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Description
Chapter 2- Dead Beats and Dead Bolts

Hangovers are the worst. I'm in line at Starbucks, waiting to nurse mine with some Passion tea.

"What can I get you?" asks the barista impatiently. Cars snake around the drive-thru and I can see at least five people working, cursing that the cinnamon dolce flavor's out and the soy milk's out and the Splenda is out and "Damn it, why can't people order a regular drink?!" is written across all their faces. People in cars seem more impatient than people like me, actually inside for the café ambience and relative peace.

"Tall passion tea," I say, digging deep in my pockets. One dollar, one quarter, two dimes…you have got to be kidding me.

"Just a sec," I say weakly, opening my purse and searching frantically. I can feel the eagerness in the people behind me in line. Really, this is ridiculous! I just need one measly nickel. What happened to the "Give a Penny, Take a Penny" jar? And why is no one helping me out? What is WRONG with society, I ask you, if they will not lend a girl some small change?

"'As You Like It'," yells a guy behind me.

"Very good," says the barista, "I'll get you your free drink in a second," he tells him, giving me a meaningful glance.

"No, that's okay. Give it to her, I'll pay for my own."

Blushing, I walk to the serving table with the napkins and straws. I look up at the question on the board he answered for me, the one I never get because I can hardly remember any of the millions of lines Shakespeare wrote:

"Orlando:
Then love me, Rosalind.
Rosalind:
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Orlando:
And wilt thou have me?
Rosalind:
Ay, and twenty such.
Orlando:
What sayest thou?
Rosalind:
Are you not good?
Orlando:
I hope so.
Rosalind:
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?"

Wow, that's actually…quite good. Quite romantic. Way better than that soppy Romeo and Juliet, two oversexed adolescents, one of them jailbait, trying to piss off Mommy and Daddy, going on "Oh, were I a glove on that hand so I could hold that cheek and "With this kiss I die" and all their melodramatic crap.

Actually, now that I think of it, I guess I do remember some of those lines…

"Thank you," I say when my tea is passed to me. The guy comes up behind me and takes a caramel frappucino with a smirk that's tugged towards his left ear. He looks almost comically like a stereotype thespian-lover: black curly hair that falls in his face(very emoesque), "sensitive" skin (read: indoors pale) and bright green eyes(probably color contacts).

"And thank you," I tell him, blowing onto my tea. "People who come here to watch the plays are the only ones who get free drinks…I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Really?" he asks, shaking his head and laughing.

"Yeah. I mean, we're all so used to it I guess we don't really take advantage of it, so-"

"No, I mean…I'm not a tourist. I go to your school."

"Oh! Yes…well…sorry about that. Well, we go to a big school," I say defensively, "I probably haven't seen you before."

"That could be true, except that you're in three of my classes."

"Right," I say, blushing, turning around to settle myself at a table, hoping that will deter him. Unfortunately it doesn't; he just sits at the chair opposite me.

"That's okay, I'm not offended. I mean, seeing how you only show up about half of the time, I can see why you might not remember me."

"Not true! I show up at LEAST two-thirds of the time. And I made a New Years' Resolution about that, so…not anymore."

"I see. Well, good luck with that," he says, leaving my table.

I am SO looking for him when break ends.

***

It's New Years' Day(or night, in any case). Sunday nights always suck, because you know you have to go to school tomorrow and there's nothing you can do about it. But being out of school for two weeks and then having your very last Sunday night? That sucks a lot.

I've always known Sunday nights suck. Ava told me to ask for a My So-Called Life disc set for Christmas, and I did, even though it's so expensive it's all I got, because I trust her. Well, with taste in television, anyway. In any case, Angela, the main girl in this show, pretty much sums it up perfectly: "There's something about Sunday night that really makes you want to kill yourself. Especially if you've just totally been made a fool of by the only person you'll ever love and you have a Geometry Midterm on Monday…which you still haven't studied for…because you can't because Brian Krakow has your textbook and you're too embarrassed to deal with it…and your little sister's completely finished with HER homework, which is just like so simple and mindless a child could do it…and that creepy 60-minutes watch that sounds like your whole life ticking away…"

Well, everything just seems worse on Sunday nights. I've been thinking a lot about what that guy said…I never thought people actually noticed me in school, or not in school, I guess. If that's what he thinks of me, what does everyone else think of me? Do they think I'm just a pathetic slacker? It's thoughts like these that make me want to stay in my room forever, just watching the My So-Called Life on my tiny TV from my bed forever. I could survive. There are gyozas in my mini-fridge, and fizzy juice, and Oreos…I mean really, I have everything I need.

