by Tina Li

 

            A disclaimer. All of the following are based on true stories, some embellished, all memorable and embarrassing.

 

Valentino

            Every Tuesday I tutor students at Willard Middle School. The program is called Mathworks and it is great. The kids are incredibly sweet and truly care about forwarding their education.

            “Ey, Tina, you smoke crack?” I stared blankly at the seventh grader, obviously amused with himself. His name was Valentino, but everyone called him Val.

            “Yeah, I smoke crack.” Then, I couldn’t help myself, it fell out of my mouth, “With your mom.” My hand flew up to my mouth and I laughed in shock. I looked around for a passing supervisor, or someone who would reprimand me for such inappropriate discussion, but there was nobody.

            He turned to his friend. “Ey, gordito, you hear that? She smoke crack with my mom!”  Then he turned back to me, “How you know my mom smoke crack?” The whole table burst into laughter, myself included.

            “Alright, come on kid, if y equals five,” I said, nudging the back of his head. “What does x equal?”

            “Watch it! Don’t touch the Tornado!” He smoothed his hair.

            “The Tornado?” I questioned, glancing at the thin, straight locks.

            “Yeah, you know,” he grinned, giving me a once-over and rumpling his hair. What a little jerk.

            I leaned over and read the problem aloud. Again.

            “Your hair smells hella good.”

            I stood back and rolled my eyes. “That line will never get you laid in high school, kiddo.”

            He considered that for a moment before saying, “X equals fifty-three, by the way.” A smart little jerk.

            Wandering over to another table to check on other students, I overheard my friend, Serena, saying in exasperation, “So you’re saying that when you get a discount… the book costs more?” I laughed and her student heard me. Whoops.

 

Anna

“Omigod Tina,” my friend Anna said. “I can’t tell, is that guy cute?”

            I smiled and rolled my eyes. Peering over the counter at Tully’s, all I could see was the back of the cashier’s head.

            “Okay, wait. You can’t see right now.” Something flashed in her eyes. “Let’s get closer.”

            We walked into Tully’s and feigned interest in the advertisements near the door. As we inched closer, the fact that I was holding a Peet’s coffee became glaringly obvious. I drained the last shot’s worth, scalding my tongue, and tossed the cup into the trash, grabbing his attention.

            Feeling the intensity of Anna’s glare, I said, “Hi, small latte please.” Slick. Except now, I was drinking my second coffee in fifteen minutes.

            “Is he cute?” she asked as we sat down at a table across from the register.

            I scrunched my nose. “Um. He looks like… a less attractive version of Johnny Knoxville.”

            She laughed. And then smiled over my shoulder. “Anna,” I warned.

            She and I were like the same person. We acted the same, dressed the same, ordered the same coffee (except when she got White Chocolate Mocha, then I made fun of her). I knew exactly what she was thinking. And I knew that, for the next couple of days, we would be coming back to Tully’s. I braced myself for a caffeine high.

            Facebook (3): Anna H sent you a message.

            Anna H wrote at 7:05 PM: I found him on Facebook! Should I add him?

            Anna H wrote at 7:06 PM: Oh shit! I added him!

            Anna H wrote at 7:07 PM: Wait… was that weird?

            “Yeah, it was weird,” I responded. “But it’s okay.” I think she gets it from me.

            “Waitwaitwait, really?” she replied within the minute. “Are you sure? Does he think I’m crazy? I hate when strangers think I’m crazy.”

            I laughed. “Wanna go back to Tully’s tomorrow and see?”

            No response. I woke up the next morning to my phone buzzing, nearly falling off the edge of the dresser. “Mmmmyeah?” I stifled a yawn.

            “What the hell! Get up! What if he gets off his shift soon?”

            We walked into Tully’s and saw him working the register. “Philip Warren,” she told me. It was her turn to order coffee, the second latte having kept me up half the night. As we approached the counter, Philip Warren turned around and said something to the girl working with him. We waited. He took off his apron and walked out.

            “Well shit, let’s go,” she urged.

            “You mean, after him?” She couldn’t be serious.

            Two blocks later, I was pretending to check the bus schedule while she kept a close eye on him at the ATM.

            “He looked at me!”

            “Yeah, he probably thinks you’re following him.”

