five

           “So, like, I know that I’m not to supposed to be picking sides, but I’m kinda rooting for the underdog in this one,” Alisa says, watching intently as I tie my shoes.

           Once I’m done creating the perfect bow that won’t come undone, I hop up from the bench, and address her ludicrousness: “I have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re talking about, Lisa.”

           She rolls her eyes at my density, and then ponders for a moment about how to verbalize the thoughts that filter only through her mind. When she finally decides on the best way to communicate her brainwaves, she opens her mouth and lets it spew, holding nothing back. “Ezra, obviously,” she expresses, though it doesn’t help me to better understand her at all. Sensing my continued lack of comprehension, she first insults my intellect with a, “Gosh, Sal! You’re so stupid!” and then goes on to say, “But, like, I was talking about the love triangle between you, Ezra, and Kyle.”

           “What ‘love triangle’?” I scoff. “I’ve been on two dates with Kyle—if anything that’s, like, a love line. Not a triangle.”

           Alisa flips a large segment of her hair over a shoulder, and then pouts, clearly unsatisfied with my response. So she resorts to going back to the metaphorical drawing board inside her head, and formulates a means of relaying her perspective to me. “Sal,” she begins, “I know that you’re pretty much clueless when it comes to this stuff, but believe me—you’re in a freaking love triangle, whether you like it or not!” She pauses to collect herself, for her face has grown a tinge of passionate red. With an exhale, she continues as dignifiedly as she can: “Now, in this love triangle, I’m rooting for Ezra because he reminds me of a homeless puppy and he’s the one you’re supposed to root against and have you seen his biceps?”

           “I’ve seen his biceps. As for this whole ‘rooting’ thing, Lisa, that sounds like picking sports teams. In your hypothetical ‘love triangle,’ there are two boys and I. No teams. There’s no winner or loser. Yeah,” I conclude lamely, heading over to the locker room door. Alisa is hot on my trail, and she’s not exactly thrilled with my reaction right now. But I can’t really blame her. At times, I know that I have a tendency to be a bit on the obstinate side, but that’s just who I am.

           “See, Sal, but that’s where you’re wrong,” she tells me, her new shoes squeaking against the tiled floor of the school. We’ve entered the corridor right outside the gym, and I can hear the faint sound of basketballs being handled. Jay and Kyle and their other friends are in there. They always are on Tuesday afternoons. And then at four on the dot, they leave, and Ezra and I enter. It’s been a nice routine that we’ve established over the past few weeks with only a few threats in regards to Ezra’s manhood. Jason is still pissed as heck about the arrangement, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. He is my big bro, after all.

           “I’m wrong, am I?” I finally reply to Alisa.

           She nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

           “And how exactly am I wrong, Lisa?”

           “There is a winner and loser,” she says.

           “Really?” I have to snort at that. “And what exactly do they ‘win’?”

           “Your heart,” she returns without missing a beat. And then I start laughing, which eventually carries into me gasping for air because I have fallen on the ground and am shaking and laughing and coughing because sometimes Alisa just does that to me. All the while that I’m laughing, however, Alisa doesn’t seem to be very entertained at all. In fact, she seems to be a bit annoyed. Okay, well, maybe more than a bit. She’s, like, really annoyed. “I’m serious, Sal!”

           “I know,” I gasp, “which is why I’m laughing!”

           “It’s not funny!” she shouts, putting her hands up for the added emphasis. Unfortunately for Alisa, it doesn’t help. I still think it’s funny as heck, and that’s all that matters right now.

           “Lisa,” I say, trying my very best to regulate my breathing so that I no longer sound like an obese walrus wheezing for air, “it is funny. This is real life—not some fairytale or some dumb teen fiction story! Besides, you’re talking about freaking Ezra and Kyle! Neither one is Prince Charming material, exactly. I’m not going to fall in love, and they’re sure as heck not going to ‘win my heart’!”

           “Not with that attitude, they won’t!” she says with a wide smile that borders the realms of creepy. “Just face it, Sal—one of those boys is going to fall in love with you. And the other is going to be missing the heck out.”

