LAURIE HALSE ANDERSON

SPEAK

Farrar Straus Giroux

New York
I would like to offer my deepest thanks to all the people who read drafts of
this story and encouraged me to keep going: the Bucks County Children’s
Writers Group, Marnie Brooks, Hillary Homzie, Joanne Puglia, Stephanie
Anderson, Meredith Anderson, and Elizabeth Mikesell, a talented and
compassionate editor. Thank you, thank you.

Copyright © 1999 by Laurie Halse Anderson

All rights reserved

www.fsgkidsbooks.com

Designed by: Josephine May P. Pitos

eISBN 9781429997041
First eBook Edition : April 2011

First edition, 1999

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Anderson, Laurie Halse.
Speak / Laurie Halse Anderson.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: A traumatic event near the end of the summer has a
devastating effect on Melinda’s freshman year in high school.
ISBN: 978-0-374-37152-4
[1. High schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Emotional
problems— Fiction. 4. Rape—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.A54385Sp 1999
[Fic]—dc21 98-31933
 FIRST MARKING PERIOD High—Home of the Trojans" didn't send
a strong abstinence message, so they
have transformed us into the Blue
WELCOME TO MERRY Devils. Better the Devil you know than
WEATHER HIGH the Trojan you don't, I guess. School
colors will stay purple and gray. The
It is my first morning of high school. I board didn't want to spring for new
have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, uniforms.
and a stomachache.
Older students are allowed to roam until
The school bus wheezes to my corner. the bell, but ninth graders are herded into
The door opens and I step up. I am the the auditorium. We fall into clans: Jocks,
first pickup of the day. The driver pulls Country Clubbers, Idiot Savants,
away from the curb while I stand in the Cheerleaders, Human Waste, Eurotrash,
aisle. Where to sit? I've never been a Future Fascists of America, Big Hair
backseat waste ease. If I sit in the Chix, the Marthas, Suffering Artists,
middle, a stranger could sit next to me. If Thespians, Goths, Shredders. I am
I sit in the front, it will make me look clanless. I wasted the last weeks of
like a little kid, but I figure it's the best August watching bad cartoons. I didn't
chance I have to make eye contact with go to the mall, the lake, or the pool, or
one of my friends, if any of them have answer the phone. I have entered high
decided to talk to me yet. school with the wrong hair, the wrong
The bus picks up students in groups of clothes, the wrong attitude. And I don't
four or five. As they walk down the have anyone to sit with.
aisle, people who were my middle- I am Outcast.
school lab partners or gym buddies glare
at me. I close my eyes. This is what I've There is no point looking for my ex-
been dreading. As we leave the last stop, friends. Our clan, the Plain Janes, has
I am the only person sitting alone. splintered and the pieces are being
absorbed by rival factions. Nicole
The driver downshifts to drag us over lounges with the Jocks, comparing scars
the hills. The engine clanks, which from summer league sports. Ivy floats
makes the guys in the back holler between the Suffering Artists on one
something obscene. Someone is wearing side of the aisle and the Thespians on the
too much cologne. I try to open my other. She has enough personality to
window, but the little latches won't travel with two packs. Jessica has moved
move. A guy behind me unwraps his to Nevada. No real loss. She was mostly
breakfast and shoots the wrapper at the Ivy's friend, anyway.
back of my head. It bounces into my lap
—a Ho-Ho. The kids behind me laugh so loud I
know they're laughing about me. I can't
We pass janitors painting over the sign help myself. I turn around. It's Rachel,
in front of the high school. The school surrounded by a bunch of kids wearing
board has decided that "Merryweather clothes that most definitely did not come

1
from the EastSide Mall. Rachel Bruin, 2. You will have enough time to get to
my ex-best friend. She stares at your class before the bell rings.
something above my left ear. Words 3. The dress code will be enforced.
climb up my throat. This was the girl
who suffered through Brownies with me, 4. No smoking is allowed on school
who taught me how to swim, who grounds.
understood about my parents, who didn't 5. Our football team will win the
make fun of my bedroom. If there is championship this year.
anyone in the entire galaxy I am dying to
tell what really happened, it's Rachel. 6. We expect more of you here.
My throat burns. 7. Guidance counselors are always
available to listen.
Her eyes meet mine for a second. "I hate
you," she mouths silently. She turns her 8. Your schedule was created with your
back to me and laughs with her friends. I needs in mind.
bite my lip. I am not going to think about 9. Your locker combination is private.
it. It was ugly, but it's over, and I'm not
going to think about it. My lip bleeds a 10. These will be the years you look
little. It tastes like metal. I need to sit back on fondly.
down. My first class is biology. I can't find it
I stand in the center aisle of the and get my first demerit for wandering
auditorium, a wounded zebra in a the hall. It is 8:50 in the morning. Only
National Geographic special, looking for 699 days and 7 class periods until
someone, anyone, to sit next to. A graduation.
predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut,
whistle around a neck thicker than his
head. Probably a social studies teacher, OUR TEACHERS ARE THE
hired to coach a blood sport. BEST . . .

Mr. Neck: "Sit." My English teacher has no face. She has

uncombed stringy hair that droops on her
I grab a seat. Another wounded zebra shoulders. The hair is black from her
turns and smiles at me. She's packing at part to her ears and then neon orange to
least five grand worth of orthodontia, but the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had
has great shoes. "I'm Heather from pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing
Ohio," she says. "I'm new here. Are into a monarch butterfly. I call her
you?" I don't have time to answer. The Hairwoman.
lights dim and the indoctrination begins.
Hairwoman wastes twenty minutes
taking attendance because she won't look
THE FIRST TEN LIES THEY TELL at us. She keeps her head bent over her
YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL desk so the hair flops in front of her face.
She spends the rest of class writing on
1. We are here to help you.
the board and speaking to the flag about

2
our required reading. She wants us to will be. Brown bags—humble testament
write in our class journals every day, but to suburbia, or terminal geek gear?
promises not to read them. I write about Insulated lunch bags—hip way to save
how weird she is. the planet, or sign of an overinvolved
mother? Buying is the only solution.
We have journals in social studies, too.
And it gives me time to scan the
The school must have gotten a good
cafeteria for a friendly face or an
price on journals. We are studying
inconspicuous corner.
American history for the ninth time in
nine years. Another review of map skills, The hot lunch is turkey with
one week of Native Americans, reconstituted dried mashed potatoes and
Christopher Columbus in time for gravy, a damp green vegetable, and a
Columbus Day, the Pilgrims in time for cookie. I'm not sure how to order
Thanksgiving. Every year they say we're anything else, so I just slide my tray
going to get right up to the present, but along and let the lunch drones fill it.
we always get stuck in the Industrial This eight-foot senior in front of me
Revolution. We got to World War I in somehow gets three cheeseburgers,
seventh grade— who knew there had French fries, and two Ho-Hos without
been a war with the whole world? We saying a word. Some sort of Morse code
need more holidays to keep the social with his eyes, maybe. Must study this
studies teachers on track. further. I follow the Basketball Pole into
the cafeteria.
My social studies teacher is Mr. Neck,
the same guy who growled at me to sit I see a few friends—people I used to
down in the auditorium. He remembers think were my friends—but they look
me fondly. "I got my eye on you. Front away. Think fast, think fast. There's that
row." new girl, Heather, reading by the
window. I could sit across from her. Or I
Nice seeing you again, too. I bet he
could crawl behind a trash can. Or
suffers from post-traumatic stress
maybe I could dump my lunch straight
disorder. Vietnam or Iraq—one of those
into the trash and keep moving right on
TV wars.
out the door.
The Basketball Pole waves to a table of
SPOTLIGHT friends. Of course. The basketball team.
They all swear at him—a bizarre
I find my locker after social studies. The greeting practiced by athletic boys with
lock sticks a little, but I open it. I dive zits. He smiles and throws a Ho-Ho. I try
into the stream of fourth-period lunch to scoot around him.
students and swim down the hall to the
cafeteria. Thwap! A lump of potatoes and gravy
hits me square in the center of my chest.
I know enough not to bring lunch on the All conversation stops as the entire
first day of high school. There is no way lunchroom gawks, my face burning into
of telling what the acceptable fashion their retinas. I will be forever known as

3
"that girl who got nailed by potatoes the end of the building and has long, south-
first day." The Basketball Pole facing windows. The sun doesn't shine
apologizes and says something else, but much in Syracuse, so the art room is
four hundred people explode in laughter designed to get every bit of light it can.
and I can't read lips. I ditch my tray and It is dusty in a clean-dirt kind of way.
bolt for the door. The floor is layered with dry splotches
of paint, the walls plastered with
I motor so fast out of the lunchroom the
sketches of tormented teenagers and fat
track coach would draft me for varsity if
puppies, the shelves crowded with clay
he were around. But no, Mr. Neck has
pots. A radio plays my favorite station.
cafeteria duty. And Mr. Neck has no use
for girls who can run the one hundred in Mr. Freeman is ugly. Big old
under ten seconds, unless they're willing grasshopper body, like a stiltwalking
to do it while holding on to a football. circus guy. Nose like a credit card sunk
between his eyes. But he smiles at us as
Mr. Neck: "We meet again."
we file into class.
Me: Would he listen to "I need to go
He is hunched over a spinning pot, his
home and change," or "Did you see what
hands muddy red. "Welcome to the only
that bozo did"? Not a chance. I keep my
class that will teach you how to survive,"
mouth shut.
he says. "Welcome to Art."
Mr. Neck: "Where do you think you're
I sit at a table close to his desk. Ivy is in
going?"
this class. She sits by the door. I keep
Me: It is easier not to say anything. Shut staring at her, trying to make her look at
your trap, button your lip, can it. All that me. That happens in movies—people
crap you hear on TV about can feel it when other people stare at
communication and expressing feelings them and they just have to turn around
is a lie. Nobody really wants to hear and say something. Either Ivy has a great
what you have to say. force field, or my laser vision isn't very
strong. She won't look back at me. I
Mr. Neck makes a note in his book. "I wish I could sit with her. She knows art.
knew you were trouble the first time I
saw you. I've taught here for twenty-four Mr. Freeman turns off the wheel and
years and I can tell what's going on in a grabs a piece of chalk without washing
kid's head just by looking in their eyes. his hands. "SOUL," he writes on the
No more warnings. You just earned a board. The clay streaks the word like
demerit for wandering the halls without dried blood. "This is where you can find
a pass." your soul, if you dare. Where you can
touch that part of you that you've never
dared look at before. Do not come here
SANCTUARY and ask me to show you how to draw a
face. Ask me to help you find the wind."
Art follows lunch, like dream follows
nightmare. The classroom is at the far

4
I sneak a peek behind me. The eyebrow used to express such powerful visions—
telegraph is flashing fast. This guy is you could paint a picture of it with
weird. He must see it, he must know people fleeing from the hole, with a wet-
what we are thinking. He keeps on muzzled dog chewing Alaska—the
talking. He says we will graduate opportunities are endless. It's almost too
knowing how to read and write because much, but you are important enough to
we'll spend a million hours learning how give it to."
to read and write. (I could argue that
Huh?
point.)
"You will each pick a piece of paper out
Mr. Freeman: "Why not spend that time
of the globe." He walks around the room
on art: painting, sculpting, charcoal,
so we can pull red scraps from the center
pastel, oils? Are words or numbers more
of the earth. "On the paper you will find
important than images? Who decided
one word, the name of an object. I hope
this? Does algebra move you to tears?"
you like it. You will spend the rest of the
(Hands raise, thinking he wants
year learning how to turn that object into
answers.) "Can the plural possessive
a piece of art. You will sculpt it. You
express the feelings in your heart? If you
will sketch it, papier-mache it, carve it.
don't learn art now, you will never learn
If the computer teacher is talking to me
to breathe!!!"
this year, you can use the lab for
There is more. For someone who computer-aided designs. But there's a
questions the value of words, he sure catch—by the end of the year, you must
uses a lot of them. I tune out for a while figure out how to make your object say
and come back when he holds up a huge something, express an emotion, speak to
globe that is missing half of the Northern every person who looks at it."
Hemisphere. "Can anyone tell me what
Some people groan. My stomach
this is?" he asks. "A globe?" ventures a
flutters. Can he really let us do this? It
voice in the back. Mr. Freeman rolls his
sounds like too much fun. He stops at
eyes. "Was it an expensive sculpture that
my table. I plunge my hand into the
some kid dropped and he had to pay for
bottom of the globe and fish out my
it out of his own money or they didn't let
paper. "Tree." Tree? It's too easy. I
him graduate?" asks another.
learned how to draw a tree in second
Mr. Freeman sighs. "No imagination. grade. I reach in for another piece of
What are you, thirteen? Fourteen? paper. Mr. Freeman shakes his head.
You've already let them beat your "Ah-ah-ah," he says. "You just chose
creativity out of you! This is an old your destiny, you can't change that."
globe I used to let my daughters kick
He pulls a bucket of clay from under the
around my studio when it was too wet to
pottery wheel, breaks off fist-sized balls,
play outside. One day Jenny put her foot
and tosses one to each of us. Then he
right through Texas, and the United
turns up the radio and laughs. "Welcome
States crumbled into the sea. And voila
to the journey."
—an idea! This broken ball could be

5
 ESPAÑOL HOME. WORK.
My Spanish teacher is going to try to get I make it through the first two weeks of
through the entire year without speaking school without a nuclear meltdown.
English to us. This is both amusing and Heather from Ohio sits with me at lunch
useful—makes it much easier to ignore and calls to talk about English
her. She communicates through homework. She can talk for hours. All I
exaggerated gestures and playacting. It's have to do is prop the phone against my
like taking a class in charades. She says ear and "uhhuh" occasionally while I
a sentence in Spanish and puts the back surf the cable. Rachel and every other
of her hand to her forehead. "You have a person I've known for nine years
fever!" someone from class calls out. continue to ignore me. I'm getting
She shakes her head no, and repeats the bumped a lot in the halls. A few times
gesture. "You feel faint!" No. She goes my books were accidentally ripped from
out to the hall, then bursts through the my arms and pitched to the floor. I try
door, looking busy and distracted. She not to dwell on it. It has to go away
turns to us, acts surprised to see us, then eventually.
does the bit with the back of the hand to
At first, Mom was pretty good about
the forehead. "You're lost!" "You're
preparing dinners in the morning and
angry!" "You're in the wrong school!"
sticking them in the fridge, but I knew it
"You're in the wrong country!" "You're
would end. I come home to a note that
on the wrong planet!"
says, "Pizza. 555-4892. Small tip this
She tries one more time and smacks time." Clipped to the note is a twenty-
herself so hard on the forehead she dollar bill. My family has a good system.
staggers a bit. Her forehead is as pink as We communicate with notes on the
her lipstick. The guesses continue. "You kitchen counter. I write when I need
can't believe how many kids are in this school supplies or a ride to the mall.
class!" "You forgot how to speak They write what time they'll be home
Spanish!" "You have a migraine!" from work and if I should thaw anything.
"You're going to have a migraine if we What else is there to say?
don't figure it out!"
Mom is having staff problems again. My
In desperation, she writes a sentence in mother manages Effert's, a clothing store
Spanish on the board: Me sorprende downtown. Her boss offered her the
queestoy tan cansada hoy. No one knows branch at the mall, but she didn't want it.
what it says. We don't understand I think she likes watching the reaction
Spanish—that's why we're here. Finally, when she says she works in the city.
some brain gets out the Spanish-English "Aren't you afraid?" people ask. "I
dictionary. We spend the rest of the would never work there in a million
period trying to translate the sentence. years." Mom loves doing the things that
When the bell rings, we have gotten as other people are afraid of. She could
far as "To exhaust the day to surprise." have been a snake handler.

6
But the downtown location makes it hard things that were really mine were my
to find people to work for her. Daily stuffed-rabbit collection from when I
shoplifters, bums peeing on the front was a little kid and my canopy bed. No
door, and the occasional armed robbery matter how much Nicole teased me, I
discourage job seekers. Go figure. We wouldn't take the canopy down. I'm
are now two weeks into September and thinking about changing the rose
she's already thinking Christmas. She wallpaper, but then Mom would get
has plastic snowflakes and redfelt- involved and Dad would measure the
wearing Santas on the brain. If she can't walls and they would argue about paint
find enough employees for September, color. I don't know what I want it to look
she'll be in deep doo-doo when the like, anyway.
holiday season hits.
Homework is not an option. My bed is
I order my dinner at 3:10 and eat it on sending out serious nap rays. I can't help
the white couch. I don't know which myself. The fluffy pillows and warm
parent was having seizures when they comforter are more powerful than I am. I
bought that couch. The trick to eating on have no choice but to snuggle under the
it is to turn the messy side of the covers.
cushions up. The couch has two
I hear Dad turn on the television. Clink,
personalities: "Melinda inhaling
clink, clink—he drops ice cubes in a
pepperoni and mushroom" and "No one
heavy-bottomed glass and pours in some
ever eats in the family room, no ma'am."
booze. He opens the microwave—for the
I chow and watch TV until I hear Dad's
pizza, I guess— slams it closed, then
Jeep in the driveway. Flip, flip, flip—
beep-beeps the timer. I turn on my radio
cushions reversed to show their pretty
so he'll know I'm home. I won't take a
white cheeks, then bolt upstairs. By the
real nap. I have this halfway place, a rest
time Dad unlocks the door, everything
stop on the road to sleep, where I can
looks the way he wants to see it, and I
stay for hours. I don't even need to close
have vanished.
my eyes, just stay safe under the covers
My room belongs to an alien. It is a and breathe.
postcard of who I was in fifth grade. I
Dad turns up the volume on the TV. The
went through a demented phase when I
news-team anchor dude bellows, "Five
thought that roses should cover
dead in house fire! Young girl attacked!
everything and pink was a great color. It
Teens suspected in gas station holdup!" I
was all Rachel's fault. She begged her
nibble on a scab on my lower lip. Dad
mom to let her do her room over, so we
hops from channel to channel, watching
all ended up with new rooms. Nicole
the same stories play over and over.
refused to put the stupid little skirt
around her nightstand and Ivy had gone I watch myself in the mirror across the
way over the top, as usual. Jessica did room. Ugh. My hair is completely
hers in a desert 'n' cowdudes theme. My hidden under the comforter. I look for
room was stuck in the middle, a bit the shapes in my face. Could I put a face
stolen from everyone else. The only in my tree, like a dryad from Greek

7
mythology? Two muddy-circle eyes My gym locker is closest to the door,
under black-dash eyebrows, piggy-nose which means I have to change my
nostrils, and a chewed-up horror of a clothes in a bathroom stall. Heather from
mouth. Definitely not a dryad face. I Ohio has the locker next to mine. She
can't stop biting my lips. It looks like my wears her gym clothes under her regular
mouth belongs to someone else, clothes. After gym she changes out of
someone I don't even know. her shorts but always leaves an
undershirt on. It makes me worry about
I get out of bed and take down the
the girls in Ohio. Do they all have to
mirror. I put it in the back of my closet,
wear undershirts?
facing the wall.
The only other girl I know in gym is
OUR FEARLESS LEADER
Nicole. In our old clan, we had never
I'm hiding in the bathroom, waiting for been very close. She almost said
the coast to clear. I peek out the door. something to me when school started,
Principal Principal spots another errant but instead looked down and retied her
student in the hall. Nikes. Nicole has a full-length locker in
a discreet, fresh-smelling alcove because
Principal Principal: "Where's your late she's on the soccer team. She doesn't
pass, mister?" mind changing her clothes in public. She
Errant Student: "I'm on my way to get even changes bras, wearing one sports
one now." bra to regular class and another to gym
class. Never blushes or turns around to
PP: "But you can't be in the hall without hide herself, just changes her clothes.
a pass." Must be a jock thing. If you're that
ES: "I know, I'm so upset. That's why I strong, you don't care if people make
need to hurry, so I can get a pass." comments about your boobs or rear end.

Principal Principal pauses with a look on It's late September and we're starting our
his face like Daffy field hockey unit. Field hockey is a mud
sport, played only on wet, cloudy days
Duck's when Bugs is pulling a fast one. when it feels like snow. Who dreamed
PP: "Well, hurry up, then, and get that up this one? Nicole is unstoppable at
pass." field hockey. She motors downfield so
fast she creates a wake of flowing mud
Errant Student races down hall, waving that washes over anyone who gets in her
and smiling. Principal walks the other way. She does something with her wrist,
way, replaying the conversation in his then the ball is in the goal. She smiles
mind, trying to figure out what went and jogs back to the center circle.
wrong. I ponder this and laugh.
Nicole can do anything that involves a
ball and a whistle. Basketball, softball,
FIZZ ED lacrosse, football, soccer, rugby.
Anything. And she makes it look easy.
Gym should be illegal. It is humiliating.
8
Boys watch her to learn how to play doesn't shave under her arms. She waves
better. It doesn't hurt that she's cute. She her hand in the air and you find yourself
chipped her tooth this past summer at thinking of young chimpanzees.
some kind of jock camp. Makes her look
I can't believe she was my best friend.
even cuter.
I'm in the bathroom trying to put my
The gym teachers have a special place in
right contact lens back in. She's
their hearts for Nicole. She shows
smudging mascara under her eyes to
Potential. They look at her and see future
look exhausted and wan. I think about
State Championships. Pay raises. One
running out so she can't pull the evil eye
day she scored 35 goals before my team
on me again, but Hairwoman, my
threatened to walk off the field. The gym
English teacher, is patrolling the hall and
teacher made her the referee. Not only
I forgot to go to her class.
did my team lose, but four girls went to
the nurse with injuries. Nicole doesn't Me: "Hi."
believe in the concept of fouling. She
comes from the "play till death or Rachelle: "Mmm."
maiming" school of athletics. Now what? I'm going to be completely,
It weren't for her attitude, it would be totally cool, like nothing has happened.
easier to deal with all this. The crappy Think ice. Think snow.
locker I have, Heather geeking around Me: “How's it going?" I try to put in my
me like a moth, cold mornings in the contact, and poke myself in the eye.
mud watching Nicole, Warrior Princess,
Very cool.
listening to the coaches praise her—I
could just accept it and move on. But Rachelle: "Eehn." She gets mascara in
Nicole is so friendly. She even talks to her eye and rubs it, smearing mascara
Heather from Ohio. She told Heather across her face.
where to buy a mouth guard so her
braces wouldn't cut up her lips if she got I don't want to be cool. I want to grab
I in with a ball. Heather now wants to her by the neck and shake her and
buy a sports bra. Nicole is just not a scream at her to stop treating me like
bitch. It would be so much easier to hate dirt. She didn't even bother to find out
her if she were. the truth—what kind of friend is that?
My contact folds in half under my
eyelid. Tears well in my right eye.
FRIENDS
Me: "Ouch."
Rachel is with me in the bathroom. Edit
that. Rachelle is with me in the Rachelle: [Snorts. Stands back from
bathroom. She has changed her name. mirror, turns head from
Rachelle is reclaiming her European
side to side to admire the black mess that
heritage by hanging out with the foreign-
looks like goose poop across her
exchange students. After five weeks in
cheekbones] "Pas mal."
school, she can swear in French. She
wears black stockings with runs and

9
She puts a candy cigarette between her has a Plan. She wants us to join five
lips. Rachelle wants desperately to clubs, one for every day of the week.
smoke, but she has asthma. She has The tricky part is choosing the clubs that
started a new Thing, unheard of in a have the Right People. Latin Club is out
ninth-grader. Candy cigarettes. The of the question, as is Bowling. Heather
exchange students love it. Next thing actually likes bowling—it was a big
you know, she'll be drinking black thing in her old school—but she has seen
coffee and reading books without our bowling lanes and she could tell that
pictures. no Right Person would set foot in there.
An exchange student flushes and comes When we get to Heather's house, her
out of the stall. This one looks like a mother meets us at the door. She wants
supermodel with a name like Greta or to hear all about our day, how long I've
Ingrid. lived in town, and asks little sideways
questions about my parents, so she can
Is America the only country with dumpy
figure out if I'm the kind of friend she
teenagers? She says something foreign
wants for her daughter. I don't mind. I
and Rachelle laughs. Right, like she
think it's nice that she cares.
understood
We can't go in Heather's room because
Me:
the decorators aren't finished. Armed
Rachelle blows a candy cigarette smoke with a bowl of orange popcorn and diet
ring at my face. Blows me off. I have sodas, we retreat to the basement. The
been dropped like a hot Pop Tart on a decorators finished that first. You can
cold kitchen floor. Rachelle and Greta- hardly tell it's a basement. It's covered in
Ingrid glide out of the bathroom. Neither carpeting nicer than we have in our
one of them has toilet paper stuck to her living room. A monster TV glows in a
boots. corner, and there's a pool table and
exercise equipment. It doesn't even smell
Where is the justice? like a basement.
I need a new friend. I need a friend, Heather hops on the treadmill and
period. Not a true friend, nothing close resumes scheming. She isn't finished
or share clothes or sleepover giggle with her survey of Merryweather's social
giggle yak yak. Just a pseudo-friend, scene, but she thinks the International
disposable friend. Friend as accessory. Club and the Select Chorus will be a
Just so I don't feel and look so stupid. good place to start. Maybe we can try
My journal entry for the day: "Exchange out for the musical. I turn on the
students are ruining our country." television and eat her popcorn.
Heather: "What should we do? What do
you want to join? Maybe we should tutor
HEATHERING at the elementary school." She increases
As we ride home on Heather's bus, she the speed of the treadmill. "What about
tries to bully me into joining a club. She your friends from last year? Don't you

10
know Nicole? But she does all those My goal is to go home and take a nap.
sports, doesn't she? I could never do
sports. I fall down too easy. What do you
want to do?" BURROW
Me: "Nothing. The clubs are stupid. Yesterday Hairwoman yanked me from
Want some popcorn?" study hall and forced me to make up my
"missing" homework in her room. (She
She edges up the treadmill speed and
made fluttering noises of concern and
breaks into a sprint. The treadmill is so
mentioned a meeting with my parents.
loud I can hardly hear the television.
Not good.) Nobody bothered to tell me
Heather wags her finger at me. Hanging
that study hall was being held in the
back is a common mistake most ninth-
library today. By the time I find it, the
graders make, she says. I shouldn't be
period is almost over. I'm dead. I try to
intimidated. I have to get involved,
explain to the librarian, but I keep
become a part of the school. That's what
stuttering and nothing comes out right.
all the popular people do. She turns
down the treadmill and wipes her brow Librarian: "Calm down, calm down. It's
with a thick towel that hangs off the side OK. Don't get upset. You are Melinda
of the machine. After a few minutes of Sordino, right? Don't worry. I'll mark
cooling down, she hops off. "A hundred you present. Let me show you how it
calories," she crows. "Want to try?" works. If you think you're going to be
late, just ask a teacher for a late pass.
I shudder and hold out the popcorn bowl
See? No need for tears."
to her. She reaches right past me and
takes a pen topped with a Merryweather She holds up a small green pad—my
Purple ball of fluff off the coffee table. get-out-of-jail-free cards. I smile and try
"We must make plans," she says to choke out a "thank you," but can't say
solemnly. She draws four boxes, one for anything. She thinks I'm overcome with
each marking period, then writes emotion because she didn't bust me.
"GOALS" in each box. "We won't get Close enough. There's not enough time
anywhere without knowing our goals. for a nap, so I check out a stack of books
Everyone always says that and it is so to make the librarian happy. I might
true." She opens her soda. "What are even read one.
your goals, Mel?"
I don't come up with my brilliant idea
I used to be like Heather. Have I right then and there. It is born when Mr.
changed that much in two months? She Neck tracks me through the cafeteria,
is happy, driven, aerobically fit. She has demanding my "Twenty Ways the
a nice mom and an awesome television. Iroquois Survived in the Forest"
But she's like a dog that keeps jumping homework. I pretend that I don't see him.
into your lap. She always walks with me I cut through the lunch line, loop around
down the halls chattering a million miles a couple making out by the door, and
a minute. start down a hall. Mr. Neck stops to

