Two sets of huge eyes blink back at me.
“My mom has Crisco,” “I can scout it out and give a signal when he asks permission to go,” “I’ll guard the bathroom door so we know it’s him who’s going in and not anyone else,” “I’ll spread the word that something really funny’s about to happen in the bathroom so everyone can go in and see him all dripping wet!” We talk all at once and whammo! We’ve got ourselves a plan.
After we eat so many cookies I can feel the dough rising in my stomach, we go back upstairs to Forsyth’s room and work it all out so we’re sure it’s foolproof. You’ve got to be foolproof with a boy like Sonny.
“He’s in room 301 second period,” Forsyth says. “I know ’cause that’s across the hall from me. After second period he’s bound to have to go to the washroom.”
“Yeah, they have snack period after first, right?” Emma asks. She looks like she loves this plan as much as Forsyth does, which is funny considering she’s the only one Sonny hasn’t picked on. Truth to tell I think Sonny’s a little afraid of Emma since he knows she has no fear whatsoever.
“Yup,” I say. “Okay. So, Emma will scout him out and make sure he heads to the bathroom down the hall next to the gym. Forsyth, you have to come get me when Emma gives you the signal.”
Forsyth looks confused.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, “we’ve got to come up with a signal.”
“How ’bout I call out ‘My favorite color is blue!’” Forsyth says.
“You can’t yell that down the hall,” Emma sneers at her. “He’ll know something’s up our sleeves.”
Forsyth nods.
“I know,” I say, “the signal will be that Emma will scratch her chin when she sees Sonny ask Mr. Stanley for the key. Then I’ll run down ahead of him with a pat of the Crisco in a bag under my shirt and, Forsyth, you watch the washroom door and make sure no one’s in there when I go in.”
“Wait! How’re you going to get into the boys’ washroom without a key?” Emma asks. And she has a point.
I think on this for a minute.
“Well,” I say out loud, but in my head I have no idea how I’ll finish this sentence. Then it comes to me. “I know! I’ll go to the bathroom right when I get to school ’cause that’s when the janitor cleans them and leaves the doors open for them to air out! I’ll click that thingy in the middle of the doorknob that keeps it from locking when it closes and that way I’ll be able to slip in when you tell me he’s coming!”
Now, that’s a darn good plan, if you ask me. Foolproof. Emma and Forsyth look like they’re thinking the same thing. They’re both smiling like cats that ate canaries.
“Okay, then how’re we going to get everyone in there so they can see him after he falls in?”
I’m thinking again. How come I’ve got to come up with the whole dang thing?
“How ’bout we count to ten so we’re sure he’s falling in and we tell anyone who’s around us in the hall that there’s a bag of free candy in the boys’ washroom.” Emma shouts this out she’s so excited. “Everyone loves candy. Especially when it’s free!”
That’s my little sister for you. She always comes through in the clutch.
“That’s it, then,” I say as Forsyth falls back on her bed of daisies. “Don’t forget to bring the Crisco in tomorrow morning,” I remind her.
“I won’t.” She smiles up at the ceiling. “This time tomorrow Sonny Parker’ll be the laughingstock of the whole entire school.”
Emma stands up and stretches her arms up over her head—after leaning back on them for so long I expect they’re stiff. “We better go on home before Richard gets to five.”
* * *
“You asleep, yet?” Emma whispers, knowing full well there’s no way I’m sleeping.
“No.”
“You reckon it’ll work for real?”
“It cain’t not,” I say, but inside my head I’ve been thinking it over and now I’m not so sure.
“What if he doesn’t have to go to the bathroom?” she asks.
“He’s got to go sometime,” I say. “Besides, say he doesn’t go after second period. We just scoot the plan up and do it after fourth.”
“You think?”
“It’s foolproof.”
“You’re right,” she yawns. “It’s foolproof.”
