Painless (27 page)

I really couldn’t believe it. I restrained the huge grin wanting to jump onto my face. They actually liked my art!

When they finished looking at the last drawing, Justin said, “Maybe we should take a vote on which one to use in the next edition of The Wombat as our official logo. What do you guys think?”

“I vote we don’t use any of them,” hipster glasses Tammy Lemons said. “I don’t like her drawings.”

Did Tammy not realize I was right here? Yeah, she was a Bitch with a capital Buttplug.

“Don’t worry, Samantha,” Alyssa smirked, “Tammy’s on the rag this week. She’s not usually this bitchy.”

I smiled at Alyssa, but couldn’t think of an appropriate response. For all I knew, they all loved Tammy like a BFF, despite her sour personality. I didn’t want to offend by saying the wrong thing.
 

“I thought I smelled iron,” Romeo said in response to Alyssa’s rag gag about Tammy. He absently examined his fingernails.

Alyssa grimaced and leaned forward. Her head bonked against the table top. She started chuckling heartily, rolling her forehead from side to side on the table.

Keith whipped out his phone. “If this turns into a cat fight, I’m filming it.” He pointed his phone at Tammy, who was scowling at Romeo.

“What?” Romeo said defensively to Tammy, “I have an acute sense of smell.”

Tammy flipped Romeo off.

“Is that what you use to plug it up?” Romeo asked. “No wonder it doesn’t work. Fingers aren’t very absorbent, and it won’t do any good if you don’t keep it in your hole.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Even I know that.”

Alyssa sat up abruptly, her eyes wide. “Oooohh, damn! No he didn’t!”

“Yes. I did,” Romeo insisted.

Keith and Micah both suppressed snickers.

“Settle down, guys,” Justin said. “No need for a grudge match with the new girl on her first day.”

I couldn’t tell if Justin was saying I was the new girl or Romeo was.

Alyssa leaned against Tammy and put a friendly arm around her. “Don’t worry Tammy, we still love you.”

Tammy shook her head and frowned. “You guys are dicks.”

“You started it, Tammy,” emo Micah chuckled.

“Whatever,” Tammy snorted.

Justin said pleasantly, “Why don’t we send these out to the rest of our artists, and have everyone vote in a few weeks? How does that sound?”

The group nodded agreement.

Justin continued, “And if any other artists want to do their own version of a wombat mascot, they can put their art in the mix. That includes you, Tammy.”

So Tammy Lemons the hipster bitch was an artist too. I was curious to see what she came up with. For all I knew, she could be way better than me, or worse. I didn’t really know.

“Agreed?” Justin asked.

Everyone said yes.

Justin took pics of my wombat sketches with his phone like before. “Samantha, I’ll email these to everyone, and put you on the CC list, so you can See See all the other entrants.”

“Did you just say ‘See See’?” Alyssa asked.

“Yeah, why?” Justin grinned.

“Because that’s Lame Lame,” she sneered.

“Do you have something against the crippled?” Keith asked, quick as a whip.

“The crippled?” Alyssa asked, confused.

“The lame?” Keith said suggestively. “The lame have feelings, too.”

Alyssa said sarcastically, “I twisted my ankle last week going down some stairs. Does that count?”

Keith shook his head, “Afraid not. The lame have feelings too, and your use of the term normalizes their struggles like they don’t matter.”

“Fine,” Alyssa sneered. “Then I meant to say the Dumb Dumb.”

Keith shook his head, “the intellectually challenged have feelings too.”

Alyssa frowned, “Well, then who the hell can I make fun of? Snails?”

Keith arched an eyebrow thoughtfully, “That would work. As far as I know, snails haven’t yet made any noises about fair and equitable treatment.”

“That’s because they don’t have any mouths,” Micah snickered.

“When did it get so politically correct around here?” Alyssa asked. She turned to Justin and said, “Justin, I want to apologize for saying that you were Lame Lame. I would like to retract that statement and change it to, ‘you are Snail Snail’.” She looked to Keith for approval, “Better, Keith?”

“Much,” Keith snickered.

“Ass,” Alyssa said offhandedly to him.

“I have a donkey, and he feels real bad right now,” Micah said, “his ears are totally burning.”

Alyssa wadded her napkin and threw it at Micah while he cackled.

