My hair was still damp as I pushed through the door of the girls' locker room. A blast of frigid air met me as Coach Chiang materialised in the doorway from the faculty parking lot. "Holland," he called. " Just the person I wanted to see."
I waited for him to catch up. "Would you swim the two-hundred med relay?" he asked. "Claire broke her arm snowboarding over the weekend, and our first meet's Friday. I'd hate for the team to have to withdraw."
"Ouch." I winced for Claire. Then for me. "Coach, you're seen my 'fly. Are you that desperate?"
"'Fraid so."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, but only for the glory of Southglenn high."
He punched my arm and disappeared into the boys' locker room. I sprinted up the stairs. She was already at her locker, her mega cup of coffee balanced on a box of donuts by her feet. She had earphones on and as she pulled a book off the shelf, she started rocking out. The way you do when no one's around.
It made me laugh.
Her eyes flew open and she smiled, did a one-eighty.
I mouthed, What are you listening to?, indicating the earphones. I dropped my duffel next to my locker.
Cece boogied across the hall and lifted one ear flap for me to listen. I had to lean in to hear and our faces accidentally touched. We both jerked away, as if we'd been shocked. She yanked off the earphones and clipped them onto my head.
I didn't recognise the song. I pressed my hands over my ears to drown out the white noise, while Cece stood with her CD player, nodding in time with the imagined beat. Great group – girl singers. The rhythm was contagious and made me want to dance. So I did. I spun my combination lock and swung open the door at the same time. When the song ended, I handed the earphones back to Cece. "They're good," I said. "They sound kind of familiar. Who are they?"
"Dixie Chicks. Here, listen to this one." She popped the earphones back on me and slid in another CD with a homemade label. It was a different group, heavy metal. The kind of stuff Seth likes. I must've made a face because Cece stared laughing.
I pulled down the earphones. "What?"
"That's my brother's band," she said. "Bad, aren't they?"
"Not that bad."
"Liar."
I handed her back the earphones and she returned to her locker. She called across the hall, "You want a donut? I've got plenty."
My gaze fell to the box on the floor. "Hot' N Tott Donuts," it read across the side. "No, thanks." The warning bell rang and I hustled to gather my morning books together. A brief glance in my mirror caught Cece staring at me as she sipped her coffee. My stomach did that thing.
I slammed my locker and spun around, colliding with a mass of bodies. My armload of books went flying. The bodies were all jocks dressed in gym shorts, apparently heading out to the track. A couple of them stopped and apologised, helped retrieve my stuff. Cece, I noticed, just stood there and watched.
Dammit, I thought, this is your fault. Get your butt over here and help.
She must've read my expressing because she wandered across and said, "Any of you guys want a donut?"
Like vultures, they shoved the books at me and attached the donut box. I shot Cece a sneer and she laughed.
***
Mackel handed back our drawings. There was a sticky note on mine that said, "See me after class." My pulse quickened. Was he going to make me drop? I should have. He could obviously tell I was just filling the hour.
It wasn't helping my anxiety level to see that Brandi had seated herself next to Cece again. Or had Cece saved the seat? Cece was showing Brandi her drawing and giggling. They both were. So what? Why did that rag me? Winslow was chuckling and showing me his drawing, which looked like a two-year-old's. At the top of Winslow's paper Mackel had written, "Interesting minimalist interpretation." It wasn't like I was jealous or anything. Why would I be? Cece had a right to choose her own friends. I just wished she'd choose me.
Shut up, brain.
Mackel launched into an explanation of all the various uses of pencils and charcoal and markers, then demonstrated the effects you could achieve with each. I tried to take notes, but wasn't exactly sure what to write down. He told us as soon as we bought our supplies to play around with them, get a feel.
I waited for the room to clear before approaching Mackel. He glanced up from his desk, where he was checking off names with abandon on the attendance sheet. He smiled, blankly.
"You wanted to see me?" I showed him my drawing.
"Ah, yes. I almost forgot." He studied my page for a few seconds before looking back at me. Cocking his head.
