The Mexico Story Ch. 1-7

The Mexico Story
by: Heidi Nielson
Based on true events

Chapter 1...The Beginning of All Things Romantical and Platonical

“Flight 252 is now boarding. Passengers please make your way to Terminal 4…”

         Carts rolled by, weighted down with luggage. Metal detectors rang as innocent travelers had to empty their pockets and show their spare change.
In all the commotion, I quietly walked through the crowds pulling my suitcase, with Daddy in tow carrying my duffle.

“This is going to be quite an experience for you!” he exclaimed.

I sighed. That was the fifth time he’d said that since we had gotten in the car that morning.

“Yeah, I know Daddy,” I replied tiredly, trying to sound interested.

“A Spanish Immersion trip in Mexico!" He looked positively terrified at the thought.

He paused for a moment, seeming to try and gather his thoughts a little better.
I braced myself, knowing what was coming.

"Heidi..." he began, and I tried to look like I was listening.

"I know this will be tough for you to understand, but being in Mexico is like living life in front of a million construction workers.”

“DADDY!” I exclaimed, looking around for offended Latinos. Luckily, the coast was clear.

“I’m serious,” he said, shaking his head, “So don’t do anything that you wouldn’t want to do in front of them.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Daddy, I’m not a skank, my goodness. I’ll ‘dress modestly’ okay? I won’t drink the water. I won’t get my purse stolen, and I won’t marry a Mexican boy!”

“You forgot that you won’t walk in the streets alone.”

“That’s because that is a given. Daddy,” I said, stopping and turning around to look at him, “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be just fine.’

He still looked uneasy.

“I know, I know.”

         We finally reached the check-in counter and looked around for teachers. A nice looking, red-haired woman walked up to us after a moment.

“Heidi, right?” she asked, smiling.

“Yep, that’s me,” I replied, smiling back.

“The group’s all right here. Join the line!” she said, leading me to an opening in the line.

While my Dad started talking with the teacher, I adjusted my luggage and started checking out the group for possible friends.

         To my left was a large, blonde girl who I thought I’d seen before. She gave me a strong impression of one of those liberal, freedom-and-unity, hippie types. Possible… but likely? No.

         Next to the blonde girl was a shorter, brown-haired girl with red cheeks. She looked relatively normal, but then she turned to her mother and started speaking…except it wasn’t in English.
I sighed to myself as the girl chatted away in fluent Spanish. The teacher’s pet. Definitely not my idea of the type of person I’d bond with instantly.

          Behind me was a short, round, nice-looking, blonde girl. She wasn’t speaking Spanish, and she definitely was far from being a hippie. I was getting a blue vibe…that vibe you get from people you could be friends with. I needed some sort of friend. At least until Sydney flew down on Monday.
The girl’s mom seemed to pick up on my Future Friend Radar and smiled kindly at me.

“And what’s your name, dear?” she asked.

“Heidi,” I replied, reaching out to shake her hand.

The woman smiled approvingly. Adults are such suckers. One handshake and they think you’re the most mature teenager since Bill Gates. Oh, but if they really knew…

“Hi Heidi,” she said, and then pointed to her daughter, “This is Amanda.”

“Hi,” I said, giving her a small wave.

The girl smiled back, a little shyly and then said, “Hi.”

Soon, the mother started in on her normal interview. You know the drill. “Where do you go to school?” “How old are you?” “Do you attend some kind of church?”
All the while, “Amanda” sat there quietly and let her mom do the work.

         Once she’d finally deemed me a decent enough friend, my Dad had finally arrived and the two of them started talking, giving Amanda and me time to have a small conversation.

“So there don’t seem to be too many boys around, do there?” I asked.

I’d scanned our group area, and I hadn’t seen ANY. I hadn’t expected much of a turnout, but NONE? Pathetic.

“Oh, I don’t know. I saw two semi-decent ones,” she said.

“Where?” I asked, turning to look around excitedly.

Was I blind or just stupid?
She pointed a little in front of us to two boys
I hadn’t thought were even with us.

         They weren’t bad at all. There was one who I actually would have considered cute. What was he doing on an academic trip to Mexico? He was tall with black hair and really tan skin. Not only that, he looked pretty fit and was a pretty good dresser. Things were looking up in the boy category. The other boy was also tall, but skinnier. He wasn’t up to the cuteness of the other boy, but he had a cute little baby face and some of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

         They were both joking and laughing as we watched them check in their baggage. Maybe three weeks wouldn’t be so horrible…

“So what do you think?” she asked.