11
break up the PDA. I head for the Seniors' smuggle in a blanket and some
Wing. potpourri, too.
I am in foreign territory where No My plan is to walk toward the
Freshman Ffas Gone Before. I don't have auditorium with the rest of the crowd,
time to worry about the looks I'm then duck in a bathroom until the coast is
getting. I can hear Mr. Neck. I turn a clear. I would have made it past the
corner, open a door, and step into teachers with no problem, but I forgot to
darkness. I hold the doorknob, but Mr. factor in Heather. Just as the Escape
Neck doesn't touch it. I hear his Bathroom comes into sight, Heather
footsteps lumber down the hall. I feel the calls my name, runs up, and grabs my
wall next to the door until I find a light arm. She is bursting with Merryweather
switch. I haven't stumbled into a Pride, all perk and pep and purple. And
classroom; it is an old janitor's closet she assumes I am just as happy and
that smells like sour sponges. excited as she is. We troop down for the
brainwashing and she can't stop talking.
The back wall has built-in shelves filled
with dusty textbooks and a few bottles of Heather: "This is so exciting—a pep
bleach. A stained armchair and an rally!! I made extra pompoms. Here,
oldfashioned desk peek from behind a have one. We'll look great during the
collection of mops and brooms. A Wave. I bet the freshman class has the
cracked mirror tilts over a sink littered most spirit, don't you? I've always
with dead roaches crocheted together wanted to go to a pep rally. Can you
with cobwebs. The taps are so rusted imagine what it must be like to be on the
they don't turn. No janitor has chilled in football team and have the whole school
this closet for a very long time. They supporting you? That is so powerful. Do
have a new lounge and supply room by you think they'll win tonight? They will,
the loading dock. All the girls avoid it I just know they will. It's been a hard
because of the way they stare and season so far, but we'll get them going,
whistle softly when we walk by. This won't we, Mel?"
closet is abandoned—it has no purpose,
Her enthusiasm makes me itch, but
no name. It is the perfect place for me.
sarcasm would go right over her head. It
I steal a pad of late passes from won't kill me to go to the rally. I have
Hairwoman's desk. I feel much, much someone to sit with—that counts as a
better. step up on the ladder of social
acceptability. How bad could a rally be?
I want to stand by the doors, but Heather
DEVILS DESTROY
drags me up into the freshman section of
Not only is the Homecoming pep rally the bleachers. "I know these guys," she
going to spring me from algebra, it will says. "They work with me on the
be a great time to clean up my closet. I newspaper."
brought some sponges from home. No
The newspaper? We have a newspaper?
need to goof off in filth. I want to

12
She introduces me to a bunch of pale, looks like she'll defend me. No, no, she
zitty faces. I vaguely recognize a couple; won't. It might interfere with her Plan. I
the rest must have gone to the other close my eyes. Breathe breathe breathe.
middle school. I curve up the corners of Don't say anything. Breathe.
my mouth without biting my lips. A
The cheerleaders cartwheel into the gym
small step. Heather beams and hands me
and bellow. The crowd stomps the
a pom-pom.
bleachers and roars back. I put my head
I relax an eensy bit. The girl behind me in my hands and scream to let out the
taps me on the shoulder with her long animal noise and some of that night. No
black nails. She had heard Heather one hears. They are all quite spirited.
introduce me. "Sordino?" she asks.
The band staggers through a song and
"You're Melinda Sordino?"
the cheerleaders bounce. The Blue Devil
I turn around. She blows a black bubble mascot earns a standing ovation by back-
and sucks it back into her mouth. I nod. flipping right into the principal. Principal
Heather waves to a sophomore she Principal smiles and awshucks us. It has
knows across the gym. The girl pokes only been six weeks since the beginning
me harder. "Aren't you the one who of school. He still has a sense of humor.
called the cops at Kyle Rodgers's party
Finally, our own Devils hulk into the
at the end of the summer?"
gym. The same boys who got detention
A block of ice freezes our section of the in elementary school for beating the crap
bleachers. Heads snap in my direction out of people are now rewarded for it.
with the sound of a hundred paparazzi They call it football.
cameras. I can't feel my fingers. I shake
The coach introduces the team. I can't
my head. Another girl chimes in. "My
tell them apart. Coach Disaster holds the
brother got arrested at that party. He got
microphone too close to his lips, so all
fired because of the arrest. I can't believe
we hear is the sound of his spitting and
you did that. Asshole."
breathing.
You don't understand, my headvoice
The girl behind me jams her knees into
answers. Too bad she can't hear it. My
my back. They are as sharp as her
throat squeezes shut, as if two hands of
fingernails. I inch forward in my seat
black fingernails are clamped on my
and stare intently at the team. The girl
windpipe. I have worked so hard to
with the arrested brother leans forward.
forget every second of that stupid party,
As Heather shakes her pom-poms, the
and here I am in the middle of a hostile
girl yanks my hair. I almost climb up the
crowd that hates me for what I had to do.
back of the kid in front of me. He turns
I can't tell them what really happened. I
and gives me a dirty look.
can't even look at that part myself. An
animal noise rustles in my stomach. The coach finally hands the wet
microphone back to the principal, who
Heather moves to pat my pom-pom, but
introduces us to our very own
pulls her hand back. For a minute she
cheerleaders. They slide into

13
synchronized splits and the crowd goes models—the Girls Who Have It All. I
nuts. Our cheerleaders are much better at bet none of them ever stutter or screw up
scoring than the football team is. or feel like their brains are dissolving
into marshmallow fluff. They all have
beautiful lips, carefully outlined in red
CHEERLEADERS and polished to a shine.

There are twelve of them: Jennie, Jen, When the pep rally ends, I am
Jenna, Ashley, Aubrey, Amber, Colleen, accidentally knocked down three rows of
Kaitlin, Marcie, Donner, Blitzen, and bleachers. If I ever form my own clan,
Raven. Raven is the captain. Blondest of we'll be the Anti-Cheerleaders. We will
the blondes. not sit in the bleachers. We will wander
underneath them and commit mild acts
My parents didn't raise me to be of mayhem.
religious. The closest we come to
worship is the Trinity of Visa,
MasterCard, and American Express. I
THE OPPOSITE OF INSPIRATION
think the Merryweather cheerleaders
IS . . . EXPIRATION?
confuse me because I missed out on
Sunday School. It has to be a miracle. For a solid week, ever since the pep
There is no other explanation. How else rally, I've been painting watercolors of
could they sleep with the football team trees that have been hit by lightning. I
on Saturday night and be reincarnated as try to paint them so they are nearly dead,
virginal goddesses on Monday? It's as if but not totally. Mr. Freeman doesn't say
they operate in two realities a word to me about them. He just raises
simultaneously. In one universe, they are his eyebrows. One picture is so dark you
gorgeous, straight-teethed, long-legged, can barely see the tree at all.
wrapped in designer fashions, and given
We are all floundering. Ivy pulled
sports cars on their sixteenth birthdays.
"Clowns" as her assignment. She tells
Teachers smile at them and grade them
Mr. Freeman she hates clowns; a clown
on the curve. They know the first names
scared her when she was a little girl and
of the staff. They are the Pride of the
it put her into therapy. Mr. Freeman says
Trojans. Oops—I mean Pride of the Blue
fear is a great place to begin art. Another
Devils.
girl whines that "Brain" is just too gross
In Universe #2, they throw parties wild a subject for her. She wants "Kittens" or
enough to attract college students. They "Rainbows."
worship the stink of Eau de Jocque.
Mr. Freeman throws his hands in the air.
They rent beach houses in Canciin
"Enough! Please turn your attention to
during Spring Break and get group-rate
the bookshelves." We dutifully turn and
abortions before the prom.
stare. Books. This is art class. Why do
But they are so cute. And they cheer on we need books? "If you are stumped,
our boys, inciting them to violence and, you may take some time to study the
we hope, victory. These are our role masters." He pulls out an armful.

14
"Kahlo, Monet, O'Keeffe. Pollock, but Heather "really, really, really"
Picasso, Dali. They did not complain wanted me to come over. There's
about subject, they mined every subject nothing on television, anyway. Heather's
for the root of its meaning. Of course, mom acts very excited to see me. She
they didn't have a school board forcing makes us mugs of hot chocolate to take
them to paint with both hands tied upstairs and tries to convince Heather to
behind their backs, they had patrons who invite a whole group for a sleepover.
understood the need to pay for basic "Maybe Mellie could bring some of her
things such as paper and paint..." friends." I don't mention the possibility
that Rachel would slit my throat on her
We groan. He's off on the school-board
new carpet. I show my teeth like a good
thing again. The school board has cut his
girl. Her mother pats my cheek. I am
supply budget, telling him to make do
getting better at smiling when people
with the stuff left over from last year. No
expect it.
new paint, no extra paper. He'll rant for
the rest of the period, forty-three Heather's room is finished and ready for
minutes. The room is warm, filled with viewing. It does not look like a fifth-
sun and paint fumes. Three kids fall dead grader's. Or a ninth-grader's. It looks like
asleep, eye twitches, snores, and a commercial for vacuum cleaners, all
everything. fresh paint and vacuum cleaner lines in
the carpet. The lilac walls have a few
I stay awake. I take out a page of
artsy prints on them. Her bookcase has
notebook paper and a pen and doodle a
glass doors. She has a television and a
tree, my second-grade version. Hopeless.
phone, and her homework is neatly laid
I crumple it into a ball and take out
out on her desk. Her closet is opened just
another sheet. How hard can it be to put
a tad. I open it farther with my foot. All
a tree on a piece of paper? Two vertical
her clothes wait patiently on hangers,
lines for the trunk. Maybe some thick
organized by type—skirts together, pants
branches, a bunch of thinner branches,
hanging by their cuffs, her sweaters
and plenty of leaves to hide the mistakes.
stacked in plastic bags on shelves. The
I draw a horizontal line for the ground
room screams Heather. Why can't I
and a daisy popping up next to the tree.
figure out how to do that? Not that I
Somehow I don't think Mr. Freeman is
want my room screaming "Heather!"—
going to find much emotion in it. I don't
that would be too creepy. But a little
find any. He started out as such a cool
whisper of "Melinda" would be nice. I
teacher. Is he going to make us thrash
sit on the floor flipping through her CDs.
around with this ridiculous assignment
Heather paints her nails on her desk
without helping us?
blotter and blathers. She is determined to
sign up for the musical. The Music
Wingers are a hard clan to break into.
ACTING Heather doesn't have talent or
We get a day off for Columbus Day. I go connections—I tell her she is wasting
to Heather's house. I wanted to sleep in, her time to even think of it. She thinks
we should try out together. I think she
15
has been breathing too much hairspray. you never try anything, you just mope
My job is to nod or shake my head, to around like you don't care that people
say "I know what you mean," when I talk about you behind your back."
don't, and "That is so unfair," when it
She flops on her bed and bursts into
isn't.
sobs. Big boohoos, with little squeals of
The musical would be easy for me. I am frustration when she punches her teddy
a good actor. I have a whole range of bear. I don't know what to do. I try to
smiles. I use the shy, look-up-through- soak up the nail polish, but I make the
the bangs smile for staff members, and stain bigger. It looks like algae. Heather
the crinkly-eye smile with a quick shake wipes her nose on the bear's plaid scarf. I
of my head if a teacher asks me for an slip out to the bathroom and come back
answer. If my parents want to know how with another box of tissues and a bottle
school went, I flash my eyebrows of nailpolish remover.
upward and shrug my shoulders. When
Heather: "I am so sorry, Mellie. I can't
people point at me or whisper as I walk
believe I said those things to you. It's
past, I wave to imaginary friends down
PMS, don't pay any attention to me. You
the hall and hurry to meet them. If I drop
have been so sweet to me. You are the
out of high school, I could be a mime.
only person I can trust." She blows her
Heather asks why I don't think they nose loudly and wipes her eyes on her
would let us in the musical. I sip my hot sleeve. "Look at you. You're just like my
chocolate. It burns the roof of my mouth. mom. She says 'No use crying, just get
on with your life.' I know what we'll do.
Me: "We are nobody."
First, we'll work our way into a good
Heather: "How can you say that? Why group. We'll make them like us. By next
does everyone have that attitude? I don't year, the Music Wingers will be begging
understand any of this. If we want to be us to be in the musical."
in the musical, then they should let us.
It is the most hopeless idea I have ever
We could just stand onstage or
heard, but I nod and pour the remover on
something if they don't like our singing.
the carpet. It lightens the polish to a
It's not fair. I hate high school."
bright vomit green and bleaches the
She pushes her books to the floor and carpet surrounding it. When Heather
knocks the green nail polish on the sand- sees what I have done, she bursts into
colored carpet. "Why is it so hard to tears again, sobbing that it isn't my fault.
make friends here? Is there something in My stomach is killing me. Her room isn't
the water? In my old school I could have big enough for this much emotion. I
gone out for the musical and worked on leave without saying goodbye.
the newspaper and chaired the car wash.
Here people don't even know I exist. I
get squished in the hall and I don't DINNER THEATER
belong anywhere and nobody cares. And
The Parents are making threatening
you're no help. You are so negative and
noises, turning dinner into performance

16
art, with Dad doing his Arnold Dad holler at each other. I turn up my
Schwarzenegger imitation and Mom music to drown out the noise.
playing Glenn Close in one of her
psycho roles. I am the Victim.
BLUE ROSES
Mom: [creepy smile] "Thought you
could put one over on us, did you, After last night's interrogation, I try to
Melinda? Big high school student now, pay attention in biology. We are
don't need to show your homework to studying cells, which have all these tiny
your parents, don't need to show any parts you can't see unless you look at
failing test grades?" them under a microscope. We get to use
real microscopes, not plastic Kmart
Dad: [Bangs table, silverware jumps]
specials. It's not bad.
"Cut the crap. She knows what's up. The
interim reports came today. Listen to me, Ms. Keen is our teacher. I feel kind of
young lady. I'm only going to say this sad for her. She could have been a
once. You get those grades up or your famous scientist or doctor or something.
name is mud. Hear me? Get them up!" Instead, she's stuck with us. She has
[Attacks baked potato.] Mom: [annoyed wooden boxes all over the front of the
at being upstaged] "I'll handle this. room that she climbs on when she talks
Melinda. [She smiles. Audience to us. If she'd cut back on the doughnuts,
shudders] she'd look like a tiny grandmother doll.
Instead, she has a gelatinous figure,
We're not asking for much, dear. We just
usually encased in orange polyester. She
want you to do your best. And we know
avoids basketball players. From their
your best is much better than this. You
perspective, she must look like a
tested so well, dear. Look at me when I
basketball.
talk to you."
I have a lab partner, David Petrakis.
[Victim mixes cottage cheese into
Belongs to the Cybergenius clan. He has
applesauce. Dad snorts like a bull. Mom
the potential to be cute when the braces
grasps knife.]
come off. He is so brilliant he makes the
Mom: "I said look at me." teachers nervous. You'd think a kid like
that would get beat up a lot, but the bad
[Victim mixes peas into applesauce and
guys leave him alone. I have to find out
cottage cheese. Dad stops eating.]
his secret. David ignores me mostly,
Mom: "Look at me now." except when I almost ruined the $300
microscope by twisting the knob the
This is the Death Voice, the Voice that wrong way. That was the day Ms. Keen
means business. When I was a kid, this wore a purple dress with bright blue
Voice made me pee in my pants. It takes roses. Baffling. They shouldn't let
more now. I look Mom square in the teachers change like that without some
eye, then rinse my plate and retreat to kind of Early Warning Alert. It shakes
my room. Deprived of Victim, Mom and up the students. That dress was all

17
anyone talked about for days. She hasn't algebra. He is poetic about it, in an
worn it since. integral-number sort of way. He talks
about algebra the way some guys talk
about their cars. Ask him why algebra
STUDENT DIVIDED BY and he launches into a thousand and one
CONFUSION EQUALS ALGEBRA stories why algebra. None of them
makes sense.
I slide into my desk with ten minutes left
in algebra class. Mr. Stetman stares at Mr. Stetman asks if anyone can explain
my late pass for a long time. I pull out a the wangdiddler's role in the negative
clean sheet of paper so I can copy the hotchka theorem. Heather has the
problems off the board. answer. She is wrong. Stetman tries
again. Me? I shake my head with a sad
I sit in the back row, where I can keep smile. Not this time, try me again in
my eye on everyone, as well as whatever twenty years. He calls me to the board.
is going on in the parking lot. I think of
myself as the Emergency Warning Mr. Stetman: "Who wants to help
System of the class. I plan disaster drills. Melinda understand how we work our
How would we escape if the chemistry way through this problem? Rachel?
lab exploded? What if an earthquake hit Great."
Central New York? A tornado?
My head explodes with the noise of fire
It is impossible to stay focused on trucks leaving the station. This is a real
algebra. It's not that I'm bad at math. I disaster. Rachel/Rachelle clogs up to the
tested at the top of the class last year— board, dressed in an outrageous
that's how I got Dad to pay for my new Dutch/Scandinavian ensemble. She
bike. Math is easy because there is no looks half-cute, half-sophisticated. She
room for debate. The answer is right or it has red laser eyes that burn my forehead.
is wrong. Give me a sheet of math I wear basic Dumpster togs— smelly
problems and I'll get 98 percent of them gray turtleneck and jeans. I just this
right. minute remember that I need to wash my
hair.
But I can't get my head around algebra. I
knew why I had to memorize my Rachelle's mouth moves and her hand
multiplication tables. Understanding glides over the board, drawing funny
fractions, and decimals, and percentages, shapes and numbers. I pull my lower lip
and even geometry—all that was all the way in between my teeth. If I try
practical. Toolz eye kan youz. It made so hard enough, maybe I can gobble my
much sense I never thought about it. I whole self this way. Mr. Stetman drones
did the work. Made honor roll. something and Rachelle flutters her
eyelids. She nudges me. We are
But algebra? Every single day, someone supposed to sit down. The class giggles
asks Mr. Stetman why we have to learn as we walk back to our seats. I didn't try
algebra. You can tell this causes him hard enough to swallow myself.
great personal pain. Mr. Stetman loves

18
My brain doesn't think we should spend lined in red. We rocked. It was an
any time hanging around algebra. We unusually warm, wicked evening. We
have better things to think about. It's a didn't need long underwear and the sky
shame. Mr. Stetman seems like a nice was clear. The wind kicked up,
guy. skimming clouds over the surface of the
full moon, which was hung just to make
us feel powerful and strong. We raced
HALLOWEEN through the night, a clan of untouchable
witches. I actually thought for a moment
My parents declare that I am too old to that we could cast spells, could turn
go trick-or-treating. I'm thrilled. This people into frogs or rabbits, to punish the
way I don't have to admit that no one evil and reward the good. We ended up
invited me to go with them. I'm not with pounds of candy. After Ivy's
about to tell Mom and Dad that. To keep parents went to bed, we lit a candle in
up appearances, I stomp to my room and the totally dark house. We held it in
slam the door. front of an antique mirror at midnight to
I look out my window. A group of little see our futures. I couldn't see anything.
creatures is coming up the walk. A This year Rachelle is going to a party
pirate, a dinosaur, two fairies, and a thrown by one of the exchange students'
bride. Why is it that you never see a kid host families. I heard her talk about it in
dressed as a groom on Halloween? Their algebra. I knew I wouldn't get an
parents chat at the curb. The night is invitation. I would be lucky to get an
dangerous, parents are required—tall invitation to my own funeral, with my
ghosts in khakis and down jackets reputation. Heather is walking with some
floating behind the children. of the little kids in her neighborhood so
The doorbell rings. My parents squabble their mothers can stay home.
about who will answer it. Then Mom I am prepared. I refuse to spend the night
swears and opens the door with a moping in my room or listening to my
highpitched "Ooooh, who do we have parents argue. I checked out a book from
here?" She must have handed out only the library, Dracula, by Bram Stoker.
one mini-chocolate bar to each creature Cool name. I settle into my nest with a
— their thank-yous do not sound bag of candy corn and the blood-sucking
enthusiastic. The kids cut through the monster.
yard to the next house and their parents
follow in the street.
Last year, our clan all dressed up as NAME NAME NAME
witches. We went to Ivy's house because
In a post-Halloween frenzy, the school
she and her older sister had theatrical
board has come out against calling us the
makeup. We traded clothes and splurged
Devils. We are now the Merryweather
on cheap black wigs. Rachel and I
Tigers. Roar.
looked the best. We had used baby-
sitting money to rent black satin capes

19
The Ecology Club is planning a rally to colors named after fruit, like apricot and
protest the "degrading of an endangered russet apple. Winter calls for Fair Isle
species." This is the only thing talked sweaters, lined wool pants, and
about at school. Especially during class. Christmas hair ornaments. They haven't
Mr. Neck has a steroid rage, screaming told her what to buy for spring. I predict
about Motivation and Identity and sacred skirts with geese and white blouses with
School Spirit. We won't even make it to embroidered ducks on the collar.
the Industrial Revolution at this rate.
I tell Heather she should push the
I get hosed in Spanish. "Linda" means fashion envelope just a teeny bit to be an
"pretty" in Spanish. This is a great joke. ironic reflection of the 1950s, you know,
Mrs. Spanish Teacher calls my name. innocence and apple pie. She doesn't
Some stand-up comic cracks, "No, think the Clan Leaders, Meg 'n' Emily 'n'
Melinda no es linda." Siobhan, understand irony. They like
rules too much.
They call me Me-no-linda for the rest of
the period. This is how terrorists get Marthas are big on helping. The name of
started, this kind of harmless fun. I their group came from somebody in the
wonder if it's too late to transfer to Bible (the original Martha Clan Leader
German. became a missionary in Los Angeles).
But now they follow the Other Martha,
I just thought of a great theory that
Saint Martha of the Glue Gun, the lady
explains everything. When I went to that
who writes books about cheery
party, I was abducted by aliens. They
decorations. Very Connecticut, very
have created a fake Earth and fake high
prep. The Marthas tackle projects and
school to study me and my reactions.
perform good deeds. This is ideal
This certainly explains cafeteria food.
Heather work. She says they run the
Not the other stuff, though. The aliens
canned-food drive, tutor kids in the city,
have a sick sense of humor.
host a walkathon, a danceathon, and a
rockingchairathon to raise money for I
don't know what. They also Do Nice
THE MARTHAS Things for teachers. Gag.
Heather has found a clan—the Marthas. Heather's first Martha Project is to
She is a freshman member on probation. decorate the faculty lounge for a
I have no idea how she did it. I suspect Thanksgiving party/faculty meeting. She
money changed hands. This is part of her corners me after Spanish and begs me to
strategy to make a place for herself at help her. She thinks the Marthas have
school. I am supposed to be tagging given her a deliberately impossible job
along. But the Marthas! so they can dump her. I've always
It's an expensive clan to run with; outfits wondered what the staff room looks like.
must be coordinated, crisp, and You hear so many rumors. Will it have a
seasonally appropriate. They favor plaid cot for teachers who need naps?
for autumn with matching sweaters in Economy-sized boxes of tissues for

20
emotional meltdowns? Comfortable boarding school. But now I have friends,
leather chairs and a private butler? What and I know how to open my locker, and
about the secret files they keep on all the [she pauses and scrunches her face up]
kids? it's just perfect!"
The truth is nothing more than a small I don't have to choke out an answer
green room with dirty windows and a because Meg 'n' Emily 'n' Siobhan march
lingering smell of cigarettes, even in, carrying trays of mini-muffins and
though it has been illegal to smoke on apple slices dipped in chocolate. Meg
school property for years. Metal folding raises an eyebrow at me.
chairs surround a battered table. One
Me: "Thanks for the homework,
wall has a bulletin board that hasn't been
Heather. You are so helpful." I scoot out
cleared off since Americans walked on
the door, leaving it open a crack to
the moon. And I look, but I can't find
watch what happens next. Heather stands
any secret files. They must keep them in
at attention while our handiwork is
the principal's office.
inspected. Meg picks up the centerpiece
I'm supposed to make a centerpiece out and examines it from every angle.
of waxed maple leaves, acorns, ribbon,
Meg: "Nice job."
and a mile of thin wire. Heather is going
to set the table and hang the banner. She Heather blushes.
babbles on about her classes while I ruin
leaf after red leaf. I ask if we can trade Emily: "Who was that girl?"
before I cause permanent damage to Heather: "She's a friend. She was the
myself. Heather gently untangles me first person to make me feel at home
from the wire. She holds a bunch of here."
leaves in one hand, twists the wire
around the stem—one-two—hides the Siobhan: "She's creepy. What's wrong
wire with ribbon and hot-glues the with her lips? It looks like she's got a
acorns into place. It's spooky. I hurry to disease or something."
finish the table. Emily holds out her watch (the
Heather: "What do you think?" watchband matches the bow in her hair).
Five minutes. Heather has to leave
Me: "You are a decorating genius." before the teachers arrive. Part of being
Heather: [eyes rolling] "No, silly. What on probation means she's not alLowed to
do you think about this! Me! Can you take credit for her work.
believe they're letting me join? Meg has I hide in the bathroom until I know
been so sweet to me, she calls me every Heather's bus has left. The salt in my
night just to talk." She walks around the tears feels good when it stings my lips. I
table and straightens the forks I just set. wash my face in the sink until there is
"You are going to think this is nothing left of it, no eyes, no nose, no
ridiculous, but I was so upset last month mouth. A slick nothing.
I asked my parents to send me to

21
 NIGHTMARE some good PR people. (The football
team would have protested, but the sad
I see FT in the hallway. FT goes to
truth is that they've lost every game this
Merryweather. IT is walking with
season. They are happy not to be called
Aubrey Cheerleader. IT is my nightmare
the Tigers. Other teams called them
and I can't wake up. IT sees me. IT
Pussycats. Not manly.) More than half
smiles and winks. Good thing my lips
the school signed a petition and the tree
are stitched together or I'd throw up.
huggers got letters of support from a
bunch of outside groups and three
Hollywood Actors.
MY REPORT CARD:
They herd us into an assembly that is
Plays Nice B Social Studies C
supposed to be a "democratic forum" to
Spanish C Art A come up with a new school mascot. Who
are we? We can't be the Buccaneers
Lunch D Biology B
because pirates supported violence and
Algebra C+ Clothes C discrimination against women. The kid
English C Gym C+ who suggests the Shoemakers in honor
of the old moccasin factory is laughed
out of the auditorium. Warriors insults
Native Americans. I think Overbearing
Eurocentric Patriarchs would be perfect,
but I don't suggest it.
Student Council is holding an election
before Winter Break.
Our choices:
SECOND MARKING PERIOD a. The Bees—useful to agriculture,
painful to cross
b. Icebergs—in honor of our festive
(FILL IN THE BLANK)! winter weather
c. Hilltoppers—guaranteed to frighten
The Ecology Club has won round two.
opponents
We are no longer the Tigers because the
d. Wombats—no one knows if they're
name shows "shocking disrespect" for an
endangered
endangered creature.
I know I'm shocked.
CLOSET SPACE
The Ecology Club made great posters.
They laid out headlines from the sports My parents commanded me to stay after
page: TIGERS RIPPED APART! school every day for extra help from
TIGERS SLAUGHTERED! TIGERS teachers. I agreed to stay after school. I
KILLED! side by side with color photos hang out in my refurbished closet. It is
of Bengal tigers with their skins peeled shaping up nicely.
off. Effective. The Ecology Club has

22
The first thing to go is the mirror. It is My Spanish teacher breaks the "no
screwed to the wall, so I cover it with a English" rule to tell us that we had better
poster of Maya Angelou that the stop pretending we don't understand the
librarian gave me. She said Ms. Angelou homework assignments or we're all
is one of the greatest American writers. going to get detention. Then she repeats
The poster was coming down because what she just said in Spanish, though it
the school board banned one of her seems as if she tosses in a few extra
books. She must be a great writer if the phrases. I don't know why she hasn't
school board is afraid of her. Maya figured it out yet. If she just taught us all
Angelou's picture watches me while I the swearwords the first day, we would
sweep and mop the floor, while I scrub have done whatever she wanted the rest
the shelves, while I chase spiders out of of the year.
the corners. I do a little bit of work every
Detention does not sound appealing. I do
day. It's like building a fort. I figure
my homework— choose five verbs and
Maya would like it if I read in here, so I
conjugate them.
bring a few books from home. Mostly I
watch the scary movies playing on the
To translate: traducir. I traducate.
inside of my eyelids.
To flunk: fracasar. Yo am almost
It is getting harder to talk. My throat is fracasaring.
always sore, my lips raw. When I wake To hide: esconder. To escape: escapar.
up in the morning, my jaws are clenched To forget: olvidar.
so tight I have a headache. Sometimes
my mouth relaxes around Heather, if
we're alone. Every time I try to talk to
my parents or a teacher, I sputter or JOB DAY
freeze. What is wrong with me? It's like
I have some kind of spastic laryngitis. Just in case we forget that "we are here
to get a good foundation so we can go to
I know my head isn't screwed on college live up to our potential get a
straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp good job live happily ever after and go
myself to another galaxy. I want to to Disney World," we have a Job Day.
confess everything, hand over the guilt
and mistake and anger to someone else. Like all things Hi!School, it starts with a
There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it test, a test of my desires and my dreams.
scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Do I (a) prefer to spend time with a large
Even if I dump the memory, it will stay group of people? (b) prefer to spend time
with me, staining me. My closet is a with a small group of close friends? (c)
good thing, a quiet place that helps me prefer to spend time with family? (d)
hold these thoughts inside my head prefer to spend time alone?
where no one can hear them. Am I (a) a helper? (b) a doer? (c) a
planner? (d) a dreamer?

