Читать книгу The Pink Sneakers Club - Christian Jr. Bertoni - Страница 3

Hi, my name is Randi with an “i” Guseberri, and I live in New Charlotte. I know what you’re thinking New Charlotte implies that there was an Old Charlotte; well you’re wrong if you thought that. It’s a big town, compared to the towns near it, nothing like Westville. Anyway, we live near some mountains. It’s very peaceful. We get a lot of tourists because of our view of the mountains, of course other towns have a view as well, but we have all the shows and shops as well. Last year it was Rent, every year Disney On Ice and this year we’ve got Cirque Du Soleil. I hope I’m saying that right. Enough about that though, let me introduce you to my three closest friends in the whole world. Again I know what you’re thinking, I haven’t been all over the whole world so how can they be my closest friends, please stop taking me so literal.

There’s Kaye with a “y e”, she’s our Goth girl. Always in black save for her hair and shoes, which I’ll get to in a moment. Now, about her hair, it is her one inconsistency in her otherwise mundane life here at New Charlotte High. Shoulder length, straight and black with chin-length bangs, which are always a dark purple, her favorite color. Her body is slender, because she doesn’t eat a whole lot. Her skin is pale, which makes her dark make-up and slate-gray eyes stand out. She always wears black eyeliner, lipstick, and fingernail polish. She’s got a few piercings, nothing too ostentatious mind you, two small loops on her left eyebrow and one on her right brow. She also has a piercing on her nose, and of course one on her tongue. She’s also got a few cool tattoos. Her personality is almost always covered in sarcasm and quick wit.

She’s an absolute whiz when it comes to computers. She’s created this really cool program called the Grim Reaper. It allows her to copy somebody’s hard drive, giving her complete access and control of that person’s computer. It’s pretty hi-tech stuff. Kinda over my head. Don’t let her cold demeanor fool you; she can be very sweet, but only to those she cares about.

Next we have Caren with a “c”, with her ballerina posture and stolid gaze, she’s often pegged as arrogant or aloof. Tall, sparkling blue-eyes a hot body and big boobs. She’s got thick blonde, wavy hair. All kidding aside it’s a little intimidating when we hang out by the pool. She’s always saying quotes, which I think half the time is made up, but whatever, you’ll understand soon enough.

Then we have Deirdre, just Deirdre. She has long light brown hair, very straight that’s always falling into her face covering her light-brown eyes. She has some very light freckles on her cheeks and a small overbite. She’s not model pretty, but she’s cute, sweet and kind and always polite, but not outgoing. She’s always had difficulty making friends.

I guess that brings us to me, you could say I’m the leader of this motley crew. I’m okay looking, I guess. I’ve got shoulder length hair with a mixture of colors. My natural color is light brown I’ve added some highlights to create my look; I usually wear it pulled back into a ponytail. I have blue eyes, and I’m a little short but that doesn’t detract from my; as my father would say; fiery personality. I’m a tomboy of sorts, and not afraid to get my hands dirty. I created, and named us the Pink Sneakers Club. Why? It’s simple really we all wear pink sneakers, even our resident Goth girl, Kaye. Remember I said I’d tell you later about her shoes. Anyways, I plan parties, little events, trips, sleep over’s, mall outings, just for us four.

I practically grew up with Kaye and Caren. Deirdre came into the picture later sometime in middle school. I remember when the three of us met in kindergarten. It’s pretty funny. Our teacher, Miss Hammings had assigned us to the same worktable.

Don’t tell Kaye I told you this, but she was crying at the time. She used to be pretty sensitive if you can believe it. She thought that her mother had given her to Miss Hammings for keeps. It took her about a week to figure it out. The three of us became friends instantly I don’t know there just seemed to be that instant connection between us. You know what I mean?

On the first day of school, Miss Hammings asked us to draw a picture of our family. Caren drew a cat.

“Uh, Caren honey that’s a very nice picture of a cat,” she said. “But are you sure you understood the project? You were supposed to draw a picture of your family.”

Caren just smiled happily and nodded.

Later we learned that cats were the only things Caren could draw. By the end of the year, Caren drew pictures of her family with cat heads.

That brings us to why I’m telling you all this. At some point in our lives there will come a moment when everything changes forever. Sometimes it can be a moment when we admit our weaknesses, or a moment where we rise to a challenge, or accept a sacrifice or let a loved one go. At exactly 3:05 p.m. on Thursday the Pink Sneakers Club changed – forever. So did each of us.

Thursday, 7:20 AM

I don't need to tell you all how many annoying things there are in life. I'm sure you have a top ten (at least) list. I know I do. But somewhere in the tenfold is getting a song stuck in your head. Don't lie. It's happened to you.

