Hype

By Yvette M Calleiro

Cici’s junior year in high school is going to be the best year ever. Popular co-captain of the varsity cheerleading team, she’s dating the starting quarterback. Even her jealous co-captain’s attempts to steal her boyfriend can’t curb her enthusiasm.

When her mom moves in with her fiancé, a handsome, wealthy man, only one small detail threatens Cici’s perfect life. The school’s social pariah is about to become her stepsister, and Cici wants nothing to do with her.

Everything changes when someone Cici cares about throws her life into a tailspin, and the one person Cici couldn’t stand becomes her only ally.

Warning: This story contains scenes of sexual assault.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvette M Calleiro
• Release date: Nov 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005086374

Yvette M Calleiro

Yvette M. Calleiro is a heavily addicted reader of both young adult and adult novels. She spends most of her time pseudo-living in paranormal worlds with her fictional friends (and boyfriends). When she’s living among real people, Yvette M. Calleiro is a middle school Reading and Language Arts teacher. She’s been sharing her love of literature with her students for over twenty years. Besides writing about the various characters that whisper (and sometimes scream) in her head, she enjoys traveling, watching movies, spending quality time with family and friends, and enjoying the beauty of the ocean.Yvette lives in Miami, Florida, with her incredible son who has embraced her love for paranormal and adventurous stories. She also shares her space with an assortment of crazy saltwater animals in her 300-gallon tank.

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FOREWORD

Dear Reader,

Time is constantly progressing. It stops for no one. It doesn’t slow for one to further enjoy a moment, nor does it quicken to allow one to forget a difficult time. It treks along on its own constant path, oblivious to our requests.

As with time, our lives are always moving forward. And with time comes experiences that forever shape the people who we are. Every moment, every minute, and every second carries with it a choice that affects which path we will follow. It molds the person we become.

People do not stand before you now without being a collection of their past experiences and the choices they made as a result of those moments. To truly understand someone, you must open yourself up to understand the particles of time that have formed a person’s soul.

It is with these words I find the courage to share with you my story. I am whole today, but there was a time when I was broken. To truly understand, you must understand my story from the girl I once was before my path was forever changed.

Do not ridicule my innocence. Do not mock my naivety. Try not to judge me, like I judged others. Allow my voice to integrate into your mind without prejudice so you can truly hear my story. Then maybe you will understand.

Sincerely,

Cecilia M. Gonzalez

ONE

Are you serious, Mom? You’re getting married? I lower my spoon covered with chocolate ice cream into my bowl.

Yes. Is that a problem? She focuses on trying to pull a peanut butter cup away from her ice cream.

You’ve only known John six months. Ryan and I have been dating for nine months, two weeks, three days. I pause to look at my watch for dramatic effect before continuing, five hours and ten minutes. You don’t see me going off and getting married, do you?

You’re sixteen, sweetheart. When you are as old as I am, you don’t need as much time to figure it all out. She gives me her you’re-too-young-and-naïve-to-understand smile. On most people, that would be demeaning, but on my mom, it’s loving and kind.

Mom, can’t you guys just date for the next two years?

You want me to date him for two more years. She looks at me as if I’ve lost all my marbles.

Well, what about at least one more year? I mean, you guys will still be in love a year from now, right? So, why not wait until then to get married? I think my logic is perfectly sound.

Honey, what’s really going on? Why would you want me to date for another year or two? I thought you’d be happy about this. You keep saying you want me to find someone who will complete my life, someone to grow old and happy with. Now, I’ve found that person and you want me to put our lives on hold. Why? I thought you liked John.

I do. I mean, I like the little I know about him, and he’s nice to me every time I’ve seen him. In two years, I’ll be off to some Ivy League college, and you two lovebirds can have the house all to yourselves.

Is this some jealousy thing? Or fear? Are you afraid that if he moves in, I’ll no longer have time for you or won’t pay attention to you anymore?

Ugh. No, Mom. I’m not insecure, and I don’t have attention-seeking issues.

She stares at me for a moment and then sighs sympathetically. How could I not see it? You want me to wait two years because you’ll have graduated, and so will his daughter. Gaby’s a sweet girl. I know she appears to be a little depressing, but beneath her dark attire and gothic makeup, she’s really a nice person.

I laugh. Grub – nice? Ha!

Cici! Do not call her that. I raised you better than that.

"Mom, it’s her name. At least, at school, it is. Everyone calls her that. Sometimes, even a teacher will slip and call her Grub. Seriously."

