Leo Capistrano Tells Last Week's Tale

Most weeks, nothing extraordinary ever happens. Unless you call extraordinary me going a few days without a zit erupting on my face like a volcano. Actually, now that I think of it, that would be extraordinary because I get zits all the time. I'm not alone, though. My Del Rio high school is one big oozing pimple. Instead of Harbor High School, we should be called Zit-Zone High and our mascot should be a humongous bottle of Neutrogena, because, according to dermatologists, it is the number one recommended acne fighter! (I've seen way too many commercials. But Jennifer Love Hewitt in a towel is something I can watch over and over.) Like I was saying, most weeks are boring for me, but last week...yeah, last week was...well, I'll get to that in a minute.

I know that lots of kids have parents who don't even talk to them about the stuff that needs to be discussed. Like drinking, smoking, sex–that sort of thing. And some of the kids I know hardly even have a relationship with their parents. But my parents and I have a pretty good relationship. The whole family, that includes my twin sisters, plays board games on Saturday nights, at least twice a month. Mom and Dad usually leave me to sit with my sisters the other two Saturday nights. My point is that my parents talk to me and are interested in my life. Even though they ask me about school and keep track of my studies, they have no clue at all about the pickings I get. Now, I don't wanna come across to you like this kid that gets beat up all the time because that's not it at all. Yes, I do get picked on. I'd rather have some moron call me names and maybe poke me, than pummel me once a week in the locker room then shove my face into a pile of crap in the toilet. That's why last week...oh, last week.

Just so you know, I'm a pretty small guy for sixteen. And being small makes me a target. I think I'm a pretty average and good-looking guy. I'm not that big into fashion, but I always match and smell good. However, I'm only five-seven right now and I weigh like a buck-twenty. Sometimes I try to find my muscles, but it gets so tiring and depressing that I just give up. And Meeko...well, I feel bad for Meeko. He's only three inches taller than I am but he outweighs me by a good eighty pounds. The two of us hanging out draws attention, and kids sometimes chant, "Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean."

I've gotta tell you more about my best friend. Meeko usually mumbles something to the idiots who chant at us, about him being rich and one day stomping on all of those little people, firing them from their jobs or not hiring them at all. And that laugh he cackles is kind of like when Dr. Frankenstein brings his monster to life. It's a maniacal laugh. I believe he'll do it some day when he's able to because Meeko's family is really, really rich. When the time comes, Meeko has his pick of four successful businesses to take-over. There are times when I feel like he will snap on some prick guy who goes too far. Even so, I don't think he's the type to blow up a school or something like that. As a matter of fact, Meeko and I talk about revenge a lot, but in non-violent ways. Those guys from PE have had it coming for a long time. Then, last week, we actually put some of our little plans into action.

Okay, well, because I'm so stinking short and skinny, and because I'm so darned lucky to be in gym class with like every guy that plays anything remotely athletic at my school, I absolutely, utterly, entirely, infinitely, and unadulteratedly hate going to PE. Like I was saying, I detest gym, and Meeko is not too fond of it either. At least, though, he can throw far and knock guys down when we play anything that involves contact. Meeko never abuses his power on smaller guys. It's funny sometimes to watch him one-on-one with some prick. When there's more than one, the trouble starts.

Now, I give you last week, beginning after dinner.

Sunday: Meeko stopped by and we hung out in the garage for an hour or so just talking about our targets. He asked me, like he really needed to, if Linda had talked to me yet. Of course that was a stupid question because he'd be the first to know after me. (That's Linda Hamburgh, a girl that I really dig. I have never tried talking to her because that's not the easiest thing in the world for me to do, and she has never attempted talking to me. More on her later.) So, we made a short list of guys to hit, then we made a longer list of guys to hit, recycling some of the names. Meeko wanted to put Mr. Krull's name on the list (he's one of our PE instructors) but I told him to leave the teachers out of it.