I jumped a little, remembering she was there.

“Well,” I began in my conspiring voice, “That dark haired one is pretty cute, and the other one is a little skinny, but pretty cute too. What’s your verdict?”

“Pretty much the same,” she agreed, “They look like a bunch of dicks.”

I laughed, and smiled at her. I had a feeling we were going to get a long just fine.

********************

Chapter 2... A Bad Case of the Third Grade Syndrome

         Soon everyone had their baggage checked in and our group was slowly forming their clumps. To one side stood Amanda and I, the two that I deemed the most normal of the bunch. Another boy had been added to the original two, but he was more of the type I’d expected to be on the trip. You know... large glasses, large clothes, large in general. Not to say he wasn’t nice, but he had Nerd written all over him with his “20 Things You Can Learn from Video Games” T-shirt and Game boy in hand, and I just wasn’t that interested.

         Finally, to our left were the other three girls. Added to the Teacher’s Pet and Liberal Non-Conformist was a blonde girl named Brittany who went to my school and who I already knew had a little bit of what my mom would politely call a “Reputation”.

         We stood there talking amongst ourselves for a few minutes until all of the parents closed in to give last minute hugs and advice before gathering us all together for a group picture. Taking a group picture is a parent’s way of saying “I’m being parent-ly and I’m going to miss you SO MUCH!” but it’s really just a clever disguise. The second they’d handed back the pile of disposable cameras, they were all out of there except for the usual one over-protective parent.

         Suddenly I was parentless and on my way to three un-supervised weeks in Mexico. Is there any other way to say freedom?
I was so excited that I didn’t know how to hold it in. I’d been a little nervous at first to go ahead without Sydney, but this wasn’t looking so bad. Amanda and I chatted the whole way up the escalators to our terminal, all the while eyeing the two chicos.

         They sure were unusual as far as boys went. Every other boy would have already come up and started a conversation with the girls of the group. They probably would have been overjoyed at the fact that the boys were outnumbered.
But these boys…I felt like we’d gone back to second grade when every one still believed in cooties and a boy and a girl had to have at least six inches of space in between their chairs. We all settled in to wait to load, girls on one side, and boys on the other.

         Oh well, we were only about ten minutes into the trip. Besides… I had a few boys back home that I still had in mind anyway. It’s not like I was jumping to find a boyfriend.

         First of all, there was Sam in all of his stupid ness. He was the tall, skinny, just-dumb-enough-to-be-cute and cute-enough-to-drive-a-girl-insane bass player in my “band,” and the night before I left, we’d gone to a concert together. We had somewhat of a history. We were that couple that constantly circled each other, going in and out of romance. To me, we were at a definite Out, but Sam seemed to think we were In. I shook my head absently as I thought about it. I was just sick of his excuses. I felt like I was always just a rebound girl. The girl he knew would always like him no matter what, and I was sick of it. He couldn’t just sing me some romantic song every time he did something stupid. He’d already ruined “The Luckiest,” “Out of My League,” and “Come Away with Me.” I couldn’t even listen to them now without getting upset at his lameness. I decided right then and there that I was through with it. We could be friends, but that was ALL. I just wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.

         Now that I’d decided that, my mind suddenly switched gears and another boy popped up in my brain and I smiled to myself.
I’d only met him a week before at my friends party, but he was just such a nice, funny guy that we’d hit it off right from the start. He was short-ish, skinny (but not too skinny), and his name was Ernest. Well, Ernie to everyone else, but I liked to call him Ernest. Ernie reminded me too much of the Sesame Street character and I didn’t want to associate a possible boyfriend with an orange puppet. Besides, Ernest seemed to suit him better.
He WAS nice and everyone seemed to think we were going to have some kind of summer romance, but I just didn’t really FEEL it. I liked him enough, but I didn’t get that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was more like a friendly feeling that I’d get for any of my other funny guy friends.

         I sighed to myself and Amanda looked over at me.

“What’s up?” she asked, and I just laughed and shook my head.

“Boys are so dumb,” I said finally, and she laughed.

“Yeah they are,” she agreed. “Look at the ones we’re with.” She continued, lowering her voice. “They act like we have cooties or something.”

“I know!” I agreed, just loud enough to make them turn around.

I caught the skinnier one’s eye and just smiled at him sweetly.
He blushed a little bit and I couldn’t help laughing.
He spun back around and I turned to Amanda,

“Yeah, I think we’re dealing with a bad case of the Third Grade Syndrome.”

She nodded in agreement and I “tut-tut”ed and shook my head.