She gives me the look she gives when she thinks I’m trying to be overly dramatic. She constantly tells me I should join the drama team because I’m good at bringing on the drama. Ha! Drama kids and cheerleaders don’t really mix. She just doesn’t remember.

I don’t have an issue with my mom finding love and remarrying a nice, good-looking guy. And John is the perfect arm candy for my beautiful mother. The epic problem is this man has baggage, as in trash bag at a dumpster baggage.

He has a daughter who goes to my school: Gabriella Martinez. Most people would think her nickname is Gaby, but her nickname is Grub. As in baby bug, and not in the oh-look-at-that-cute-baby type. No. She’s the ick-look-at-that-dirty-slimy-thing-over-there bug.

She has straight, black hair and pale, white skin. She wears her thick bangs in front to cover half her face, all the way to her jaw line. She wears clothes in shades of black. For shock factor, she’ll sometimes wear a bloody red shirt. She wears her eyeliner so thick even Cleopatra would be jealous.

She’s an inch taller than I, but no one would ever know because she always has her head down. She’s so EMO. I swear, if she had magic powers, her power would be to cast a dark, gray thunderstorm cloud over people’s heads like Pigpen from Charlie Brown.

So, you see the problem here, right? Having her as a stepsister would be a cosmic disaster. How can I, this popular, beautiful, and smart cheerleader, have that as part of my family? She is my polar opposite. Ugh.

Obviously, my mother doesn’t remember what it’s like in high school. Otherwise, she would understand the ramifications this could have on my social life. I mean, what if people started to associate me with her?

What if she starts wanting to hang out with me and makes my friends feel uncomfortable? How could I possibly invite them over knowing she’ll be there to annoy everyone? I tried desperately to make my mom understand, but her sponge is not absorbing the severity of the situation.

Cecilia Maria Gonzalez! I’m ashamed of you. Do you realize how selfish you are acting right now? You want me to stop my life for two years because you’re worried about how your friends will react to Gaby living here. That’s really sad. Your school is big enough for you two to stay away from each other. I doubt having Gaby as a stepsister will put a blemish on your popularity.

She brings in the shame factor and the selfish comment, and I am left with no argument. And so begins the destruction of my life as I know it…

TWO

So, tomorrow’s the big day, I tell Dee through my Bluetooth as I’m driving to her house. It has only been a few weeks since my mom’s big announcement, and I’m still not liking the idea of Grub joining my household. My mom says the court wedding will be at 1 p.m. and should last about ten minutes.

I can’t believe your mom doesn’t want a real wedding. I can’t imagine doing something so mundane for the biggest day of my life.

I know, but I understand where she’s coming from. She already had her big wedding with my dad, and John already had a big wedding with his first wife, too. The way they see it is they will love each other just as much with or without a huge wedding. And without the wedding, they save a ton of money. Plus, I’m glad they aren’t having a big wedding.

Why? I’d think you’d be thrilled to be the maid of honor at your mom’s wedding.

The dressing up and getting pampered bit would be fun, but Grub would also be in the wedding party. And I would die from complete mortification if my friends had to see her stand next to me at the altar. I shiver the thought off my skin.

I didn’t think of that.

Yeah. The more I ponder it, the more I like the court wedding option. It’s bad enough the big move is taking place on Sunday. Grub will officially become part of the household. I refuse to say part of the family, although I guess every family has a black sheep in it, right?

I hope she doesn’t think she can start hanging with us, Cici. She doesn’t fit in with our friends.

"She’s already getting an upgrade from her small house. She’s sorely mistaken if she thinks she’s gonna earn popularity points from me, too. That’s so not going to happen. I pull into her driveway. I’m outside. Hurry up before we’re late for class."

If we’re late, it’s your fault for taking forever this morning. She hangs up.

Dee is my absolute best friend in the whole world. We’ve been best friends since elementary school. She’s more of a nerd than anything else, but she’s also a jock because she’s one of our star soccer players, which makes her popular in her own right.

She has never cared about popularity. She is who she is. Whether people like her or not doesn’t really matter to her. She always focuses on the positive side of things which helps keep me grounded most times.

Her real name is Diana Dominguez. When we were little, she used to go by Didi; we were Cici and Didi. But as we got older, she dropped a syllable and just became Dee. I guess she wanted to have her own identity. I respect that. I mean, we all want to stand out separately.