I don’t remember sleeping, but I must have because the next thing I know Momma’s calling up to us from the landing. “Rise and shine!” She sounds like she’s in a good mood, but we won’t know for sure till we get downstairs and see what’s waiting for us in the kitchen. When the cereal bowls are already out on the counter we’re home free. Sometimes, though, she says, “You got arms to reach up, don’tcha?” And other times she’s not there at all…still sleeping. Sure enough it’s a breakfast-bowl-on-the-counter morning. Phee-you. One less thing to think about today.
We ride the bus to school and there isn’t much to say about that except that Patty Lettigo (who everyone calls Patty Let-Me-Go and then runs away like she’s holding on to them too tight for real) glares at us when we walk up the aisle to the back of the bus where there’s an open two-seater. Patty Lettigo always glares. It’s her job or something.
My stomach’s in knots. Emma’s clutching her books close to her chest even after she sits down so I’m betting she’s as nervous as I am.
“Remember,” I whisper to her with my hand up to her ear just in case anyone can hear over the loud bus engine, “get the bag of Crisco from Forsyth the minute you see her at your locker and then pass it to me when I come by after homeroom.”
“Okay, okay, stop reminding me,” she hisses at me.
“I’m just saying.”
“I got it.”
But after we pass three farms and the second flashing stoplight she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Where’re we meeting up again after?”
“Jeez! We’ve been over this a million times! At the end of the hall that leads to the gym. You’re going to be the signal girl.”
“Right,” she nods, remembering. “Got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Sure as manure.”
I smile, thinking about how I told her that Daddy always used to say that to me. He’d rhyme the words and it made me laugh every time.
The bus lurches to the curb right in front of our school, squeaky brakes and smelly fumes. Emma hits my arm and I look to where she’s looking and sure enough it’s Sonny at the bike stand, pulling his books out of the trap that’s fixed over his back wheel.
“Here we go,” I say to no one in particular, and we head in through the front doors just in time for the first bell.
“Bye,” she calls to me, which is weird ’cause we never say goodbye to each other at school—we just sort of walk away. But in a nice way. Yep. She’s nervous all right.
Homeroom drags by so slowly now it’s me who can feel her hair grow. Miss Fullman calls attendance and everyone’s got to add their funny little thing they say back instead of “here” like boring old me. Mary Sellers: “Is the best!” (everyone laughs—she changes this every day). Liam Naughton: “Yell-oh!” (laughs). Darryl Becksdale: “Who?” (not so many laughs, but still better than “here”). The list goes slowly while Miss Fullman gives everyone the evil eye and says, “People. That’s enough now, people,” and waits for the laughter to die down before she calls the next one on the list.
The second bell rings almost as loud as my heart is beating. It just occurred to me that this whole thing is riding on me. I cain’t chicken out now. I just cain’t. Forsyth would never speak to me again.
First period goes by even slower than homeroom did, but the good thing is we’re right on track. Forsyth passed a slab of Crisco wrapped in plastic to Emma, who gave it to me just like we planned. Now I’m sitting here in second period
with Crisco grease in the space between the snap and zipper of my pants and my stomach. I wore a looser shirt than I normally wear for this exact reason. Planning ahead works every time.
Bzzzzzzz. Second period is over and as we file out of the room I bump into two desks because I’m concentrating on my heart, which is beating in my chest like a bird flapping its wings against a cage, trying to get free. Oh, Lord, please help me carry this out.
Out in the hallway in front of the gym Forsyth is standing in front of the boys’ washroom like she should be but I cain’t see Emma over the heads of the other kids in the hallway. I didn’t think about how tough it’d be to see her in the crowd! Oh, God. Oh, God. Emma? Where are you?
And then she appears—standing in between Betsy Rutledge and Collie McGrath, talking to Perry Gibson and…there it is…she scratches her chin! That means Sonny’s asked for the key and is about to head to the washroom. I whip around to see Forsyth shaking her head to someone who’s trying to go in but then turns away after she whispers to him. Just like we planned, Forsyth is telling anyone who wants to use the washroom—who isn’t Sonny, of course—it’s “out of order.” We practiced it dozens of times before we left the Phillipses’ last night.
