Chapter 30: Like, Ohmigawd, It’s Janet!

November 4, 1980

I got to school early and climbed onto the bus, heading to the back row. I had a backpack with a book, a few snacks, scratch paper and pens and pencils, and some business cards with my name, address, and number on them that Mom had gotten us a while back. They might be useful if I met anyone I wanted to connect with. It wasn’t as cold as Halloween, and the forecast called for mild weather, so I just had a light jacket. I wore a burgundy short-sleeve shirt — A&M’s main school color was maroon — and black jeans, with black sneakers. It might’ve been preppy, but I’d rather that than an old t-shirt and ratty blue jeans when I might meet someone interesting.

In the previous life, I would have thought of none of that. These trips were about one thing: Me! I went, I did the competitions, listened to the speakers, and went home. Other kids? There were other kids there?

My life had flipped around. Oh, I’d still do the competitions and listen to the speakers. The competitions were fun, and I’d enjoy winning — if I did, which was unlikely — and the speakers might be helpful. But the other kids — that was interesting. Would there be any other nerds who were interesting nerds? Could I get a jump on college friendships now, perhaps? Pick up valuable tips? Just make a pen pal? Debate would put me in contact with kids from other schools week after week. I’d be friends with some and rivals with others. To steal a word that wouldn’t exist for decades, frenemies, perhaps, with still others. Math was less of a big deal, but I couldn’t be the only one who was good at more than just math.

Competing was an interesting question. If I did the best I could do, I’d be competing using a post-graduate’s understanding. I wasn’t a math major, but I’d still had quite a lot of education beyond high school. That seemed unethical. What if I did too well? I was not the next Einstein. OK, he wasn’t a mathematician, but physics is math, or so my physicist friend said the first go-round. My math knowledge wouldn’t grow and expand to make me a towering figure in the field. I didn’t want some glowing commentary about the next prodigy.

But I felt lousy about intentionally missing questions. And, strategically, how many? What would be ‘good’ versus ‘too good’?

I set the cut-off at my approximate class level. Calculus and Trigonometry were out. I shouldn’t know that. If questions in that area turned up, skip, move on. Geometry? Anything there was fair game. Algebra II was a tough one. I shouldn’t know that material, but there’s a lot of variation in where Algebra I ends and Algebra II begins.

Lost in my thoughts, I waited for the bus to fill. The group was about 75% male. Not all nerds, though, not at Memorial. A lot of the kids were popular, social. Seniors, and some juniors, that I, a lowly freshman, recognized.

Then there were the sophomores. Here, life got interesting. I had to stay quiet when Brad Delton sat a few rows forward. He’d been a senior when I joined the debate team — almost two years from now. When did he join? I’d been on overnight trips with him several times. I’d sat with him and discussed politics, philosophy. Now, he didn’t know me from Adam. The possibility of saying the wrong thing was as bad here as it was anywhere, except with Mom and Dad.

In my experience, high school buses loaded two ways. Daily home-to-school buses were seniors in back, freshmen in the front. The seniors wanted their privacy. For other events? Seniors in front. Less time on and off the bus, more chances to lord it over the little guys.

Going to the back row almost backfired on me. I recognized Janet Collins, who was just boarding. Medium-height, hair back in a dirty-blonde ponytail, bright blue eyes. I knew two things about her. OK, I knew dozens, but two were relevant for a first-sight appraisal. First — she looked like an airhead. She was chewing gum and wore an almost garishly pink fuzzy sweater, a barely dress-code acceptable white skirt, stockings, and pink shoes. I knew when she talked to most people, there would be a lot of ‘like’ and ‘ohmigawd!’ and similar things. She’d moved here from California a couple years back and brought Valley Girl speech before it was popular.

The second thing, which should have been obvious from the setting, was that she was very much not an airhead. The first time around, she was in the top ten in her class and went off to U. Penn. Where, if history held up, we would both be at a debate tournament in a couple years. Full scholarship. Pre-law. You could say she was Elle Woods before Elle Woods was a thing. Of course, if I said that, no one would have a clue who Elle Woods was.

Of course she sat down in the empty seats across from me. Not even separated by an aisle — the back row had a continuous bench.

What in the world to do? I knew her, perhaps better than I knew Brad. I could blow it at any second with a comment that revealed something I shouldn’t know. The best excuse would be that I was a stalker. I should bite my lip, and stay quiet, and be a good little mousy freshman nerd.

Fuck that. Here was a golden opportunity to get a jump on doing an old thing a new way and connect with a future friend.

I turned to her. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Steve Marshall. And you’re lovely.”