           “Alisa, you seriously need to just shut your mouth sometimes, you know that?”

           “Rude!”

           “Honest!”

           “Oh, is that what game we’re playing? I can do honest!”

           “Can you?”

           “Yes, Salmonella, I can. You know Jason Berkley?”

           “The name sounds familiar.”

           “Well, if he wasn’t your brother, I would date him so hard!”

           “Ah! My ears! I can never un-hear words like those!”

           “Sorry. Just thought we were being honest.”

           “Yeah. Honest. Not disgusting!”

           “Have you seen Jay’s ass? ‘Cause I have, and let me tell ya, that thing is anything but disgusting!” With that final degradation of my brother from my friend, I’ve had enough, and decide to cover my ears with my trusty hands, in an attempt to block out whatever gross things she decides to say as a follow up. When Alisa gets going, there’s very little anyone can do to stop her. Through my muffled ears, I hear her say, “And that face of his! Ugh! I would just date him so, so hard!”

           “What would you do ‘so, so hard’?” asks another individual, and I remove my hands, knowing that this conversation will end very quickly.

           At the sound of the other voice, Alisa’s face grows red, but she doesn’t step down, and shoots the other person a confident smirk, despite his intimidating stature and even more frightening groupies. “Date you,” Alisa replies smoothly, “if you weren’t Sal’s brother, of course.”

           “Again, TMI!” I cry.

           Jason seems to be at a loss for words, and his once cocky expression has now been replaced by an extreme uncomfortableness that seems to follow Alisa like her freaking shadow. He swallows hard, and then finally conjures up the balls to say, “Oh, uh,” and then shuts up quick. I laugh at the overly awkward exchange, but Alisa doesn’t think it’s funny, and neither does Jason.

           To steer the discussion away from the severely awkward waters, a boy by the name of Kyle speaks up, and switches the attention over to him and me. “So, Sal, uh, how was that biology test you were studying for last night?” he inquires.

           But instead of answering him with a casual, “Oh, ya know, it sucked, but whatever, so does life,” Jason decides that it’s his turn to talk once again. And just like Alisa, that boy never freaking shuts up: “How do you know that Sal was studying for a bio test last night?”

           “We text, dude,” Kyle shrugs easily.

           “Yeah, bro,” I say, “get with the times.”

           One of Jason’s other friends says something, but I don’t hear what it is, and soon a clump of them walk away, leaving Jason and Kyle to face Alisa and me. Jay hurriedly utters, “We’ll talk about your texting habits later,” as his eyes skewer my very soul, and it takes everything I have in me to not crack up at the intensity.

           So I joke, “You mean about those nude pics that Kyle asked for?” Jason’s eyes grow wide, but I’m not done, so I add, “And those same nude pics that I sent Kyle after he asked for them?”

           Jay looks like he’s torn between whom he’ll murder first: Kyle or his younger sister. Kyle looks like he’s about to pass out. Alisa is happy that her little bit of verbal vomit has been almost completely overlooked. And then there’s me. I’m having trouble keeping a straight face. Then, another person is inserted into the mix, making it all the more enjoyable to observe. This other person wears confusion and perplexity well, though veils it with a façade of indifference.

           “What’s going on?” he questions, because greeting people normally is totally overrated.

           “Sup, Ezzhead? We were just discussing the nude pictures I sent Kyle last night via text,” I say like it’s nothing more than a chat about the weather or my bio test that I totally failed, BTW. Kyle now looks like he’s about to break down into a nice river of tears, Alisa is trying to piece together whether or not I’m joking, and Jay is still having trouble deciding who to kill first and how.

           “Oh,” Ezra mumbles with a nod.

           “Sal,” my brother interrupts, but before he can even articulate a threat about how rash and dangerous my actions were or how he’s going to go start digging my grave within the next thirty seconds, I crack. Just like when Alisa told me all that bullshit about winning my heart, I have completely lost it. Laughter escapes through my mouth and nostrils and I can’t stop. I don’t even care that Ezra and Kyle and Jason are all simultaneously judging me. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation.

           “She was joking, wasn’t she?” Jason sighs in relief.