ALL TOGETHER NOW

23
If I were tied to railroad tracks and the built this place, fought in every war from
3:15 train to Rochester was ready to cut the first one to the last one, paid taxes,
a path across my middle, would I (a) and voted."
scream for help? (b) ask my little mice
A cartoon thought bubble forms over the
friends to chew through the ropes? (c)
heads of everyone in the class. ("WILL
remember that my favorite jeans were in
THIS BE ON THE TEST?")
the dryer and were hopelessly wrinkled?
(d) close my eyes and pretend nothing Mr. Neck: "So tell me why my son can't
was wrong? get a job."
Two hundred questions later, I get my A few hands creep skyward. Mr. Neck
results. I should consider a career in (a) ignores them. It is a pretend question,
forestry (b) firefighting (c) one he asked so he could give the
communications (d) mortuary science. answer. I relax. This is like when my
Heather's results are clearer. She should father complains about his boss. The
be a nurse. It makes her jump up and best thing to do is to stay awake and
down. blink sympathetically.
Heather: "This is the best! I know His son wanted to be a firefighter, but
exactly what I'm going to do. I'll be a didn't get the job. Mr. Neck is convinced
candy striper at the hospital this summer. that this is some kind of reverse
Why don't you do it with me? I'll study discrimination. He says we should close
real hard in biology and go to S.U. and our borders so that real Americans can
get my R.N. What a great plan!" get the jobs they deserve. The job test
said that I would be a good firefighter. I
How could she know this? I don't know
wonder if I could take a job away from
what I'm doing in the next five minutes
Mr. Neck's son.
and she has the next ten years figured
out. I'll worry about making it out of I tune out and focus on my doodle, a
ninth grade alive. Then I'll think about a pine tree. I've been trying to carve a
career path. linoleum block in art class. The problem
with the block is that there is no way to
correct mistakes. Every mistake I make
FIRST AMENDMENT is frozen in the picture. So I have to
think ahead.
Mr. Neck storms into class, a bull
chasing thirty-three red flags. We slide Mr. Neck writes on the board again:
into our seats. I think for sure he's going "DEBATE: America should have closed
to explode. Which he does, but in an her borders in 1900." That strikes a
unpredictable, faintly educational way. nerve. Several nerves. I can see kids
counting backward on their fingers,
IMMIGRATION. He writes it on the
trying to figure when their grandparents
board. I'm pretty sure he spelled it right.
or great grandparents were born, when
Mr. Neck: "My family has been in this they came to America, if they would
country for over two hundred years. We have made the Neck Cut. When they

24
figure out they would have been stuck in Mr. Neck. "You watch your mouth,
a country that hated them, or a place mister. You are talking about my son. I
with no schools, or a place with no don't want to hear any more from you.
future, their hands shoot up. They beg to That's enough debate—get your books
differ with Mr. Neck's learned opinion. out."
I don't know where my family came The Neck is back in control. Show time
from. Someplace cold, where they eat is over. I try to draw a branch coming
beans on Thursday and hang their wash out of a tree trunk for the 315th time. It
on the line on Monday. I don't know looks so flat, a cheap, cruddy drawing. I
how long we've been in America. We've have no idea how to make it come alive.
been in this school district since I was in I am so focused I don't notice at first that
first grade; that must count for David Petrakis My Lab Partner has stood
something. I start an apple tree. up. The class stops talking. I put my
pencil down.
The arguments jump back and forth
across the room. A few suck-ups quickly Mr. Neck: "Mr. Petrakis, take your seat."
figure out which side Mr. Neck is
David Petrakis is never, ever in trouble.
squatting on, so they fight to throw out
He is the kid who wins perfect
the "foreigners." Anyone whose family
attendance records, who helps the staff
immigrated in the last century has a
chase down bugs in the computer files of
story to tell about how hard their
report cards. I chew a hangnail on my
relatives have worked, the contributions
pinkie. What is he thinking? Has he
they make to the country, the taxes they
flipped, finally cracked under the
pay. A member of the Archery Club tries
pressure of being smarter than everyone?
to say that we are all foreigners and we
should give the country back to the David: "If the class is debating, then
Native Americans, but she's buried each student has the right to say what's
under disagreement. Mr. Neck enjoys on his mind."
the noise, until one kid challenges him
directly. Mr. Neck: "I decide who talks in here."

Brave Kid: "Maybe your son didn't get David: "You opened a debate. You can't
that job because he's not good enough. close it just because it is not going your
Or he's lazy. Or the other guy was better way."
than him, no matter what his skin color. I Mr. Neck: "Watch me. Take your seat,
think the white people who have been Mr. Petrakis."
here for two hundred years are the ones
pulling down the country. They don't David: "The Constitution does not
know how to work— they've had it too recognize different classes of citizenship
easy." based on time spent living in the
country. I am a citizen, with the same
The pro-immigration forces erupt in rights as your son, or you. As a citizen,
applause and hooting. and as a student, I am protesting the tone

25
of this lesson as racist, intolerant, and not to. We plead with her, send
xenophobic." anonymous notes. She doesn't listen.
Mr. Neck: "Sit your butt in that chair, I go to bed the night before
Petrakis, and watch your mouth! I try to Thanksgiving at 10 p.m. She's pounding
get a debate going in here and you on her laptop at the dining-room table.
people turn it into a race thing. Sit down When I come downstairs Thanksgiving
or you're going to the principal." morning, she's still there. I don't think
she slept.
David stares at Mr. Neck, looks at the
flag for a minute, then picks up his She looks up at me in my robe and
books and walks out of the room. He bunny slippers. "Oh, damn," she says.
says a million things without saying a "The turkey."
word. I make a note to study David
I peel potatoes while she gives the
Petrakis. I have never heard a more
frozen turkey a hot bath. The windows
eloquent silence.
fog up, separating us from the outside. I
want to suggest that we have something
else for dinner, spaghetti maybe, or
GIVING THANKS
sandwiches, but I know she wouldn't
The Pilgrims gave thanks at take it the right way. She hacks at the
Thanksgiving because the Native guts of the turkey with an ice pick to get
Americans saved their sorry butts from out the bag of body parts. I'm impressed.
starving. I give thanks at Thanksgiving Last year she cooked the bird with the
because my mother finally goes to work bag inside.
and my father orders pizza.
Cooking Thanksgiving dinner means
My normally harried, rushed mother something to her. It's like a holy
always turns into a strung-out retail obligation, part of what makes her a wife
junkie just before Turkey Day. It's and mother. My family doesn't talk
because of Black Friday, the day after much and we have nothing in common,
Thanksgiving, the start of the Christmas but if my mother cooks a proper
shopping season. If she doesn't sell a Thanksgiving dinner, it says we'll be a
billion shirts and twelve million belts on family for one more year. Kodak logic.
Black Friday, the world will end. She Only in film commercials does stuff like
lives on cigarettes and black coffee, that work.
swearing like a rap star and calculating
I finish the potatoes. She sends me to the
spreadsheets in her head. The goals she
TV to watch the parades. Dad stumbles
sets for her store are totally unrealistic
downstairs. "How is she?" he asks
and she knows it. She can't help herself.
before he goes in the kitchen. "It's
It's like watching someone caught in an
Thanksgiving," I say. Dad puts on his
electric fence, twitching and squirming
coat. "Doughnuts?" he asks. I nod.
and very stuck. Every year, just when
she's stressed to the snapping point, she The phone rings. Mom answers. It's the
cooks Thanksgiving dinner. We beg her store. Emergency #1. I go into the

26
kitchen for a soda. She pours me orange when the phone rings again. Here's my
juice, which I can't drink because it chance.
burns my scabby lips. The turkey floats
Mom has the phone to her ear when I
in the sink, a ten-pound turkey iceberg.
walk in the kitchen, but she isn't
A turkeyberg. I feel very much like the
listening to it. She rubs the steam from
Titanic.
the window and stares into the back
Mom hangs up and chases me out with yard. I join her at the sink.
instructions to take a shower and clean
Dad strides across the back yard,
my room. I soak in the bathtub. I fill my
wearing an oven mitt and carrying the
lungs with air and float on top of the
steaming turkey by one leg. "He said it
water, then blow out all my breath and
would take hours to thaw," mutters
sink to the bottom. I put my head
Mom. A tiny voice squeaks from the
underwater to listen to my heart beat.
receiver. "No, not you, Ted," she tells
The phone rings again. Emergency #2.
the phone. Dad lays the turkey on the
By the time I'm dressed, the parades are chopping block and picks up his hatchet.
over and Dad is watching football. Whack. The hatchet sticks in the frozen
Confectioner's sugar dusts the stubble on turkey flesh. He saws back and forth.
his face. I don't like it when he bums Whack. A slice of frozen turkey slides to
around the house on holidays. I like my the ground. He picks it up and waves it
Dad clean-shaven and wearing a suit. He at the window. Mom turns her back to
motions for me to get out of the way so him and tells Ted she's on her way.
he can see the screen.
After Mom leaves for the store, Dad
Mom is on the phone. Emergency #3. takes over the dinner. It's the principle of
The long curly cord snakes around and the thing. If he gripes about the way she
around her thin body, like a rope tying handled Thanksgiving, then he has to
her to the stake. Two drumstick tips prove he can do a better job. He brings
poke out of an enormous pot of boiling in the butchered dirty meat and washes it
water. She is boiling the frozen turkey. in the sink with detergent and hot water.
"It's too big for the microwave," she He rinses off his hatchet.
explains. "It will be thawed soon." She
Dad: "Just like the old days, right,
puts a finger in her free ear to
Mellie? Fellow goes out into the woods
concentrate on what the phone is telling
and brings home dinner. This isn't so
her. I take a plain doughnut from the bag
difficult. Cooking just requires some
and go back to my room.
organization and the ability to read. Now
Three magazines later, my parents are get me the bread. I'm going to make real
arguing. Not a riproarer. A simmering stuffing, the way my mother used to.
argument, a few bubbles splashing on You don't need to help. Why don't you
the stove. I want another doughnut, but do some homework, maybe some extra-
don't feel like wading through the fight credit work to pull those grades up. I'll
to get it. They retreat to their corners call you when dinner is ready."

27
I think about studying, but it's a holiday, Mr. Freeman: "You are on fire, Melinda,
so I park myself on the living-room I can see it in your eyes. You are caught
couch and watch an old movie instead. I up in the meaning, in the subjectivity of
smell smoke twice, wince when glass the effect of commercialism on this
shatters on the floor, and listen in on the holiday. This is wonderful, wonderful!
other phone to his conversation with the Be the bird. You are the bird. Sacrifice
turkey hotline lady. She says turkey soup yourself to abandoned family values and
is the best part of Thanksgiving anyway. canned yams."
He calls me into the kitchen an hour
Whatever.
later, with the fake enthusiasm of a
father who has screwed up big-time. At first, I want to glue the bones together
in a heap like firewood (get it?—tree—
Bones are heaped on the cutting board.
firewood), but Mr. Freeman sighs. I can
A pot of glue boils on the stove. Bits of
do better, he says. I arrange the bones on
gray, green, and yellow roll in the
a black piece of paper and try to draw a
burping white paste.
turkey around it. I don't need Mr.
Dad: "It's supposed to be soup." Freeman to tell me it stinks. By this
point, he has thrown himself back into
Me:
his own painting and has forgotten we
Dad: "It tasted a bit watery, so I kept exist.
adding thickener. I put in some corn and
He is working on a huge canvas. It
peas."
started out bleak—a gutted building
Me: along a gray road on a rainy day. He
spent a week painting dirty coins on the
Dad: [pulling wallet from his back sidewalk, sweating to get them just right.
pocket] "Call for pizza. I'll get rid of He painted the faces of school board
this." members peering out the windows of the
I order double cheese, double building, then he put bars on the
mushroom. Dad buries the soup in the windows and turned the building into a
back yard next to our dead beagle, Ariel. prison. His canvas is better than TV
because you never know what is going
to happen next.
I crumple the paper and lay out the
WISHBONE bones on the table. Melinda Sordino—
Anthropologist. I have unearthed the
I want to make a memorial for our remains of a hideous sacrifice. The bell
turkey. Never has a bird been so tortured rings and I look at Mr. Freeman with
to provide such a lousy dinner. I dig the puppy-dog eyes. He says he'll call my
bones out of the trash and bring them to Spanish teacher with some kind of
art class. Mr. Freeman is thrilled. He excuse. I can stay for another class
tells me to work on the bird but keep period. When Ivy hears this, she begs
thinking tree. permission to stay late, too. She's trying

28
to conquer her fear of clowns. She's "I see a girl caught in the remains of a
consi nm mg some weird sculpture—a holiday gone bad, with her flesh picked
mask behind a clown's face. Mr. off day after day as the carcass dries out.
Freeman says yes to Ivy, too. She The knife and fork are obviously middle-
waggles her eyebrows at me and grins. class sensibilities. The palm tree is a nice
By the time I figure out that this might touch. A broken dream, perhaps? Plastic
be a good time to say something friendly honeymoon, deserted island? Oh, if you
to her, she is back at work. put it in a slice of pumpkin pie, it could
be a desserted island!"
I glue the bones to a block of wood,
arranging the skeleton like a museum I laugh in spite of myself. I'm getting the
exhibit. I find knives and forks in the hang of this. While Ivy and Mr. Freeman
odds-'n'ends bin and glue them so it watch, I reach in and pluck out the
looks like they are attacking the bones. Barbie head. I set it on top of the bony
carcass. There is no place for the palm
I take a step back. It isn't quite done. I
tree—I toss that aside. I move the knife
rummage in the bin again and find a
and fork so they look like legs. I place a
half-melted palm tree from a Lego set.
piece of tape over Barbie's mouth.
It'll do. Mr. Freeman hangs on to
everything a normal person would throw Me: "Do you have any twigs? Little
out: Happy Meal toys, lost playing cards, branches? I could use them to make the
grocery-store receipts, keys, dolls, a arms."
saltshaker, trains . . . how does he know
Ivy opens her mouth to say something,
this stuff could be art?
then closes it again.
I pop the head off a Barbie doll and set it
Mr. Freeman studies my homely project.
inside the turkey's body. That feels right.
He doesn't say anything and I'm afraid
Ivy walks past and looks. She arches her
he's pissed that I took out the palm tree.
left eyebrow and nods. I wave my hand
Ivy tries again. "It's scary," she says. "In
and Mr. Freeman comes over to inspect.
a weird way. Not clown scary, um, how
He almost faints with delight.
do I say this? Like, you don't want to
Mr. Freeman: "Excellent, excellent. look at it too long. Good job, Mel."
What does this say to you?"
That's not the reaction I was hoping for,
Darn. I didn't know there would be a but I guess it was positive. She could
quiz. I clear my throat. have turned her nose up, or ignored me,
but she didn't. Mr. Freeman taps his
I can't get any words out, it is too dry. I
chin. He looks way too serious to be an
try again, with a little cough.
art teacher. He's making me nervous.
Mr. Freeman: "Sore throat? Don't worry,
Mr. Freeman: "This has meaning. Pain."
it's going around.
The bell rings. I leave before he can say
Want me to tell you what I see?"
more.
I nod in relief.

29
 PEELED AND CORED up his mind between pre-med and pre-
law. Ninth grade is a minor
We are studying fruit in biology. Ms.
inconvenience to him. A zit-cream
Keen has spent a week teaching us the
commercial before the Feature Film of
finer points of stamens and pistils,
Life.
seedpods and flowers. The earth has
frozen, it snows lightly at night, but Ms. Applesmell soaks the air. One time when
Keen is determined to keep Spring alive I was little, my parents took me to an
in her classroom. orchard. Daddy set me high in an apple
tree. It was like falling up into a
The Back Row sleeps until she points
storybook, yummy and red and leaf and
out that apple trees need bees to
the branch not shaking a bit. Bees
reproduce. "Reproduce" is a trigger word
bumbled through the air, so stuffed with
for the Back Row. They have figured out
apple they couldn't be bothered to sting
it is related to sex. The lecture on pistils
me. The sun warmed my hair, and a
and stamens turns into a big Ha-ha. Ms.
wind pushed my mother into my father's
Keen has been teaching since the Middle
arms, and all the apple-picking parents
Ages. It would take more than a row full
and children smiled for a long, long
of overheated hypothalamuses
minute.
(hypothalamii?) to distract her from the
day's lesson. She calmly proceeds to the That's how biology class smells.
hands-on portion of the lab.
I bite my apple. White teeth red apple
Apples. We each get a Rome or a hard juice deep bite.
Cortland or a Mcintosh and a plastic
David sputters.
knife. We are instructed to dissect. The
Back Row holds sword fights. Ms. Keen David: "You're not supposed to do that!
silently writes their names on the She'll kill you! You're supposed to cut it!
blackboard, along with their current Didn't you even listen? You'll lose
grade. She takes one point off for every points!"
minute the sword fight continues. They
go from low Bs to very low Cs before Clearly, David missed the apple-tree-
they figure out what is going on. They sitting requirement of childhood.
howl. I cut the rest of my apple into four fat
Back Row: "That's not fair! You can't do pieces. My apple has twelve seeds. One
that to us! You didn't give us a chance." of the seeds has split its shell and
reaches a white hand upward. An apple
She takes off another point. They saw tree growing from an apple seed growing
their apples, mutter, mutter, curse, curse, in an apple. I show the little plantseed to
old cow, stupid teacher. Ms. Keen. She gives me extra credit.
David rolls his eyes. Biology is so cool.
David Petrakis My Lab Partner cuts his
apple into eight equal wedges. He
doesn't say a word. He is in the middle
of a Pre-Med Week. David can't make

30
 FIRST AMENDMENT, SECOND The school office is the best place to go
VERSE for gossip. I overhear the sound bite
about the Petrakises' lawyer while I wait
Rebellion is in the air. We only have a
for another lecture from my guidance
week left before Winter Break. Students
counselor about not living up to my
are getting away with murder and the
potential. How does she know what my
staff is too worn out to care. I hear
potential is? Potential for what? When
rumors of eggnog in the faculty lounge.
she talks blah blah, I usually count the
This revolutionary spirit is even
dots in her ceiling tiles.
breaking out in social studies class.
David Petrakis is fighting back about the The guidance counselor is late today, so
freedom-to-speak thing. I sit invisible in the red plastic chair
while the secretary brings a PTA
I get to class on time. I don't dare use a
volunteer up to warp speed on the
stolen late pass with Mr. Neck. David
Petrakis thing. David's parents have
takes a seat in the front row and sets a
hired a big, nasty, expensive lawyer. He
tape recorder on his desk. As Mr. Neck
is threatening to sue the school district
opens his mouth to speak, David presses
and Mr. Neck for everything from
the Play and Record buttons at the same
incompetence to civil rights violations.
time, like a pianist hitting an opening
David's tape recorder is allowed in class
chord.
to document "potential future
Mr. Neck teaches the class straight. We violations." The secretary doesn't sound
are galloping toward the Revolutionary too upset at the idea that Mr. Neck could
War. He writes "No Taxation Without get canned. I bet she knows him
Representation" on the board. Very cool personally.
rhyming slogan. Too bad they didn't
David must have mentioned the hairy-
have bumper stickers back then. The
eyeball treatment to his lawyer that
colonists wanted a voice in the British
afternoon because the next day there is a
Parliament. No one in power would
videocamera set up in the back of class.
listen to their complaints. The lecture is
David Petrakis is my hero.
going to sound great on the tape. Mr.
Neck has prepared notes and everything.
His voice is as smooth as a new-poured
WOMBATS RULE!
road. No bumps.
I let Heather talk me into going to the
The tape will not be able to pick up the
Winter Assembly. She hates sitting alone
angry gleam in Mr. Neck's eyes, though.
almost as much as I do. The Marthas
He glares at David the whole time he's
have not issued an imperial invitation for
speaking. If a teacher stared murder at
her to sit with them. She's bummed, but
me for forty-eight minutes, I'd turn into a
she tries not to show it. In perfect
puddle of melted Jell-O. David stares
Martha style, she wears a green sweater
back.
with a huge Santa face on it, red
leggings, and fluffy boots. Too, too

31
perfect. I refuse to wear anything the lights on it from year to year. All I
seasonal. have to do is hang the ornaments.
Heather gives me my Christmas present There is something about Christmas that
early—bell earrings that chime when I requires a rug rat. Little kids make
turn my head. This means I'll have to get Christmas fun. I wonder if we could rent
her something. Maybe I'll go wholesome one for the holidays. When I was tiny we
and buy a friendship necklace. She's the would buy a real tree and stay up late
friendship-necklace type. The bells are a drinking hot chocolate and finding just
great choice. I shake my head all through the right place for the special
Principal Principal's speech to drown out decorations. It seems like my parents
his voice. The orchestra plays an gave up the magic when I figured out the
unrecognizable tune. Heather says the Santa lie. Maybe I shouldn't have told
school board won't let them perform them I knew where the presents really
Christmas carols or Hanukkah songs or came from. It broke their hearts.
Kwanza tunes. Instead of multicultural,
I bet they'd be divorced by now if I
we have no-cultural.
hadn't been born. I'm sure I was a huge
The high point of the assembly is the disappointment. I'm not pretty or smart
announcement of our new name and or athletic. I'm just like them—an
mascot. Principal Principal reads the ordinary drone dressed in secrets and
vote total: Bees—3. Icebergs—17. lies. I can't believe we have to keep
Hilltoppers—1. Wombats—32. The playacting until I graduate. It's a shame
other 1,547 votes were write-ins or we can't just admit that we have failed
illegible. family living, sell the house, split up the
money, and get on with our lives.
The Merryweather Wombats. Has a nice
ring. We are the Wombats, woozy, Merry Christmas.
wicked Wombats! Worried, withdrawn,
I call Heather, but she's shopping. What
weepy, weird Wombats. We pass Raven
would Heather do if she were here and
Cheerleader and Amber Cheerleader on
the house didn't feel like Christmas? I
the way to my bus. They wrinkle their
will pretend to be Heather. I bundle up
brows as they struggle to rhyme
in geeky snow clothes, wrap a scarf
"wombat." Democracy is a wonderful
around my head, and plunge into a
institution.
snowdrift. The back yard is gorgeous.
The trees and bushes are all wrapped in
ice, reflecting sunlight into something
WINTER BREAK
powerful. I just have to make a snow
School is out and there are two days angel.
until Christmas. Mom left a note saying I
I tromp to an unmarked piece of snow
can put up the tree if I want. I drag the
and let myself fall backward. The scarf
tree out of the basement and stand it in
falls over my mouth as I wave my
the driveway so I can sweep the dust and
wings. The wet wool smells like first
cobwebs off it with a broom. We leave

32
grade, walking to school on a cold while the Rudolph, the Red-Nosed
morning with my milk money jangling Reindeer video plays.
in the tips of my mittens. We lived in a
I wipe my eyes. They wait with unsure
different house then, a smaller house.
smiles. The snowball grows larger.
Mom worked at the jewelry counter and
When I snuck home that night, they
was home after school. Dad had a nicer
weren't in the house. Both cars were
boss and talked all the time about buying
gone. I was supposed to have been at
a boat. I believed in Santa Claus.
Rachel's all night long—they weren't
The wind stirs the branches overhead. expecting me, that's for sure. I showered
My heart clangs like a fire bell. The until the hot water was gone, then I
scarf is too tight on my mouth. I pull it crawled in bed and did not sleep. Mom
off to breathe. The moisture on my skin pulled in around 2 a.m., Dad just before
freezes. I want to make a wish, but I sunup. They had not been together. What
don't know what to wish for. And I have had they been doing? I thought I knew.
snow up my back. How can I talk to them about that night?
How can I start?
I break off branches from the holly
bushes and a few sprigs of pine and Rudolph sets out on his ice floe. "I'm
carry them inside. I tie them together independent," he declares. Dad looks at
with red yarn and set them on the his watch. Mom stuffs the wrapping
fireplace mantel and the dining-room paper into a garbage bag. They leave the
table. It doesn't look as nice as when the room. I am still sitting on the floor,
lady on TV did it, but it makes the place holding the paper and charcoals. I didn't
smell better. I still wish we could borrow even say
a kid for a few days.
"Thank you."
We sleep in till noon on Christmas. I
give Mom a black sweater and Dad a CD
with sixties hits. They give me a handful HARD LABOR
of gift certificates, a TV for my room,
ice skates, and a sketch pad with I had two days of freedom before my
charcoal pencils. They say they have parents decided I wasn't going to
noticed me drawing. "lounge around the house all vacation." I
have to go to work with them. I'm not
I almost tell them right then and there. legally old enough to work, but they
Tears flood my eyes. They noticed I've don't care. I spend the weekend at
been trying to draw. They noticed. I try Mom's store, dealing with all the
to swallow the snowball in my throat. merchandise brought back by grumpy
This isn't going to be easy. I'm sure they people. Did anyone in Syracuse get what
suspect I was at the party. Maybe they they wanted for Christmas? Sure doesn't
even heard about me calling the cops. seem like it. Since I'm underage, Mom
But I want to tell them everything as we sticks me in the basement stockroom.
sit there by our plastic Christmas tree I'm supposed to refold the shirts, sticking
them with eleven pins. The other

33
employees watch me like I'm a rat, like blood. IT's face suddenly pops up in my
my mother has sent me to the basement mind. All the anger whistles out of me
to spy on them. I fold a few shirts, then like I'm a popped balloon. Dad is really
kick back and take out a book. They pissed when he sees how many calendars
relax. I am one of them. I don't want to I bled on. He mentions a need for
be there either. professional help.
Mom obviously knows I did squat, but I am actually grateful to go back to
she doesn't say anything in the car. We school.
don't leave until way after dark because
she has so much work to do. Sales have
sucked—she didn't get anywhere near FOUL
the goal she set. Layoffs are coming. We
stop at a traffic light. Mom closes her Now that there are two feet of snow on
eyes. Her skin is a flat gray color, like the ground, the fizz-ed teachers let us
underwear washed so many times it's have class inside. They keep the gym at
about to fall apart. I feel bad that I didn't about forty degrees because "a little cool
fold more shirts for her. air never hurt anyone." Easy for them to
say, they wear sweatpants.
The next day they send me to Dad's. He
sells some kind of insurance, but I don't The first inside sport is basketball. Ms.
know how or why. He sets up a card Connors teaches us how to throw foul
table for me in his office. My job is to shots. I step up to the line, bounce the
put calendars into envelopes, seal them ball twice, and put it through the net.
up, and stick on mailing labels. He sits at Ms. Connors tells me to do it again. And
his desk and talks to buddies on the again. She keeps bouncing balls my way,
phone. and I keep putting them up—swish,
swish, swish. Forty-two shots later, my
He gets to work with his feet up. He gets arms wobble and I miss one. By that
to laugh with his friends on the phone. time, the entire class has gathered
He gets to call out for lunch. I think he around and is watching. Nicole is just
deserves to be in the basement folding about bursting. "You have to join the
shirts and helping my mother. I deserve team!" she shouts.
to be watching cable, or taking a nap, or
even going to Heather's house. By Ms. Connors: "Meet me back here
lunchtime, my stomach boils with anger. during activity period. You are Going
Dad's secretary says something nice to Places with That Arm."
me when she drops off my lunch, but I Me:
don't answer her. I glare daggers at the
back of my father's head. Angry angry It is a sad and downtrodden Ms. Connors
angry. I have another million envelopes who meets me three hours later. She
to close. I run my tongue over the gross holds my current grades by two fingers:
gummy envelope flap. The sharp edge of D, C, B-, D, C-, C, A. No basketball
the flap cuts my tongue. I taste my team for me, because the A was in art, so
my GPA is a whopping 1.7. Ms.

