Big Haired Bitches - 1. Iron Man

I couldn’t see the white board behind the bevy of curls lofted in front of me. Literally, the blonde semi-ringlets cascaded down the back of her head and on to her shoulders, obstructing my view of the calculus that the teacher was scribbling on the board.

I thought about asking the bitch in front of me to move her head, but I decided it wasn’t worth it. The mathematical torture would be over my head whether or not I could see it. At the end of the day, I would have to get used the big hair, bangs and Texas twangs. This was Summit Hill after all.

“Where are you eating lunch?” the girl in front of me asked the boy to her left. I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined it to be round and paunchy to match her full head of Miss Piggy hair.

“I dunno,” he replied. “With you I’m assuming.”

“Duh,” she replied. “We eat at the bench in the center of the quad.”

Not only could I not see the board, now I couldn’t even hear the teacher. I knew more about the quad and this bitch’s lunch plans than I did about derivatives. Being my first day at Summit Hill and already three weeks late to the semester, I dreaded the thought of the teacher asking me to answer a question and realizing that the school I’d come from was nowhere near the level of Summit.

The buzzer indicated the end of class with little to no scaring, and I sighed with relief.

“Mr. Chancer,” the teacher said as I tried to weasel out unnoticed. I stopped at his desk and gave him a weak smile. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep up in my class moving forward?”

“Of course,” I said with a smile. I should have asked to be moved to the front row so that I could actually see the board, but I didn’t want to make a big fuss about the big hair. Besides, I really wanted to get out and navigate high school lunch torture, probably the single event I was anticipating most… and dreading.

“Good,” he said with a smirk. “Your transcripts are impressive considering where you transferred from, but not great. Let me know if you need help before you’re swimming. You’ll find that we do things a little differently here at Summit Hill than at South Houston High.”

As if he had to rub in that I’d come from a less than stellar school. Yes, we’re the ones that started the Robin Hood Act so that we could have an actual football team with uniforms and pads, I wanted to shout. Heaven forbid you forgo a fountain in your atrium for a year.

I nodded, told the teacher that I’d alert him if I fell behind and then disappeared into the clinically white hallways lined with floor-length lockers that resembled closets rather than anything you’d find in a normal high school.

I navigated the maze of academia, looking for the open quadrangle in the middle. It was breathtaking the first time I saw it. When my dad explained the school, he neglected to include the part about a multi-million dollar marble accented, perfectly manicured mall. Complete with that brand new fountain.

I knew as soon as I stepped into the quad that I didn’t belong at Summit and I cursed my mom and dad for getting a divorce. I was content in South Houston, eating tuna surprise at an octagonal table for lunch. But my mom selling her townhouse and moving to Spain to paint still life landscapes made it impossible for me to stay with her. Summit Hill in Northwest Houston, or NoHo like my old friends liked to call it, was where it was for me now.

“You look overwhelmed,” a voice said behind me. I turned to see a welcoming smile and bright blue eyes against dark features. I was a sucker for creative facial composition and everything about this boy’s charming face was creative. His nose was slightly larger than a plastic surgeon would consider appropriate, but it fit his chiseled face and square jaw perfectly. His dark hair was softly fingered back, creating a flip that could easily be shaken off his face. And then the eyes. Bright blue, see right through you, eyes. Deep blue, dive right in, eyes. Piercing, fuck me gently, eyes.

I was overwhelmed alright.

“Yeah,” I replied, actively reminding myself that sarcasm was a turnoff. “I couldn’t decide if I was at a high school or in the south of France.”

“The south of France wishes it had this kind of grass,” he smiled at me. And then he was gone. I watched him cross the quad and pop a squat on a bench next to another group of mixed co-eds. Beautiful girls with beautifully big hair. Other attractive boys that I’m sure played lacrosse or soccer. He was out of my league and so was Summit Hill.

                **

“How was your first day?” my dad asked over dinner at Anaria’s. Spending copious amounts of money was his favorite way of saying ‘I love you’. My mom and I had both gotten tired of it. I forked my surf ‘n turf with what I was sure was the wrong fork and shrugged.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay? Logan, that school is amazing,” he said. “Wait until you hear the orchestra in the spring.”

“I don’t think I can… wait, Dad,” I said, trying my best not to show my poor attitude. I had to give my dad credit for trying.

“Mm, you should go out for an a cappella group. They’re amazing fun and it’ll look good on your college resume.”