Oh, God, I thought. Don't get mad. Please don't get mad. I hate it when people get mad at me.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked.
My face fried. "I, uh, just needed one more elective before graduation and –"
"Shouldn't you be in advanced drawing?"
"Huh?"
Springing to his feet – giving me a heart attack – he hefted himself onto the desk and hugged one leg. "Come on," he said. "Who are you kidding?"
I gulped a lemon. "Apparently not you," I added quickly, "I don't know what you mean."
"This apple." He pointed to my drawing.
"Yeah?"
A smile streaked across his face. He jumped down, giving me more heart palpitations, then riffled through a portfolio on his desk, found what he was looking for, and cleared the desk. Next to my drawing, he laid out three or four others. "Notice anything?"
I skimmed the pictures. "Not really."
He frowned a little. "You can't see the difference?"
I could. I mean, mine was … comprehensive. Along with everyone else I'd drawn the apple. Then it dawned on me. "Oh, you only wanted the apple?"
Mackel threw back his head and laughed.
No fair. "I thought you wanted the stool and the desk and the easel behind it …"
Mackel slapped his forehead. "My God, She doesn't even know she's a genius."
My eyes fell. "Get real." Did he mean it? I compared my drawing to the others again. It was better. More realistic looking. I'd done some drawing on my own over the years, just fooling around, sketching animals and people. I never thought of myself as an artist.
Mackel glanced at the name on my paper and said, "Holland." He raised his bushy head. "You really should consider transferring to a higher class. Level II or III."
"Do I have to?"
"No, but I don't know how much you're going to get out of Drawing I. Besides the basics."
I thought about it. Not for long. "I'll stay. I need the basics. I'm sure I'll learn something," I reached for my drawing.
He snatched it off the desk. "Please," he said, clutching my paper to his chest. "May I keep this? As the first of your magnificent masterpieces?"
He was so weird. "Hey," I waved him off, "line your birdcage."
He gasped. "I shall treasure this always."
Nutcase, I decided as I scuttled out of there. Totally devoid of frontal matter.
***
Mom called me at lunchtime to remind me to stop by the career centre. Why didn't she just buy me a beeper, or one of those electronic devices convicts wear on their ankles? She also told me I had an envelope waiting at home. I could tell by her barely concealed excitement that she'd either opened it or knew what it contained. She disconnected before I could ask.
Mrs. Lucas was in a meeting when I arrived at the career centre. Her door was ajar, and I heard the principal, Mr. Reynardi, snarl, "That kid's dangerous. I don't want him in this school. It you don't do it, Bonnie, I'm calling the cops." He charged out, almost bulldozing me down. "Excuse me," he mumbled.
I'm glad I wasn't the subject of that discussion.
"Holland, there you are," Mrs. Lucas bustled out of her office. She looked frazzled, as usual. "I have a box of goodies for you. Catalogs and applications, financial aid forms and resource books. Did you get your invite?"
"My what?"
She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I didn't say that."
> I eyed the box on a folding chair near her door and heaved a sigh. More audible than it was meant to be.
Mrs. Lucas furrowed her brow. "You okay? You look tired." She reached for my cheek.
I backed away and forced a smile. "I'm fine. I'll just take this stuff. Oh, do you have a catalog for Western State?"
"You're not thinking of going there?" She looked aghast.
"It's not for me. It's for Kirsten."
"Oh. Well." She walked past me to the door, where the catalogs for the state schools were stacked along the wall.
Accompanying me down the hall, Mrs. Lucas launched into a lengthy discourse on all the academic scholarships and government grants I could qualify for. How my SATs and ACTs were high enough to get me into most institutions. An institution, I mused, sounded more exciting than college. We reached the main intersection and she added, "On top is the information on schools the offer pre-law programs."
"Pre-law? Who said I wanted to do that?"
"Oh." Mrs. Lucas flinched at the sharpness of my voice. "I thought that was your goal, to attend law school. Your mom said –"
That's all I heard. Muttering a quick thanks I charged off toward my Jeep. To my own space, my own time.
