Wednesday, September 3, 2003.

I snuck an expecting Estrella one of my blueberry muffins as I ran out of my apartment. The tubby beagle and I are kindred spirits with our short stature and healthy appetite. Her guardian, Mrs. Marpel, a regal purple haired septarian, was too busy complaining to the super about her leaky faucet to notice.

My excitement had made it difficult to sleep, so I baked two dozen muffins. After my family’s morning rush only six remained. I brought two with me.

As I stopped to catch my breath, I saw a snail trying to cross the sidewalk. Afraid that someone might step on it, I put it on the grassy patch it was making its way towards. I took a happy breath and looked up at the clear blue sky; it was a good omen.

The subway station was so packed it seemed like it was rush hour even though it was closer to noon. When I crammed my way into the sweat smelling train, the muffled voice of the conductor informed me we had train traffic ahead. It always puzzles me. If no trains came by for 10 minutes, how could there be train traffic? Did a phantom train appear in front of us?

My stomach knotted when I checked the time. Luckily, I had Plan B, I took off my socks and change into my flip-flops. Stripping completed!

I pushed my way to the door as the train approached my station. I made it all the way to the stairs before a super slow elderly person got in front of me. I swear she was behind me when I left the train. She must be one of those ninja geriatrics that get in front of everyone but have trouble climbing the stairs.

I could have risked acrobatics, but my clumsiness would kill me. Balance and my body never went together. It was the reason my mom signed me up for gymnastic classes when I was little. Several injuries later, I got kicked out because they feared for my safety.

Hopefully a bunch of people had showed up, then they wouldn’t realize I was late. Or maybe there would be a fire drill like they had in elementary school. Whenever I forgot my book, or I was about to get called on to answer my teacher’s ambiguous questions fire drills saved me. We would stop everything and leave school. It was my third favorite thing after holidays and half days. Trips and substitutes were a mixed bag.
Before going in I took a breath and studied my index cards one last time.

I opened the glass door near the lifeguard’s table.

“The pool is closed right now,” a guy in a life guard shirt pointed at the door.
It seemed I had missed it. I had practiced all summer, taken several books out and even made index cards. But because of my lateness I failed.

“I need to set up the dividers before we open, so can you leave,” the guy scowled at me.
“Sorry.” I looked down at my shaved legs and spotted a whole patch of wild hair I missed. I couldn’t leave without trying.
“Um, about the try outs,” I whispered.
“What?” the guy’s scowl deepened.
“Swim team try outs,” I showed him the flyer with a picture of an orange octopus.
“Huh, someone actually showed up,” he grumbled. His chiseled features would look better if he smiled.
“Nick, what’s going on?” a man growled.
“Coach, there’s a girl here who wanted to try out for the team and she won’t leave,” he complained.
“I’m sorry,” I said feeling embarrassed.
A tall bald man came out of an office.
“Try outs were an hour ago,” he gestured at the clock with his muscular arm.
“I’m a tidsoptimist. I tend to under estimate the time it takes me to get to places. Plus, there was a ghost train ahead of us.”

The life guard chuckled.

“A ghost what? Actually, never mind.”
“Please, this is my last year. I graduate in the spring.”
“You should have been on time,” the coach replied.
As I walked out, I tripped over my own feet, something that happens often. My index cards flew everywhere.
I gathered up the cards, but some had fallen by coach and the lifeguard. They picked them up, read them and looked at me.
The coach sighed.
“Okay, go change,” he grunted, “I’m sure I’ll regret this.”
“No need,” I took off my shorts.
“What are you wearing?” the coach asked while shaking his head, “whatever just get in the water.”
I made my way to the pool ladder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the coach snorted, “you need a swimming cap to use the pool.”
I bit my lip.
“Let me guess you don’t have a swimming cap,” the coach pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nick give her a cap.”
“They’re $3 each,” the lifeguard said as he handed me a small clear plastic bag.
“Can I pay you later?”
“Okay but there’s a 10 percent interest fee,” he said. He was probably a business major like almost everyone in this college.
Inside the bag was a tiny blue latex cap. It looked too small to fit my head. My hair was puffy because of the humidity. I tried to put it on my head, but it popped off and took a few of my curly hairs with it.
There was an explosion of laughter. The lifeguard held his stomach. The coach looked at me and shook his head.
He grabbed the cap from my hands and stretched it out.
“Pull down on it.”
It was finally on. I put my goggles on and descended on the ladder.
I stopped as soon as my foot felt the water. I shivered.
“Hurry up get in,” the coach yelled.
I slipped and fell into the water. I opened my mouth from the cold, causing me to swallow water.
“Warm up with an easy 50 freestyle,” the coach barked.
“Um, how many laps is that?”
“The pool is 25 meters,” he said as he held his head.
“Two laps then,” I said.
I focused on kicking my legs.
“Alright now give me 50 breaststroke,” the coach instructed.
My mind went blank.
“Breaststroke,” I repeated.
“Yes breaststroke,” the coach was getting annoyed.
I remembered.
“The froggy!” I exclaimed which led to another round of hysterical laughter from the lifeguard.
I swam the breaststroke the best I could.
“50 backstroke, followed by 50 butterfly,” the coach was watching me.
I swam the backstroke and then stopped.
“50 butterfly,” the coach repeated.
“I don’t know how,” I said as I tried to catch my breath.
“Was it fun wasting my time?” the coach said as he left for his office.
“I’m sorry, I knew it was a long shot, but I really wanted to join the team,” I explained but he had already left.

I picked up my shorts and bag. The life guard came over and handed me one of my index cards.

“When did you learn how to swim?” he asked.
“I taught myself what I could with books this summer,” I replied before I headed to the locker room to change.

The wave hit me when I entered the locker room. I had expected it to come before. My body shook almost as fast as my heart beat. I managed to make it to the stall. I closed my eyes and repeated, “Grimpoteuthis is a genus of pelagic umbrella octopus that live in the deep sea. There are at least 13 species recognized, each having a different aspect from all the others such as larger ears or different colors.”

I could breathe again. It was a small one. I changed out of my wet clothing. At least I tried, I consoled myself.

I went back to pay the lifeguard for the latex cap.

“Here’s the $3.30,” I handed him the money.

He took the three dollars and gave me back the thirty cents.

“The coach wants you in his office,” he said.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the coach yelled.

The office had a large wooden desk, a bunch of trophies, and a bench.

“Nick says you taught yourself using books. You’re not terrible for someone who just learned how to swim,” he muttered. “I don’t like your lateness, so you’re on probation for a month starting tomorrow. Also, shirts add drag and you are slow as it is.”
“Thank you, coach. You won’t regret it,” I bowed.
“I already do,” he replied.
I smiled as I left the coach’s office.
The lifeguard scowled at me, but I was so happy I hugged him. He stood there until I let go, then glared at me.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said while cleaning himself with hand wipes.

I’M ON THE TEAM (technically on probation)!

Plan of Attack:
1. Be on time.
2. Don’t wear a shirt in the pool.
3. Celebrate I semi-made it into the swim team!

Thursday, September 4, 2003.

As I left my building I stopped to put on my shoes. I had lost track of time while watching “X”, the anime. I still feel like I’m on summer vacation.

I avoided making eye contact with Mrs. Marpel, who was struggling with two grocery bags and Estrella’s leash. But I felt bad pretending not to see her. Mrs. Marpel accepted my offer to carry her bags upstairs.

She made me wait until she fished out a quarter. No good deed goes unpunished, I thought as I sped down the stairs.

The subway ride was without incident, but I was still running late.

I stripped as quick as possible and wrapped my long towel around my wiggly bits.
My thighs are part of the reason I wanted to be early to practice. Since I could no longer hide behind my long shirt, I came up with a new strategy: “the quick drop and dive.” I would cover myself up with a large beach towel and then dive into the water before anyone saw anything.

Time for stealth Lo. Open the door and slide into the pool like a ninja. No one noticed because they were looking at the coach. So far so good.

I tripped on my towel and fell on my knees. “Ouch.”

“Nice of you to join us,” the coach turned, his eyebrows furrowed.

I got up and tried to smile.

“Hurry. Get in the water. We are waiting for you,” the coach’s voice reverberated over the team’s whispers.
Everyone watched me jiggle my way to the pool. I almost slipped climbing down the ladder.

When I got in the coach blew the whistle and everyone started swimming. I joined in, not knowing what was happening. People kept passing me. I kicked faster but barely moved. My lungs and legs were on fire.

The coach blew the whistle again. “Lo, you get your own lane,” he pointed to the only empty lane which furthest away from me. The giggles followed me as I ducked underneath five lane dividers. Tears swelled up in my eyes. A part of me wanted to leave the pool.

I swam as memories of school flooded my mind. I remembered all the times I cried in the bathroom after being called fat by the skinny girls in my class. I swam until my only thoughts were of breathing in and out.

The whistle roused me from my trance. It was over. Everyone else left together, talking amongst themselves. There went my splendid first impression. As I left the pool, the coach barked my name.

“Lo, you need to practice a lot more on your own. Otherwise you will slow down the team,” he said from behind a swimming magazine.
“Okay, coach” I stuck my tongue out and made faces at him.
“And if you’re late one more time, you’re off the team,” he lowered the magazine and narrowed his eyes as I sucked my tongue back in.

I thought about quitting, but I saw the team’s logo, the orange octopus and I knew I was meant to join.

Someone whimpered in the locker room.

“Are you okay?” I asked a girl with hair so golden the light made it seem like a halo.

She smiled, wiping tears from her piercing dark blue eyes and porcelain skin with freckles.

“Sorry,” she said, “going through a breakup. You know how it is.”

I have never been in a relationship much less a break up. I nodded.

“He was the one,” she wrinkled her nose at my dimply thighs. I placed my towel over them.
“Everything was going great. We were in love. He seemed happy and then...” she trailed off with a sob.
“I’m sorry” I said, not sure what to do.
“Don’t be. It was more terrible for him than me,” she blew her nose “but still I gave him the best two weeks of his life.”

Two weeks seems short but what do I know?

“I’m Britney,” she said.
“I’m Lo,” I replied while I looked at my hands.
“Interesting name,” she smiled. “Lo, we’re going to be good friends.”

She left after that. I was glad I could change by myself. I had worried that I would have to change in front of other girls, but if it came down to it, I would just change in the bathroom stall.

After a long day I dragged myself up the stairs to my apartment. As I opened the door, the garlic smell assaulted me. Mom was home early.

“I’m home” I shouted.
“Hi baby!” She yelled back from the bathroom, “How was your day?”
“Good,” I foraged for food in the kitchen, finding that all the muffins were eaten. “Two of my classes seem interesting but hard and one seems fun. I also joined the anime/manga club.”
“That’s great, you love your cartoons,” she said through a flush. “There are portabellas.”
“Thanks,” I ate the garlicky Portobello sandwich knowing I would regret it later.

I made a new friend. Since starting at this commuting college, I have made no friends. I am okay by myself, but it is nice to have someone to talk to. I am worried I will mess it up with my clumsy nature.

Plan of Attack:
1. Get to know Britney better.
2. Get to practice early.
3. Stop eating mom’s cooking.

Friday, September 5, 2003.

I didn’t sleep at all. My tummy bubbled and I burped garlic all night. My problem is the hunger monster that lurks in my stomach. Once it comes out only food, any food, can pacify it.

