Jaime Preciado and the Mighty Ding

The next morning, my phone was buzzing. Actually, it sounded like a billion hornets were going to attack my face. I leaped out of bed and nearly slammed my phone into the floor after I realized that I had accidentally slept with it on my face. How that happens, I just don’t know.

“DING!” I screeched out in surprise, fumbling for my phone. The contact name that appeared was Jaime. I squinted at it to make sure it was the right name and I wasn’t on hallucinogenic drugs. No, no, I was okay and not on drugs.

“Ding?” I asked sleepily. Checking the clock, I realized it was three in the morning. Who the freak wakes a freaking freak up at three in the freaking morning!?

“Ding, is that you?” He asked. My face paled as I opened my mouth to answer. Hey, I couldn’t speak and all he could hear was Ding.

WHY DID HE WANT TO CALL ME WITH THIS TORTURE!?

“Hey, so I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place tonight. We’re having a little gathering with the rest of the band and they wanted to meet you!” He laughed. I sprinted over to the opposite corner of my room to my open laptop.

This is why I don’t do phones!

I made a humming sound that sounded like a little pause while I quickly rebooted my computer. The screen flickered to life as I typed in google translate. Maybe, if I turned the voice up loud enough, it would sound okay.

“Um, Ding? You there?” His distant voice asked over the speaker. Searching my room, I spotted my trashcan.

So I chucked my phone into the basket. It hit the bottom with a thump.

It hit papers and crumpled for a moment and I thought it might hold him off as my fingers quickly pecked out sentences. When I was done, I wrinkled my nose in disgust and pulled a phone out of a Cheetos bag.

“DING?” Jaime asked, a little louder this time.

“I would love to come over to your house.” The robot female voice responded. I clicked the volume a few times. Setting the phone on speaker, I softly pecked out a few more messages.

“Oh, great! It’s from six to whenever Mike passes out. Vic usually has to drive him home after that. I’m thinking he’s not going to pass out this early if he wants to meet you. I saw the battery slowly failing on my laptop and mentally cursed myself out. Snatching my ipod, I searched for Google translate and pulled that up instead.

“Ha ha ha! That’s hilarious! Mike sounds funny. I can't wait to meet the others. Should I bring anything?” I quickly typed out. It was hard to keep up with Jaime’s rapid speech.

“Oh no, don’t worry about anything! We’ve got it all covered. Don’t let your mom worry about alcohol-Mike doesn’t share well with others.” Jaime started cracking up on the other end of the phone and I was hurrying to type my reply on my stupid little keyboard.

“Hahahahababababa!” It kind of sounded like Ha-ha-haba-ha-ba-ha-ba, like humbug, but more white girl in it. I facepalmed pretty quickly and slammed my forehead on my desk.

“Um, yeah…” Jaime trailed off.

“Stupid auto carrot!” I furiously typed. As soon as I pressed the speaker button, I regretted that.

“What?” The man was clearly confused on the other side.

“Sorry, I’m reading a friend’s sext!” I typed the lie and pressed speaker, closing my eyes and sighing.

“Sext? Um, what’s going on?”

“I’LL SEE YOU AT SEX!” I furiously pecked out. I started blushing really badly as my mom knocked and entered my room. What a horrible time for an autocorrect mistake!

“Woah…..” Jaime trailed off, starting to laugh. I slammed my palm into my forehead (again) and retyped it.

“Six! I meant six!” I shut off google translate and finally set my ipod down, clicking it off. The phone call ended with the bassist restraining his laughter and my mom just giving me funny looks.

“Ding.” I sighed and took out a piece of paper from my desk.

“So who was that boy?” She asked me. I held up my hands and started shaking in excitement, trying to tell her but unable to speak.

“DING! DING! DING!” I looked up Jaime Preciado’s name and showed my mom the picture. She took my Samsung from me and scrolled through, nodding occasionally and passing me smirks. I gritted my teeth, sucking in sharply. I hoped that she wouldn’t mind me going to Jaime’s place.

“Oh, he’s cute.” My mom winked to me. I grinned and scribbled out a note to her explaining what Jaime had called me about. Ever since dad left, she’s been pretty easy going on who I hang out with. I figured that if she thought he’s pretty cute, then I might get a little leeway and be allowed over.

“Going to his house?” She asked me. I nodded happily, clapping my hands in excitement. Glancing again at a particular picture of Jaime stuffing his face with a burrito, she raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not a rapist, is he?”

“Ding.” I shook my head, as if I could say no. To normal people, it sounded a lot like, Ding! You’re correct!

“And he’s not like Uncle Al and his butter knife?” She asked again. Yeah, the guy who threatened me with butter on his butter knife was my Uncle Al. Always drunk, always lazy, always Uncle Al.

“Ding.” I reaffirmed. She looked to me again. I looked to her. She looked to me again. I looked to her (again).

“Does he want me to make brownies? I can make brownies.” She said. I jumped up and hugged her. She smiled, blue eyes radiating.

“No, he said that I don’t need to bring anything.” I was shaking in joy.

“Are you sure? I make a mean brownie.” She winked.

“Mean as in they-break-your-teeth-mean.” I scrawled out. She took the pencil out of my hand and whacked me on the head with it.

“Ding!” I protested. Laughing, my mom went out of my room. I rubbed the sore spot on my head and got up. My phone was dead silent, like that gross smelling piano in the Echo Chamber. I glanced at it expectantly, as if Jaime would suddenly call me again.

After saying I would see him at sex, I’m sure he didn’t want me to come down anymore. To clear my head of these thoughts, I grabbed my headphones and my ipod. Should I have been taking a shower and preparing for my meeting with Jaime-freaking-Preciado in eight hours? Maybe. Instead, I decided to get all sweaty and gross.

Going out the door at nine thirty in the morning, I pulled at the sleeves of my green top nervously. I was still grinning like a fool as some PTV turned on. What a great song selection for today.

As I ran up my street towards the path in the back woods I usually jogged, I saw Uncle Al wandering around in his front lawn. He was probably still drunk. Books were scattered on his front lawn. I wandered as his back was turned to me and picked up Harry Potter. I think that Uncle Al had thought Harry was attacking him again (It hadn’t been the first time it had happened) and chucked the books out of his open second story window.

“THERE YOU ARE, HERMIONIE! DIRTY MUDBLOOD!” Uncle Al screeched. I looked up. He was glaring at me with a drunken glare. He held a butter knife with the butter still on it. Uncle Al charged me with a wobbly gate.

I dropped the book and ran away faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo.

Notes