wednesdays: on wednesdays movie tickets are for $5 at a shitty movie theatre in the latino neighborhood. we try to go there often, but school is hard. especially for me. when we do go, we always end up at Frida's coffeeshop. Frida is this sweet old lady, who insists i call her teta because she says i remind her of a lebanese man she used to shag in the 70s. he was probably a refugee since back then we had that civil war thing going on, but i don't tell her that. by 10pm teta would be closing up, so he and i would sit and eat muffins or cheescakes teta was going to throw out anyway. the only light is the moon's grin.

thursday: on thursdays at 9 a.m. i walk from mr. pinciotti's class to mrs. alvarez's class as he walks from miss sulkin's class to mrs. khoury's class. 30 steps from mr. pinciotti's class i will reach his locker, where he will be kissing a tall blonde. i will not be surprised, because white boys do not like brown girls. they do not like our eyebrows and our moustaches, and our clothes and our strict parents. i walk the 20 steps left and write poetry about him in french class.

friday: t.g.i.f.. i get into the bus and the pretty green-eyed girl isn't riding home with us, she has band practice. his attention is all mine. there's so much of it, i don't know what to do with it, so i just sit in the sun and mope, and i hope he will ask me, "golden girl, is life getting you down?" (he never does.)