I drank tea until my stomach settled and could head to school. Tea is the only thing that works on my mom’s food

I got to the pool early. From the outside it doesn’t look big, but while you swim, it feels long. The light covered ceiling seems like a skylight, but the pool is in the sub-basement.

I spotted Britney in her fuchsia swim suit. She seemed so relaxed as her arms wind-milled out of the water. I wonder if I’ll ever be that good.

I changed in the empty locker room and when I came out, I saw Britney flirting with a tall and muscular guy. He had an air of a playboy. Britney giggled as she grazed his arm with her hand. She seemed self-assured. I am terrible at flirting with guys.

The first time I ever “flirted,” if you can call it that, was in junior high. I try never to think about it because every time I do, I want to dig a hole and hide.

I had the biggest crush on a boy named Jose, a middle school Adonis. He had a straight nose, short brown hair and a symmetrical face. All the girls in my grade had a crush on him.

He was in a different class, so I enjoyed him from afar. But as fate would have it he sat next to me for graduation.

We had graduation practice because otherwise no one would have a clue where to go, how to sit, stand, and how to sing the song when the actual graduation came.

Everything was great at first. I made him laugh all the time by making up weird stories about the kids in the front row. We seemed to hit it off until we had the award ceremony.
As we heard others get various awards, he complained that he got none. Suddenly my mouth moved and said he should win the best-looking award. I wanted to take it back.

There was just awkward silence before he shifted away.

Britney could have made that moment sexy while I made it clumsy and awkward.
Britney waved for me to come over.

“Lo, John. John, Lo, she’s our recruit,” Britney introduced us.

John nodded at me and I tried to copy him but ended up bowing while almost dropping the big towel hiding my pear-shaped bottom.

“This is swimming, not martial arts,” John said through his laughter. The coach came in, narrowed his eyes at Britney and me, and commanded John to take a reading of the water.

Britney linked arms with me like we were old friends.

She grinned and bit her lip, “I have my eye on someone new.”
“Oh.” She didn’t seem devastated at all.
“Okay back to work,” she saw John looking at her. “I’ll tell you about him later.”

She put on a lifeguard shirt and sat in the life guard tower. A lot of the swim team members are lifeguards, according to Britney.

I did my warm up, a slow 250 meters. I love the silence of the water when I submerge my head.

When I was done, all the swim team members got into the pool. I realized I still had practice.

I got into my lane, but no one noticed me. Practice started right away, and the coach yelled out drills.

“We will work on our endurance today,” he pointed at the drills written on his dry-erase board. “Distance not speed.”

I was shocked to find that there was a list of “Lo’s modified drills.”

“Lo you get your own drills,” he nodded.

As soon as he blew the whistle, I kicked off the wall, gliding through the water. Once my momentum slowed I kicked the water as hard as I could. When I went up to breathe, I swallowed water in my excitement. It burned my throat. I didn’t let it stop me. I kept going at a steady pace. It wasn’t quick, but it allowed me to swim with minimal rests.
My body ached.
“Good job everyone, especially you Lo,” the coach said, “but stop drinking the pool dry.”

Everyone laughed as they walked to the locker room. I pretended to stretch while I waited for them to change. But as I entered the locker room, Britney was putting on makeup at the mirror near the door.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “Whatever, there’s a concert next week, you gotta come with.”
“Okay,” I replied since I didn’t have a choice.
“Great because I hate showing up to things by myself, plus you’ll get to meet my new interest,” she snapped her eye shadow case shut.
“I see,” I replied.
“But Lo please promise you’ll look nice,” she wrinkled her nose.
“I’ll try.”
“Great, bye!” she waved as she left.

I got dressed after everyone left. I looked in the mirror before heading out. What is wrong with jeans and a t-shirt?

I spent the evening recovering. Everything hurts. I might be in worse shape than I thought. I even had trouble using the bathroom. Christopher noticed.

“You look like a robot,” he stated while concentrating on his video game. “What are they making you do at school?”
“Nothing,” I replied to my brother.
But couldn’t keep it to myself. “Don’t tell mom but I joined the swim team at school.”
“You’re not allowed to swim,” he retorted, “plus you’ll die if you exercise.”
“Just because I am clumsy doesn’t mean I can’t swim or exercise,” I replied.
“Take that,” he yelled at the game. “You’re weird.”

I am weird. I have always avoided teams and sports but when I saw the poster I knew it was an omen for me to join.
“You’re dead if mom finds out,” he said while jerking the control around.
“I know.” I had promised my mom I wouldn’t swim after almost drowning when I was little.
“It’s gonna cost you,” Christopher tapped his stomach with one hand.
“I see,” I knew he wouldn’t rat me out, but he was hungry and wanted food, “what do you want me to make you?”
“How did you know? Some chocolate chip cookies and a cheese sandwich, please!”

Those are his two favorite things. Making the cookies took longer due to my limited mobility. But as I ate a cookie and watched him kill his opponents, I felt better having shared my secret.


Plan of Attack:
1. Learn about Britney’s favorite topic, fashion.
2. Give up sweets. Sugar is an addiction (but such a yummy addiction).
3. Learn the art of flirting. (But how? Should I get a book on it?)

Saturday, September 6, 2003.

Weekends are always terrible for my diet and sweets are too good to give up.

I went to the beach with mom, dad, and my brother. I got to hear the ocean and smell the salty air. The only bad part was I noticed that everyone there had a nicer body than me. I had to beg my mom to let me go into the ocean, but she conceded since it was calm.

I enjoyed jumping over the waves until one knocked me down. I had trouble getting up because new waves kept crashing into me.

My mom freaked out and called the lifeguard over to save me. It was rather embarrassing. The waves were only two feet high.

Plan of Attack:
1. Avoid large waves.
2. Consider hypnotism for weight-loss.
3. Research food that helps you grow taller.

Sunday, September 7, 2003.

We stopped by Borders on our way back home from our weekly grocery shopping trip. I found a book on how to flirt but was too embarrassed to buy it after a group of skinny girls snickered at me while I skimmed it.

I got a 30-day diet plan book instead. Before learning to flirt I need confidence, and to be confident, I need to lose 30 lbs.

I wanted to start my new plan right away but seeing how it is a holiday weekend it won’t work. I plan to read the book and start next week. I would have also bought a fashion magazine, but all the clothing looked like bad abstract art and cost thousands of dollars.

I bought an almond chocolate croissant, most of which my brother stole. I was feeling ambitious, so I decided that I would attempt to replicate the croissant at home.

"Mom, I had the most delicious croissant drizzled with chocolate and filled with almonds. I want to make it at home," I beamed.

"That sounds heavenly, let’s go find the recipe" she said as she led me to the cookbook section. She made me scan a whole wall of cookbooks until we found one with a good wild mushroom risotto.

"But weren’t we getting a cookbook so I could replicate the almond chocolate croissant?"

"Huh? That sounds yummy let’s go buy it at the café," she replied as we headed down the electric stairs, A.K.A. escalators.

She was in her own world. I promise I will not eat her risotto.

Plan of Attack:

1. Read 30-day diet book.

2. Look up croissant recipe.

3. Ask Britney what fashion magazines she gets.

Monday, September 8, 2003.

I never learn!

Plan of Attack:

1. Never eat mom’s cooking, especially her mushroom risotto.

2. Try croissant recipe.

3. Plan 30-day diet.

Tuesday, September 9, 2003.

A killer practice!

The coach had us do a pyramid drill. It is called a pyramid because you start with a low number then peak and then go back down to the small number: 25 meters freestyle, 50 meters breaststroke, 75 meters backstroke, 100 meters freestyle, 75 meters backstroke, 50 meters breaststroke, and 25 meters freestyle with 30 second rest in between. Somehow the pool seemed longer and longer with each passing lap. I didn’t even get to finish the workout. The coach yelled that it was it for the day and we would continue tomorrow.
I am dreading it.

As I combed my hair in the locker room, Britney confirmed that I am going to the concert with her on Friday.

“So did you find what you’ll wear?” Britney said as she eyed my clothing.
“I’m not sure,” I struggled with the comb. My arms turned to jelly from the practice.
“Promise me you’ll look nice, okay?” she seemed concerned.
“Maybe I’ll go shopping after my class,” I tried to appease her.

Britney gave me a big smile. “Want me to go with you? I’m amazing at picking clothes for other people, and, for myself.”

“Um.” I avoid going shopping because it depresses me when nothing fits.
“Well, if you don’t want me to come,” Britney pretended to sniffle and wipe tears out of her eyes.
“Sure let’s go shopping together,” I conceded.
“Great! Soho has a bunch of cool stores,” she listed stores I had never heard off.

I hoped it would be a short trip, but Britney made it into a whole excursion and I needed to be home before my brother came back.

“My class ends at 2:15.”
“Why don’t you skip? I’m sure you won’t miss much,” she linked arms with me.

I wanted to tell her no, but I have a problem saying that one amazing word. My stomach burned from missing class.

Britney hijacked my shopping trip and stopped at each store to try on clothing. It looked amazing on her figure. I enjoyed the trip, but by the third store I had to go home.

“Look at all the amazing stuff I found,” exclaimed Britney as we headed to the next store.
“Britney, I have to go home now,” I said.
“Lo is that not the cutest top you have ever seen?” Britney pointed at mannequin wearing a skimpy low-cut shirt and dragged me into the store.

I plotted my escape as she tried on clothing. I knocked on the dressing room door.

“My stomach feels funny, I think I might have diarrhea.” I ran away before Britney could reply.

I hate using my emergency excuse, but it was the only way not to offend Britney. My life would be a lot easier if I learned how to say no.

I barely made it home on time. Christopher arrived a few minutes later, demanding food.

Plan of attack:
1. Learn how to say NO.
2. Cut down on food.
3. Avoid shopping (at least until I lose weight).

Wednesday, September 10, 2003.

I doubted my ability to endure practice; the coach added push-ups and sit-ups between laps to increase our strength. I couldn’t even drag myself out of the water.

The coach protested, but I gave him a dirty enough look he let me use the stairs. I still couldn’t complete the entire routine, but the coach told me to do the cool down instead.

After it was over, I floated on my back for 5 minutes, unable to move. Why would anyone put themselves through this? The lights looked like mini suns. I heard splashing as Britney’s arms fanned out of the water one at a time. I guess I know how she has such a great body. She is an impressive person, strong and confident, yet feminine. I want to be just like her.

In the locker room she showed me some clothing she bought after I “abandoned her for the bathroom.” She used Gothic magazines for inspiration, so everything she got was black and covered in holes.

Plan of Attack:
1. Buy clothing for the concert.
2. Survive two more days of practice.
3. Be more like Britney.

Thursday, September 11, 2003.

I couldn’t move, every motion triggered pain. I considered skipping school and practice. My mom wanted me to stay home because it’s 9/11.

I went to school anyway. Unfortunately, I had a quiz in physics. The teacher hinted about it last class but as I went shopping with Britney, I had no clue. I flunked my first quiz, worth 10 percent of the final grade.

No one was at the pool. I changed for nothing. Putting on a one piece was twice as hard because I couldn’t bend.

The sign on the coach’s office read “practice is at the gym.” I wanted to pretend I didn’t see the note and skip for the day, but as I was about to head home, I ran into Nick.

I have been avoiding him after the hugging incident, another case of my awkward social skills. He always looks serious. I am not sure if he scowls at everyone or just me.

He looked me up and down. I blushed. I had changed back into my sweatpants and a shirt that had food stains on it. Why did I choose today to dress lazy?