There’s no time to waste. I push past people I barely recognize because I’m so nervous and feel up under my shirt for the packet of Crisco. In front of the boys’ washroom I look over my shoulder quickly just to make sure Sonny’s not right behind me. The coast is clear so I rush past Forsyth, who’s mouthing something to me and waving her arms around, but I push through the door to the boys’ washroom so I can carry out our plan.
Oh. My. Lord.
I hear the door shut behind me and rest my eyes on not one, not two, not three, even, but about twenty—twenty—boys! Boys from every grade. Boys standing with their backs to the door. Boys facing the wall. Boys with their pants practically down to their ankles. Boys combing their hair. Boys leaning against the tiled wall. Boys in every nook and cranny of this washroom!
“Lookee-lou, it’s Scary Carrie,” a hollow voice bounces off the tiled walls and mixes into all the laughing that breaks out like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
Everything happens so fast I cain’t even tell you what I said or how I got out of there. I just know that as I fly out the door I see Sonny, smiling and sauntering up to the door without a care in the world.
The girls’ washroom is right next door but I want to get as far away from here as I possibly can. So I run. I run down the hall, past Emma, who’s looking at me weird, past Mr. Stanley, past a million laughing kids I never want to see ever again, and out the double metal doors that lead to freedom. They can arrest me if they want, but I’m not going back into that school. I hear the door slam behind me and soon Emma’s beside me on the second step of the rickety old bleachers by the baseball diamond.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Forsyth,” I sob, “Forsyth…” It’s all I can manage to say. I’m crying too hard. I’m the laughingstock of the school.
“Forsyth what? What happened?”
Then it comes back to me…oh, Lord! Forsyth’s lips moving. Her arms swishing back and forth like windshield wipers. She was trying to warn me. She was trying to warn me.
I wish I could disappear.
“It’ll be okay,” Emma says. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. You’ll see. It’ll all be okay.” Her hand rubs circles in the middle of my back.
“How?” I sniffle. “How will it be okay now?”
But she’s quiet so I know she was just trying to make me feel better.
“If anyone makes fun of you I’ll beat ’em up, that’s how.”
“You cain’t beat up the whole school. And that’s who’s going to make fun of me.” I wipe my runny nose on my sleeve.
“We’ll think of something,” she says, “but we better go on back. Mr. Streng’s going to be after us if we cut out altogether. Come on.”
The halls are empty when we go back through the double doors—everyone’s in third period, I reckon. After my eyes adjust, I head toward my locker and Emma pads alongside me. Even in echoey halls she doesn’t make any noise.
“Here’s what you do when third period’s over.” She hurries up to in front of me so she can face me. “You pretend you’re deaf so when anyone says anything—or even laughs at you—it doesn’t make a lick of difference. Just pretend you can’t hear a thing.”
What she doesn’t realize is I’ve been trying this all my life. It never works.
* * *
“Caroline, you knew this stuff backward and forward yesterday.” Mr. Stanley’s mouth is all twisted up, like it’s fed up with talking to me altogether. “What I wonder is how on earth you could completely forget multiplication.”
Am I supposed to answer him?
“Young lady? Young lady, I’m talking to you.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you forgot to do your homework, say so. But don’t give me this little act like you think I don’t know what you’re up to. I’ll see you after school.”
When on earth did we learn multiplication? I swear I have no idea how an x between two numbers is supposed to change what they’re worth. Mr. Stanley keeps looking over here like I’m going to make a run for it and I suppose I could, but where would I go? Home to Richard? Here’s the thing Mr. Stanley doesn’t get about me: I don’t mind school. Mary Sellers, Tommy Bucksmith, Luanne Kibley and all them can pretend to love it all they want in front of the teachers, but I hear them in the lunchroom talkin’ trash about it. I like everything about school—except for the other kids, a’course. I like getting out of the house all day long. It’s like a field trip every single day.
“Caroline!”
Mr. Stanley’s voice is louder than I’ve ever heard it.
