Year 28 - J.L. Mac Page 0,9

even, wholly loathsome all the same. I can feel my makeup melting away on my trek through the rental car parking area. I locate my lime green roller skate, toss in my luggage, and roll my eyes as I fold myself into the driver’s seat. Switching the radio station, I try, with great difficulty, to focus my attention on the satellite news station but the minute I hit the highway toward Palmetto my mind drifts back and I’m along for the ride no matter how I resist.

Raegan

13 years old

“Welcome to eighth grade, y’all. Now almost everybody here knows each other already but we have a new student this year. If you don’t mind, step forward and introduce yourself, son.” Old Coach Thibodaux nods looking down at his clipboard. He tugs at the waistband of his polyester blend shorts, adjusting them higher on his hips.

“Hi y’all. I’m Jeremy Chennewitt,” the tall, skinny, cute boy with one dimpled cheek says. I smile at him and give a small wave.

“Do what?” Coach says with his Cajun accent really underscoring his words. He tilts his head and kind of leans forward like he’s hard of hearing and I think I’ve heard Momma say that he is from his time in Vietnam.

“Jeremy Chennewitt,” the boy clarifies through a laugh. He repeats himself, annunciating his odd last name a little more. Most everyone here in Palmetto is a Landry or a Thibodaux or a Le Blanc or Fontenot or some other common Cajun last name.

“Son, I don’t reckon I can say this,” Coach sighs glancing down at his clipboard again.

“Chin-uh-wit,” the boy says, slowly breaking down his last name.

“Yeah, okay, then,” coach nods still frowning. “Sounds like chicken nugget. Chicken nugget, then,” he says resolutely, scribbling something on his clipboard.

“All right then,” Chicken Nugget says smiling. The rest of us giggle at the nickname our old gym teacher has assigned to the new kid. Credit to him for smiling and taking it in stride. Sylas Broussard grins at the new kid and bumps his shoulder against Chicken Nugget’s.

Leave it to Sylas to be the first to strike up a friendship with the new guy. It doesn’t shock me. Everyone is a friend of Sy’s. Everyone loves Sy. Everyone except me of course. It’s not that I don’t like Sy. I like him okay I guess, but he never leaves me alone. The problem is Sy’s mom Audrey and my mom are best friends, so I get forced into spending more time with Sy than anyone else at our school. He’s either at my house for some holiday, party, barbeque or Sunday dinner, or my family is at his house for the same. He’s always smiling and laughing and cracking jokes. It’s dumb. And annoying too. Sucks for me that there is no escaping him.

If it weren’t for the iPod, I would avoid him much more than I already do. Gym class passes in usual fashion. The girls group up and giggle and gossip like it’s a sport. The boys horse around and act like cavemen. The nerds read. The misfits sit aside and… do whatever misfits feel like doing. Me, I visit with all of them. Except Sylas. The bell rings and we all grab our backpacks and begin filing out the door. It takes Sy all of twenty seconds to find me in the crowded hallway.

“My turn. What did ya listen to last night?” he asks with his hand thrust toward me expectantly. I swing my pack around and dig into the recesses for the iPod and headphones.

“Um… The Beatles, The Supremes, Simon and Garfunkel,” I mutter. “I’m so tired of the same old music on this thing,” I whine slapping it down in his hand. He squeezes my hand, trapping it in his for a second then lets me go.

“I know we said I would ask my mom and dad for a laptop for my birthday this year so we can add more music to the playlist but don’t you think we should just ask both our parents and let them know we can just share it?”

“Uh-uh. No way am I sharing anything else with you, Sy. Sharing the iPod is bad enough.” I shake my head hard sending my long ponytail over my shoulder.

“Aw, c’mon, Rae, I ain’t that bad.” He smirks.

“You’re literally the worst,” I insist as we bump shoulders on our trek through the crowded hallway.

“Take it back,” he demands in a disgruntled kind of voice.

“Not a chance. It’s the truth.”