            Her ecstatic grin slowly fell. “Nah… You think so? Wait, really?” Her eyes widened.

            Anna and I got into her car and drove to her house, well above the speed limit. We sat on her bedroom floor eating Ben and Jerry’s out of the carton, our remedy for especially traumatizing moments.

            “Anna, it’s not that bad,” I said consolingly. “You never have to see him again.”

            “No, you don’t get it. I didn’t tell you what I did.”

            Worst-case scenario: not pretty. “What did you do?”

            “I posted on his wall!” She looked mortified. “I said, ‘Hey’ and he said ‘What’s up’ and I told him about my day and all he said was, ‘Cool.’ That’s it! Five lines of thorough details about my day, and all he can think to say is cool.”

            I was almost afraid to ask, “You think he saw us today?”

            “I don’t know. Do you think he’ll say something about it on Facebook?” Before I had a chance to answer, she turned on her computer.

            Anna glanced at her profile. “Wait. Wait. I can’t post on his wall. I can’t even see his profile! He unfriended me!”

 

Dana

            “Oh no, Tina, switch places with me. That cashier is so mean to me.” Dana turned in half-circles until the bitchy Peet’s cashier called her up. Again. “Hi, medium coffee, please?” Short and simple. Then she turned toward me and I nodded in mock congratulations. There was a look of hesitation on her face when she whispered, “I meant half-caff!” We looked at Bitchy Barista, but he was already handing her the coffee.

            Dana poured a shot’s worth of cream into her coffee. Even though she makes at least two stops at Peet’s every day, Dana has developed no tolerance to caffeine. I would be jealous, if it weren’t for her constant caffeine jitters.

            We sat and started on our homework. “Some argue that wages and other input prices do NOT fall during slack periods and that the economy…” Inattentively, I picked up the note that she slipped across the table. That creepy bald man in staring at me. I looked up and, sure enough, there was a man in the corner staring at Dana behind his HP laptop. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, quite apparently at her chest.

            She tried to ignore him, but we could feel his eyes, gawking and glazed-over. Finally, he packed up his laptop and disappeared, leaving his briefcase on the table.

            “Wait, where did he go?” she asked.

            “I don’t know. He can’t just leave his stuff.”

            A few minutes later, we saw the guy approaching us. He pushed a table aside and sat next to Dana. Her face froze and she held eye contact with me, horrified.

            The guy started, “So… I just got out of this really gnarly relationship-”

            “I’m in high school!” she interrupted.

            “Oh… really?” His tone was one of disappointment, not surprise.

            “Well, um, let me give you the G-rated version then.” Dana didn’t blink. “I think you’re a very attractive person.” A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “I, uh… I’ll go now.”

            Dana and I allowed a moment of silence to pass before breaking out in nervous and hysterical laughter.

            “I’ll go now?” I mocked. “You mean you should’ve left ten seconds ago!”

            Dana didn’t respond and instead pulled on her sweatshirt, hands shaking, but not from coffee. We packed up and walked out of Peet’s, a gust of wind making her shiver more.

            “Wait, Dana…” I said. “If the G-rated version involved hitting on a minor, what would have been the non-G-rated version?”

            We shuddered.

 

Andy

I was almost home when my phone started ringing. I pulled up to a house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabbie, “Yo homes, smell you later!” I looked at my kingdom-

            “Andy, stop fucking with my ringtones.” Every time he called, my phone would play a new song.

            “It’s been fifty-one hours since I last slept.” Andy is an addict. More specifically, a Facebook whore. He sits at his computer all day. Refresh. “Aww, still offline.” Refresh. “Aww, still offline.”

            “I did some laundry,” he said. “Everything is folded and arranged by type.”

            “Dude…”

“Yeah, it was something I hadn’t done in a while. But the worst part is, I used to do it for fun.” I imagined Andy listening to music, watching TV, and folding a white tee, which he has only worn once.

            “Don’t you have old papers and take-out containers all over your room?”

            He gave a mock sigh. “I’m laughing a little inside, because I respect all humorous irony, despite me being the victim.”

            Poor guy. I snapped my phone shut and walked into my room, turning on the computer. Andy is the only person I allow to see my online status, and he’s probably staring at the screen right now. Facebook.com: sign on.