My door swings open, my brother standing in the doorway, chest heaving, clutching something white in his hand.

"Thanks for knocking," I say peevishly, lifting the remote so I don't miss this epic on screen moment because of his yapping.

"Why did I find this in the recycling?"

Crap. It's the envelope that contains my 1st semester grades. The second I saw it in the mail I chucked it in the bin, too afraid to look at the results. I even wedged it carefully under the Cheerios box. How on earth did he find it?

"I have no idea," I say coolly, "I don't usually get the mail. Maybe Helen threw it away," I suggest sweetly.

"Oh!" Jake smacks his palm to his forehead. "I didn't think of that! I mean, WS was in the return address, and she probably thought it was someone begging you for money, one of the many William Shakespeare clubs here. She probably didn't know the initials stood for 'Williams School'."

"Exactly," I say, letting myself exhale and turning the TV back on when he turns around. Except suddenly, he turns around now to face me.

"Yeah…that would make so much sense, Iris, except…she saw YOU put it in there. Isn't that funny?"

"Fine," I spit out, pausing the screen again. "Fine, whooo! You caught me. Congratulations. I mean, I didn't do that to hide it or anything. I just considered it trash, because I don't really care about my grades."

"Oh, you don't, do you?"

"No, I really don't. And where do you get off, anyway? So I have a few C's. You didn't go to college."

"Just because I didn't go doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"GET OVER YOURSELF, JAKE! I'm not getting these grades because of you. I simply do not really care. My grades are not going to save the world even if they're a spectacular row of A's. You give yourself way too much credit. And it's not like you've even asked how school's been going for the past few weeks, every since Miss Megan Fox-"

"-don't CALL HER that, you know she doesn't like-"

"-moved in with us, so you can't just suddenly act all concerned now."

I storm out of my room. Jake doesn't try to stop me.

"Honey…"

"Don't call me that," I snap, struggling to get the deadbolt on the front door to open. Of all the freaking times to get stuck. I mean, seriously. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Helen again, doing her little reassuring act.

"I'm sorry I told him…I'm just really concerned about you!"

"For God's sake!" I yell, but finally the lock gives.

"Please," I say, "The only thing you're concerned about is your freaking hair."

Description
Chapter 2- Dead Beats and Dead Bolts

Hangovers are the worst. I'm in line at Starbucks, waiting to nurse mine with some Passion tea.

"What can I get you?" asks the barista impatiently. Cars snake around the drive-thru and I can see at least five people working, cursing that the cinnamon dolce flavor's out and the soy milk's out and the Splenda is out and "Damn it, why can't people order a regular drink?!" is written across all their faces. People in cars seem more impatient than people like me, actually inside for the café ambience and relative peace.

"Tall passion tea," I say, digging deep in my pockets. One dollar, one quarter, two dimes…you have got to be kidding me.

"Just a sec," I say weakly, opening my purse and searching frantically. I can feel the eagerness in the people behind me in line. Really, this is ridiculous! I just need one measly nickel. What happened to the "Give a Penny, Take a Penny" jar? And why is no one helping me out? What is WRONG with society, I ask you, if they will not lend a girl some small change?

"'As You Like It'," yells a guy behind me.

"Very good," says the barista, "I'll get you your free drink in a second," he tells him, giving me a meaningful glance.

"No, that's okay. Give it to her, I'll pay for my own."

Blushing, I walk to the serving table with the napkins and straws. I look up at the question on the board he answered for me, the one I never get because I can hardly remember any of the millions of lines Shakespeare wrote:

"Orlando:
Then love me, Rosalind.
Rosalind:
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Orlando:
And wilt thou have me?
Rosalind:
Ay, and twenty such.
Orlando:
What sayest thou?
Rosalind:
Are you not good?
Orlando:
I hope so.
Rosalind:
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?"

Wow, that's actually…quite good. Quite romantic. Way better than that soppy Romeo and Juliet, two oversexed adolescents, one of them jailbait, trying to piss off Mommy and Daddy, going on "Oh, were I a glove on that hand so I could hold that cheek and "With this kiss I die" and all their melodramatic crap.

Actually, now that I think of it, I guess I do remember some of those lines…

"Thank you," I say when my tea is passed to me. The guy comes up behind me and takes a caramel frappucino with a smirk that's tugged towards his left ear. He looks almost comically like a stereotype thespian-lover: black curly hair that falls in his face(very emoesque), "sensitive" skin (read: indoors pale) and bright green eyes(probably color contacts).