“I’m sure they’ve all had tryouts already, Dad,” I protested, not because I didn’t want to, but because I had my friends and I had my activities. So what they were an hour and a half down Highway 45.

“Well just look into it. The Ringtones would love a tenor like you,” he said. I nodded along and gave my dad the best answers I could. To be honest, being around my father again was good. He hadn’t been there for the important stuff growing up. My mom had talked me through coming out to my friends and family. She had given me the safe sex and alcohol talks. She had taught me how to shave. She had been my rock and cornerstone for so long, I forgot what having a strong male figure looked like. And he let me drink wine at dinner, which was totally bad ass.

Later that night, I called my friend Lucy and bitched about the new school, explaining just how obnoxious everything was.

“Tell me again how that girl sounded,” she said. I could tell she was eating it all up.

“She was like ‘Meet me at the big bench in the corner’,” I mimicked in an affected European accent. She didn’t sound anything like that, but it was close. “I mean come on, Muffy. I wonder where she plans to summer.”

“Probably in West Hampton, darling, with the Clintons and the Kennedys,” Lucy replied, getting in on the joke. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go practice this dance for Tuesday’s recital, which you are coming to, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world sweetie,” I said. We phone kissed goodbye and I sighed. I should have been in SoHo practicing her dance with her. But I was here, in Summit Hill, soaking in air I couldn’t afford and dreading another day at a school that could have lent its campus to an Ivy League University.

                **

I saw her the next morning when I pulled my jalopy into the spot next to the silver Audi. It was parked in the very back of the senior parking lot, away from any other car and under a tree. I, being the last person to register, had the last available parking spot, which happened to be next to the Audi. I sat in my car for a second listening to the last drum beat of Must Get Out by Maroon 5 when she emerged, Louboutins first.

The word gorgeous wouldn’t do her justice. Every ounce of gayness left my svelte body and I got the tinglings of a phantom boner when she appeared, one long leg at a time. She was tall and thin with just the right amount of curves, creating an hourglass figure that looked best in Michael Kors or Marc Jacobs. She stood in front of the Audi in an outfit and a pair of frames that made her look like she belonged under a tent in Bryant Park, flanked by Giselle Bunchen and Alessandra Ambrosio.

The minute she stepped out, two other hot, but not as hot, kids joined her. To her left was a brunette with big hair, a clear winner of the genetic lottery. And to her right was a hottie with a body that reminded me of Jensen Ackles and a face that a young Brad Pitt would have envied. They all looked like they hadn’t eaten in a week and that they’d robbed Saks 5^th Avenue for clothes. This can’t be high school, I thought.

They stood around for a few minutes waiting for the first buzzer. Meanwhile, I triple checked my teeth to make sure I had nothing in them. I didn’t want the hottest people at Summit to notice me and think I was a total freak.

I stepped out of my dad’s old Lexus, a nice vehicle by any standard, but nothing compared to the Iron Man Audi, and took two steps toward the quadrangle.

“Hey,” an angel’s voice floated toward me. I stopped and turned. I was greeted by two semi-stoic faces and one very fake smile. “You’re new here, right?”

“Um… yeah,” I replied with a lump in my throat.

“Oh. That’s cute,” the male smiled, looking down at his perfectly manicured nails the whole time. The other girl apparently had no vocal chords. She had probably had them removed to lose a pound and a half.

“Listen, sweetie,” the ring leader began in a condescending voice that belonged at the judges table of American Idol. “I’m gonna let it slide this time because you’re obviously unaware, but I have this whole row of parking reserved.”

Her voice was razor edged and sharp. Each syllable was milked slowly for effect and her s’s were subtle hisses that made me shudder inside.

“Yeah,” I blinked, not sure what to say about that. “Um… they assigned me this spot at the office, so…”

Her face changed for a split second. A look I’d never seen came over it and as quickly as I saw her lips purse and her eyebrow tighten, she was smiling again.

She let out a small chuckle and I was immediately in fear of my life. But I didn’t show it. I’d gone to school with some of the biggest gangsters in the greater Houston area. I had a killer poker face. Show fear, and they get you.

“Well that’s my mistake then,” she said in a cheerful voice that didn’t fool me. Her eyebrow raised ever so slightly and I knew we were done there. I turned and walked away wondering if I’d just thrown a stick at the queen bee of the hive.

