Finding Laila: Some Changes are Necessary Page 2

Joey stares staunchly at his paper while I give him the evil eye before looking back to the teacher. “No, sir.”

  “If you have something to say, let’s hear it,” he demands and crosses his arms like he’s challenging me.

  “Dammit,” I hear Joey mutter under his breath.

  I groan to myself, annoyed that I am put on the spot, but the word vomit is coming and I know I can’t stop it. “Considering that we have only watched you check your phone every ten seconds since day one, I’m just curious as to why we’re being quizzed when we’ve learned nothing so far.”

  “You have your textbook,” he argues.

  “You’re right—and we’ve read what, a chapter, right?

  “I gave you an assignment. Did you not do it?”

  “Of course I did, but you haven’t handed them back to us, so how do we know the correct answers? I mean, have we learned anything in here?” I find I’m unable to stop the vicious flow of words from my mouth. I’ve always spoken too soon when I feel things are unfair—voicing much more opinion than necessary.

  “Shut. Up. Nixon,” Joey hisses under his breath, silencing me for the moment.

  “Would you like to repeat that, perhaps with the principal?” Mr. Tredway threatens.

  “Which part? The one about you on your phone?” I ask innocently. But I can’t help it. Call it my natural foot-to-mouth complex, but my filter has been failing lately. I don’t know how to censor myself in a way that makes me likable to the norm. I’ve been the kind of girl who speaks first and thinks later. It gets me into trouble at times.

  Mr. Tredway glares at me as he resumes passing out the tests, but I know he’s still aware of my presence. I immediately regret the lack of brain-to-mouth filter I succumbed to, but the man gives me a hard time every time I walk in. I’m not sure what I did to make him hate me so much, but I also know I’m not helping my cause. I can hear Joey stifling his laughter and I reach over to push at him when the teacher catches me.

  “Out!” he yells, causing me to jump in my seat.

  All eyes are focused on Mr. Tredway before they make their way to me, but his eyes remain locked on mine. “Get out, Ms. Nixon! I will not tolerate cheating in my class.”

  “But I wasn’t cheating,” I argue.

  “Out!” He points toward the exit as his face turns red. He looks like he’s about to keel over from a damn stroke at any minute. And I’ll be damned if I’m performing CPR! I’m not getting anywhere near his hygienically impaired mouth.

  “Sir, she wasn’t cheating,” Joey tries to defend me.

  “Mr. Parker, you need to mind your business,” the worked-up teacher commands.

  “It’s cool, Joey,” I acquiesce as I pick up my backpack and walk toward the front of the room. Tredway looks at me and extends his hand for the test but I walk past without a word.

  I start to leave the room but I hear Joey behind me: “Come on.” Before I realize what’s going on, he pushes me through the door. “Let’s go talk to Mrs. Jackson.”

  The door slams shut behind us and I spin around to face my friend, who is doing something sweet but totally unnecessary. “Get back in there,” I demand. “Everything will be fine. It’s all that Casanova hair gel you put in this morning,” I laugh, rustling his hair as we make our way to the principal’s office. I then sober and look at my friend. “Joey, I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to stick up for me.”

  “You couldn’t let it go, could you?” he admonishes, ignoring my protesting.

  “Don’t start.” I shake my head and continue walking.

  “All I’m saying is, you know how he is. If you just keep your mouth shut, you’ll pass without even trying. This class should be a cakewalk for you, Lai!”

  “I don’t want to fail, but if I’m going to sit in there for forty-five minutes every day, the least he can do is teach.”

  Joey reaches for the doorknob to the principal’s office, pulls it open for me and follows after I walk through.

  “Behave,” he warns good-naturedly before going inside. We both acknowledge the secretary, Mrs. Cruso, who is looking at us expectantly.

  “Mr. Tredway sent me,” I say to her.

  “I know, he called down here to let me know,” Mrs. Cruso says sourly. She folds her arms over her chest and regards me with a look I am used to seeing on an adult’s face when I act out: displeasure. “What happened?”

