You can’t have mine. Just eat yours faster.
Forget the ice cream! Let’s scare the crap out of the Jenson Droids.
Yeah! But you still can’t eat my ice cream.
It took all of twenty minutes, and then three of the girls ran out of the tree house, screeching. Rebecca fell halfway in her mad dash across my backyard, and Joey climbed down to help her up. That left Rachel, Jase, and I alone.
Pursing her still glossed up lips, she stood up and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, that was interesting. I don’t know how you did it, but that was scary-cool. Anyway, Charlotte, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, alone,” She looked at Jase, smiled, and batted her eyes like something was stuck in them. Jase’s cheeks turned all red, and I wondered if he thought she might be pretty.
“Alone?” I asked.
Her dark eyes glanced at me and then back to Jase. His stupid face got even redder. “Yeah, well it’s like, a private—girls only question.”
Jase held up his hand and walked to the door, “I’ll wait outside.”
Rachel stared at the door even after Jase left. “He’s really cute, isn’t he?”
“And he can burp the whole alphabet after drinking soda. He’s the best. Now what’s this girl thing you want to ask me?”
She looked at my chest then at my face, and my stomach flipped. “Are they real, or do you stuff?”
“Is. What. Real?” Oh, God, I just wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
She leaned heavily on one leg and jutted her hip out awkwardly. I wondered if it was painful to contort her body in all the unnatural poses she kept moving it into. “Your chest, Charlotte! Is it real?”
Then, the b-word poked me with her finger, because I guess maybe I took too long to answer her or something.
Her eyes bulged when her finger touched my chest.
I smacked her hand away. “You touch me again I will beat the ever-loving crap out of you. Yes, they are real. Why, do you have to stuff?”
Her face turned bright pink, “No. I have boobs. I’m just not as FAT-chested as you. Slate was right!” She stormed out of my tree house, which was the perfect time, because then she couldn’t see my stupid tears.
I heard her gasp right outside the door and the murmur of Jase’s voice. Jase probably stood there and heard the whole thing. That just made my tears come faster. I swiped at my eyes and turned to face the back window, watching Rachel stalk through my yard. Jase’s arms were around me before my next thought; his blueberry bubble gum breath fanning hot against my cheeks, “You’re perfect, Charlotte. Don’t listen to what anybody else says.”
Later that night, way after Jase and Joey went to their own houses, I tiptoed into mine. It was ten o’clock and every single light in my house was on. Strangely, my mother and father sat at opposite sides of the living room; a weird, tense air between them.
My father stood up from where he sat, and my mother, with her tear-streaked face, suddenly grabbed her precious crystal vase from the middle of the coffee table and hurled it across the room where my father stood. It crashed into the wall—two inches from his head.
“You are one crazy bitch,” my father said, like he was telling her the time.
“Charlotte,” my mother said, ignoring my father, “your father is leaving the both of us for his slutty, little whore. The one he’s been sleeping with every night for the last year. Say goodbye to him, because he won’t have any time for you anymore.”
Without looking at me, she got up from her seat and ran into her bedroom. She didn’t come out for days after that, and when she finally did, she didn’t speak to me at all unless it was to tell me that it was all my fault for being born. What? Like I asked for that? It was like the hole my father left behind when he walked out on us had swallowed her whole, and the mother that I had always known was gone. I had two parents who left me that day.
My father shook his head and sighed, “Don’t listen to her, Charlotte. Of course I’ll have time for you. She’s just upset and saying hurtful things.”
“But, you’re still leaving and I’m staying here, right?” Without waiting for an answer, I walked right into my room and slammed my bedroom door as hard as I could. My father didn’t bother to chase after me; I guess he didn’t think it was important to let me know why he was destroying my life. I locked my door and pretended it would be my fault for locking it that he didn’t come in, but I would always know the truth was, because he just didn’t bother.