“And just what are we going to do about it?” I asked.

She shrugged and laughed, looking intrigued.
I had that gleam in my eye that I get when I’m in one of those crazy, “I’ll-do-anything” moods.

“I think we’re going to have to break this barrier."

“I think,” she said, glancing back over at the boys as they glanced back at us again, and she smiled, “that you are right.”

****************

Symptoms of the Third Grade Syndrome

         The Third Grade Syndrome, a highly common, and yet not usually known disease, common among boys ranging from the ages of 10-23 is known to make these boys steer clear of girls. If any of the following symptoms are noticed in friends, boyfriends, husbands, brothers, or any other relation, please schedule an appointment with the outgoing girl of your choice.

Symptoms include:

-extreme shyness
-the classic "Look-and-Look-Away" move, involving immediate embarrassment if the target of this endeavour notices them.
-A breakout in convulsions when a girl is within twenty feet of them.
-A plague of bad jokes and teasing when a girl is in the vicinity.

For a more complete list of symptoms, please contact your local sorority.

******************

Chapter 3..."Takeoffs and Landings"

         After devising our very suave and unobvious plan to talk to the boys, the only inevitable thing to happen was that it was time to board. Everyone whipped out their passports and birth certificates (which, of course, we didn’t even need) and got in line.

         After a blur of papers, driver’s licenses and people yelling in Spanish, we somehow managed to board.

         Somehow, Amanda and I ended up next to each other with The Girl with a Reputation on my other side. The two other girls were a little farther back and the two interesting boys were across the aisle from us and one row behind. Too far for actual interaction, but close enough for eye contact.

         All in all, the plane ride wasn’t too horrible. I was a little embarrassed to whip out my Notebook, the one that I write everything from songs to Things to Do Lists in, but ironically, she had one just like it. Well, aside from the songs, but that was just fine with me. I spent a rather pleasant flight rocking out to Dashboard Confessional and writing.

         Writing... I love to write. Writing is one of the only things that just comes to me other than singing. It’s like the words just float from the sky, into my head, and onto that sheet of College Rule notebook paper. I finished documenting the area around me, like I always do, and decided it was a good time to write a song.

         I write songs constantly. Mostly, they come in those moments when I feel so confused I don’t know what to do with myself and so I sit down and write. But occasionally they come out of boredom, like the one I wrote then. After much pencil biting and sighs, it was finally finished and I smiled to myself.

Not bad…


“Hey Amanda,” I said suddenly, feeling the need to share my hard work.

She looked up from her own notebook where she was outlining her name for the fourth time, embellishing it each time.

“Yeah?” she asked, still outlining.

“Do you want to read this song and tell me what you think?” I asked, biting my lip.

         I didn’t usually let just random strangers read my songs. I mean, songs are personal. It’s like letting a little piece of your self bleed onto the page. But for some reason, I felt like I’d known her for ten years instead of ten minutes. Besides… she wrote in a notebook too. She must have some appreciation for the written word.

“Yes!” she said, instantly setting down her pen and taking my notebook.

“Takeoffs and Landings…” she began, nodding. “Good title.”

“Thanks,” I smiled back, trying to resist the urge to read over her shoulder.

After what seemed like an age, she leaned back and sighed.

“Awesome. I don’t understand you creative people,” she said smiling.

I grinned. I loved positive feedback. I mean, who didn’t?

“What parts did you like the best or the worst?” I asked, unable to resist the chance to get some easy, probably positive feedback.

Since I didn’t let many people read them, I hadn’t had much.

“Well…” she gnawed on her thumb as she looked back over the words. “The chorus, for one. I like the ‘too bad this is beginning when it should be ending.’ And I really like the whole airplane metaphor. But I’d have to say the bridge is my favorite part.”

“Thanks,” I said, “I like that part too.”

She smiled at me again and then handed back my notebook and started back up with her work outlining her name.

         As I read over my song I couldn’t help thinking how nice it was to have a friend in this place where everything was so new and strange.

         I settled back into my seat feeling contented and started re-reading, looking for mistakes.

**********************

Takeoffs and Landings

You’re in the airplane I sit in,
The clouds that we’re riding.
I know that I can’t win.
I don’t know why I’m fighting.

Chorus:

Too bad this is beginning when it should be ending.
You’re in every little piece of me,
And I wish I could just make you see
That you’re grounding my takeoffs,
And crashing my landings.