"Holland, wait up," someone called at my back.
I had the exit door scoped out and had to skid to a stop.
I glanced at my watch over the two-ton box. Shit, I was already ten minutes late for work, "Sure," I replied, exhaling my frustration.
"You're a terrible liar," she said. "You should work on that."
I sneered at her.
She shouldered her backpack. "What's that stuff?" She indicated the box.
"College crap. You want it?"
"Sure." I wasn't serious, but she relieved me of the box anyway. I might forget she had it. "Where are you going to college?" she asked as we walked together.
"I don't know. I don't know if I even want to go. Where are you going?"
"I'm not sure. Metro Urban, probably. I haven't thought mush about it, since I'm only a junior."
"You are?" That surprised my. She seemed so much older. More together.
The second wave of the blizzard that was forecast to sweep in never materialised, but an arctic wind was whipping up eddies of cafeteria debris around the parking lot. Cece, head bent, hurried with me to my Jeep. "Since you're student body president, can you tell me why you don't have a lesbigay club at Southglenn?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the wind.
"A what?" I yelled.
"Lesbigay," she yelled back.
"A who –" Oh. It registered. "I guess … no one ever applied."
"Well, I want to," she said. "How do I do it?"
We reached the Jeep and Cece balanced the box on the door handle, anchoring her baseball cap on her head with her free hand. "Get in," I said. "We can't talk out here." I unlocked the door and took the box. She climbed in and reached across the seat to unlock my door.
I circled around front and hefted the box into the back, then jumbed in and slammed the door. "God, I hate the wind. I don't mind cold, but I hate wind."
"Yeah, me too." Cece scanned the interior, eyes stopping on Seth's camping gear behind my seat. "Is this yours or his?"
"The Jeep? It's mine," I said. "Well, it actually belongs to the bank, but I'm letting them extort money from me for nine or ten more years."
She smiled. "About an LBGT club?" Her eyes rose to meet mine from under the bill of her cap.
"Yeah." I shifted to face her. LBGT. "What's the T stand for?"
"Transgendered," she said. "Should probably add Q for Queer or Questioning. And I for Intersexed."
Intersexed? I'd have to look that one up. "Okay, well, you have to submit an application if you want to form an official school club, which I'm assuming is what you're asking. You'll need to have a mission statement …" Why was my heart beating a drum solo? Cold. That was it. I turned on the ignition and revved up the heat. "And you'll need a faculty advisor."
"Like who?"
"Anyone. Anyone who'll agree."
"Why wouldn't they?" she snapped.
"I didn't say they wouldn't," I snapped back. I didn't mean to, it was reflex. "I'm just telling you how to go about it, okay?"
She nodded once, then turned to gaze out the window. "Do you think it'll get approved?" she asked.
"I don't know why not."
She burst into laughter.
"What?"
She twisted back to me and shook her head. "Where do I get an app?"
"I'll get you one. Why do you think it wouldn't get approved?"
Her head tilted to one side. "Oh, I don't know. ESP?"
She was being sarcastic. Why? I mean, we'd never gotten a request for a gay club. Probably because there weren't all that many gays at our school. Two now, counting her. "I'll pick up the form for you tomorrow."
One side of her lip cricked. "Cool."
"Can I take you somewhere?" I checked my watch. Going on twenty minutes late. I hated for Judy to think me irresponsible.
"That's okay," Cece said, "I have my car."
"Which one is it? I'll drive you there."
Cece reached for the door hand. "It's the blue Neon. Parked right here next to you." She shot me a grin and leapt out. I idled in place until she'd gunned her motor and zipped out of the slot. Her rear bumper was crammed with stickers: HATE IS NOT A FAMILY VALUE, GRRIZ KICH AZZ. The frame on her license plate read: 2QT2BSTR8. I had the strongest urge to follow her. More than an urge. A need.
"A need?" I questioned my brain out loud. "Grrl, the only thing you need is to get your azz to work."
Chapter 6
The letter that had come in the mail was an invitation to attend a dinner at the governor's mansion. Apparently I'd been selected to the Governor's Gold Circle, which honoured the top high school scholars in the state.