34
Connors did not win a lacrosse The boys' coach barks something I don't
scholarship by being demure or hesitant. understand and the team lines up behind
She times me in wind sprints, then puts Basketball Pole for free-throw practice.
me back on the line to shoot. He dribbles, bounce, two, three. He
shoots. Brick. Bounce, two, three . . .
Ms. Connors: "Try an outside shot bank
Brick. Brick. Brick. Can't sink a shot
it off the board have you thought about a
from the line to save his skinny neck.
tutor nice shot it's those Ds that are
killing you try a lay-up that needs work I Ms. Connors talks to the boys' coach
could maybe do something about the while I watch the rest of the team hit a
social studies grade but your English sorry thirty percent. Then she blows her
teacher is impossible she hates sports do whistle and waves me over. The boys
you have a hook shot?" clear out of the way and I take my place
on the line. "Show 'em," commands Ms.
I just do what I'm told. If I felt like
Connors. Trained seal me, bounce,
talking, I would explain that she couldn't
bounce, up, swish; again, and again, and
pay me enough to play on her basketball
again, until the guys stop bouncing and
team. All that running? Sweating?
everyone is watching. Ms. Connors and
Getting knocked around by genetic
Basketball Coach talk serious frown talk
mutants? I don't think so. Now, if
arms on hips, biceps flexing. The boys
basketball had a designated foul-shot
stare at me—visitor from the Planet Foul
shooter, maybe I'd consider. The other
Shot. Who is this girl?
team fouls you, you get to pay them
back. Boom. But that's not the way it Ms. Connors punches Coach in the arm.
works, in basketball or in life. Coach punches Ms. Connors in the arm.
They offer me a deal. If I volunteer to
Ms. Connors looks so eager. I like the
teach the Basketball Pole how to swish a
sensation of succeeding brilliantly at
foul shot, I will get an automatic A in
something—even if it is just thunking in
gym. I shrug my shoulders and they grin.
foul shots one after another. I'll let her
I couldn't say no. I couldn't say anything.
dream a few more minutes. The boys'
I just won't show up.
varsity team dribbles in. Their record is
zero and five. Go Wombats!
Basketball Pole, aka Brendan Keller, the COLORING OUTSIDE THE LINES
one who contributed to my mashed-
Our art room is blooming like a museum
potato-and-gravy humiliation on the first
full of O'Keeffes, van Goghs, and that
day of school, stands under the basket.
French guy who painted flowers with
The other guys run drills and pass in to
tiny dots. Mr. Freeman is the Vogue
him. Brendan reaches up a skinny
Teacher of the Moment. There are
octopus tentacle and casually drops the
rumors that he'll be the Teacher of the
ball through the hoop. Our boys are
Year in the yearbook.
unbeatable as long as they are the only
team on the floor. His room is Cool Central. He keeps the
radio on. We are allowed to eat as long

35
as we work. He bounced a couple of He scanned the room for merriment.
slackers who confused freedom with no Found only bowed heads, graceful
rules, so the rest of us don't make waves. pencils, dipping brushes. Mr. Freeman
It is too much fun to give up. The room touched up the dark roots on the head of
is full of painters, sculptors, and a lady school board member and asked if
sketchers during activity period, and Principal Principal needed help.
some kids stay there until the late late Principal Principal stalked out of the
buses are ready to roll. room in the direction of the Human
Waste's smoking haven.
Mr. Freeman's painting is coming along
great. Some newspaper guy heard about Maybe I'll be an artist if I grow up.
it and wrote an article. The article
claimed Mr. Freeman is a gifted genius
who has devoted his life to education. A POSTER CHILD
color picture of the work-in-progress
accompanied the article. Someone said a Heather left a note in my locker, begging
few school board members recognized me to go to her house after school. She's
themselves. I bet they sue him. in trouble. She is not meeting Martha
standards. She sobs out the story in her
I wish Mr. Freeman would put a tree in room. I listen and pick lint balls off my
his masterpiece. I can't figure out how to sweater.
make mine look real. I have already
ruined six linoleum blocks. I can see it in The Marthas held a craft meeting to
my head: a strong old oak tree with a make Valentine's pillows for little kids
wide scarred trunk and thousands of who are in the hospital. Meg 'n' Emily
leaves reaching to the sun. There's a tree sewed three sides of the pillows, while
in front of my house just like it. I can the others stuffed, stitched, and glued on
feel the wind blow and hear the hearts and teddy bears. Heather was in
mockingbird whistling on the way back charge of hearts. She was all flustered
to her nest. But when I try to carve it, it because a few Marthas didn't like her
looks like a dead tree, toothpicks, a outfit. They yelled at her for gluing
child's drawing. I can't bring it to life. I'd hearts crooked. Then the top of her glue
love to give it up. Quit. But I can't think bottle came off and completely ruined a
of anything else to do, so I keep pillow.
chipping away at it. At this point in the story, she throws a
Principal Principal stormed in yesterday, doll across her room. I move the nail
smelling pleasure. His mustache moved polish out of her reach.
up and down, a radar sweep for all Meg demoted Heather to pillow stuffing.
things unruly. An unseen hand turned off Once the pillow production line was
the radio as he crossed the threshold, and again rolling smoothly, the meeting
bags of potato chips vanished, leaving began. Topic: the Canned Food Drive.
the faint scent of salt to mix with The Senior Marthas are in charge of
vermilion oil paint and wet clay. delivering the food to the needy (with a

36
newspaper photographer present) and January 14. Pickled frogs have a way of
meeting with the principal to coordinate disappearing from the storage closet, so
whatever needs coordinating. today Ms. Keen armed us with knives
and told us not to gag.
I zone out. She talks about who's in
charge of classroom captains and who's David Petrakis My Lab Partner is
in charge of publicity and I don't know thrilled—anatomy at last. There are lists
what all. I don't come back to earth until to memorize. The hopping bone's
Heather says, "I knew you wouldn't connected to the jumping bone, the
mind, Mel." ribbet bone's connected to the
flycatching bone. He seriously talks
Me: "What?"
about wearing one of those doctor masks
Heather: "I knew you wouldn't mind over his face while we "operate." He
helping. I think Emily did it on purpose. thinks it would be good practice.
She doesn't like me. I was going to ask
The room does not smell like apple. It
you to help, then say I did it by myself,
smells like frog juice, a cross between a
but that would have been lying, and
nursing home and potato salad. The
besides they would have stuck me with
Back Row pays attention. Cutting dead
all the poster work for the rest of the
frogs is cool.
year. So I said I have a friend who is
really artistic and community-oriented Our frog lies on her back. Waiting for a
and could she help with the posters?" prince to come and princessify her with
a smooch? I stand over her with my
Me: "Who?"
knife. Ms. Keen's voice fades to a
Heather: [laughing now, but I still hold mosquito whine. My throat closes off. It
on to the nail polish] "You, silly. You is hard to breathe. I put out my hand to
draw better than me and you have plenty steady myself against the table. David
of time. Please say you'll do it! Maybe pins her froggy hands to the dissection
they'll ask you to join too, once they see tray. He spreads her froggy legs and pins
how talented you are! Please, please, her froggy feet. I have to slice open her
whipped cream, chopped nuts and cherry belly. She doesn't say a word. She is
on top please! If I screw this up, I know already dead. A scream starts in my gut
they'll blacklist me and then I'll never be —I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves
part of any of the good groups." in my hair.

How could I say no? I don't remember passing out. David

says I hit my head on the edge of the
table on my way down. The nurse calls
DEAD FROGS my mom because I need stitches. The
doctor stares into the back of my eyes
Our biology class has graduated from with a bright light. Can she read the
fruit to frogs. We were scheduled to do thoughts hidden there? If she can, what
the frog unit in April, but the frog will she do? Call the cops? Send me to
company delivered our victims on the nuthouse? Do I want her to? I just

37
want to sleep. The whole point of not matter. At last check, she was wearing a
talking about it, of silencing the size one and a half, and she just has to
memory, is to make it go away. It won't. get down to a size one.
I'll need brain surgery to cut it out of my
The photo shoot is in a building cold
head. Maybe I should wait until David
enough to store ice. Heather looks like
Petrakis is a doctor, let him do it.
our Thanksgiving turkey wearing a blue
bikini. Her goose bumps are bigger than
her boobs. I'm shivering, and I'm
MODEL CITIZEN
wearing my ski jacket and a wool
Heather has landed a modeling job at a sweater. The photographer turns up the
department store in the mall. She says radio and starts bossing the girls around.
she was buying socks with her mother Heather totally gets into it. She throws
the week after her braces came off and her head back, stares at the camera,
some lady asked if she modeled. I flashes her teeth. The photographer
suspect the fact that her dad works for keeps saying, "Sexy, sexy, very cute.
the mall management company had Look this way. Sexy, think beach, think
something to do with it. boys." It creeps me out. Heather sneezes
in the middle of a group pose and her
The modeling gig is paying off in major mother runs in with tissues. It must be
Martha points. They all want to be catching. My throat is killing me. I want
Heather's New Best Friend. But she asks a nap.
me to go with her for the bathing suit
shoot. I think she's afraid to screw up in I don't buy the gold eyeshadow, but I do
front of them. Heather's mother drives pick up a bottle of Black Death nail
us. She asks if I want to be a model. polish. It's gloomy, with squiggly lines
Heather says I am too shy. I look at her of red in it. My nails are bitten to the
mother's eyes watching me in the bleeding point, so it will look natural. I
rearview mirror and hide my mouth with need to get a shirt that matches.
my fingers. The scabs on my lips are Something in a tubercular gray.
especially gross in that little rectangle
mirror.
DEATH BY ALGEBRA
Of course I want to be a model. I want to
paint my eyelids gold. I saw that on a Mr. Stetman won't give up. He is
magazine cover and it looked amazing— determined to prove once and for all that
turned the model into a sexy alien that algebra is something we will use the rest
everyone would look at but nobody of our lives. If he succeeds, I think they
dared touch. should give him the Teacher of the
Century Award and a two-week vacation
I like cheeseburgers too much to be a
in Hawaii, all expenses paid.
model. Heather has stopped eating and
complains about fluid retention. She He comes to class each day with a new
should worry more about brain retention, Real-Life Application. It is sweet that he
the way she's dieting away her gray cares enough about algebra and his

38
students to want to bring them together. But now Hairwoman is on a roll. "How I
He's like a grandfather who wants to fix Would Change High School," "Lower
up two young kids that he just knows the Driving Age to 14," "The Perfect
would make a great couple. Only the Job." Her topics are fun, but she keeps
kids have nothing in common and they cranking them out, one after the next.
hate each other. First she broke our spirits by
overwhelming us with work we couldn't
Today's Application has something to do
really complain about because the topics
with buying guppies at the pet store, and
are the kind of things we talk about all
calculating how many guppies you could
the time. Recently she's started sneaking
breed if you wanted to go into the guppie
grammar (shudder) into the classroom.
business. Once the guppies turn into x's
One day we worked on verb tenses: "I
and y's, my contacts fog. Class ends in a
surf the Net, I surfed the Net, I was
debate between the animal-rights
surfing the Net." Then, lively adjectives.
activists, who say it is immoral to own
Does it sound better to say "Nicole's old
fish, and the red-blooded capitalists, who
lacrosse stick hit me on the head" or
know lots of better ways to make money
"Nicole's barf-yellow, gnarled,
than investing in fish that eat their
bloodstained lacrosse stick hit me on the
young. I watch the snow falling outside.
head"? She even tried to teach us the
difference between active voice—"I
snarfed the Oreos"— and passive voice
WORD WORK —"The Oreos got snarfed."
Hairwoman is torturing us with essays. Words are hard work. I hope they send
Do English teachers spend their Hairwoman to a conference or
vacations dreaming up these things? something. I'm ready to help pay for a
The first essay this semester was a dud: sub.
"Why America Is Great" in five hundred
words. She gave us three weeks. Only
Tiffany Wilson turned it in on time. But NAMING THE MONSTER
the assignment was not a complete
I work on Heather's posters for two
failure—Hairwoman runs the drama club
weeks. I try to draw them in the art
and she recruited several new members
room, but too many people watch me. It
based on their performances as to why
is quiet in my closet, and the markers
they needed an extension.
smell good. I could stay here forever,
She has a warped sense of humor as well BRING A CAN, SAVE A LIFE.
as a demented beautician. The next essay Heather told me to be direct. It is the
was supposed to be fictional: "The Best only way to get what we want. I draw
Lost Homework Excuse Ever" in five posters of basketball players shooting
hundred words. We had one night. No cans through a hoop. They demonstrate
one was late. very good form.

39
Heather has another modeling job. to run into the sea. Behind my eyes I
Tennis clothes, I think. She asks me to conjugate irregular Spanish verbs.
hang the posters for her. I actually don't
A minor blizzard blows outside. The
mind. It's nice having kids see me do
weather lady says it's a lake-effect storm
something good. Might help my
—the wind from Canada sucks up water
reputation. I'm hanging a poster outside
from Lake Ontario, runs it through the
the metal-shop room when IT creeps up.
freeze machine, and dumps it on
Little flecks of metal slice through my
Syracuse. I can feel the wind fighting to
veins. IT whispers to me.
break through our storm windows. I
"Freshmeat." That's what IT whispers. want the snow to bury our house.
IT found me again. I thought I could They keep asking questions like "What
ignore IT. There are four hundred other is wrong with you?" and "Do you think
freshmen in here, two hundred female. this is cute?" How can I answer? I don't
Plus all the other grades. But he have to. They don't want to hear
whispers to me. anything I have to say. They ground me
until the Second Coming. I have to come
I can smell him over the noise of the
straight home after school unless Mom
metal shop and I drop my poster and the
arranges for me to meet with a teacher. I
masking tape and I want to throw up and
can't go to Heather's. They are going to
I can smell him and I run and he
disconnect the cable. (Don't think they'll
remembers and he knows. He whispers
follow through on that one.)
in my ear.
I do my homework and show it to them
I lie to Heather about the masking tape
like a good little girl. When they send
and say I put it back in the supply box.
me to bed, I write a runaway note and
leave it on my desk. Mom finds me
sleeping in my bedroom closet. She
RENT ROUND 3 hands me a pillow and closes the door
My guidance counselor calls Mom at the again. No more blah-blahs.
store to pave the way for my report card. I open up a paper clip and scratch it
Must remember to send her a thankyou across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful.
note. By the time we eat dinner, the If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then
Battle is roaring at full pitch. Grades, what is this? A whimper, a peep? I draw
blah, blah, blah, Attitude, blah, blah, little windowcracks of blood, etching
blah, Help around the house, blah, blah, line after line until it stops hurting. It
blah, Not a kid anymore, blah, blah, looks like I arm-wrestled a rosebush.
blah.
Mom sees the wrist at breakfast.
I watch the Eruptions. Mount Dad, long
dormant, now considered armed and Mom: "I don't have time for this,
dangerous. Mount Saint Mom, oozing Melinda."
lava, spitting flame. Warn the villagers
Me:

40
She says suicide is for cowards. This is safe tuna, or baby peas. I can see
an ugly nasty Mom side. She bought a Heather dig her nails into her palms
book about it. Tough love. Sour sugar. under the table. The peanut butter molds
Barbed velvet. Silent talk. She leaves the to the roof of my mouth like a retainer.
book on the back of the toilet to educate
Siobhan: "That's not all. Your numbers
me. She has figured out that I don't say
are abysmal."
too much. It bugs her.
Heather: "What numbers?"
Siobhan: "Your can quota. You aren't
CAN IT
carrying your weight.
Lunch with Heather starts cold. Since
You aren't contributing."
winter break, she has been sitting at the
fringe of the Martha table and I eat on Heather: "We've only been doing this for
the other side of her. I can tell something a week. I know I'll get more."
is up as soon as I walk in. All the
Marthas are wearing matching outfits: Emily: "It's not just the can quota. Your
navy corduroy miniskirts, striped tops, posters are ridiculous—my little brother
and clear plastic purses. They must have could have done a better job. It's no
gone shopping together. Heather doesn't wonder no one wants to help us. You've
match. They hadn't invited her. turned this project into a joke."

She is too cool to be nervous about this. Emily slides her tray across to Heather.
I am nervous for her. I take an enormous Heather gets up without a word and
bite of my PBJ and try not to choke. clears it away. Traitor. She isn't going to
They wait until she has a mouthful of stick up for my posters. The peanut
cottage cheese. Siobhan puts a can of butter in my mouth hardens.
beets on the table. Siobhan pokes Emily and looks at the
Siobhan: "What's this?" door.

Heather: [swallowing] "It's a can of Siobhan: "It's him. Andy Evans just
beets." walked in. I think he's looking for you,
Em."
Siobhan: "No duh. But we found an
entire bag of beets in the collection I turn around. They are talking about IT.
closet. They must have come from you." Andy. Andy Evans. Short stabby name.
Andy Evans, who strolls in carrying a
Heather: "A neighbor gave them to me. take-out bag from Taco Bell. He offers
They're beets. People eat them. What's the cafeteria monitor a burrito. Emily
the problem?" and Siobhan giggle. Heather returns, her
smile back in place, and asks if Andy is
The rest of the Marthas sigh on cue.
as bad as everyone says.
Apparently, beets are Not Good Enough.
Real Marthas only collect food that they Emily blushes the color of canned beets.
like to eat, like cranberry sauce, dolphin-
Siobhan: "It's just a rumor."

41
Emily: "Fact—he's gorgeous. Fact—he's Mr. Freeman is in trouble. Big-time. He
rich. Fact—he's just the itsiest bit gave up paperwork when the school
dangerous and he called me last night." board Xed out his supply budget. They
have caught up with him. Teachers just
Siobhan: "Rumor—he sleeps with
handed in the second marking-period
anything."
grades and Mr. Freeman gave out 210
The peanut butter locks my jaws closed. As. Someone smelled a rat. Probably the
office secretary.
Emily: "I don't believe it. Rumors are
spread by jealous people. Hi, Andy. Did I wonder if they called him down to
you bring enough lunch for everyone?" Principal Principal's office and put this
on his Permanent Record. He has
It feels like the Prince of Darkness has stopped working on his canvas, the
swept his cloak over the table. The lights painting we all thought was going to be
dim. I shiver. Andy stands behind me to this awesome, earth-shattering piece of
flirt with Emily. I lean into the table to art that would be auctioned for a million
stay as far away from him as I can. The dollars. The art room is cold, Mr.
table saws me in half. Emily's mouth Freeman's face a shade of gray-purple. If
moves, the fluorescent lights glittering he wasn't so depressed, I'd ask him what
on her teeth. The other girls scootch the name of that color is. He just sits on
toward Emily to soak up her his stool, a blue broken cricket husk.
Attractiveness Rays. Andy must be
talking too, I can feel deep vibrations in No one talks to him. We blow on our
my backbone, like a thudding speaker. I fingers to warm them up and sculpt or
can't hear the words. draw or paint or sketch, or, in my case,
carve. I start a new linoleum block. My
He twirls my ponytail in his fingers. last tree looked like it had died from
Emily's eyes narrow. I mumble some fungal infection—not the effect I
something idiotic and run for the wanted at all. The cold makes the
bathroom. I heave lunch into the toilet, linoleum stiffer than usual. I dig the
then wash my face with the ice water chisel into the block and push, trying to
that comes out of the Hot faucet. Heather follow the line of a tree trunk.
does not come looking for me.
I follow the line of my thumb instead
and gash myself. I swear and stick my
DARK ART thumb in my mouth. Everybody looks at
me, so I take it out again. Mr. Freeman
The cement-slab sky hangs inches above hurries over with a box of Kleenex. It
our heads. Which direction is east? It has isn't a deep cut, and I shake my head
been so long since I've seen the sun, I when he asks if I want to go to the
can't remember. Turtlenecks creep out of nurse's office. He washes my chisel off
bottom drawers. Turtle faces pull back in the sink and puts bleach on it. Some
into winter clothes. We won't see some sort of AIDS regulation. When it is
kids until spring. germ-free and dry, he carries it back

42
toward my table, but stops in front of his
canvas. He hasn't finished painting. The
bottom right corner is empty. The
prisoners' faces are menacing—you can't
take your eyes off them. I wouldn't want
a painting like that hanging over my
couch. It looks like it might come alive
at night.
Mr. Freeman steps back, as if he has just
seen something new in his own picture.
He slices the canvas with my chisel,
ruining it with a long, ripping sound that
makes the entire class gasp.

MY REPORT CARD THIRD MARKING PERIOD

Attitude D Social Studies D

Spanish C- Art A DEATH OF THE WOMBAT

Lunch C Biology B The Wombat is dead. No assembly, no

vote. Principal Principal made an
Algebra C Clothes C- announcement this morning. He said
English C- Gym C hornets better represent the
Merryweather spirit than foreign
marsupials, plus the Wombat mascot
costume was going to suck money from
the prom committee's budget. We are the
Hornets and that is final.
The seniors support this decision totally.
They wouldn't be able to hold up their
heads if the prom had to be moved from
the Holiday Inn Ballroom to the gym.
That would be so elementary-school.
Our cheerleaders are working on
annoying chants that end in lots of
buzzing. I think this is a mistake. I have
visions of opposing teams making
enormous flyswatters and giant cans of

43
insecticide out of papier-mache to I cross the parking lot and IT comes out
humiliate us during halftime programs. the door. Andy Evans with a raspberry-
dripping jelly doughnut in one hand and
I'm allergic to hornets. One sting and my
a cup of coffee in the other. I stop on a
skin bubbles with hives and my throat
frozen puddle. Maybe he won't notice
closes up.
me if I stand still. That's how rabbits
COLD WEATHER AND BUSES survive; they freeze in the presence of
predators.
I miss the bus because I couldn't believe
how dark it was when my alarm clock He sets the coffee on top of his car and
went off. I need a clock that will turn on fumbles in his pocket for the keys. Very,
a 300-watt bulb when it's time to get up. very adult, this coffee/car-keys/cut-
Either that or a rooster. school guy. He drops the keys and
swears. He isn't going to notice me. I'm
When I realize how late it is, I decide not not here—he can't see me standing here
to rush. Why bother? Mom comes in my purple marshmallow jacket.
downstairs and I'm reading the funnies
and eating oatmeal. But of course my luck with this guy
sucks. So he turns his head and sees me.
Mom: "You missed the bus again." And wolfsmiles, showing oh granny
I nod. what big teeth you have.

Mom: "You expect me to drive you He steps toward me, holding out the
again." doughnut. "Want a bite?" he asks.