They come by with drinks and I hear your voice.
I turn around to look; I don’t have any choice.
I can’t help but look around,
but you’re nowhere to be found

Chorus

Bridge:

Now that I’m so high,
riding that blue sky,
I don’t want to leave the ground.
Keep asking myself why,
why do I still try?
I just want to turn around.

You’re in every voice that I hear,
every sound that I make,
every day of the year,
and every smile I fake.
I want you to know...

Chorus x 2

you’re grounding my takeoffs,
and crashing my landings...

******************

Chapter 4...A White, Plastic Wristband

         I woke up suddenly, feeling discombobulated and even more tired than when I fell asleep. An uncomfortable chair, the room jerking about…where the freak was I?
Oh yes…I looked to my left and saw Amanda, head rolling on her chest.
Still on the plane.

“How far are we from the airport?” I asked lazily, as the cabin took another dive.

         Brittany, the Girl with a Reputation, looked up from the book she’d been reading. It looked like one of those self-help books; “What do men REALLY want?: The Guide to Finding the Perfect Man in 21 Days”. I rolled my eyes. It was one thing to read that kind of book if you were in the broom closet under your stairs, under a blanket, reading by flashlight. But to read it in broad daylight with men in the vicinity… that was just a little pathetic.

“About ten minutes,” she said politely, and then immediately went back to her book.

I sighed. Just as well. Ten more minutes of Green Day should do the trick.

         I plugged in my headphones and hit play, jamming out to the first chords of “American Idiot” as I settled in for our landing. I knew I had to put it away in just a few more minutes, but those last minutes were worth it. I had to listen to it just long enough to get it stuck in my head to last for the layover time.

         I leaned back into the hard chair and looked out the window. I’d never seen any place look so darn brown. They didn’t even pave their roads here! I wrinkled my nose a little bit.
What was I getting myself into?

******************

“Gracias.”

“Por favor, pasame este.”

“Por nada.”

“Perdon.”

“Permiso.”

I spun around as some old woman tapped me on the shoulder.

“Permiso,” she repeated.

I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Finally, I noticed how she seemed to be slowly edging around me.

“Oh! Sorry,” I said, feeling my face flame, “Go ahead.”

“Gracias,” she replied, a knowing smile on her wrinkled face.

         I adjusted my backpack as she passed, and looked around me, checking for witnesses.
Nada.
Thank goodness I was one of the last ones to get off the plane.

         We were at a little airport in Hermosillo, Mexico. It was so tiny, in fact that you had to walk off the plane and walk across the runway to the terminal.

         I was one of the last ones to get off the plane, and as I walked down the steps I felt like waving Miss America style and striking some 1940’s pose. I’d always flown from one big airport to another. I’d never had a chance to get off a plane like this. Walking down those stairs made that whole uncomfortable, confusing flight worthwhile.

         Unfortunately, the walk across the runway was a very short-lived break before the confusion began again.
The second we walked up to the door of the terminal, there were more people shouting at us in Spanish. I guess I hadn’t realized just how much would be in Spanish. I hadn’t realized the full extent of a Spanish Immersion trip, I guess, but I knew I was in for a major culture shock.

“Otro lado, por favor,” one large,
bearded man shouted at our group.

My teacher, who seemed just as confused as us started trying to explain something, but he just waved her off.
She turned back to us looking slightly unnerved, but tried to hide it.

“Okay guys, I guess we go to the other door,” she said, spreading out her arms and trying to herd us the other direction.

I turned around, feeling like I should bleat or ‘ba’ or something, but headed toward the other door without complaint.

         After what seemed like miles of lines and endless forms and annoyed clerks who didn’t understand English, we finally made it through customs and to the terminal waiting area.
I slid my backpack off my shoulder with a loud sigh and sat down on the first chair I came to, only to get back up again when Amanda decided to take a bathroom break, and being a girl, needed a bathroom buddy.

         When we came back to my backpack, the skinnier Boy was sitting in the chair next to mine, looking quite comfortable. Considering what I’d seen of him, I was having doubts as to whether he’d want me to sit there, but that was MY spot and I wasn’t budging.

         I went right up to him, getting more and more fed up with this silence with each step and said,

“Are you saving this or can I sit here?” trying to keep the annoyance from seeping into my voice, and failing miserably.

“Oh, no, you can sit here,” he said, fumbling with his book.

“Thank you,” I said a little curtly, trying to stop myself from glaring as I picked up my backpack and slammed it onto my lap.

