Of Bitchy Girls And Gorgeous Guys Chapter One “Oh, my god!” I exclaimed, glancing at my studded wristwatch once more to see if it really was ten past three or if it were just my eyes fooling me. “What?” Julia Zaccuri (a.k.a. Jules) asked as she slammed her locker shut. “Spanish remedial class!” I said in a really shrill voice. I so cannot believe that I have forgotten all about it. Just because I got an ‘F’ in Spanish last semester doesn’t mean that my mom has the right to ruin my life by making me attend shitty Spanish extension classes! “Spanish remedial classes?” Jules repeated, looking all confused like an ignorant little girl. “Jules,” I started, pretending to be in front of a huge crowd, a long speech ahead of me. “From this day forth, I, Tina Sinfuego, will attend Spanish remedial classes. Which will of course be ultimately fab and gorgeous-not.” Her eyes got all wide. “You’ve got to be kidding!” “It’s true.” “No, way!” “Yes, way.” “No, way!” “Yes, way.” “No, way!” “Jules,” I said, getting totally annoyed. “Yeah?” “Stop it.” “Okay.” I rolled my eyes. Jules can get pretty annoying and I hate that. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a class to catch.” “So,” Jules began, suddenly interested. I bet she’ll spread the word that I’m gonna attend some shitty class because I’m such a loser (which of course I am so not) faster than a forest fire. “How’d you get into joining this class anyway?” “Well,” I said, taking back what I thought she’d do if she ever knew the reason on why the heck I’m attending such a class. I figured she’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone that she’s friends with some person who attends remedial classes. “Remember that ‘F’ I got in Spanish last semester?” “You mean, the one typed in red?” I could almost feel the steam coming out of my ears. I may have to kill her. “Er, yes.” “Well, what about it?” I felt like I was talking to a sack. “Don’t you get it? Just because I got a measly ‘F’, she already makes me attend a Hitler-run class! I mean, where does it say that she has the right to do that?” “You’d better get going now.” She said, a pathetic grin spread across her face. “Remember, Hitler-run class!” “Jules, I was only kidding.” I corrected. “How would you know?” She asked, wiggling her bushy eyebrows (so unlike my neatly-plucked ones) at me. I would so love to shave those bushy eyebrows of hers. They look so much like those of a baboon’s. I mean, do baboons even have eyebrows? Whatever. “Jules,” I said, glancing at my wristwatch for the last time. “ I’d better get going now.” Slinging my beige tote bag (I sort of have a thing for beige. Especially in luggage) over my shoulder, I headed for room 104 which was down by the principal’s office. I could hear Jules chanting, “Hitler-run! Hitler-run!” That girl has totally lost it. But whatever. As I turned the curve down by the principal’s office, I almost bumped into the principal, Ms. Wilson (a.k.a. the Hitler wannabe) herself! I instantly felt the blood drain out of my face. “Shouldn’t you be heading home by now?” The Hitler wannabe eyed me suspiciously with those twitchy eyes of hers. I swear she must have those checked. She might already be diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease or something. Not that I care or anything. “Um, actually, I’m headed for my Spanish remedial class.” I blinked. “Oh, really?” She snorted like a boar then went on her way, giving me a really smug look. With that kind of attitude, she can so pass as the Hitler version of West Side High. Hmm, she should consider growing a mustache, though. Reaching Room 104, I peered through the back door to see if the class had started already. It hadn’t. On the front row sat a girl wearing a cedar green tank top, reading on what I guessed was the latest issue of Cosmo girl. Next to her sat a guy with dreadlocks who was listening to some music in his Discman. A girl with blonde-streaked hair sat on the second row, talking to a girl with a pierced navel. Taking a deep breath, I entered through the back door, hoping to get less attention that way. But it made the adverse effect. In about a fraction of a second, everyone in the room was staring at me like I was some loon on the moon. “Um, hi?” Was all that I could muster. This is so not my day. “So, the girl with the pierced navel started. “You must be the girl Mrs. Brigitte was talking about.” “I am?” I asked, taking the seat next to her. “I’m Tina.” “And I’m Diane.” She pulled her back her brunette hair into a low ponytail using a scrunchie then continued, “And on the front row sits Theresa and Khalil. This beside me is Jessica.” Facing