               **

I stood in the archway of the quad hoping that I’d cross paths with the cutie from the day before. It was like asking lighting to strike again. My theory that people are creatures of habit paid off when he did emerge behind me.

“A whole day later and you still look confused,” he said with that charming voice I’d been thinking about all day long.

“I just can’t figure out how they get every strand of grass to flow the same way,” I said with big sarcastic eyes.

“Mexicans,” he replied. I laughed beside myself at the semi-racist remark.

“I’m Logan,” I said offering him a hand. He shook it.

“I’m Eric,” he replied with a grin. “And I’m late for lunch.”

I started to say something when he interrupted me.

“I’m also really rude. Do you want to join me and my friends? We eat under that tree over there and, um, there’s a lot of grass you can study, I’m sure.”

I smiled at him. It was the moment of truth. Do I take him up on it and thrust myself into Summit High society or do I continue to wallow in fish-out-of-water syndrome and spend another lunch alone in the corner. Before I could answer, Eric said: “We don’t bite. Come on.”

Only, I’d be okay if he did; just a little, of course.

I followed him over and was introduced to the circle of friends that, sitting there in their dark jeans and assorted checkered shirts, vests, and polos, looked like they could have collectively been a part of a Ralph Lauren photo spread.

I quickly forgot everyone’s name as soon as I was introduced, but it didn’t matter. I spent most of lunch talking to the one I already knew.

“So where did you come from?” Eric asked when his Jimmy John’s sub was out and on his lap.

“Mississippi,” I sang in a vibrato heavy tenor. Eric gave me a blank look.

“1920,” I added with a raised eyebrow. Surely he’d heard the music or seen the tragic Renee Zellwegger remake. “Chicago.”

“I’m confused. Is it Mississippi or Chicago?” he was cute, but he was slow. We could work with that.

“Nevermind. I umm… transferred from South Houston,” I said with a smirk and big eyes. “Don’t mess with me, I’m sort of dangerous.”

“Dangerous minds,” he laughed.

“Something like that,” I replied. “I must say, this place is a million miles away.”

“Oh please,” he replied. “Are you kidding? We’re totally normal.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I mean, I was accosted by a beauty queen today for parking next to her spot. Not even in her spot. Just next to it. Ya’ll are far from normal.”

“Beauty queen? Miss Texas graduated from here last year,” he said. I wanted desperately for it to be a joke, but I was almost certain that it wasn’t.

“She could have passed. I mean, she had the hair, it was up to here, and the makeup. Not to mention the outfit,” I said, realizing just how gay I sounded. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think I know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? You too have stared into the eyes of Medusa?” I said. I realized it was inappropriate as soon as it left my mouth, but the girl was a vapid black hole of intimidation. I had kept my cool in front of her, but I was still thinking about her icy laugh and her evil grin.

“Yeah, that medusa is probably my sister,” Eric said. My jaw hit the floor. The only indication I had that I hadn’t insulted his whole family was the laugh he gave after he saw my expression. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I agree with you. Tori is… different.”

“Is she that mean to everyone or did I get the new guy special?”

“I’m sure it felt harsh because you don’t know her. Of course you come from SoHo, so you deal with, what… drug dealers? Drive by’s? Prostitutes?”

“Our prostitutes only come out at night, thank you.”

I spent the rest of lunch trying to erase my comments about his sister from his mind with quips and antidotes from south Houston. It must have worked because he invited me to sit with his crowd again the next day. I had successfully juged my way into a posse, I mused as I went back to class.

I managed to forget about the morning’s encounter by the time the final buzzer buzzed. I went to my locker briefly to pick up The Scarlett Letter for homework that night, and then bee lined for my car. I wanted to be home before Oprah started so that I could call Lucy later and talk about just what had made us cry.

The second I saw my car, I wanted to scream bloody murder. I had heard of pranks before. Hell, I had done my fair share of pranking a million times. Just last year, a group of friends and I had plastic wrapped everything in our principal’s office and toilet papered his car.

This, however, was no prank. I stood there looking at my Lexus, ready to cry. The expletives that my dad would say when he saw it coursed through my brain.

Sitting on the roof of my car was a large cornerstone brick that must have weighed a solid 60 pounds. How they had gotten it baffled me. What baffled me more is how they had managed to hoist it to the tree next to my car and toss it perfectly to create a dent that caved my entire roof in.

This is how they play in Summit Hill, I thought. Big. Haired. Bitches.