Thinking Back to Those Days

BJ's POV

“Students, STUDENTS!!! Sit down and behave. We have a new student coming as soon as the tardy bell rings. She is coming all the way from Michigan. Let’s show her, we at Pinole High are well behaved, and Billie Joe, please, stop rolling your eyes.”

My best friend Mike laughed along with me as the teacher pointed out my gesture. I only rolled my eyes because everyone knew that Pinole was the most pathetic excuse for a school, and because I didn’t want to have another idiot join the class.

Ms. Proud stood at the front of the room, looking anxious. She loved to teach, and loved this school. But she couldn’t help that no one gave a shit about English at the school where you could by joints for two dollars in the courtyard.

Sold by me.

When a knock on the door came, and everyone was sitting down the teacher smoother her hair and dress down, put on a smile and opened the door to what I expected to be another wannabe jock with shit for brains, or another thug with bullets and guns on the brain.

But what walked in was completely different. Red Doc Martins, fishnet stockings and a straight black mini skirt was what first caught my eye. A flannel shirt was tied around the new student’s waist that lead up to a black tight t-shirt, olive skinned arms, a cheek length haircut, and the reddest lips I had ever seen.

It was a girl.

And I nearly fell out of my desk.

See the girls at PHS were either valley girls, pregnant, or on their way to being in the latter condition. That, or on their way to the state prison.
So since my idea of a date was not grand theft auto, or wine, dine, sixty-nine, I hadn’t been interested in, or dated anyone from school since junior high.

As result, it was striking when a female of this type walked through the door into the dingy classroom of deadbeats.

“Oh! Welcome to English darling! I am Ms. Proud, and we are all glad to have you. Everyone say hello to our new student.”

Scattered hellos echoed through the room when the teacher commanded, and Mike laughed again when mine came out the loudest.

The girl stood looking around and giving slight smiles to the teacher and the students who she received ones from. Some of the smiles she gave sort of looked like grimaces. Just to see what her reaction would be, I gave her the best crooked toothed smiled I could. And I got a really one back.

My insides were beaming, and mike giggled again until her too was struck with the beauty of her pearly white teeth peeking out from behind red lips.

“Tell us about yourself honey.” Proud said, giving her slight, gentle push to the center of the room. She stumbled to the spot, cleared her throat and sighed.

“I’m Paloma Aster. I moved here from Detroit, Michigan because my dad died. I miss him a lot. He was a pilot and crashed him plane. Yes he took me in his planes; yes he taught me how to fly. I was supposed to get my licenses before he passed. I like books and music is my passion. I play electric and upright bass. I like chocolate chip cookies and TAB, my favorite color is red. Yes, I have a nose ring, no it didn’t hurt, and yes I have more piercings, my ears and my tongue. (When she said this, she stuck out her tongue and the class laughed.)Any other trite facts you want to know about me? I will be sitting behind Mr. Laughs with the blonde hair, in the only empty seat left. Thank you Ms. Proud, thank you class.”

Paloma walked to her seat behind mike and threw her bag to the floor. She dug through it and brought out a pen and a notebook and started copying the agenda on the board that Proud was trying to talk about over the voices of the class that exploded with sound after the new student had left the floor.

I looked diagonally behind me and took a look at her. She noticed, and said, “Yes?”
I stumbled for words as she looked at me. Out came, “Uhhh, hi, I am Billie Joe Armstrong. I sell two dollar joints in the courtyard at lunch, do you have a pencil?”

And as the words were formed and came out, I felt as if I had just thrown up stupidity all over her clean black shirt.

“Fuck!” I thought and then I felt my cheeks going red.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She smiled and shook her head, and continued copying. I was about to turn around when she spoke up. “Hold on Mr. Two Dollar Bill, with the curly hair, I have one.” She dug through the bag again, and pulled out the writing utensil and handed it to me. Before she let go, she said,” I’ll see you about your extremely good deal in the courtyard at lunch Armstrong.” And she let go.

It was the longest four hours before lunch I had ever endured.