“You look ready,” he nodded, “the coach sent me to look for you.”

Nick had to slow down because my legs could barely move. He still walked ahead of me. He didn’t make small talk, which was good because walking took all my concentration.

When we got to the gym, the team was stretching on yoga mats. Before I could thank my escort, he disappeared. As soon as I plopped down on my mat, the coach dimmed the lights.

“Today we will do yoga to loosen those tense muscles,” the coach explained with a gentle and calm voice.

I have always wanted to do yoga. It is supposed to be peaceful. Someone should tell the coach.

I kept almost falling while we stood on one leg. My favorite pose was the corpse pose, so named because after that sweat fest you feel like you died.

Britney seemed worried that I would have nothing to wear, pointing at the sweats and stained shirt. I wanted to explain it was the only clothing I managed to put on. But instead I promised her I would let her put makeup on me.

Britney was excited about giving me a makeover. Makeup highlights your best qualities and hides your worst ones. Her eyes grazed my bottom as she said this. I took it as you can always put make up on regardless of thigh size.

I never wear makeup, in part due to laziness but also because one time I tried to put on mascara and ended up in the hospital. It took two years to get rid of the nickname “one eye Lo.” Since then I stayed away from makeup.

I will overcome my fear just for Britney. Hopefully she has a steadier hand than me.

Plan of attack:
1. Wear decent clothing to the concert.
2. Try not to be awkward when meeting Britney’s friends.
3. Avoid gassy food so as not to look puffy (read this in one of Britney’s magazines).

Friday, September 12, 2003.

I decided to just wear my Nirvana t-shirt and jeans. I told my mom I had a manga club event. Lying is terrible but sometimes it is easier than telling the truth.

 Britney did my makeup.
“You are a real pro. You didn’t poke my eye.”
“Thanks, but I doubt anyone can poke their eye putting on makeup,” she applied mascara as I held my breath.
“You’d be surprised,” I whispered. “You are amazing!”
“Too sweet. I want to become a famous makeup artist one day,” she studied my face and gave me the finishing touches.
“I’m sure you will,” I looked in the mirror and found a new me.
“You look hot. You should wear makeup more often,” she suggested.

I don’t know if I looked “hot” or not, but I looked different. When we stepped out of the locker room John ran to Britney.

“Brit, can you cover for my shift tomorrow,” he asked with his hands in a fake prayer position.
“Sure,” she said.

John noticed me.

“What’s the special occasion?” he pointed to my face.
“We’re going to a concert,” Britney beamed, “and I wanted Lo to look presentable.”
“Not bad Lo,” John said.
“Would you like to come?” I asked, feeling bad we hadn’t invited him.
“No, I’ve got a hot date and don’t think I’ll get any sleep tonight,” he winked.
“Who’s the lucky girl” Britney forced a smile.
“You don’t know her. She’s from one of my classes.” He looked at his watch, “have fun and thanks Brit, I owe you one.”
“You sure do,” she sighed but then smiled at me, “let’s go.”

We were late. The trains were slower than usual. The beer scent enveloped us as we pushed through the crowd. Britney spotted someone and walked ahead of me. I followed her but did not see there was a step which caused me to lose my balance. I bumped into something.

“Watch it!” a male voice said as I was shoved.

This place is scary, I thought. It was a bar with a small stage. I never go out at night unless I’m with my family.

Britney motioned for me to I hurry over.

“Are you okay?” a guy asked and helped me get steady.
“You know me. Clumsy.” I grumbled to myself.
“That’s Martin,” Britney introduced the guy helping me. “This is Jackson,” she motioned to a guy next to her who was fidgeting with something on his wrist. “This is Lo.”

I bowed as she said my name. I may need to cut down on my anime.

When I looked up, I saw Britney biting her lip. She wasn’t looking at me but at Jackson. He had bowed too. His long hair covered his face. His shorter friend elbowed him and extended his hand.

I shook it like my grandpa had taught me. It felt sticky and warm.

Martin chuckled. “Wow, you got quite the grip there.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lo,” Jackson said as he pushed Martin aside and grabbed my hand. His big baby blue eyes made him seem innocent but the way he half smiled, and half grinned with his thin lips said otherwise. He was tall and lean. Muscles peeked out from his short-sleeve shirt.

“Let’s get drinks” Britney grabbed Jackson and led him away.

Martin ran his fingers through his short, dirty blond hair. He seemed nervous. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So...” he asked while his eyes shifted to the floor, “how do you know Britney?
“Mm--” I stumbled for a second, “we’re on the swim team.”
“Cool,” he made small talk.

I nodded. I am terrible at idle chit chat.

“So you must be good at swimming?” he looked towards Jackson and Britney, who were arguing at the bar.
“No, I’m so slow I have my own lane,” I replied.
He laughed.
“I’m serious. I only just learned to swim this summer.”

“No way.”
“It’s a long story but when I was little, I almost drowned. I still don’t remember what happened, but my mom never let me swim in a pool again.” I sighed.
“So why did you learn to swim?” he focused on me.
“I always loved swimming. When I was little, I would pretend to be a Dumbo octopus dancing in the water”, I smiled at the memory of taking baths in my rainbow bathing suit. My mom would place towels on the floor to contain my splashing.
“Even if I’m not good at it, yet,” I added.
“I’m sure you are better than me,” he smiled.

I somehow doubted it but before I could protest, he changed subjects.

“So what kind of music do you like?” he titled his head.
“I like metal but also Nirvana,” I pointed at my shirt, “you?”
“I enjoy punk. Nirvana, never enjoyed it.” he replied.
“What?! How can you not like Nirvana?” I almost yelled.
“Eh,” he shrugged, “overrated.”
“You don’t get it then.” I tried to explain to him. “It’s poetry.”
“It sounds like wailing and mumbling,” he retorted.
“Don’t take things at face value. Kurt plays with words better than most poets today,” I said. “He shows you raw emotions. Emotions that don’t conform, that aren’t sappy or happy.”
“Maybe I’ll give it another listen,” he replied.

Jackson and Britney came back with beers. Britney complained that the bar didn’t have apple martinis.

“What are you two talking about?” Jackson asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Just music,” Martin answered before I could.
“I like all music,” Britney said. “I even like country music.”
“Lo, what sort of music do you like?” Jackson asked.
“Metal,” Martin replied for me.
“You might like today’s bands then,” Jackson said with a smile. “Is this your first show?”
“It is my first punk concert,” Britney tried again to join the conversation.

I nodded. I had been to a few metal shows, but my mom forced my dad to go with me. This was my first show without supervision.

“Well then you are both in for a pleasant treat,” he winked at me. “They are about to start. You should go to the back. It is safer there.”
“Okay,” Britney smiled.

We went to the back. Before the band played, she looked at me.

“What do you think?” she asked.
“They’re nice, I guess,” I replied.
“Not that. Do you think he likes me?” She looked so hopeful, “we even went to buy drinks together.”

I didn’t know what to say. I never understood guys.

“How could he not?” I ventured.

Britney is kind and pretty. She uses makeup and dresses well. Guys are always looking at her long legs in her short skirts. Her straight hair is shiny and well organized. So how could he not like her?

“I think so too,” she smiled. “Jackson is the guy I had my eye on.”

When I glanced at the front Martin looked back. Our eyes met. I smiled, but he turned away. Jackson also saw me and winked. They are so different.

The room went dark. Then the colored lights went on. The band climbed onto the tiny elevated floor the bars calls a stage. The crowd cheered.

The singer had golden dreadlocks and wore shorts. His band mates all had shirts that showed their tattoos. A banner behind the band had a circle with three arrows and the words “Strike Anywhere.”

There was silence and then it began. The drums, guitar, bass, and voice made my heart reverberate. Everyone in the front jumped up and down as they sang along.

After the first song the singer said, “I would like to thank everyone for joining us today. We are very excited to be here.” He paced on stage, “our next song is an answer to the war going on right now. People are dying without cause. It’s called Timebomb Generation.”

I needed to be near the band and the energy. I left Britney and made my way towards the front. Everyone towered over me. I was almost at the front when people formed a circle.
They moved like they were swimming in music, punching the floor and swinging their arms. Jackson and Martin were moving too, responding to the rhythm with their bodies.
I got pushed into the center. I felt a dull pain as I got punched in my chest. It was the guy I had bumped before. Jackson ran towards me and guided me to the wall.

“You shouldn’t be in the front. You’re too small,” he yelled over the music.
“I wanted to be closer to the energy,” I replied as I rubbed my chest.
“Does it hurt?”
“I’ll be okay,” I answered.
“It’s safe here. I’ll check on you later. Stay against the wall. This is my favorite song...” he said as he merged into the crowd.
“I owe you one” I shouted behind him, but I doubted he heard me.
Britney had a worried look on her face. She mouthed “Are you okay?”

I gave her two thumbs up.

The rest of the concert I stood by the wall. I jumped up and down while I tried to sing along with the lyrics I could make out. Jackson glanced over at me a few times and I also gave him a thumbs up. Martin danced and sang the whole concert. He seemed consumed by it.

I understand that. On bad days I lie in the dark with headphones blasting Nirvana on my Walkman while everyone sleeps. I submerge myself in the music until everything else fades away.

Does Martin also have bad days like that, I wondered.

As if he read my mind he looked up and smiled. His hazel eyes lit up, but they still looked sad. I felt an urge to hug him.

Then the music died down and the mass of people made its way to the door. Jackson and Martin walked over to me and then we joined Britney. We were at the end of a human traffic jam.

“What did you guys think?” Jackson asked as we left the venue.
“I liked the drums,” Britney answered.
“It was so awesome. I loved it!” I felt my heart beating fast, keeping the rhythm of the band alive. “The singer was political, and they sang political songs. The music was pure electricity. Oh, I wish it never ended. I want to feel alive again.”

Martin looked at me.

“Does that mean you are dead?” Jackson teased. “Martin she’s a zombie. Your life’s quest is now over.”
“Huh?” I looked to Britney for an explanation, but she was busy fixing her makeup.
Jackson explained, “he has a thing for zombies.”
“Yeah, I like zombie movies,” he glared at Jackson, “but I wouldn’t say I have a thing for zombies.”
“I always thought you wanted to have sex with a zombie chick,” Jackson elbowed him, “oh wait maybe that was me.”

Martin blushed and gave him a dirty look.

Britney finished. “So what are we talking about?”
“Zombies,” I wanted her to join in.
“Eh, they’re too disgusting to look at so I avoid movies with them in it.”
“Zombies aren’t just in movies,” I corrected her. “There’s this zombie game that is awesome, Resident Evil. My brother is the best at it.”

He was probably playing it right then.

“Wait. What time is it?” It was probably late.
“Eleven,” Britney answered.
“Oh crap!” I told my mom I had a manga club event, but I said I would be home at 10 at the latest.

I got away with being late because my mom did over-time at her job and my dad picked her up. But my parents were probably already home, and I wasn’t there.

“Why don’t you call them now?” Martin said as we approached a phone. “I have to make a call too.”

I rushed to the phone and realized that I had no money. Martin gave me a quarter.

I was correct. My parents were mad. My mom sounded tired and worried. She didn’t want me to take the subway alone so late at night, so she said they would pick me up from Britney’s dorm.

“Britney, where’s your dorm?” I asked while biting my lip, “my parents will pick me up there.”

I told my mom the address. Then we all got on the subway.