  “He said that I was cheating,” I explain through gritted teeth.

  “And were you?”

  “No ma’am,” I furrow my brow, annoyed by the question. “He wouldn’t let me explain.”

  “Well, you’ll have a chance to talk to Mrs. Jackson when she gets back.” She looks at Joey and she tsks loudly. “And what are you doing here? Please don’t tell me you were helping her cheat.”

  “I walked out because she was unfairly targeted. Mr. Tredway doesn’t like Laila. Everyone knows that,” Joey tells her truthfully.

  “I’m pretty sure Laila can take of herself. If I were you, I’d get my butt back to class and take that test,” she says. “Am I right, Laila?”

  “Absolutely,” I agree. “I already told him the same thing.”

  “Looks like Laila doesn’t need your help—head on back to class. You can see your girlfriend later.” She writes something down on slip of paper and hands it to him. Mrs. Cruso then turns to me and waves me toward a chair. “Take a seat, Laila. Mrs. Jackson will be here in a few minutes.”

  Joey watches as I sit in one of the three blue chairs that are lined against the beige wall. He gives me shrug before finally closing the door and walking back to class while I wait for Mrs. Jackson to show up.

  My parents have always encouraged me to speak my mind, to have a mind of my own. I’m usually very good about doing that and being respectful to my elders. But I have never talked back to a teacher like I did with Mr. Tredway. I’m not proud of it; I know better than that. Senior year!

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I mutter loud enough for the secretary to hear me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Joey. He’s not my boyfriend, just one of my best friends.”

  She smiles at me and nods. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “I know a lot, and let me tell you something.” She points a finger in my direction before dropping it and smiling at me. “I hear the things people say about you, and you handle it well. Not many young ladies would be so classy. You and those boys look after each other—you’re all lucky to have that.”

  I smile at her, appreciating her words.

  Mrs. Jackson walks in and cocks her head to the side when she sees that I’m the person who has been sent to her office.

  “C’mon in,” she says as she holds her door open.

  “Thank you,” I say to the secretary as I pass.

  She gives me a nod, but doesn’t take her eyes off of her computer screen.

  * * *

  I will never get used to Friday nights in Texas and what they are synonymous with—football.

  The entire week leading up to game day is spent talking about game day. Football players strut around in their jerseys, cheerleaders decorate players’ lockers to help spread team spirit, and it culminates with a pep rally.

  Students are herded into the school gym, where the band plays the fight song while our mascot, Ethon, runs around to get the crowd rowdy. It’s the same routine every Friday; it is the end-all, be-all in high school.

  I wouldn’t be here at the football game tonight if it weren’t for number thirty-five: Braxton Jameson, star athlete and one of my best friends.

  Haden drove Cole, Joey, and I to the football stadium so we could cheer Braxton on—though none of us are really football fans.

  Braxton insists I wear his jersey, and it’s so big it almost swallows me up. This request has been a source of contention for much of my high school career because he’s never let an actual girlfriend wear it. He considers it a jinx if they do. Whatever.

  “So what hap
pened?” Joey asks as we wait in line at the concession stand.

  “I’ve been expelled, kicked out, dismissed,” I say as I place my hand theatrically over my forehead.

  He glowers at me, clearly not appreciating my flair for the dramatic.

  I nudge him with my shoulder and give him a smile. “Nothing. Mrs. Jackson said I need to watch my mouth, but I get the feeling she isn’t too happy with Tredway either.”

  “Who isn’t happy with Treadmill?” Cole Cameron asks when he steps in line next to us. I laugh at his nickname for the obnoxious teacher, only because it’s ridiculous.

  A cheerleader looks over at Cole and tries to get his attention. He doesn’t notice and she stalks off in a huff. I cover my smirk with my hand. These girls never learn.