Diane and Jessica, I asked, “So, what do you guys do in here?” “Totally boring stuff.” Diane said. “You know, speech exercises and stuff.” Jessica added, rolling her eyes. Just then, a stout woman wearing on of those matching coat and skirt sets that can be readily bought from Wal-Mart (I just had the feeling that it’s got to be from Wal-Mart since my mom practically drags me there with her every time her mascara runs out), entered the room. I noticed that she had her mousse-slicked hair in a tight bun. Hmm, she reminds me a lot of Agatha Trunchbull. You know, that bitch of a principal in Matilda. Theresa quickly slipped her Cosmo girl into her utility bag and got out a loose-leafed binder and a pen. Khalil, Jessica and Diane did the same. “I am assuming that most of you have already started reviewing for the Spanish test to be taken early next week.” The Agatha look-alike said in a scratchy voice, taking big, thundering steps towards my seat. I could hear every wooden panel creak as she neared me. Seriously, what have I done to deserve this? I totally felt like fish bait. “And who might you be?” “Um, actually, I’m starting today.” I bit my lip. What else was there to say? “You know, be a part of your Spanish remedial class?” “Stand!” The Agatha look-alike ordered, her eyes bulging out from their sockets. “I won’t tolerate anyone who talks to me in that manner.” Like, hello? Since when did we have to stand to say something? I shot up from my seat, my heart beating heavily in my chest. Everyone in the room was now staring at me with those we’re-so-sorry-for-you faces that made me want to smack them right in the face. But of course, I didn’t. I felt my face redden. I wanted to jump out the window and never be seen again. “Since you’re new here, I find it of great necessity that we make introductions.” The Agatha look-alike said, eyeing me from head-to-toe. “I’m Mrs. Brigitte, acting teacher of this school year’s Spanish remedial classes. And you are?” “I’m Tina Sinfuego.” I said, forcing a smile. “Oh, and, I write for the school paper.” “Uh-huh,” Ms. Brigs said, finally motioning for me to sit. “Now that we are introduced, let’s begin. Ms. Brigs has just written ‘Más vale pájaro en mano, que ciento rolando’ (a bird in the hand is worth a hundred flying) on the board when a guy came in through the front door. vision in black. He wore a black polo with black jeans in his Dr. Martens. He had thick black ruffled hair, which complemented his tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. It was enough for any girl, in this case, me, swoon. Ms. Brigs pursed her thin lips smudged with burnt mahogany lipstick. “What’s your excuse this time?” “Oh,” The guy said, as if he was not aware that classes had started already. “I auditioned for the school play. You know, ‘the West Side Story’?” “Uh-huh,” Ms. Brigs said, not that convinced. “We’ll see about that.” “Who’s he?” I whispered to Diane. “James Thomas. A real pro in acting.” She hesitated then continued, “He’s also a total sex god.” “I totally agree.” “Now, listen up.” Ms. Brigs started, pulling out a sheaf of worksheets from her worn-out plastic envelope. “I want you guys to answer this worksheet as seriously as possible so I may be able to keep track of all the things you know and don’t know.” “Any questions?” Ms. Brigs asked as she started passing out worksheets. “Ms. Brigitte?” Khalil called out in a really bored voice (who wouldn’t?). “There’s someone at the door.” “Oh,” Ms. Brigs said, walking out the door to go talk to a bald man in glasses. I could tell by the look on the man’s face that what he is about to tell Ms. Brigs is something morbid (or not). But who cared? I’m as young as I can be in the land of the free. Hey, did that just rhyme? I’m as young as I- “Psst!” Diane hissed as she slipped me a note. It read: Who are you? xoxo Thomas guy From the corners of my eye, I could see him grinning at me. Oh, god! The sex god wanted to know who I was! What should I say? I wrote back: I’m Tina Sinfuego. I passed back the note. After a while of eeney meeney miney moe-ing whether it should be an ‘A’ or a ‘B’ on Part II, the note was passed back to me. It read: I’m James Thomas. Cool meetin’ you. P.S. Hey, are you that Tina who writes for the column ‘off the hook’ in the school paper? I wrote back: Yep. Just as I was about to hand the note back to Diane, Ms. Brigs came back in with a really grim look on her face like she just had a talk with the Grim Reaper. I bet she did. “I’m terribly sorry but I’d have to dismiss you guys right now.” Ms. Brigs announced, yanking her stuff from the teacher’s table. “Something