Faith had just picked up a piece of pizza and opened a Coke. She turned around. “We’ve still got a lot of stuff to do,” she said.
“Like what? Having a picnic? You said you’d be through by one.”
“I know, but there’s a lot of stuff that has to be packed up,” Faith told him. By now, everyone had stopped talking and was watching the little drama.
“They can finish up. C’mon.” We could see his fingers clamp more tightly on her shoulder.
“Let me eat this, then I will,” said Faith.
“I’m parked in the custodian’s place. C’mon,” he said, and jiggled her shoulder so hard that the Coke spilled out of the can and onto her jeans.
I stared at Faith, at the way her face flushed. She’d seemed to be having so much fun before.
Suddenly Harry stood up and took a step forward. “She said she wants to finish her lunch. Maybe you didn’t hear,” he told Ron. Ron looked up.
And then, to my surprise, Richard and Devon stood up, too. “This is a cast party,” Devon said. “You can wait outside if you want.”
“Hey, this is between Faith and me. It’s none of your business,” Ron said.
“Wrong, buddy. Faith’s our friend, and you treating her like dirt is our business. She’ll leave when she’s good and ready. Right now, she’s not ready,” Harry said.
Ron’s jaw clenched. He stared down at Faith. “You coming?”
She kept her eyes on her lap. “No.”
“What?” said Ron, anger in his voice. “I didn’t hear you.”
“She said no,” said Harry. “She’s staying, and we’ll see that she gets home.”
Ron glared around the stage, then turned suddenly and left, and the rest of us broke into applause. I couldn’t tell what Faith was feeling, embarrassment or relief or what.
“Good for you, Faith! You finally stood up for yourself,” Molly told her.
I handed Faith a paper napkin to blot up the Coke on her jeans. “He’s going to be really mad,” I told her, wondering if we’d only made it harder for her. “He won’t … he won’t hurt you, will he?”
“Oh, gosh, no, he’s just the jealous type. He means well.”
“Wrong,” said Harry. “He’s a control freak, and you deserve better.”
We awkwardly changed the subject then, as Faith silently finished her lunch. I didn’t know if what had happened was enough to turn the tide or not. Maybe it meant a lot to her to have us all in her corner. Or maybe she just decided on her own that it was time. But as we finished packing up, I noticed that her color returned to normal, she was a little more talkative than usual, and Harry, true to his word, drove her home.
I was thinking about her on the bus later. Now that the production was over, it would be too easy to go back to our old clique again and forget about Faith. But this was when she needed new friends the most, yet I was afraid if I called her, she wouldn’t want to do anything with me—a freshman trying to hang out with a junior. But I called her anyway when I got home and asked if she wanted to see a movie with Pamela and Elizabeth and me the next day.
“Thanks for asking, Alice, but I’m going somewhere with Molly,” she said.
Well, that was good, too.
• • •
Charlene called me when I got home.
“It wasn’t broken after all,” she said. “Just a really bad sprain. How did it go, Alice?”
I knew that the only possible answer that would satisfy her would be to say that I fell on my face. “Well, I guess you’d have to ask someone else. I was too scared to think, almost,” I said truthfully. “But the other kids covered for me. I don’t think too many people noticed.” She definitely did not want to hear that. “The show had to go on, and your understudy was sick. What else could we do?”
“They could have sat me in a chair or something,” she said, and her nose sounded clogged, as though she’d been crying. “Mother was wondering if I got any flowers. I mean, I’m home now, of course, but I have to stay off my foot and wear this bandage, and … I did get flowers, didn’t I?”
“We sort of divided them up among the whole cast and crew so that everyone got flowers,” I said. “But I’ll be glad to bring some over if you give me your address.”
I called Elizabeth and Pamela and asked if they wanted to go on a mission of mercy.
“To where?” asked Pamela. “Who are we being merciful to?”
“Charlene Verona,” I said.
“Are you nuts?”