“Wow, you have strict parents,” Britney said.
“I wouldn’t call them strict. They’re overprotective,” I sighed. I was so embarrassed.
“It must be nice,” Martin muttered.

I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. We sat in silence for a while.

“How old are you anyway?” Jackson asked.
“I’m twenty and a half,” I replied. “I turn twenty-one in February,”
“It sounds like you’re still a kid,” he said.
“I am,” I muttered to myself.
I didn’t like being the center of attention. “You guys dance beautifully,” I said without thinking.

“Thanks,” Martin answered, “I guess”
“You made it sound gay,” Jackson added.
We all laughed.
“So, what are you studying,” Martin asked.
“Right now, I am taking a theater class, a political science class, a physics class and an English Lit class,” I replied. “How about you?”
“We’re majoring in computer science,” Jackson interrupted and slid next to Martin, trying to wrap his arm around him.
“So what did Sylvia say when you called her?” he prodded. “Was she mad and jealous that you were hanging out with me?”
“She’s okay,” Martin shrugged.

I wanted to ask who Sylvia was. I looked at Britney, but she was busy glancing at Jackson, who must’ve noticed my confused face.

“She’s the girlfriend,” Jackson explained, “I think she’s a grade A bitch.”

“Shut up.” Martin glared at Jackson.
“Oh,” is all I could say.

“I’m just happy she’s back home so I don’t have to see her ugly face,” Jackson grinned. “Plus, I get to have him all to myself.”

Jackson tried to hug Martin, who shoved him away.

I walked with them to their dorm building. It was in a quiet street that had small lamps along the street. It almost felt like we were in France, not Brooklyn. Next to one of the lamps I spotted my dad’s car. I waved at my parents but only my dad waved back, which meant my mom was pissed.

“Thank you, I had a magical night!” I called back to Britney, Martin, and Jackson as I ran to the car.
When I got in my mom grilled me right away, “who are they? Why is the manga club out this late?”

“Those were Britney, Jackson, and Martin. They invited me to a special screening of an old anime movie,” I half lied. There are parts that were true.
“I don’t like them, especially the girl with all the holes on her dress. I also don’t like you being out this late.”

And those words were the last words she said the whole drive home. She also didn’t wish me a good night like she normally does.

Plan of Attack:
1. Go to more shows.
2. Learn more about punk music.
3. Make mom and Britney macaroons, as an apology and a thank you.

Saturday, September 13, 2003.

I still feel the electricity of last night. I may have gotten in trouble for it but it was worth it.

Or maybe not... I am getting the silent treatment, the ultimate punishment in my family. It usually lasts an hour but mom still hasn’t spoken to me.

Since today was our pizza movie night, I hoped my mom would stop being mad, but she ignored me when I tried to talk to her about the toppings we were getting.

I baked chocolate and coconut macaroons, one of her favorites, but she refused to eat them. I saved half to give to Britney and the rest I gave to my brother, cousins and dad as a pre-dinner dessert while we waited for the pizza delivery.

The movie turned out to be a “real turkey,” as my brother called it, but it was still fun because my brother made jokes about it the whole time.

I enjoyed being with my family even with an angry mom.

Plan of Attack:

1. Make mom a special breakfast.

2. Make an I’m sorry card for mom.

3. Buy CD of band to relive the magic.

Sunday, September 14, 2003.

Special breakfast ignored by mom but enjoyed by my dad and brother. Sorry card read but silent treatment continued. Bah!

Plan of Attack:

1. Make mom oatmeal to take to work.

2. Never stay out so late.

3. Avoid making mom so mad.

Monday, September 15, 2003.

The torment continues!

The coach had me do a special routine focused on flip turns. He wants me to flip so that my feet touch and push off the wall.

I’ve seen Britney do it. She made it look easy. So, I thought I was lucky not having to do the regular practice. Wrong. Water kept going up my nose. I felt like I was drowning. My throat still burns from all the coughing I did.

There were times I miscalculated and bumped my head against the wall. Other times I flipped too early and couldn’t push off.

I heard laughter.

“You’re doing it all wrong. Use the T shaped line for your last kick and breath before somersaulting. Then as you flip, exhale out of your nose,” the stranger told me. I tried it again. It worked! The water didn’t go up my nose.

“Okay, now after you do the flip straighten your back and your arms. Use them to frame your head, and place your hands on top of each other, like a rocket, to create stream line,” he showed.

I took my goggles off to see better. I copied what Nick did.

“Now try to flip and add the torpedo arms,” he commanded.

I did it and it was better.

“You almost got it. After you flip, plant your feet against the wall and push off. Go ahead,” he suggested.

I could finally flip correctly. I came out of the water ready to thank him, but he vanished.

I wonder why Nick helped me. He was probably in a good mood.

After practice I couldn’t talk. My throat felt like it was on fire, but I smiled knowing I had mastered my flip.

I was looking forward to seeing Britney, so I could give her the macaroons. She hadn’t gone to practice though. The coach also noted it, but since she was usually there, he didn’t seem upset.

I went to the library to look for a reference book for my political science paper. I spotted her at a table reading something.

“Hi Britney!” I whispered and tapped her shoulder to get her attention.
She turned around and frowned.
“Oh, it’s just you,” she went back to her work.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.

I wasn’t sure what to do, so I left without giving her the treats. I walked around and people watched. They were either in groups or couples.

I wonder what I did wrong. Was it that my parents had picked me up? Or I bowed? Or I talked too much? Or too little? I moaned so loudly that a lady looked at me. I ran away.

I was never good at friendships. I am in awe of long friendships. Martin and Jackson seemed comfortable with each other. I don’t feel comfortable with anyone.

My mom is still giving me the silent treatment. This is the longest one yet. I suck at making people happy.

Plan of Attack:
1. Read up on friendship.
2. Learn to make people happy.
3. Make muesli for mom.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003.

I woke up feeling down even though it was sunny outside. Plus, my throat still stung from yesterday. The fact that my mom and Britney hate me makes me want to cry. And I still have no clue what to write for my political science paper. I can’t even think of a topic. In physics, I am lost.

During practice we worked on speed. I tried to do my drills, but I felt a heaviness in my chest and a knot in my stomach. I kept trying to find a solution to my problems, but it seemed hopeless.

I wanted to swim past all my troubles, but my chest felt tighter and tighter. It was one of my attacks.

I rushed out of the pool. I needed to get to a stall. The coach asked where I was going. I barely got out “bathroom.”

All the air was squeezed out of my lungs. I focused on opening the door to the locker room. My body shook and the world spun.

It took all my concentration to slow my breathing. I started my routine, reciting in my head, “Grimpoteuthis is a genus of pelagic umbrella octopus that live in the deep sea. There are at least 13 species recognized, each having a different aspect from all the others such as larger ears or different colors. They eat crustaceans, bivalves, worms and copepods. They live an average 3 to 5 years.” 

“Are you okay?” someone asked.
I couldn’t answer.
“You have asthma?” she seemed concerned.

Asthma is better than this, I thought. But I couldn’t speak.

“Should I get the coach?” the girl headed towards the door.
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine” I struggled to get out.

I hate the way people look at me, like I am crazy. Once they know they walk on eggshells around me like anything they do will trigger my attacks.

“Do you need your inhaler?”

 I noticed it was Alina. She is nice but not very approachable. She only smiles when she’s with Britney.

“Sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s okay, my cousin has asthma too,” she was trying to comfort me. “Where’s your inhaler?”

I smiled. The wave passed.

“It wasn’t too bad, so I don’t need it.” I looked down at my hands.
“But you were shaking and everything,” she eyed me. “Maybe I should get the coach.”
“Truth is, I forgot it at home,” I felt bad lying, “I’m forgetful and clumsy that way.”
“Oh,” she seemed to have believed me, “well the coach shouldn’t push you so hard.”
“He doesn’t know” I said without thinking.
“What? Why not?”
“I didn’t think he would let me stay if he knew. I’m still on probation”
“He isn’t like that. You need to tell the coach.”
“Alright, I’ll tell him. I’m just having a bad week.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My mom is mad at me, I think I might have lost the one friend I have in this team, I have a paper due in two days and all I have so far is war is bad,” I ranted.
“Sounds rough,” she is a caring person.
I worried that my attack would return, “You should go back to practice.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to tell the coach.”
“I will,” I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and if you want, I can be your friend too,” she added as she closed the door.

In hopes she might forgive me I made my mom’s favorite: extra garlicky mushrooms. That would be one less worry. I hope tomorrow will be better.

Plan of attack:
1. Make garlic mushrooms until my mom forgives me.
2. Apologize to Britney for any wrong doing.
3. Brainstorm ideas for the political science paper.

Wednesday, September 17,2003.

My mom left me some oatmeal for breakfast. It meant she was no longer mad. I was glad and ate heartily. 

If only I could get Britney to stop being mad. I came up with the plan to get to practice early and apologize to her. I was still not sure what I had done wrong, but I was sure I offended her.

John was the only one at the pool. He was on the floor stretching. He waved me over.

“So how did the concert go?” he asked as I attempted to touch my towel covered feet.

 I knew I couldn’t explain how great it had been, but I was excited to tell someone about it.

“It was awesome! The band was so cool”
“Nice,” he looked towards the coach’s office.
“I also met two of Britney’s friends, Jackson and Martin” I added, after I touched my feet.

I sighed when I remembered that Britney was still mad at me.

“Jackson and Martin? Never heard of them. But Britney’s always lining them up,” John seemed concerned. “What’s happening with Britney? She hasn’t been to practice all week, and she skipped work today.”

I kept silent, knowing it was my fault.

“Let me know if you hear anything,” he said before getting into the pool.

I sat on the floor while glancing at the locker room every time someone came out, but Britney didn’t come to practice.

I hoped that I could finish with everyone else, but I couldn’t even with modified drills.

I don’t know how the others do it. Their drills are twice as hard as mine, yet they seem fresh after practice. Nick usually stays to practice more.

As I gathered my things, I watched him fly through the water in awe. He is graceful, yet his movement has such force. He swims like a dolphin. I was about to go back into the pool then the coach’s voice stopped me.

“Don’t be stupid” the coach said shaking his head.
“Huh?” I wondered what I did wrong this time.
“Don’t overdo it, just stick to our daily practices.”

I wanted to remind him, he was the one that had told me I needed to practice more but he seemed worried, so I let it go. 

“It’s more than swimming. It’s like an art form,” I whispered.
“Nick’s been at it a long time,” the coach smiled. “I taught him how to swim when he was a little kid. He was obsessed with it after his father died. I had to yell at him to get out of the pool. That part of him still hasn’t changed. Anyway, rushing won’t make you better. It’ll just get you injured.”
“Okay, coach” I said and bowed like they do in anime.
The coach frowned at me and muttered “she is strange” as he walked away.

I ran into Alina in the locker room.

“Are you feeling better? Did you tell the coach?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Mom isn’t mad at me anymore, but I don’t know how to apologize to Britney.”
“Why? What did you do to Brit?” she narrowed her eyes.
“After the concert my parents came to pick me up,” I confessed.
“Weird, but so?” she shrugged.
“I think I might have embarrassed her,” I sighed “I’ve been trying to say sorry, but I have failed to do so.”
“That can’t be it,” Alina said. “Do you have class after this?”
“No, I have to work on a paper.”
“Great. Brit’s in my next class,” she looked down at her watch, “crap, we better hurry or I’ll be late.”

