May 1998

Trechial stuffed the thick English book in her Jansport. Ms. Crowley had decided to throw a Romeo and Juliet assignment on everyone over the weekend because "Romance is in the air so let's breathe it in, class," she swooned, spinning around in a dark blue floral dress in front of the classroom.

Forget breathing romance in––Trechial would rather hold her breath and die of asphyxiation given her current non-existent love life. And to top it off, her group consisted of Candice Lee, Jared Soyer, and Amelia. On the bright side, Leandro was also in the group, but things had been sort of awkward since their breakup a week ago. No one knew about their breakup except Maylee, who swore to secrecy that she would not tell Tae or Trey. Telling Trey was as good as telling Devin since that was his right-hand man. She didn't want to be questioned by Tae nor receive an examining look until she caved and came clean with all the details.

Remorsefulness was another plague ravaging her bleeding heart. Although Devin seemed fine with her and Leandro dating, Leandro had distanced himself from Devin, making up excuses whenever Devin asked him to hang out. It was her fault. The complex disruptions of liking a guy-friend turned into a full-blown retarded-looking love triangle.

Groaning deep within her chest, Trechial slung her backpack on her back and exited the classroom, going straight to her locker. She swirled the black knob left then right then left again, popping the lock and opening the locker. She deposited her English book and took her Civics book out, ignoring her rumbling stomach.

"Hey, Trechial!" Candice Lee chirped like a five a.m. bothersome bird. Recently, Candice had decided that since her best friend Amelia was no longer interested in Devin, she'd give it a shot with Devin. The difference between Amelia and Candice was calculated in trying to use Trechial to get to Devin. Candice approached Maylee first, but after getting cursed out from A to Z she didn't make the same mistake twice.

WWJD? Trechial repeated in her head, forcing down her derisive comments and continuing to search her locker for notes from Maylee. Seeing none, she slammed the door and spun the lock, and walked off.

Candice followed behind her popping her gum as loudly as possible. Ignoring Candice was like Joey ignoring Six on Blossom...it just did not work.

Trechial picked up her pace, and so did the scraping of Candice's heels clicking on the floor.

"Can you wait for a second!" she finally shrieked with agitation.

Trechial rotated around to the short Korean girl. Her doll face, perfectly round eyes, and flawless skin set a jealousy incarnate blaze within Trechial. What type of beauty products made one's face glow with such radiance and perfection at fourteen? She notated her need to switch to Neutrogena because Noxie did not keep the pimples at bay anymore, and it dried up her skin.

Trechial looped her thumbs through her straps and furrowed her brows. "What do you want, Candice Lee?"

She tossed her coffee-colored, Pantene Pro-V smelling hair with a prestigious hand regarding her up and down, a sneer curling her lips. "I only want you to give this to DEVIN"

Trechial's eyes trickled down to the neatly folded note, and she frowned. "Give it to him yourself. I'm not the mailman."

Candice covered her mouth with a prestigious hand and giggled, then cupped Trechial's hand placing the note in her palm. "Please. I'll owe you one."

With a gentle pat, Candice pranced off like a Disney Princess down the hall, catching up with Amelia, who watched Trechial with a scathing look.

Washed up Spice Girls!

Trechial crushed the note, and a red-hot desire to go find the recipient of the note rushed through her body.

Trechial glanced at her watch. Even though it'd make her late to class, she was determined to deliver this important piece of information to Mr. Liao. Ugh. She rolled her eyes.

There was three minutes until the tardy bell rang.

She stuck her head inside of Mr. Gilbert's class, searching for her dear friend. Of course, Mr. Social Butterfly was posted in the back of the classroom, chit-chatting with his peers. His collar was popped up his neck, his dark bowl haircut covering his eyebrows with tapered sides, bling-bling in each ear, sparkling like a rap star. His disgusting, boyish grin flashed nonstop as he listened to the blond guy spew nonsense. At least that's what Trechial assumed he was spewing.

Devin was a jack of all trades, more recently dubbed a bad boy; some teachers despised his smart-aleck wit while others acknowledged his quiet intelligence. Within three years, the shy and honest caterpillar cocooned himself in a silky web and blossomed into a courageous, affectionate, flirtatious, strong-willed social butterfly.

She shook her head and pushed through the door with two goals in mind: to rid herself of the letter and get out of the classroom before the tardy bell rang. She charged down the aisle, locking eyes with him as she came to a halt at the edge of his desk.

His face went blank, reading her as if she were his favorite sports illustrated. He inclined his head to her, waiting for an explanation.

She pulled the letter out of her pocket and unfolded it, holding it up for him to get a good look at it. His peers watched on in dead silence. Devin peered around it, aloofness contorting his face. He raised a dark brow, his two-toned eyes demanding answers from her. Trechial tore the letter vertically then horizontally, repeating the actions until the letter was in tiny pieces in her hand.

He folded his arms and watched her, unimpressed now, probably figuring it was another one of Trechial's many mood swings. She held the pieces over his head then shuffled them down onto him like snow flurries, little pieces of paper landing in his hair and on his shoulders and desk.

She dusted her hands slowly and stepped back.

The guise on his face told her he was going to get her back.

"Tell your stupid girlfriends I am not a mailman or a delivery person. Oh, and by the way, that was from Candice Lee, dork."

She whipped around and marched out of the classroom, unsure why any of this was necessary.

Lunch came, and Trechial found herself lying in the middle of the bleachers, blowing off steam. Clouds scuttled along a perfect blue sky. The spring heat began to pick up its furnace blaze. A loud sigh escaped into the air as she crisscrossed her ankles and folded her arms behind her head, balancing her body on the metal.

Candice Lee bothered her. Many students were fooled by her pretty smile, whimsical laughter, and charitable nature, but to Trechial, she wore two faces. Everyone was blinded by her witchcraft, except Trechial and Maylee. It was her impeccable timing, helping students less fortunate than her by giving lunch money in front of other students, and flaunting daddy dearest doctor wealth; kissing up to teachers to gain their trust, and using them against the students she did not like. Her victim-mentality role was untouched. She played a preppy Alicia Silverstone without the Cluelessness, and people ate it up. Those baby doll black eyes held a conniving soul ready to dig its claws into her best friend.

Candice's latest move involved conveniently volunteering at the Aquatic Center where Devin did his swim thing four days a week after school and on Saturdays. She could have given Devin the note personally, so why on earth did she find the need to pass along a letter through Trechial?

Trechial chewed on her lip, her facial muscles drawing together in frustration. She knew the answer, it was plain as day...to let Trechial know she liked Devin.

Throbbing pain seared through her brain as unwanted as today's affairs. Moaning, she turned on her side and closed the daylight away until the lunch bell rang.

Candice reminded her of a poem she read in the seventh grade by Kahlil Gibran:

I have seen a face with a thousand countenance/ and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould/I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath/and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was/I have seen an old face much lined with nothing/and a smooth face in which all things were graven/I know face/ because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves/and behold the reality beneath.

In a few hours, she would face her again for the study group.