sudden just happened. My father died.” And with that, Ms. Brigs sprang out of the room in about a nanosecond. For some reason, I just had the feeling that she was able to beat the speed of light. “Was she serious?” Theresa asked, not a hint of concern on her face. “With that look on her face?” Khalil said as he plugged his Discman back on and went out of the room. “Totally.” “Tina,” James called out as I headed out of the room. “Wait up.” I turned to face him. Up close, he really did look like a sex god! I could just about melt right now. “So, are you really that Tina who writes for the school paper?” He asked, his piercing blue eyes pondering over mine. “Yep, that’s me.” No point in not telling the truth. “I thought so,” He said, a thoughtful gaze fixated on his face. “What do you mean?” “Well, I’ve been reading your column lately and I find it pretty cool.” James explained. “Really?” I said, sort of flattered. You hear that? A sex god just said that my column was cool! But if he reads my column- Oh. My. God. Then that means he has read my article about the importance of proper hygiene and sanitation! As if everyone didn’t already know that. I swear, I only wrote about that since an article had to be submitted that day and I totally forgot. So guess what? I had to cram in an article an hour before the deadline! “Well, yeah.” He admitted. “Except that article about the sanitation thing.” “Oh, that.” I said, my face turning red. “Anyway, wanna come with me to the auditorium and go check out how the rehearsals are going?’ “Yeah, sure.” I said. “I mean, I haven’t a thing to do after this anyway.” “So,” He started as we headed down the hall leading towards the auditorium. “What made you join freakin’ Spanish remedial?” “I, erm, sort of got an ‘F’ in Spanish last semester.” I confessed, feeling a bit awkward. “We should’ve taken up German instead,” He said, giving me a totally sexy smile. “Well, I’ve heard that German is twice as hard as Spanish.” I pointed out. “We might as well consider ourselves lucky.” “Yeah, right.” I said, rolling my eyes. “Hey,” He started. “Have you ever watched ‘the West Side Story’?” “Well, yeah.” I admitted. “It’s about that thing going on between Tony and Maria, right?” “That means you could help us then.” He said as we entered the auditorium. The place was packed with people (meaning, freshmen, sophs, juniors, seniors, and the like) who wanted to try out their luck in being the next Natalie Wood or Richard Beymer. A lady with tight auburn curls holding a wooden clipboard on one hand and a pen on the other sat on a newly upholstered seat by the front row, screening people who are taking turns up on stage. “Why, James!” A man with a receding hairline said in a surprised voice as he approached us. “I thought you’ve already gone. And who’s this with you?” “Mr. Smith, this is Tina. Tina, this is Mr. Smith.” James introduced, remembering his manners. “Lovely meeting such a fine lass like you,” “Uh, same here.” I said, forcing a smile. Although if you come to think of it, I shouldn’t have said that since it would also mean that Mr. Smith was a lass, which he obviously isn’t. “So, James.” Mr. Smith started, raising an eyebrow. “Still not satisfied in your role as Tony, eh?” “No, no, no. You’ve got it wrong. I like my part perfectly fine.” James corrected. “It’s just that I thought that Tina over here can help in writing the script.” Did he just say what I thought he did? I mean, I never, ever wrote a play my whole life! That sanitation thing might happen again. “Oh, right.” Mr. Smith said, motioning for us to go to the backstage with him. “I’d like you to meet Damon Murray.” Mr. Smith said, referring to a guy (probably a junior) seated on a stool, filing papers in individual folders. He had spiky surfer-blonde hair, wore a v-neck cashmere sweater and a pair of stone-bleached Levi’s. “He’s our one and only scriptwriter at the moment.” Mr. Smith continued. “Hey,” Damon said as he turned to face us. “I’m Tina Sinfuego.” I said, introducing myself. “Just thought that you could use some help with the scriptwriting.” Mr. Smith said as if that explained everything. He motioned for James to come with him, leaving this Damon guy and me alone. Now what? “Let me get this straight.” I said, wanting to make sure that I got it right. “Mr. Smith wants me to be helping you out in producing the script, right?” “That’s how I understood it,” He said, giving me a totally flirty smile. He just stood there staring at me like I had some spinach stuck in between my two front teeth. Which of course wasn’t likely to happen since all I had for lunch was a quick bite of salmon yakitori. “W-what?