"And thank you," I tell him, blowing onto my tea. "People who come here to watch the plays are the only ones who get free drinks…I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Really?" he asks, shaking his head and laughing.

"Yeah. I mean, we're all so used to it I guess we don't really take advantage of it, so-"

"No, I mean…I'm not a tourist. I go to your school."

"Oh! Yes…well…sorry about that. Well, we go to a big school," I say defensively, "I probably haven't seen you before."

"That could be true, except that you're in three of my classes."

"Right," I say, blushing, turning around to settle myself at a table, hoping that will deter him. Unfortunately it doesn't; he just sits at the chair opposite me.

"That's okay, I'm not offended. I mean, seeing how you only show up about half of the time, I can see why you might not remember me."

"Not true! I show up at LEAST two-thirds of the time. And I made a New Years' Resolution about that, so…not anymore."

"I see. Well, good luck with that," he says, leaving my table.

I am SO looking for him when break ends.

***

It's New Years' Day(or night, in any case). Sunday nights always suck, because you know you have to go to school tomorrow and there's nothing you can do about it. But being out of school for two weeks and then having your very last Sunday night? That sucks a lot.

I've always known Sunday nights suck. Ava told me to ask for a My So-Called Life disc set for Christmas, and I did, even though it's so expensive it's all I got, because I trust her. Well, with taste in television, anyway. In any case, Angela, the main girl in this show, pretty much sums it up perfectly: "There's something about Sunday night that really makes you want to kill yourself. Especially if you've just totally been made a fool of by the only person you'll ever love and you have a Geometry Midterm on Monday…which you still haven't studied for…because you can't because Brian Krakow has your textbook and you're too embarrassed to deal with it…and your little sister's completely finished with HER homework, which is just like so simple and mindless a child could do it…and that creepy 60-minutes watch that sounds like your whole life ticking away…"

Well, everything just seems worse on Sunday nights. I've been thinking a lot about what that guy said…I never thought people actually noticed me in school, or not in school, I guess. If that's what he thinks of me, what does everyone else think of me? Do they think I'm just a pathetic slacker? It's thoughts like these that make me want to stay in my room forever, just watching the My So-Called Life on my tiny TV from my bed forever. I could survive. There are gyozas in my mini-fridge, and fizzy juice, and Oreos…I mean really, I have everything I need.

My door swings open, my brother standing in the doorway, chest heaving, clutching something white in his hand.

"Thanks for knocking," I say peevishly, lifting the remote so I don't miss this epic on screen moment because of his yapping.

"Why did I find this in the recycling?"

Crap. It's the envelope that contains my 1st semester grades. The second I saw it in the mail I chucked it in the bin, too afraid to look at the results. I even wedged it carefully under the Cheerios box. How on earth did he find it?

"I have no idea," I say coolly, "I don't usually get the mail. Maybe Helen threw it away," I suggest sweetly.

"Oh!" Jake smacks his palm to his forehead. "I didn't think of that! I mean, WS was in the return address, and she probably thought it was someone begging you for money, one of the many William Shakespeare clubs here. She probably didn't know the initials stood for 'Williams School'."

"Exactly," I say, letting myself exhale and turning the TV back on when he turns around. Except suddenly, he turns around now to face me.

"Yeah…that would make so much sense, Iris, except…she saw YOU put it in there. Isn't that funny?"

"Fine," I spit out, pausing the screen again. "Fine, whooo! You caught me. Congratulations. I mean, I didn't do that to hide it or anything. I just considered it trash, because I don't really care about my grades."

"Oh, you don't, do you?"

"No, I really don't. And where do you get off, anyway? So I have a few C's. You didn't go to college."

"Just because I didn't go doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"GET OVER YOURSELF, JAKE! I'm not getting these grades because of you. I simply do not really care. My grades are not going to save the world even if they're a spectacular row of A's. You give yourself way too much credit. And it's not like you've even asked how school's been going for the past few weeks, every since Miss Megan Fox-"

"-don't CALL HER that, you know she doesn't like-"

"-moved in with us, so you can't just suddenly act all concerned now."

I storm out of my room. Jake doesn't try to stop me.

"Honey…"

"Don't call me that," I snap, struggling to get the deadbolt on the front door to open. Of all the freaking times to get stuck. I mean, seriously. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Helen again, doing her little reassuring act.

"I'm sorry I told him…I'm just really concerned about you!"

"For God's sake!" I yell, but finally the lock gives.

"Please," I say, "The only thing you're concerned about is your freaking hair."