She looked at me, blinked, and giggled. “Wow! Like, you talk! Most of these guys are totally boring! It’s tragic, really? Um? You know? Well, hi Steve! I’m Janet! Janet Collins!”

I couldn’t decide if it hurt my ears or warmed my heart to hear her again after so long. That’s another thing: Janet has a beautiful voice. She used to play guitar and sing on trips. But that’s not how she sounded when she was being ‘Janet the airhead’.

I grinned. “I’m guessing ... sophomore.”

She giggled. “Totally! And you’re totally a freshman, dude. Back here, alone with yourself, can’t be one of the big dudes. And if you were a sophomore, well, dude! How could I have totally missed a hunk like you?”

The bus gave a jerk, and then another. Then we were rolling. College Station was two hours away. Or maybe less, depending on just how much the bus driver respected speed limits. In 1980, buses didn’t have little ‘This vehicle obeys all speed laws’ stickers. I had vivid memories of looking at the speedometer on one trip and seeing that we were going ninety. In a fifty-five zone. In rolling hills with limited visibility. In a vehicle with no seat belts.

She would have called the old me — chubby, iffy shape, nerdy clothes — a hunk. That meant nothing. That she was continuing the conversation was the more interesting part of the reply.

I waited until the bus was on the highway and cruising along. There were only a few major turns on the route up to College Station. Most of the route would be through boring farm country. Perfect for chatting.

“So, what brings you to a smelly school bus on a November morning, Miss Collins?” I winked. There were people who would have said that with no sense of humor.

She grinned. “Same as you. Like, gotta check out the college dudes, do some math. Maybe, like, listen to some fogies. Blow off school, maybe latch on to some hunky dreamboat.”

“Sounds radical.” She blinked. Just a little, but I caught it. The whole valley girl thing was almost unknown in Houston in 1980. Frank Zappa’s song was two years away and the movie was three. That didn’t matter; it sounds even more absurd and air-headed without knowing the origin. But she would never expect someone to toss ‘radical’ back at her.

“So, what about you, dude? Happy, like, skippin’ class for a day?” She chomped her gum, blew a bubble.

I shrugged. “My girlfriend is out with a cold, homework’s done already, the only teacher who would give a pop quiz is Alvarez and she won’t make me make it up, and I’ve wrapped up one of my classes already. I’ll probably miss my friends tonight, because I hear the bus is always late getting back, but I’ll live.”

Blink. I’d just upset her expectations again. I’d imagine very few guys got her talking and then mentioned a ‘girlfriend’. That screamed that either I was a total cad or I wasn’t angling to get into her panties. She never hinted that her panties were up for grabs but took full advantage of guys’ desire to get into them.

I don’t think I could’ve stood to be in the role of her boyfriend, however hot she was — and she was quite hot. For one thing, she was going to the wrong university for me. For another, we had no chance at romance. She’d hidden it, mostly, but I was sure that she’d had a girlfriend, the first time through anyway.

“Colds totally suck, dude. I was all fucked up with a head cold...”

A voice called back from the front of the bus. Mr. Hannity. “Miss Collins! Language!” Janet made a face and stuck out her tongue, then blew a bubble. “And no gum on buses!”

She made no move to take it out. “As I was saying, bitchin’ head cold, missed one of the games, like, the one a week before that gnarly Halloween triumph. Ohmigawd, that was so amazing! But it started out, like, horrible. My girlfriends wanted to vamoose, like, before halftime. So glad we didn’t. Totally bitchin’!”

“Yeah, I was there. It was pretty amazing. Did you go to the dance?”

“Duh. Like, totally. You know? California Girl! They wish we all could be!”

“What’d you wear?” I hadn’t seen her costume. I hadn’t been paying much attention with all the drama.

“Like, a full bodysuit, flesh-colored. Itty bitty teeny weenie yellow polka dot bikini. Bitchin’ cardboard surfboard.” She giggled. “Like, twice, the fogies told me to...” she waved her fingers in air quotes, “‘put on some clothes, young lady!’ I mean, like, every part of me was covered, dude! Rules can be such a fuckin’ drag.”

“Language, young lady! One more warning and you’ll be sitting up here and I will call your parents!”

She flipped the bird towards the teacher in question — behind the seat back. “Hannity blows.”

I shrugged. “Higgins is worse. Hannity needs a rule. Higgins tries to make up her own.”

“Like, totally! Higgins was such a ... freaking...” she glared towards the front, “ ... shrew! Couldn’t wait to blow outta her class!”

“We’ve crossed swords a few times. So far, I’m ahead, on points at least.”

“Bitchin’! Serves that shrew right. Like, what’d she do to you?”

