Me, You, & The Party Rock Crew

“Yo, ya no voy a llorar hoy por ti.” – Shakira¹

Izzie flipped through the pages of her planner, scanning the notes she’d scribbled between lesson plans and faculty meetings. The day had been manageable. Surprisingly, this year’s 8th-grade class reminded her of her own from sixteen years ago–smart, but incredibly rowdy. She had braced for at least three disciplinary incidents, yet the silence lingering in her office told a different story. Her mind swirled with all that had and needed to be done for the day. The first year as a middle school principal was daunting and looking as young as she did, she couldn’t look like she could be intimidated. 

She reached for her can of coke, sighing as the carbonation fizzled in her throat just three more weeks until winter break…and three more weeks until she flew home to Chicago.

Maisie’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Okay, don’t freak out.”  

Izzie glanced up, already wary. “That’s the worst way to start a conversation, but go on.” 

“Well…I just checked the RSVP website, just to be nosy and, I saw Simon’s name. Looks like he is going after all.” 

Her stomach twisted, the taste of arepa and coke suddenly unpleasant. Simon? No. That couldn’t be right. She had checked this morning. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, Simon’s sitting on the groom’s side, so I guess Martin extended that invite?” It made sense, with Martin and Simon growing closer over the years and all, but even then, the thought of it made her blood run cold. 

“Principal Wallace?” A voice snapped Izzie out of her thoughts.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I was just really distracted by that car logo out there, it looks like my high school alma mater back home in Chicago, Aspen Brook High,” she chuckled.

“No way! I went to Aspen Brook High! Class of 2014! What year did you graduate?”

Izzie studied the woman for a moment. No names were ringing bells, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. 

“Class of 2012. Wow, what a surprise! Escaping the cold, too?”

“You have no idea, Ms. Wallace,” the strawberry blonde laughed. “So, the Mighty 12. I knew were familiar. I was like surely that can’t be Isabella ‘the bullet’!”

Izzie felt a mix of pride and mild embarrassment settle in her chest. She hadn’t heard that nickname in ages. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Wow, class of 2014…Did you ever run into the Ross twins? Eddie and Dani?” 

“Oh my god, yes! They were, like, super popular. Did you know them?” 

“They’re my cousins, actually.” 

“No way! Oh my god, that makes so much sense because you were pretty much one of the most popular seniors I knew!” 

Izzie grinned, yet she still couldn’t put her finger on who this woman was just yet. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Izzie waved it off, though she could already sense the debate coming. “I just knew a lot of people and hopped around social circles.” 

“Trust me, you were popular!” 

Izzie had always been in denial about this. Sure, she knew a lot of names and mingled with different groups, but popular? Not in the way movies and TV defined it. She wasn’t supermodel-gorgeous, she had more summer flings than actual relationships that she could flaunt to the student body, and she wasn’t a mean girl. If anything, people knew her for her being bright, bubbly, and kind–not for ruling the school. 

“After all, you were one of the nicest popular girls at Aspen Brook!”

Izzie tuned back into the conversation just as recognition clicked. “Oh, don’t butter me up, Lizzie! They still call you Lizzie, right? Or is it Liz?” 

“Liz, Lizzie, both still work,” she grinned, looking pleased that Izzie remembered her. 

Admittedly, it took Lizzie a second. Two-Tone Liz–that was her nickname. Why, Izzie couldn’t recall. But what she did remember was that Liz had been one of the meanest sophomores in school–until her cousin Luci quite literally knocked her down a peg–well, it was more like a flight of stairs. Funny how Liz spoke so highly of her cousins now. Maybe time (or sheer starstruck excitement) had softened things. 

Thankfully, Liz seemed too caught up in nostalgia to notice Izzie had all but forgotten her existence. Meanwhile, the existential crisis of being 30 crept up on Izzie like a slow, dreadful wave. She was going to need a drink after this. 

“That being said,” Liz continued brightly, “I’d love to be part of the Winter Ball planning committee!”

Of course she would. 

“I could even have my husband cater! He’s a chef who’s worked closely with Gordon Ramsay, you know.” 

Haven’t they all at this point? Izzie thought, doing her best to keep her face neutral. 

“Let’s see what we can do,” she replied carefully diplomatic. “You know how middle schoolers are with food. Unless you mean desserts?” 

“Well,” Liz chuckled. “I suppose that’s true for most of these kiddos. I mean, of course not my Alexis. She’s all about perfectly curated bento boxes to her liking.” 