We made it with a few minutes to spare. Britney was sitting by a window with her earphones on. She looked lonely with her shoulders hunched over.

I walked over to her and tapped her shoulder. She gave me a look. It wasn’t a glare but something like it.

“Um…John asked about you. He seemed worried,” I tried to start a conversation which for me is no easy task.
“Don’t make it better by mentioning John,” she hissed.
“So what’s wrong Brit?” Alina asked.
“This doesn’t involve you Lina,” Britney snapped back.
“Wow. Someone’s moody,” Alina saw my worried face, “she has been trying to apologize to you for the concert.”
“I don’t need an apology from a backstabbing bitch,” Britney grumbled with her head down on her folded arms.
“Huh?” Alina and I asked in unison. I wasn’t sure I heard her right. I’ve been called many things in my life, pig, fat, stupid, etcetera, but never a backstabbing bitch.
Alina took the reins.
“She wanted to apologize because she was worried she embarrassed you by having her parents pick her up,” she explained, “but what’s this about back stabbing?”

Britney took a deep breath.

“Jackson asked me for your information,” she rolled her eyes at me. “I told him I had to ask you if it was okay to give it to him, but he kept on bothering me about it.” 
“Huh?” I was so confused.
“He wants to ask you out,” Alina answered.
“A guy wants to ask me out?” I scoffed. “A cute guy, like Jackson, might like me, a round, short, curly-haired girl? Impossible.”  
“I was shocked too,” Britney slammed her book down. “Why her and not me?”

That stung, but I tried to comfort Britney by putting my hand on her shoulder. She recoiled from my touch.

“I’m sorry,” I said and walked away.

Alina was about to stop me, but the professor came in.

“We’ll talk later,” Alina said.

I felt dizzy as I walked down the hallway. I had too many thoughts racing through my mind, all mixed in together. I headed home early to write my paper.

 I stared at the computer screen and then flipped through the pages of the library book. I only typed my name. No other words came out.

Britney popped into my mind. I replayed our conversation and realized that she stopped seeing me as a friend. It was the first time I had lost of a friend from jealousy.

I watched Fruits Basket, an anime, for a while, my cousin got for me from Elizabeth Mall for a while. It has a way of sucking you in.

The phone rang when the protagonist was about to confess his love. I paused the video. I wasn’t sure who would call, but I rushed to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” I asked in a groggy, anime marathon induced state.
“Hello,” a male voice answered, “can I speak to Lo?”
“Um--” I wasn’t sure what to do “Speaking?”
“Hey, it’s Jackson,” his voice became warmer, “we met at the concert.”
“I remember.”
“Britney, gave me your number. It took a little finessing but girls just can’t resist the good old Jackson charm.”
“I guess not,” I didn’t know what to do.
“So wanted to grab some coffee?”
“Um--” was all that came out.

It felt like I was betraying Britney, even if she wasn’t my friend now.

“You said you owed me one for heroically saving your life at the concert.”

I thought he hadn’t heard me.

“Okay,” I was not sure about it.
“Great! I will see you the day after tomorrow at two by the coffee spot near your school. Britney says it’s a ‘chill place,’ her words.” 
“Sure,” I muttered before he hung up.

I guess Alina was right. But is Jackson interested in me or does he want to be my friend? I made muffins for my family to think about it. Baking often clears my mind.

A batch of cranberry orange muffins later I am still confused, but the muffins came out great, tart and sweet.

Plan of Attack:
1. Gain insight about the Jackson situation from manga.
2. Write Political Science paper.
3. Win Britney back.

Thursday, September 18, 2003.

I stayed up all night thinking about what Britney said and how she reacted. I know seeing Jackson violates a friendship code. I should cancel, but this was the first time a guy called me. Plus, Britney already stopped being my friend.

I am glad school is closed. When I mentioned it to my mom, she took the day off. We headed to Long Island to look for deals at her favorite stores.

I should have stayed home writing my paper, but still have no clue what to write about. 

My mom shared her work stories while my dad drove. Her colleagues were arguing about something. My mom is the breadwinner in the house since my dad was laid off. Dad and a coworker started their own business. It hasn’t taken off yet.

 “Baby, I’ve been meaning to ask you, are your pants too tight? Do you need new ones?” she turned and asked me.
“No,” I gave her a confused look. My mom is random like that.
“I have been noticing you walking funny,” she explained, “so I thought your pants were too tight.”

I had hoped that only my brother noticed my extra awkward mobility. I had to redirect her focus.

“Mom, for the pizza movie night let’s rent the spy movie you wanted to watch, remember?”

It seemed to have worked. She talked about the movie and how excited she was about it.

My mom loves spy movies. She always tells my dad he could have been a great spy because whenever we go shopping he waits in the mercy chairs (the chairs they have for the husbands and kids who must wait hours for their wives and moms to buy one thing) and watches everyone. On our way home, he tells her everything he saw and my mom wows at all the information he gathered.

I listened to Katatonia’s Viva Emptiness on my CD player after my mom fell asleep. Since she does so much overtime, she is exhausted.

I felt my heart race at the memory of the concert.

I day dreamed about my coffee hang out. I feel guilty because a part of me is excited, yet I know it will hurt Britney.

Shopping took extra-long so when we got home it was late afternoon. I sat in front of the computer and zoned out. I never enjoyed writing papers. Other people wrote things so well I couldn’t paraphrase them. Writing a story about papers that wrote themselves sounded like a lot more fun.

I looked at the clock. It was getting late. I had to make dinner for my family and my brother would be home from school soon.

Then I realized, I might have a date tomorrow. Panic set in. It’s my first date ever. What are the procedures for first dates? I had no idea. But is it a date? We are just grabbing coffee. It doesn’t sound like a date since dates, from what I have seen in movies and TV, mean dinner and a movie. This is more like friends hanging out.

“What’s for dinner?” I hadn’t noticed my brother come in.
“Cookies,” I answered without paying attention.
“Okay,” he seemed happy “I’m not sure mom would be okay with just cookies for dinner though.”
“Right.” I would make friendship cookies for Jackson and my team. I don’t know the team. I do my best not to get in their way. But everyone loves cookies, so they should enjoy them. 

I guess I won’t sleep tonight, but I doubt I would have any way.

“Can you make me a sandwich, please” my hungry brother interrupted my thoughts.
“No problem. One onion on onion bread sandwich coming right up.” I teased him. He hates onions more than any other vegetable.
“No onions please, just cheese,” he said and went to the living room to play games.

Plan of Attack:
1. Hand in paper and wish for the best.
2. Sneak in cookies for the team.
3. Prepare topics of conversation for Jackson.

Friday, September 19, 2003.

My classes have turned out harder than I thought they would be. I dread midterms. I pulled an all-nighter writing a paper I am sure is terrible. I fill it with random quotations and jumbled thoughts and reactions. Not my best work, but at least it is done. 

My cookies, however, came out soft and chocolaty. I had to hide them from my family.
I took a quick power nap to freshen up. I was so tired that my mind shut down; I slept with no worries or thoughts.

Without showering and wearing sweat pants I ran to class. I need to hand my paper before the end of class. I can’t afford a grade lowering.

I wasn’t the only one who was late to class, five people arrived after me. I kept yawning which made my professor glare at me. The nap had not been enough. All I want to do is go home. As class finished, the professor announced the midterm is in two weeks.

I rushed to meet Jackson. I waved to him and walked into Britney’s favorite tea spot. I hoped it wasn’t a date because I was sure I looked awful, with bags under my eyes, extra crazy curly hair and sweat pants. I was the epitome of not sexy.

“Hey,” he said and motioned to a chair.
“Hi,” I sat down across from him.
“So.” His awkwardness made me feel more comfortable.
“I made you cookies,” I handed him a package.
“Thanks,” he examined the cookies, “that was unexpected.”
“They’re chocolate chip,” I smiled at him “I hope you like them.”
“No one’s ever made me cookies before,” he seemed embarrassed, “I didn’t bring you anything.”
“You heroically saved my life, remember?”
“I’m a hero.”

His shyness seemed to have passed.

“You are?” I teased.
“Yeah. When I was in Boy Scouts I saved a guy from falling to his death or at least to injury.” He muttered the last part.
“Really?” 
“He was climbing, and the rope broke. I grabbed it to slow his fall, but it burned my hands,” He showed me the scars.
“Wow, you are a hero,” I clapped.

He gave me the same boyish half grin and half smile from before. It was endearing. I could see why Britney liked him. I felt a pang of guilt.

“You look different today,” he pointed at my face.
“Yeah. I rarely wear makeup,” I said trying to cover my face, “Britney gave me a makeover for the concert.”

“I see,” he sipped his coffee.

I wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

“Once I tried to put on mascara and nearly poked my eye out, so I avoid make up,” I rambled, “they used to call me one eye Lo.”
He laughed. “You’re odd, aren’t you?”
“I guess,” I didn’t know how to take it.
“Do you have AIM, by any chance?”
“You mean that instant messaging from AOL?”
“Yup, that’s the one,” he replied.
“I think so. I signed up but never used it.” No friends so what’s the point?
“Give me your screen name and maybe we can chat.”

I wrote it on a napkin. 

It seemed like our hanging out was about to finish. I failed the inspection, it was probably the sweat pants and the lack of makeup.

“My friend Zander, who is also from back home, is waiting for me so I can hypnotize him.”
“Oh,” I frowned.
“I like being able to make someone do anything I want,” he fake evil laughed.
“That sounds like fun.”
“It should be. If I hadn’t promised him, I would have hung out more.”
“It’s all right, I have practice soon,” I smiled, “plus I want to hear how it goes.”
“I’ll give you a detailed report on my experiment then,” he got up. I followed him and he opened the door for me.
“Thanks.”

It impressed me since I’m usually the one who holds doors for people. One time I spent 10 minutes holding the door at a department store for random strangers. I only escaped when a man held the door for his wife who was pushing a carriage.

“Await my message,” he commanded.
“Sure,” I turned to walk away.
“Oh, and One Eyed Lo, you don’t need makeup,” he said as I turned back, “you look fine without it.”

After I changed and took my cookies to the pool, I wasn’t sure where to put them. The coach stopped me before I went back to the locker room.

“Lo, what is it you have there?” he tried to peer into the plastic wrapped plate.
“I made cookies for the team,” I showed him the plate.
“No food allowed on the pool floor,” he pointed to a sign by the lifeguard’s chair.
“I know,” I walked towards the locker room.
“Where are you going with the cookies?” he took the plate before I could protest. “We can leave them in my office.”
“Okay,” I muttered.
“After practice I’ll let everyone know you made cookies for them.”

My plan had been to just leave them lying around so that no one would know it was me. I heard plastic opening from the coach’s office a few seconds later. I smiled to myself. I didn’t know the coach likes sweets.

The locker room door opened and Britney walked out. I was happy that she was back at practice so I waved at her but there was no reaction. Her perfect face looked pale. I wonder if she hadn’t slept either. She stood in front of me with her hands at her hips.  

“I’m so over him and you,” she spoke as if we were continuing a conversation.

Before I answered she got in the pool and raced away. She was talking about Jackson.