“Yes, sir?”
“The bell rang five minutes ago. Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
“Yes, sir.” I swear I didn’t even hear the bell ring. I’m the only one left in the classroom. Just before I get through the door his gravelly voice throws words at me: “Remember, after school.”
“Yes, sir.”
Emma’s going to have to wait for me. I bet Momma won’t even notice we’re not home on time. She don’t care. To tell you the truth, I bet she’s as glad to have us out of the house as we are to be gone. She’s got to manage her piles and I reckon she can do it a whole lot better with some peace and quiet. All day she sits there folding letters into three sections, stacking them in tall towers until the envelopes all have the address stickers on them and then she stuffs those with the letters. We’re not allowed to read what the letters say; Momma’s sure we’ll crinkle the paper and she’ll get fired. I don’t care what they say, anyway, since Momma looks so bored doing all this it cain’t be interesting. Momma’s so smart she didn’t even have to go interview for the job. She answered an ad in the newspaper about working from home, making you a ton of money. They liked her so much on the phone the job was hers, they said. Emma and me try to figure out why it is we haven’t seen the ton of money they promised Momma, but I think it’s babyish to think a truck is going to pull up to the back of your house and unload bagfuls of cash like a bread truck delivering to the grocery store. Emma’s still waiting for the truck.
“You’re late, Caroline.” Miss Hall looks about as happy with me as Mr. Stanley did. “That’s the third time this week.” She made a little mark next to my name in the book on her desk.
I don’t ever set out to be late but my mind sometimes takes a detour. Like when I write with another kind of handwriting. I know which way the letter k is supposed to face but then, whammo!—there it is backward. And usually when there’s a backward k, it’s in the other handwriting I surprise myself with; it almost looks like I could be in Emma’s class with this handwriting. It’s really shaky and big and, like
I said, the letters are sometimes mixed up. But most of the time I keep my brain focused on what I have right in front of me. Not today, I guess. Momma won’t even know to look at the line on my report card that says I been tardy for classes. If she did see it she probably wouldn’t care.
“What’s the matter, Scary? You forget how to tie your shoelaces, you little baby?” Mary Sellers started this nickname, Scary Carrie. They all point at my hair, which is funny since it’s not half as tangled up as Emma’s, but they point anyway. My shoes have been bothering me all day. I hate it when you tie one side kind of tight and the other side doesn’t match it. These are saddle shoes that look like my Momma could’ve worn them back when she was my age. That’s how come I have them, she saw them at the store last year and practically started crying right there in front of Mr. Franks, who insists on sliding our feet into shoes with that metal shoehorn instead of letting us wriggle our heels into them, the way we do the rest of the time. What does he think anyway? That we use shoehorns every single day? The shoes are mostly white with a saddle of black across the middle and down the sides. That’s how come they’re called saddle shoes. The toes are rounded so you have plenty of room to grow, which is a good thing since Momma said she spent so much on these shoes that we wouldn’t be able to get me new ones for a while. No one at my school wears saddle shoes. They’re just another weapon Mary Sellers can use in her war against Scary Carrie. She calls them “domino shoes.” I tell myself I don’t care. And I don’t. Really. I don’t.
Chapter Two
We’re moving and I’m not speaking to Momma on account of it. I don’t want to leave but she says we have to. And Emma’s on her side. She doesn’t like it here, either. Last night Momma got fed up and said she’d just take Emma with her and I could stay here and live on my own, but when I said “fine” she sent me to my room, so I don’t think I’m going to get to stay here by myself. Eight-year-old kids shouldn’t be living in big old houses by themselves, anyway, but still…I don’t want to go. Richard says he’s moving on and moving up. He’s been saying that a lot lately. He got a new job across the state so we have to go with him, I guess, even though some of us don’t want to move on or up, thank you very much. Momma says it’ll be a fresh start. But starts are only fresh for grown-ups. Third grade was never fresh for me, and even after a whole school year I’m waiting for it to stop being a start altogether.