The one thing that has never changed is our friendship. She’s always been more like a sister to me. We’ve seen each other through life’s little dramas. And I know she’s going to be my rock through this newest phase of my life.

Dee opens the passenger door and plops into the seat next to me. Her positive energy makes me happy whenever she enters my space. Her jet-black, curly hair bounces when she sits down. Dee’s tanned skin tone always appears as if she sits in a tanning booth for hours a day, but it’s all in her genes. Her brown eyes seem to be smiling all the time. I know eyes can’t smile, but hers seem to look positively happy even when she is upset.

As she clicks her seatbelt in place, Dee turns to me. People are going to vote for Homecoming court soon, ya know?

We spend the rest of the ride to school talking about Homecoming and the rumors of who’s going with whom, what dress the other girls will wear, who we think will be voted Homecoming King and Queen, etc. I park the car as the first bell rings. We say our quick goodbyes and head to our separate classes. I’m running so late I don’t have time to meet with Ryan. I send him a quick text: Ran late. sorry. c u @ lunch. muah!

Right before I go into class, I get a text reply from him: ok. c u then. muah! It always brings a smile to my face when he sends me the silly kiss via text. Well, here goes the beginning of my junior year’s second quarter.

Period One: math. More specifically – pre-calculus. My teacher, Ms. Wischer, is strict, as in Hitler-style. She was raised in a strict Catholic school where the nuns used rulers to keep the students in line. Since corporal punishment is now illegal, she tortures us with her demerit system.

If you are late to class, you get a demerit. Talk without permission? Demerit. If your cell phone is visible (even if you’re not using it), demerit. Air pods in ear, even if no music is playing? Demerit. Need a pass anywhere, including the restroom? Demerit. Oh, she’ll give you the pass, but it’ll cost you.

They affect our conduct grade, but few of us really care. Demerits also affect Friday test grades, and everyone cares about that. Every Friday test always has up to five extremely difficult questions. If you have zero demerits for a week, you’re excused from doing those five questions.

Each demerit requires you to complete a question which almost guarantees a lower grade unless you are Quinn Li whose ancestors probably invented the Pythagorean Theorem. If you have zero demerits for the entire semester, you don’t have to take the midterm. Zero demerits for the year earns you an A on the final exam, but not even Quinn will make it all year without a single demerit.

She pretends this is a rewards system for those most dedicated to learning in her class, but we all see it for what it truly is – legalized torture. Despite her strictness, I really like math. For the most part, I’ve always been good at it. I enjoy solving puzzles and problems. I like the challenge.

My second class is history. Yuck. I understand the importance of learning about the past so we don’t repeat those mistakes in the future, but I don’t get why it’s necessary to remember people’s names and dates. Why can’t it be good enough to understand the lessons learned from those times?

This is, by far, my worst class. Luckily, the teacher’s aide, Gio, a fellow cheerleader, used to have a major crush on me and still has a soft spot for me in his heart, so he alters my grades to make sure my average never goes below a B.

Why not go for the A, you ask? Because I’m smart, and I know the teacher is smart enough to know I’m not ‘A’ material in history. She loves to have class discussions in her lessons where she questions us about facts we’re supposed to have learned. I don’t always do well when those questions are directed to me.

If I were to try to pass myself off as an ‘A’ student, I’d have to know the answers when asked, and I’d rather not deal with that stress. Since my grade teeters right above a B, she either thinks I’m really lucky or thinks I’m studying and doing the best I can to make it. Either way, it’s a win-win for me.

My next class is AP English. Yes, advanced placement…not all cheerleaders are ditzy blondes. This is my favorite class, and Dee being with me makes it extra fun. Mr. Hoffman is a second-year teacher and loves using technology in his lessons. He enjoys having discussions and debates in class.

I love literature because there are many ways to interpret it. Mr. Hoffman’s philosophy is if we can justify our answers clearly, even if they’re wrong, then we’ll get partial credit. I’m such a great BS-er (eh, um…debater) that I always get partial credit if I don’t get full credit. So, this policy suits me just fine.

My fourth period is marine biology. I signed up for this class because I love everything related to the ocean: the beach, the saltwater, dolphins, etc. I figured the class would be fun and interesting, but it’s all scientific and focuses on memorizing words that should have been extinct at least several centuries ago.

Luckily, my teacher is Mr. Smada. He looks like a bad version of Albert Einstein with the bushy, black mustache. He’s a tried-and-true nerd, but it’s all good because he likes me. On the first day of class, he told the class he had a soft spot for the pretty ladies. A kid asked what he meant. He pointed to me. "She’s pretty. She’ll probably get an A in my class."