  Cole’s blond hair has gotten darker the older he gets, but girls still flock to his all-American looks. Blue eyes, tall and lean, and the star soccer player for South River high school, he’s a catch for anyone. Well, until they get to know him like I do.

  “Laila got kicked out of his class today,” Joey informs him.

  “Nice.” Cole nods his head with a smile. “I taught her everything she knows, folks.”

  “What? How to be a dumbass?” Haden Searle asks from behind us.

  Haden’s the quiet one of the group, always dressed in dark, brooding colors and always observing. He’s quick to speak up when he thinks someone is wrong.

  “Easy now,” Cole warns before turning back to me. “What did you get kicked out for anyway?”

  “Let’s just say difference of opinion,” I answer dismissively.

  “That’s not what I heard,” Haden says. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Everyone, huh?” I ask with a smirk. “Haden, we are everyone you talk to.”

  “Just because I don’t talk to people doesn’t mean I don’t hear things.” He looks at the guys and raises a brow. “A lot of things.”

  “Yeah, well, what did you hear?” I challenge.

  “First, he called you a liar so you punched him the nose. Then when he tried to physically remove you from the class, you kicked him in the junk. Then—”

  “All right, we get it,” I say, chuckling. “You know everything.”

  We step up to the concession stand and the booster club moms take our order. We shout four different orders at one time, barely aware of how obnoxious we are to the people who don’t know us well. Cole and Haden grab the drinks while Joey and I gather the rest and then head up to the stands to take a seat in the bleachers.

  There is barely any place to sit. It’s the biggest game of the season and we are lost in a sea of school spirit. Red and blue, our high school’s colors, are everywhere—on faces, on clothes, even in hair.

  Unfortunately, we stand out. We always do when we are together.

  The boys flanking my side are the reasons I am both hated and envied by the girls at school. My relationship with this group of unique but equally lovable boys has most questioning what exactly we are to each other.

  Most think I am sleeping with not only Joey, but the rest of them as well.

  No one understands that we could be so close and not be involved romantically. They see me in the jersey and instantly want to tear my eyes out. They see the shirt as a sign of possession that isn’t there. But the girls don’t know that.

  Thanks, Brax.

  Each of the guys is different. But each matters. To me.

  There’s Haden, with his dark hair that’s almost black. Because of his quiet nature, people make assumptions about him that couldn’t be further from the truth. But he likes it like that. He’s never been one to care what people say about him, and his perceived bad-boy image coupled with his piercing blue eyes catch the attention of most girls. Not that he’s interested.

  In his trademark black T-shirt and jeans, he looks like the stereotypical stoner—more likely to ditch class than to show up at a football game on a Friday night.

  But I know Haden, and he has a big heart and gentle spirit. His eyes are soulful and full of secrets. I know he keeps things from the rest of us. And it’s this fathomlessness that intimidates everyone else.

  Cole strolls up the stairs in his Jane’s Addiction concert tee, but I know he’s got his school spirit towel with him. He likes to pretend that he’s not interested in all the “school crap,” but he is. He’s a school spirit junkie and he’ll be chanting cheers louder than anyone in the crowd. Cole knows that the girls are checking him out, but he does a great job of playing aloof.

  Then there’s Joey: my other half, my platonic soul mate. If I had to pick one of the guys that knows me best, it’s Joey. I have confided things to him that no girl would ever share with someone of the opposite sex. I should be embarrassed at the things he knows about me, but I’m not, and that’s why I love him so much. No one understands the intensity that lies beneath the button down oxfords and perfectly pressed jeans. He dresses the part of the school geek, but there’s so much more to him than that. Sometimes I believe I’m the only one who sees it. But the rest of our friends aren’t that blind.

  Cole points to an open spot in the stands and we all make our way to the seats, pushing through the heaving crowd.

  The players have already taken to the field. Looking at the scoreboard, I can tell we’ve already missed two plays.

  Not that I care.

  If it weren’t for Braxton, none of us would be here.