“I did it again, I lost a friend,” I muttered to myself. 
“Don’t worry,” Alina said from behind me, “she’ll get over it. I’m sure she didn’t even like that Jackson guy.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ve been friends since we were little. Her heart lies elsewhere.” Alina looked in the direction of John, who had joined Britney in the pool.
“Is there anything I can do?” I wanted to make it all better.
“No,” Alina shook her head “she has to deal with it herself.”
“I can tell her I will never speak to Jackson again,” I suggested.
“That won’t do anything.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not about you or him,” she stretched, “it goes deeper. She has baggage.”
“So, what can I do?”
“Give her time and space.”
I sighed again. “You are wise, like Yoda,” I blurted.
She chuckled. “Nah, I’ve just been there,” she looked out at the pool, “so did he call you?”

I nodded. I felt as if a dam had broken and I told her everything.

“It didn’t sound like a date,” she concluded. “Did you want it to be a date?”

I stayed silent as Britney did the backstroke.

“Do you like him?” Alina pressed.
“I don’t know. I just met him.”
“When I met my boyfriend for the first time, I was drawn to him,” her features softened.
Jackson has a charm to him but I’m not sure if I am drawn to him.
“It sounds like a fairy tale,” I commented.
“Love and relationships are more complex than a simple fairy tale,” her forehead wrinkled.

The coach blew the whistle. Diving practice today. I tried to copy what the coach had shown me, but I kept doing belly flops.

“Lo, I shouldn’t see splashing when you dive in,” the coach shouted from across the pool.

After several failed attempts the coach asked Nick to help me. Nick glared at me as he walked over. I was about to thank him for helping me master the flip, but his scowl stopped me.

“Don’t just stand there, dive!” he told me.

I stood at the starting block and tried to do the best dive possible. I didn’t want him to laugh at me. Somehow instead diving, I sort of fell into the water and choked.

“What was that? It wasn’t even a dive. It was an undignified belly flop,” he shook his head as I struggled out. “You’re worse than I thought.”

I stood looking down at my feet.

“Go stand on the block,” he exhaled. “Okay, now crouch down with one leg in the front. Grip the block with your fingers and toes. That’s the start position. During meets when you hear ‘take your marks’ that’s the position you should take. Now for the push, or the dive, you need to use your muscles to spring from the block, make sure your back foot pushes straight. Your front foot gives you the speed so push hard with it. While you are in the air stretch your body and create the rocket with your arms to enter the pool in a streamline.”

“What are you doing just staring at me?” he yelled.
“I’m sorry but you lost me after take your mark.”
“You’re slower than you look,” he muttered. “Get down from there and come here.”

I walked towards him. He is a million times scarier than the coach.

“Come closer,” he sounded exasperated, “okay watch me.”

He looked so graceful as he showed me the proper way to stand.

“Okay, now let’s do it together.” He slowed down to make sure I copied everything he did. “Now do it by yourself. I’ll check your form.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to see my body so up close.

“Hurry up.”

I did as he commanded.

“Not bad. Okay now try it from the block. Take your marks.” I got into the start position. “Go!” he yelled.

Without thinking I pushed off the block while in the air I created a rocket with my arms and somehow dove into the water without belly flopping it. I had done it!

I swam to the surface to thank him, but he was back in the water. He never lets me thank him for his help.

“Lo stop dilly dallying. Keep practicing what Nick taught you,” the coach smiled. I could tell he was proud of Nick. I repeated dives until the end of practice.

I was smiling, but it vanished when Britney narrowed her eyes at me. I realized that friendships are hard enough for me. A love relationship is out of the question.

I walked to the locker room in a daze, but Alina’s voice snapped me out of it.

“They may be complicated but they’re worth it,” she answered my thoughts.

Britney left without putting on makeup. I’m not sure relationships are worth the pain they seem to cause others.

“I think I’ll avoid them,” I declared to Alina.
She scoffed, “You can’t even if you wanted to.”

Plan of Attack:
1. Learn to dress better.
2. Avoid love entanglements.
3. Thank Nick without him knowing since he hates me.

Saturday, September 20, 2003.

After my family’s pizza movie night was over, I went online and Jackson messaged me!

Soundlesswreckage: Hey, it’s Jackson.
SilentDreamer78: Hi =) How did the hypnotism go?
Soundlesswreckage: Meh. It didn’t work.
SilentDreamer78: At least you tried.
Soundlesswreckage: I guess. I would have rather hung out with you.

Then why didn’t you?

SilentDreamer78: Me too.
Soundlesswreckage: Want to hang out again?

 I can’t believe he wants to hang out with me again.
 
SilentDreamer78: Sure.
Soundlesswreckage: Great. You can pick me up by my school on Tuesday. I’ll email you the details later.
SilentDreamer78: Okay.
Soundlesswreckage: See you then.
SilentDreamer78: I can’t wait.

A part of me is excited about hanging out with Jackson again. I’m sure I’m being a terrible friend, not that Britney thinks of me as one, but someone has finally shown interest in me, which is pretty much a miracle.

Action Plan:
1. Study for my political science midterm.
2. Catch up on physics homework.
3. Make family a special breakfast.

Sunday, September 21, 2003.

My family loved the special breakfast. My mom declared that from now on we will have celebratory Sunday brunches to start the week off right. I’m in charge of them.

The rest of the day I spent reviewing my class notes for political science and figuring out my physics homework. I am worried that I might not catch up with the more advanced stuff we are learning. I somewhat understand the basics but beyond that I am lost.

Plan of Attack:
1. Pick easier classes.
2. Prepare for another tiring week of practice.
3. Look for physics tutor.

Monday, September 22, 2003.

My theater class was canceled so I walked downtown to the farmer’s market. I was tempted to buy everything. They had a beautiful selection of vegetables and cider donuts, which I bought as a gift for my brother. I also found a cute pair of large, silver star-fish shaped earrings.

I barely made it to practice when the coach announced that we have a meet coming up at the end of the month. He added crunches and push-ups to the torture because he wants us in the best shape of our lives for the upcoming meet.

I tried to use the stairs but this time the coach shook his head and said I had to do extra crunches if I used them. I conceded and tried lifting myself out of the water. That alone was a workout. It also left a bunch of bruises on my shins and knees.

My legs felt jiggly as I walked home. I ran into Mrs. Marple, who was walking Estrella. I was tempted to give the hefty beagle one of my brother’s donuts but noticed Mrs. Marple watching while I petted the dog.

My brother was excited that I got him donuts and wouldn’t share with my dad. I promised to get my dad his own pack next time.

I tried the earrings on and smiled. I am prepared to hang out with Jackson.

Plan of Attack:
1. Look up apple cider donut recipe.
2. Prepare clothing and earrings for tomorrow.
3. Take a bath in the morning to sooth my muscles.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003.

Practice ran late, so I rushed to meet Jackson. I somehow took the train in the opposite direction and I arrived half an hour late.

“You’re late,” Jackson said. “I was about to give up and leave but Martin here stopped me.”
“I’m--” I tried to catch my breath to apologize.
“I’m beginning to think you have a lateness tendency,” Jackson continued.

Running up the stairs had been a bad decision. I felt my chest compress. Swimming practice had also made my body sore and weak. 

“Are you okay?” Martin leaned forward.

A nod was all I could manage.
“She has asthma,” Martin tried to explain to Jackson, “where’s your inhaler?”

Why does everyone think I have asthma?  I shook my head, focusing on taking a deep breath. The choking sensation vanished.

“If you have asthma, you should keep your inhaler nearby,” Jackson lectured.
“I’m sorry,” I said, glad I could breathe again, “but it wasn’t asthma. I overdid it and my body protested.”
“Huh, why are you speaking in riddles?” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows.
“I think what she meant to say is that she needed to catch her breath after running up the stairs,” Martin tried to pacify Jackson.

I nodded.

“Why didn’t you say that? You lack stamina, I thought you were in the swim team?”

My cheeks grew warm. I looked down at my feet while whispering an apology.

“It’s alright I’ll forgive it but don’t be late next time,” Jackson smiled.
“Okay,” I muttered.
“Thank you,” I smiled at Martin, realizing that I was happy to see him again.
“No problem,” he shrugged.
“Martin is tagging along today,” Jackson said.
“Is it okay?” There was something familiar about Martin’s eyes. I realized I probably couldn’t deny him anything.
“You saved me after all,” I grinned.
“You always need saving, don’t you?” Jackson said.
“I guess so.” I sighed at my own failures.
“We all need a little help sometimes,” Martin said.
“Don’t encourage her,” Jackson replied, “although something about her-- it might be her Lilliputian size.”
“So what’s the plan?” I asked trying to get them to stop talking about me.
“There’s a place I wanted to check out,” Jackson walked towards the train stop.
“What sort of place is it?” I followed them.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Jackson spoke over his shoulder.

We entered a musty smelling store filled with CDs and posters of bands. The loud growling music was only over powered by the employees arguing about the band that was playing. Jackson and Martin darted to opposite sections, leaving me to my own devices.

I took a staircase down to the cellar which was filled with band shirts, vinyl, more posters and a sale section. I browsed through the sale section. In my infinite wisdom, I had only brought $10 dollars, so I couldn’t afford anything at full price.

Over the years I have developed a method of finding new bands I might like: first I look at the covers and titles of the CDs to see if something calls out to me, then I check their song list. If all three interest me, I get the CD.

I had discovered one of my favorite metal bands, Testament, that way. The CDs clanked as I scanned through them. Nothing called out to me.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to,” Jackson towered over me “You’re being anti-social.”
“Huh?” I had forgotten that I came with them.
“We’re supposed to hang out together and you’re here hiding,” he smirked.       

I wanted to argue with him, but I could tell he would win.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Jackson came closer. I tried to move back but there was no space. He looked down at me. My heart beat faster. I felt his breath.

“Martin’s waiting for us upstairs,” he said and stepped back.
“No, I’m not,” Martin said, “I wanted to see what they had on sale.”
“There’s a bunch of stuff,” my heart slowed.

Jackson went to look at the band t-shirts while Martin and I flipped through CDs.

“I gave Nirvana another go,” he broke the silence.
“So what did you think?” just hearing their name perked me up.
“I could see what you mean by playing with words,” he looked up at me, “but they’re not my cup of tea.”

Knowing he had remembered our conversation made me feel warm inside.

“As long as you were open to try.” 
“This is my favorite band,” Martin showed me a CD cover with soldiers on it.

“BoySetsFire, After the Eulogy.”

I took it from his hand and scanned the song titles.

“It looks interesting.”
“Yeah, I think you’d like them,” he smiled.
“I’ll buy it then,” I would use all my money.
“I can lend it to you if you want?” he took it and put it back on the stand.
“Sure. I would love that.”
“What would you love?” Jackson slinked behind me.
“Nothing,” Martin replied.

Jackson stared at Martin. “I’m bored let’s get out of here,” he climbed the stairs.
I followed him and Martin trailed behind.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Jackson declared.
“I’ve got to take out cash,” Martin said and jogged across the street to a bank.

Jackson watched as a couple holding hands passed. He played with his leather bracelet. It seemed to be a lucky charm. When Martin came back, I followed them to a pizzeria.

Jackson ordered two pepperoni slices and Mountain Dew. Martin got a plain slice and Mountain Dew. I got a veggie lovers slice and seltzer. We sat in silence while the pizza was being heated.

