Devon Hartford - Painless

“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.

I trudged down to the bottom of the lecture hall and dropped my blue book on the pile of finished exams already on the table, then I trudged back up the stairs.

Justin Tomlinson was waiting for me outside the lecture hall. As always, he appeared fresh from a boy band music video, or like he had just finished hosting Saturday Night Live. Justin flashed his matinee idol smile at me. “How’d you do?” he asked.

I slumped my shoulders as I walked toward him and rolled my eyes. “Kill me now,” I groaned. “The T.A.’s will recognize my blue book because it’ll be the one with all the flies buzzing around it due to all my stinky b.s. answers.”

He chuckled, “That good?”

I sighed, “How’d you do?”

“It went pretty good, but I can’t say for sure until grades come out.”

I think he was trying to be supportive. He’d probably aced it. I said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m desperately in need of caffeine before my next final. Do you want to get some coffee at Toasted Roast?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

We walked toward the Student Center together and chatted the entire way. Ever since Justin had first approached me in History class, I couldn’t decide if he was being flirty or not. Unlike Hunter Blakeley, whose flirtations were as subtle as Britney Spears climbing out of a limousine in a short skirt, Justin was hard to read. Whatever. I wasn’t going to worry about it. If Justin was interested in me beyond my art contributions to The Wombat, he wasn’t letting it show or get in the way, which I totally appreciated. If it became a problem, I’d deal with it then.

“Have you guys voted about which drawing to pick for Potty the Pot Smoking Wombat?” I asked.

“Not yet. I think people were too busy studying for finals. I want to give everyone a chance to submit their own drawings before the vote.”

“That’s cool,” I said, hiding my disappointment.

I was really hoping one of my drawings would get picked because I was pretty sure my final grade for History was going to suck donkey balls. When the grades for Winter Quarter came out next week, I was going to need some good news to offset the inevitable bad. Because, sooner or later, I would have to talk to my parents, as much as I loathed the idea.

It would be nice if I could show them some proof that my desire to become an artist wasn’t completely idiotic.

On second thought, I don’t know what I was worrying about. It wasn’t like my parents could do anything more than they already had to make my life miserable.

SAMANTHA

“Spring Break!” Romeo, Kamiko, Madison and myself all squealed as we clinked wine glasses together. We stood on the backyard deck at the Manos Mansion. I had invited them all over for a house warming party. The weather was perfect for it. San Diego was having a heat wave. It was seventy-two, the skies were blue, and only a few cotton candy clouds puffed above.

Wine splashed out of our glasses onto our naked toes. Madison and I were in bikinis, already working on our tans.

“Where’s your swimsuit, Kamiko?” Madison asked.

“In my bag,” she said bashfully. She wore boy shorts and an Adventure Time baby tee.

“You gotta get that rockin little body of yours tanned up,” Madison said. “You look like you spent all winter inside studying.”

Kamiko groaned, “I did spend all winter inside studying.”

“And painting,” Romeo added. He wore a black short sleeve tee and black jeans. I think it was his version of swimwear.

“That’s right!” I smiled at Kamiko. “Are you still working on paintings for Brandon’s Contemporary Artists Show?”

“You bet I am,” Kamiko scowled. “I’m not letting that stupid Brandumb bring me down. I’m getting my art into his show even if it kills him.”

“Him?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Kamiko smiled mischievously, “if I don’t get a painting into his show, I’m going to assassinate him with my ninja skills while he’s sleeping.”

“Does that mean you’re going to seduce him into bed, then kill him?” Romeo asked.

“Ew,” Kamiko grimaced, “why would anyone want to sleep with a jerk like Brandumb?”

“I often wonder the same thing,” Christos said as he and Jake walked up to join us. Both of them had beers in their hands and wore nothing but low riding board shorts. Their rippled abs Veed down to the waistbands of their low riding swimsuits. They were a sixteen pack attack of muscled manliness.

Romeo openly ogled Christos and Jake. “I just came in my pants,” he said casually.

Christos rolled his eyes and smiled wide while giving Romeo a good natured fist bump.

“Ew!” Kamiko grimaced. “TMI, Romeo!”

“Admit it, Kamiko,” Romeo goaded, “the second you have a moment alone and your fingers are free to roam, the first thing on your mind will be a slow motion replay of Christos and Jake walking up with their abs flexing. I know that’s what I’ll be thinking about.”

“Dude,” Jake joked, “if you keep talking like that, I’m going to put my shirt back on. I totally hate being treated like a sex object.”

“Yeah, right!” Madison said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing a shirt except at my parents’ Thanksgiving!”

“True,” Jake smiled thoughtfully.

“And you had to borrow that one!” Madison continued. “Do you even own any shirts?”

“Nope,” Jake grinned. “I never need ‘em when all I do is surf.”

“You give surf bums a bad name,” Madison smiled at him.

Jake wrapped his arm around Madison, “And you love it.”

Madison rolled her eyes at me and said, “Men. What would they do without their precious egos?”

“Hey, Madison,” Romeo said, “if you get tired of Jake, let me know.”

“Back off, buddy,” Madison grinned. “He’s all mine.”

“Women,” Jake quipped to Christos, “what would they do without our precious egos?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Christos said as he clinked beers with Jake.

“Romeos,” Romeo said, “what would you all do without me?”

Everyone chuckled as we toasted again.

“Spring break!” Madison squealed.

“Spring break!!!!” everyone else shouted.

* * *

Shish kebabs sizzled on the grill as Spiridon turned everything over. “Meat’s ready,” he said, “come and grab a plate.”

We all lined up and Spiridon served everyone.

Christos was busy putting out more pita bread to go with the fresh hummus he’d made. I noticed he had yet another fresh beer in his hand and was already buzzed. Oh well. It was Saturday. He could enjoy himself for the weekend. His paintings for Brandon could wait until Monday.