Thousand Words

by Jennifer Brown

  Loud and long, there was a catcall whistle. It felt like it reverberated off the trees. Even the birds went silent for a moment.

  I stayed where I was, drinking in air until my breathing slowed, feeling the anxiety creep up my legs, my arms, my chest, into my throat. I wanted to say something. To defend myself. But I couldn’t catch my breath. All I could think about was my picture on that website. About my dad making that call to Principal Adams this morning.

  After a moment, I straightened, then stood and turned and walked back home.

  The stress was still there, but all the fight had been drained out of me.

  DAY 24

  COMMUNITY SERVICE

  Mrs. Mosely had to testify in some court case, so Teens Talking adjourned early. You’d have thought we’d won the lottery, the way everyone carried on when she told us to pack up for the day.

  Ordinarily, I’d have been bummed about leaving early. I wanted to be done with community service, and the only way to do that was to have my butt in the chair for sixty hours. No way around it. Every early day off was another day I had to show up.

  But the freaky warm front that had rolled in was still lingering, and I wanted to hang out with Mack again. It was comfortable hanging out with him, and—who was I kidding?—I needed a friend.

  He took his time moseying out of room 104, so I got drinks and waited for him by the vending machines, a sweaty soda in each hand.

  “What’s this?” he asked when I handed one to him.

  “To wash down the brownies we ate,” I said.

  He took the soda and popped it open and we headed up the stairs.

  “Also in case you get thirsty on our walk.”

  He grinned. “We going somewhere?”

  “Well, we’re not going to waste getting out early on a beautiful day like this, are we?” I pushed open the glass doors and we stepped outside. “It’s my turn.”

  “Turn for what?”

  “You took me to your hangout—very cool, by the way—so I thought I’d take you to mine. It’s oh, so exciting.”

  Darryl and Kenzie were waiting for rides to pick them up. It sounded like they were arguing, as usual. We walked past them and hit the sidewalk.

  “You’re not going to make me go to that Vonnie chick’s house, are you?”

  I laughed. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing someone to Vonnie’s house, but things between Vonnie and me had been so off lately I wasn’t even positive if I would feel comfortable there anymore. Plus, Mack didn’t belong in that world.

  “Nope. Better.”

  “The mall? Are we gonna get manicures?” he said in a high-pitched lispy voice that I guessed was supposed to be his imitation of a girl.

  I stopped, hands on my hips. “Do I really look like the manicure type to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever. Just follow me.”

  The walk toward my end of town was longer than the walk toward his had been, and we both pointed out places along the way that had some sort of meaning to us—the frozen custard shop where my mom’s ice cream addiction got downright embarrassing during the summer, the garage where his dad used to work, the skating rink where each of us had gone to birthday parties as kids.

  But after a while, it was just me doing the pointing, and it was clear that we’d crossed some invisible boundary line between our lives.

  Finally, we hit the entrance to the trail by my house.

  “Ta-da!” I cheered, holding my arms out.

  He peered into the woods. “This is why we walked a zillion miles?”

  My arms dropped to my sides. “You showed me where you like to hang out. This is where I like to hang out. Well, not so much hang out as work out.”

  “I don’t run.”

  I rolled my eyes, walked around him, and pushed him from behind. “You don’t have to. Just come on. I was a good sport about the defying of death you made me do at the skate park. You can be a good sport here. Plus, there’s another place I want to show you.”

  He resisted at first, digging his feet into the ground, but I put all my force behind him and slowly he started walking, chuckling. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

  We walked down the trail, moving to the side to let a couple joggers pass.

  “So I told you all about my sordid story. When are you done with your community service?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Don’t you have a paper?”

  “Not anymore. Mosely kept it.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing. What’s with all the questions?”

  “Okay, suit yourself.” A squirrel skittered across our path and darted up a tree. “Why all the mystery?” I asked.

  “That’s a question.”