I was sleeping soundly dreaming of Bradley Stikes. God, Bradley. He’s so hot it makes me wanna bake cookies on him, ymmmmm. Blonde hair, great big blue eyes and a hot body to boot. He’s a football player and when he smiles his face turns into a constellation triangles.

My iPad’s alarm went off and instead of getting the usual: Katy Perry, Avril Lavigne or any other popular group du jour I got:

"It’s a small world after all. It’s a small world after all. It’s a small world after all. It’s a small, small world."

First off, the moment I wake up, this song is the last thing I want to hear in my head all freakin’ day! Second, I’m going to kill my little brother. Third, I’m going to kill my little brother. Did I mention that? Good ‘cause it’s either that or wish him into the cornfield, whichever’s easier. I would’ve even settled for maybe a Britney. Oops, she's gone and done it again, poor misguided thing.

Why is it though, that when a song permeates the little gray cells and holds on for dear life, it's never a cool song?

Truly, the song stuck in the head is a tough one. It can truly drive you mad. Only way I’ve found to deal with it? Share the name of the song with someone else. Within minutes, it’s stuck in their head. They may curse you out, but it’s worth it. It gives you a fighting chance to take your mind off of:

It's a world of laughter, A world of tears. It's a world of hopes, And a world of fears. There's so much that we share, That it's time we're aware, It's a small world after all.

“Shit!” I overslept! “Jamie you’re dead!” I screamed throwing back the covers. I leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom turning on the shower. “Ugh!” I knew I shouldn’t have watched American Justice marathon. As I waited for the water to warm up I grabbed my clothes from the closet and my undies from the dresser and quickly threw them on the bed.

My room is not your typical girlie room, where most girls would have posters of unicorns or Twilight I’ve got: Die Hard, Dirty Harry, Beverly Hills Cop, and Hot Fuzz. I’ve also got paper shooting targets on my wall, with amazing head and chest groupings. My dad’s been taking me to the firing range since I was old enough to hold a gun. I’ve shot everything from a small revolver to a 9mm Beretta. My dad said as soon as I’m strong enough he’s gonna show me how to shoot a .44 Magnum. Can’t wait!

After my shower I dried off, threw on some jeans, light white tank top with a light colored red blouse over it. Unbuttoned. Then I towel-dried my hair, added a little product and did the finger-trilling thing. Earrings, nothing wild, today I’m going toned down. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail (remember I said I like wearing my hair in a ponytail most of the time. Pay attention there will be a test afterwards) and slipped on my pink Reeboks. I put on a little mascara, and some eyeliner. A swipe of pink lip shimmer. Grabbed my backpack and raced down the hallway.

“Mooommmm!!! I’m running late!” I yelled running down the stairs, jumped the last two steps and raced for the kitchen. We have a nice great big kitchen, the granite’s rich, gold under tones give the countertops subtle warmth. The honey-color wood-faux cabinets adorn the kitchen from top to bottom. My parents are always going on about eco-friendly this, energy-efficient that, such as a 36-inch Sub-Zero refrigerator with two freezer drawers. A gas cooktop, micro-convection oven, “we must always try to do what’s best for the environment,” my dad says all the time. My response - a nagging, “I know daaad . . . “

My mom was holding a pop tart in her hand for me; she’s a stay-at-home mom. She looks like a cross between Joan Jett and Martha Stewart. Weird right? Anyways, my dad is a detective; I guess that’s where I get my love for police investigations. I want to be a cop someday.

“Thanks mom,” I grabbed the pop tart and took several large bites like Kaye. Who eats every meal like it’s her last. As I passed my little brother I leaned in and whispered, “when you least expect it . . . expect it, you little weasel,” and popped him upside his head.

“Mom she hit me!”

“Randi leave your brother alone.” A line she had recited a thousand times.

I turned my 2006 Volkswagen Jetta down Drimmel road and quickly made a left into Mountain View Trailer Park. Its two curved half-sized brick walls on either side of the entrance greeted me with open palms. Vines so thick that it made it hard to see the Mountain View Trailer Park letters. Beyond the curved brick walls lay a mobile-home community with a 66-year history known to few, where people of all ages and backgrounds, uneasily co-exist in cramped quarters. It was a mixture of quaint and ramshackle trailers sharing the property with an assortment of dogs, cats, ducks and the occasional shrieking peacock roaming across the railroad tracks.

I stopped in front of a faded lime green single-wide trailer and sitting on the steps of her make-shift white porch was Kaye. She put out her cigarette and stomped towards my car.

“Your late.” She exclaimed.

“I know. I know. I overslept, I’m sorry.”

Kaye got in the car and slammed the passenger door, “hey, watch it.” I said.

“Sorry.” She said. “My mom’s pissing me off . . . anyways.”

As we drove off, Kaye waved to her father who was just pulling into the driveway, after working the graveyard shift at the chemical plant across the river.

