Chapter 4
As predicted, Joey talked nonstop about the concert on Monday. Since we shared a few classes throughout the day, I got the pleasure of hearing him adjust the story with each telling. The first time he told it to me—and probably the closest he got to an honest retelling—he admitted that he could barely hear the band from their spot on the hill, to the point where he and his cousin gave up trying after one song.
But in second hour, he claimed to have heard the whole concert. Third hour, he said that they’d managed to climb nearly twenty feet over one of the side fences, where they’d been treated to one of the best views in the whole amphitheater. By the time school ended, he was bragging about how he’d gotten picked to go sing on-stage.
More power to him, I suppose. Charlie was better at humoring him than I was, but maybe that was because he only had to deal with the fake story for a couple hours, instead of hearing it all day. Or maybe he just had less on his mind.
In the weeks after Joey told her to shut the fuck up, Jessica had gotten back at me a hundred different ways. She and her friend—whose name, I learned, was Maya—were in four of my six classes, and even though Maya ignored me when she was by herself, Jessica did whatever she could to make sure I knew she blamed me for what Joey had said. Or maybe she was angrier about the way I’d thrown it back in her face before getting off the bus.
Either way, she clearly felt like she had a score to settle. She heard me tell Charlie how afraid I was of public speaking and wrote down my name under the part of Juliet for English class. We read through the script half an hour every weekday, and it felt like every scene involved Juliet in some way. I thought I could handle it at first, but it wore me down over time; it got to the point where I gritted my teeth every time I saw Juliet on the page.
She spread a rumor about me hooking up with Joey and Charlie, too. Even though most of the freshmen didn’t seem to know who I was or care about the rumor, enough of them believed it to make me grimace whenever I passed them in the halls. Worse than the wrinkled noses and dirty looks were probably the grins. From boys, mostly, but from a few girls too. The label stuck so well that I couldn’t help feeling like my name was synonymous with ‘slut.’
I decided that if everyone thought I was a slut, I’d show them what a real slut looked like. I started disobeying the school dress code in just about every way possible, wearing clothes that didn’t quite break any rules, but certainly stretched them. I got sent to the principal’s office on one of those days, the Monday before the Homecoming dance. I was wearing a spaghetti-strap top that didn’t cover my shoulders, with black-and-white vertical stripes. In my defense, I’d layered it with another shirt and spread out the three straps—including my white bra straps—to fulfill the requirement that shoulders had to be covered by at least an inch of fabric.
I pushed the door to Principal Wroth’s office open, my book bag slung over my shoulder and a yellow note in my hand. The room was lit by a green-shaded desk lamp that didn’t provide quite enough light to fill the room. In the middle of the room was a thin slab of wood held up by two pairs of intersecting metal stilts that must have served as Principal Wroth’s desk. Errant papers lay strewn across it, along with a black phone and one of those old-timey rolodexes. I stared at the principal sitting in her blue pantsuit, waiting for her to react to my presence.
“Hello?” she said, looking up at me. “Please come in.” Principal Wroth was a short woman with broad, stocky shoulders. Her blonde hair was cropped short, casting her boxy face in all sorts of unflattering shadows, and she spoke with an authority that surprised me. It was a kind of authority that seemed to promise swift punishment if I’d done something wrong. I took a seat in the fold-out metal chair across from her and handed her the note.
“Hmm.” Principal Wroth frowned, her lips moving subtly as she read. “Interesting.” She lowered the note and looked up at me. Well, at my shoulders. “Miss Nimzovitch, you understand that you are in violation of our dress code?”
“No I’m not.” I held up two fingers against my left shoulder. “See, this is a little more than an inch. I read the code. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
She blinked at me a couple times, as if trying to decide whether I was truly ignorant or willfully disobedient. “Miss Nimzovitch, that rule specifically states an inch of solid fabric. Trust me, none of the faculty wishes to see any part of your undergarments, including the straps holding them up.”
I shrugged, despite a growing sick feeling in my stomach. “Whatever. You can define solid however you want.”
“Yes, I can.” She glanced down to my shorts, which came to exactly the length of my fingertips; again, as per school rules. “Miss Nimzovitch, I’m sure that whatever attention you think this is getting you is not the right kind of attention.”
I gritted my teeth. I had a feeling she was about to talk about the boys who were interested in me because of the way I was dressing, which—as far as I could tell—wasn’t a whole lot more than had ever paid attention to me. “I don’t think it’s fair that you can let people call me a slut and then get mad at me when I start dressing like a slut. Seriously, what kind of double standard is that! If…“
She held up a hand to stop me. “Who called you a slut?” Her brow wrinkled in a look of genuine concern.
“Everyone. It’s just a stupid rumor.”
“Hmm.” Principal Wroth frowned. “Do you know who started it?”
I hadn’t meant to get anyone in trouble—I’d just hoped to get myself off the hook—but I had a hard time talking myself out of pointing the principal toward Jessica. She deserved some sort of punishment. The only reason I decided not to rat her out was because I wanted to handle it on my own. “Nope, no idea.”
