I Like Cheez-Its

Every inch of my very being aches. I would much rather just lie here quietly if it’s all the same, thank you very much.1

But my alarm is blaring in my ears, filling up my head with nonsensical noise until it feels it’s ready to burst. I’m gathering the will to move my legs when Veronica sticks her head around the door.2

Something thumps me in the head as she yells, “Get your lazy ass outta bed, loser! You’re gonna make us late!” The door slams behind her.3

I open my creaky eyes and stare at the offending head-thumping object. It’s a banana, resting peacefully on my chest. Frowning slightly, I punch the off button on my alarm, sending it skidding to the floor behind my nightstand.4

Dragging my heavy, sock-clad feet out into the hall, I am displeased to see that the morning rush has already begun. Down the short flight of stairs, I can hear mom yelling at Veronica to get her butt downstairs to help her magically procure five sandwiches in less than ten minutes – each with its own specifications, of course: Dad wants two, one with butter and the other with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter slathered on top of salami and some kind of cheese that should override the glow he feels after eating “healthy” butter. Veronica wants one – a crazy thin layer of no fat peanut butter on wheat bread that she only ever eats half of anyway. I want a classic PB & J with raspberry jelly while Mom just takes whatever’s left out after the tumult is over with.5

I hate Mondays.6

And last night, of course I stayed up late, sneaking that box of Cheez-Its from behind my dresser and crunching of them quietly so that next door, where Veronica was no doubt having remarkable phone sex with her current crush, could not hear and report me to the rents. She does wash her sheets a lot.7

I snort to myself as I pound down the stairs and Veronica glares at me under her heavily made-up eyes. 8

“Morning, honey,” Mom says, her voice slightly frayed but cheery as usual.9

“Hey, Mom.” I move to get the milk out of the fridge, but Mom stops me.10

“Carter, dear, your father left the milk out yesterday and it’s spoiled. I’ll have to run to the store and…” She trails off, her fingers still whisking around the counter at lightning speed, preparing lunches for the family.11

I stand at the fridge for a few more seconds, my hand hovering an inch away from the handle, until Veronica shoves by me to get herself a glass of whatever new diet drink she’s slipped home and into the over-crowded shelves.12

On impulse, I snatch a granola bar from the cabinet on my right and bolt back upstairs.13

A miraculous ten minutes later, I have a sandwich in the side pocket of my backpack (no doubt about to get squished within first period), my teeth are clean, and my hair looks presentable.14

I jam my favorite pair of red converse on my feet and Veronica honks the horn outside, a clear warning sign that she is not going to get to school early enough to discuss the aforementioned phone sex with the aforementioned nameless crush.15

“Carter! Get the hell out here!”16

I check that I have everything I need, grab my running shoes by the door, and head out.17

When I collapse into the driver’s seat, I say simply to Veronica, “You could just take the bus.”18

She rolls her eyes and ignores me. Not like I expected much of an answer. I crank up the tunes and Bob Dylan is blasting out the Tombstone Blues.19

Ten more minutes later, we’re stuck in traffic and Veronica is beginning to look dangerously impatient, shooting daggers at me every time I glance to my right. What is it with this girl, anyway? It’s not like my goal in life is to make her late for school.20

Clearly this is not going to get us anywhere. I cut someone off, jamming myself halfway into the left lane so the sucker behind me has to let me in. He lays on the horn quite admirably, but he has a junky car so I don’t have to worry about shit from him.21

“Finally,” Veronica says, heaving a heavy sigh, like I am so not cool enough to be within four feet of her.22

“Shut up.”23

“You shut up.”24

Fortunately, at the moment I’m not in a bad enough mood to pursue this battle. At the next light I make a probably illegal left turn and speed down the side roads, cruising through neighborhoods I barely know until I see the school’s playing fields speckled with bleachers, fence, and lights. I slow down then, and turn into the parking lot.25

Bob Dylan is still singing, and the moment my car grinds to a stop behind a line waiting for a parking spot, Veronica snatches her back, whisks the door open, and disappears silently into the crowd forming at the front doors. 26

“You’re welcome,” I say to her back.27

My attention is momentarily diverted by a telltale glint in the sun. 28

Today, Nicole’s hair flows down to brush the tops of her shoulder blades, all strawberry blonde and beautiful. She’s with her friends, sitting on the curb not thirty feet away from where I’m inching forward in the line.29

One of her friends elbows her in the arm and makes what she must have thought was a discreet gesture to my car. Girls are funny sometimes. Her other friend stifles a laugh as Nicole steals a quick glance and a slight blush touches her cheeks.30

The first friend gives her another nudge, raises her eyebrows expectantly, and says something. She starts to get up.31

I’m so intent on this that I don’t see the space has opened up in front of me and a threatening car is riding my bumper from behind, growling angrily behind the wheels. I pull up, check my hair in the rearview mirror, and pull into a faculty spot right next to where Nicole is standing.32

I roll down the window.33

“Hey,” she says, smiling shyly.34

“Hey,” I return. She does look dazzling today. I wonder if she knows what it’s doing to my rapidly dispersing strategically planned approach to this conversation. Leaving the engine idling, I step out of the car and comfortably close to Nicole. She grips her binder to her chest as if it were a life preserver and she were drowning in a sea of that watery stuff they call cheese in Kraft boxes.35

She throws a quick glance over her shoulder at her “too-casual” friends, who are obviously straining to pick up any shred of information they can hear. 36

“Your friends are bad actors.”37

Nicole laughs, a cute tinkling laugh that’s got me every time I’ve heard it. “I keep telling them that, but they don't believe me.”38

I decide suddenly that I didn’t want this anxiety to last any longer than it had to “So I was wondering.”39

“Yeah?”40

“So, let’s say this Saturday, a murder occurs.”41

I can see at my mention of Saturday, Nicole’s attention snaps fully onto me. But she’s a little taken aback by my words. “Umm… Okay…” she says.42

“And as luck would have it, I’m the prime suspect.”43

“Are you trying to tell me you killed someone?”44

“Hypothetically, maybe.” The clock is ticking closer to eight and students are starting to enter the building. I’ve gotta hurry this up. “So when I’m in court, I have this alibi planned, right? I’m gonna tell them that ‘No, of course I didn’t kill so-and-so, I was at the dance with Nicole.”45

A quick intake of breath.46

I flash a winning smile at her. “You don’t wanna make me a liar, do you?”47