She cut and dyed her hair over winter break; her hair, once dusty-gold, is now auburny-red. It suits her.
I sit at a table with her in AP English now, along with a couple of friends, a couple of misfits, and the Loner, who you may remember from APUS last year. Doodle Hands is the same person. The same quiet person who will suddenly do something totally out-there insane and remind you just how crazy and weird and awesome she is. She still aces quizzes and tests without studying at all, or so she says. And she still sleeps through class, with her head rested on her fist, and the teachers are never the wiser.
Except for this year our AP English teacher spotted Doodle Hands’ BS-ing strategy pretty early in the game. It must’ve been the third day of class that the teacher said, “[Doodle Hands], I need to talk to you for a minute.”
All of us at the table joke with her about it as she gets up. “Oooh, you’re in troubleee!” She laughs it off and goes to talk to the teacher.
When she comes back and sits down, she still has the smile on her face, but it’s gone a little stale. Her voice is very light and matter-of-fact.
“She wants me to switch out of the class.”
“What?”
“She doesn't think I can’t handle the work. She gave me a zero on the essay. She could tell I didn’t read the book.”
A couple of our tablemates press her for more details, but Doodle Hands has suddenly gone silent. I think the hurt of it didn’t hit her until just now. It doesn’t show much on her face—It’s her silence that shows it more than anything. She keeps her eyes down, staring straight down at the desk, and won’t say a word.
“[Doodle Hands],” her friend says. He wants to console her, but she won’t look up. She won’t acknowledge any of us. Eventually he leaves her alone.
She crosses one leg over the other and folds her hands in her lap, looking straight down at them, her hair hanging down over her eyes. Her face turns pink around the edges. She is very, very still.
Just as she’s had a lot of practice sleeping in class without being noticed, I think she’s probably had a lot of practice crying in class without being noticed. She does it very well. Like a pro.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Friendship Bracelets
She’s probably the closest thing to a “hippie” you can find at this school.
She’s got long, flowing, yellow hair, with beautiful waves. Her voice has a gentle feeling; like there’s always a smile underneath it.
She brings her guitar to school sometimes, carrying it around without a case. She strums on it occasionally, in class, or sitting in the quad. She’s not very good. Either she doesn't know it, or doesn't care.
She wears mostly loose, comfy clothes, with bright colors; flowy skirts, or sweatpants and sweatshirts, or leggings and Ugg boots. She has a pair of Toms shoes that she wears sometimes; they used to be white, but she painted them with rainbowy swirls.
She likes bracelets in general. She wears a lot of them. Silly bands, sometimes. Little chain bracelets with charms on them. But she always has friendship bracelets, strung from colorful threads. Four of them on each wrist. Every day.
She eats all natural foods. Her mom is really into the all-organic thing; their entire family is vegan, so Friendship Bracelets’ snacks usually consist of these all-natural nutty-and-seedy health bars. Occasionally, she goes off on a rant to her friends about processed foods; Cheetos are filled with beetle eggs and chickens are tortured and boxed apple juice isn’t really apple juice and doesn’t even taste like apple juice and how can you be okay with the fact that it’s not apple juice.
But she’ll occasionally drink a soda. Or snack on Captain Crunch from a Ziploc bag. It's difficult to predict what she considers an exception to the rule.
She likes to doodle, too. There’s one sheet of paper at the front of her binder that she’s been gradually decorating since the beginning of the semester; adding more and more doodles. Leaves. Fruit. Flowers. Mindless swirls and checkers and lines. Hearts, and peace symbols, and yin-yangs.
And there are little cards she’s making for her boyfriend—Drawings of the two of them together, dressed as fruits. In one of them, she’s dressed as a strawberry and he’s dressed as a lemon; in the other, he’s a watermelon and she’s a lime. In both, the two fruits are holding hands and smiling at each other, and the caption reads, In sweetness and in sour, I love you.
I’ve seen her with her boyfriend—Between classes, they lock their arms around each other and kiss outside of classrooms. Looking at the two of them together, it’s strange. He seems to be Friendship Bracelets’ polar opposite. He wears mostly gray, and his eyes are full of glares.
Does he ever smile, like the cartoon watermelon of him she drew? When they’re alone, maybe? Is she the one to bring it out of him?
And when they’re together, about to part for class, about to be late for class, arms clasped around each other and lips migrating across each others' faces, they both seem to have looks of pain in their eyes. Like they love each other so much that it hurts, like they love each other so much they can hardly stand to be apart, like they love each other so much they can hardly stop touching each other and they can hardly stand to look each other in the eye.
She’s got long, flowing, yellow hair, with beautiful waves. Her voice has a gentle feeling; like there’s always a smile underneath it.
She brings her guitar to school sometimes, carrying it around without a case. She strums on it occasionally, in class, or sitting in the quad. She’s not very good. Either she doesn't know it, or doesn't care.
She wears mostly loose, comfy clothes, with bright colors; flowy skirts, or sweatpants and sweatshirts, or leggings and Ugg boots. She has a pair of Toms shoes that she wears sometimes; they used to be white, but she painted them with rainbowy swirls.
She likes bracelets in general. She wears a lot of them. Silly bands, sometimes. Little chain bracelets with charms on them. But she always has friendship bracelets, strung from colorful threads. Four of them on each wrist. Every day.
