There is something about Monday nights that makes you want to kill yourself. Especially when you're on your period.
The shows you watch are not that interesting; the chicken pot pie your big sister leaves for you in the microwave tastes like paste; and the homework you're doing feels like you are selling a part of your soul.
I lower the cigarette from my lips and exhale a long drawl. I try to listen to Arsenio Hall interviewing Paula Abdul, but there is a voice inside my head telling me that I should be studying for my American History test tomorrow.
The teacher says something about it being fifteen percent of your grade, but to tell you the truth, I don't feel like rolling out of my living room couch just yet. Not when I saw two paramedics shoving a body into the back of an ambulance.
According to the news, the police identified the body as that of Yusef Walters. What's even shocking is that I used to see that kid in the halls. He was one of Joe Mason's best friends and the second-greatest football player on the team.
What I liked about Yusef was that he gave a fuck about graduating from school. He turned in his homework on time, hung out with people outside of his clique, and hated showing himself off to the other players.
When he first disappeared around the first or second week of August, I thought he was in San Jose, looking for technical colleges. After all, Yusef has been bragging to everyone that he'll be working with cars, like his grandad did before 'Nam. But now that he's gone, I guess he'll never become one.
Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I lower the cigarette from my lips and stare at the living room television.
The chicken pot pie Andie left in the microwave sits on top of the cluttered coffee table. Textbooks stack underneath the couch. My fingers trace across the hardcover until Matt and Andie come home around three, carrying groceries and shopping bags.
I don't greet them, but I watch my older siblings put the items away. Matt sheds his dark red flannel. He scratches the fresh pimple on his hairy chin, then calls me over to put the frozen groceries in the fridge.
"Yeah, Kathy," Andie snorts in agreement. "And take a shower. You smell like a skunk."
I wave my middle finger at Andie, then help Matt unload the groceries. I stock two egg cartons, a small box of butter, and a medium-sized bottle of milk when Matt gives me one of his big brother's shoulder rubs.
"I saw the news at work," he tells me. "Are you okay, Kat?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I drove to your school, but I didn't see you there with your classmates," Andie says, tightening her bright blue scrunchie around her ponytail. "Where were you?"
"I rode my bike home," I explain. "Sorry, I didn't page you."
Smiling softly, Andie ruffles my hair until she feels something slippery between her fingers.
"Kathy?" she asks, staring at me. "Have you washed your hair?"
I puff out my bottom lip. "Yeah."
"Then why does it feel oily? Did you use the hair conditioner I bought for you?"
"No, because it makes my scalp itchy."
"Next time, please tell me that before I go to the store." Andie sighs. "And make sure you finish your chicken pot pie. Mom says it's rude to waste good food."
Tucking the bag of bread inside the wooden bin, Matt expresses a tired groan.
"Oh, for God's sake," he moans. "Give Kat a break, Andie. She's just seen a body."
Andie takes a deep breath and expresses a tired sigh.
"I understand that, Matt," she tells him. "But Kat is going to become an adult soon and..."
"Hey guys," I interrupt. "As much as I appreciate you two talking about me like I am invisible, I am going to head upstairs and shut my eyes. Does that sound cool?"
Matt and Andie watch as I walk over to the couch, grab my backpack off the floor, and head upstairs. Spotting the chicken pot pie on the coffee table, Andie stops me and asks if I want some mashed potatoes and steak for dinner.
But instead of answering, I just climb up the steps, enter my bedroom, and lock the door behind me. I then kicked off my shoes.
My bed is at least five inches away, so I roam toward the mattress and collapse forward. My face buries deep into the cushioned pillows. I struggle to cover myself until I hear someone knocking on my bedroom door.
"FUCK OFF!" I groan. "I'm trying to sleep!"
"Some kid with pink hair wants to see you!" Matt shouts through the door. "He says you're in his sixth-period Study Hall class?"
Immediately, I leap off of my bed, open the door, and see Ollie and Matt standing right in front of me.
"Hey, KitKat." Ollie greets me confidently.
"Hi," I say slowly. "Wait, how do you know where I live?"
"You gave me your address and apartment building number."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
Matt looks at us for a second, then asks, "So, are you two like boyfriend and girlfriend?"
I answer by taking Ollie into my bedroom and slamming the door in Matt's face.
"Sorry about my asshole brother," I tell Ollie. "He probably asked you a million questions about yourself, huh?"