         Oh, it felt good to sit down, even though we had been sitting on the plane for the last two hours. I leaned back and waited for the conversation to start, feeling my anger starting to subside. That was my temper for you. It came and went faster than Christmas.
I waited. And waited…

         I don’t know where this boy was from, but in this world it’s usually customary to start at least a polite conversation with the person sitting next to you, especially when you’re going to be stuck sitting by each other for a long period of time.

         But there he was, flipping through his book, glancing over every so often, but then pretending he hadn’t.
Did he honestly expect me to make the first move?
I rolled my eyes. Yes, this was definitely a bad case of the Third Grade Syndrome.
I sighed loudly, giving him one last change as I looked over at him.
Nope, he wasn’t budging.
I guess the task was going to fall on me.
Now… what to talk about.

         I glanced around looking for inspiration, and suddenly I found it.
Inspiration comes in many forms, and that day it came in the form of a white, plastic wristband on his arm.
But not just any white, plastic wristband. It was a white plastic wristband with the letters “CTR” engraved into it.

“Hey, are you Mormon?” I asked with interest, pointing at the wristband.

He looked at me like I was threatening him, and then replied a little warily,

“Yes…”

“Hey, me too!” I said, grinning at him.

         I’d just assumed I’d be the only one on the trip. Now I wouldn’t be the lone killjoy at discos and those wild, Mexican parties I was so certain we’d be going to. It was always nice to have someone there to back you up.

“Really?” he said, brightening.

I could see the relief in his eyes that I wasn’t another Mormon hater about to laugh in his face.

“What stake are you in?” he asked, closing his book.

I smiled to myself before replying, silently thanking fate for that helpful stroke of inspiration.

         And so it began, The Mexico Story, right there in an Hermosillo terminal. All of the heart break and happiness of that summer sprouting from one white, plastic wristband.

**************

Chapter 5..."The Golden Rule of Girlhood"

“You know, you look like a Heidi.”

I turned around and raised my eyebrows at him.

“What?” he said, raising his hands defensively, “You do.”

I shook my head, fighting the impulse to smile.

         We were standing in line, waiting to board again, and everyone was digging out their IDs. Since the wristband incident, we hadn’t been talking nonstop, but it’d been a good amount. He made me laugh. I was a novelty, some chick from Mountain View. It was an even trade off.

“Well…” I replied, rolling my eyes, “You look like a Jonny.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head at me, “Me and Josh were talking about it.”

         He pointed to the cute-ish boy, who seemed to get quieter by the minute. But he wasn’t a shy kind of quiet. He seemed more arrogantly quiet, like he didn’t think any of us were intelligent enough to talk to him. At least, that was my impression. I was constantly fighting the impulse to roll my eyes when he was around.

“Talking about… my name?” I asked, handing my driver’s license to the flight attendant who scrutinized it closely, as if her stare would suddenly make it invalid.

“Yeah,” he said, handing the other flight attendant his as mine finally begrudgingly handed my license back.

I paused before walking back out onto the runway while they got their passports back.

“What he means,” Josh put in finally, catching up with me, “Is that when we saw you Jonny asked me what I thought your name was, and we both agreed on Heidi.”

“Hm…” I shrugged as we walked out the doors and onto the runway, “Okay.”

They both laughed a little uncomfortably.
I looked at them both closely, tilting my head and wrinkling my forehead.

“Well,” I said, pondering, “I think you both look like your names too.”

“That’s a relief,” Jonny said, pretending to wipe his forehead.

I laughed and smiled at him, and he smiled back.

         By then we’d reached the steps to the plane and everyone started up them.
I got that movie-star feeling again, but resisted any Miss America-esque urges.

         I took up my seat by the Girl with a Reputation once again, and Amanda, even though her seat was somewhere else, sat to my left. I thought trading would be a snap, no big deal, since it'd be someone from our group trading. Think again. Can you guess who's seat Amanda stole? Right, Jonny's. I mean, really. Who else's would it have been? Murphy's Law: If it can happen, and it sucks, it will.

         I thought about calling off the whole trading fiasco, but that’s when I remembered the Golden Rule of Girlhood. All other rules like “Thou shalt not steal the outfit of another Sister at Prom.”, while still important, really pale in comparison to the Golden Rule: “She who puts a member of the opposite sex above another Sister is not fit to be numbered among those of the Girlhood.”
So instead of speaking up while the two of them argued over the seat, I sat back and tried to avoid eye contact.

         Finally, after a long barrage, Jonny retreated to the seat next to Josh and I could finally breathe again. Now I could get comfortable with out worrying. I pushed my backpack off my lap and was just turning around to set it behind me when a camera flashed from one of the seats to my left me, blinding me.