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious because of the fact that he was practically staring at me. “Nothing,” He shook his head sheepishly. And that was when I noticed that he had his tongue pierced. “Cool stud you’ve got there,” I said, making me sound as if I was totally into him although it was pretty obvious that I was so not. “Had it the summer before ninth grade.” “Cool,” “So,” He started. “Have you had any experience in doing scriptwriting?” “Um, no.” I admitted. “But I do write for the school paper.” “Oh,” He said, his soulful gray eyes deep in thought. “But I’m up for it.” I assured him even though it wasn’t me in the first place who volunteered in helping with the script. “If you say so,” He said, handing me a form. “Just fill ‘er up then it’s official.” “Just be prepared for emergency meetings and those kinds of shit.” He added. “Those sort of things happen most of the time.” I took the form and sat down on one of the many wooden stools to be found in the room. I fished for a pen in my bag and began filling out the form. The questions were pretty basic. Like if you had ever done scriptwriting before and stuff like that. The moment I finished answering the form, I stood up and handed it back to Damon. “So,” I said. “When do we begin?” “How about tomorrow?” He suggested. “Same place. Same time.” “Fine by me,” I agreed. “Hey, you going home yet?” I asked as I headed out the backstage. “Nah,” He said, my form still in his hand. “Why?” I asked, tucking loose strands of my crimped brunette hair behind my ear. “What for?” “I have to finish filing those papers.” He said, pointing to a stack of papers on the desk. “Told Smith I’d finish filing ‘em by five.” “Oh,” I said feeling a little bit sorry for the guy. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” “Yeah,” “Well, ‘bye.” “‘Bye.” Boy, am I glad that it was all over, I thought as I hurried down the steps of the front stage. Talking to Damon felt so, so awkward and stuffy. Sure, Damon was being nice and all but he seemed sort of well, odd. I don’t mean- “Tina,” I turned around. It was James. “Oh, hey.” “Listen,” he said, giving me yet another one of his trademark sexy smiles. “Want me to walk you home?” “I’d love to.” *** Shit. It was already ten past seven and I’ve promised my mom that I would be coming home early today to accompany her in going to Wal-Mart to buy a new tube of mascara. As if she didn’t have enough already. But of course I didn’t mean what I said or anything. But still. I swung the double oak doors leading to our newly refurbished living room in one full swing instead of itty bitty ones, hoping to somehow lessen the creak produced by the doors when swung. But to my utter dismay, it produced an annoying series of creaks. I swear to the Almighty Father that I’ll have mom oil those hinges before it causes me any more trouble. The last thing I wanted was for mom to go ahead and shoot me questions (yes, like a machine gun in this matter) on why the heck I came home late even though I promised her that I wouldn’t. She can be so nosy and demanding at the same time if she wanted to. I crept past the antique great grandfather clock as quietly as possible, stopping to crouch behind a plush seat to take off my suede sling backs. It was only a few steps from the stairs and I was so not taking any chances of getting caught right now. I was about to make a dash for the stairs when I caught my mom and some guy wearing a tartan polo smooching their heads off on a couch near the fireplace (remind me never to sit on that couch ever again). I felt like throwing up. Talk about disgusting with a capital ‘D’. I thought of something nasty to say but decided against it. Fortunately, neither of them saw me. So before anyone else might, I went up the stairs, my sling backs still in hand. The moment I stepped in my room, I instantly went in my bathroom to fill the tub with warm, running water. I was so in the mood for a nice relaxing bath. After all the sudden turn of events, not to mention my mom’s shameless behavior, I needed a good scrub more than anything else. I was about to crumble the bubble bar into the tub when all of a sudden; the phone rang. I made a dash for it. Please let it be Jules. Please let it be Jules. I so have ton of things to tell her. “Hello?” It was Jules. Thank God! “Oh, my god! Jules,” I said. “I am sooo glad you called. I have a lot of things to tell you!” “Tell me about it. I have a ton of things to tell you myself.” “Do tell.” “I don’t know if you’ve heard it already but, I overheard Alexi Portman and Lana Farkas gossiping about what I heard