck
and give me
a passionate kiss good-bye …
but she just keeps
right on going.
I Try to Tell Myself
That Sophie doesn’t mean
to be neglecting me.
That the only reason
she’s been so distracted lately
is because she’s so happy
that Rachel’s back in her life.
And I’m happy for her.
I really am.
It’s just that, until now,
I never realized
how sad
being happy
could make a guy
feel.
I’ve Survived Dinner with My Prying Parents
Now I’m trying to concentrate
on studying for my math test.
But all I can think about is
Sophie. So I’m just sitting
here, staring at my computer
screen, zooming all the way in from outer space, all the
way down to America, then down to Massachusetts,
and all the way to Cambridge, zooming past the
ribbon of the Charles, and all the way down
to Shepard Street, down and down and
down, till I find Sophie’s house … And if
the camera could keep on zooming,
right through an open window
and go inside that house,
I’d be able to see the girl
who’s forgotten I exist,
the girl I haven’t
kissed since
yester-
day.
I Drag Myself Out of Bed on Wednesday Morning
And trudge to school,
with my heart just sitting in my chest,
as heavy and lifeless as a paperweight.
But then I catch sight of Sophie—
waiting for me
right outside the door to my health class!
And when she sees me,
she rushes up to me
and throws her arms around my neck.
“I brought you something,” she says.
“Something I forgot to give you yesterday.”
And then—she kisses m
e.
When we finally pull apart,
I say, “I brought you something, too.”
And then I kiss her, which makes both of us laugh.
“I’ve got lots more where that came from,” I say,
“if you want to come over after school and get some.
We could hang out. Just the two of us.”
“I’d love that…” she says.
And when the bell rings a second later,
and she hurries off around the corner,
I pump my fist in the air,
and whisper,
“Yes!”
Maybe There’s Hope for My Love Life
Maybe
there’s even some hope
for my school life.
Because all morning long,
these real mind-boggling things
keep happening.
Like when I see
a couple of jocks in my health class
doing the secret footshake.
And when this total prom-queen type
comes up to me in math class
to show me her OUTLAWS RULE! tattoo.
I’m feeling so good,
that it doesn’t even bother me
when I see Dylan walking down the hall—
wearing a T-shirt with a crudely drawn picture
of a two-headed monster on it,
and just one word scrawled below it:
MURPHENSTEIN.
I’m Still Kind of Dreading Lunch, Though
Dreading having to share Sophie
with Rachel.
But she’s a package deal now.
Why can’t I just accept that?
I mean, if I want her,
I’ve got to take Rachel right along with her.
Besides, this is what
I’ve been wishing for all along, isn’t it?
For Sophie to get back together
with her old friends.
So how come
my throat gets so tight
when she comes bopping up to me
outside the cafeteria
with Rachel glued to her side
like some kind of Siamese twin?
But Lunch Isn’t That Bad, Really
Once I get used to
having to eat with two people
instead of one,
two people who’ve known each other
for such a long time
that they practically speak in code,
two people who are always saying,