“What the freak?” I cursed, blinking rapidly and trying to get the blackness to leave.

I could hear two people laughing, and when I could finally see again, the people laughing were Jonny and Josh, both of whom were looking at the picture Josh had just taken.
I rolled my eyes and my face flushed a little bit, against my will.
Boys were so immature.

         I was just about to turn around and proceed to completely ignore them for the rest of the flight when Jonny looked up at me and smiled and a butterfly flew into my stomach, making my heart jump right out of my chest.
I turned back around with one of those goofy smiles on my face, shaking my head.
I was in for it, and I hadn’t even been on this trip for a full day yet.
Great.

***********************

The Laws of Girlhood

1. (Also Known as The Golden Rule of Girlhood)
She who puts a member of the opposite sex above another Sister is not fit to be numbered among those of the Girlhood.

2.
Thou shalt not lie to another Sister. Thou may however, lie to her concerning things of a superficial nature (ie. weight, horrendous haircuts, etc.) if her feelings will be injured by the truth.

3.
Thou shalt not steal the outfit of another Sister at Prom.

4.
Thou shalt not allow a boy who has previously broken up with you to regain thy regard. Boys do not deserve this. The Boy in question is scum for hurting thy feelings. The Boy in question deserves to hurt as well. Tell thyself this repeatedly if this horrendous urge continues.

5.
Thou shalt not gossip about other Sisters. Thou may, however, pass along helpful information to warn other Sisters of the wrongdoings of a certain Sister or group of Sisters.

Here are the five main Laws of Girlhood. All Sisters who disobey or disregard these laws are not fit to be numbered among those of the Girlhood and will thereby be disassociated with other Sisters in the event of their betaryal.
A more complete list of Amendments and Sub-Laws is available for all Sisters who wish to increase their knowledge of the Girlhood.

************************

Chapter 6..."Finding the Right Boy as Easy as Nailing Jell-O to a Tree"

         One long airplane ride later, the pilot finally announced that we were a mere ten minutes from Mexico City and I immediately shook myself out of my stupor to look out the window.

         The sun had just finished setting and nearly everyone’s lights were going on. I gasped as I looked down at the huge city. I don’t know what I’d expected. Maybe some mud huts and a few people in loin cloths running through the streets chasing a granite wheel.
But this? No, no, no. This couldn’t be Mexico. If I hadn’t known better, I could have mistaken it for New York City or London.
It was absolutely gorgeous.

         I’ve always been a sucker for city lights, but this was just too much. It was like the ultimate display of city lights. I sighed loudly, throwing in an “Aw!” which attracted Amanda from her boy watching.

“Wow,” she said as she took a look. “That’s pretty.”

“Surprising, isn’t it?” I asked her, shaking my head and smiling as I leaned closer to the window.

“Yeah,” she agreed, sighing.

         We sat there for a good five minutes, just watching the city growing bigger as we circled closer and closer.

         Amanda tired of it first, turning back around to continue her boy watching.
When I finally tore myself away a minute or two later, she was sneering while she watched the show. I couldn’t help but laugh myself.

         We’d been watching Josh and Jonny the whole trip. They had three seats in their row, and besides just the two of them, some girl from MCC was sitting beside Josh.
Well, sitting might not have been the most correct term. By that time she was pretty much plastered to his side. I would have bet money that less than half of her body mass was in her own chair.

         I was still unsure as to whether Josh was enjoying the attention or not. He was talking animatedly, but leaning as far away from her as possible. Jonny was not really a subject of examination, but he seemed at least a little interested because he kept leaning in and adding his own commentary to the conversation.

“She’s not even hot!” Amanda snorted as The Girl leaned across to touch Jonny’s hand.

         As much as I didn’t like to judge, I had to admit… she wasn’t exactly what I would define as Babe material. For one thing, she was wearing Mommy Clothes. It was one of those high-waisted skirts, and this big collared shirt that she kept trying to make ride up to look shorter, and then to top it all off, a huge, tremendously ugly, straw hat. It was one of those ensembles that when you see someone walking down the street in it, you say to yourself, ‘That poor woman. Did her power get shut off?’

         Okay, so it wasn’t THAT bad, but mix in the fact that my opinion was slightly tainted by a VERY small amount of jealousy and my opinion was pretty close to what I saw as the truth.

“We should ask them how they enjoyed the flight,” Amanda said, with a slight sneer on her face.

I laughed, “Man, that would be funny,” I said, imagining it in my head.

The result: instant uncomfortable ness on their part, meaning instant amusement for me.
Yes!