           “Yeah, man,” Kyle gulps. “Besides, you know me. I would never do something like that!”

           “So then what were you two texting about?” Jason furthers the topic of our texting, though it really isn’t all that interesting.

           “Biology,” I wheeze.

           Jason sends Kyle a pointed look, to which Kyle nods fervently in response. “I asked Sal what was up, and then she complained about her bio test. That’s it. I swear!”

           “He’s telling the truth,” I say, trying my hardest to sober up, “but if you’re really that interested in my nudes, Jay, then I’d check Ezra’s phone.” Then I’m doubling over in a spurt of uncontrollable amusement once again. Jason isn’t amused, though. And neither is Kyle. Or Ezra. But Alisa thinks it’s hi-freaking-larious, so joins in with me. The two of us are practically rolling around on the floor, now, displaying the quintessence of the acronym ROTFL. “Your face, Jay!” I laugh at his fuming impassiveness.

           “His face!” Alisa backs me up, also continuing to laugh.

           We’re both still being weirdoes, far too entertained by the boys’ reactions than we probably should be. “This is better than freaking cable and Netflix combined!”

           “His face!” Alisa is adamant on my brother’s face. It’s a little weird, but so are we.

           Jason still doesn’t join in on our laughing fit, so after exclaiming, “Geez, Jay!” I deem it about time to express to him that, “No, I didn’t actually send Ezra nudes. Or anyone, for that matter.”

           Finally, Jason allows himself to breathe, and then acts very maturely by just walking away. He doesn’t even ask me about what time I’ll be home or tell me that he’s taking the car or not. I know that he’ll be even angrier if I say anything to him while he’s in the midst of his dramatic exit, so I don’t say anything, but mainly because I’m too busy laughing. I shouldn’t find the hypothetical scenario of me sending a boy naked pictures to be funny (because it really isn’t—it’s pretty serious, actually), but I do. And so does Alisa. But Kyle and Ezra don’t, which is why they’re still not laughing.

           “So, uh, just to clarify, you didn’t send him, uh, pictures, right?” Kyle says, causing me to close my mouth and breathe through my nostrils. I let a single giggle slip, and that’s all it takes for hysteria to win out. Soon, I’m laughing all over again, and I can’t answer Kyle because I’m in one of those states where every little thing just becomes increasingly funnier and funnier. Alisa shares my sentiments, because she has now resorted to the silent kind of deadly laughter as she sprawls on the floor.

           “She doesn’t even have my phone number,” Ezra tells Kyle. But Kyle isn’t entirely satisfied, so Ezra has to go into greater depth and say, “No, she didn’t send me any pictures.”

           “I’m surprised you think that low of me,” I manage to say to Ezra. So he shoots me a bewildered and hesitant gaze, meaning that I must elaborate: “Like, if I needed your phone number, I could totally get it.”

           “From whom?” he scoffs skeptically.

           “I have my sources,” I say, and then my spurt of temporary sanity is over and I just lose it and start to laugh again.

           “Uh, Sal, are you okay?” Kyle asks.

           “Better than okay, actually!” I laugh.

           “How many hours of sleep did you get last night?”

           “Like, three, maybe?”

           “So, this is what exhaustion looks like on Sal Berkley,” he assesses with a small grin, the other matter dropped for the time being.

           “Biology is very important in life, you know,” I mock, for to me, bio is stupid as heck. Like, when am I ever going to freaking use my knowledge of asexual reproduction of organisms? As far as I know, budding, regeneration, and fission aren’t going to help me fill out tax forms or do just about anything in my life. I’m not going into the sciences, because, well, science isn’t my thing, so getting an A in a meaningless class is pretty pointless, honestly. Alas, my brain didn’t seem to think so last night when I was cramming for my test until the wee hours of the morning.

           “So is sleep,” Kyle counters.

           “True dat,” I commend, gathering myself together. I have finally decided that maybe the floor isn’t the most dignified place to be, so now I’m standing. But Alisa is still clinging to the ground like her very existence depends on it, and I fear that if she gets up, she’ll just fall right back down.