“Sure.” Principal Wroth raised an eyebrow at me, obviously not buying the lie. “You know, we take insults very seriously, especially when it begins to affect a student’s behavior.”
“Okay. Well, I wish I knew then. I’ll be sure to tell you if I ever figure it out.” I started to stand, but at a look from the principal I stopped.
“Miss Nimzovitch, even if that is the case, it does not settle the other matter.” She dipped her head toward my barely-covered shoulder. “I know this is your first offense, so today you have two options. Do you have a jacket or anything else you can put on that would be more in line with the dress code?”
“I have my gym shirt.”
Principal Wroth nodded. “Good. Then you can change and continue your day. Your other option would, of course, be to have your mother or father bring over something more suitable.”
I forced a sweet smile, knowing that the last thing I wanted to do was force my mother to leave her new bartending job because I didn’t know how to dress myself. “Thanks. I’ll just grab my gym shirt.” I swung my bag back onto my shoulder and retreated from the principal’s office.
The office led out into a large waiting room with a glass door looking out at the main hall. I pushed it open and turned right, toward the gym and locker rooms. I’d barely taken a step when the bell chimed, signaling the beginning of passing period; in five minutes it would be sixth period, which meant I only had to deal with a couple more hours of school.
My feet tapped against the red linoleum of the hallway as I walked toward the gym, pushing past the students shuffling from class to class. A few of them glanced at me and looked away, only to glance back with a frown, as if to say I know you. You’re that one freshman slut. I sighed and focused on the wall to my right, running my hand along the bumpy white paint. It only took me a minute to reach the girls’ locker room; I turned inside and headed straight for the closest bank of blue lockers. My locker was only a dozen steps away, with the ratty gray t-shirt sitting on top of the rest of my gym clothes.
“Hey, Maya.” Jessica’s voice hit my ears like a bad replay of a nightmare. She stopped at a locker just a few spots to the right of mine and started working at the lock, as if she hadn’t noticed I was there. “Do you think
we’re gonna have to run sprints today?”
I ground my teeth and focused on opening my lock. She obviously wasn’t talking to me, so there was no need to respond. “Hopefully not,” Maya said, from the bank of lockers behind me. “That whole thing was just ridiculous. It’s a gym class, not an actual Volleyball team. Who cares what kind of shape we’re in?”
Jessica laughed. “Mr. Reinhardt probably just likes to watch us run. He seems like a perv.”
“Yeah, right,” I muttered to myself, a little too loudly for Jessica to miss it. “As if anyone would want to watch you run.”
“Excuse me? We weren’t talking to you.” Jessica scowled at me. “Oh. What’s up, Juliet? Do you wanna stick your fucked up nose in our conversation? I thought you and your friends were big on privacy.”
No clever response leapt to mind. I tried to come up with something that would get her to stop, but I couldn’t do it. Over my shoulder, I heard Maya laugh nervously. “Guys, calm down.”
Instead of responding, Jessica just kept glaring at me. “Come on, speak up, Juliet. How is Romeo ever going to hear you if you don’t say anything?”
I didn’t have anything to say, so I just focused on the task at hand. My lock clicked open as I finished the final turn. Only a few more seconds and I could leave.
She shoved my elbow as I reached for the shirt inside my locker. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Could you please go home? Or is sleeping with that gay boy and the asshole really so important that you can’t miss it?”
I turned and cocked my head at her. “If he’s gay, then why would he sleep with me?”
“Oh, good point. Haha, so you finally admit it!”
“I didn’t admit it. I just—“
“Nope, you admitted it!” Jessica interrupted. “Good to know. So he isn’t gay at all. Well, he wouldn’t be if you didn’t look so much like a boy. Maybe that’s what he likes about you. That whole ugly factor you’ve got going on.”
I felt my face burn with indignation; as much as I tried to tell myself that her insults were stupid and immature, they still hurt. “I don’t look like a boy,” I whispered, as much to myself as her.“Do you think that’s why she puts on so much eyeliner?” A girl behind me said, loud enough that I could catch it without any effort.
“I dunno. What if she’s like one of those girls who when you take her makeup off, she looks totally different?” The slightly husky voice didn’t seem familiar, and the worst part was the total absence of malice.
Maya had been the only one to attempt to get Jessica to stop, but when I found her face she didn’t say anything else; she just gave me a look of sympathy. I could take Jessica’s teasing. I knew that I could, as much as I hated it. But the whispered comments lent them a validity that made me want to curl up into a ball right then and there. Instead, I slammed my locker closed, slung my bag over my shoulder, and forced myself to take even steps out of the room.
My ragged breathing accompanied me all the way back down the emptying halls. I should have gone to Math. I knew that was what I was supposed to do. Go to class as quickly as I could, to avoid a tardy or unexcused absence. I didn’t want to. The thought of seeing more people made me feel sick.