“Probably. But she deserves her flowers. Les said he’d drive us over.”
Liz and Pam have had a crush on Lester almost since the day we moved in, so they said they’d go. I’d just stuck the flowers I’d got at the performance in one of Lester’s beer steins (Remember to buy a vase before Sylvia comes to live with us, I told myself), so I took some plastic wrap to wind around the stems and when Elizabeth and Pamela came over, we all crawled in the backseat of Lester’s car.
“Dad and I are eating out tonight, Les,” I said. “Where are you going?”
“Heavy date,” he said as he backed out of the drive.
“Heavy as in fat?” asked Elizabeth.
“No. I’d say, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds, nicely stacked,” he replied.
“Heavy as in serious?” asked Pamela.
“Heavy as in ‘interest.’” said Lester. “Lauren’s a very attractive, intelligent woman. Anything else you want to know?”
He left himself wide open on that one.
“Sure!” said Pamela. “How intimate are you with this woman, Les?”
“Pamela!” said Elizabeth, but I’ll bet she was curious, too.
“Intimate as in ‘soul mates’?” said Lester. “Intimate as in ‘philosophically in tune’? Intimate as in—”
“Never mind,” I said, knowing he’d never tell us, anyway. I checked the address Charlene had given me. “Turn right at the next light, Lester, then left at the second stop sign.”
“So who is this woman, Lester? Your fave girl?” asked Elizabeth.
“Your latest conquest?” asked Pamela.
“Latest victim?” I put in.
“She happens to be one of my philosophy instructors at the U of Maryland,” Lester told us.
“Isn’t that against the law? Dating a student?” asked Elizabeth.
“She could go to jail for corrupting the morals of a minor,” said Pamela.
“Ha!” I said.
Lester just smiled at us in the rearview mirror and pulled up to a gray brick house. “Here you are, ladies. Take your inquiring minds with you, please. How are you getting home, Al?”
“We’ll catch a bus,” I told him.
“Good-bye, sweetheart,” said Pam, getting out.
“Have a good day, luv,” said Elizabeth.
Charlene’s mother met us at the door. She was a thin redhead who looked as though she could have been a dancer in her day.
“You’re the girl who filled in for Charlene,” she guessed when she saw the flowers. And when I nodded, she said, “She’s in here,” and led us to the living room, where Charlene sat with her foot propped on a hassock.
“Here are the flowers, Charlene,” I said. “I’m sorry about your foot.”
She hardly even looked at the flowers, just gave them to her mother to put in a vase. She seemed so much smaller—more vulnerable, maybe—hunched down in the chair in her pajamas. I was beginning to have mixed feelings about Charlene. She was pretty even in her pajamas with a bandage on her foot—naturally pretty. She’d been born pretty. And somehow I was holding that against her. That, and all her talent; she could sing like anything.
“So how did it go?” asked Mrs. Verona. “We went right to the emergency room and didn’t get to see any of the second act. Such a disappointment! Charlene worked so hard!”
“Oh, it went great!” said Pamela. “Everyone said the final performance was the best!” I couldn’t stop her. I wondered if Pam was jealous of her, too.
“But how did you
manage?” her mother asked, turning to me. “Charlene said you can’t even sing!”
Elizabeth answered. “I don’t think anyone even knew there was a change,” and Mrs. Verona looked stricken.
“At least you were there for the first act, and that’s the one that counted,” I told Charlene quickly.
Mrs. Verona turned to her daughter: “Well, honey, it’s only your freshman year. You have three more years to be in the productions. I wasn’t in a musical till I was in college!” Then, to us, “Usually these roles go to the seniors. We were just so pleased to find out that Charlene got a major part. But she’s so talented.”
I started to say something nice, like, “Yes, she was very lucky,” or something. After all, we were guests in their home. But Pamela piped up with, “Oh, and they took pictures for the yearbook afterward. Won’t that be a hoot, Alice?”
“For the yearbook?” Charlene wailed.
