My mom tucks herself under my dad’s arm and they both watch me take in my new car. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Happy senior year, Ev.”
I step out of the car, testing out the key fob with the locks and car alarm, and follow my parents back inside. I grab my backpack off the counter, say goodbye, and rush back to my car, throwing another “thank you” over my shoulder.
I tinker with the stereo system a little, figuring out how to program radio stations and stuffing my CDs in the glove compartment. It was one of the few items I actually unpacked. That along with some of my practice gear and DVDs I tend to watch on repeat. While the boxes sit unopened in my room, it feels inefficient to unpack when I’ll be moving at the end of the school year. And from past experiences, the less I unpack, the less I’ll have to repack when I leave.
As soon as I turn the ignition, the engine starting with a low purr, I notice Josh from next door leaving his house. He’s trailed by his sister, both wearing early morning scowls. It suddenly occurs to me they probably go to Torrey Pines too.
Josh sees me watching them, and he waves a hand before getting into the driver’s seat of his maroon-colored Pathfinder. His sister’s eyes follow the direction of Josh’s greeting, only to see me watching them. Her scowl softens, and she offers a tight-lipped smile.
I back out of the driveway ahead of them, following the detailed instructions my dad gave before I left the house. Right on the second street after the stop sign, a left on Durango Dr. until I turn onto the main road. The directions are pretty simple, and after I spent the last two weeks making short drives to the grocery store or getting takeout while we were still waiting for our stove to be replaced, I’ve familiarized myself enough to know which streets to look for. Just as I’m driving past intersection after intersection, I notice the same red car Josh is driving in the rearview mirror with him and Christine in the reflection. She’s laughing at something at the same time Josh sneers at her. She pinches his cheek, and he lifts his elbow to get out of her reach. I smirk, watching them tease each other, just as the red light I was stalled at turns green.
When I pull into the large parking lot of Torrey Pines High, I see Josh still trailing behind me, pulling into a parking spot not too far from mine. We move in synchrony, getting out of our cars and our doors closing with a thud at the same time.
“Hey,” Josh calls, quickly eyeing my car. We walk down the dark pavement to the large building of the school, our steps slowing as we meet at the sidewalk.
“Hey.” I tilt my chin toward him at the same time I loop my backpack over my shoulders.
“Teeny, this is Everett. He lives next door,” he says, tapping the back of his hand against his sister’s shoulder.
“Hi,” she says softly, waving a shy hand in my direction.
“Teeny,” I repeat. Her lips pull into a straight line as if she’s holding back a smile, while her name flutters around my head. Like thousands of brightly colored confetti. I thought her name was Christine this whole time. Ever since I met her dad and he’d slipped in that minor detail about her. And I’ve been whispering it to myself in my head, wondering what it would sound like out loud. While I called it to get her attention or while she learned my own name, enunciating the T at the end or dip after the first syllable.
Teeny.
Her teeth poke out from behind her upper lip, the front two bigger than the rest, and I don’t know if this little detail about her is a flaw or if it’s a likeness specific to her that only she can wear effortlessly. If without the small glimpse of her wide teeth peeking like they’re curious, would her smile appear less fascinating?
The three of us walk away from the parking lot, Josh leading the way, with me trailing behind, and Teeny trudging next to me. She’s stuffing some things into her backpack, letting the straps hang from one shoulder while she maneuvers her arm into the deep pockets of her navy colored Jansport. A calculator drops from her bag, and it lands on the hard ground with a harsh clack.
She doesn’t so much as huff or let out a frustrated growl like I expected. Instead, she flinches at the sound of hard plastic hitting concrete while I bend down to reach it for her.
With my knee bent and back slouched forward, she peers down at me. The slight breeze flicks her hair across her face. She smiles at me, and I notice she smiles with her eyes. Normally round when she’s quietly thinking to herself or observing her surroundings, they curve and sparkle when she smiles. They match the small wrinkles that line the bridge of her nose and the amusement bouncing in her eyebrows.
“Thanks,” she says, gently taking her calculator from me. When I stand upright, she looks up at me, her round eyes turning curious. Her smile doesn’t change, and something about the way she smiles softly, with the corners of her lips lifting just enough to let me know repulsion or disapproval is the furthest emotion she’s feeling as our hands sit between us with the calculator acting as a buffer of space.
For some reason, I feel like I can tell her anything. My deepest, darkest secrets, like I’m not a huge fan of chocolate ice cream. Or that when I told my mom I lost my lunch bag when I was nine, I actually chucked it off a bridge on a dare.
“You’re welcome,” I say awkwardly. “Is it Teeny? Not Christine?”
She looks at me with a confused tilt of her head and an amused smile. “No one calls me Christine.”
“Oh.” I rub a hand at the back of my neck. “Your dad told me your name’s Christine the last time I saw you guys.” I feel a flush creep up my neck, and my heart turns fuzzy as I realize what a fool I’m making of myself. Why couldn’t I just play it cool? Call her Teeny and call it a day? Instead, all she knows now is that I remember her name like it was lasered into my brain the second I laid eyes on her playfully pouting at her brothers on her driveway.
“Teeny’s fine,” she corrects me, her words pushed through a suppressed laugh.
“Teeny it is.” A smile twitches the corners of my mouth, and that embarrassment dissolves.
Teeny.
I have my class schedule burning a hole in my back pocket, itching to be looked at for the twentieth time. Walking into this entirely new territory feels a little like I’m walking around in my underwear, and not knowing where I’m supposed to go is really adding to the unwanted attention I may have looking like a lost puppy in the school hallways.
We continue walking into the school, finding a lot of the students are pulling up in shiny new cars that match mine. The kids look cooler here, more confident, more breezy. Maybe it’s the ocean air that’s glided in from the coast all the way to the campus. Or the simple fact that most of these kids likely live in a home similar to the one I just moved into, too big and wide for my parents to know what to do with it. My skin starts to feel exposed, making me insecure as I saunter carefully into the main building.
“So, uh, do you play?” Josh asks, looking at me with a sideways tilt of his head. “I just thought, since your dad’s a coach and all…”
“Basketball?”