"That's the problem, man," Meeko said, sitting down on my old mini-bike. I was hoping the tires would support all that weight. And they did–somehow. "They're out of it. They see those pricks pick and pick at us and stuff and they don't do a damn thing about it. I want 'em on the list–at least Krull 'cause he's the worst."

Meeko had a point, but I convinced him that we didn't want a bunch of static from teachers.

"Okay, so you wanna do all this stuff without gettin' caught and without gettin' the recognition? You're nuts, man. You're a handful of cashews, man. No, a big old scoop of almonds and walnuts mixed together–that's what you are."

"Thanks, Giani," I said, dropping to the floor from the pull-up bar my dad hung forever ago. "So what if we don't get any attention? That makes it better." At this point, my friend pulled out a Kit-Kat he had in the pocket of his black pull-aways and he opened it up. He offered me one stick but I refused it. I could tell it was all hot and melted–Kit-Kats are best right out of the fridge. Anyway, I knew that Meeko was not convinced of what I was saying. "Look, this isn't about recognition, my friend, it's about retribution! Vindication! Retaliation!" I was beginning to feel like Patrick Henry rallying the colonists. "Righting all the wrongs even if that stupid saying two wrongs don't make a right is right." I stopped to catch my breath. I was really worked up.

"You're a confusing somethin' else, man. Don't get all–"

"I just want the satisfaction of knowing that the two of us, Leo Capistrano and Meeko Giani, made the big tough guys look stupid and silly and that other stuff." I felt that maniacal Meeko laugh welling up in me like a geyser about to shoot toward the sky. But I held it back. The mile-wide smile on my face showed enough emotion. Meeko, however, did laugh. His whole body shook and jiggled. Then I had to let out my own laugh, but it wasn't a geyser laugh. It was just a regular old Leo laugh. Kind of loud and fast, but not too distracting.

Monday: Saw Meeko just after first period. We were both on our way to Honors Biology. Had a substitute which was pretty cool because Meeko and I discussed our plans a bit more. Went to gym class later with a smile on my face that some six-foot tall guy almost knocked off with a volleyball. After school I went to my job at Zucchini's Sundries. Guess who walked in? As usual? Oh, but the lovely and fair Linda Hamburgh. (Too dramatic?) I wonder what she eats on her hamburgers or does she only eat veggie burgers? Her long, curly auburn hair is so curly, just like curly fries that go with a nice juicy hamburger. I want to touch her hair and her skin that looks like a bar of Ivory soap. Okay, it's not that white. Linda comes into Zucchini's Mondays and Thursdays after she leaves choir practice.

This is as good a time as any to talk more about Linda. I did say that I'd get back to her. You may wonder why, if she's always at the drug store, I have not really talked to her. It's because I always pretend to be really busy. I know a lot about biology and math, not girls and dating. One of my uncles told me it would come naturally. Yeah, right. Anyway, I look up at the ceiling mirrors and watch Linda and her friends go from aisle to aisle, staying an aisle ahead or behind them. Sometimes I get caught off-guard when I'm really, really busy. Then all of a sudden she's there in front of the magazine rack or filler paper. Or she's browsing the shelves for hair conditioner and face cream. Her skin may be smooth and clean, but she gets pimples like the rest of us. Linda has a very natural look, as if she can just leap from her warm bed into the bathroom, give herself a quick look, brush her radiant hair and bright white teeth, and be finished with herself for the day. At least she looks that way to me. Once in a while I'll be at the register and I ring her out, but she always has her head turned, talking to one of her friends. Every so often, though, she looks at me. That's a good sign, right? Anyhow, I work everyday after school except for Wednesdays.

Tuesday: Not much happened this day. I had a geography test. It always make me laugh when I study and get good marks, then the lame-o jocks (not that all jocks are lame-o's) think that they can just breeze through by cheating or getting a padded mark. It can maybe work in other classes, but not in Mahoney's. That guy's last name should be Hawk because he watches you like one–like a vulture–like a bob cat–like a lion. Besides that, he sneaks up on you. I never cheat, but he has a way of making me feel like I am or that I have. Hawk-eyes will come and look over my shoulder for thirty or forty seconds and watch the answers come out of my pen. He hates it when a kid gets a perfect on his test and then gets the extra-credit right. Ha, ha, sucker!

