See Me After Class(13)

“That you’re a people person?” I ask, rather than state, wondering how on earth we got to this point in the conversation.

“Precisely. And I’m not a people person. Therefore, it is within your best interest to acquaint me with your savviest attributes so I can formulate an educated decision if we should adhere ourselves in agreeability.”

Exhausted from Keiko’s choice of words, I look to Stella, who’s now leaning on the table with one elbow, enjoying herself way too much. “Tell Keeks why you’re worthy of her friendship.”

Okay, didn’t think this was going to be an interview, but I guess if I want her help, I’m going to have to convince her why . . .

“Well, I know how to keep secrets. I never gossip about my friends, which is important to me.”

“Trust, don’t find that often in a world full of social media,” Stella says, while . . . oh Jesus, while Keiko is jotting down notes.

When finished, she looks up at me and nods. “Proceed.”

“Okay . . . uh . . . I know how to cook.”

“Love a good homemade meal, don’t you know, Keeks?” Stella asks while rubbing her stomach.

After writing something down, Keiko looks up and answers, “My attempts at being an accomplished hand in the kitchen have been feeble at best. Having a friend who is consummate in culinary dexterity would be quite favorable. What would be your most polished dish?”

“Boxed mac and cheese,” I answer. She frowns and starts to write a note. “Wait, I was kidding. That was a joke.”

“Ah . . . uproarious.” She makes another note.

I hope that’s a good funny. She didn’t laugh, just let out a soft snort.

“I can make a ton of different things, ranging from enchiladas to the classic meatloaf with accompanying sauce and mashed potatoes, to homemade pasta.”

“I see.” She taps her chin with her pen. “And how do you fare with desserts?”

“I, uh . . . I fare well. This past weekend, I made a homemade blueberry pie.”

“Do you have evidence of this endeavor?” Keiko asks, looking over her notepad at me with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes. I do. I posted it on my Instagram. Humble brag, you know.” I pull out my phone and quickly click on the app, where I find the picture, and turn the screen toward Keiko.

With a studious eye, she gives it a good look over and then writes something on her notepad. “Visually, it stimulates my appetite. But with no hashtag, no filter, how can I confirm the true nature of this picture?”

“I didn’t think that was necessary. There’s no filter on this picture.”

“Is there any left?”

I wince. “Well, actually, I was hungover on Sunday, so I kind of might have sort have eaten the whole thing.”

“Total consumption.” She nods, writes more notes, and then brings her clipboard to her chest, where she grips it tightly. “From this brief conversation, some quick calculations I’ve made, along with your admission to consuming your entire pie in one day, I can confidently surmise that we have the potential for friendship.”

“Okay.” I glance over at Stella, still confused. “So . . . does that mean you’ll help us?”

“It does. But . . . Greer, you are currently on a trial basis. If I don’t find our individual identities are compatible, then we must sever our coupling.”

“Sure . . . yeah. But I really think we could be good friends.”

“I concur with your hypothesis.” Keiko gives me a curt nod.

I don’t know what just happened, but I guess I’m glad that it did. I have another friend, a friend who seems quite loyal once she’s attached. I need loyal right now, especially when my classroom neighbor is moody.

“Good. Glad that’s solved,” Stella says, standing. “Now we need an action plan.”

“Something subtle, but also something that says don’t mess with us,” I add.

“I say we start small, make him question what’s happening around him, and then slowly increase the severity of the pranks,” Stella says.

Keiko nods in agreement. “Labored manipulation over a certain frequency has proven to be quite successful.” She flips the page of her notebook and rests it on the table. Pen poised, she says, “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Masterfully, Keiko starts laying the groundwork as I smirk excitedly to myself.

Arlo Turner is going to wish he never messed with me.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t figure out it’s me . . . but even if he does, at least I know I have a little secret in my back pocket.

Principal Nyema Dewitt really likes me.

Really, really freaking likes me.

At least that’s what I think.





“Robotics. Are you comfortable with such machinery?” Keiko taps her pen on the desk.

“Uh, I haven’t really worked with anything robotic before.”

“The only robotics experience I have is with my dildo,” Stella says, unwrapping one of the sandwiches we had delivered to school for lunch. “But that’s handheld, you know. It’s not like I’m using a remote control.”

“Phallic mechanics doesn’t convert to the type of experience I’m pursuing.”