“Don’t worry. I gave your name, not mine,” I assured her. “It’s only fair that you get the credit.”
“But it won’t be Charlene’s picture!” cried her mother. “I simply don’t know why they had to wait till the final night to take pictures. I so wanted to have copies made and to send them out with our cards next Christmas! I had the whole thing planned, and now this!”
All the while her mother was talking, Charlene seemed to be sinking lower and lower in the chair, eyes on her mom, feeling worse, it seemed, that she’d let her down. I don’t know if she’d leveled with her mother or not about how she had hurt her foot, but if I had a pushy mom like that, maybe I’d feel like whirling myself around and around—right off the end of the stage, in fact—anything to let off some steam.
“Well,” I said quickly. “We just stopped in, Charlene. I really hope you’ll be better soon. The kids’ll fill you in on everything when you get back.”
Her mother thanked us for coming over and took us to the door. We were never so glad to get out.
“Whew!” said Elizabeth.
“I guess it’s hard not to think of yourself as the center of the universe if your mom believes that you are,” I said.
“They make me sick,” said Elizabeth. “Charlene with her perfect face, perfect skin, perfect everything. Her mother just wants her to be what she was. Or never was, one or the other.”
“Charlene did look sort of pathetic,” I said.
“You’re sorry for her?” Pamela exclaimed. “Ha! It couldn’t have happened to a better person. All she wants is to be the star.”
That sure sounded familiar. We were jealous, all three of us! Pamela was accusing Charlene of wanting exactly the same thing she did. And wasn’t it curious that Elizabeth, who had been fighting acne lately, happened to mention Charlene’s perfect skin? As for me, hadn’t I wished a few weeks ago that I could get up on a stage and belt out a song like the others did at the audition, Charlene included?
“Well,” I said, “she is stuck on herself, and she is obnoxious at times, but if she were homely, we wouldn’t be talking about her like this. Right?”
“If she were homely, she wouldn’t be stuck on herself,” said Pamela.
But Elizabeth can see a moral a mile away, and you can make her feel guilty about almost anything. Maybe jealousy is a sin. “So we can dislike her for being conceited, but we can’t dislike her for being pretty and talented and loved and coddled?” she said.
I nudged her in the ribs. “Hey, Elizabeth, you’re pretty and talented and loved and coddled, and we don’t hate you!” I grinned.
She just elbowed me back.
“Listen,” I said. “Dad and I are going out for dinner tonight. Someplace we’ve never been before. You guys want to come?” I knew he wouldn’t mind.
“Sure,” said Elizabeth.
“If it’s okay with him,” said Pamela.
We went to an Afghanistan restaurant and had little deep-fried sambosas for an appetizer, and qua-bill palow for the main course—lamb and saffron rice with carrots and almonds and raisins. And somehow, after a great dinner in good company, we began to feel that we could make it through three more years of high school with Charlene Verona if we really worked at it.
My last article for The Edge was about the production as a community—the actors, the orchestra, the director, all the different stage crews—and how it takes all of us to bring a musical to life. All of us deserve the applause. I described the cast party afterward, how we’d been through something big together, and felt sort of like family.
Nick and Sara said it was the best writing I’d done so far, and that made me feel really good. Things were suddenly going well for me again—I’d made new friends, was back on track with my old ones, Patrick and I were pals, Gwen was helping me with algebra when I needed it, I was fine, Dad and Sylvia were fine. Lester and Lauren were …
“So how was your evening?” I asked Lester at breakfast the next morning as I buttered my English muffin.
“Well, I’m seeing her again next weekend, if that answers your question,” said Les, who doesn’t usually care much for early morning conversation.
“You’re getting an A in her course, I presume?” I chirped.
“My course work and our relationship have nothing to do with each other,” said Les. “There’s no law against an instructor and a student having intellectual discussions and enjoying cultural events together. This is college, after all, not high school.”
“Be careful, Les,” said Dad.