“I’ll ask them!" I volunteered, still picturing the scene in my head.

“Really?” Amanda said, laughing with a surprised look on her face, “Okay, do it. I want to hear.”

“Okay,” I agreed, smiling as I pictured it.

         I was getting the idea that Amanda was one of those people who always suggested things, but would never actually DO THEM if they had the chance. She was constantly telling me to do things, or just HOW FUNNY it would be if someone did this or that, but whenever I suggested her doing them, I’d get an automatic “NO.”

         After what seemed like an eternity of sappy smiles and fake laughs from The Girl, the wheels finally crunched into the ground, making me cringe.

         I’ve always wondered how those little, tiny wheels can hold up five tons of solid steel. If you think about it, we’re putting a whole lot of faith in those bicycle-looking wheels. Everyone always only thinks about the engines. “Oh, if that engine blows, we’re goners.” Well, yes, but there’s usually a back-up engine, and besides…how likely is it for the engine to blow? On the other end of the spectrum, how likely is it that one of tire’s little hearts just can’t take another landing, and completely blows out?
Much more likely.

         I shivered just thinking about it as we taxied through the terminals. This was a much bigger airport with actual indoor terminals. I was a little disappointed, I have to admit. That rush of Hollywood sentiment was just too fun.
Finally, the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ dinged off and there was a mad rush to collect luggage and step into the aisle first. Since my stuff was already in order and in my lap, I was one of the first ones walking down the aisle and down the terminal corridor.

         Behind me I could catch a glimpse every now and then of the happy triple, Jonny, Josh, and The Girl. I rolled my eyes. I don’t know why I let it annoy me. I mean, it’s not like I even knew the kid!

         Okay, before I start to sound too mushy and pathetic, there’s something that needs to be said about me. As much as I hate to admit it, at that time I had somewhat of a problem when it came to boys.

         It actually probably has some technical, scientific name and I bet if I went to a shrink, I’d have been on some kind of medication. But since I hadn’t gotten an official diagnosis yet, my friend, the brilliant Dr. Keri Decker, Ph. D (also known for her role as my ballet coach, shopping partner, and Resident Best Friend) had christened my little “problem” Chronic Commitment Aversion, CCA for short.

         In other words, up until that point, my longest relationship EVER had been twenty-one days.
Yeah. And it gets worse.

         Up until then, I also had this bad habit of falling head over heels for a boy I barely knew, getting them to fall head over heels for me, and then dropping them faster than a hot potato.

         It’s not that I didn’t like them. I DID like them, genuinely, at the time. But then something just happened in my brain and I couldn’t handle it anymore.

         Like I said, it was a disease, which made it completely out of my control, and therefore, not my fault. But I had a theory. My theory was that if I ever met the Right Boy, my case of CCA would somehow magically come to a screeching halt. Caput. The end.
Now it was just up to me to find the lucky chico.
Sheesh. Give me the tough job.

         I sighed as I walked to the nearest bench and plunked down, looking around tiredly.
Men on cell phones rushed past yelling into the plastic mouthpiece in foreign languages. Teenage boys with backpacks scanned the terminal numbers looking for the right gate. A boy my age smiled shyly as he passed and I smiled back.

         And there was Jonny, waving good-bye to The Girl, a big grin on his face.
I sighed.
Finding the Right Boy in this mess was about as easy as nailing jell-o to a tree.

**************************

From: The office of Dr. Decker, Ph. D
To: The offices of better, more qualified specialists
Concerning: My patient, and dear friend, Heidi Nielson
Diagnosis: CCA (Chronic Commitment Aversion)

         I regret to inform you that my patient suffers from a dreadful and seemingly irreversible case of CCA. CCA, a highly unusual illness, strikes the victim when they least expect it. She may be walking down the street, feeling perfectly content with her current love life, when suddenly another boy will walk by and the CCA will reveal itself.

         Therefore, her questionable behavior to the opposite sex (commonly referred to as being, for lack of a better word, "Player-ish"), is not in the least her fault and will continue to not be so until we find a suitable cure for her. As of yet, the only known cure for this disease is large doses of the Right Boy. As this antidote is nearly impossible to find we aren't very hopeful in our attempt to cure Ms. Heidi Nielson, but we're trying.

Signed,


Dr. Keri Decker, Ph. D

************************

Chapter 7..."Pep Talks and Panic Attacks"

         I groaned as I tried to heft my huge duffel onto my shoulder.

“I KNEW I should have brought the big rolling one!” I said, fuming to Amanda as I still struggled with my bag.