Wednesday: Our plans were coming together a bit more. Because I did not have to work, Meeko and I met in my room right after school. His mom gave us a ride because Meeko was complaining about having to walk so far when it was so hot outside. Give me a break. We only have to walk one point three miles each way to school. It's a twenty-minute walk. Of course, I'm in much better shape than my best friend. Once Meeko was situated with a nice, fat salami sandwich and a cold glass of milk, our little meeting of the minds began.

"Whatcha been thinkin', Leo?"

"That we need to do this Friday."

"Whoa, there, man. Take a shower or somethin'," Meeko said, pink mushy bread showing between his teeth.

"I swear you oughtta do stand-up," I said, not laughing. "You're a regular Chris Rock." Meeko smiled so I could see all that mush in his teeth. "I'm serious, Meeko. Friday."

"How come?"

"Time's running out. There's a home baseball game. Plus, we're almost ready. Get out your papers." I felt devilish and deceitful. Yeah!

So, we looked at Meeko's papers, his drawings and diagrams. Then we took a look at mine and compared. There were times when we laughed so hard that we couldn't talk for a few minutes. The thought of what we were planning was too hilarious. And the revenge factor made itself known–that's for sure. We knew that we had to pull our pranks quickly and without bringing attention to ourselves. And there could be no physical brutality–harmless with a punch, so to speak. My plans were to let other people do most of the work for me. I just had to plant the seed. We knew that the pickings we got would not stop, but we would be satisfied with just a bit of revenge.

There was one thing that we were missing: Ava. Ava Valido has a problem with some of the girls at Harbor High. Her difficulties in no way amount to my and Meeko's problems with the guys in our PE class. (Of course, who am I to judge?) All in all, she is one of us–one of the pickees and she hates the guys we hate just as much as we hate them. With Ava, we could cover more ground. If Ava wasn't legally blind in her left eye, I'd say that she'd be an Army general in fifteen years. She's just got that kind of mind, if you know what I mean.

So, I called Ava. In case you're wondering why I have her phone number if I'm afraid to talk to girls, it's because I don't look at her that way. To me, she's one of the guys except she's a lot better looking and her voice isn't as deep. I've hung out with her more than any other girl except my mom and sisters. (I did go out on a few dates with a girl last year, but we always just met at the mall or movie theater where we had some make-out sessions. She moved away and I haven't talked to her since.) Ava joins Meeko, another friend or two of ours, and me for cards sometimes. And she's come fishing with us on a few occasions. Because she isn't much into clothes and doesn't spend four hours in the morning worrying about her hair, she gets teased by those girls who do that stuff. I'm not exactly sure what she's called by them, but evidently Ava's pissed off enough to want to mess with them.

Since eighth grade, Meeko has been attracted to Ava. Personally, I think he's too insecure about his weight to tell her. Ava is a nice-looking girl, but I don't have the fluttering for Ava like I get around Linda. It's weird–they're both physically attractive but in different ways. And I'd never try to start something with Ava knowing how Meeko feels, or doesn't feel. It's confusing. What can I say? We're sixteen. Who the hell knows how hormones work? I sure don't, and believe me, I wish I could figure them out because they're a pain in lots of places. Like I was saying, just as I was about to put the dinner ham into the oven, the doorbell rang. There stood Ava Valido. Smile on her face. Notebook in hand. Accessories in bag in hand. Appeared that she had been cooking up her own plans for awhile.

Thursday: Here's something unusual: I did not get pushed around this day in PE. I actually won our bombardment game because I wove my way around the bigger guys who aren't as fast. After work, Ava and Meeko came by so we could put the final finals on our plans. The fun would begin in the parking lot before school even started. Most importantly, we would dummy the pin- heads on the list during school so other kids could watch the fun. Ava, Meeko, and I could only hit so many individually, and in one day. Ava picked the two on the list that she could kill with one stone, so to speak. Meeko picked two and I picked three. These picks were people in our classes because our access to them was better than some of the other ones we couldn't get to as easily.