Right, Alexis. One of the most pretentious mean girls she had to deal with. Luckily, Alexis was an eighth grader now, meaning Izzie wouldn’t have to deal with her or Liz much longer. Hopefully.

Izzie forced a smile, then glanced at her watch like she had just remembered something urgent. “Liz, I hate to cut this short, but I just realized I have a meeting with the eighth-grade science teacher and her student teacher about the annual field trip to UCSD coming up in January. Rain check?

“Girl, that’s totes fine! We’ll catch up later! Warrior Pride!” Liz beamed, throwing up their old high school chant. 

“Yeah, Warrior Pride!” Izzie matched the enthusiasm with a bright smile, but the second she turned away, she exhaled sharply. She was going to scream into a pillow as soon as she got into her office. 

She used to care about this kind of thing, she really did. Back in freshman year, she had thrown herself into every homecoming event like it was the most important thing in the world.

---

Izzie’s phone rang just as she wrapped up her meeting with the school psychologist–Abuela. 

Oh, the irony. 

Abuela had a habit of calling while her grandchildren were at work, always chalking it up to not knowing the time zones, though, in reality, she was mostly just bored. Since losing Abuelo two years ago, and Mom seven years ago, things had been–well, upside down, to say the least. Sure, staying with Tia Victoria, who ran her imported Colombian goods next door (and happened to be the twins’ mom), helped, but Abuela still had bouts of loneliness. 

For once, though, her timing was impeccable. And, thankfully, no one was in danger–at least as far as Izzie knew. 

“Hola, Abuela!” Izzie smiled.

“Hola mija! I wanted to see how you were, are you eating well?” The standard abuela question. 

“Si senora. Three balanced meals!” Izzie lied through her teeth.

“Good, because un Clif bar y un Arizona no es almuerzo, es una pasa-boca²,” Abuela shot back seeing straight through the bullshit from 2,100 miles away.

Izzie winced. 

“Anyways! Te llamo con chisme!” Abuela’s favorite pastime, second to her intricate plastic canvas crafts, crocheting, and crocheted plastic bags made from shopping bags. 

“Eddie & Luci or…” Izzie guessed.

“Simon!” She piped up excitedly.

Izzie’s heart dropped. She should have seen this coming. Simon was practically a second grandson to her, and Abuela loved checking in on him whenever she could–much to Izzie’s chagrin. 

Still, she humored her viejita. 

“Mhm?” Izzie hummed. 

“¡Se supone que el sí va a la boda de Hala y Martín!”³

“¿Pero por qué dijo que no en el sitio de las invitaciones?”⁴

“Fue un error y tuvo que llamar a Martín pa’ resolverlo.”⁵

“Ahh…por eso…⁶” Izzie trailed off, defeated.

Her brief sense of triumph vanished in an instant–painfully so. It had been four years since she last saw Simon, and now the past was coming back to haunt her. She needed to mentally prepare herself for the slight psychological torment that awaited her. 

“Yo sé, mija. Pero tienes que ponerle pilas para que él vea lo que se perdió.”⁷

“Abuela, te quiero muchísimo, porque él no me tuvo y nunca lo logrará decirme por cobardía.”⁸

Abuela let out a resigned sigh. There was no getting through to her stubborn granddaughter. But maybe–just maybe–Izzie was right. 

“Bueno, mija. Solo quería avisarte para que estés lista, ¿ok? Sé que estás ocupada con el trabajo, así que llámame después.”⁹

“Sí, señora. ¡Te quiero mucho!”

“Dios te bendiga, mija. ¡Te quiero!”

The moment the call ended, Izzie groaned, dropping her head onto her desk. 

“I’m so screwed.”

1. “I won’t cry over you.” ↩︎
2. Good because a Clif bar & an Arizona is not lunch, it’s an appetizer. ↩︎
3. It seems like he (Simon) is going to Hala & Martin’s wedding! ↩︎
4. But why didn’t he say so on the invitation website? ↩︎
5. There was an error on the website and he had to call Martin to resolve it. ↩︎
6. Oh…no wonder. ↩︎
7.  I know, hon, but you have to buck up and how him what he lost. 
   ↩︎
8. Abuela, I love you so very much, but he never had me and he’ll never tell me because he was a coward. ↩︎
9. Well…alright, I just wanted to tell you so you’re ready, okay? I know you’re busy with work, so call me later. ↩︎