  “A valid one, though, don’t you think?”

  “Another question. You can’t not do it, can you?” He tipped his soda up and then crushed the can in one hand. “Some people just don’t have lives that are exciting enough to talk about,” he said. “I’m one of them. Where are you taking me, again?”

  I pointed at him. “Question!” But then I could see the white brick of the strip mall’s back wall, and I gestured to it. “Actually, that’s where.”

  He considered it for a moment. “A mall. I thought you said we weren’t going to the mall.”

  “No, I said I wasn’t the type of girl who got manicures. I’m totally down with the mall. Plus, this is a strip mall. It doesn’t count in the mall world.”

  “Oh, goody, shopping,” he said in that high-pitched voice again, this time hopping on his toes a little and flapping his hands at his shoulders, his curls bouncing. The motion looked so un-Mack-like I couldn’t help cracking up.

  “Come on,” I said, gripping his sleeve and pulling. “Just trust me.”

  We walked around the building and I led him into the thrift store.

  “This is where I really like to hang out,” I said. I plunged into the racks and started rifling through the clothes.

  He picked up the sleeve of a purple top and let it drop again. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I pulled out a shirt and held it up to myself, then put it back. “I guess I kind of like that you never know what the story is behind the things here. Like this shirt.” I picked up a T-shirt that had a glittery iron-on appliqué. It read I’M THE FAVORITE. “Somebody bought this shirt because it had meaning to them. And we’ll never know what that meaning was, because we’ll never know the whole story. I think that’s cool.” I made a face and slid the shirt back onto the rack. “Probably dumb, though, huh?”

  “No, I get it,” Mack said. He pulled out a black sweater with tiny white cats crocheted into the fabric. “This sweater has a crazy cat lady as its main character.”

  We spent a good half hour making up stories about items we found. A couch that we supposed had been in the living room of a small-time madam. A pair of cork-heeled wedge shoes that, according to us, had belonged to a girl who ran off to Hollywood to make the big time and returned, penniless and heartbroken, the shoes her only reminder of how close she had come to being Someone. A pair of football pants that we guessed were discovered in a dark closet of a nursing home.

  Finally, we found ourselves in the back corner, where we stumbled across a box full of men’s hats.

  “Ooh,” I said, scooping out a Gatsby hat and setting it on my head. “This hat belonged to a rich old man who liked to golf.”

  “Boring,” Mack said. He took the hat off my head.

  I grabbed it and put it back on. “Fine. He also liked to murder people by bashing their heads in with a nine iron. And then hide their bodies in shallow graves under the sand traps.”

  “Better.” Mack dug through the box. The hats tumbled around his hand. I saw a beige-and-black-houndstooth fedora with a red feather glued in the band and snatched it.

  “Perfect,” I said, reshaping the crown with my fingers. I smushed it over Mack’s curls, then sto
od back and stared at it appraisingly. “Now, this one’s a mystery.” I tapped my chin. “Oh, yes, this hat belonged to a big, scruffy guy… kind of grumpy… definitely way too quiet… raging sweet tooth… but who loved a good manicure in tulip pink.”

  “Ha ha ha,” Mack deadpanned, pulling the hat off his head.

  “You should leave it. It’s totally you.”

  “Uh-huh, whatever you say,” he said, dropping it back into the box.

  “No, really, it looked good on you.” I retrieved the hat and headed for the cash register, where I paid a dollar for it, then turned and plunked it on his head. “You can pay me back in Skittles.”

  We left the store, Mack wearing his new fedora. We’d stayed inside longer than I’d realized, and it was starting to get dark outside.

  “I live right down this street. My mom will give you a ride home,” I said as we emerged from the trail onto the sidewalk again.

  “That’s okay. I’ll walk,” he answered.

  “She won’t mind. It’s a long walk. And it’s getting late.”

  “Nah, it’s no problem,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” But before I could argue further, he’d unraveled his earbuds and was tucking them into his ears, cocking his hat back on his head as he ambled away.