She eats all natural foods. Her mom is really into the all-organic thing; their entire family is vegan, so Friendship Bracelets’ snacks usually consist of these all-natural nutty-and-seedy health bars. Occasionally, she goes off on a rant to her friends about processed foods; Cheetos are filled with beetle eggs and chickens are tortured and boxed apple juice isn’t really apple juice and doesn’t even taste like apple juice and how can you be okay with the fact that it’s not apple juice.
But she’ll occasionally drink a soda. Or snack on Captain Crunch from a Ziploc bag. It's difficult to predict what she considers an exception to the rule.
She likes to doodle, too. There’s one sheet of paper at the front of her binder that she’s been gradually decorating since the beginning of the semester; adding more and more doodles. Leaves. Fruit. Flowers. Mindless swirls and checkers and lines. Hearts, and peace symbols, and yin-yangs.
And there are little cards she’s making for her boyfriend—Drawings of the two of them together, dressed as fruits. In one of them, she’s dressed as a strawberry and he’s dressed as a lemon; in the other, he’s a watermelon and she’s a lime. In both, the two fruits are holding hands and smiling at each other, and the caption reads, In sweetness and in sour, I love you.
I’ve seen her with her boyfriend—Between classes, they lock their arms around each other and kiss outside of classrooms. Looking at the two of them together, it’s strange. He seems to be Friendship Bracelets’ polar opposite. He wears mostly gray, and his eyes are full of glares.
Does he ever smile, like the cartoon watermelon of him she drew? When they’re alone, maybe? Is she the one to bring it out of him?
And when they’re together, about to part for class, about to be late for class, arms clasped around each other and lips migrating across each others' faces, they both seem to have looks of pain in their eyes. Like they love each other so much that it hurts, like they love each other so much they can hardly stand to be apart, like they love each other so much they can hardly stop touching each other and they can hardly stand to look each other in the eye.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Headphones
I don’t think I even know his real name. I just know him as the dude with the headphones.
You never see him without them. When he doesn’t have them over his ears, like a pair of large black earmuffs, they’re around his neck, settling beside his shoulders, with the cord snaking under his shirt.
It’s not so unusual for a person to have their headphones with them constantly—Walk into any class and you’ll see at least four people with one earbud in, sneakily providing themselves with music to get them through this class and into lunch period.
But the thing about Headphones is, he doesn’t bother with earbuds. He doesn’t bother being sneaky. When he gets bored in class, he pulls his big, high-quality, retro headpones off of his shoulders and onto his ears, and listens. Not caring if the teacher gets pissed about it. Not caring about anything going on around him.
He’s one of the many who’s reached that point. He’s a senior. He just doesn’t give a crap anymore. (I’m sure all high school students, even those who aren’t seniors, are familiar with that feeling.)
He’s friendly with the other guys in class; he’s probably even close friends with some of them. He laughs quietly at their jokes, and his teeth are very noticeable when he does—They’re straight and white, and very large, so even the smallest of smiles on his face looks like a wide grin. But he doesn’t talk much, or maintain much eye contact with anyone. Even when he’s smiling, at someone else or to himself, his eyes are usually downcast.
Today we do a group activity in class. Headphones joins a group with a few other guys, but doesn’t really take part. It isn’t long before he’s sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall and his headphones back over his ears. His eyes glaze over, staring at the wall opposite, and it’s suddenly noticeable, more than ever before, the reason he looks down at the floor so much of the time. There’s a kind of distant sadness back there in his eyes, that he tries to hide.
And I wonder what he’s listening to, that made that look come out. Come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen him scrolling through his iPod. I’ve only ever seen the headphones.
You never see him without them. When he doesn’t have them over his ears, like a pair of large black earmuffs, they’re around his neck, settling beside his shoulders, with the cord snaking under his shirt.
It’s not so unusual for a person to have their headphones with them constantly—Walk into any class and you’ll see at least four people with one earbud in, sneakily providing themselves with music to get them through this class and into lunch period.
But the thing about Headphones is, he doesn’t bother with earbuds. He doesn’t bother being sneaky. When he gets bored in class, he pulls his big, high-quality, retro headpones off of his shoulders and onto his ears, and listens. Not caring if the teacher gets pissed about it. Not caring about anything going on around him.
He’s one of the many who’s reached that point. He’s a senior. He just doesn’t give a crap anymore. (I’m sure all high school students, even those who aren’t seniors, are familiar with that feeling.)
He’s friendly with the other guys in class; he’s probably even close friends with some of them. He laughs quietly at their jokes, and his teeth are very noticeable when he does—They’re straight and white, and very large, so even the smallest of smiles on his face looks like a wide grin. But he doesn’t talk much, or maintain much eye contact with anyone. Even when he’s smiling, at someone else or to himself, his eyes are usually downcast.
Today we do a group activity in class. Headphones joins a group with a few other guys, but doesn’t really take part. It isn’t long before he’s sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall and his headphones back over his ears. His eyes glaze over, staring at the wall opposite, and it’s suddenly noticeable, more than ever before, the reason he looks down at the floor so much of the time. There’s a kind of distant sadness back there in his eyes, that he tries to hide.
And I wonder what he’s listening to, that made that look come out. Come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen him scrolling through his iPod. I’ve only ever seen the headphones.
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