I stumbled down the hallway, trying to tell myself that everything would be better if I could survive until after school. I could sing out all of my emotions, like always. As I took a left, down a hallway lined with more blue lockers, I knew that wouldn’t be soon enough. My emotions had to come out, and the only way that was gonna happen was either through the tears already welling in the corners of my eyes, or if I found somewhere safe to sing.
The plain wooden door to the most secluded bathroom on the floor beckoned. I was pretty sure—judging by the sign—that it was reserved for staff, but I remembered someone in orientation mentioning that none of the staff actually used it. As if I was lost in the desert and the bathroom was an oasis, I made my way toward it and slowly eased the door open. I stepped inside, closed the door, and sank against the wooden panel, feeling like I’d found the only safe place in the school.
“Feeling lost,” I sang softly, “Twisted and confused. Abused like a puppet, caught up in a winter tempest. I’m feeling like a kite, torn up by the wind. My colors once so bright, now I just can’t stand…”
I paused at the sound of shuffling steps coming to a stop just outside the door, but in the next moment whoever it was moved on. “One, two, three. Do you see, what you’ve done to me? And can you hear, my whining plea? Oh, please just let me be. Let me be.”
The moment I finished the chorus, someone knocked on the door. I inhaled heavily, becoming painfully aware of the dampness on my cheeks. The knock sounded again, and I forced myself to turn back around. My hand hovered over the handle, but it wasn’t until a third knock that I managed to open it. I swung the door wide, ready to get sent to the principal’s office all over again.
Charlie was standing there, a sympathetic look on his face. He looked almost as hurt as I felt. He pointed behind me. “Um, mind if I join you?”
I tried to sniffle, but it ended up as a giggle. “Yeah, sure.”
He took a step inside, took the door from me, and closed it. When he turned back to face me, there was only a couple inches between us. I could have counted the dark dots in his green eyes.
“I hear your plea,” he whispered. “I heard it out there, and I heard it in practice the other day. I figured you might be going through something rough.”
“I am. I really am.” I took a step back, taking in the whole room for the first time. The white porcelain sink, tarnished gray trash can, white tile walls, the toilet… There was nowhere to sit, but I stepped over to the sink and leaned against it. “Jessica said some mean things. Stupid things. And I know I shouldn’t have let them hurt me, but… I couldn’t. I can’t control how I feel!”
Charlie nodded, falling against the door. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” I tried to wave it away, but at a doubting look from Charlie I stopped. “She said that you were gay, and that the reason we were sleeping together—which we’re not—is because I look so much like a boy.”
“Oh. Well, she’s just an awful person.” A small smile came to his face. “I know that we’re not sleeping together, though. I think I’d be aware if we were. She’s still just mad because of the Joey thing, and she’s taking that out on us.”
I nodded. “I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
With a sigh, Charlie looked down to the floor. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just sitting and staring. “Ash, what are we afraid of? What is there to be afraid of, really? That we’ll be losers or outcasts? We already are. That everyone will think she’s telling the truth? I think everyone who matters will realize that she’s an idiot. So what are we afraid of?”
His question took me by surprise. I gulped, not sure what he was getting at. Perhaps he was simply asking the question because he hoped I might have an answer. I frowned at him. “I’m afraid of being hated. I don’t want to be an outcast. Charlie, we don’t want to be outcasts.”
“But we already are.” His eyes rose up to find mine. “This gay thing didn’t really start with Jessica. On the first day of school, I could practically feel everyone judging me. I think it started then, because of the way I talk, the way I act. The way I am. As much as I can say I’m not gay, it doesn’t affect that initial judgment. So I’m an outcast. Maybe the best thing for me would be to learn how to be okay with that.”
There was a subtext to his words; I could tell he was trying to tell me that I should be okay with being an outcast too. But I didn’t want to be okay with it. “Maybe I should stop wearing so much eyeliner,” I whispered, “And stop hanging out with you guys for a while. Until the whole slut thing blows over.”
“That would be one way to handle it.” Charlie watched me closely, gauging my reaction. “The other would be to tell Jessica to shut the fuck up, and go on living your life. I mean, you’re in a killer rock band, and five
years from now all the Jessicas of the world will be begging to be your friend.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed, trying to imagine what that would feel like. As much as I didn’t want to be an outcast, I had no aspirations to that kind of popularity either. I just wanted to be normal. Average. Not above or below the radar in any way. “How do people do it?” I asked. “Pretend to be normal, I mean. How do they manage that?”
Charlie’s brow wrinkled. “That’s just it. They pretend to be normal. No one really is. Jessica sure as hell isn’t. But you and me and Joey, we’re free from having to pretend, because our approximations of normal weren’t close enough. If you think about it like that, the other freshmen are giving us a really nice gift. We don’t have to pretend. We can be as crazy as we want, because it isn’t like we’re gonna lose friends we don’t have.” He grunted and pressed against the door as he pushed himself up. “No matter how crazy you get, Joey and I will always be there for you. So don’t worry about Jessica. There aren’t any rumors she can spread that would hurt us.”