So, I smile my innocent smile every now and then. And lo and behold, my grade is always an A, no matter how badly I bomb his assignments. Works for me! Dee is also in this class. She’s falls into the pretty category, but she’s good at science, so she gets A’s regardless.

After fourth period, we have forty-five minutes for lunch, which is nice. Usually, I leave campus to eat or have a great make-out session with Ryan. Today, Ryan meets me outside my class. We say goodbye to Dee, who always hangs out with her soccer friends during lunch, and head to my car. As we walk outside, we run into Nicole, my cheerleading co-captain. She sends a flirtatious ‘hi’ and a smile to Ryan before turning to me (I don’t get a ‘hi’ or a smile).

Don’t forget we have a meeting after school today with Ms. G. She twirls a hair strand and deliberately pumps her chest out so you can’t help but notice her big boobs. Ms. G (short for Garcia) is our cheerleading coach.

How can I forget about it when I’m the one who organized the meeting?

She seriously gets on my last nerve. I can tell she wants to get pissy with me, but she plays nice since Ryan is there.

Then, I’ll see you after school. Bye, Ryan. She practically sings the last part before walking away, strutting her stuff a little too much.

Nicole is about my height but a lot skinnier. She’s got frizzy, dirty-blonde hair she must iron to keep straight. She has brown eyes and thin lips. Some people think she looks great, but I think she looks like a toothpick. Okay, fine…she has some curve to her body, especially since she’s somewhat larger breasted than most teenagers, including me. I swear she’s had implants, but I can’t imagine parents allowing a teenager to get a boob job while still in high school. Then again, Nicole can be quite bratty, so it’s possible she nagged her parents until they let her do it.

I swear that girl loves to crawl under my skin and roll around like a dog in the grass. Ugh! I tense my hands as if I want to claw my fingers through her eyes.

Ryan laughs. Don’t let her get to you, babe.

It’s obvious she’s jealous you’re with me. She practically salivated when you said ‘hi’ to her.

He hugs me. Who cares? I only have eyes for you. You know that.

He leans down and kisses me, and all is right with the world again. He’s about four inches taller than I, which is great because it gives me the opportunity to wear sexy heels and still gaze up at him when he takes me on dates. Colgate would pay millions to use his perfect teeth in their ads. His athletic body, ripped abs and all, constantly tempt me to touch him. When he smiles at me, his gorgeous blue eyes make me want to melt. The contrast between those baby blues and his short black hair is photo op perfect.

But beyond all his incredible physical perfectness, he has a heart of gold. Mikey, his younger brother, just started middle school. He has a mild case of Down syndrome, so he’s in almost all regular classes, but he still needs extra assistance for some activities. Ryan has become a huge supporter of kids with disabilities. He leads the football team and cheerleaders in raising money for various organizations. We all volunteer time with Easter Seals and other organizations that assist people with disabilities. Everyone has great respect for him because he’s smart, charming, athletic, and giving.

At lunch, we talk about the upcoming homecoming dance and the game. Ryan is running for Homecoming King. Only seniors can be in the Homecoming court, so I am not in the running. I have no doubt he will be crowned King. Everyone at school loves him.

We get back to school with enough time for Ryan to walk me to my fifth period and give me a kiss before he heads off to his class. My fifth period is creative writing. Grub’s in this class, but she sits in the back and never shares unless called upon. I think the teacher, Mr. Garnett, worries anything she shares will be depressing or inappropriate for class. It probably would be.

I love this teacher. He’s tall and quirky. I’d say he’s a nerd, but he made it clear on the first day that he’s a geek, which is way cooler than a nerd. Everyone knows he’s gay, and not because he boasts about it - because he doesn’t. If it weren’t for a picture of him and his boyfriend together in Verona, I don’t know if you’d know.

It’s a great picture. Mr. Garnett is in Juliet’s balcony and his boyfriend is on the street staring up at him. He acts like every other male I know, except he’s much more fun because he loves to let us express ourselves about almost any topic. He isn’t ashamed of who he is, and I admire that. We are who we are - might as well accept it.

Today’s assignment asks us to pretend we are an inanimate object and describe what a day in its life would be like if it had feelings or a personality. I choose a tire, remembering how I accidently hit a pothole last week on the way home from school. My tire is extremely angry because his driver has no appreciation for the hardships he