“All right, you guys,” Justin said. “Samantha, when I email your drawings to everyone, I’ll put you on the Snail Snail list,” he quipped.

“Okay,” I smiled. I really liked these guys.

“Equal rights for snails!” Micah mocked, pumping his fist high overhead.

For the rest of the meeting, everyone discussed topics for the next issue of The Wombat. Well, except for Tammy Lemons who mostly sat sulking with her arms folded across her chest.

Romeo fit right in with the rest of the group and contributed lots of funny ideas. By the end, Justin was encouraging him to write a sample piece for the paper.

“Are you sure?” Romeo asked.

“Totally,” Justin said. “If you come up with something good, we’ll put it in the next ish.”

“Sam and I talked about doing a comic strip together,” Romeo said. “Can I do that?”

“Whatever you want,” Justin smiled at him. “It’s cool with me. Is it cool with you guys?” Justin asked the group.

Everyone except Tammy agreed.

“I promise,” Romeo said to Tammy, “I won’t write anything nasty about you or your period.” He sounded sincere.

“Whatever,” Tammy said.

“Come on,” Romeo pleaded comically, “you’re not still mad, are you? I promise, I never smelled your iron.”

Alyssa winced and chuckled.

Tammy huffed out a sigh, “Fine. Whatever.”

When the meeting was over, Romeo walked me back to my car. The sun had already set, but the sky was still pink on the horizon over the ocean, which was visible from the North Parking Lot.

“That went pretty well,” I said.

“Except for Nasty Tammy,” Romeo chuckled. “What a bitch.”

“Maybe she’s just defensive because you and I were invading her clique of friends,” I suggested.

“Maybe she’s just offensive because she smells.”

“You didn’t really smell her iron, did you?”

“No,” Romeo laughed, “but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

“I hope you didn’t piss her off.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. What’s she going to do? Rig the vote so they don’t choose your drawing?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Who cares if she does? It’s just a stupid school newspaper.”

He was right, but I sort of liked the idea that I might win a drawing contest. It would be one more piece of evidence I could show my parents that I wasn’t an idiot for pursuing art. If I ever talked to them again.

I still hadn’t listened to their voicemail, and I was starting to think maybe I never would.

===

I dropped my highlighter marker on my textbook in defeat. “Mads,” I sighed, “I’m totally going to bomb my Sociology final.”

Madison and I were studying in the Main Library, which was super crowded because it was right before finals week. Madison had arrived early and had secured a study room hours ago, so we had some privacy. But just outside our door, every study carrel in sight was occupied. There were even students sitting on the floor studying, leaning against the walls. It was this crowded on every floor of the library.

“I thought you were acing Sosh?” Madison said sympathetically.

“That’s because the last time we talked was like the beginning of the quarter.” Madison and I had barely hung out since I’d dropped my Accounting classes. “I’ve been tracking my grade all quarter and it’s hovering on the edge of the toilet bowl, about to fall in. If I don’t get a hundred on my Sosh final, you can flush my ass goodbye.”

“I know what your problem is,” Madison said confidently.

“What?”

“Christos has made you cum dumb,” she said matter of factly, “making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything other than his cock.”

“What?” I scoffed. “Are you totes cray cray?”

“Easy on the cray cray, Sam Sam. I told you we have to stop talking like thirteen year olds because it’s totes inappropes,” she grinned.

“So what if I like talking like a thirteen year old? I think it’s totes adorb,” I giggled. “You’re just totes jelly that I know more totisms than you.”

“That’s totes fa’ shotes,” she grinned, then shook her head. “Now you’re making me do it!” she laughed. “Stop!”

“Don’t be totes ridics, I’ll never stop. I’m the totestess with the motestess.”

Madison groaned. “Oh my god, that is awful! You really are cum dumb!”

“Maybe dumb, but not because of too much cum.”

“What, aren’t you and Christos doing it every day?” Madison asked doubtfully.

I blushed like a beacon. “Mads! Must you be so blunt?”

“I’m trying to get to the bottom of things. Where all the cum is!”

I frowned, “What, like anal?”

Madison leaned back in her chair and laughed melodiously.

I threw my highlighter at her. “Shut up! You’re a total horn dog tonight! Hasn’t Jake been taking care of your business?”