Another nod. BunnyRabbit bolts, leaving fast tracks in

the snow. Getaway getaway getaway.
Mom: "You'll need boots. It's a long Why didn't I run like this before when I
walk and it snowed again last night. I'm was a one-piece talking girl?
already late."
Running makes me feel like I am eleven
That is unexpected, but not harsh. The years old and fast. I burn a strip up the
walk isn't that bad— it's not like she sidewalk, melting snow and ice three
made me hike ten miles through a feet on either side. When I stop, a brand-
snowstorm uphill in both directions or new thought explodes in my head:
anything. The streets are quiet and
pretty. The snow covers yesterday's Why go to school?
slush and settles on the rooftops like
powdered sugar on a gingerbread town.
ESCAPE
By the time I get to Fayette's, the town
bakery, I'm hungry again. Fayette's The first hour of blowing off school is
makes wicked good jelly doughnuts and great. No one to tell me what to do, what
I have lunch money in my pocket. I to read, what to say. It's like living in an
decide to buy two doughnuts and call it MTV video—not with the stupid
brunch. costumes, but wearing that butt-strutting,
I-do-what-I-want additood.
44
 Halloween. The air smells like french
I wander down Main Street. Beauty fries and floor cleaner. The sun through
parlor, 7-Eleven, bank, card store. The the skylight is summer hot and I shed
rotating bank sign says it is 22 degrees. I layers—jacket, hat, mittens, sweater. I
wander up the other side. Appliance lose seven pounds in half a minute, feel
store, hardware store, parking lot, like I could float up alongside the
grocery store. My insides are cold from elevator. Tiny brown birds sing above
breathing in frozen air. I can feel the me. No one knows how they got in, but
hairs in my nose crackle. My strut slows they live in the mall and sing pretty. I lie
to a foot-dragging schlump. I even think on the bench and watch the birds weave
about trudging uphill to school. At least through the warm air until the sun burns
it's heated. so bright I'm afraid it will make holes in
my eyeballs.
I bet kids in Arizona enjoy playing
hooky more than kids trapped in Central I should probably tell someone, just tell
New York. No slush. No yellow snow. someone. Get it over with. Let it out,
blurt it out.
I'm saved by a Centro bus. It coughs and
rumbles and spits out two old women in I want to be in fifth grade again. Now,
front of the grocery store. I climb on. that is a deep dark secret, almost as big
Destination: The Mall. as the other one. Fifth grade was easy—
old enough to play outside without
You never think about the mall being
Mom, too young to go off the block. The
closed. It's always supposed to be there,
perfect leash length.
like milk in the refrigerator or God. But
it is just opening when I get off the bus. A rent-a-cop strolls by. He studies the
Store managers juggle key rings and wax women in the Sears window, then
extra-large coffees, then the cage gates strolls back the other way. He doesn't
fly up in the air. Lights wink on, the even bother with a fake smile, or an "Are
fountains jump, music plays behind the you lost?" I'm not in fifth grade. He
giant ferns, and the mall is open. starts back for a third pass, his finger on
his radio. Will he turn me in? Time to
White-haired grandmas and grandpops
find that bus stop.
powerwalk squeaksqueak, going so fast
they don't even look at the window I spend the rest of the day waiting for it
displays. I hunt spring fashions— to be 2:48, so it's not all that different
nothing that fit last year fits now. How from school. I figure I learned a good
can I shop with Mom if I don't want to lesson, and set my alarm clock early for
talk to her? She might love it—no the next day. I wake up on time for four
arguing that way. But then I'd have to days in a row, get on the bus four days in
wear the clothes she picked out. a row, ride home after school. I want to
Conundrum—a three-point vocab word. scream. I think I'll need to take a day off
every once in a while.
I sit by the central elevator, where they
set up Santa's Workshop after

45
 CODE BREAKING for stupid, for scared. S for silly. For
shame.
Hairwoman has been buying new
earrings. One pair hangs all the way So the code-breaking part was fun for
down to her shoulders. Another has bells the first lesson, but a little of it goes a
in them like the pair Heather gave me at long way. Hairwoman is hammering it to
Christmas. I guess I can't wear mine death.
anymore. There should be a law.
Hairwoman: "The description of the
It's Nathaniel Hawthorne Month in house with bits of glass embedded in the
English. Poor Nathaniel. Does he know walls—what does it mean?"
what they've done to him? We are
Utter silence from the class. A fly left
reading The Scarlet Letter one sentence
over from fall buzzes against the cold
at a time, tearing it up and chewing on
window. A locker slams in the hall.
its bones.
Hairwoman answers her own question.
It's all about SYMBOLISM, says
"Think of what that would look like, a
Hairwoman. Every word chosen by
wall with glass embedded in it. It
Nathaniel, every comma, every
would . . . reflect? Sparkle? Shine on
paragraph break— these were all done
sunny days maybe. Come on, people, I
on purpose. To get a decent grade in her
shouldn't have to do this by myself.
class, we have to figure out what he was
Glass in the wall. We use that on top of
really trying to say. Why couldn't he just
prison walls nowadays. Hawthorne is
say what he meant? Would they pin
showing us that the house is a prison, or
scarlet letters on his chest? B for blunt, S
a dangerous place maybe. It is hurtful.
for straightforward?
Now, I asked you to find some examples
I can't whine too much. Some of it is of the use of color. Who can list a few
fun. It's like a code, breaking into his pages where color is described?"
head and finding the key to his secrets.
The fly buzzes a farewell buzz and dies.
Like the whole guilt thing. Of course
you know the minister feels guilty and Rachel/Rachelle, my ex-best friend:
Hester feels guilty, but Nathaniel wants "Who cares what the color means? How
us to know this is a big deal. If he kept do you know what he meant to say? I
repeating, "She felt guilty, she felt mean, did he leave another book called
guilty, she felt guilty," it would be a 'Symbolism in My Books'? If he didn't,
boring book and no one would buy it. So then you could just be making all of this
he planted SYMBOLS, like the weather, up. Does anyone really think this guy sat
and the whole light and dark thing, to down and stuck all kinds of hidden
show us how poor Hester feels. meanings into his story? It's just a story."
I wonder if Hester tried to say no. She's Hairwoman: "This is Hawthorne, one of
kind of quiet. We would get along. I can the greatest American novelists! He
see us, living in the woods, her wearing didn't do anything by accident—he was
that A, me with an S maybe, S for silent, a genius."

46
Rachel/Rachelle: "I thought we were something easy like designing an entire
supposed to have opinions here. My city or copying the Mona Lisa, but he
opinion is that it's kind of hard to read, won't budge. He suggested I try a
but the part about how Hester gets in different medium, so I used purple finger
trouble and the preacher guy almost gets paints. The paint cooled my hands, but
away with it, well, that's a good story. did nothing for my tree. Trees.
But I think you are making all this
On a shelf I find a book of landscapes
symbolism stuff up. I don't believe any
filled with illustrations of every stinking
of it."
tree that grows: sycamore, linden, aspen,
Hairwoman: "Do you tell your math willow, fir, tulip poplar, chestnut, elm,
teacher you don't believe that three times spruce, pine. Their bark, flowers, limbs,
four equals twelve? Well, Hawthorne's needles, nuts. I feel like a regular
symbolism is just like multiplication— forester, but I can't do what I'm supposed
once you figure it out, it's as clear as to. The last time Mr. Freeman had
day." anything good to say to me was when I
made that stupid turkey-bone thing.
The bell rings. Hairwoman blocks the
door to give out our assignment. A five- Mr. Freeman is having his own
hundred-word essay on symbolism, how problems. He mostly sits on his stool and
to find hidden meanings in Hawthorne. stares at a new canvas. It is painted one
The whole class yells at Rachel/Rachelle color, so blue it's almost black. No light
in the hall. comes out of it or goes in, no shadows
without light. Ivy asks him what it is.
That's what you get for speaking up.
Mr. Freeman snaps out of his funk and
looks at her like he just realized the
room was full of students.
STUNTED
Mr. Freeman: "It is Venice at night, the
Mr. Freeman has found a way around the color of an accountant's soul, a love
authorities again. He painted the names rejected. I grew mold on an orange this
of all his students on one wall of the color when I lived in Boston. It's the
classroom, then made a column for each blood of imbeciles. Confusion. Tenure.
week left of school. The inside of a lock, the taste of iron.
Each week he evaluates our progress and Despair. A city with the streetlights shot
makes a note on the wall. He calls it a out. Smoker's lung. The hair of a small
necessary compromise. girl who grows up hopeless. The heart of
a school board director ..."
Next to my name he's painted a question
mark. My tree is frozen. A kindergartner He is warming up for a full-fledged rant
could carve a better tree. I've stopped when the bell rings. Some teachers
counting the linoleum blocks I ruined. rumor whisper he's having a breakdown.
Mr. Freeman has reserved the rest of I think he's the sanest person I know.
them for me. Good thing, too. I am
dying to try a different subject,

47
 LUNCH DOOM She studies her no-fat yogurt. I try to
think of something bitchy, something
Nothing good ever happens at lunch.
wicked and cruel. I can't.
The cafeteria is a giant sound stage
where they film daily segments of Me: "You mean we're not friends
Teenage Humiliation Rituals. And it anymore?"
smells gross.
Heather: [smiling with her mouth but not
I sit with Heather, as usual, but we are her eyes] "We were never really, really
off by ourselves in a corner by the friends, were we? I mean, it's not like I
courtyard, not near the Marthas. Heather ever slept over at your house or
sits so her back is to the rest of the anything. We like to do different things.
cafeteria. She can watch the wind shift I have my modeling, and I like to
the drifts of snow trapped in the shop ..."
courtyard behind me. I can feel the wind
Me: "I like to shop."
seep through the glass and penetrate my
shirt. Heather: "You don't like anything. You
are the most depressed person I've ever
I am not listening too closely as Heather
met, and excuse me for saying this, but
ahems her way to what is on her mind.
you are no fun to be around and I think
The noise of four hundred mouths
you need professional help."
moving, consuming, pulls me away from
her. The background pulsing of the Up until this very instant, I had never
dishwashers, the squeal of seriously thought of Heather as my one
announcements that no one hears—it is a true friend in the world. But now I am
vespiary, the Hornet haven. I am a small desperate to be her pal, her buddy, to
ant crouched by the entrance, with the giggle with her, to gossip with her. I
winter wind at my back. I smother my want her to paint my toenails.
green beans with mashed potatoes.
Me: "I was the only person who talked
Heather nibbles through her jicama and to you on the first day of school, and
whole-grain roll, and blows me off while now you're blowing me off because I'm a
she eats her baby carrots. little depressed? Isn't that what friends
are for, to help each other out in bad
Heather: "This is really awkward. I
times?"
mean, how do you say something like
this? No matter what... no, I don't want Heather: "I knew you would take this the
to say that. I mean, we kind of paired up wrong way. You are just so weird
at the beginning of the year when I was sometimes."
new and didn't know anyone and that
was really, really sweet of you, but I I squint at the wall of hearts on the other
think it's time for us both to admit that side of the room. Lovers can spend five
we . . . just. . . are . . . very . . . different." dollars to get a red or pink heart with
their initials on it mounted on the wall
for Valentine's Day. It looks so out of
place, those red splotches on blue. The

48
jocks—excuse me—the student athletes, because I did not go to Spanish today.
sit in front of the hearts to judge the new Gracias a dios. Hasta luego.
romances. Poor Heather. There are no
Hallmark cards for breaking up with
friends. CUTTING OUT HEARTS
I know what she's thinking. She has a When we get off the bus on Valentine's
choice: she can hang out with me and get Day, a girl with white blond hair bursts
the reputation of being a creepy weirdo into tears. "I Love You, Anjela!" is spray
who might show up with a gun someday, painted into the snowbank along the
or she can be a Martha—one of the girls parking lot. I don't know if Angela is
who get good grades, do nice things, and crying because she is happy or because
ski well. Which would I choose? her heart's desire can't spell. Her honey
is waiting with a red rose. They kiss
Heather: "When you get through this
right there in front of everybody. Happy
Life Sucks phase, I'm sure lots of people
Valentine's Day.
will want to be your friend. But you just
can't cut classes or not show up to It's caught me by surprise. Valentine
school. What's next— hanging out with Day's was a big hairy deal in elementary
the dopers?" school because you had to give cards to
everyone in your class, even the kid who
Me: "Is this the part where you try to be
made you step in dog poop. Then the
nice to me?"
class mom brought in pink frosted
Heather: "You have a reputation." cupcakes and we traded those little
candy hearts that said "Hot Baby!" and
Me: "For what?"
"Be Mine!"
Heather: "Look, you can't eat lunch with
The holiday went underground in middle
me anymore. I'm sorry. Oh, and don't eat
school. No parties. No shoe boxes with
those potato chips. They'll make you
red cutout hearts for your drugstore
break out."
valentines. To tell someone you liked
She neatly wraps her trash into a wax- them, you had to use layers and layers of
paper ball and deposits it in the garbage friends, as in "Janet told me to tell you
can. Then she walks to the Martha table. that Steven told me that Dougie said
Her friends scootch down to make room Carom was talking to April and she
for her. They swallow her whole and she hinted that Sara's brother Mark has a
never looks back at me. Not once. friend named Tony who might like you.
What are you going to do?"
It is easier to floss with barbed wire than
CONJUGATE THIS admit you like someone in middle
I cut class, you cut class, he, she, it cuts school. I go with the flow toward my
class. We cut class, they cut class. We locker. We are all dressed in down
all cut class. I cannot say this in Spanish, jackets and vests, so we collide and roll
like bumper cars at the state fair. I notice

49
envelopes taped to some lockers but me. I want a note with a heart on it. I
don't really think about it until I find one pull the edge of my thumbnail back too
on mine. It says "Melinda." It has to be a far and it bleeds. I squeeze my thumb so
joke. Someone put it there to make me the blood gathers in a perfect sphere
look stupid. I peer over my left shoulder, before it collapses and slides toward the
then my right, for groups of evil kids palm of my hand. David hands me a
pointing at me. All I see are the backs of tissue. I press it into the cut. The white
heads. cells of paper dissolve as the red floods
them. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts
What if it is real? What if it's from a
except the small smiles and blushes that
boy? My heart stops, then stutters and
flash across the room like tiny sparrows.
pumps again. No, not Andy. His style is
definitely not romantic. Maybe David I open my notebook and write a note to
Petrakis My Lab Partner. He watches me David: "Thanks!" I slide the notebook
when he thinks I can't see him, afraid I'm over to him. He swallows hard, his
going to break lab equipment or faint Adam's apple bouncing to the bottom of
again. Sometimes he smiles at me, an his neck and back up again.
anxious smile, the kind you use on a dog
He writes back: "You are welcome."
that might bite. All I have to do is open
Now what? I squeeze the tissue harder
the envelope. I can't stand it. I walk past
on my thumb to concentrate. Ms. Keen's
my locker and go straight to biology.
baby bird hatches on the board. I draw a
Ms. Keen decided it would be cute to picture of Ms. Keen as a robin. David
review birds and bees in honor of smiles. He draws a branch under her feet
Valentine's Day. Nothing practical, of and slides the notebook back to me. I try
course, no information about why to connect the branch to a tree. It looks
hormones can make you crazy, or why pretty good, better than anything I have
your face only breaks out at the worst drawn so far in art. The bell rings, and
time, or how to tell if somebody really David's hand brushes against mine as he
gave you a Valentine's card on your picks up his books. I bolt from my seat.
locker. I'm afraid to look at him. What if he
thinks I already opened his card and I
No, she really teaches us about the birds
hate his guts, which was why I didn't say
and the bees. Notes of love and betrayal
anything? But I can't say anything
are passed hand over hand as if the lab
because the card could be a joke, or from
tables were lanes on Cupid's Highway.
some other silent watcher who blends in
Ms. Keen draws a picture of an egg with
with the blur of lockers and doors.
a baby chick inside it.
My locker. The card is still there, a white
David Petrakis is fighting to stay awake.
patch of hope with my name on it. I tear
Does he like me? I make him nervous.
it off and open it. Something falls to my
He thinks I'm going to ruin his grade.
feet. The card has a picture of two cutesy
But maybe I'm growing on him. Do I
teddy bears sharing a pot of honey. I
want him to like me? I chew my
open it. "Thanks for understanding.
thumbnail. No. I just want anyone to like

50
You're the sweetest!" It is signed with a around me have other things to worry
purple pen. "Good Luck!!! Heather." about. The hospital is the perfect place to
be invisible and the cafeteria food is
I bend down to find what dropped from
better than the school's.
the card. It was the friendship necklace I
had given Heather in a fit of insanity The worst waiting room is on the heart-
around Christmas. Stupid stupid stupid. attack floor. It is crowded with gray-
How stupid could I be? I hear a cracking faced women twisting their wedding
inside me, my ribs are collapsing in on rings and watching the doors for a
my lungs, which is why I can't breathe. I familiar doctor. One lady just sobs, she
stumble down the hall, down another doesn't care that total strangers watch
hall, down another hall, till I find my her nose drip or that people can hear her
very own door and slip inside and throw as soon as they get off the elevator.
the lock, not even bothering to turn on
Her cries stop just short of screaming.
the lights, just falling falling a mile
They make me shiver. I snag a couple of
downhill to the bottom of my brown
copies of People magazine and I am out
chair, where I can sink my teeth into the
of there.
soft white skin of my wrist and cry like
the baby I am. I rock, thumping my head The maternity ward is dangerous
against the cinder-block wall. A because people there are happy. They
halfforgotten holiday has unveiled every ask me questions, who am I waiting for,
knife that sticks inside me, every cut. No when is the baby due, is it my mother, a
Rachel, no Heather, not even a silly, sister? If I wanted people to ask me
geeky boy who would like the inside girl questions, I would have gone to school. I
I think I am. say I have to call my father and flee.
The cafeteria is cool. Huge. Full of
people wearing doctor-nurse clothes
OUR LADY OF THE WAITING
with college-degree posture and beepers.
ROOM
I always thought hospital people would
I find Lady of Mercy Hospital by be real health nuts, but these guys eat
accident. I fall asleep on the bus and junk food like it's going out of style. Big
miss the mall completely. The hospital is piles of nachos, cheeseburgers as wide
worth a try. as plates, cherry pie, potato chips, all the
good stuff. One lone cafeteria worker
Maybe I can learn some pre-med stuff
named
for David.
Lola stands by the steamed-fish and
In a sick kind of way, I love it. There are
onion tray. I feel bad for her, so I buy the
waiting rooms on almost every floor. I
fish platter. I also buy a plate of mashed
don't want to attract too much attention
potatoes and gravy and a yogurt. I find a
to myself, so I stay on the move,
seat next to a table of serious, frowning,
checking my watch constantly, trying to
silver-haired men who use words so long
look as if I have a reason for being here.
I'm surprised they don't choke. Very
I'm afraid I'll get caught, but the people

51
official. Nice to hang around people who We have a meeting with Principal
sound like they know what they're doing. Principal. Someone has noticed that I've
been absent. And that I don't talk. They
After lunch I wander up to the fifth
figure I'm more a head case than a
floor, to an adult surgery wing where
criminal, so they call in the guidance
waiting family members concentrate on
counselor, too.
the television. I sit where I can watch the
nurses' station and, beyond that, a couple Mother's mouth twitches with words she
of hospital rooms. It looks like a good doesn't want to say in front of strangers.
place to get sick. The doctors and nurses Dad keeps checking his beeper, hoping
seem smart, but they smile every once in someone will call.
a while.
I sip water from a paper cup. If the cup
A laundry-room worker pushes an were lead crystal, I would open my
enormous basket of green hospital mouth and take a bite. Crunch, crunch,
gowns (the kind that shows your butt if swallow.
you don't hold it closed) to a storage
They want me to speak.
area. I follow him. If anyone asks, I'm
looking for a water fountain. No one "Why won't you say anything?" "For the
asks. I pick up a gown. I want to put it love of God, open your mouth!" "This is
on and crawl under the white knobbly childish, Melinda." "Say something."
blanket and white sheets in one of those
high-off-the-ground beds and sleep. It is "You are only hurting yourself by
getting harder to sleep at home. How refusing to cooperate." "I don't know
long would it take for the nurses to why she's doing this to us."
figure out I don't belong here? The Principal ha-hums loudly and gets in
Would they let me rest for a few days? the middle.

A stretcher pushed by a tall guy with Principal Principal: "We all agree we are
muscles sweeps down the hall. One here to help. Let's start with these
woman walks beside it, a nurse. I have grades. They are not what we expected
no idea what is wrong with the patient, from you, Melissa."
but his eyes are closed and a thin line of Dad: "Melinda."
blood seeps through a bandage on his
neck. Principal Principal: "Melinda. Last year
you were a straight-B student, no
I put the gown back. There is nothing behavioral problem, few absences. But
wrong with me. These are really sick the reports
people, sick that you can see. I head for
the elevator. The bus is on its way. I've been getting . . . well, what can we
say?"
Mother: "That's the point, she won't say
CLASH OF THE TITANS anything! I can't get a word out of her.
She's mute."

52
Guidance Counselor: "I think we need to counselor dances around a spangled
explore the family dynamics at play cane. I giggle. Zap. Back in their world.
here."
Mother: "You think this is funny? We
Mother: "She's jerking us around to get are talking about your future, your life,
attention." Melinda!"
Me: [inside my head] Would you listen? Father: "I don't know where you picked
Would you believe me? Fat chance. up that slacker attitude, but you certainly
didn't learn it at home. Probably from
Dad: "Well, something is wrong. What
the bad influences up here."
have you done to her? I had a sweet,
loving little girl last year, but as soon as G.C.: "Actually, Melinda has some very
she comes up here, she clams up, skips nice friends. I've seen her helping that
school, and flushes her grades down the group of girls who volunteer so much.
toilet. I golf with the school board Meg Harcutt, Emily Briggs, Siobhan
president, you know." Falon ..."
Mother: "We don't care who you know, Principal Principal: [Stops doodling]
Jack. We have to get Melinda to talk." "Very nice girls. They all come from
good families." He looks at me for the
Guidance Counselor: [leaning forward,
first time and tilts his head to one side.
looking at Mom and Dad] "Do the two
"Those are your friends?"
of you have marriage issues?"
Do they choose to be so dense? Were
Mother responds with unladylike
they born that way? I have no friends. I
language. Father suggests that the
have nothing. I say nothing. I am
guidance counselor visit that hot, scary
nothing. I wonder how long it takes to
underground world. The guidance
ride a bus to Arizona.
counselor grows quiet. Maybe she
understands why I keep it zipped. MISS Merryweather In-School
Principal Principal sits back in his chair Suspension. This is my Consequence.
and doodles a hornet. Tickticktick. I'm
It is in my contract. It's true what they
missing study hall for this. Nap time.
tell you about not signing anything
How many days until graduation? I lost
without reading it carefully. Even better,
track. Have to find a calendar.
pay a lawyer to read it carefully.
Mother and Father apologize. They sing
The guidance counselor dreamed up the
a show tune: "What are we to do? What
contract after our cozy get-together in
are we to do? She's so blue, we're just
the principal's office. It lists a million
two. What, oh what, are we supposed to
things I'm not supposed to do and the
do?"
consequences I'll suffer if I do them. The
In my headworld, they jump on Principal consequences for minor offenses like
Principal's desk and perform a tap-dance being late to class or not participating
routine. A spotlight flashes on them. A were stupid—they wanted me to write an
chorus line joins in, and the guidance

53
essay—so I took another day off school I am getting seriously weird in the head.
and
When Mr. Neck isn't looking, Andy
Bingo! I earned a trip to MISS. blows in my ear.
It's a classroom painted white, with I want to kill him.
uncomfortable chairs and a lamp that
buzzes like an angry hive. The inmates
of MISS are commanded to sit and stare PICASSO
at the empty walls. It is supposed to bore
us into submission or prepare us for an I can't do anything, not even in art class.
insane asylum. Mr. Freeman, a pro at staring out the
window himself, thinks he knows what's
Our guard dog today is Mr. Neck. He wrong. "Your imagination is paralyzed,"
curls his lip and growls at me. I think he declares. "You need to take a trip."
this is part of his punishment for that Ears perk up all over the classroom and
bigoted crap he pulled in class. There are someone turns down the radio. A trip? Is
two other convicts with me. One has a he planning a field trip? "You need to
cross tattooed on his shaved skull. He visit the mind of a Great One," continues
sits like a granite boy waiting for a chisel
so he can carve himself out of the Mr. Freeman. Papers flutter as the class
mountainside. The other kid looks sighs. The radio sings louder again.
completely normal. His clothes are a He pushes my pitiful linoleum block
little freaky maybe, but that's a aside and gently sets down an enormous
misdemeanor here, not a felony. When book. "Picasso." He whispers like a
Mr. Neck gets up to greet a late arival, priest. "Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who
the normal-looking kid tells me he likes painted the truth, molded it, ripped from
to start fires. the earth with two angry hands." He
Our last companion is Andy Evans. My pauses. "But I'm getting carried away." I
breakfast turns to hydrochloric acid. He nod. "See Picasso," he commands. "I
grins at Mr. Neck and sits down next to can't do everything for you. You must
me. walk alone to find your soul."

Mr. Neck: "Cutting again, Andy?" Blah, blah, yeah. Looking at pictures
would be better than watching snow
Andy Beast: "No sir. One of your drift. I open the book.
colleagues thinks I have an authority
problem. Can you believe it?" Picasso sure had a thing for naked
women. Why not draw them with their
Mr. Neck: "No more talking." clothes on? Who sits around without a
shirt on, plucking a mandolin? Why not
I am Bunny Rabbit again, hiding in the
draw naked guys, just to be fair? Naked
open. I sit like I have an egg in my
women is art, naked guys a no-no, I bet.
mouth. One move, one word, and the
Probably because most painters are men.
egg will shatter and blow up the world.

54
I don't like the first chapters. Besides all sure how to react—happy because I'm
the naked women, he painted these blue behaving, or angrier still that they have
pictures, like he ran out of red and green to be happy about such a minor thing as
for a few weeks. He painted circus a kid who goes to class every day.
people and some dancers who look like
The guidance counselor convinces them
they are standing in smog. He should
I need a reward—a chew toy or
have made them cough.
something. They settle on new clothes.
The next chapter steals my breath away. I'm outgrowing everything I own.
It takes me out of the room. It confuses
But shopping with my mother? Just
me, while one little part of my brain
shoot me and put me out of my misery.
jumps up and down screaming, "I get it!
Anything but a shopping trip with Mom.
I get it!" Cubism. Seeing beyond what is
She hates shopping with me. At the mall
on the surface. Moving both eyes and a
she stalks ahead, chin high, eyelids
nose to the side of the face. Dicing
twitching because I won't try on the
bodies and tables and guitars as if they
practical, "stylish" clothes she likes.
were celery sticks, and rearranging them
Mother is the rock, I am the ocean.
so that you have to really see them to see
them. Amazing. What did the world look I have to pout and roll my eyes for hours
like to him? until she finally wears down and
crumbles into a thousand grains of beach
I wish he had gone to high school at
sand. It takes a lot of energy. I don't
Merryweather. I bet we could have hung
think I have it in me.
out. I search the whole book and never
see one picture of a tree. Maybe Picasso Apparently, Mom isn't up to the drag 'n'
couldn't do trees either. Why did I get whine mall gig either. When they
stuck with such a lame idea? I sketch a announce I've earned new clothes, they
Cubist tree with hundreds of skinny add that I have to get them at Effert's, so
rectangles for branches. Mom can use her discount. I'm supposed
to take the bus after school and meet her
They look like lockers, boxes, glass
at the store. In a way, I'm glad. Get in,
shards, lips with triangle brown leaves. I
buy, get out, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
drop the sketch on Mr. Freeman's desk.
It seems like a good idea until I'm
"Now you're getting somewhere," he
standing at the bus stop in front of
says. He gives me a thumbs-up.
school as a blizzard rips through the
county. The wind chill must be twenty
below and I don't have a hat or mittens. I
RIDING SHOTGUN
try keeping my back to the wind, but my
I am a good girl. I go to every single rear end freezes. Facing it is impossible.
class for a week. It feels good to know The snow blows up under my eyelids
what the teachers are talking about and fills my ears. That's why I don't hear
again. My parents get the news flash the car pull up next to me. When the
from the guidance counselor. They aren't

55
horn blows, I nearly jump out of my from them." He pulls back into the right
skin. It's Mr. Freeman. "Need a ride?" lane.
Mr. Freeman's car shocks me. It is a blue I watch the beer truck fade into the
Volvo, a safe Swedish box. I had him snowstorm in the side mirror. Part of me
figured for an old VW bus. It is clean. I thinks maybe he is driving a bit too fast,
had visions of art supplies, posters and what with all the snow, but the car is
rotting fruit everywhere. When I get in, heavy and doesn't slip. The snow that
classical music plays quietly. Will had caked on my socks melts into my
wonders never cease. sneakers.
He says dropping me off in the city is Me: "All right, but you said we had to
only a little out of his way. He'd love to put emotion into our art. I don't know
meet my mother. My eyes widen in fear. what that means. I don't know what I'm
supposed to feel." My fingers fly up and
"Maybe not," he says. I brush the
cover my mouth.
melting snow from my head and hold
my hands in front of the heating vent. He What am I doing?
turns the fan up full-blast.
Mr. Freeman: "Art without emotion is
As I thaw, I count the mileage markers like chocolate cake without sugar. It
on the side of the road, keeping an eye makes you gag." He sticks his finger
out for interesting roadkill. We get a lot down his throat. "The next time you
of dead deer in the suburbs. Sometimes work on your trees, don't think about
poor people take the venison for their trees. Think about love, or hate, or joy,
winter's meat, but most of the time the or rage— whatever makes you feel
carcasses rot until their skin hangs like something, makes your palms sweat or
ribbons over their bones. your toes curl. Focus on that feeling.
When people don't express themselves,
We head west to the big city.
they die one piece at a time. You'd be
"You did a good job with that Cubist shocked at how many adults are really
sketch," he says. I don't know what to dead inside—walking through their days
say. We pass a dead dog. It doesn't have with no idea who they are, just waiting
a collar. "I'm seeing a lot of growth in for a heart attack or cancer or a Mack
your work. You are learning more than truck to come along and finish the job.
you know." It's the saddest thing I know."