  SEPTEMBER

  Message 248

  God, arrogant much? Who takes pictures of

  themselves naked and sends them around?

  You are not all that.

  Message 249

  Disgusting freak!

  Vonnie caught me in the hall on the way to second period.

  “Where were you? I waited in your driveway for like fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, I went running and I got back late. My mom gave me a ride on her way to work.”

  Vonnie rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Nice of you to let me know. I was tardy to first period.”

  “Sorry, Von, I’ve kind of got a lot of other things on my mind right now.”

  I stopped at my locker, ignoring the paper that someone had taped there. It was a Booty Call Sign-Up sheet. People had signed it with ridiculous fake names like Hung Johnson and Starr Porno. I crumpled it up and dropped it on the floor.

  “Look, I get it that you’re all upset right now,” Vonnie said, “but you’re being kind of self-centered. This is not the end of the world.”

  “Did you even bother to read my text?” I shot back. “My dad got a phone call from Adams yesterday. Some parents complaining about a cell phone scandal? What do you think that’s about?”

  “Yes, I saw it. I thought you’d want to know about the website everyone’s talking about is all. I figured we could discuss the thing with your dad on the way to school today. It’s not like you’re really into text conversations these days. Or regular conversations, for that matter.”

  I gaped at her. “Do you not even care? My dad, Von. My dad is going to know about the text. He’s probably going to see it. What if your dad saw a naked picture of you? Would it make you self-centered to care?” I shut my locker and we began walking toward class.

  “Please, my dad would have to pay attention to something I was doing for five seconds, and that would never happen, so it’s a moot point. Listen, the fact is you got burned by your boyfriend, things got a little out of hand, but your bod looks great and it’s time to get over it.”

  As if on cue, a group of sophomores walked past us. One of them bumped me from behind on her way by. “Move it, ho,” the sophomore shot over her shoulder as I struggled to hang on to my books. I gave Vonnie a pointed I-told-you-so look.

  “The bigger deal you make out of it, the bigger deal it’s going to be,” she said.

  “Really? Because I haven’t made any deal out of it and my picture is on a website right now.”

  We’d reached Vonnie’s art class. She stopped in the doorway and faced me. I could see a couple of girls whispering behind her at their desks. It didn’t take a genius to know what they were whispering about. “Look, I get it,” she said. “I’m just saying next time you decide to ditch me and get a ride with someone else, maybe you should let me know, okay?”

  And the way she said it was so snotty, all I felt was rage. I might have taken the photo and sent it to Kaleb, but she was the one who’d trashed his house and car. She hadn’t ever owned up to her part in this at all.

  “And maybe next time you decide to go all vigilante justice and ruin my life, maybe you should let me know,” I said. “Okay?”

  She looked incredulous, her perfect blond eyebrows shooting up under her sideswept bangs. “Unbelievable. So now this is my fault?”

  “No, it’s always been your fault.”

  “You blame Rachel, you blame me. Dude, he’s your ex-boyfriend, not ours.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “So you had no business butting in with your immature shaving cream pranks. Seriously, who does that anymore? What, are we still in junior high?”

  The bell rang and the last few stragglers in the hallway sprinted toward their classrooms. Vonnie backed in through her classroom doorway, her arms crossed over her books, making her look tiny and taut and furious.

  “Fine. You want to be on your own? You’re on your own, Buttercup.”

  I sighed. I didn’t want to be alone. Vonnie might have started the whole thing, but she wasn’t the only guilty party in this mess, and she was still my best friend and I needed her. “Von…”

  But she’d turned her back and was heading toward her table. My heart sank.

  Finally, I headed for my class, but as I approached the door, Principal Adams stepped out of nowhere and put his hand on my elbow.

  “Ashleigh, I need you to come down to the office with me.”