We had our usual gossip I think Kaye enjoys it. It helps to distract her from her life. I won’t bore you with the details, but it came with the usual rhetoric – who’s dating who, who broke-up with who, who’s cheating on who and did you get a look at what she was wearing. You know the usual teenage stuff.

We arrived at the high school, parked and ran inside, hearing the last tardy bell sound off. Damn! It was official. Now we were late! Kaye bounded off to her class and I ran to AP English with Ms. Bürger.

New Charlotte High School is one of the largest high schools in our state, with about 2700 students. The school’s philosophy of “freedom with responsibility” encourages us to make decisions for both study and our leisure time. There are five Houses – Stark, Mayson, Cantor, Byson, and Adel. Each house has its own guidance counselor with a core English/Social Studies program in grades eleven and twelve.

A one-acre enclosed outside area called the Student Center, which serves as a cafeteria, meeting hall and a place to hang out between classes, joins the Houses. It’s where I meet my peeps everyday at 11:30.

The girls and I met up in the Student Center after fourth period. We talked, laughed, ate and worked on some schoolwork so we wouldn’t have any homework. I’ll spare you the mind-numbing yakkity-yak for which teenagers are notorious. I was gossiping about a certain person who shall remain nameless. When guess who should sashay right on over to our table? Natalie Pelledario. The very person I happened to be gossiping about.

Her, let-me-take-a-straightener to my blonde hair, bouncing to the sway. I swear it was like watching one of those movies where the pretty girl is seen for the first time, so they have her moving in slow motion. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t deny it. You’re sitting there nodding your head as you’re reading this. Anyways. If you can get past Natalie’s annoyances she’s actually quite stunning. Average height, great body and big boobs. Makes me sick. Between her and Caren sometimes I feel like I’m still wearing a training bra. She definitely gives Caren a run for her money in the looks department.

She’s the type who will talk your ear off, but usually it’s about herself. But that’s not really the reason she’s my arch-enemy. I know, I know, at my age I already have an arch-enemy. What’s that about? Am I right? Anyways Natalie and I are always competing for the number one spot in our Debate class.

“Hey ladies. What’s the 411?” she said in that high-pitch-scrape-your-fingernails-on-the-chalkboard squeal.

“Hey Natalie.” We all said at the same time. Mimicking her. I think she caught on because her bubbly smile turned into a frown. Ah. It’s really hard to feel sorry for someone whose make-up and skin is flawless.

She looked directly at me, “don’t be rude. Anyways Mr. Dinkle wants to see you as soon as possible.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know, something to do with your current topic for next week’s competition.”

“What? He better not want to change it I’ve been working on it all week. Ugh! Sorry guys I gotta go.” I got up and left in a huff. I’m notorious for that.

When I got to Mr. Dinkle’s class I noticed he was sitting at his desk reading. It must have been his off period. I walked up to his desk. “Mr. Dinkle, Natalie said you wanted to see me?” He looked up from his book, his light blue eyes, framed by square black glasses perched on his gaunt face. Almost made him seem like a caricature.

He laid his book down gently like it was breakable, pushed it to the side and clasped his hands together. Always so prim and proper. He was wearing a pale green, long-sleeve shirt, a black bow tie, which sat neatly under his non-existent chin. He had a crew cut and a tiny, light brown, neatly trimmed mustache barely covering his thin upper lip. I think he looks ridiculous, but what do I know. I can barely get my crap together. “How’s your topic coming along?”

“Fine.” I said, but I was really questioning his reason for asking. “Why?”

“Well, it’s come to my attention that maybe that may not be such an appropriate topic for competition.”

“Really? Who brought it to your attention?” I already knew the answer. Natalie!

“It doesn’t matter. I’m giving you another topic to do.”

“What? You can’t do that! I worked my ass off –“

“Excuse me young lady, you know I don’t tolerate that kind of language in my class room.”

He’s such a douche. “Sorry.” I said through gritted teeth and continued, “but it’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair. Your new topic is ‘Are beauty contest’s harmful’.”

“What!?!?!” I swear I almost blew a gasket. Except I’m pretty sure I don’t know what one is. “That’s stupid. What about my topic ‘Should school students take mandatory drug tests?’ I’ve got a ton of reasons for both pro and con. You can’t change my topic the week before competition.”

“I just did.” He picked up his book and started reading again. And that was that.

I was glad school was over for the day. The four of us headed for the parking lot.

“I can’t believe that bitch screwed me!”

“What are you gonna do now?” Deirdre asked.

“What choice do I have? Either I do it or I don’t go to competition and let Natalie win. And I rather die before I let Nat-

At 3:05 the horn blared indicating a shift change at the chemical plant. Followed by a scream from above, and then -