When you’re ten and both your parents abandon you, physically like my dad or mentally like my mom, it changes you. It becomes you. Within those ten short minutes of my life, standing in the living room with my parents, I was completely altered. I no longer felt loved. I no longer had the answers to all the world’s questions. And I no longer believed that I was worth explaining something to or had any value. But like I said, I was only ten, and I couldn’t formulate those logical thoughts in my head. I was confused and angrier than I had ever felt in my life.
My walkie-talkie buzzed around fifteen minutes later, and Jase’s voice echoed through the speakers. “Can’t sleep?”
I swept the curtains aside and waved to him as he sat on his windowsill; he must have seen my light still on. I brought the walkie-talkie up to my lips and tried to explain without crying, “My dad just left us.”
Jase stood up and stared at me strangely for a minute, then spoke into his end of the walkie-talkie, “Meet you in the tree house in five.”
I walked out of my room, into a dark, empty house, and padded into my backyard in my black skull and cross bone pajamas and matching skull decorated slippers. I climbed up the ladder with tears in my eyes and pulled it up after me, so no one else could come up and see me.
“Come here,” Jase said, reaching out both of his hands and pulling me into his arms. He wrapped them around my waist and squeezed me gently. Then I cried so damn hard that my chest hurt when I tried to take a breath. I told him everything ugly about me; I told him all my little secrets, my angers, my fears. And he didn’t tease me, he didn’t make fun of me; all he did was hug me tighter.
And that’s exactly how I woke up the next morning when Jase’s watch alarm went off for school; wrapped up in my best friend’s arms, clinging to him like he was my air.
Without talking, we both went to our houses and got ready for school and met up with Joey on the corner. A little bit of nervousness danced in my belly, not because of Jase hugging me all night; that was the coolest thing one of my best friends ever did for me. No, I was nervous, because that day was the play.
First period started with Ms. Spitball having to move Joey’s seat to the back of the classroom, because all of Slate’s spitballs that were aimed at Joey kept landing on her desk. Well, at least he got to sit next to Jase and me.
Second period, we lined up and walked silently through the hallways. Slate and Drake threw spitballs at the back of the teacher’s head. Her long blonde hair was infested with them. I swear you could see the saliva dripping off one of them. I gagged back vomit.
We piled into the auditorium and began getting everything ready for the play. The stage was set, lights flashed, music sounded, and then costumes were put on. Slate and Drake were in rare form, cracking their knuckles and calling everyone names.
As the girls got dressed behind a curtained off area, Slate came waltzing in. His eyes zeroed in on me while I was changing my shirt. His eyes brightened and the shitstorm started.
"Whoa, Piss Pants girlfriend’s tits are huge! Kissyface. Four Eyes. Fatty Knockers. Loser. Dog. Butterface. Trash. Lesbian. Freak. Shorty. Fat Ass.”
The minute the words left his mouth all that I felt was the burning sting of the tears that I tried to fight against pouring from my eyes. A constant question in my head… Is that true? Is that true? Is that true? Is that true? My mind bounced to my father. What did I do that he left me? Why didn’t he take me? Why wasn’t I enough? You carry that feeling with you, forever. I don’t care what anybody s
ays about it, “Oh, it’ll be different when you’re older,” or “Oh, sticks and stones…” That feeling of being walked away from doesn’t ever go away. The names that little shitpie called me never got erased.
Ever.
No.
They helped a young, impressionable girl form opinions of herself. Because, really, I didn’t feel awkward enough in my own skin, please make me feel worse about myself. See the sarcasm dripping thickly off those words? And you know it’s true too, right? If you have ever heard anyone call you something, the first thing you ask yourself - is that true?
And so it happens, when you’re filled with so much anger and anguish, you just have to let it out or your head and heart might just frigging explode. I screamed a string of profanity and rage. Then, I tried to grab at the little toilet-head’s throat. I wanted to shake the words from his mouth, shake out those thoughts about me from his head. I didn’t want to be the names he said I was.