Madison grinned, “Oh, he totes has been taking care of my business,” she winked. “I swear, all I can think about is sex! More and more sex! Sex, sex, SEX!! I admit it! Jake has made ME cum dumb!”

We broke into a giggle fit. I noticed people were staring at us through the windowed walls of our study room, but I didn’t care. It felt good to release some of my stress. I leaned back in my chair and sighed after our laugh attack passed.

“Was it good for you?” Madison asked.

“What, my laughgasm?”

“Yeah,” she smiled.

“Totes magotes,” I sighed.

Madison groaned and threw my highlighter back at me. It bounced onto the floor.

“Did I tell you my parents aren’t helping pay for my tuition anymore?” I asked, staring at the ceiling, “And I can’t get any more loan money to make up the difference?”

“You can work for me and Jake at the surf shop,” Madison said.

“Really?”

“When it finally opens,” she sighed.

“Oh. When’s that gonna be?”

“I’m working on it. Not for awhile. But I totally promise, you’ll be our first employee. When we take the company public, you’ll be a millionaire overnight.”

“Thanks, Mads. But I need money sooner.”

“There’s always stripping,” she said casually.

“That’s totes forbodst. There’s no way I’m taking my clothes off for a bunch of drunken fraternity mouth breathers, or whoever goes to those places.”

“I think it’s usually serial killers and guys that smell.”

“Do serial killers and guys that smell get along?” I mused. “Or do they hate each other and stick to opposite sides of the strip joint?”

“I think the strip joint separates them into two sections with a smell proof barrier between them.”

“Would I get to pick which side I stripped on?”

“Probably not. I think it goes by seniority.”

“With my luck, I’d be stuck in the stank tank,” I grumbled.

“Wait, are you saying that you’d prefer being cooped up with a bunch of odor donors over stripping for smell-free serial killers?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I protested. “I don’t want to be killed by my clientele.”

“After being locked up in the smell cell for an eight hour shift, you’d be begging for murder,” Madison laughed. “I know I would.”

“I’d wear a gas mask! Problem solved,” I grinned.

“Nobody wants to watch strippers with gas masks,” Madison chuckled dubiously.

“Come on,” I insisted, “guys don’t go to strip joints to admire the strippers’ beautiful eyes.”

“You might be right about that,” Madison said.

“Totes mascrotes,” I giggled.

“Stop!” she begged. “I think my brain is officially overdosed on totes quotes. Maybe we should take a study break?”

“I totes concotes.”

Madison leaned over and threatened to smack me in the face.

“Okay!” I pleaded, “No more totes!”

We left our stuff in the study room and took the elevator to the ground floor and walked outside.

“Mads, do you want to go get coffee at Totested Rotes?” I quipped.

“Did you just say Totested Rotes?” Madison growled.

I started running before she could catch me and pummel my ass.

She chased me all the way to the Student Center. We laughed the entire time.

===

My blank blue book stared up at me, challenging me to write something that wasn’t inane.

It was finals week.

Grrr.

I was sitting in the crowded lecture hall for my American History 2 final. I had to write several essay answers to various questions about 19th century America in the span of three hours. Timed essays? Whose idea was that? What happened to multiple choice? Groan!

The one nice thing about blue book exams was all the extra space for doodling. Did I get extra credit for drawing a picture of Abraham Lincoln? Probably not.

I scanned through the list of questions. Which one to attack first?
 

Discuss the War of 1812 and its economic consequences. I could barely remember what happened in 2012. How was I supposed to write about what happened in 1812?

Discuss the instigating factors and the political aftermath of the Mexico-American War. Didn’t it start over drug trafficking? No? Well, I was pretty sure after the war was over, the U.S. got to keep New Mexico, but the Mexicans got to keep Old Mexico. That was enough of an answer, right? Maybe not.

There was one question I was happy to answer. It was about the James Gang, as in Jesse James. A real American outlaw. I remembered the photo of Jesse James in our readings about his gang. I was not surprised to discover that he was quite handsome. If they’d made a movie version about Jesse James back in the old days, he could’ve played himself. I’d wondered if he had tattoos beneath his cowboy outlaw garb. I knew one thing for sure, if he’d been alive today, he would’ve ridden a motorcycle.

I did my best to b.s. my way through the exam questions for over two hours before I finally gave up.