“Yes?” my teacher asked, looking annoyed.
“May I have the bathroom pass?”
He lifted his Expo marker in the air, a gesture I took as “yes.” So I hopped up, my heart thumping fast-fast-fast, and proceeded to walk out of the room.
“Miss Cruz?” the teacher called after me.
“Yes?”
“The pass?”
“Oh. Right.” I took the wooden block from his hand.
Turns out I didn’t even need it because just then the fire alarm went off and everyone, even the kid taking a nice siesta in the back row, bolted from their seats and into the hall, talking and laughing and saying “Thank you, God” while teachers standing by the red Exit sign ushered us all outside. Normally a fire drill in the middle of class is dope, but dang, I had missed my chance to, you know, see soccer jersey guy. Definitely needed to learn his name.
Kids clustered on the grass, but I didn’t see anyone I recognized, so I closed my eyes and lifted my face toward the sun—warm enough that I felt like I was being recharged, like a cell phone or something. I was standing there, my face all upward, when I heard someone clearing their throat. Then, “Hey. Hi.”
A guy.
I opened my eyes, and there, not two feet away, was soccer jersey guy. He stood directly in front of the sun so I could hardly see him, but by the way he shifted from one foot to the other, it seemed… maybe he was as nervous as I suddenly was, even though he had come up to me.
“Hey,” I said back, thunder in my chest.
“You’re new here, right?”
“Yeah.” Say something else, I willed myself. Tell him you moved here from Boston. Tell him you’re lit about the fire drill because you were in math. Don’t tell him you love his face.
“Where are you from?” he asked before I could get any of the above pried out of my brain and into my mouth.
“Jamaica Plain,” I said.
He cocked his head.
“Boston,” I quickly added, pulling at my necklace.
“Cool.”
He stared at his feet, then mine, then me. I tried to see what he saw: tight jeans, black sweatshirt zipped halfway, a purple tank top, a fake gold necklace that said Liliana sitting on my chest. I could see him see me, and it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
“Dustin,” he said.
“What?”
“My name. I know, it’s confusing. My parents were really into Dustin Hoffman back in the day. Sad, but true.”
Say something! Anything!
“You know. Dustin Hoffman. As in, the actor?” he went on.
“Oh yeah.” I smiled. I had no idea who he was talking about.
Thankfully, another guy approached us. He snatched Dustin’s phone from his back pocket and proceeded to shove it into his own boxers, yelling, “Hey, loser!”
Dustin’s eyes widened in an I can’t believe you just did that way. “Give me my phone, you shit!” Then he lunged at the guy, but it was awkward because of where he had, you know, stuck it.
The guy finally reached into his boxers and pulled out the phone. “Hey, take a joke!”
“Dude!”
“Who are you?” the guy now asked me, a hint of irritation in his voice.
“Liliana. I mean, Lili.”
This guy definitely wasn’t subtle in checking me out. He stared right at my boobs and didn’t stop until I zipped my sweatshirt practically up to my chin.
He kinda smirked at that. “Steve,” he said, reaching out his hand, which I did NOT shake. Ew.
“Hey,” I said instead.
“What are you?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
He rephrased his question. “Where are you from?”
“Boston.” I answered quickly this time.
“No, I mean where are you from-from?”
“What?” Did he ask everyone this, or just METCO kids? Never mind. I knew the answer to that. Jerk. Plus, by the way, he stunk. Literally.
Dustin thought the same thing, because he gave him a shove, saying, “Steve. Seriously. Go take a shower. You reek.”
Steve grinned. “Nope. No shower until after tomorrow’s game. Call it superstition. But it works.” He then tried to stick his armpit in Dustin’s face, but Dustin shoved him again, harder.
“You’re sick, dude.”
The Steve guy moved on to torture someone else. Dustin shrugged. “He can be a real douche.”
“No kidding.”
“You’d never know it, but he does have a brain. He’s actually really smart.”
I put my hands in my pockets, not sure how to respond.
“He was on teen Jeopardy! last year. I’m serious.”
“Huh.” Is it shallow to admit I couldn’t stop noticing how cute Dustin was? His eyes. There were flecks of green in them. I. Could. Not. Stop. But then I had to, because the vice principal, gripping a megaphone, instructed us all to return to the building. “False alarm, folks! Someone pulled the alarm.” This set off a round of booing. Except from me. Except from Dustin.
He just kept looking at me, so… “So I guess the fire drill is over,” is what I brilliantly came up with. I wanted to smack myself. Students were filing back inside. I swore I saw the crowd make room for the basketball players, Rayshawn at the center.
“Yeah. False alarm,” Dustin said. He cracked his knuckles, breaking into a huge grin.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yeah,” he repeated, his huge grin huger.
“Wait—was this you?”
His jaw twitched.
“You pulled the alarm?” I whispered. He pulled the alarm?
He brought a finger to his lips.
The vice principal stepped toward us, clapped his hands. “Let’s go, folks!”
I pivoted. “I guess we have to go back inside,” I said. Oh, I was absolutely brilliant.
“I’ll walk you back to math,” Dustin offered.
“Thanks,” I said, heading for the door. Was this actually happening? “Wait. How did you know I was in math?”
Dustin held the door open. He was so close that I could smell his shampoo. Or maybe it was his ChapStick. Either way, it smelled fantastic.
Again Dustin grinned. “I knew you were in math because I saw you sitting there. You looked bored.”
“So… then you decided… to pull the alarm?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Yeah. How else was I going to get to finally talk to you?”
“Oh…”
“Plus you leave right after school. You take the METCO bus, right? You’re a freshman, right?”
“Yeah… you?” I blushed.
“Junior.”
“Oh.”
“So, anyway, I had to find an excuse.”
“Um, you could have come up to me in the hall? Cafeteria? Ever considered the obvious?”
“Boring. Unoriginal.”
“True,” I agreed. Very true.
* * *
So, that happened.
I know. I KNOW.
We exchanged numbers, and after that, boom, he sent me three texts in a row. Back and forth—all chill. But then in his last text he invited me to his next soccer game this Thursday. I know! Of course, my very first thought was that Mom would say no because she was always going for Strictest Mother of the Year. Not that I wanted to give her more to worry about. But going to a school soccer game should NOT be something to worry about. I would just have to figure out how to play this.