GOODFELLAS

The next day, I woke up earlier than usual. I had set my alarm to go off twenty minutes before my normal wakeup time so that I could piece together an appropriate job-hunting outfit to change into after school. Had I not procrastinated the night before (I couldn't put Catcher in the Rye down and passed out sometime during Holden's duck fixation), I could have lain something out ahead of time. As it was, I was determined to make the right first impression on any potential employers and I didn't think my uniform was going to cut it.

Once I was satisfied with the results of my closet foray, I grabbed a towel off the doorknob and started to head off into the bathroom. I took a quick peek out my window toward the front of our house... and right at that very second I saw Trip jogging by! My heart slammed into my stomach, but I immediately turned off my bedroom light and continued spying from behind the safety of my mini-blinds. I was just able to catch him as he turned off my street and made his way up Cedar Drive.

When Lisa picked me up an hour later, I was still feeling a little flustered. I slipped into the passenger seat, listening to her babble about lordonlyknows when I guess the look on my face made her stop mid-sentence to ask, "What's with you?"

I just turned to her and said. "You were right."

She crinkled up her nose and asked, "About what?"

I bit my bottom lip in anticipation of the reaction I was about to provoke and replied, "About Trip in a pair of shorts."

* * *

I spent my morning going about my usual routine, counting down the minutes until lunch. Sitting in World History and listening to Mr. Sasso drone on and on tried my patience more than usual as I watched the clock barely ticking away the time. Who could concentrate on Tiananmen Square when the promise of sharing a lunch table with Terrence C. Wilmington III was only minutes away?

After an eternity, the bell finally rang. I shoved my way through the throng of students rushing to their next class and ducked into the ladies' room for a quick hair check and lipstick application. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I also knew that my confidence always shot up a couple notches whenever I felt like I looked okay.

Inside the cafeteria, Lisa was already at our table. My shining red lips didn't escape her notice, but best friend that she is, she didn't call me out for it and merely smirked as I sat down. She patted my shoulder as she got up, explaining through a smile, "I'm going to grab us a couple sodas. Be right back."

I sat there and concentrated on trying to look cool and unaffected, hoping to strike just the right note of blasé for when Trip finally sat down.

Greg Rymer and Mike Sargento sidled down with their lunch trays completely piled with food as usual. Rymer ripped half the paper off his straw and blew the remaining wrapper off the end of it toward me, jolting me out of my trance. "What's up, Warren? Not eating today?"

Shit. I forgot about having to eat in front of Trip. I'm no Scarlett O'Hara or anything, but the thought of chewing like some common cow in front of the cute new guy was beyond horrifying. But sitting there sipping demurely on a Diet Coke like some salad-eating girly-girl was not the image I was hoping to portray either. Besides, the last thing I needed was for my stomach to start growling in the middle of English Lit. I resigned myself to the prospect of having to eat something as I joined Lisa in the lunch line.

Eyeing up the prospective meals offered in your average, high-school cafeteria is daunting enough. The menus aren't exactly being considered for worldwide culinary acclaim. But trying to find something edible and dainty was like navigating a minefield.

Meatball sub was too sloppy, spaghetti was right out. Oh, curse you, Italian Tuesday!

I settled on my usual mid-day selection: a big, soft pretzel with yellow mustard. Normally, I'd grab an apple or something, too, but I was feeling self-conscious enough as it was. I figured whatever tidbits I managed to scarf down my throat would have to provide enough sustenance for the day.

I bypassed a tray and pulled a few napkins out of the dispenser on my way back to the table.

Lisa was already there, sitting with Rymer, Sargento, Cooper Benedict... and Trip. I slid inconspicuously into the seat next to Lisa and cracked my can of soda. The guys were busy talking about their plans for the weekend.

"So, Coop," Rymer started in, "Tell your hot sister to come to my party on Saturday night."

Coop gave Rymer a warning look. "Dude. If you fuckin' say one more thing about my sister..."

Rymer ignored the threat and continued by twisting the knife. "What? She's hot. I think she's got a little crush on me, too." He elbowed Sargento before continuing, "You see the way she was sweatin' me last week when she picked us up from practice? Man, I thought she was gonna kick you two out of the car and jump me right there in the parking lot." He took a huge bite out of his sub before adding, "Trip, you gotta see this girl. Total bitch, but black hair, great ass and tits bigger than DeSanto's." This earned Rymer a shove from Coop and a meatball to the chest from Lisa, which made us all crack up.

I'd been ripping little pieces off my pretzel and trying to pop them unnoticed into my mouth. I was mid-chew when Rymer reached across the table to grab my stack of napkins. Cleaning sauce off his Oxford, he suddenly decided to switch subjects. "Oh, hey Warren! You meet Trip yet?"

I was caught off guard enough to almost choke, but luckily, I caught myself. I still had a mouthful of food, so I shielded my lips with my hand and answered as best I could. "Uh huh. We're in Mason's together." Then, I swallowed and was able to nod in Trip's direction to add casually, "How's it going?"

The guys were still laughing at the big, red stain that Rymer was unsuccessfully trying to wipe off his shirt, so Lisa and I were the only ones to absorb the full force of Trip's lazy grin when he replied, "It's good, Layla. How's it going for you?"

I almost died at the way he said that, looking right at me with half-lidded eyes and those perfect, full lips smiling out my name. I felt Lisa kick me under the table, so I knew she caught it too. Oh my God. Was he flirting with me? As intrigued as I was, my survival instincts quickly won out. The guys would never stop busting my chops if they caught me flirting with the new guy. I smiled politely and offered evasively, "It's good."

Just making courteous small talk, right?

Soon after, the bell rang, so we all grabbed our garbage from the table and ditched it in the trash on our way out the door. My locker was right outside the cafeteria, so I pit-stopped there to get my English notebook. When I stood back up, I was surprised to see Trip standing right behind me.

"Oh! I didn't see you there!" I said like a complete tool.

He looked a little taken aback. "I just thought..." and then he nodded his head in the direction of the hallway and I realized he was waiting to walk with me down to English class.

I laughed to save face and said, "Yeah, sure. Duh."

He was teasing me when he asked, "You alright there, pal?" He threw an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze against his side, which, had he added a noogie, would have made the platonic gesture complete. To this day, I have no idea what compelled him to do something like that. It's not as though I'd never been treated as one of the boys before. In fact, it's how I'd spent the first twelve years of my life, and hell, I could still hold my own with my guy friends. But Trip barely knew me and besides, I thought I'd shaken off that persona years before. Had he picked up my tomboy vibe even though I was sure I hadn't been putting it out there? Dear God. Was it Brian Hollander all over again?

The thought made me so flustered, so determined, that I did something so completely out of character. Just as we were approaching the classroom, I noticed some random kid at his locker. I saw the mirror hanging on the open door and inspiration struck. I whipped my lipstick out of my purse, telling Trip, "Hey, hold on a sec, huh?"

I uncapped the lipstick, leaned into the mirror and applied a swipe of Bing Cherry across my slacked lips, making sure Trip could see my every move. Very Marilyn Monroe. Very not tomboy.

I tossed the weapon into my purse, smacked my lips together and asked Trip innocently, "You ready?"

I caught a glimpse of the poor, unsuspecting freshman staring at me like he had just won the lottery. I guessed it wasn't every day that a senior girl dropped by his locker. I couldn't get a read on Trip, but I hoped his blank look was a good thing. "Uh, yeah. Yes."

Hmph. Take that, "pal"!

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