Me: "I don't know anything. My trees He pulls off the exit and stops at the
suck." light at the bottom of the ramp.
Something small and furry and dead is
Mr. Freeman puts on his turn signal, crumpled by the storm sewer. I chew off
looks in the rearview mirror, pulls into a scab on my thumb. The Effert's sign
the left lane, and passes a beer truck. blinks in the middle of the block. "Over
"Don't be so hard on yourself. Art is there," I say. "You can drop me off in
about making mistakes and learning front." We sit for a moment, the snow

56
hiding the other side of the street, a cello embarrassing places, and feet that grow
solo thrumming from the speakers. "Um, an inch a night. Utter crap.
thanks," I say. "Don't mention it," he
No matter what I try on, I know I'll hate
answers. "If you ever need to talk, you
it. Effert's has cornered the market on
know where to find me."
completely unfashionable clothes.
I unbuckle the seat belt and open the
Clothes that grandmas buy for your
door.
birthday. It's a fashion graveyard. Just
"Melinda," Mr. Freeman says. Snow get a pair that fits, I tell myself. One pair
filters into the car and melts on the — that's the goal. I look around. No
dashboard. "You're a good kid. I think Mom. I carry three pairs of the least
you have a lot to say. I'd like to hear it." offensive jeans into the dressing room. I
am the only person trying anything on.
I close the door.
The first pair is way too small—I can't
even get them over my butt. I don't
bother with the second pair; they are a
HALL OF MIRRORS smaller size. The third pair is huge.
I stop by the manager's office, and the Exactly what I'm looking for.
secretary says my mother is on the I scurry out to the three-way mirror.
phone. Just as well. It will be easier to With an extra-large sweatshirt over the
find a pair of jeans without her around. I top, you can hardly tell that they are
head for the "Young Ladies" section of Effert's jeans. Still no Mom. I adjust the
the store. (Another reason they don't mirror so I can see reflections of
make any money. Who wants to be reflections, miles and miles of me and
called a young lady?) my new jeans. I hook my hair behind my
I need a size ten, as much as it kills me ears. I should have washed it.
to admit that. Everything I own is an My face is dirty. I lean into the mirror.
eight or a small. I look at my canoe feet Eyes after eyes after eyes stare back at
and my wet, obnoxious anklebones. me. Am I in there somewhere? A
Aren't girls supposed to stop growing at thousand eyes blink. No makeup. Dark
this age? circles. I pull the side flaps of the mirror
When I was in sixth grade, my mom in closer, folding myself into the looking
bought me all these books about puberty glass and blocking out the rest of the
and adolescence, so I would appreciate store.
what a "beautiful" and "natural" and My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my
"miraculous" transformation I was going body slicing into dissecting cubes. I saw
through. Crap. That's what it is. She a movie once where a woman was
complains all the time about her hair burned over eighty percent of her body
turning gray and her butt sagging and and they had to wash all the dead skin
her skin wrinkling, but I'm supposed to off. They wrapped her in bandages, kept
be grateful for a face full of zits, hair in

57
her drugged, and waited for skin grafts. sandwich and it barfs mustard on my
They actually sewed her into a new skin. shirt. Maybe they're planning the next
Project. They could mail snowballs to
I push my ragged mouth against the
the weather-deprived children in Texas.
mirror. A thousand bleeding, crusted lips
push back. What does it feel like to walk They could knit goat-hair blankets for
in a new skin? Was she completely shorn sheep. I imagine what Heather
sensitive like a baby, or numb, without might look like in ten years, after two
nerve endings, just walking in a skin children and seventy pounds. It helps a
bag? I exhale and my mouth disappears little.
in a fog. I feel like my skin has been
Rachel/Rachelle takes a seat at the end
burned off. I stumble from thornbush to
of my table with Hana, the exchange
thornbush—my mother and father who
student from Egypt. Rachel/Rachelle is
hate each other, Rachel who hates me, a
now experimenting with Islam. She
school that gags on me like I'm a
wears a scarf on her head and some
hairball. And Heather.
brown-and-red gauzy harem pants. Her
I just need to hang on long enough for eyes are ringed with black eyeliner thick
my new skin to graft. as crayon. I think I see her looking at
me, but I'm probably wrong. Hana wears
Mr. Freeman thinks I need to find my
jeans and a Gap T-shirt. They eat
feelings. How can I not find them? They
hummus and pita and titter in French.
are chewing me alive like an infestation
of thoughts, shame, mistakes. I squeeze There is a sprinkling of losers like me
my eyes shut. Jeans that fit, that's a good scattered among the happy teenagers,
start. I have to stay away from the closet, prunes in the oatmeal of school. The
go to all my classes. I will make myself others have the social power to sit with
normal. Forget the rest of it. other losers. I'm the only one sitting
alone, under the glowing neon sign
which reads,
GERMINATION
"Complete and Total Loser, Not Quite
We've finished the plant unit in biology. Sane. Stay Away. Do Not Feed."
Ms. Keen drops tenpound hints that the
I go to the rest room to turn my shirt
test will focus on seeds. I study.
around so the mustard stain is hidden
How seeds get planted: This is actually under my hair.
cool. Some plants spit their seeds into
the wind. Others make seeds yummy
enough drink cranberry-apricot juice. SNOW DAY—SCHOOL AS USUAL
Too bad I can't buy stock in the juice
We had eight inches of snow last night.
company—I am watching a trend in the
In any other part of the country, that
making.
would mean a snow day. Not in
Are they talking about me? They're Syracuse.
certainly laughing enough. I chomp my

58
We never get snow days. It snows an STUPID STUPID
inch in South Carolina, everything shuts
I sneak into my closet after school
down and they get on the six o'clock
because I can't face the idea of riding
news.
home on a busful of sweaty, smiling
In our district, they plow early and often teeth sucking up my oxygen. I say hello
and put chains on the bus tires. to my poster of Maya and my Cubist
tree. My turkey-bone scupture has fallen
Hairwoman tells us they canceled school
down again. I prop it up on the shelf next
for a whole week back in the seventies
to the mirror. It slides back down and
because of the energy crisis. It was
lies flat. I leave it there and curl up in
wicked cold and would have cost too
my chair. The closet is warm and I'm
much to heat the school. She looks
ready for a nap. I've been having trouble
wistful. Wistful—one-point vocab word.
sleeping at home. I wake up because the
She blows her nose loudly and pops
covers are on the floor or because I'm
another smelly green cough drop. The
standing at the kitchen door, trying to get
wind blasts a snowdrift against the
out. It feels safer in my little hideaway. I
window.
doze off.
Our teachers need a snow day. They
I wake to the sound of girls screaming,
look unusually pale. The men aren't
"Be Aggressive, BE-BE
shaving carefully and the women never
remove their boots. They suffer some Aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-
sort of teacherflu. Their noses drip, their E!"
throats gum up, their eyes are rimmed
For a minute there, I think that I've
with red.
tripped into the land of the truly insane,
They come to school long enough to but then a crowd roars. It is a basketball
infect the staff room, then go home sick game, last game of the season. I check
when the sub shows up. my watch—8:45. I've been asleep for
hours. I grab my backpack and fly down
Hairwoman: "Open your books, now.
the hall.
Who can tell me what snow symbolized
to Hawthorne?" The noise of the gym pulls me in. I stand
by the door for the last minute of the
Class: "Groan."
game. The crowd chants down the last
Hawthorne wanted snow to symbolize seconds like it's New Year's Eve, then
cold, that's what I think. Cold and explode from the stands like angry
silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The hornets at the sound of the buzzer. We
sky screams to deliver it, a hundred won, beating the Coatesville Cougars
banshees flying on the edge of the 51-50. The cheerleaders weep. The
blizzard. But once the snow covers the coaches embrace. I get caught up in the
ground, it hushes as still as my heart. excitement and clap like a little girl.
This is my mistake, thinking I belong. I
should have bolted for home

59
immediately. But I don't. I hang around. Melinda One is pissed that she couldn't
I want to be a part of it all. go to the party.
David Petrakis pushes toward the doors Melinda One: "Get a life. It was just
in the middle of a group of friends. He pizza. He wasn't going to try anything.
sees me looking at him and detaches His parents were going to be there! You
himself from his pod. worry too much. You're never going to
let us have any fun, are you? You're
David: "Melinda! Where were you
going to turn into one of those weird old
sitting? Did you see that last shot?
ladies who has a hundred cats and calls
Unbelievable!! Unbefreakinglievable."
the cops when kids cut across her back
He dribbles an imaginary ball on the
yard. I can't stand you."
ground, fakes left, right, then pulls up for
a shot. David should stick to human- Melinda Two waits for One to finish her
rights abuses. He goes on and on, a loose tantrum. Two carefully watches the
ball racing downhill. bushes along the sidewalk for a lurking
bogeyman or worse.
To hear him talk, you'd think they just
won the NBA championship. Then he Melinda Two: "The world is a dangerous
invites me back to his house for place. You don't know what would have
celebratory pizza. happened. What if he was just saying his
parents were going to be there? He could
David: "Come on, Mel. You gotta come
have been lying.
with us! My dad told me to bring anyone
I wanted. We can give you a ride home You can never tell when people are
after if you want. It'll be fun. You do lying. Assume the worst. Plan for
remember fun, don't you?" disaster. Now hurry up and get us home.
I don't like it out here. It's too dark."
Nope. I don't do parties. No thanks. I trot
out excuses: homework, strict parents, If I kick both of them out of my head,
tuba practice, late-night dentist who would be left?
appointment, have to feed the warthogs.
I don't have a good track record with
parties. A NIGHT TO REMEMBER
David doesn't bother to analyze my I can't sleep after the game. Again. I
reluctance. If he were a girl, maybe he spend a couple hours tuning AM radio to
would have pleaded or whined more. the weird bounces of night. I listen to
Guys don't do that. Yes/no. Stay/go. Suit jabberjabber from Quebec, a farm report
yourself. See you Monday. from Minnesota, and a country station in
Nashville. I crawl out my window onto
I think it's some kind of psychiatric
the porch roof and wrap myself in all my
disorder when you have more than one
blankets.
personality in your head. That's what it
feels like when I walk home. The two A fat white seed sleeps in the sky.
Melindas fight every step of the way.

60
Slush is frozen over. People say that way better than mine, his every inch a
winter lasts forever, but it's because they tanned muscle, and he had straight white
obsess over the thermometer. North in teeth. Flirting with me! Where was
the mountains, the maple syrup is Rachel—she had to see this!
trickling. Brave geese punch through the
Greek God: "Where did you come from?
thin ice left on the lake. Underground,
You're too beautiful to hide in the dark.
pale seeds roll over in their sleep.
Come dance with me."
Starting to get restless. Starting to dream
green. He took my hand and pulled me close to
him. I breathed in cologne and beer and
The moon looked closer back in August.
something I couldn't identify. I fit in
Rachel got us to the end-of-summer against his body perfectly, my head level
party, a cheerleader party, with beer and with his shoulder. I was a little dizzy—I
seniors and music. She blackmailed her laid my cheek on his chest. He wrapped
brother, Jimmy, to drive us. We were all one arm around my back. His other hand
sleeping over at Rachel's house. Her slid down to my butt. I thought that was
mother thought Jimmy was taking us a little rude, but my tongue was thick
rollerskating. with beer and I couldn't figure out how
to tell him to slow down. The music was
It was at a farm a couple of miles from
sweet. This was what high school was
our development. The kegs were in the
supposed to feel like. Where was
barn where the speakers were set up.
Rachel? She had to see this!
Most people hung at the edge of the
lights. They looked like models in a He tilted my face up to his. He kissed
blue-jeans ad, thinthinthin, big lips, big me, man kiss, hard sweet and deep.
earrings, white smiles. I felt like such a Nearly knocked me off my feet, that
little kid. kiss. And I thought for just a minute
there that I had a boyfriend, I would start
Rachel found a way to fit in, of course.
high school with a boyfriend, older and
She knew a lot of people because of
stronger and ready to watch out for me.
Jimmy. I tasted a beer. It was worse than
He kissed me again. His teeth ground
cough medicine. I gulped it down.
hard against my lips. It was hard to
Another beer and one more, then
breathe.
I worried I would throw up. I walked out
A cloud cloaked the moon. Shadows
of the crowd, toward the woods. The
looked like photo negatives.
moon shone on the leaves. I could see
the lights, like stars strung in the pines. "Do you want to?" he asked.
Somebody giggled, hidden beyond the
What did he say? I didn't answer. I didn't
dark, quiet boy-girl whispers. I couldn't
know. I didn't speak.
see them.
We were on the ground. When did that
A step behind me. A senior. And then he
happen? "No." No I did not like this. I
was talking to me, flirting with me. This
was on the ground and he was on top of
gorgeous cover-model guy. His hair was

61
me. My lips mumble something about angry—in mine. Someone slapped me. I
leaving, about a friend who needs me, crawled out of the room through a forest
about my parents worrying. I can hear of legs. Outside, the moon smiled
myself—I'm mumbling like a deranged goodbye and slipped away.
drunk. His lips lock on mine and I can't
I walked home to an empty house.
say anything. I twist my head away. He
Without a word.
is so heavy. There is a boulder on me. I
open my mouth to breathe, to scream, It isn't August. The moon is asleep and
and his hand covers it. In my head, my I'm sitting on my porch roof like a
voice is as clear as a bell: "NO I DON'T frozen gargoyle, wondering if the sun is
WANT TO!" But I can't spit it out. going to blow off the world today and
sleep in.
I'm trying to remember how we got on
the ground and where the moon went There is blood on the snow. I bit my lip
and wham! shirt up, shorts down, and clear through. It needs stitches. Mom
the ground smells wet and dark and NO! will be late again. I hate winter. I've
—I'm not really here, I'm definitely back lived in
at Rachel's, crimping my hair and gluing
on fake nails, and he smells like beer and Syracuse my whole life and I hate
mean and he hurts me hurts me hurts me winter. It starts too early and ends too
and gets up and zips his jeans and late. No one likes it. Why does anyone
smiles. stay here?

The next thing I saw was the telephone. I

stood in the middle of a drunken crowd MY REPORT CARD:
and I called 911 because I needed help.
Social Life F Social Studies F
All those visits from Officer Friendly in
second grade paid off. Spanish D Art A

A lady answered the phone, "Police, Lunch D Biology D+

state your emergency," and I saw my Algebra F Clothes F
face in the window over the kitchen sink
and no words came out of my mouth. English D+ Gym D
Who was that girl? I had never seen her
before. Tears oozed down my face, over
my bruised lips, pooling on the handset.
"It's OK," said the nice lady on the
phone. "We have your location. Officers
are on the way. Are you hurt? Are you
being threatened?" Someone grabbed the
phone from my hands and listened. A
scream—the cops were coming! Blue
and cherry lights flashing in the
kitchensink window. Rachel's face—so

62
 The student council started a
counterpetition. The Honor Society
wrote it. It describes the psychological
harm we have all suffered from this
year's lack of identity. It pleads for
consistency, stability. It's pretty good:
"We, the students of Merryweather
High, have become proud of our Hornet
selves. We are tenacious, stinging,
clever. We are a hive, a community of
students. Don't take away our
FOURTH MARKING PERIOD Hornetdom. We are Hornets."
It won't be a real issue until football
EXTERMINATORS starts up again. Our baseball team
always stinks.
The PTA has started a petition to get rid
of the Hornet as our school mascot. It
was the cheer that got to them. They THE WET SEASON
heard it at the last basketball game.
Spring is on the way. The winter rats—
"WE ARE THE HORNETS, rusty brown $700 cars that everyone
HORNY, HORNY HORNETS! with sense drives from November until
April— are rolling back into storage.
EVERYWHERE WE GO-OH, The snow is melting for good and the
PEOPLE WANT TO KNO-OOW, pretty-baby shiny cars glitter in the
senior parking lot.
WHO WE ARE, SO WE TELL THEM .
.. There are other signs of spring. Front
lawns cough up the shovels and mittens
WE ARE THE HORNETS, that were gobbled by snowdrifts in
January. My mother moved the winter
HORNY, HORNY HORNETS!
coats up to the attic. Dad's been
(and on and on and on) mumbling about the storm windows, but
hasn't taken them down. From the bus I
The wiggles and shakes that accompany
saw a farmer walking his field, waiting
the cheer freaked out the Merryweather
for the mud to tell him when to plant.
PTA. Freaked out PTAs all over the city
when the Horny Hornet cheer was April Fool's Day is when most seniors
televised. The TV sports guy thought the get their acceptance or rejection letters
song was cute, so he did a segment from college. Thumbs up or thumbs
showing the "Hornet Hustle," with the down. It's a sick piece of timing.
cheerleaders shaking their stingers, and Tensions are running high. Kids drink
the crowd bumping and grinding their pink stomach medicine from the bottle.
horny Hornet heinies. David Petrakis My Lab Partner is

63
writing a database program to track who and drew little faces on them with a
got in where. He wants to analyze which black pen. Dad complained about how
advanced-placement classes the seniors much yard work has to be done. Mom
took, their standardized test scores, didn't say much. I said less. In heaven,
extracurricular, and GPAs to figure out my grandparents frowned. I sort of
what he needs to do to get into Harvard. wished we had gone to church. Some of
the Easter songs are pretty.
I've been going to most of my classes.
Good girl, Mellie. Roll over, Mellie. Sit,
Mellie. No one has patted me on the
head, though. I passed an algebra test, I
passed an English test, I passed a SPRING BREAK
biology test. Well, hallelujah. It is all so
profoundly stupid. Maybe this is why It is the last day of Spring Break. My
kids join clubs—to give them something house is shrinking and I feel like Alice in
to think about during class. Wonderland. Afraid that my head might
burst through the roof, I head for the
Andy Beast joined the International mall. I have ten bucks in my pocket—
Club. I hadn't figured him for a deep what to spend it on? French fries—ten
interest in Greek cooking or French dollars' worth of french fries, ultimate
museums. He has abandoned the Martha fantasy. If Alice in Wonderland were
table and hangs around and onto written today, I bet she'd have a
supersized order of fries that said "Eat
Rachel/Rachelle and Greta-Ingrid and all
me," instead of a small cake. On the
the other resident aliens.
other hand, we're rushing toward
Rachel/Rachelle flutters her purple
summer, which means shorts and T-
eyelashes at him like he's some kind of
shirts and maybe even a bathing suit
Uberdude. You'd think she'd have more
now and then. I walk past the deep-fat
sense.
fryers.
Easter came and went without much
Now that spring is past, the fall fashions
notice. I think it caught my mother by
are in the store windows. I keep waiting
surprise. She doesn't like Easter because
for the year when the fashions catch up
the date keeps shifting and it's not a big
to the seasons. A couple of stores have
shopping holiday. When I was a kid,
performance artists hanging at the front
Mom used to hide colored eggs for me
door. One guy keeps flying a stupid loop
all over the house. The last egg was
the-loop airplane; a plastic-faced woman
inside a big basket of chocolate rabbits
keeps tying and retying a shawl. No,
and yellow marshmallow chicks. Before
now it's a skirt. Now it's a halter top.
my grandparents died, they would take
Now it's a head scarf. People avoid
me to church and I would wear stiff
looking at her, as if they aren't sure if
dresses with itchy lace.
they should applaud or tip her. I feel bad
This year we celebrated by eating lamb for her—I wonder what her grades were
chops. I made hard-boiled eggs for lunch in high school. I want to give her a tip,

64
only it would be rude to ask if she has What am I supposed to say now? I bite
change for a ten. my lip, then release it. I pull a roll of
Life Savers from my pocket. "Want a
I ride the escalator down to the central
piece?" She takes one, I take three, and
fountain, where today's entertainment is
we suck in silence for a moment.
face-painting. The line is long and loud
—six-year-olds and their mothers. A "How's the tree coming?" she asks.
little girl walks past me—she's a tiger.
I groan. "Stinks. It was a mistake to sign
She's crying about ice cream and she
up for art. I just couldn't see myself
wipes her tears. Her tiger paint smears
taking wood shop."
and her mom yells at her.
"You're better than you think you are,"
"What a zoo."
Ivy says. She opens to an empty page in
I turn. Ivy is sitting on the edge of the the sketchbook. "I don't know why you
fountain, a giant sketchbook balanced on keep using a linoleum block. If I were
her knees. She nods toward the line of you, I'd just let it out, draw. Here—try a
whiners and the face painters furiously tree."
coloring stripes, spots, and whiskers.
We sit there trading pencils. I draw a
"I feel bad for them," I say. "What are trunk, Ivy adds a branch,
you drawing?"
I extend the branch, but it is too long and
Ivy moves so I can sit next to her and spindly. I start to erase it, but Ivy stops
hands me the sketchbook. She's drawing me. "It's fine the way it is, it just needs
the kids' faces. Half of each face is plain some leaves. Layer the leaves and make
and sad, the other half is plastered with them slightly different sizes and it will
thick clown makeup that is fake-happy. look great. You have a great start there."
She hasn't painted any tigers or leopards.
She's right.
"The last time I was here, they were
doing clown faces. No such luck today,"
Ivy explains. GENETICS
"Looks good, though," I say. "It's kind of The last unit of the year in biology is
spooky. Not creepy, but unexpected." I genetics. It's impossible to listen to Ms.
hand back the sketchbook. Keen. Her voice sounds like a cold
engine that won't turn over. The lecture
Ivy pokes her pencil into her bun.
starts with some priest named
"Good. That's what I'm trying for. That
turkey-bone thing you did was creepy, Greg who studied vegetables, and ends
too. up with an argument about blue eyes. I
think I missed something—how did we
Creepy in a good way, good creepy. It's
leap from veggies to eye color? I'll copy
been months and I'm still thinking about
David's notes.
it."

65
I flip ahead in the textbook. There's an walls. Any more classes as boring as this
interesting chapter about acid rain. one and I'll be ready to move back in
Nothing about sex. We aren't scheduled there full-time.
to learn about that until eleventh grade.
My leaves are good, natural. The trick is
David draws a chart in his notebook. I to make them different sizes, and then
snap my pencil point and walk to the crowd them one on top of another. Ivy
front of the room to sharpen it. I figure was right.
the walk will do me good. Ms. Keen
Ms. Keen writes "Dominant/Recessive"
sputters on. We get half our genes from
on the board. I look at
our mother and half from our father. I
thought my jeans came from Effert's. David's notes. He's drawing a family
Ha-ha, biology joke. tree. David got his hair gene from his
dad and his eye gene from his mom. I
Mom says I take after Dad's side of the
draw a family tree. A family stump.
family. They're mostly cops and
There aren't that many of us. I can barely
insurance salesmen who bet on football
remember their names. Uncle Jim, Uncle
games and smoke disgusting cigars. Dad
Thomas, Aunt
says I take after Mom's side of the
family. They're farmers who grow rocks Mary, Aunt Kathy—there's another aunt,
and poison ivy. she is very recessive.
They don't say much, visit dentists, or She recessed herself all the way to Peru.
read. I think I have her eyes.
When I was a little kid, I used to pretend I got my "I don't want to know about it"
I was a princess who had been adopted gene from my dad and my "I'll think
when my kingdom was overrun by bad about it tomorrow" gene from my mom.
guys. Any day my real parents, Mr. King
and Mrs. Queen, would send the royal Ms. Keen says we'll have a quiz the next
limo to pick me up. I just about had a day. I wish I had paid attention during
seven-year-old heart attack when my dad class. I wish I were adopted. I wish
took a limo to the airport the first time. I David would quit sighing when I ask to
thought they had really come to take me copy his notes.
away and I didn't want to go. Dad took
taxis after that.
TEN MORE LIES THEY TELL YOU
I look out the window. No limos. No IN HIGH SCHOOL
chariots or carriages. Now, when I really
want to leave, no one will give me a 1. You will use algebra in your adult
ride. lives.

I sketch a willow tree drooping into the 2. Driving to school is a privilege that
water. I won't show it to Mr. Freeman. can be taken away.
This one is for my closet. I've been 3. Students must stay on campus for
taping some of my drawings on the lunch.

66
4. The new textbooks will arrive any day Why worry about Rachel/Rachelle?
now. (He'll hurt her.) Had she done a single
decent thing for me the whole year? (She
5. Colleges care about more than your
was my best friend through middle
SAT scores.
school, that counts for something.)
6. We are enforcing the dress code.
No, she's a witch and a traitor. (She
7. We will figure out how to turn off the didn't see what happened.) Let her lust
heat soon. after the Beast; I hope he breaks her
heart.
8. Our bus drivers are highly trained
professionals. (What if he breaks something else?)

9. There is nothing wrong with summer When class is over, I slide into the
school. middle of the pack pushing out the door
before Mr. Stetman can bust me for the
10. We want to hear what you have to homework. Rachel/Rachelle shoves past
say. me to where Greta-Ingrid and a short kid
from Belgium are waiting. I tail them,
always keeping two bodies between us
MY LIFE AS A SPY like the detectives on television. They're
Rachel/Rachelle has lost her mind. She on their way to the foreign-language
has flipped. She went to the movies with wing. That's no surprise. The foreign
Andy Beast and her exchange friends kids are always there, like they need to
and now she follows after him, panting breathe air scented with their native
like a bichon frise. 1 |fl wears her buddy language a couple times a day or they'll
Greta-Ingrid draped around his neck like choke to death on too much American.
a white scarf. When he spits, I bet Andy Beast swoops over their heads,
Rachel/Rachelle catches it in a cup and folds his wings, and sets himself
saves it. between the girls as they start up the
Rachel/Rachelle and some other twit stairs. He tries to kiss Greta-Ingrid's
natter about the movie date before Mr. cheek, but she turns away. He kisses
Stetman starts class. I want to puke. Rachel/Rachelle's cheek and she giggles.
He does not kiss the cheek of the short
Rachel/Rachelle is just "Andy this" and Belgian. The Belgian and the Swede
"Andy that." Could she be more wave "ciao" at the office of the Foreign
obvious? I close my ears to her stupid Language Department. Rumor has it that
asthmatic laugh and work on the there is an espresso maker in there.
homework that was due yesterday.
The friendly momentum keeps
It is usually easy to do homework in Rachel/Rachelle and Andy walking all
class because Mr. Stetman's voice the way to the end of the hall. I face a
creates a gentle, white-noise sound corner and pretend to study algebra. I
barrier. I can't do it today, I can't escape figure that's enough to make me
the arguments circling my head.