was a spring formal.” A spring formal?! “Er, Jules, are you sure that it’s not like uh, some sort of false gossip?” “False gossip? Very unlikely. I mean Alexi is a member of the student board committee.” “So?” “So she’s like, one of the first few people in school to get an inside scoop on the school’s upcoming events.” “Believe me, spring formal is nothing compared to what happened to me today.” I said, glancing at my chipped fingernails. I swear, I’ll have them manicured first thing tomorrow. “Well, what did?” “You know James Thomas, that guy from Spanish remedial? Guess what? He asked me out for coffee at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Then after that, he walked me home. I’m telling you, he’s a total sex god.” “Whoa, girl. Repeat everything you said. This time in full detail.” “Um, Jules?” I said, glancing at my wristwatch. “Do you mind if I’d just you know, call you back later? It’s getting pretty late and I still have a history paper to write.” “Yeah, sure. I have a ton of things to do myself.” *** Please review! 'Cause if I'm not gonna be receiving reviews for this chap as well as the upcoming ones, i'm not gonna be continuing this fic. Which of course will be a sad thing since, ye ain't gonna be knowing what the heck happens to Tina and her miserable(?) life. So, ta! -kaz *** Chapter Two Sitting cross-legged on a wooden stool across my older sister, Kirsten, I munched on a Belgian waffle thoughtfully. Kirsten leaned across the granite-topped breakfast counter and raised an eyebrow at me. “So, how was last night?” I almost choked on my waffle. “Uh, shouldn’t you be asking that to mom?” I asked, hoping to steer away from the subject since there was like, a really huge possibility that she was talking about James even though I had no idea on how she would have known. “What?” “You mean, you haven’t seen mom making out with some tartan-shirted guy on the couch by the fireplace last night?” I asked, feeling grossed-out by the mere thought of it, and at the same time not believing that Kirsten was actually oblivious to the whole thing. She was usually the first one in the house to notice things. Hey, what if the reason why she hadn’t seen mom and that tartan-shirted guy was because she snuck out of the house to go meet up with her über-hot boyfriend, Miles? She’s done it before and there was no reason on why she wouldn’t now. “No, way!” She exclaimed, her blue-gray eyes bulging out from their sockets in disbelief. “I thought I heard you say that our mom was, you know, making out.” “I did.” “Are you serious?!” She asked, giving me a skeptical look. “I mean, our mom making out? You’ve got to be kidding me!” “Tell me about it,” “Oh, by the way,” She said, suddenly interested. “What did the guy look like?” “He was like, wearing a wrinkled tartan polo and had disheveled dirty blonde hair,” I said, the guy’s stupid tartan forever etched in my mind-not. “I think I saw him before.” She said quickly. “You have?” I asked, half-surprised. “I mean, how many men out there actually approve of wearing tartan shirts and sporting disheveled hairstyles at the same time? Not that tartan is fashionable these days or anything.” “Never mind what you said,” She said, eating a spoonful of her Dannon yogurt. “Let’s just say that this guy is actually the one you’re referring to.” “How can you be so sure?” “I never said I was.” She said. “Except for the fact that in this picture I saw was mom holding hands with this guy I’m talking about.” “Ever since she’s gotten divorced, I think she’s become more of a flirt herself.” I observed. “I so totally agree.” She said. “I mean, once when she fetched me home from Vivian’s slumber party and found out that V’s dad was also divorced, she started flirting with him! It was so humiliating for both Vivian and me.” “You know what?’ She said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll do a little snooping on this one.” “Yeah, you do that.” I agreed. “I’ve got a lot more things to worry about than that.” And it was true. I’ve got a lot of things to deal with. Like for the fact that I’ve got a history paper to cram in, study for the Spanish test, do some research on ‘the West Side Story’, ask Jules for the validity of the spring formal, and attend shitty Spanish remedial classes. But come to think of it. If it weren’t for Spanish remedial classes, I wouldn’t have met James. Things do happen for a reason. Do they? *** Tina's mom making out with a tartan-shirted guy. That was totally gross, wasn't it? Anyway, I'm gonna upload the third chap anytime soon so watch out for it! Luv y'all! Mwah! -kaz
Copyright © 2004 Karina Fuentes |