I shrugged. “Not me, so much as my friends. My friends Mark and Morty Riley went to the Homecoming Dance with Emily Parker. Mrs. Higgins was ... displeased ... that they acted like dates and danced together.”

She giggled. “Dude! I saw that! Like, it was righteous! They never backed down! Wait! I, like, saw you there! You and Myerson! He’s one dreamy hunk, for an old rich dude. Da ... Darn, if he’s not.” Another finger shot towards Hannity. “Halloween, Alice and the Tweedles! And that other chick was, like, all Mad Hatter-y! I love Alice, she’s bitchin’! Pills making her larger and smaller, the White Rabbit. F ... freakin’...” Another. “ ... Grace Slick turned me onto Alice before it turned into, like, some assignment sh... “ Another. “Stuff.”

“I love ‘White Rabbit’. I admit I don’t love everything the Airplane did, but a lot of it. Grace Slick is a genius. The Starship has its moments but, like...” I shrugged “ ... no genius so far.”

She grinned when I praised Airplane, then blinked at the ‘like’. “Dude! No one even knows the Airplane, like, did anything else around here.”

I shrugged. “Everybody knows ‘Somebody To Love’, at least.”

“Well, duh!”

What I was going to do next might piss her off, but I hoped not. I knew her well enough to know that, two years from now, it wouldn’t. She had been a friend. Hopefully, this time, she’d be a good friend. After all, this time around I planned to be around her a year and a half more than the first time. So, no time like the present.

“Janet?”

“Dude?”

I smiled. “You can knock it off, if you want. I’m guessing you’re a Californian, but not an airhead. I’m sure you can do this in your sleep, but it must get tiring.”

She blinked. Twice. “Dude? Who the f ... freak...” Another. “... are you?” She giggled, winked. “No one has called me on that since, I don’t know, last fall, at school at least — unless I’ve smacked them down first. And that was Myerson. How’d you get it?”

“You’re a sophomore on the bus to TEES. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t able to kick... “ I flashed my finger towards Hannity. Not behind the seat. She giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth. Hannity was looking away, anyway. “ ... butt in math. You could actually sound like that and kick butt in math, but...” I shrugged. “ ... Mark and Morty make teachers think they’re idiots even when they’re making solid A’s. Your approach isn’t that different.”

She shook her head. “Da ... darn. Cool.” She grinned. She stuck out her hand. “Janet Collins. A pleasure.”

I shook. “Steve Marshall. Definitely a pleasure.”

We talked music for a while. Blessing: I’d had a lot of time to learn things. Curse: I’d had a lot more time than should be possible to learn things. For instance: Jefferson Starship, or more properly Starship, would forever be associated in my mind with ‘We Built This City’ — not a favorite, but inescapable. But, that’s a 1985 song. Can’t get caught referring to it. I’d taken to listening to the radio a fair bit and studying the record charts just to know what had already come out.

Then we talked about school, running through the teachers I might have next year and such. Then she darted back to an earlier comment of mine.

“Wait. You said you had one class already done? How is that possible? It’s not even Thanksgiving! There’s a whole six weeks to go. And finals!”

I shrugged. “Typing. I thought it would be a good idea. It wasn’t.”

She smirked. “Got the girlfriend, no need to meet girls?”

I shook my head. “Nah, Candice isn’t in that class. No one I know is.”

“So ... blocking your path to the AP classes?”

“Nah.”

“Can’t type. Just bailing on it?”

“Nope. I’m at the A cutoff. For the year.”

“So?”

“I wanted to drop it after a week. They guessed I just didn’t want to do the work, so, they said I could drop it if I met the passing standard. I’m not on the AP grade-point chase,” I knew she wasn’t either, “but to he ... heck...” Finger. She grinned. “ ... with getting a P. I can type the proper words-per-minute at the acceptable error rate. My technique is ‘wrong’, but, so? They set a standard, they can give me the A and let me go.”

“Go you! What’re you taking next?” She paused. “Um ... French!”

“Gods, no. I’m going to survive Spanish with my life. Barely.”

“Physics.”

I shook my head. “Junior year.”

“You really aren’t in the chase. What, then?”

“Debate.”

“Oh! I’m in that!” She caught something. “And ... you knew that! You sneak!”

I smiled. “I’d checked out the team to see what I was getting into before I decided. Y’all are good, and everyone loves Ms. Ames.”

“So, by rights I should be pi...” Finger. “ ... annoyed with you for sandbagging me. But then I smacked you around the bus for 30 minutes with my airhead routine and you not only kept pace, you called me on it. So. Friends?”