Forget Green Gables

An American Girl

 I rant to Jamie about Dustin in the locker room as we change for gym class. She, of course, possesses the information I want to know. "He went to East. He's about as dumb as a pile of rocks. For whatever reason, he's got it in for the freshmen girls on varsity. I don't know exactly why. He also REALLY hates redheads, and that's because he got dumped by one last year."

"Well that's just some Ted Bundy level grudge-holding," I complain, fluffing my hair.

"Okay, now you're just being melodramatic. Why don't you have Felix talk to him tonight?"

I consider this option. "It's an idea," I concede. "I'll talk to Felix tonight." I shove my dressy shoes into my gym locker and grab my gym shoes.

"I've got an idiot in my math class, too," Jamie offers.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He's a sophomore. His name is Carl. He just kind of skulks around. He asked if we could be partners, so I was all like sure. And then he proceeded to tell me I was wrong on every single problem. Of course, I wasn't. What an idiot." We close our lockers. "Flag football," Jamie grumbles as she laces up her sneakers. "Why does it always have to be flag football? Why can't it ever be tackle-the-dumb-idiots-football?"

I laugh, tightening my bun and securing my hair with a headband and bobby pins.

"Strait, go play defense for the blue team," bellows the gym teacher. I jog over to the blue team and pick up a penny.

"Just rip the flags off the other team before they cross the line of scrimmage. It's the line that the ball starts at," my team captain, a senior boy, explains.

"Yeah...sure," I mutter.

In our infancy, my mother's rule for our father was that if he was going to sit and watch football, he was going to hold us. As long as he sat under the whirling ceiling fan, he could yell at the officials as much as he wanted without bothering the burrito-wrapped babies in his arms. We spent the next thirteen years watching football with my father.

Immediately following the hike, I dart through two offensive players who are not paying much attention to the girl players and rip the flags off the quarterback ten yards behind the line of scrimmage. "Was that what you were wanting?" I ask my team captain with a hint of sarcasm, batting my long, dark lashes. I know I am theoretically adorable and I am not above using it to my advantage.

"Good move, Strait!" the teacher calls.

My captain looks at me more closely.

"Is Felix Strait related to you?"

"He's my twin," I answer.
"Let's have you play linebacker, then."

Jamie gives me a high five.

Cheyanne,

I can't concentrate in HPS with you sitting across the aisle from me. Your hair smells like Christmas cookies and it's all I can think about. And I'm Jewish.I feel cheesy writing this note, but I can't think.Danny