Still Thursday: This is what Ava had planned.

"What's next?" I asked her, plunking myself down on the picnic table. We were in the backyard so my parents wouldn't hear what we were talking about.

"You guys know that I have a plants and soils class."

We nodded.

"I know that Francesca Arboles and Courtney Chang are only in that class because they have the hots for Mr. Delta," Ava said. "It's disgusting the way they sit and check him out, practically salivating when he's near them or showing them how to do something the rest of us understood the first time he explained it."

Meeko and I sat quietly and listened to Ava spout off at the mouth for a few minutes about these two girls and how they always look down at her for never complaining about getting dirty and for actually enjoying what she's doing. And then she started talking, very quickly and with flailing arms, about Courtney and Francesca busting on her clothes and the boots she always wears.

"They don't take anything seriously. They're just jealous because Mr. Delta likes me more than he likes them and he always compliments my work. With them, he gets run ragged because all they do is whine about breaking a nail or having a bug crawl on them." Ava rolled her eyes a lot during her little speech and was more cocky than I'd ever heard her. "So, I'm going to make sure that they get a lot of bugs and worms in their soil. They bug me so I'll bug them, fellas. Every work station they go to tomorrow will be crawling with little critters."

I think I saw Ava's eyes turn red for a couple of seconds as she wrung her hands and let a devious grin stretch across her face. Meeko just stared at her with infatuation. He won't own up to it, but I think he fell in love right there in my backyard.

"And both Arboles and Chang are in my lunch so I just might surprise them with worms in the cafeteria, too. I still have to work that out, but I think it's possible." Ava sat down on a wicker chair, stuck her legs out in front of her, and crossed her ankles. She looked very satisfied.

Friday: I couldn't really sleep Thursday night. Tossed and turned. Tossed and turned. I had a hard time figuring out if I was excited or scared. Then I decided that I was both.

First off, in the parking lot, Meeko and I saw a bunch of our PE friends smoking cigarettes and taking swigs out of a liquor bottle. Just as we expected. Meeko pulled out his cell-phone and called the sheriff. Said that some students were buying drugs in the parking lot at Harbor High. Described the guys and all that. Then we sat at a table by the cafeteria to watch the show. About two minutes later, two unmarked deputy cars pulled up and four deputies jumped out. Then the sheriff showed up with sirens roaring, blowing, screaming, and wailing. Satisfaction. I looked at my watch and had seven minutes to get to class to hit my next target–Kyle Gary–an almond- skinned kid about six-two who kind of looks like a wrinkled version of Shaq. He wrestles and holds the school's high jump record.

When I got to my English class, I was alone. That was exactly what I wanted. I quickly went to the bookshelves and pulled from behind the dictionaries Kyle's notebook and textbook. Because he's too lazy to take his books out of the room, he hides them behind the dictionaries. One thing my English teacher always looks for is if we have our books and notebooks. These two items must be on our desks when she enters the class or points are deducted. And other stuff can happen too–like humiliation.

I put Kyle's materials in my book bag and left the class. When I was in a very crowded area of the hallway, I took out the extra book and notebook and dropped them on the floor. My work was finished. I heard a bunch of kids talking about what happened in the parking lot and that one guy got arrested. In class, I had to control my loud, fast laugh while the idiot who would always pluck my head as he passed me in the hallway, trip me while playing flag football, or would stab my butt with a pencil when he sat behind me last year in history, searched and searched in vain for his stuff that was no doubt trampled on and kicked down the hallway, far, far away. You can imagine how happy I was when my English teacher walked in and my target was out of his seat. For that, he had to stand in the corner with the dunce hat on, which is a silly Shakespeare-type hat with a huge plume. And because Kyle did not have his materials on his desk, he got double points taken off. The fun had only begun. We got an open-book quiz sprung on us that Mr. Pencil-stabber could not take and got an automatic goose-egg. The teacher said a bunch of stuff about his making sure he makes it to practices on time and working harder on sports than in the classroom. Most everyone in class was laughing and pointing at him. Not used to being teased, the guy was almost purple with embarrassment. Or was he angry? Anyway, that little joke was painless compared to what happened to Miguel during third period. Just so you know, Miguel doesn't play anything at school, but is part of the PE hit squad. He wears a scruffy beard and looks like he's about twenty-five–of course, he acts like he's fourteen, even though he's graduating in June.