“So you’re a veggie lover, huh?” Jackson asked as we grabbed our orders.
“Yup, I’m a veggie.” I stated.
“Huh?” Martin looked at me.
“I’m a vegetarian,” I clarified.
“That’s too bad,” Jackson grunted as we sat down. 
“I always wanted to be a vegetarian,” Martin said as he took a bite from his plain slice.
“I don’t think Sylvia will let you” Jackson said around a mouthful of pizza.
“She doesn’t tell me what to do,” Martin shot back. “Anyway why did you bring her up?”
“Felt like it,” Jackson glared at Martin. “Lo you want to hang out this Friday? You can come to the dorms and maybe watch a movie?”
“Mm,” I mumbled through a full mouth. The cheese tasted metallic. I had bitten my cheek.
“Good,” Jackson left the pizzeria.

I wasn’t sure if I should follow him or stay with Martin. He nibbled on his slice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Martin said when he saw I wasn’t eating, “he gets moody sometimes.”
“I thought maybe I did something wrong,” I replied. 
“Nah,” he looked at my crust less pizza “are you going to eat it?”
“No, I bit my cheek.”
“Sorry,” he kept eying the slice, “can I have it?”
“Please do.”
“Thanks.”
“How long have you guys been friends?”
“Sixth grade, I guess” he smacked his lips as he ate.
“Wow.”
“I hated him,” Martin watched Jackson through the window, “he was always the center of attention.”
“But one day I was a wearing a Fugazi shirt, and we talked.” He took a gulp of the Mountain Dew, “we went to shows.”
I remembered them dancing at the concert.
“He would let me stay over when my parents argued,” he finished the last piece of pizza, “then he would tell me jokes until I laughed.”
“It must be nice,” I said.
“It was,” he stood and gathered the paper plates, “that was before Sylvia, though. Since then we drifted apart.”
“Why?”
“They hate each other,” he sighed. “I hoped that he would grow on her, but she despises him and vice versa.”
“I’m sorry,” I felt bad. He was torn.
“Meh, it’s okay. I like your earrings, they suit you,” he hurried outside.
His compliment made me smile.
Jackson sighed as he watched a laughing couple hold hands. When he saw us, he flicked his cigarette into the street, “what took so long?”
“Martin is a slow eater,” I replied.
“I know. He eats like a girl,” Jackson smirked.
“That’s not true I eat way faster than him,” I correct Jackson. I have years of survival training at my house. If I didn’t devour my food, my brother would steal it from my plate.  
“You couldn’t even finish your slice,” Martin chimed in.
“I say we have a cookie eating contest,” I turned to them.
“I second the motion,” Jackson nodded, “Those cookies you made were delicious.”
“What, you gave him cookies, and I got nothing?” Martin complained.
“She likes me more,” Jackson grinned.
“I’ll make you both some next time we hang out.”

“No, he gets nothing. Your cookies are all mine,” Jackson proclaimed. “Plus, he’s leaving on Thursday to go back home and see his beloved Sylvia monster.”
“Traitor,” I teased Martin, “no cookies for you.”
“If I would have known I would have stayed,” Martin pouted.
“Fine, then the next time when we are all together I’ll make us cookies,” I said as I ran to catch my train. I bowed, bumping a man walking by. They laughed.
I am happy I got to spend time with them.

Plan of Attack:
1. Find out more about Fugazi.
2. Chew slower.
3. Be early to everything.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003.

I got my paper back. It’s worse than I imagined. The professor gave me a D minus.

My dread of speaking to him grew to where my hands shook with sweat.

When the professor ended the lecture, I had the urge to leave the class and pretend that I didn’t get such a terrible grade. I dawdled towards him as he packed up. He reminds me of the coach even though they are opposites in every way. The coach is fit, tall and bald while the professor is plump, short and hairy.
“Excuse me, professor.” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said as he tucked in his shirt into falling pants.
“Um,” I tried to focus, “I was wondering if I could rewrite my paper.”
“What was your grade?” he asked, heading towards the door.
“D minus” I said with my head down.
“That is bad,” he paused. “Okay but I want it in by next week.”
“Thank you,” I bowed, but he had already left the room.

The coach had us use flippers. I was happy at first because I felt like a dolphin. But after wearing them the entire practice my legs are killing me. How do dolphins manage it?

When I got home I sat down in front of the computer and attempted to start my paper rewrite. I decided to get it done so I wouldn’t repeat my previous mistake and grade. Before I began, I logged into AOL. A small window popped up.

SRookie80: Hi, this is Martin the other guy you met at the concert and hung out with recently.
SilentDreamer78: Hi =)
SRookie80: I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

SilentDreamer78: Of course I remember you. I had so much fun.   
SRookie80: I hope you don’t mind but I got your screen name from Jackson.
SilentDreamer78: No, I’m super happy you did.
SRookie80: Cool.
SilentDreamer78: So....how are you?
SRookie80: Okay. You?
SilentDreamer78: I have to rewrite my political science paper since I got a shameful grade.

I think the professor was generous. My paper was a tangled mess of ideas.

SRookie80: Oh sorry am I interrupting you?
SilentDreamer78: No. Nothing is coming out.
SRookie80: What is your paper about?
SilentDreamer78: War.
SRookie80: What about it?
SilentDreamer78: I’m not really sure I just know I don’t agree with it.
SRookie80: I think no one does.
SilentDreamer78: Then why do they occur throughout history?
SRookie80: Necessity I guess.
SilentDreamer78: How so?
SRookie80: I don’t know.
SilentDreamer78: I know they always said it was necessary, but I never believed that. What did war accomplish except killing a bunch of people?
SRookie80: It is true a lot of people died but each war led to some sort of discovery.
SilentDreamer78: you agree with war?
SRookie80: Just playing devil’s advocate.
SilentDreamer78: I see. You might be on to something interesting. I could write about the discoveries after each war.
SRookie80: I would like to read it when you are done.
SilentDreamer78: You should know I’m not that good at writing.
SRookie80: Maybe I can proofread your paper then?
SilentDreamer78: That would be awesome!
SRookie80: I’m no professional but I consider myself a big grammar buff.
SilentDreamer78: Thank you. I will owe you one.
SRookie80: Just consider it my way of thanking you for listening to my rantings the other day.
SilentDreamer78: I will be happy to listen to your rantings any time. I’m not very good at many things but listening I’m stellar at =)
SROOKIE80: Okay. You should probably get back to your paper.
SilentDreamer78: Good idea. Thanks for the chat and brilliant inspiration =)
SROOKIE80: No problem. Later.

After I logged off the words flowed. It felt good to have a focus.

I want to write an amazing paper not only for a grade but also to make Martin proud.

Plan of Attack:
1. Research in library.
2. Write an outline for the paper.
3. Give Martin thank you cookies whenever I see him.

Thursday, September 25, 2003.

Practice was brutal. The coach seems to know various forms of torture. He added core exercises he modified from Pilates. I left the pool with burning abs. It hurt to climb the stairs at the library.

I found two books that should help with my paper. I typed away, knowing the quicker I finished, the sooner I could contact Martin.

When I was done, I signed on to AOL to see if Martin was on. A message popped up.

Soundlesswreckage: Hey.
SilentDreamer78: Hi.
Soundlesswreckage: Are we still on for tomorrow?

I had forgotten about hanging out with Jackson.

SilentDreamer78: Yup =)
Soundlesswreckage: Cool. You get to meet Zander.
SilentDreamer78: Awesome.
Soundlesswreckage: Do you remember how to get here?
SilentDreamer78: I have a vague memory.
Soundlesswreckage: I’ll pick you up at the station.
SilentDreamer78: Thanks. Should I bring anything?
Soundlesswreckage: Nah. So, I’ll see you tomorrow then.
SilentDreamer78: Can’t wait =)
Soundlesswreckage: Later.
SilentDreamer78: Bye.

I headed to the kitchen to make pasta primavera for my hungry brother, who was busy playing game boy at the dinner table.
“I will make extras for tomorrow since I’ll be out,” I explained.
“Does mom know?” he asked as he shifted his body.
Telling her will be difficult. I will come home later than usual, which means I have to tell her in advance.
“Not yet,” I said as I chopped the vegetables.
“Make mine with extra cheese and no vegetables,” my brother made a face at the last word. “And no onions, please.”
“Anything else your majesty?” I threw a small onion piece at him. He was too engaged with his game to notice. “They are good for you, you know.”  
I love vegetables.

Plan of Attack:
1. Tell mom I have manga event tomorrow but won’t be out late.
2. Plan what to wear, include star fish earrings that Martin liked.
3. Finish paper.

Friday, September 26, 2003.

When I arrived at the station, I spotted Jackson. He was with a person I hadn’t met before. The other guy was round, short with tan skin, and was wearing a Naruto shirt. I knew we would get along. I waved at them. Jackson strolled over.
“Hey,” he said and then motioned towards his companion, “this is Zander. And this is Lo.”  
“Hi,” Zander and I said and bowed. We looked up and laughed.  
“Dorks,” Jackson muttered as he walked in front of us.
“I heard he tried to hypnotize you?” It still intrigued me.
“Yeah but it didn’t work,” Zander said dejected.
“We will try again,” Jackson added.
“Really? Are you going to do it today?” I asked.
“No,” Jackson answered, “I’m hungry let’s get something to eat.”
We walked to a corner street diner by their dorms. It was packed, but we got seats. Zander and Jackson sat across from me. They both ordered eggs over easy with bacon and toast. I got my favorite, a veggie burger with fries.
“Are you vegetarian?” Zander asked after we ordered.
“Yup,” I said, remembering that Martin asked that too. I wondered what he was doing with his girlfriend at the moment.
“I’ve always wanted to be vegetarian but I love meat too much,” Zander spoke with spit flying out of his mouth.
“Animals are too delicious not to be eaten,” Jackson added. “Why did you become a vegetarian, anyway?”
“Because I love animals and I don’t want them to suffer,” I replied and to change the conversation added, “so how long have you been friends?”
“Since middle school,” Zander answered with a big smile. “Jackson and Martin were always together. But one day the teacher made me Jackson’s project partner, and we became friends.”
“You didn’t have to tell her the whole long and boring story. How do you feel about hunting?”
“Um...hate it,” I shook my head.
“Well I like it,” Jackson stared me down.
It seemed like he wanted to pick a fight.
“Here is your order,” the waitress said.
I ate my meal in silence looking down at my plate while Zander talked about a girl he liked. Jackson stole some of my fries. I looked up at him and he smirked. I tried to cover my plate, but he grabbed another fry.
“Hey,” I warned him.
“What?” Jackson feigned innocence.
“You are eating my fries,” I complained. I wouldn’t mind sharing, but he was being a jerk.
“So?” he said and grabbed a handful.
“You have your own food,” I pointed at his plate.
“Yeah, but I want to eat your fries.” He stared at me.
“You could’ve just asked.”
“I didn’t want to.” He grabbed my half-eaten burger and took a bite out of it. “Not bad,” he returned the burger.

I was speechless.
“What? Aren’t you going to finish it?” Jackson taunted me.
I narrowed my eyes and ate the rest. Jackson’s smirk turned into a smile. Zander who had stopped talking, resumed describing the girl he liked.
“You should ask her out,” Jackson said.
“Well, like I said she just got out of a long relationship, so I thought I should give her time.”
“If you give her time, she’ll either get back with her ex or get with someone new,” Jackson finished the last of my fries.
“What do you think?” Zander turned his gaze towards me.
I had just met him and he wanted my opinion. I wanted to tell him I didn’t know, but I doubted that he would accept that answer.
“I think it is always better to be honest,” I had no idea what I was saying “so if you like her let her know. Then it is up to her but if you do nothing you will regret it.”
Zander nodded.
“I like her,” he told Jackson but Jackson was looking at his bracelet instead.
After the diner we headed towards the dorm building.
“Sorry but I’m going to go call her right now,” Zander beamed “and ask her out.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” I said with a smile, “and good luck, I’m sure she will say yes since you are a cool dude.”