Ollie laughs. "Yep, he did."
"Fucking asshole."
"Hey, no worries. Besides, it's probably the first time your brother saw me."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and then went back to my bed. Ollie joins me on the mattress. He makes sure his socks and shoes are removed before rubbing his feet against the light purple bedcovers.
"Holy Christ," Ollie mutters. "These sheets are super soft."
I can't help but snicker as Ollie plants his face on one of my thick pillows. His pink hair covers his ears. He massages the red acne swelling on his forehead with his fingers, then turns his head towards me.
"Even this pillow feels like baked bread on my cheeks." He mumbles. "I seriously want to lie here forever."
I tilt my head to the side. "Do you want to spend some alone time with my bed or..."
"Fuck you."
"Ha."
After two minutes of bickering, I touch Ollie's black eye with my thumb. Thanks to the ice pack, the swelling has stopped, but unfortunately, the color hasn't faded.
"Jesus Christ, you need a shitload of concealer," I remark. "And fast."
Oliver shoots me a look. "Thanks, but I think I can live with a fucked-up black eye."
He pushes my hand away and asks if he can crash at my place tonight.
I stare at him funny. "What about your mom?"
"She doesn't care as long as I come home in the morning," Ollie replies.
"What about your stepdad?"
"He and his buddies go to strip clubs every night to blow off steam."
"Does his mom know that he goes to those clubs?"
"She pretends not to."
"Oh," I say quietly. "Well, sure. I don't mind at all."
Ollie scoots closer to me. He takes my hand and then rubs it with his warm fingers until he gently places my hand on top of my chest.
"The police found the body in the boiler room," Ollie says quietly.
I lift my head off of my pillow and stare at him. "Wait, the school had a fucking boiler room?"
"Yeah," Ollie replies, scrunching his face. "Don't you know that?"
"No."
"You've been at Claiborne High longer than me, and yet you didn't know that it has a boiler room? Jesus, Kat."
"Fuck off, Ollie. I was dealing with shit."
"You do know that's, like, the literal definition of teenage angst, right?"
Rolling my eyes to the popcorn ceiling, I place my head on top of his chest. Ollie sighs but lets me touch his small mustache and pink hair. His acne scars are a bit more severe than mine, yet they don't stop me from staring at his brownish-green eyes. Touching his forehead, I run my finger down his nose until Ollie stops me.
"So, how are you feeling?" he asks suddenly.
I lower my finger from his face and wipe the exhaustion from my eyes. "I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah." I bob my head softly.
Ollie looks at me silently and then pinches my left cheek.
"OUCH!" I squeak. "What the hell, man?"
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Ollie asks in a baffled tone. He lets go of my cheek and stares hard at my face. "What the hell is up with you?"
"What-"
"You're such a bad liar, Kat. I saw the way you looked at Yusef's corpse."
I stare at him. "Oh, yeah? And what did I look like?"
"Like you'd seen a ghost or something." Ollie insists. He moves towards me and stares deep into my eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Sometimes, I don't understand why people are expected to feel something when a stranger they barely knew dies in front of them. If you're a girl, everyone expects you to be an emotional trainwreck, and if you're a guy, people think you should bottle up your feelings and face your demons head-on. Look, as much as I enjoy being controlled by stereotypes, I don't think I can cry for Yusef-not when my family is on the verge of losing the apartment.
"Don't worry so much about me," I reassure Ollie. "I am fine. Honest."
After an hour of awkward silence, Ollie decides to change the subject.
"Are your parents taking another late shift?" he asks me.
"Apparently," I sigh, nodding. "My mom is going to take another raincheck on the milkshakes."
"Shit."
"To be honest with you, I don't care about spending time with her anymore. Not until I pay off all of our bills."
I stare up at the white popcorn ceiling again, but this time, I reach my finger to the bumpy surface and trace the edges to make the shape of a fork. Ollie studies me, then looks back at the ceiling again.
"I need some cash, Ollie," I whisper. "Like, right now."
Ollie squirms beside me. "Why don't you ask your boss for a raise?"
"Great idea," I grumble. "Let me ask Mr. Long if he can give me a two-million-dollar bonus. And you know what the worst part is, Stanley is giving us next month to pay rent, or else he'll kick my family out."
Ollie drops his jaw. "Next month?"