           Ezra watches me in his brooding muteness, but doesn’t say a thing. So instead, Kyle speaks, acting as if we’re having a one-on-one convo. “Maybe when you’re better rested we can go out again,” he proposes, attempting to keep it nonchalant, though failing miserably. His transition is about as subtle as a neon pink elephant, and judging by the motion of Ezra’s eyebrows, I’d say that I’m not the only one who notices.

           “Yeah, and maybe when Jay doesn’t feel like killing either of us,” I smile.

           “If we wait that long, then we’ll never go out again,” he jokes. I don’t laugh, though, because I know if I start, then there’s literally nothing I’ll be able to do that will stop me. So Kyle keeps talking: “How about this weekend?”

           “Sure.”

           “Do you want to pick the place this time?”

           “Sure.”

           “Okay, cool.”

           “Yeah.”

           Then Alisa stumbles up from the floor, and all eyes are on her. Kyle and I have affirmed loose plans of a date some time this weekend, but I can’t think about that, because I’m more interested in Alisa. She hasn’t completely sobered up, but she has come close to it. “As fun as this has been,” says the girl with as much seriousness as she can muster, “I must bid you a peace out, girl scouts.”

           “None of us are, have been, or ever will be girl scouts,” I tell her.

           She places a finger to her lips and says, “Shhhhh!” and then gathers her pointer fingers and thumb together to form a three-sided shape with a gap of air in the middle. It’s directed at me. She mouths, “Triangle,” and then she walks away, leaving us all in awe at the obscurity of her parting. I’m not sure if I should be proud or terrified to call her my friend, but I’m oddly happy that a girl as wacked out as she has a place in my life. As she sashays her way away, I stifle a spurt of laughter. And I’m left with the two boys.

           “So, uh, this weekend?” Kyle nervously confirms.

           “Yeah, I’ll text you,” I say.

           “Uh, no you won’t,” he shakes his head resolutely.

           “I won’t?”

           “After the scare you just gave Jay and me? No way, Sal.”

           “But we’re texting buddies!” I cry, finally processing what has been said over the past few minutes. Exhaustion. Huh. Maybe that’s why I’m acting, like, super weird. Normally, I’m only moderately weird, but all day (not just, like, now) I’ve been a tad bit more on the eccentric side, and the only plausible reason I can see is that I’m tired as heck from all that idiotic bio studying that I did. It makes sense.

           “Well, find a new texting buddy, because this one likes being friends with your brother,” Kyle tells me. Then he reflects on what he has just said, and is immediately apologizing profusely with a, “Sorry, Sal. That was a little harsh. What I mean is that, uh, I don’t think it’s the best idea to text right now. Ya know?”

           “So what are we going to do?”

           Ezra lets a stream of air pass through his nostrils as he coughs. Kyle ignores him, but I don’t.

           “Call each other, I guess.”

           “Like, with real voices and everything?” Kyle nods, and I scoff. “What is this? Nineteen twenty?”

           “I’ll call you,” he sighs with a shake of his head. He offers me a tight-lipped grin, and I force myself to return it. Then, he surprises me by turning to Ezra. He doesn’t call him by name (as per usual, because calling Ezra by his name is, like, equivalent to “Voldemort” in Kyle’s mind), but we both know that he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Ezra. “I hope that you make her run a lot today. She deserves it.”

           “I deserve it?” I gasp.

           “Yeah, you do,” Kyle deadpans, “you seriously could’ve ended my friendship with Jay, Sal. Oh, and my life. That dude was ready to murder me.”

           “I know,” I smirk.

           Then Ezra finally speaks up, and the asshole can’t help but mirror my expression, though with more smugness than should be legal to allot to a certain individual. “Well, we were going to do some dribbling today,” Ezra says, and my stomach plummets at the implication/possibility that I’m finally going to get to touch a basketball, but then he continues, “but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

           “So you’re going to make me run?” I pout.

           “No, of course not,” he smirks slyly, “you’re going to be sprinting.”

           And all I can do is close my eyes and try not to regret my recent life choices too much. But, like, seriously. F my freaking life.