  Braxton is the one person in our group that everyone in the school loves. He’s a top athlete with model looks and great personality. Most people wonder why he hangs out with the rest of us, but what they don’t know about Braxton is that he’s not about popularity. I have seen him talk to the homeliest girl in school and give her the same attention he would the prettiest. I think that’s the thing I love most about Brax: he’s a genuinely nice guy, and that’s why people are drawn to him.

  As we take our seats, I notice Joey looking around until he spots Bailey. She doesn’t notice him right away, but when she does, they smile broadly at each other. He tried to get Bailey to come with us, but she said she was going with her friends.

  “Hey, Joey,” I call out and wait to get his attention. “Why don’t you go sit with her?”

  “Maybe after halftime. I told her I’d see her later.” He waves and she blows him a kiss.

  The announcer calls out Braxton’s name and everyone, including us, cheers him on. He never looks at the stands but he knows we’re here because we’ve always made it a point to support each other.

  “I guess we know the flavor of the week,” a female voice says from behind me, causing several others with her to laugh.

  I know they’re talking about me. They’re always talking about me. It’s been this way since I was in seventh grade, but I’ve made it my mission to ignore it.

  “She certainly gets around,” another voice chimes in.

  Cole is sitting to my left, Haden to my right, and both guys are staring at the field but neither is paying attention to the game. I watch out of my peripheral as Haden’s forearm muscles tense and relax while Cole bites his lip. They are intently focused on the words being thrown at me, but keep quiet for the time being.

  “She must be good because they all stick around,” a guy’s voice states in salacious tone that makes me nauseous.

  I don’t wait for another barb to be hurled my way, even though I know it’s coming. I throw my arm around Haden and whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek then turning to do the same to Cole. I lean forward to see Joey, who is next to Cole, and give him a wink. “I’ll get you later, baby.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Why must you stir the pot?”

  Haden smiles, proud of my display, and it pushes me on.

  I turn to look at the three classmates who have stopped chattering long enough to watch my little show, jaws hanging open. I shrug my shoulders and answer Joey. “I’m just giving them what they want.”

  One of the girls, Kasey, looks at me an
d raises a brow, “And what about Braxton?”

  I glance over to Cole, who’s listening to everything but is still watching the game. He smirks as if he knows what’s coming, and a smile of my own begins to break.

  They are gawking at me when I turn and wet my lips before winking at the girls.

  “If he wins, we all win,” I say huskily.

  “Touchdown!” the announcer yells and the crowd jumps to their feet to celebrate. All but the three jerks behind me.

  Chapter 2 ~ Finding Misfits

  As senior year at South River High approached, the five of us knew that things would get strained with sports, college applications, and life in general. None of us wanted our odd pairing to be a burden, and it turned out that Sunday evenings were the easiest times to get together. Over the summer it became a staple, and it’s now become our weekly hangout.

  I look forward to this day all week.

  The quarry has served as our escape, though we used to call them cliffs when we were kids. The place seemed much bigger back then, but it serves as the perfect hangout location. We can’t drive cars back here because there are no roads, so we either have to hike or ride bikes.

  Fortunately it’s in the back of our neighborhood and none of us have to go more than a mile to get to the location.

  “You’re late,” I hear Joey’s voice call as I move through the bushes.

  “You’re the only one here. You’re early,” I argue.

  He laughs and walks over to help me over the scratchy brush. We walk into the open space and he crosses his arms over his chest to study me.

  Joey has that cute, nerd thing working for him—borderline hipster, minus the douchey stench of wannabe cool. He worked out with Braxton over the summer to impress Bailey, and I have to admit he looks pretty good. As he stands in his khaki shorts and white T-shirt that fits snug on his biceps, his appeal is apparent. I’m glad he never got contacts, because his black-rimmed frames fit the Joey I’ve known almost all of my life.

  “What was with you Friday night?” he finally asks, and I feel my cheeks flush.

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, since Friday night is still fresh in my memory.