"Yeah." I sigh. "That's why I need a job that pays me, like, I don't know, five hundred bucks an hour?"
"I am not sure about that, Kat," Ollie murmurs. "The jobs around here are like fifty bucks an hour, but I am sure we can figure something out."
"We?"
"Yeah, if we can put our heads together and-"
"Katherine, GET OVER HERE!"
I stumble out of bed and spring towards the door. Ollie raises his head from my pillow. He wants to see what is going on, but I tell him to stay there and wait until I get back. I spring towards the door. My eyes look ready to explode from my sockets. Clutching onto the stair rail, I hurry downstairs until I enter the kitchen.
"What?" I gasped for air. "Is everything alright? What happened?"
I stare at Matt and Andie who gives me irritated looks. At first, I didn't know what was going on until Andie raised my failed English paper between her delicate fingers like I had blown my nose on it.
Last week, Mrs. Tanaka assigned the entire class a three-page paper about The Count of Monte Cristo. She wants to know what we think about the book and the literary devices the author used. But instead of a well-expressed paper, I give her my opinion as to why Edmond Dantes should murder Caderousse and Danglars in cold blood.
"What the hell is this?" she demands.
I cross my arms and study the piece of paper. "Well, it looks like you found my obituary, Andie."
"Jesus Christ, Kat," Matt groans. "This isn't a joke. You can't be getting a D-minus in English!"
"What is your current average so far?" Andie demands.
"I don't know, a B-minus?" I groan.
Andie pinches her eyebrows. Her golden pendant dances on top of her black hoodie with vibrant words: African American College Alliance. She wears a wrinkle-free pair of high-waisted slacks and the kind of shoes Denise Huxtable would wear.
"Since Mom and Dad are working late," she says quietly. "Matt and I are not going to tell them about what you scored on your last English paper. Instead, you are going to your teacher and asking him or her if they can give you some extra credit."
I drop my jaw. "But Andie-"
"Do it tomorrow, Kat," she says sternly. "Mom and Dad are counting on you."
"Fine."
I fold my arms and look at Matt, who sheepishly approaches me. He wears a black t-shirt with a white skull on it and patchwork jeans. Scratching his wild hair, Matt looks at me and then asks if I would like to go out for a milkshake.
"Really?" I snort. "Didn't the police give us an eight o'clock curfew?"
"Fuck the curfew. Let's get some milkshakes and talk like we used to do."
"Can I bring Ollie?"
"Sure."
"Alright, let's go."
***********
At around six o'clock, Matt drives us into Hamburger Mary's, where everyone is chowing on burgers and fries. Empty soda glasses sit across the crumb-infested tables until the waitresses wipe them down. Matt motions forward. He orders an Oreo, chocolate, and a vanilla milkshake, then asks Ollie and me to sit at the table near the window.
"So, what was going on downstairs?" Ollie asks me.
I roll my eyes. "Just Andie getting pissed off at my grades."
"Oh," Ollie says in relief. "She sounds pretty angry."
"You don't know the half of it."
As soon as Matt returns with the milkshakes, he hands me the Oreo and sets the vanilla shake in front of Ollie.
"So, is everyone doing okay?" he asks us. "You guys have your straws, right?"
Ollie and I lift our red straws from the mountain of whipped cream.
"Okay, that's good." Matt grins.
We sipped our drinks in silence until Ollie decided to go to the restroom. I give him a weird look.
"Ten seconds ago, I asked you if you needed to go to the bathroom."
Ollie grunts, "I didn't have to go then."
"It's alright," Matt reassures him. Just go down the hall and turn to the right."
Flashing him with a thankful smile, Ollie gets up and breaks into an awkward stagger. I focus my attention back on my milkshake while Matt dips his straw deep in his.
"Is Ollie your boyfriend?" he asks curiously.
I swiveled my eyes to the ceiling. "You fucking wish."
Matt snickers. He sips on his chocolate milkshake, then scratches the corner of his lips. All of a sudden, Matt's smile slowly begins to fade. He waits for me to finish my cherry before asking me how my day was at school.
"It was fine," I tell him.
"Make any new friends?"
"What the fuck do you think, Matt?" I snort. "High school is a shithole, no matter how old you get."
Matt lifts his milkshake glass off of the table.
"I'll drink to that." he laughs. "But I think you and I need to talk about it. Okay?"