Jase and Joey were in front of me in an instant; Joey wrapping his arms around me to cover my chest, and Jase all up in Slate’s face, whispering threats to his life. But, to hell if that stopped me from going utterly crazy. My thoughts were simple: rip his tongue out so I could no longer hear his vile words. Rip his brain out through his nostrils, ancient Egypt style, so he wouldn’t think those poisonous thoughts about me.
Joey could not calm me down, so he just shoved my shirt back over my head and hugged me tight.
Then, the teachers came.
The play was delayed.
And of course that was the main issue. Oh, and that it was entirely my fault for my sudden, unprovoked outburst.
I was hauled off into an office; my lower stomach was literally writhing with sharp pains, like I was being stabbed from the inside. Ms. Spitball held my crying snot-nosed face in her hands. Jase was banging on the other side of the door where he was being spoken to, screaming Joey’s name and mine over and over. I had no clue where Joey was.
NOBODY ASKED ME WHAT HAPPENED.
Nobody asked me what was wrong.
Nobody tried to help me.
Then the teachers spoke…
“What’s going on with her?”
“She’s usually so quiet, so smart.”
“Jase Delaney. The boy is such a misfit.”
“And why does that Joey always get caught up with Slate?”
“Doesn’t he know how Slate is?”
“Misfits.”
Inside, the words caused bruises that nobody but me, could see. And that stupid rhyme repeated in my head. Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Screw that, they do. They did. They hurt so damn much. Because when others say them, you believe them. The words, the names, are like bullets that tear through your skin and burn so badly going in, you wonder if they’re the truth, and you wonder if they’ll kill you.
Me?
Was I a misfit?
Because I was friends with Joey, the most brilliant, sweetest boy ever created, and Jase, the toughest protector to ever live? Then, I’d rather be a misfit than be whatever they thought was normal.
Screw them. Screw all of them.
Slate, Jase, and I were forced to shake hands and go on with the play.
We did, but only after Jase taped a large white paper to Slate’s back that read: KING of SHITPIES.
The audience gasped and tsked.
But the play went on.
After our performance, Ms. Spitball told me how disappointed she was in my actions. And only then was I allowed to tell my side of the incident. She screamed at me about how I should have gone to her (sure, half-naked) if Slate was bothering me. And she would need to place a call to my parents. I didn’t care. She could call my home all night; nobody would answer.
We all ran back to class.
I felt like I was running with a stick of dynamite, lit at both ends. Waiting for the BOOM. And, I need to stop and tell you here–it does come, that BOOM. It’s so harsh and explosive that it does rip me into nothing. It destroys everything.
Back in the classroom, I sat with my hands clutching my aching stomach as folded up notes were passed around the room. I sat, rigid in my seat, holding back the angry tears, belly twisting, watching the notes as they traveled closer and closer. Quietly received hand to hand, quietly read, and quickly passed on. The first was a naked drawing of me with enormous boobs. It looked nothing like me; stupid shitpie couldn’t draw. The second was of Rachel Jenson, also naked, with tiny little bumps for boobs. The words MOSQUITO BITES were written with an arrow pointing to her chest. The third note was of Maria Carrington with a huge fat belly and a boy’s you know what hanging from her private area. Written under it was “SHE’S A BOY!”
Note after note, Slate and Drake attacked every single kid in the class, until I took all the folded up pieces of paper and stood up on my shaky legs.
“Charlotte, what are you doing out of your seat?” Ms. Spitball demanded, her face turning red with anger.
I slowly walked up to her desk with a wad of crumpled papers in my hand. Jase was behind me, grabbing the other papers that he saw other people reading and walked up to Ms. Spitball’s desk next to me. He slammed them down in front of her with the palm of his hand.
“Well, Ms. Stone? Mr. Delaney? What is going on here?”
I held my head up and looked my teacher in the eye, “Just wanted to let you know what’s happening while your back is turned to write on the board. This, I think is harassment, and if Slate Marshall isn’t removed from this class, I might sue the school. Jase Delaney’s father is an important lawyer in Manhattan, he’ll help me.”
Slate was only suspended for five days.
I was scarred for life.