When I got to biology, I told Meeko about Kyle. "That's excellent, man," he said. Then he told me what he heard about our parking lot friends. Turns out that the guy that got arrested did have some pot on him, and all the guys with liquor on their breath got busted. No baseball victory for us last Friday because six players got suspended. That meant that JV guys had to take their spots on Varsity. Because my last target, my shot-put friend, was part of that gang, I couldn't pull my prank on him during PE. I didn't care.

Fifth period came and I went to my technologies class. And that's where I would get back at Miguel for all the shoves in the locker room, and all the needless hits to my shins with a hockey stick–that kind of thing. The night before, I typed up and printed out a short note from a girl that I planted in the network printer in class at the right time. The tech-spec, a very tall and big- shouldered guy, who stands by the printer to make sure everything runs smoothly, usually reads some of whatever comes out. When the time came, I got up to toss a piece of paper in the trash can. I was near the printer and I slipped in the note before the tech-spec got there. Again, my work was finished. Believe me, I was definitely risking getting caught and I was shaking like a loose shingle in a hurricane. What the tech-spec does is this–he waits for five papers to be printed out then he takes the papers to the students that printed them. Because the tech-spec is a kidder himself, I knew he wouldn't pass up reading the note aloud. So, the note that read like this, Dear Miguel, I had such a good time with you last night. I hope that what you said about breaking up with Sandy is true because I could kiss you like that for the rest of my life, was lifted off of the printer with the other papers. The tech-spec laughed and said, "Miguel, this is for you," then, as expected, he read it to the class. Here's the best part–Sandy is also in the class and she stood up demanding to know who wrote that note. Before she went to the principal's office for all the racket, she yelled, "Miguel shaves the hair inside his butt and he sleeps with a stuffed duck named Gretel!" Then she broke up with him using some very nasty language that got her campus-detail for a week and a month's worth of Saturday detention. (News like this spreads quickly in a high school.) I laughed at him with the rest of the class. I had tears in my eyes and my nose was running. Miguel didn't actually see anyone laughing because his head was down on the table. The tips of his ears looked like raspberries. I don't know why, but he never asked who sent the note, so I'm thinking that what I wrote actually happened. Funny how life works sometimes. I felt an ounce bad for Sandy, but then, she is one of those girls with an attitude. Miss Oh-Look-
At-Me-I'm-Better-Than-Everyone-Else.

Friday after school: Our pranks were complete and we got our revenge. We were satisfied. For that go around, anyway. There's more to come. Ava, Meeko, and I met at the pizza place next to Zucchini's for a couple of pizzas and milk shakes.

"Why do you order peppers when you know I don't like them?" I asked Meeko, for about the millionth time since I've known him.

"So I can have more, that's why, hot-shot." Meeko glanced at Ava, probably wishing she wasn't seeing him stuff his face and body with greasy pizza.

"Nice, Meeko. Wait and see what happens to you now."

Ava started telling about the pranks she pulled and how she felt and what the other people did and all of those juicy details.

"I did manage to throw a worm down on Franny's notebook while she was in the lunch line," she laughed. A piece of chewed pizza flew across the table and landed on Meeko's plate. He simply pushed it aside. "Oh, sorry, Meeko. I forgot my manners." Ava's face blushed. She continued to talk and laugh. "When she got back to the table...and saw that thing...she started screaming again like she did in class. I almost peed my pants." Here, Ava had to take a breath because she was laughing so hard. "I'll tell you, seeing those two girls freaking out over the worms in their soil...and the beetles...and the slugs...will last me a lifetime." She wiped the tears from her eyes, then Ava sat back in the booth with her hands on her lap. I knew that her legs were stretched out and her ankles were crossed. And Meeko, well, he looked like Cupid shot ten arrows into his big Italian body.