I hope that it went well for him since he seemed like a sweet guy.
Jackson just nodded and said “later.”
He was quieter than usual, we walked to his room. I was so nervous my palms sweated rivers. It was my first time in a guy’s room.
“Want to watch a movie?” he said without looking at me.
“Sure,” I answered while drying my hands on my jeans.
 I sat on his bed as he put a DVD in his PlayStation.
“What movie is it?” I tried to break the silence.
“Boondock Saints.” He sat next to me.
My heart beat fast from having him so close. As the trailers played, he turned and pushed me onto the bed. Having him on top of me was terrifying and exciting. My eyes widened and my body tensed up. As he was coming closer, my knee jerked up. He let out a groan and then laughed. I sat up, not sure what to do.
“Sorry,” I said and hid behind a pillow.
“No, it’s my fault,” he took the pillow away, “let’s just watch the movie.”
We watched the movie in silence. I enjoyed it but had trouble concentrating with my mind trying to figure out what had just happened. When it was over. Jackson got up and turned it off.
“I’ll walk you to the train station,” he said.
We walked in silence, but before I went into the subway, he punched me like he did his friends.
“Did you mean what you told Zander?” he asked, playing with his leather bracelet.
“Huh?”
“About being honest and not regretting?” He looked like a lost child.
I smiled at him. “Yes. You should be honest with whoever gave you that bracelet.”
He smirked.
“Will do.” He turned and walked away.
At that moment I felt both close and distant to him. It made me a little sad that it ended before it even began.
I bumped into someone.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice answered.
I looked up and saw Martin. He smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied.
“So you were hanging out with Jackson,” his forehead wrinkled and his tone sounded almost accusatory.
I nodded.
“You were with your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. I just got back,” he shrugged to show his backpack.
“How was it?”
“We had a fight, so I came back early,” he sighed.
Without thinking about it I hugged him. It was awkward because he had his backpack on. He stepped away first.
“Felt like we needed it,” I said.
Before he could answer me I ran into the station.

Today was like a weird dream, the type where you wake up and ask what the hell was that about?

Plan of Attack:
1. Give up on ever getting a boyfriend.
2. Avoid guys that are moody.
3. Remember karma.

Saturday, September 27, 2003.

As I watched morning cartoons with my brother, my mind played back the previous day.
“Are you having an aneurysm?” my brother asked out of the blue.
“Huh?”
“You keep making weird faces.”
“Oh,” I smiled, “how do you know about aneurysms?”
“I saw it on your,” he pointed to my Walkman, “I looked it up in the dictionary and you are displaying the symptoms.”
“Sorry,” I got out through my laughter.
“You are dumb,” he said and turned to the TV.
I guess I am dumb, or maybe just happy.

Plan of Attack:
1. Listen to Nirvana.
2. Get books that explain guys.
3. Catch up on anime.

Sunday, September 28, 2003.

The weekend passed by too fast. I finished rewriting my paper. I emailed it to Martin, but he didn’t write back.
On a happy note I caught up on my anime. There is one I really like, Honey and Clover. It explains a lot about love and inspires me to draw.

Plan of Attack:
1. Get art supplies.
2. Take out an art book.
3. Go to museum.

Monday, September 29, 2003.

I dropped off my paper. I feel good about it but wish Martin had written back. I showed it to my mom, and she was so amazed by it she took a copy to work to show her coworkers.
I was early to practice so I stretched. I enjoyed the peace of the pool when I was the only one there. Practice was light because we have a meet tomorrow.
The coached seemed mellower than usual. He didn’t yell once during practice. I suspect it was the cookies. He had forgotten to mention them to the team.
As I was about to go to the locker rooms, the coach called me into his office. He was looking at some sheets. My name was on it. I thought maybe he took practice attendance. I better not miss any, I thought, but if I did, he would notice since he wouldn’t have anyone to pick on. He saw me looking at the sheets.
“You’ll be swimming the 50 meters free style so rest up and be on time tomorrow.”
 I was too stunned to move. Had he lost his mind? Noticing that I had not left he added,
“That’s all” with finality.

I walked back to the locker room and freaked out. I tried to come up with a plan to avoid taking part: I would go to the coach’s office, tell him I felt sick and that I couldn’t swim at the meet. If that didn’t work I would explain to him I had improved but everyone was still better than me. And as a last resort I would admit that I was worried that if I failed, the team would hate even more.
I knew I did not have the courage to defy the coach. I felt gloomy as I walked out of the locker room. I wished there was someone I could discuss this with, but I had no one since Britney hated me and my mom doesn’t know I am on the swim team. 

Plan of Attack:
1. Find a confidant.
2. Find a solution to meet problem.
3. Stop joining teams.

Tuesday, September 30, 2003.

I dreamt that I was in the middle of the ocean with giant waves crashing all around me, threatening to drown me. When I woke up I had an attack. I held onto Sweeney, my stuffed octopus, until it subsided.

As a big believer in omens, especially when they coincide with my desire, I could see that my dream was warning me to stay home.
I looked out my window and saw a gray, rainy day. My head was pounding. My brother told me I looked terrible even by my usual standards. I felt relieved because I was obviously sick, so sick, in fact, I couldn’t eat or compete in the meet. I took a nap.
A loud bang startled me awake. I looked out the window, and it was sunny. They couldn’t hate me if I was sick, I kept repeating to myself.
I saw the time. The meet wouldn’t start for another hour so if I got ready I could make it.
I couldn’t let the coach down when he made special drills for me. Britney had been so nice. Alina and Nick also helped me. I would give it my all!
 I changed, grabbed my gym bag with all my stuff and sped to the subway. I hoped to make it on time to the meet.
The trains ran smoothly, which I took as a sign that everything would be all right. I was still cutting it close, so I ran. In my haste I pushed a girl by accident and caused her to spill coffee on herself. I apologized but kept on running. I made it on time.

As I came out, I noticed that everyone on the team had the same swimsuit. Only my flowery swimsuit had been dry. I keep forgetting to take them out of my bag when I get home.

I wrapped my beach towel around myself to hide my very colorful swimsuit and jiggly bits. Everyone was stretching and chatting. I realized I didn’t know anyone aside from Britney, Alina, John and Nick, but he doesn’t count because he avoids me like the plague. I must have been hallucinating when I thought I could be part of the swim team.

Britney ignored me when I waved to her. She didn’t seem nervous at all. It was like another practice for her. My stomach felt queasy again. But it was too late to back out. I had to finish what I started, even if I failed. At least I lived my dream, if only for a little.
I saw the rival team enter. All the girls had muscular arms and walked with an air of superiority. The guys seemed a lot more relaxed and even smiled at us, especially the girls. I could understand why. All the girls on their team looked butch. There was only one girl that stood out from them. She had beautiful wavy hair and a perfect hour-glass figure. I would have said they based Barbie on her. Pure perfection. Her thighs did not jiggle.
I could see Britney did not like Barbie girl. They eyed each other but then the girl’s gaze shifted. She got another girl’s attention and whispered something while pointing at me. I wrapped my towel tighter.
The coach gathered us around him.
“Okay gang, this is the first meet of the season. Let’s kick their butts. Remember what they did to us last year.”
I had no idea what they had done, but it had offended the coach.
“I don’t want any D.Q.s. We have been working hard so let’s show them we are the best! Get out there and make me proud.”
Then the coach did something unexpected. He recited a war poem by William Blake.
I had the urge to clap after he read it with such emotion, but everyone placed their hands in the middle. I followed suit.
Then the team shouted “One. Two. Three. Flying Octopi!”
I felt like I was in one of those football shows. I was half expecting the coach to give us the play.
I noticed that I had forgotten my goggles in my rush to get changed. I went to the locker rooms to get them. The coach was looking for me.
“Lo, you’re up.” The coach told me as he moved me toward the diving boards.
“What?” I asked shocked.
“It is best not to think about it too much just pretend this is practice and do your best.” he encouraged me.
I was not prepared for racing yet. I had hoped to watch and then talk myself into it somehow.
I felt my body shaking as I climbed on to the starting block. All I had to do was jump in. My competitors had toned bodies and abnormally large shoulders. They were true swimmers.
I looked down at my body and saw my jiggly thighs then I noticed a patch of hair. I was too scared to care I had done a terrible job shaving. I had to focus. They were telling us to get ready.
“On your marks.” I shook as I did what Nick had taught me.

“Go,” then there was a loud sound. I stood frozen as all the other girls dove in. My heart was pounding, my stomach contracted, and I felt like I would die. But this differed from my attacks. There was a giddiness to it. Then my mind went blank, and I dove in too.
The cold water slowed my racing heart. I panicked and moved my body in a half front crawl and half spastic movement. I envisioned the dance of the Dumbo octopus.
I can do this, I thought as my body gained speed. I didn’t have to be first, but I couldn’t be last. I breathed.

When I went up for air, I thought I heard my name being called out, but it must have been my imagination.
I saw the T and prepared to flip. I heard Nick’s voice guiding me again. It was perfect. I had to reach the other side.
My mind was still blank as I kicked and pulled the water. My body glided. I reached the wall. I looked and someone else had just touched the wall.
I wasn’t last! I had started late but somehow, I wasn’t last. All my fears subsided. I felt my body relax.
I lifted myself out of the water, hitting my knee as I did.

Barbie pointed at me again.
I hadn’t been last I wanted to tell my team. I wasn’t first but I doubt that anyone thought I would be.

The Barbie girl strutted over.
“Good race,” I said.
“What was good about it? You got D.Q.” She whispered, “clumsy bitch” as she banged into me while walking away. She was the girl I had bumped into before. Great, so another person hates me, I thought and sighed.
My head dropped. It was worse than being last. How could I face my team or the coach? I would have run out, but the floor was slippery and I didn’t want to make an even bigger fool of myself by falling in front of everyone. I walked back to where my team sat. No one seemed to notice me except Nick, who just glared. He probably thought he had wasted his time teaching me.
The next race had already begun. My team was cheering someone on. They had cheered for me too. My throat closed and my eyes were wet.
I grabbed my water bottle to stop my crying. It’s a trick I learned in school, so I wouldn’t cry when the girls in my class ridiculed me. Memories of high school flood my memory.
“What are you a baby? Why would anyone wear that over grown-toddler suit?” they sneered in high school.
“Don’t be so mean guys, it is probably the only thing she can fit into. Am I right, Lo?”
I did nothing to them, but they hated me. My mere existence offended them. I smiled at them but when they smiled back, it was cruel smiles and mean words. I carried a water bottle to stop the tears.
My throat got tighter. I had to go somewhere before I cried in public.
I became stealth Lo and snuck away to the locker rooms. Before I even reached it, my cheeks were wet from my tears.

I left before anyone noticed. I am probably out of the team, anyway. People avoided me since my eyes were red from crying and I was limping from where I banged my knee.
A little kid pointed at me.
“Mommy, she wet her pants,” she giggled before her mom pulled her away.
I hadn’t changed out of my swimsuit, so I was dripping water everywhere, but I didn’t care because I am a loser.

 Plan of Attack:
1. Listen to dream omens.
2. Write sorry card to team, Alina, Britney and the coach.
3. Forget about the swim team and swimming.