Freshman Year by Annameekee Hesik Page A

discuss the “screwability” of the boys who pass by.
    â€œOoh, in line at Eegee’s, the guy in the black shirt,” Marisol whispers.
    â€œNo way,” Kate says. “Check out the one in line at Chick-fil-A. Now that’s what I’m talking about. His legs are almost as muscular as Derrick’s.”
    As they continue their lusting, I use the opportunity to review my basketball gear list. Basketball shoes? Check. Now all I need are sports bras, more socks, and maybe some new shorts. Blue shorts like Garrett and Stef wear.
    â€œGirl, are you listening to a thing we are saying?” Marisol asks and pulls on my ear like I’m five.
    I continue to contemplate my list but say, “Yeah. I am.” Because I’m a good multitasker, I know they’ve moved on to talking about the dance, some Back to School Fling, or whatever. “And no. I’m not going.”
    â€œAbbey, are you kidding? Jake and you should totally go,” Kate says and starts to bounce in her seat with excitement.
    Marisol joins in. “ Dios mío , you have to ask him.”
    â€œUm, no. I actually don’t have to ask him.”
    â€œBut you guys are so perfect for each other,” Sarah says with a dreamy smile on her face.
    â€œYou’re both so tall.”
    â€œYeah, I can totally see it now,” Kate says. “You guys would be like two friendly giants, strolling through the hall, ducking through doorways.”
    Marisol nearly shoots Dr Pepper out her nose. “Totally,” she says after recovering.
    â€œShut up, you guys. It’s not like that with him. I mean, he’s cool, but…” I pick at the gum stuck under the table, then get totally grossed out when I realize what I’m doing. “Ew. I need to wash my hands. I’ll be right back.”
    â€œYou can run, but you can’t hide,” Kate yells over her shoulder, as I walk to the bathroom.
    I wash my hands and then stick them under the air blower. I rub my hands together vigorously as instructed, and think more about Jake. He is cute, I guess, in a dude kind of way, and part of me really wishes I liked him like Kate likes Derrick. It would make everything so much easier. But no. No, the person I really like has to be the one person I probably can’t ever have. She’s a senior, for crying out loud. Um, and a girl, for crying out loud. Yep, she’s just a dream that will never come true, and I feel so stupid for letting myself think Keeta sees me as anything more than a girl who likes french fries and can’t play guitar.
    I give up on the dryer and wipe my damp hands on my shorts. On my way back to our table, I glance over at Hot Dog on a Stick. That’s when my whole world sparkles again because there’s my dream girl working at the register. As I pass by, she looks up, sees me, and sends a stunning smile my way. I smile back, download the image of her flawless face into my brain, and force myself to walk back to the nearby table of torture and ignore my sudden urge for more french fries.
    While my friends continue to stare at boys, I have the tip of my braid between my fingers and am painting my face and staring over at Keeta, who’s slowly moving back and forth over the counter, as she wipes it down. In my mind I’m replaying the last time we looked at each other over the counter’s shiny surface. As she cleans, I notice how defined the muscles in her arms are and figure it must be from playing the guitar or maybe from making so much lemonade. I sigh and wonder how someone can be so perfect.
    â€œYou want another corn dog or something?” Kate asks.
    I usually notice when they stop talking, but this time I guess I was too distracted. I can feel them all staring at me, so I slowly adjust my gaze. “No. I’m not hungry. Why?”
    â€œWell, you’re looking over at the hot dog stand like some sort of psycho.” Then Kate spots Keeta.