She shook her head, “Parents, huh?”

I finally managed to get the bag onto my shoulder where it immediately proceeded to cut off all blood circulation in my arm.

         I groaned again, sweat already gathering on my forehead. Unfortunately for me, there was no air conditioning anywhere to help with that problem. Apparently in Mexico they didn’t BELIEVE in air conditioning or something, because it was no where to be found.
Another thing to love about this place.
I was finding quite a few.

         After we’d all gathered up, most everyone needed to make a quick stop at the Johns and so Senora Kurus, our teacher, stood and watched the bags while we headed inside.

         I thought it was a little funny how there was a lady constantly cleaning and asking the people in the stalls if they needed anything, but I didn’t really give it much thought except that they had a pretty exceptional staff.
But then… as I was about to leave, the cleaning lady stopped me and held out her arm. Without thinking I handed her my used paper towel and proceeded to try and leave.

“Tip?” she asked in a thick Spanish accent, nearly blacking the doorway now.

“TIP?!” I repeated, not even comprehending.

I finally gave her one of our newly adopted pesos and left, but I was still confused.
Who ever heard of paying to take a piss?

         Finally, we were on our way again, on a quest to find our bus.
With every step I took, my monstrous duffel beat against my side and seemed to sink deeper into my shoulder. Not to mention that I still had to drag my other bag behind me and somehow hold onto my backpack.

         After what seemed like miles, we finally took a break.
Thinking the whole ordeal was finally over; I stupidly dropped my duffel and sighed in contentment.

“Finally,” I breathed, fanning my dripping hair.

I sat down on my bag, and was just thinking that maybe it was good for something when Senora Kurus showed up again, telling everyone to get back up.

“Wait!” I said, panicking, “Where are we going?”

“To find the bus,” she said, giving me a quizzical look before setting off.

“But… but…”

My breathing started speeding up and I must have looked like I was going to have a panic attack because Jonny, who had seemed to have a relapse of Third Grade Syndrome the whole walk so far, looked at me with a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said derisively, “Just great, except the fact that if I have to carry this bag another twenty feet, it’s very possible that my arm will just completely detach itself!”

He looked a little taken aback, but I just rolled my eyes to myself.
Oh please, like he’d never seen a girl having a nervous breakdown before.
I sat back down in defeat while he collected himself.
Finally, he approached again, a little more warily this time.

“Hey, why don’t you put it on your rolling bag?” he asked, pointing at it.

I looked at the bag and then back at him, eyebrows raised in the classic "Are-You-Out-of-Your-Mind" Look. My rolling bag was probably two feet, by one foot, if that. Did he honestly think that flimsy excuse for a handle could hold up thirty pounds of solid clothing and beautifying crap?

“Let’s just test it out,” he said, reaching for my bag.

“Careful it’s--”

“Ooof,” he grunted, as the bag crashed back down to the ground.

“Heavy,” I finished, a small smile creeping on to my face.

He looked a little embarrassed and tried to shake the whole thing off with a lot of manly grunting and shaking his arms out.

“Maybe we should--” he began, but someone was already lifting my bag onto the rolling bag already.

I looked up to see Josh easily setting the duffel on top and strapping it down.

“…let Josh help us out,” Jonny finished, laughing and Josh rolled the bag back over to me and handed it over without saying a word.

         After I had a good grip on it he just picked his back up and started waking again, not even waiting for a thank you or anything.

“Um…thanks?” I called after his back, starting forward uncertainly.

He paused for a split second and then turned back around really quickly and said,

“Sure,” before continuing.

Once he was far enough ahead, I gave Jonny a quizzical look, but he just shrugged before leaving me to go catch up with Josh.

         I shook my head at the both of them as Jonny caught up with him and slapped him across the back in customary boy fashion.
I was still shaking my head when Amanda showed up next to me.

“Oh nothing,” I said, shaking myself out of the trance.

“They’re kind of strange, aren’t they?” she said, following my gaze.

“No,” I said, feeling a little dazed as I watched them, “Strange doesn't even begin to cover it.”

*********************

Bathroom Rates

toilet paper- 1 peso per square
magazine or newspaper- 10 pesos
soap- 2 pesos
paper towel- 2 pesos per sheet
sanitary napkin- 3 pesos

********************

For more Third Grade Syndrome, embarrassing moments, CCA, and laughs, check out:

Mexico Story Ch. 8-11  [13+] #994663 the saga continues...more CCA, Third Grade Syndrome, and laughs in store! Please R & R! by Heidi ♥ s Dumbly

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