67
unrecognizable. They sit on the floor, turkey-bone sculpture gives off a faint
Rachel/Rachelle in a full lotus. Andy rotting odor. Three baby-food jars of
steals Rachel/Rachelle's notebook. She potpourri don't make a dent in the stink.
whines like a baby and throws herself Maybe there's a dead rat decomposing in
across his lap to get it back. I shiver with the wall, right near the hot-air vent.
goose bumps. He tosses the notebook
Maya Angelou watches me, two fingers
from one hand to the other, always
on the side of her face. It is an intelligent
keeping it just out of her reach. Then he
pose. Maya wants me to tell Rachel.
says something to her. I can't hear it. The
hall sounds like a packed football I take off my sweatshirt. My T-shirt
stadium. His lips move poison and she sticks to me. They still have the heat
smiles and then she kisses him wet. Not running full-blast even though it's warm
a Girl Scout kiss. He gives her the enough to crack open the windows.
notebook. His lips move. Lava spills out That's what I need, a window. As much
my ears. She is not any part of a pretend as I complain about winter, cold air is
Rachelle-chick. I can only see thirdgrade easier to breathe, slipping like silver
Rachel who liked barbecue potato chips mercury down my lungs and out again.
and who braided pink embroidery thread
into my hair that I wore for months until April is humid, with slush evaporating or
my mom made me cut it out. I rest my rain drizzling. A warm, moldy washcloth
forehead against the prickly stucco. of a month.
The edges of my pictures curl in the
damp. There has been some progress in
THIN ATMOSPHERE this whole tree project, I guess. Like
Picasso,
The best place to figure this out is my
closet, my throne room, my foster home. I've gone through different phases.
I want a shower. Maybe I should tell There's the Confused Period, when I
wasn't sure what the assignment really
Greta-Ingrid. (My Swedish isn't good
was. The
enough.) I could talk to Rachel. (Yeah,
right.) I could say I'd heard bad things Spaz Period, when I couldn't draw a tree
about Andy. (It would only make him to save my life. The Dead Period, when
more attractive.) I could maybe tell her all my trees looked like they had been
what happened. (As if she'd listen. What through a forest fire or a blight. I'm
if she told Andy? What would he do?) getting better. Don't know what to call
this phase yet. All these drawings make
There isn't much room for pacing. I take
the closet seem smaller. Maybe I should
two steps, turn, two steps back. I bang
bribe a janitor to haul all this stuff to my
my shin against the chair. Stupid room.
house, make my bedroom more like this,
What a dumb idea, sitting in a closet like more like home.
this. I flop in the chair. It whooshes out
old janitor smells—feet, beef jerky,
shirts left in the washer too long. The

68
Maya taps me on the shoulder. I'm not brings back the Kleenex box, too. How
listening. I know I know, I don't want to could he tell 1 was crying?
hear it. I need to do something about
Mr. Freeman: "You are getting better at
Rachel, something for her. Maya tells this, but it's not good enough. This looks
me without saying anything. I stall. like a tree, but it is an average, ordinary,
Rachel will hate me. (She already hates everyday, boring tree. Breathe life into
me.) She won't listen. (I have to try.) I it. Make it bend—trees are flexible, so
groan and rip out a piece of notebook they don't snap. Scar it, give it a twisted
paper. I write her a note, a left-handed branch—perfect trees don't exist.
note, so she won't know it's from me. Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting.
Be the tree."
"Andy Evans will use you. He is not
what he pretends to be. I heard he He has this ice-cream voice like a
attacked a ninth-grader. Be very, very kindergarten teacher. If he thinks I can
careful. A do it, then I'll try one more time. My
fingers tiptip over to the linoleum knife.
Friend. RS. Tell Greta-Ingrid, too."
Mr. Freeman pats my shoulder once,
I didn't want the Swedish supermodel on then turns to make someone else
my conscience either. miserable. I wait until he isn't watching,
then try to carve life into my flat
linoleum square.
GROWING PAINS Maybe I could carve off all the linoleum
Mr. Freeman is a jerk. Instead of leaving and call it "Empty
me alone to "find my muse" (a real Block." If a famous person did that, it
quote, I swear), he lands on the stool would probably be really popular and
next to me and starts criticizing. What is sell for a fortune. If I do it, I'll flunk. "Be
wrong with my tree? He overflows with the tree." What kind of advice is that?
words describing how bad it sucks. It's Mr. Freeman has been hanging out with
stiff, unnatural, it doesn't flow. It is an too many New Age weirdos. I was a tree
insult to trees everywhere. in the second-grade play because I made
I agree. My tree is hopeless. It isn't art; a bad sheep. I stood there with my arms
it's an excuse not to take sewing class. I outstretched like branches and my head
don't belong in Mr. Freeman's room any drooping in the breeze. It gave me sore
more than I belong in the Marthas or in arms. I doubt trees are ever told to "be
my little-girl pink iK'iiroom. This is the screwed-up ninth-grader."
where the real artists belong, like Ivy. I
i.iny the linoleum block to the garbage
can and throw it in hard enough to make GAG ORDER
everyone look at me. Ivy frowns through
David Petrakis's lawyer had a meeting
her wire sculpture. I sit back down and
with Mr. Neck and some kind of teacher
lay my head on the table. Mr. Freeman
lawyer. Guess who won. I bet David
retrieves the block from the garMge. He

69
could skip class the rest of the year if he think about looking for an old suffragette
wanted and still get an A. Which he in a nursing home, but they are probably
would never do. But you better believe all dead.
that whenever David raises his hand, Mr.
I even hand it in on time. Mr. Neck
Neck lets him talk as much as he wants.
scowls. He looks down on me and says,
David, quiet David, is full of long,
"To get credit for the report, you have to
drawnout, rambling opinions about
deliver it orally. Tomorrow. At the
social studies. The rest of the class is
beginning of class."
grateful. We bow down to the Almighty
David, Who Keeps the Neck Off Our Me:
Backs.
Unfortunately, Mr. Neck still gives tests,
and most of us fail them. Mr. Neck NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE
makes an announcement: anyone who is There is no way I'm reading my
flunking can write an extra-credit report suffragette report in front of the class.
on a Cultural Influence at the Turn of the That wasn't part of the original
Century. (He skipped the Industrial assignment. Mr.
Revolution so he could drag our class
past the year 1900.) He does not want all Neck changed it at the very last second
of us in summer school. because he wants to flunk me or hates
me or something. But I've written a
I don't want to see him in summer school really good report and I'm not going to
either. I write about the suffragettes. let an idiot teacher jerk me around like
Before the suffragettes came along, this. I ask David Petrakis for advice. We
women were treated like dogs. come up with a Plan.
* Women could not vote I get to class early, when Mr. Neck is
*W6men could not own property still in the lounge. I write what I need to
on the board and cover the words with a
* Women were not allowed in many suffragette protest sign. My box from the
schools copy shop is on the floor. Mr. Neck
walks in. He grumbles that I can go first.
They were dolls, with no thoughts, or
I stand suffragette tall and calm. It is a
opinions, or voices of their own. Then
lie. My insides feel like
the suffragettes marched in, full of loud,
in-your-face ideas. They got arrested and I'm caught in a tornado. My toes curl
thrown in jail, but nothing shut them up. inside my sneakers, trying to grip the
They fought and fought until they earned floor so I won't get sucked out the
the rights they should have had all along. window.
I write the best report ever. Anything I Mr. Neck nods at me. I pick up my
copy from a book, I put in quotes and report as if I'm going to read it out loud.
footnotes (feetnote?). I use books, I stand there, papers trembling as if a
magazine articles, and a videotape. I breeze is blowing through the closed

70
door. I turn around and rip my poster off the guidance counselor's office, Principal
the blackboard. Principal's, and wind up back in MISS. I
am back to being a Discipline Problem
THE SUFFRAGETTES FOUGHT FOR
again.
THE RIGHT TO SPEAK.
I need a lawyer. I showed up every day
THEY WERE ATTACKED,
this semester, sat my butt in every class,
ARRESTED, AND THROWN IN JAIL
did some homework, and didn't cheat on
FOR DARING TO DO WHAT THEY tests. I still get slammed in MISS. There
WANTED. LIKE THEY WERE, is no way they can punish me for not
speaking. It isn't fair. What do they
I AM WILLING TO STAND UP FOR know about me? What do they know
WHAT I BELIEVE. NO ONE about the inside of my head?
SHOULD BE FORCED TO GIVE Flashes of lightning, children crying.
SPEECHES. I CHOOSE TO STAY Caught in an avalanche, pinned by
SILENT. worry, squirming under the weight of
doubt, guilt.
The class reads slowly, some of them
moving their lips. Mr. Fear.

Neck turns around to see what everyone The walls in MISS are still white. Andy
is staring at. I nod at Beast isn't here.

David. He joins me at the front of the Thank God for small favors. A boy with
room and I hand him my box. lime-colored hair who looks like he's
channeling for an alien species dozes;
David: "Melinda has to deliver her two
report to the class as part of the
assignment. She made copies everyone Goths in black velvet dresses and
can read." artfully torn pantyhose trade Mona Lisa
smiles. They cut school to stand in line
He passes out the copies. They cost me for killer concert tickets. MISS is a small
$6.72 at the office supply store. I was price to pay for Row 10, seats 21 and 22.
going to make a cover page and color it,
but I haven't gotten much allowance I simmer. Lawyers on TV always tell
recently, so I just put the title at the top their clients not to say anything. The
of the first page. cops say that thing: "Anything you say
will be used against you." Self-
My plan is to stand in front of the class incrimination. I looked it up. Threepoint
for the five minutes I was given for my vocab word. So why does everyone
presentation. The suffragettes must have make such a big hairy deal about me not
planned out and timed their protests, too. talking? Maybe I don't want to
Mr. Neck has other plans. He gives me a incriminate myself. Maybe I don't like
D and escorts me to the authorities. I the sound of my voice.
forgot about how the suffragettes were
hauled off to jail. Duh. I go on a tour of Maybe I don't have anything to say.

71
The boy with the lime-colored hair David: "But you got it wrong. The
wakes up when he falls out of his chair. suffragettes were all about speaking up,
The Gothgirls whinny. Mr. Neck picks screaming for their rights. You can't
his nose when he thinks we aren't speak up for your right to be silent.
looking. I need a lawyer. That's letting the bad guys win. If the
suffragettes did that, women wouldn't be
able to vote yet."
ADVICE FROM A SMART MOUTH
I blow a bubble in his face. He folds the
David Petrakis sends me a note in social gum wrappers into tiny triangles.
studies. Typed. He thinks it's horrible
David: "Don't get me wrong. I think
that my parents didn't videotape Mr.
what you did was kind of cool and
Neck's class or stick up for me the way
getting stuck in MISS wasn't fair. But
his folks did. It feels so good to have
don't expect to make a difference unless
someone feel sorry for me, I don't
you speak up for yourself."
mention that my parents don't know
what happened. They'll figure out what Me: "Do you lecture all your friends like
happened soon enough at the next this?"
meeting with the guidance counselor.
David: "Only the ones I like."
I think David should be a judge. His
We both chew on this for a minute. The
latest career goal is to be a quantum-
bell rings. I keep looking in my locker
physics genius. I don't know what that
for a book that I already know isn't there.
means, but he says his father is furious.
David checks his watch a hundred times.
His dad is right—David was made for
We hear Principal Principal below,
the law: deadly calm, turbo-charged
"Let's move it, people!"
brain, and a good eye for weakness.
David: "Maybe I'll call you."
He stops by my locker. I tell him Mr.
Neck gave me a D for the suffragette Me: "Maybe I won't answer." Chew,
report. chew. Blowbubblepop.
David: "He has a point." "Maybe I will."
Me: "It was a great report! You read it. I Is he asking me out? I don't think so. But
wrote a bibliography and I didn't copy he kind of is. I guess
from the encyclopedia. It was the best
report ever. It's not my fault Mr. Neck I'll answer if he calls. But if he touches
doesn't get performance art." me I'll explode, so a date is out of the
question. No touching.
David pauses to offer me a stick of gum.
It's a delaying tactic, the kind that juries
love. THE BEAST PROWLS
I stay after school to work on tree
sketches. Mr. Freeman helps me for a

72
while. He gives me a roll of brown paper clay pots. He walks toward me, long,
and a piece of white chalk and shows me slow strides. The smell chokes me. I
how to draw a tree in three sweeping shiver.
lines. He doesn't care how many
IT: "She's supposed to meet me, but I
mistakes I make, just one-two-three,
can't find her anywhere.
"like a waltz," he says. Over and over. I
use up a mile of the paper, but he doesn't You know who she is?"
care. This may be the root of his budget
problem with the school board. Me:

God crackles over the intercom and tells IT sits on my table, ITs leg smears my
Mr. Freeman he's late for a faculty chalk drawing, blurring the roots into a
meeting. Mr. Freeman says the kind of mossy fog.
words you don't usually hear from IT: "Hello? Anyone home? Are you
teachers. He gives me a new piece of deaf?"
chalk and tells me to draw roots. You
can't grow a decent tree without roots. IT stares at my face. I crush my jaws
together so hard my teeth crumble to
The art room is one of the places I feel dust.
safe. I hum and don't worry about
looking stupid. Roots. Ugh. But I try. I am a deer frozen in the headlights of a
One-twothree, one-two-three. I don't tractor trailer. Is he going to hurt me
worry about the next day or minute. again? He couldn't, not in school. Could
One-two-three. he?

Somebody flicks the lights off. My head Why can't I scream, say something, do
snaps up. IT is there. anything? Why am I so afraid?

Andy Beast. Little rabbit heart leaps out "Andy? I've been waiting outside."
of my chest and scampers across the Rachel sweeps into the room wearing an
paper, leaving bloody footprints on my artsy-fartsy gypsy scarf skirt and a
roots. He turns the lights back on. necklace of eye-sized mirrors. She pouts
and Andy leaps off the table, ripping my
I smell him. Have to find out where he paper, scattering bits of chalk. Ivy walks
gets that cologne. I think it's called Fear. through the door, bumping Rachel
This is turning into one of those accidentally. She hesitates—she has to
repeating nightmares where you keep feel that something is going on—then
falling but never hit the floor. she takes her sculpture off the shelf and
Only I feel like I just smacked into the sits at the table next to me. Rachel looks
ground at a hundred miles an hour. at me, but she doesn't say anything. She
must have gotten my note—I mailed it
IT: "You’ve seen Rachelle? Rachelle over a week ago. I stand up. Rachel
Bruin?" gives us a half wave and says "Ciao."
Andy puts his arm around her waist and
I sit completely still. Maybe I can blend
in with the metal tables and crumbling

73
pulls her close to his body as they float I don't eat any dinner or dessert, and I
out the door. cough so much during the news my dad
tells me to take some cough medicine. In
Ivy is talking to me, but it takes a while
the morning, I smear some mascara
before I can hear her.
under my eyes so it looks like
"What a jerk," she says. She pinches the
I haven't slept at all. Mom takes my
clay. "I can't believe she's going out with
temperature—turns out I have a fever.
him. Can you? It's like I don't know her
Surprises even me. Her hand is cool, an
anymore. And he's trouble." She slaps a
island on my forehead.
hunk of clay on the table. "Believe me,
that creep is trouble with a capital T." The words tumble out before I can stop
them.
I'd love to stay and chat, but my feet
won't let me. I walk home instead of Me: "I don't feel well."
taking the bus. I unlock the front door
Mom pats my back.
and walk straight up to my room, across
the rug, and into my closet without even Mom: "You must be sick. You're
taking off my backpack. When I close talking."
the closet door behind me, I bury my
face into the clothes on the left side of Even she can hear how bitchy that
the rack, clothes that haven't fit for sounds. She clears her throat and tries
years. I stuff my mouth with old fabric again.
and scream until there are no sounds left Mom: "I'm sorry. It's nice to hear your
under my skin. voice. Go back to bed.
I'll bring up a tray before I leave. Do you
want some ginger ale?"

HOME SICK I nod.

It is time for a mental-health day. I need OPRAH, SALLY JESSY, JERRY,

a day in pajamas, eating ice cream from AND ME
the carton, painting my toenails, and My fever is 102.2. Sounds like a radio
enjoying TrashTV. You have to plan station. Mom calls to remind me to drink
ahead for a mentalhealth day. I learned a lot of fluids. I say "Thank you," even
this from a conversation my mom had though it hurts my throat. It's nice of her
with her friend Kim. Mom always starts to call me. She promises to bring home
acting sick forty-eight hours ahead of Popsicles. I hang up and snuggle into my
time. She and Kim take mentalhealth couch nest with the remote. Click. Click.
days together. They buy shoes and go to Click.
the movies. Cutting-edge adult
delinquency. What is the world coming If my life were a TV show, what would
to? it be? If it were an

74
After-School Special, I would speak in Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and fall
front of an auditorium of my peers on asleep. A trip to the
How Not to Lose Your Virginity. Or,
Neighborhood of Make-Believe would
Why Seniors Should Be Locked Up. Or,
be nice. Maybe I could stay with Daniel
My Summer Vacation: A
Striped Tiger in his tree house.
Drunken Party, Lies, and Rape.
Was I raped?
REAL SPRING
Oprah: "Let's explore that. You said no.
May is finally here and it has stopped
He covered your mouth with his hand.
raining. Good thing, too—the mayor of
You were thirteen years old. It doesn't
Syracuse was about to put out a call for a
matter that you were drunk. Honey, you
guy named Noah. The sun appears
were raped. What a horrible, horrible
butter-yellow and so warm it coaxes
thing for you to live though. Didn't you
tulips out of the crusty mud. A miracle.
ever think of telling anyone? You can't
keep this inside forever. Can someone Our yard is a mess. All our neighbors
get her a tissue?" have these great magazine-cover yards
with flowers that match their shutters
Sally Jessy: "I want this boy held
and expensive white rocks that border
responsible. He is to blame for this
fresh mounds of mulch.
attack. You do know it was an attack,
don't you? Ours has green bushes that just about
cover the front windows, and lots of
It was not your fault. I want you to listen
dead leaves.
to me, listen to me, listen to me. It was
not your fault. This boy was an animal." Mom is already gone. Saturday is the
biggest selling day of the week at
Jerry: "Was it love? No. Was it lust? No.
Effert's. Dad snores upstairs. I put on old
Was it tenderness, sweetness, the First
jeans and unearth a rake from the back
Time they talk about in magazines? No,
of the garage. I start on the leaves
no, no, no, no! Speak up, Meatilda, ah,
suffocating the bushes. I bet Dad hasn't
Melinda, I can't hear you!"
cleaned them out for years. They look
My head is killing me, my throat is harmless and dry on top, but under that
killing me, my stomach bubbles with top layer they're wet and slimy. White
toxic waste. I just want to sleep. A coma mold snakes from one leaf to the next.
would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, The leaves stick together like floppy
just to get rid of this, these thoughts, pages in a decomposing book. I rake a
whispers in my mind. Did he rape my mountain into the front yard and there
head, too? are still more, like the earth pukes up
leaf gunk when I'm not looking. I have
I take two Tylenol and eat a bowl of
to fight the bushes. They snag the tines
pudding. Then I watch
of the rake and hold them—they don't
like me cleaning out all that rot.

75
It takes an hour. Finally, the rake scrapes The wind blows again. The leaves
its metal fingernails along damp brown tremble.
dirt. I get down on my knees to reach
Dad: "I suppose I should trim back the
behind and drag out the last leaves. Ms.
bushes. Of course, then you'd see the
Keen would be proud of me. I observe.
shutters and they need paint. And if I
Worms caught in the sun squirm for
paint these shutters, I'll have to paint all
cover. Pale green shoots of something
the shutters, and the trim needs work,
alive have been struggling under the
too. And the front door."
leaves. As I watch, they straighten to
face the sun. I swear Me:
I can see them grow. Tree: "Hush rustle chitachita shhhh ..."
The garage door opens and Dad backs Dad turns to listen to the tree. I'm not
out the Jeep. He stops in the driveway sure what to do.
when he sees me. He turns off the engine
and gets out. I stand up and brush the Dad: "And that tree is sick. See how the
dirt off my jeans. My palms are blistered branches on the left don't have any buds?
and my arms are already sore from the I should call someone to take a look at it.
raking. I can't tell if he's angry or not. Don't want it crashing into your room
Maybe he likes the front of his house during a storm."
looking like crap. Thanks, Dad. Like I'm not already
Dad: "That's a lot of work." having a hard time sleeping. Worry #64:
flying tree limbs. I shouldn't have raked
Me: anything. Look what I started. I
shouldn't have tried something new. I
Dad: "I'll get some leaf bags at the
should have stayed in the house.
store."
Watched cartoons with a double-sized
Me: bowl of Cheerios. Should have stayed in
my room. Stayed in my head.
We both stand there with our arms
crossed, staring at the little baby plants Dad: "I guess I'm going to the hardware
trying to grow in the shade of the house- store. Want to come?"
eating bushes. The sun goes behind a
The hardware store. Seven acres of
cloud and I shiver. I should have worn a
unshaven men and brighteyed women in
sweatshirt. The wind rustles dead leaves
search of the perfect screwdriver, weed
still clinging to the oak branches by the
killer, volcanic gas grills. Noise. Lights.
street. All I can think of is that the rest of
Kids running down the aisle with
the leaves are going to drop and I'll have
hatchets and axes and saw blades.
to keep raking.
People fighting about the right color to
Dad: "Looks a lot better. Cleaned out paint the bathroom. No thank you.
like that, I mean."
I shake my head. I pick up the rake and
start making the dead-leaf pile neater. A

76
blister pops and stains the rake handle the numbers don't make sense and love
like a tear. Dad nods and walks to the doesn't count for anything.
Jeep, keys jangling in his fingers. A
Nicole serves next. She aces it, a perfect
mockingbird lands on a low oak branch
serve at about ninety miles an hour that
and scolds me. I rake the leaves out of
kisses the court just inside the line
my throat.
before I can move. Ms. Connors tells
Me: "Can you buy some seeds? Flower Nicole she's awesome and Nicole smiles.
seeds?"
I do not smile.
I'm ready for her second serve and I hit it
FAULT! right back down her throat. Ms. Connors
says something nice to me and Nicole
Our gym teacher, Ms. Connors, is
adjusts the strings on her racket. My
teaching us to play tennis. Tennis is the
serve.
only sport that comes close to not being
a total waste of time. Basketball would I bounce the ball a few times. Nicole
be great if all you had to do was shoot bounces on the balls of her feet. She isn't
foul shots, but most of the time you're on fooling around anymore. Her pride is at
the court with nine other people stake, her womynhood. She is not about
bumping and shoving and running way to be beat by some weirdo hushquiet
too much. Tennis is more civilized. Only delinquent who used to be her friend.
two people have to play, unless you play Ms. Connors tells me to hit the ball.
doubles, which I would never do. The
I slam into the ball, sending it right to
rules are simple, you get to catch your
Nicole's mouth, grinning behind her
breath every few minutes, and you can
custom purple mouth guard. She twists
work on your tan.
out of the way.
I actually learned to play a couple of
Ms. Connors: "Fault!" Giggles from the
summers ago when my parents had a
class.
trial membership at a fitness club. Mom
signed me up for lessons and I played A foot fault. Wrong foot forward, toe
with Dad a few times before they figured over the line. I get a second chance.
the monthly dues were too expensive. Another civilized aspect of tennis.
Since I'm not a total spaz with the racket,
Ms. Connors pairs me off with Jock I bounce the yellow ball, one two three.
Goddess Nicole to demonstrate the game Up in the air like releasing a bird or an
to the rest of the class. apple, then arcing my arm, rotate
shoulder, bring down the power and the
I serve first, a nice shot with a little anger and don't forget to aim. My racket
speed on it. Nicole hits it right back to takes on a life of its own, a bolt of
me with a great backhand. We volley a energy. It crashes down on the ball,
bit back and forth. Then Ms. Connors bulleting it over the net. The ball
blows her whistle to stop and explain the explodes on the court, leaving a crater
retarded scoring system in tennis where

77
before Nicole can blink. It blows past disgusting habits of Todd Ryder. He is a
her and hits the fence so hard it rattles. pig. Greasy, sleazy, foul-mouthed, and
unwashed, he'll make a great addition to
No one laughs.
a state college fraternity. But the popular
No fault. I score a point. Nicole wins kids kissed up to him all year. Why?
eventually, but not by much. Everybody
Todd Ryder is the yearbook
else whines about their blisters. I have
photographer.
calluses on my hands from yard work.
I'm tough enough to play and strong Flip through the pages and see who is in
enough to win. Maybe I can get Dad to his favor. Be nice to Todd and he'll take
practice with me a few times. It would pictures of you that should have a
be the only glory of a really sucky year modeling agency calling your house any
if I could beat someone at something. day now. Snub Todd and you'll look like
a trailer-park refugee having a bad hair
day.
YEARBOOKS
If I ran a high school, I would include
The yearbooks have arrived. Everyone stuff like this in the first-day
seems to understand this ritual but me. indoctrination. I hadn't understood the
You hunt down every person who looks Power of Todd. He snapped one picture
vaguely familiar and get them to write in of me, walking away from the camera
your yearbook that the two of you are wearing my dumpy winter coat, my
best friends and you'll never forget each shoulders up around my ears.
other and remember class (fill in the
I will not be buying a yearbook.
blank) and have a great summer. Stay
sweet.
I watch some kids ask the cafeteria HAIRWOMAN NO MORE
ladies to sign their books.
Hairwoman got a buzz cut. Her hair is
What do they write: "Hope your chicken half an inch long, a new crop of head
patties never bleed?" Or, maybe, "May fur, short and spiky. It's black—no fake
your Jell-O always wiggle?" orange at all. And she got new glasses,
purple-rimmed bifocals that hang from a
The cheerleaders have obtained some
beaded chain.
sort of special exemption to roam the
hall in a pack with pens in hand to seek I don't know what caused this. Has she
out autographs of staff and students. I fallen in love? Did she get a divorce?
catch a whiff of competitive juices when Move out of her parents' basement? You
they float past me. They are counting never think about teachers having
signatures. parents, but they must.
The appearance of the yearbook clears Some kids say she did it to confuse us
up another high school mystery—why while we are working on our final essay.
all the popular girls put up with the I'm not sure. We have a choice. We can

78
write about "Symbolism in the Comics" "There's a first time for everything. Go
or "How Story Changed My Life." I in the stall and hand over your shirt. You
think something else is going on. I'm can't wash it while you're wearing it."
thinking she found a good shrink, or
I think Principal Principal should have
maybe she published that novel she's
his office in the rest room. Maybe then
been writing since the earth cooled. I
he'd hire somebody to keep it clean, or
wonder if she'll be teaching summer
an armed guard to stop people from
school.
plugging up the toilet, smoking, or
writing on the walls.
LITTLE WRITING ON THE WALL "Who is Alexandra?" I ask.
Ivy is sitting at my art table with four "I don't know any Alexandras," Ivy's
uncapped colored markers sticking out voice says above the rush of water in the
of her bun. I stand up, she turns her sink. "There might be an Alexandra in
head, and bingo—I've got a rainbow on tenth grade. Why?"
my shirt. She apologizes a hundred
"According to this, she has pissed off a
million times. If it were anyone else, I
whole bunch of people. One person
would figure they did it on purpose. But
wrote in huge letters that she's a whore,
Ivy and me have sort of been friendly the
and all these others added on little
last few weeks. I don't think she was
details. She slept with this guy, she slept
trying to be mean.
with that guy, she slept with those guys
Mr. Freeman lets me go to the bathroom, all at the same time. For a tenth-grader,
where I try to scrub the stains. I must she sure gets around."
look like a dog chasing its tail, twisting
Ivy doesn't answer. I peer through the
and twirling, trying to see the stains on
crack between the door and the wall. She
my back in the mirror. The door swings
opens the soap container and dips my
open. It's Ivy. I raise my hand as she
shirt in it. Then she scrubs the stains. I
opens her mouth. "Don't say it anymore.
shiver. I'm standing in a bra, not a
I know you're sorry. It was an accident."
terribly clean bra, and it is freezing in
She points to the pens still stuck in her here. Ivy holds the shirt up to the light,
bun. "I put the caps on. Mr. Freeman frowns, and scrubs some more. I want to
made me. Then he sent me in here to see take a deep breath, but it smells too bad.
how you're doing."
"Remember what you said about Andy
"He's worried about me?" Evans being big trouble?"
"He wants to make sure you don't pull a "Yeah."
disappearing act.
"Why did you say that?"
You have been known to wander off."
She rinses the soap from the shirt.
"Not in the middle of class."
"He has such a reputation. He's only
after one thing, and if you believe the

79
rumors, he'll get it, no matter what." She Ivy grins.
wrings the water out of the shirt.
The sound of dripping water echoes off
PROM PREPARATION
the tiles.
The climax of mating season is nearly
"Rachel is going out with him," I say.
upon us—the Senior Prom. They should
"I know. Just add that to the list of stupid cancel school this week. The only things
things she's done this year. What does we're learning are who is going with
she say about him?" who (whom? must ask Hairwoman),
who bought a dress in Manhattan, which
"We don't really talk," I say.
limo company won't tell if you drink, the
"She's a bitch, that's what you mean. She most expensive tux place, and on and on
thinks she's too good for the rest of us." and on. The gossip energy alone could
power the building's electricity for the
Ivy punches the silver button on the rest of the marking period.
hand dryer and holds up the shirt. I
reread the graffiti. "I luv Derek." "Mr. The teachers are pissed. Kids aren't
Neck bites." handing in homework because they have
appointments at the tanning salon.
"I hate this place." "Syracuse rocks."
"Syracuse sucks." Lists of hotties, lists Andy Beast asked Rachel to go with
of jerks, list of ski resorts in Colorado him. I can't believe her mother is letting
everyone dreams about. Phone numbers her go, but maybe she agreed because
that have been scratched out with keys. they're going to double with Rachel's
Entire conversations scroll down the brother and his date. Rachel is one of the
bathroom stall. rare ninth-graders invited to the Senior
Prom; her social stock has soared. She
It's like a community chat room, a metal must not have gotten my note, or maybe
newspaper. she decided to ignore it. Maybe she
I ask Ivy to hand over one of her pens. showed it to Andy and they had a good
She does. "I think you're going to have laugh. Maybe she won't get in the
to bleach this thing," she says and hands trouble I did, maybe he'll listen to her.
over the shirt as well. I pull it over my Maybe I had better stop thinking about it
head. It's still damp. before I go nuts.