When I got to work, Mr. Zucchini was fuming at me. I didn't care. I apologized, though, and put on my dark blue apron. Pinned on my name tag. Went about stocking tissues, paper towels, maxi pads, tampons, and those panty things that have wings on them. And then I started thinking about Linda Hamburgh and my mind floated away to a different time. You thought I forgot about her, didn't you? No way. As the hours ticked by, I thought more and more about Linda. I had this overwhelming sensation to just take her into my arms. Then I would kiss her passionately on her plump and juicy lips. And she would like it.

Just before closing at ten, I heard the little dingle bell ding. I looked to the left so fast that I hurt my neck. Linda was there. She was alone. And I was alone at the register. That was my chance. Even though I conquered big bad bullies earlier that day, I had enough energy to speak to Linda. My mind was made up–I would ask her a question. What that question was exactly, I wasn't too sure.

"Hi," I said to her at the register. She was buying mousse for her radiant brown curls–the same mousse I used.

She smiled. Her hair was pinned up on the sides by a barrette so I could see the ruby studs in her ears.

"Find everything you need?"

She nodded. Okay, she still wasn't talking to me. You know how I said before that most weeks nothing extraordinary happens? Well, on top of the whole retaliation thing, Linda looked up at me with her quarter-sized brown eyes, kind of shy-like. We held eye contact for three long seconds. A record!

"You got the time, by any chance?"

"You're wearing a watch, Leo." She knew my name. How did she know my name? I laughed a really stupid laugh that I had never ever heard come out of my mouth. EVER. The strawberries surfaced in my cheeks and on the tip of my nose; I could feel them. To top it off, I sneezed three times. When I recovered, Linda looked like an angel standing there, holding out her vanilla-pudding hand for her change.

"Bless you," she said quietly. I could see by the expression on her face that she was politely holding back her laughter. I was just so ridiculous-looking, my face all red and my eyes filled with water. If I were me in her position, even I would have laughed at me.

"Thanks. How'd you know my name?"

"You're wearing a name tag." My fingers touched my plastic tag. Idiot. "Plus, I always see you in here," she said in an angelic voice, her eyes looking down at her hand still resting on the counter, palm up, waiting for her change. But I had forgotten about it by then–her change, I mean.

"With tax, that's gonna be three-sixty."

She wrinkled her brow and told me that she gave me a five and was waiting for her change. My brain was on overload. Hell, it was a miracle that I was still able to move my lips. So I said something else stupid and handed her the change. But I couldn't shut up.

"How's choir going?" Wow! A conversation.

Her eyes got wide. She obviously wasn't expecting me to ask that question. "It's good. Real good, thanks."

"Sure," I said, wiping my right eye with the back of my hand. "Sorry about the watch thing. I was so overwhelmed by your presence and voice that I forgot I was wearing it." OH NO! Did that pop out of my mouth? A perfect example of the sixteen-year-old male mouth out of control and honest.

You wanna know what happened next, right? Well, I'll tell you quick so I can go eat dinner. Two seconds after my little outburst of delirious whatever you want to call it, Linda's face looked like it would burn off of her skull and I almost fainted from embarrassment. Seriously. If I hadn't grabbed the counter, I would've fallen backwards into the film and instant cameras. As it was, I knocked over the Wrigley's display. Those little five packs of gum went scattering all over the floor in front of the counter. I think the heat in my face killed the acne virus because my skin has been clear all this week. And things that night worked out okay for me. Linda said she was flattered and that I was sweet.

So, who knows what happens from here. I saw Linda in school yesterday. She was wearing a long black skirt with a short-sleeve yellow sweater and her hair was braided. Hormones began bumping into each other when I saw her. Linda waved and smiled. Now, I'm not saying that anything much will come of a simple little wave and smile, but stranger things have happened.