On Monday, in the middle of the morning, I got a pain. It was somewhere down around my navel, but I started getting these sharp little stabbing pains that turned into a steady throb by lunch-time. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or not, so I didn’t eat anything.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gwen.
“I don’t know. I’ve got this pain in my abdomen.”
“Cramps?”
“No. I had my period just a week ago.”
“Then it’s probably not ovulation, either,” said Gwen.
“Ovulation gives you a bellyache?”
“Sometimes—when the egg breaks out of the ovary. Does it feel like a stomachache?”
“Not exactly. Just sort of a throbbing, burning pain.”
“You ought to go see the nurse—have it checked out,” she said.
I made a little face. “Probably something I ate,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “You didn’t eat anything for lunch, right?”
By fourth period, the pain was unmistakably worse. I asked for a pass and went to see the nurse. She asked me the same things about my period and had me lie down on the cot. Then she bent over me and gently prodded my abdomen. When she got about halfway between my navel and my hipbone on the right side, I gave a yelp.
She put a thermometer in my mouth, and when she came back and checked it, she said, “I’m no doctor, Alice, but my guess is you’ve got appendicitis. I think we ought to call your dad.”
“Is that—?”
“It’s not serious, but I rather think you’re going to have your appendix taken out.”
“An operation?” I gasped. And the next thing I knew, I felt the room going around, and I blacked out.
10
The Girl in White
When I came to, I heard the nurse talking on the phone to my dad. She must have been sitting beside my cot, stroking the side of my face with one hand and holding the phone to her ear with the other.
“Alice? Alice?” she said as I struggled to open my eyes. And then, to my dad, “She’s coming to now, Mr. McKinley. She’s going to be fine… . Yes, I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”
I felt as though I were down in a deep, deep well. I could hear what was going on and feel the nurse’s fingers on my cheek, but I didn’t have the energy even to open my eyes.
The nurse grasped my fingers. “Alice,” she said, “if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Somehow I managed to do that, and then I opened my eyes.
“I think that was
a bit of a shock, and I could be completely wrong about that pain in your tummy, but if I’m not, it’s about the most common operation you could imagine. It’s really not a big deal,” she said.
I just looked at her. It was my abdomen we were talking about, not hers.
“Your dad’s on his way over, so you just lie there and rest a little,” she said.
I didn’t say anything because I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I might vomit.
A girl came in with a sore throat, and a guy who had hurt his thumb in gym. They could probably see my legs and feet sticking out from behind the curtain, I realized, and I turned my face toward the wall.
The pain was pretty constant now. It throbbed like a finger when you get a cut on it. Finally I heard my dad’s voice out in the hall, then coming through the door, and next, right beside me.
“Al, honey?” he said. “Think you can sit up?”
Wincing, I sat up and he crouched down beside me. I put my arms around his neck and started to cry. “I don’t want an operation!” I sobbed.
He stroked my back. “Now let’s don’t jump to conclusions. Dr. Beverly said he’d see you as soon as I brought you in, so let’s let him have a look at you.” He reached down to get my shoes off the floor and helped put them on my feet.
“She has a temperature of a hundred and one,” the nurse said. “And the pain’s definitely in the right place.”
“Thanks for taking care of her,” Dad said. And then, to me, “My car’s right outside. Just take it slow and easy.”
Of course the bell had to ring just as we moved out into the hall, and as kids passed, staring at Dad with his arm around me and the way I was walking, sort of bent over and holding my stomach, they parted to make room for us, and I felt like Moses parting the waters of the Red Sea.
Eric passed us, then suddenly jerked around and stared at me. “Alice?” he said.
“Hi, Eric,” I said, but some kids pushed between us just then, and Dad and I turned and went out the door.
I cried all the way to Dr. Beverly’s. “I don’t want an operation,” I wept again. “I don’t want an ugly scar on my belly. I want to wear a bikini, and I’m scared!”
“Al, there are a lot worse things than a scar on your abdomen.”