"Wow," Neal exclaimed at dinner, passing the invitation back to Mom. "How'd you fate that?"
"My question exactly."
"Neal," Mom scolded him. "In case you hadn't noticed, my daughter is brilliant."
"Get real, Mom. I don't even have a four-oh."
"It's not all based on GPA," she said. "You have to demonstrate community service and leadership skills. Your participation in sports was a bonus. Not to mention that Bonnie was on the nominating committee."
"Mom! God. Did you put Mrs. Lucas up to this?"
"Of course not." Mom looked offended. "It was her idea."
I bet, I thought, gritting my teeth.
Mom inserted the invitation back into its crisp envelope, running her index finger across the raised governor's seal. "You'll need something new to wear," she said. "A dress. Not pants." Mom handed me the letter.
I snatched it from her and tossed it onto the credenza behind me. "I haven't decided if I'm going. Anyway, it's not until March."
"Of course you're going."
Hannah fussed and Mom spooned another glop of liquified turkey into her mouth.
"I have a better idea." I scraped back my chair and stood. "You go. The governor'll like you better, I'm sure."
"Holland –" The hurt in Mom's voice stopped me. Without turning around, I said, "Mom, just let me make my own decisions, okay? I think I'm old enough now." I twisted to meet her eyes. "Don't you?"
Deadpan, she said, "You make me sound like some kind of horrible, meddling mother."
Neal snorted. I appealed to him, but he threw up his hands and said, "Hey, I'm out of the one."
Mom urged another spoonful of turkey into Hannah's mouth. "I trust you to make your own decisions, honey. You'll do the right thing. You always make me proud."
Tears filled my eyes. Charging down the stairs, I screamed inside, When? When, Mom? When have I ever made you proud? Never. If I work my butt off to get straight A's, I'm not taking hard enough classes. It I swim a personal best, I should've chosen a sport where my best would be good enough to win. I should get a better job, a better car, a better grip on my reality.
<
br /> Mom had looked shocked when I told her I got elected student council president, like I couldn't possibly have achieved anything so impressive on my own. The one choice I'd made in my life that she approved of was Seth. She was gaga over Seth.
Shit. I'd go to the stupid dinner. But hell would have to freeze over before I ever wore a dress.
***
I stalled around my locker waiting for Cece, watching the time. I'd cut my laps short so I could run to the office and pick up a cup application for her. It was getting late. I didn't dare linger past the warning bell for fear of Arbuthnot. The bloody wrath of Arbuthnot. Earlier this week she'd verbally bludgeoned a girl to tears for being two minutes late. She'd ranted on and on about being responsible, showing respect for her, for our peers, for all of us who made the effort to be here on time. Needless to say, the girl dropped the class. A lot of people had dropped. I would've too, if I didn't need another lit credit to graduate.
The bell rang. No Cece.
After lunch I sprinted up the stairs to art. She was sitting at the table nearest the window, talking to Brandi. Some compulsion drove me to interrupt their little téte-á-téte. "Cece?"
She blinked up at me. "Yeah?"
"I have this application for you." I searched my stack of spirals to find it. Ignoring me, Brandi continued, "So, anyway, if you want to come over tonight I could pick you up after work."
"Here." I shoved the app at Cece.
"Okay, thanks." She smiled and laid it on top of her books. To Brandi she said, "I'll call you."
Mackel flew in the door. "Heads up," he chirruped. "Everybody got their supplies now?"
I stumbled to my table. Winslow was already there, doodling on a tablet. "Yo," he said.
"Yo back." I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head. What was wrong with me? A simmering sort of anger had been festering all morning, even before school started. It began with Mom cornering me in the kitchen to remind me that Faith was staying over this weekend and would I mind not making myself so scarce? Yes, I'd mind. That was the master plan. At the end of class this morning Arbuthnot added Grendel to our list of required readings, like I had all this idle time. I couldn't fathom in calculus why we even had to learn about rectilinear motion, and if Mackel gave us homework I'd torch his hair.