Letters To Ava

Four: Introducing...Jessie Howard

Dear Ava,

Thursday. I have loads of History homework to do, so I’m pretty tired. When I got home I took a nap. A two-hour nap. Come 6:30, my mother pounded on my door, demanding me to eat some dinner. Since my mother is such a wonderful cook, I immediately jumped off my bed and ran to the dining room. Dinner: spring rolls with rice.

Mom got the recipe when she was on a business trip in the Philippines. She was eating at the local restaurants. There it is called carinderia. She was told that spring rolls were a Chinese influence. The early times of the country were spent trading with other countries like the Chinese, the Arabs, and the Indonesians. So the Filipinos picked up some recipes and other stuff.

Anyway. The day after that little stunt we—yes, we; if I’m going down I’m taking everybody with me—pulled, half of the football theme gave out fliers to every male in our school, asking: Are you the guy in Spongbob boxers last night at the beach? Show yourself! We won’t bite.  Along with the flyer, there came an interrogation that would do PIs everywhere proud.

The jocks that saw me that night had flashlights, too, but they didn’t get to see my face. I didn’t let them. When some junior handed me a flyer, he still held it even though I was already doing the same thing. He didn’t let go. He stared at me. It was an uncomfortable five-minute stare. Then he let go, and came the dreaded questions. I swore last night, so they probably heard my voice. I prayed they didn’t recognize my voice now.

“Where were you last night?” he asked. I recognized him. It was Howard. Jessie Howard. Tease him about his first name, and you’d regret it.

“Out with some friends, givin’ my new car a lil’ spin,” I said nonchalantly. I made sure to look at him. Well, I wasn’t lying, really. At that time, my car was two weeks old, still considered new. And I really was out with some friends.

“Did you pass by the beach?”

“We did.” We stopped, too, but I ain’t gonna tell you that, mister, I added mentally. For good measure, I added, “Saw a bunch of guys laughing like crazy back there. Was that you?”

Howard pursed his lips, obviously unsure. He seemed to be thinking about something, which is a first because jocks like him don’t think with their head. They think with their other head, if you get my drift. Finally he replied, “Yeah was us.”

Actual quote. He didn’t even bother saying “that.” Apparently he believes in: Grammar—it isn’t for everybody!

“Okay.”

I left him hanging right there, apparently thinking about what just happened. He glanced at the flyers in his hand and walked away, scratching his head. Just when I thought it was over…

“Hey, blue!” It was Howard calling me. I knew it was me because I was wearing a blue shirt and washed jeans. I groaned and turned to face him again. When he saw I noticed him, he jogged over and said, “Yeah, you. Name?”

I said my name quietly; like it was a secret I was ashamed of. “West. Carter West.”

“Aren’t you that fag who hangs out with two other girls?” He smirked. He crossed his arms across his chest when I didn’t answer.

“I am not a fag,” I shot back furiously.

“A wuss, then.”

After a moment of silence he puffed his chest, saying, “Okay, how about sissy?”

I knew what he was doing. Wait for me to yell. Then I would get detention and he would probably swoop down on you and Sarah. He did the same thing to these two sophomore who hangs out with other girls. They were so scared they befriended other males. Fast. And I was not gonna cave in.

“Nope,” I said, popping the p. I couldn’t think of anything else to say that he couldn’t twist. So I spun on my heel and walked away.

At lunch, when I told you guys about it, surprisingly, you weren’t laughing. Your faces were a picture of rage. If you were cartoon characters, your faces would be red and steam would be coming out of your ears. I told you to relax, and assured you guys that it’s nothing.

“Hell to the no, West,” Sarah growled. “I’m slapping that boy, where is he?”

“Sarah’s right, Carter,” you agreed, nodding. “Excuse us.”

But despite my efforts to calm you down, you still tracked him down. You were convinced he wouldn’t beat you all to pulp for standing up to him, claiming he would never hit girls. I kept quiet after those remarks, ignoring the temptation to shoot back, “Well, tell that Hollie Summers!”

Hollie Summers is now in senior year, like the rest of us. From what she told me (personally), she and Howard dated for a year and half. It went fine for the first two months. Back then, Howard was the picture of a star athlete, and his grades were…acceptable. But then he discovered drinking, and it all went downhill from there. Hollie warned him about the dangers of being under the influence, but naturally, Howard ignored her. They fought; Hollie told him if he doesn’t quit drinking, they’ll break up. Howard, drunk of his feet, hit her. Now, it just so happens that Hollie was taught self-defence from her father, so that helped. She kneed him and said it was over.

Anyways, we found Howard was outside the cafeteria.

“Oi, Howard!” you cried out to Howard. Howard turned his head to us. He was with some cheerleader. You two got nearer. “You mess with Carter, and you mess with me. Got it?”

Howard smirked. He whispered to the cheerleader, “Later, sugar.” She nodded and got up. As she was straightening her skirt, he slapped her ass. She glared at him, but walked away without saying a word. Howard looked at her for a while, then stood up to his full height. He started to turn away, but you caught his arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Um, the cafeteria is not the best place to do this?” he phrased it as a question.

“Where, then?”

He gestured to the nearest classroom. “’Bout there?”

“Fine.”

Sarah and I exchanged uneasy looks. She cleared her throat and said, “Um. I don’t think—”

“It’s fine, Sarah,” you assured us with a smile.

And so we watched you go. You guys entered the classroom. We heard the unmistakable sound of chairs moving, and muffled outbursts. We sat on the floor, waiting. I don’t know how it happened, but we ended up playing rock, paper, scissors.

Moments later, you two emerged from the classroom. We stood up and surveyed your faces. Howards was looking smugger than ever—if that was possible—and you were smiling, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

The bell rang. We asked for details about what happened, but you just shrugged us off. You said Howard won’t insult me anymore. That was all. And we left it at that.

Just thought I’d bring Howard up. We’re gonna see more of him sooner rather than later, anyway, right?

Without wax,

Carter