"What did you want the marker for?" Heather has come bellycrawling for
help. My mother can't believe it: a
I hold the cap in my teeth. I start another living, breathing friend on the front
subject thread on the wall: Guys to Stay porch for her maladjusted daughter! I
Away From. The first entry is the Beast pry Heather out of Mom's claws and we
himself: Andy Evans. retreat to my room. My stuffed rabbits
I swing open the door with a flourish. crawl out of their burrows, noses
"Ta-da!" I point to my handiwork. awiggling, pink bunny, purple bunny, a
gingham bunny from my grandma. They

80
are as excited as my mother. Company! I She completely ignores the fact that I
can see the room through Heather's was never in, and that she dumped me,
green-tinted contacts. She doesn't say banished me from even the shadows of
anything, but I know she thinks it looks Martha glory. I feel like any minute a
stupid—a baby room, all those toy guy in a lavender suit will burst into the
rabbits; there must be a hundred of them. room with a microphone and bellow,
Mom knocks on the door. "Another alternate-reality moment
brought to you by Adolescence!"
She has cookies for us. I want to ask if
she's feeling sick. I hand the bag to I still can't figure out why she's here. She
Heather. She takes one cookie and licks a crumb off her cookie and gets to
nibbles at its edges. I snarf five, just to the point. She and the other Junior
spite her. I lie on my bed, trapping the Marthas are required to decorate the
bunnies next to the wall. Heather Route 11 Holiday Inn ballroom for the
delicately pushes a pile of dirty clothes prom. Meg 'n' Emily 'n' Siobhan can't
off my chair and perches her skinny butt assist, of course; they have to get their
on it. nails painted and their teeth whitened.
The privileged, the few, the Junior
I wait.
Marthas have been laid waste by
She launches into a sob story about how mononucleosis, leaving Heather all by
much she hates being a Marthadrone. herself. She is desperate.
Indentured servitude would be better.
Me: "You have to decorate the whole
They are just taking advantage of her,
thing? By Saturday night?"
bossing her around. Her grades are all
the way down to Bs because of the time Heather: "Actually, we can't start until
she has to spend waiting on her Senior three o'clock Saturday afternoon because
Marthas. of some stupid meeting of Chrysler
salesmen. But I know we can do it. I'm
Her father is thinking about taking a job
asking other kids, too. Do you know
in Dallas and she wouldn't mind moving
anyone who could help?"
again, nope not one bit, because she's
heard kids in the South aren't as stuck-up Frankly, no I don't, but I chew and try to
as they are here. look thoughtful.
I eat more cookies. I'm fighting the Heather takes this to mean that yes, I'd
shock of having a guest in my room. I be happy to help her.
almost kick her out because it's going to
She bounces out of the chair.
hurt too much when my room is empty
again. Heather says I was smart, "... so Heather: "I knew you would help.
smart, Mel, to blow off this stupid group. You're great. Tell you what. I owe you, I
This whole year has been horrible—I owe you a big one. How about next
hated every single day, but I didn't have week
the guts to get out like you did."
I come over and help you redecorate?"

81
Me: know what I want to do in here and it
doesn't include eggplant."
Heather: "Didn't you tell me once how
much you hated yom room? Well, now I Most of it is half true, half planned.
see why. It would be so depressing just Heather scowls. I open the dirty window
to wake up here every morning. We'll to let in fresh air. It brushes my hair back
clear out all this junk." off my face. I tell Heather she has to
leave. I need to clean. She crams her
She kicks a chenille bunny who was
cookie in her mouth and does not say
sleeping in my robe on the floor. "And
goodbye to my mother. What a snot.
get rid of those curtains. Maybe you
could go shopping with me—can you get
your mom's American Express?" She
I'm on a roll. I'm rocking. I don't know
yanks my curtains to one side. "Let's not
what it is; standing up to Heather,
forget to wash those windows. Sea-foam
planting marigold seeds, or maybe the
green and sage, that's what you should
look on
look for, classic and feminine."
Mom's face when I asked if she would
Me: "No."
let me redecorate my room. The time has
Heather: "You want something richer, come to arm-wrestle some demons. Too
like an eggplant, or cobalt?" much sun after a Syracuse winter does
strange things to your head, makes you
Me: "No, I haven't decided on colors yet.
feel strong, even if you aren't.
That's not what I mean, I mean no, I
won't help you." I must talk to Rachel. I can't do it in
algebra, and the Beast waits for her
She collapses into the chair again. "You
outside English. But we have study hall
have to help me."
at the same time. Bingo. I find her
Me: "No, I don't." squinting at a book with small type in
the library. She's too vain for glasses. I
Heather: "But, whiii—iiiiy?" instruct my heart not to bolt down the
I bite my lip. Does she want to know the hall, and sit next to her. No nuclear
truth, that she's self-centered and cold? bombs detonate. A good start.
That I hope all the seniors yell at her? She looks at me without expression. I try
That on a smile, size; medium. "Hey," I say.
I hate sea-foam green, and besides, it's "Hmm," she responds. No lip curling, no
none of her business if my windows are rude hand gestures. So far, so good. I
dirty? I feel tiny button noses against my look at the book she's copying (word for
back. Bunnies say to be kind. Lie. word) from. It's about France.

Me: "I have plans. The tree guy is Me: "Homework?"

coming to work on the oak out front, I Rachel: "Kind of." She taps her pencil
have to dig in my garden, and besides, I on the table. "I'm going to France this
summer with the International Club. We

82
have to do a report to prove we're A cold front blows across the library.
serious." She straightens up a snaps shut the cover
of her notebook.
Me: "That's great. I mean, you've always
talked about traveling, ever since we Rachel: "What do you want, anyway?"
were kids. Remember when we were in
Before I can answer, the librarian
fourth grade and we read Heidi and we
pounces. We are welcome to continue
tried to melt cheese in vour fireplace?"
our conversation in the principal's office,
We laugh a little too loudly. It's not or we can stay and be quiet. Our choice.
really that funny, but we're both nervous. I take out my notebook and write to
A librarian points his finger at us. Rachel.
Bad students, bad bad students. No It's nice to talk to you again. I'm sorry
laughing. I look at her notes. They are we couldn't be friends this year. I pass
lousy, a few facts about Paris decorated the notebook to her. She melts a bit
with an Eiffel Tower doodle, hearts, and around the edges and writes back.
the initials R.B. + A.E. Gack.
Yeah, I know. So, who do you like?
Me: "So, you're really going out with
No one, really. My lab partner is kinda
him. With Andy. I heard about the
nice, but like a friend, not a boyfriend or
prom."
anything.
Rachel grins honey-slow. She stretches,
Rachel nods wisely. She's dating a
like the mention of his name wakes her
senior. She is so beyond these freshman
muscles and makes her tummy jump.
"friend-friend" relationships. She's in
"He's great," she says. "He is just so
charge again. Time for me to suck up.
awesome, and gorgeous, and yummy."
She stops. She is talking to the village Are you still mad at me? I write.
leper.
She doodles a quick lightning bolt.
Me: "What are you going to do when he
goes to college?" No, I guess not. It was a long time ago.
She stops and drawl a spiraling circle. I
Argh, an arrow to her soft spot. Clouds stand on the edge and wonder if I'm
across the sun. "I can't think about that. going to fall in. The party was a little
It hurts too much. He said he was going wild, she continues. But it was dumb to
to get his parents to let him transfer back call the cops. We could have just left.
here. He could go to La Salle or She slides the notebook over to me.
Syracuse. I'll wait for him."
I draw a spiraling circle in the opposite
Give me a break. direction to Rachel's. I could leave it like
this, stop in the middle of the highway.
Me: "You've been going out for, like,
She's talking to me again. All I have to
what—two weeks?
do is keep the dirt hidden and walk arm
Three?" in arm with her into the sunset. She
reaches back to fix her hair scrunchie.

83
"R.B. + A.E." is written in red pen on Andy Evans.
the inside of her forearm. Breathe in,
"Liar!" She stumbles out of her chair and
one-two-three.
grabs her books off the table. "I can't
Breathe out, one-two-three. I force my believe you. You're jealous. You're a
hand to relax. twisted little freak and you're jealous
that I'm popular and I'm going to the
I didn't call the cops to break up the
prom and so you lie to me like this. And
party, I write. I called—I put the pencil
you sent me that note, didn't you? You
down. I pick it up again—them because
are so sick."
some guy raped me. Under the trees. I
didn't know what to do. She watches as I She spins to take on the librarian. "I'm
carve out the words. She leans closer to going to the nurse," she states. "I think
me. I write more. I was stupid and drunk I'm going to throw up."
and I didn't know what was happening
and then he hurt—I scribble that out—
raped me. When the police came, CHAT ROOM
everyone was screaming, and I was just
too scared, so I cut through some back I'm standing in the lobby, looking at the
yards and walked home. buses. I don't want to go home. I don't
want to stay here. I got my hopes up
I push the notebook back to her. She halfway through the conversation with
stares at the words. She pulls her chair Rachel—that was my mistake.
around to my side of the table.
It was like smelling the perfect
Oh my God, I am so sorry, she writes. Christmas feast and having the door
Why didn't you tell me? slammed in your face, leaving you alone
in the cold.
I couldn't tell anybody.
"Melinda." I hear my name. Great. Now
Does your mom know?
I'm hearing things.
I shake my head. Tears pop up from
Maybe I should ask the guidance
some hidden spring.
counselor for a therapist or a nosy
Damn. I sniff and wipe my eyes on my shrink. I don't say anything and I feel
sleeve. awful. I tell somebody and I feel worse.
I'm having trouble finding a middle
Did you get pregnant? Did he have a
ground.
disease? Oh my God, Are you
OK????????? Someone touches my arm gently.
"Melinda?" It's Ivy. "Can you take the
No. I don't think so. Yes, I'm OK. Well,
late bus? I want to show you
kinda.
something." We walk together. She leads
Rachel writes in a heavy, fast hand. me to the bathroom, the one where she
WHO DID IT??? washed my shirt, which, by the way, still
has traces of her markers, even after the
I turn the page.

84
bleach. She points to the stall. "Take a tree, one guy revving up the chain saw
look." like it's a sports car, the other giving the
tree the once-over. I go downstairs for
breakfast.
GUYS TO STAY AWAY FROM
Watching cartoons is out of the question.
Andy Evans I make a cup of tea and join Dad and a
group of neighborhood kids watching
He's a creep. the show from the driveway. One
He's a bastard. arborist monkeys his way into the pale
green canopy, then hauls up the chain
Stay saw (turned off) at the end of a thick
away!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! rope. He sets to work pruning the
He should be locked up. deadwood like a sculptor. "Brrrrr-
rrrrowww." The chain saw gnaws
He thinks he's all that. through the oak, branches crashing to the
Call the cops. ground.

What's the name of that drug they give The air swirls with sawdust. Sap oozes
perverts so they can't get it up? from the open sores on the trunk. He is
killing the tree. He'll only leave a stump.
Diprosomething. The tree is dying. There's nothing to do
He should get it every morning in his or say. We watch in silence as the tree
orange juice. I went out with him to the crashes piece by piece to the damp
movies—he tried to get his hands down ground.
my pants during the PREVIEWS!! The chain-saw murderer swings down
There's more. Different pens, different with a grin. He doesn't even care. A little
handwriting, conversations between kid asks my father why that man is
some writers, arrows to longer chopping down the tree.
paragraphs. It's better than taking out a Dad: "He's not chopping it down. He's
billboard. saving it. Those branches were long
I feel like I can fly. dead from disease. All plants are like
that.
By cutting off the damage, you make it
PRUNING possible for the tree to grow again. You
watch—by the end of summer, this tree
I wake the next morning, Saturday, to
will be the strongest on the block."
the sound of a chain saw, the noise
biting right through my ears and I hate it when my father pretends to
splintering my plans of sleeping in. I know more than he does.
peer out the window. The arborists, the
tree guys Dad called to trim the oak's He sells insurance. He is not a forest
dead branches, stand at the base of the ranger, wise in the way of the woods.

85
The arborist fires up the mulcher at the road that I can hear cars passing.
back of their truck. I've seen enough. I Fragments of acorn shells litter the
grab my bike and take off. ground. You could bring a kindergarten
class here for a picnic.
The first stop is the gas station, to pump
up my tires. I can't remember the last I think about lying down. No, that would
time I rode. The morning is warm, a not do. I crouch by the trunk, my fingers
lazy, slow Saturday. The parking lot at stroking the bark, seeking a Braille code,
the grocery store is full. A couple of a clue, a message on how to come back
softball games are being played behind to life after my long under snow
the elementary school, but I don't stop to dormancy. I have survived. I am here.
watch. I ride up the hill past Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how
can I find my way? Is there a chain saw
Rachel's house, past the high school. The
of the soul, an ax I can take to my
down side is a fast, easy coast. I dare
memories or fears? I dig my fingers into
myself to lift my hands off the
the dirt and squeeze. A small, clean part
handlebars.
of me waits to warm and burst through
As long as I'm moving fast enough, the the surface. Some quiet Melinda girl I
front wheel holds steady. I turn left and haven't seen in months. That is the seed I
left again, following the hills down will care for.
without realizing where I'm heading.
Some part of me has planned this, a
PROWLING
devious internal compass pointed to the
past. The lane isn't familiar until I When I get home, it's time for lunch. I
glimpse the barn. I squeeze the brakes make two egg-salad sandwiches and
hard and struggle to control the bike on drink an enormous glass of milk. I eat an
the gravel shoulder. A wind rips through apple and put my dishes in the
the phone wires overhead. A squirrel dishwasher. It's only one o'clock.
fights to retain her balance.
I suppose I should clean the kitchen and
There are no cars in the driveway. vacuum, but the windows are open and
"Rodgers" is painted on the mailbox. A robins sing on the front lawn, where a
basketball hoop hangs off the side of the pile of mulch with my name on it is
barn. I don't remember that, but it would waiting.
have been hard to see it in; the dark. I
Mom is impressed when she drives up at
walk my bike along the back edge of the
dinnertime. The front lawn is raked,
property to where the trees swallow the
edged, mowed, and the bushes are
sun. My bike leans into a collapsing
mulched. I'm not even breathing hard.
fence. I sink to the shade-cold ground.
Mom helps me carry the plastic deck
My heart thuds as if I were still pedaling furniture up from the basement and I
up the hill. My hands shake. It is a scrub it with bleach. Dad brings home
completely normal place, out of sight of pizza and we eat on the deck. Mom and
the barn and house, close enough to the Dad drink iced tea and there is no biting

86
or snarling. I clear the dishes and throw television show out of this yet? The total
the pizza box in the trash. damage included one stomach pumped,
three breakups of long-term
I lie down on the couch to watch TV, but
relationships, one lost diamond earring,
my eyes close and I'm out. When I wake
four outrageous hotel-room parties, and
up, it's past midnight, and someone has
five matching tattoos allegedly
covered me with an afghan. The house is
decorating the behinds of the senior class
quiet, dark. Cool breeze slides in
officers. The guidance counselors are
between the curtains.
celebrating the lack of fatal accidents.
I am wide awake. I feel itchy inside my
Heather is not at school today.
skin—antsy, that's what my mother
Everybody is griping about her lame
would call it. I can't sit still. I have to do
decorations. I bet she calls in sick the
something. My bike is still leaning
rest of the year.
against the pruned tree in the front yard.
I ride. Heather should run away and join the
Marines immediately.
Up and down, across and diagonal, I
pedal my sore legs through the streets of They'll be much sweeter to her than a
a suburb mostly sleeping. Some late- swarm of angry Marthas.
night TVs flicker from bedroom
Rachel is in her glory. She ditched Andy
windows. A few cars are parked in front
in the middle of the prom. I'm trying to
of the grocery store. I imagine people
piece the story together from grapevine
mopping the floors, restacking loaves of
gossip. They say she and Andy argued
bread. I coast by the houses of people I
during a slow song.
used to know: Heather, Nicole. Turn the
corner, downshift and pedal harder, up They say he was all over her with his
the hill to hands and his mouth.
Rachel's house. The lights are on, her While they danced, he was grinding
parents waiting for the fairy prom-goers against her and she backed off. The song
to come home. I could knock on the door ended and she swore at him. They say
and ask them if they want to play cards she was ready to slap him, but she didn't.
or something. He looked around, all innocent-like, and
she stomped over to her exchange
Nah.
student buddies. Ended up dancing the
I ride like I have wings. I am not tired. I night away with a kid from Portugal.
don't think I'll ever have to sleep again. They say Andy's been really pissed off
ever since. He got wicked drunk at a
party and passed out in a bowl of bean
POSTPROM dip. Rachel burned everything he ever
gave her and left the ashes in front of his
By Monday morning, the prom is locker. His friends laughed at him.
legend. The drama! The tears! The
passion! Why hasn't anyone made a

87
Except for the gossip, there is no real I head for my closet after school. I want
point in coming to school. Well, there to take the poster of Maya Angelou
are final exams, but it's not like they are home, and I'd like to keep some of my
going to make any difference to my tree pictures and my turkey-bone
grades. We have—what? sculpture. The rest of the stuff can stay,
as long as it doesn't have my name on it.
Two more weeks of classes? Sometimes
Who knows, some other kids may need a
I think high school is one long hazing
safe place to run to next year.
activity: if you are tough enough to
survive this, they'll let you become an Haven't been able to get rid of the smell.
adult. I hope it's worth it. I leave the door cracked open a bit so I
can breathe. It's hard to get the tree
pictures off the walls without tearing
PREY them. The day is getting hotter and
there's no circulation in here. I open the
I'm waiting for the clock to end the daily door wider—who's going to come by
torture-by-algebra session when now? By this point in the year, teachers
WHAMMO!—a thought slams into my take off faster than students when the
head: I don't want to hang out in my final bell rings. The only people left are
little hidy-hole anymore. I look behind a few teams scattered on the practice
me, half expecting to see a sniggering fields.
back-row guy who beaned me with an
eraser. Nope—the back row is struggling I don't know what to do with the
to stay awake. It was definitely an idea comforter. It's really too ratty to take
that hit me. I don't feel like hiding home. I should have gone to my locker
anymore. A breeze from the open first and gotten my backpack—I forgot
window blows my hair back and tickles about the books that are in here. I fold
my shoulders. This is the first day warm the comforter and set it on the floor, turn
enough for a sleeveless shirt. Feels like out the light, and head out the door for
summer. my locker. Somebody slams into my
chest and knocks me back into the
After class, I trail behind Rachel. Andy closet. The light flicks on and the door
is waiting for her. She won't even look at closes.
him. The kid from Portugal is now
Rachel's numero uno. HA! Double HA! I am trapped with Andy Evans.
Serves you right, you scum. Kids stare at
He stares at me without talking. He is
Andy, but nobody stops to talk. He
not as tall as my memories, but is still
follows Greta-Ingrid and Rachel down
loathsome. The light bulb throws
the hall. I am a few steps behind him.
shadows under his eyes. He is made out
Greta-Ingrid spins around and tells Andy
of slabs of stone and gives off a smell
exactly what he should do to himself.
that makes me afraid I'll wet my pants.
Impressive. Her language skills have
He cracks his knuckles. His hands are
really improved this year. I'm ready to
enormous.
do a victory dance.

88
Andy Beast: "You have a big mouth, sound I can make is a whimper. He
you know it? Rachel blew me off at the fumbles to hold both my wrists in one
prom, giving me some bullshit story hand. He wants a free hand. I remember
about how I raped you. You know that's I remember. Metal hands, hot knife
a lie. I never raped anybody. I don't have hands.
to. You wanted it just as bad as I did.
No.
But your feelings got hurt, so you started
spreading lies, and now every girl in A sound explodes from me.
school is talking about me like I'm some
kind of pervert. You've been spreading "NNNOOO!!!"
that bullshit story for weeks. What's I follow the sound, pushing off the wall,
wrong, ugly, you jealous? Can't get a pushing Andy Evans off-balance,
date?" stumbling into the broken sink. He
The words fall like nails on the floor, curses and turns, his fist coming,
hard, pointed. I try to walk around him. coming. An explosion in my head and
He blocks my way. "Oh, no. You're not blood in my mouth. He hit me. I scream,
going anywhere. You really screwed scream. Why aren't the walls falling? I'm
things up for me." He reaches behind screaming loud enough to make the
and locks the door. Click. whole school crumble. I grab for
anything, my potpourri bowl—I throw it
Me: at him, it bounces to the floor. My
books. He swears again. The door is
"You are one strange bitch, know that?
locked the door is locked. He grabs me,
A freak. I can't believe anyone listened
pulls me away from the door, one hand
to you." He grabs my wrists. I try to pull
over my mouth, one hand around my
them back and he squeezes so tight it
throat. He leans me against the sink. My
feels like my bones are splintering. He
fists mean nothing to him, little rabbit
pins me against the closed door. Maya
paws thumping harmlessly. His body
Angelou looks at me. She tells me to
crushes me.
make some noise. I open my mouth and
take a deep breath. My fingers wave overhead, looking for a
branch, a limb, something to hang on to.
Beast: "You're not going to scream. You
A block of wood—the base of my
didn't scream before. You liked it.
turkey-bone sculpture. I slam it against
You're jealous that I took out your friend
Maya's poster. I hear a crunch. IT doesn't
and not you. I think I know what you
hear. IT breathes like a dragon. ITs hand
want."
leaves my throat, attacks my body. I hit
His mouth is on my face. I twist my the wood against the poster, and the
head. His lips are wet, his teeth knock mirror under it, again.
against my cheekbone. I pull my arms
Shards of glass slip down the wall and
again and he slams his body against
into the sink. IT pulls away from me,
mine. I have no legs. My heart wobbles.
puzzled. I reach in and wrap my fingers
His teeth are on my neck. The only
around a triangle of glass. I hold it to

89
Andy Evans's neck. He freezes. I push "I'm gonna miss you—got my number?"
just hard enough to raise one drop of I turn up the radio.
blood.
My tree is definitely breathing; little
He raises his arms over his head. My shallow breaths like it just shot up
hand quivers. I want to insert the glass through the ground this morning. This
all the way through his throat, I want to one is not perfectly symmetrical. The
hear him scream. I look up. I see the bark is rough. I try to make it look as if
stubble on his chin, a fleck of white in initials had been carved in it a long time
the corner of his mouth. His lips are ago. One of the lower branches is sick. If
paralyzed. He cannot speak. That's good this tree really lives someplace, that
enough. branch better drop soon, so it doesn't kill
the whole thing.
Me: "I said no."
Roots knob out of the ground and the
He nods. Someone is pounding on the
crown reaches for the sun, tall and
door. I unlock it, and the door swings
healthy. The new growth is the best part.
open. Nicole is there, along with the
lacrosse team—sweaty, angry, their Lilac flows through the open windows
sticks held high. Someone peels off and with a few lazy bees. I carve and Mr.
runs for help. Freeman mixes orange and red to get the
right shade of sunrise. Tires squeal out
of the parking lot, another sober student
FINAL CUT farewell. I'm staring summer school in
the face, so there's no real hurry. But I
Mr. Freeman is refusing to hand his want to finish this tree.
grades in on time. They should have
been in four days before the end of A couple of seniors stroll in. Mr.
school, but he didn't see the sense in Freeman hugs them carefully, either
that. So I'm staying after school on the because of the paint on him or because
very, very last day for one last try at teachers hugging students can make for
getting my tree right. big trouble. I shake my bangs down in
front of my face and watch through my
Mr. Freeman is covering the grade wall hair. They chat about New York City,
with a mural. He hasn't touched the line where the girls are going to college. Mr.
with my name, but he eliminated Freeman writes down some phone
everything else with a roller brush and numbers and names of restaurants. He
fast-drying white paint. says he has plenty of friends in
He hums as he mixes colors on his Manhattan and that they should meet for
palette. He wants to paint a sunrise. brunch some Sunday. The girls—the
women—hop up and down and squeal,
Summer-vacation voices bubble through "I can't believe it's really happening!"
the open window. One of them is Amber Cheerleader. Go
School is nearly over. The hall echoes figure.
with slamming lockers and shrieks of

90
The seniors look my way before they I hand over the picture. He takes it in his
leave. One girl, not the cheerleader, nods hands and studies it. I sniff again and
her head, and says, "Way to go. I hope wipe my eyes on my arm. The bruises
you're OK." are vivid, but they will fade.
With hours left in the school year, I have Mr. Freeman: "No crying in my studio.
suddenly become popular. Thanks to the It ruins the supplies.
big mouths on the lacrosse team,
Salt, you know, saline. Etches like acid."
everybody knew what happened before
He sits on the stool next to me and hands
sundown. Mom took me to the hospital
back my tree. "You get an A+. You
to stitch up the cut on my hand. When
worked hard at this." He hands me the
we got home, there was a message on
box of tissues.
the machine from Rachel. She wants me
to call her. "You've been through a lot, haven't
you?"
My tree needs something. I walk over to
the desk and take a piece of brown paper The tears dissolve the last block of ice in
and a finger of chalk. Mr. Freeman talks my throat. I feel the frozen stillness melt
about art galleries and I practice birds— down through the inside of me, dripping
little dashes of color on paper. It's shards of ice that vanish in a puddle of
awkward with the bandage on my hand, sunlight on the stained floor. Words float
but I keep trying. I draw them without up.
thinking—flight, flight, feather, wing.
Water drips on the paper and the birds Me: "Let me tell you about it."
bloom in the light, their feathers
expanding promise.
IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no
forgetting. No running away, or flying,
or burying, or hiding. Andy Evans raped
me in August when I was drunk and too
young to know what was happening. It
wasn't my fault. He hurt me. It wasn't
my fault. And I'm not going to let it kill
me. I can grow.
I look at my homely sketch. It doesn't
need anything. Even through the river in
my eyes I can see that. It isn't perfect
and that makes it just right. The last bell
rings. Mr. Freeman comes to my table.
Mr. Freeman: "Time's up, Melinda. Are
you ready?"

91
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Laurie Halse Anderson

Laurie Halse Anderson is an American writer, known for children's and young adult
novels. She received the Margaret A. Edwards Award from the American Library
Association in 2010 for her contribution to young adult literature. She was first
recognized for her novel Speak, published in 1999.
Laurie Halse Anderson is a New York Times bestselling author whose writing spans
young readers, teens, and adults. Combined, her books have sold more than 8 million
copies. Her new book, SHOUT, a memoir-in-verse about surviving sexual assault at

92
93