A-Girl

Chapter 1

Gilda

In any school, life is like an ice cream parlor. There are the popular flavors of rich chocolate, creamy vanilla, and sweet strawberry. Next there are the middle class flavors that are known, just not liked as much as the populars like mixed chocolate and vanilla, rocky road, sherbet, mint, and coffee. Then there are the less known, dead types of flavors, of prune, peanut butter, and that throw up color that no one can even look at. Me you ask? Ha, I wish I were the throw up! I’m not even considered an ice cream. Maybe I’m a pee ice cream. No, wait I got it, I’m a snow cone. A pee colored snow cone which doesn’t have a flavor, because it goes to the bottom of the fake paper cone. Welcome to my life.
My name, if you haven’t heard because of my low status, is Gilda P. Sherman. Doesn’t that just scream pee snow cone? I am nothing important, besides in the eyes of my parents, who by the way don’t even have jobs. My mom is suppose to be a spiritual connecter and have “a thousand billion clients”, and my father, well, I don’t wanna talk about him. My mother just sits in the back yard, cross-legged like Gandhi, and raises her hands to the sun, screams, then stops and sways around back and forth, back and forth. Yes, it is true.
Today my exotic mother is dressed in purple with black stars splashed across the fabric. A rainbow cloth headband pulls her frizzy black hair back, and she has bunny slippers on her feet.
“I’m going to visit Elvis today, sunshine bird.” She told me.
“Yeah mom, just like how you visited George Washington yesterday.” I walked to the toaster oven in the kitchen. As mom walked out on to the back porch, I started to drum my fingers on the counter top and started to sing a song from my favorite singer.
“Oh baby, oh can you see me? I love you I love yo-u! ”
“Who’s that by?” Dad said as he walked in the room.
“It’s by A-girl.” I said.
“What girl?” He said with a quizzical expression.
“Not a girl dad, A-girl” I said. Suddenly the toaster dinged, and I grabbed my pop tart and threw it on a plate.
“Where is your mother?”
“Outside in the backyard.”
Dad ran to the porch and saw mom doing her freaky ritual things.
“Urleen! Get inside now! You’re going to make the neighbors call the police again!”
I sat at the table watching my parents do their morning ritual. Dad freaks out at mom, and mom screams to the high heavens.
“Elvis? Elvis!”
At least they love each other. Love is the only thing they’ve got holding the broken twig of their marriage together. I watch my chocolate on my pop tart start to drip on the plate when the door bell rings. Since my parents are obviously busy, I go to answer it myself. What a big surprise it is!
Not. Mrs. Wendell my next-door neighbor is standing in her deep maroon bathrobe. She is an older woman with gray hair, and she’s probably in her seventies. Her hair is in curlers that are falling out, and her face is red, beat red. Her eyes are low and saggy from lack of sleep, and her bigger than life “birthmarks” are looming over her nose.
“Miss Gilda, I suppose you know why you are blessed today with my presence…again.”
“No,” I said sarcastically. “Please, do tell!”
“Your mother is a barbaric goof…again!” She yelled.
I leaned on the doorway watching her freak out and jab at my stomach with her badly manicured fingers. At the end of the whole fiasco, she walked away to the back yard. I let out a yawn and slammed the door shut.
As I turned around I saw mom, being shaken by Mrs. Wendell while dad tried to pull her off.
I decided not to interfere, because last time I tried, I got a black eye.
About an hour later I’m in school, listening to my homeroom teacher, Mr. Delgado, talk about how the circle is important to society. I never noticed how Latin he really is. I used to not like him in seventh grade but this year he is gorgeous! He has the deepest of brown eyes that they look like deep pools of black. His hair matches his eyes and the curls on top of his head bounce when he laughs. His tanned skin does not match his plaid shirt but he’s so cute it doesn’t matter. I try to imagine him being my first boyfriend.
“Oh Miguel, you are so cute. Do I have to pick out your shirts every day?” I would tease sitting on his lap.
“What is the square route of 24?” He cooed
“Huh?” I said popping out of my daydream.
Mr. Delgado was standing over me. “I said Miss Gilda, what is the square route of 24?”
I shook my head and blurted out the next thing, “uh, fifteen?”
“No,” he said. My heart melted as he walked back to the front of the room. I didn’t understand I’m usually really good at math.
Childish laughter filled the room, and as I looked around, I saw I wasn’t the only girl to have a crush on our math teacher.
After class Mr. Delgado pulled me over his to his desk.
“Gilda, I’m really concerned about you this year. You were wonderful at math last year, but now you’re failing.”
I couldn’t stop staring into his eyes, his deep brown eyes.
“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I said confidently.
“Maybe I should come over your house, and talk to your parents.”
If Mr. Delgado came over my house, and met my mother uh, and my father! Then we’ll never be together! He’ll never love me!
“No!” I practically shouted. “No uh, we’re uh, sick. My parents I mean. Really, really, sick.”
“Oh, well then, I hope your parents feel better,” he said as he scratched his beautiful head.
I left class feeling stupid and five. How could you think that Mr. Delgado loves you? Stupid, stupid girl!
As I walked to my locker I thought of a billion reasons why he, or any guy for that matter, wouldn’t like me. I put in my combo on my lock and opened it up. My slightly slanted mirror just gave me a thousand more reasons. Physical reasons. Like my hair, frizzy and black like my mothers. My eyes, deep hazel with flecks of green like my fathers. Plus my mouth, it’s a huge one that you could land an airplane on. I sighed and wished my skin wasn’t so pearly white, and instead a deep bronze.
“Oh Gil-dy!” Called a voice from behind me. I turned to see my friend Patty Q. Beezle skipping towards me. I sighed louder. Remember the ice cream? Patty is the throw up kind on the popularity scale. Patricia is a bubbly burst of joy with everything pink and rainbows. She is very pretty, well, to me at least. She has curly red hair that bounces when she walks. No it’s not the same as frizzy. Curly as in wrap your finger around it and let it bounce curly. Plus she has emerald green eyes. Besides her facial features, well, she’s fat. Ok, maybe that’s mean, but she is pudgy. Although, I just can’t understand why she doesn’t realize that everything in life isn’t always happy and jolly.
“Hi Patty,” I said, trying to sound annoyed.
“Oh my gosh! I forgot to tell you something really funny! He, he!” She giggled.
“If it’s about Harold I don’t wanna know.”
I forgot to tell you. Patty has a boyfriend. Yes a boyfriend. His name is Harold. He is a blonde, not the surfer kind, and is pudgy like Patty. When they walk together they look like two O’s. He is very shy around me for some reason.
“No silly! Harold is sick in his bed, poor dear. Anyway, I got tickets.”
“What.”
“The tickets. For A-girl!