Of All the Stupid Things by Alexandra Diaz Read Free Book Online

Sometimes the race course involves going up and down hills. Sometimes the weather on the race day isn’t ideal. These are the things I need to work on: running under any condition.
Four miles go by before I realize it. When I read the numbers on the stopwatch, I grin. That’s the way to do it. Seven seconds better than last week’s four miles at a moderate speed. Welcome back.
Mom drops me off at school on her way to work. Pinkie’s been giving me rides again this last week or so, but her car’s in the shop and the alternative is going in Barbara’s minivan along with five ten-year-olds. I know Whitney Blaire is getting a taxi; she’d rather spend the money than go in the minivan, or worse yet, get her parents to drop her off.
I wave to my mom and head for the doors. Brent is chatting with his teammates on the wall. He jumps down when I pass by. Before I can duck, he kisses me on the cheek.
“Brent,” I warn, but he doesn’t pay attention.
“Hey, we’re rounding up the guys for some ultimate during lunch. You want in?”
I do. I’m always up for an impromptu game. But playing Frisbee with Brent brings back too many memories of other times we’ve played: our awareness of the other’s presence, our ability to predict the other’s next move, the natural teamwork connection that’s stronger than what Brent has with his soccer team. And then there were the little special moments of hidden smiles and secret gropes that the others didn’t see. I don’t trust him to keep his hands to himself. I’m not sure if I trust myself either.
“I’m meeting the girls for lunch.”
Brent frowns just as the bell rings. “Too bad. Maybe next time.” He picks up his bag and slaps me on the butt before walking off.
I take a deep breath and let out the air slowly. I join the crowd as I head to Spanish class. I’ve been watching him since that day Whitney Blaire told me the rumor. Watching how he acts with the girls, and the guys. I don’t notice anything more than his normal friendliness. I’ve even seen him chatting with Sanchez and there’s nothing to imply an attraction. Not from Brent, at least. Sanchez, on the other hand, makes it very obvious that he wants something. But that’s how Sanchez acts with everyone. It bothers a lot of the guys (and me too), but Brent just ignores that bit and treats him like he treats everyone else. At least, he doesn’t encourage Sanchez. I want to think that just means Brent is confident in himself—that he’s simply not threatened by a gay man—but I’m still not entirely sure. And until I am, I have to keep things neutral with Brent. Be strong, Tara, I tell myself. Just give yourself some time.
I settle down in my seat in the middle of the classroom. Pinkie is already sitting in the front with her reading glasses on. She gives me a half wave and then gets back to the textbook in front of her. We’re having a quiz today and Pinkie always studies until the last second. I don’t have to look to know Whitney Blaire isn’t here yet. Even when Pinkie drives her in the morning, Whitney Blaire is never on time for anything.
Ms. Ramirez starts closing the door and Whitney Blaire sneaks in just in time. She walks by my desk and drops a note. It says: iv som thn 2 tel u with a heart on top of the i . I crumple the note and stuff it in my pocket before Ms. Ramirez sees it.
Ms. Ramirez hands out the quizzes right away and I forget about Whitney Blaire’s note. She doesn’t, though. As I finish the first page, I get another note: thrs a nw grl. boyz al ovr hr . I crumple that note too and move on to the next page.
Ms. Ramirez passes by me. She grabs another note Whitney Blaire has just written.
“Señorita Blaire, see me after class,” Ms. Ramirez tells her.
Pinkie sends Whitney Blaire a scolding look.
“Class, I want your eyes to stay on your own papers. That includes everyone,” Ms. Ramirez reminds us. Pinkie blushes.
Once the bell rings, I leave quickly for my next class, knowing