After school, I sat in my tree house with my sketchpad on my knees, pencil motionless between my fingers, and nothing coming to life for me on the page. I felt too sad to draw. For the first time ever, I wondered why I even bothered drawing. Maybe I wasn’t even good at it. So, I exchanged my pad for a candy bar and my pencil for an entire large bag of Doritos. A gourmet meal, right? Well, to a ten-year-old it is. And let’s just be honest with each other, if you had the metabolism of a ten-year-old, you’d be eating that crap for dinner every day too.
Jase and Joey came over as the sun was setting, and a strange thing happened as the three of us silently swung our legs off the roof of the tree house. A large group of fireflies slowly lit up the backyard.
Without having to say a word to each other, we ran into my house and grabbed three clear, glass cups to catch the insects. And slowly, as if we were somehow warped into a land full of magical blinking lights, we walked through the enchanted backyard. The fireflies surrounded us. Hundreds of them, probably shining their little bodies for their last performance on earth, before the cool autumn weather set in.
We spun and twirled around the blurry, blinking lights, capturing a few to keep for a while. Maybe hoping their magic was real.
Then, we laid ourselves out on the roof of the tree house, holding our magical friends tightly to our chests, making wishes.
Under the darkened sky beside me, the boys smelled of Dorito chips and sweat. I could barely see them in the moonless light, except for every few seconds when the fireflies lit up their bodies; only then the soft yellow glow of the magical bugs lit their faces with a pale shine.
Joey sat up and pulled his feet in, tucking them under his body. “I wish I was a lightning bug. I could light up the whole night, you know? Nobody hates a lightning bug.”
Jase sat up and scooted closer to us, “Yeah, I get it. I wish I were a firefly too. I want to light up the sky, set the whole world on fire with my shine.”
“Me too,” I whispered sitting up and touching my knees to both of theirs. I could feel the warmth of their legs against mine; it made me shiver.
Joey chuckled and nudged his finger into my forehead, “You already do that, Charlie.”
Staring down into my clear glass, I said nothing, because Slate’s words, Spitbal
l’s words, and my parent’s words were louder than Joey’s. Even though his words should have been the only ones that mattered to me.
Joey and Jase both shifted away from me and stood, letting their fireflies out of their prisons and into the night sky. I watched as they slowly floated away.
My firefly sat still on the bottom of my glass cup, her tail dimly lit, her wing looked bent. “Oh, no. I think I broke my firefly!” I shook the glass gently and the bug rolled out and crawled onto my hand.
Joey climbed off the roof and down the ladder, “Night guys. Smell you later, gater.”
The warmth of Jase’s hand touched over mine, and we both held the little broken bug in my palm. He softly pulled on my hair with his other hand, and then let it fall to the place where my neck meets my shoulder, and his strange blue eyes looked into mine, the soft glow of the firefly dimly lighting up our faces. “Charlie. If someone ever breaks your wings, you just got to find some other way to fly. Show them what you’re worth, Charlie. Nobody should set your value but you.”
He slid his hand slowly down my neck, and something in my insides fluttered. It felt like I was hit with a pillow, filled with tingly fairy dust, and immediately my stomach was twisting with sharp pains. “Life knocks you down. It’s going to, and you got to just turn around and get back up, hold on to me if you have to, but always get back up. People will just walk all over you if you leave yourself beaten on the ground.”
And then, he jumped off the roof and landed on his garage, just like a real superhero would do. Instead of the tiny broken firefly in my hand, I wished I could have captured that moment in my glass cup. I would have given anything to have held onto it forever.
I looked up into the sky and felt like such a little girl, gazing up at the stars. Looking out at everything that I was too insignificant to touch, and seeing how impossible everything was, all I could think of that very minute was that if I looked into the mirror, I wouldn’t recognize the little girl staring wide-eyed back at me. Not after that week.
When I looked back down into my hand, my firefly was gone. I didn’t know if it flew away or was just blown from my hand with the sudden wind, but I hoped that it found some other way to fly, just like Jase said.