  Without the slightest pause, he turned and headed toward the administration office, and I followed, my stomach sloshing and my eyes burning, and feeling more alone than I ever had before.

  I’d been in Principal Adams’s office countless times. Turning in fundraiser money, showing off a cross-country trophy, eating lunch with the people who’d made the honor roll. I’d always wondered what it would be like to be there because of trouble. I’d thought the kids who ended up in the principal’s office were the losers who couldn’t control themselves.

  And now here I was. One of them.

  It was sunny outside, and still hot, so the shades were drawn over the massive window behind Principal Adams’s desk, giving the whole office a murky gray tone. The walls were lined with shelves, books bearing titles such as Fundamentals of Teaching and Educating the Special Needs Child crammed onto them. I wondered if he’d read them all. It was hard to imagine Principal Adams as an academic, given that most of his time was spent standing in the hallways nagging at people to get to their classes before the bell rang.

  He gestured for me to sit down in the chair across from his desk, and after I sat, he walked out of the office, mumbled a few things to the secretary, then disappeared around the corner. I spent the time wringing my hands and swallowing repeatedly, wishing the lump in my throat would go away.

  Eventually he came back with Mrs. Westlie, our school psychologist, who carried a legal pad in one hand and gave me one of those half-smiles that people give when they either don’t want to talk to you or feel sorry for you. I guessed maybe it was a little of both.

  They took their time getting settled, or maybe it only felt that way to me. It was so quiet in the office I swore I could hear the sweat seeping out on my forehead. Finally, Principal Adams sat behind his desk and Mrs. Westlie settled on the chair next to me, laying her legal pad on her knees and holding her pen loosely in her hand.

  Principal Adams cleared his throat. “Ashleigh, how are things going for you?” he started, and I thought it was such a weird question, I was almost too surprised to answer it.

  “Fine,” I said, my voice weak and tiny.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Westlie asked. I noticed her pen poised to write. She had adopted a concerned, sympathetic head-tilt to go with the patronizing smile.
<
br />   I nodded.

  “Well, I’ll tell you why I’m asking,” Principal Adams said. “Yesterday I got a phone call from a parent about a text her son had received. This morning I got three more phone calls about the same text.”

  I looked down at my lap, my face burning so hard I almost felt drunk. Like I was watching this happen to someone else, not me. This was on TV. It had to be. I was an observer. Only an observer. I said nothing.

  “Do you know anything about this text?” Principal Adams asked, and when I still couldn’t bring myself to look up, much less answer him, he continued. “Ashleigh, the text includes a photo.”

  I closed my eyes. Nothing worked to keep the embarrassment away. Being blind. Being deaf. Being frozen. Being an observer. Being silent. I still felt humiliated no matter what I was.

  “Ashleigh,” Mrs. Westlie said, her voice soft, but with an undertone of authority and seriousness, “it’s clear that it’s you in the photo. And even if it wasn’t, your name and phone number are attached to it.”

  I felt a tear slither out from under my eyelid, and felt all the more disgraced for it. As much crying and dry-heaving as I’d done at home, I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone at school. This was embarrassing enough without my adding to it by bawling. I made no move to wipe the tear away; maybe if I ignored it, they wouldn’t see it, and it would be like it wasn’t happening at all. But I felt my chin begin to crumple and my breath begin to hitch, too, and there was no way I was going to be able to keep it in any longer. Everything from the past week was going to come out—the sadness of breaking up with Kaleb, the betrayal, the embarrassment, the anger at Vonnie, all of it.

  “I didn’t mean for everyone to see it,” I said, my voice an unsteady warble. “Kaleb sent it.”

  Mrs. Westlie started writing on her legal pad. “Kaleb who?” she asked without looking up.

  “Coats,” I said, and I had to wipe my nose with the back of my hand, which only made me cry all the harder. Principal Adams pushed a box of tissues across the desk and I took one.

  “Coats?” he said. “He’s graduated, hasn’t he?”