by Wendy Mass
Mr. Polansky removes the sign-up list from the wall outside the drama studio. He quickly scans through the list of students who have signed up to audition for his play this afternoon. He is pleased to see some newcomers, along with a few returning students whom he hasn’t seen in a few years, and some regulars. He is not surprised to see that Josie Taylor’s name is the first one on the list in the Juliet category. She must have signed up the moment he thumbtacked the sheet to the bulletin board. He’s never had a student quite like her. Oh sure, he’s had determined kids before, but Josie is different. She had wanted the lead role in the fall musical so badly, he felt he couldn’t possibly deny her. And she did a perfectly fine job as Anna. It’s the air of desperation about it that worries him. Her friend Megan Panopolis has signed up for the audition also, but for the role of Juliet’s nurse. With only three female roles of any substance in the play, he’s going to have to think long and hard about what to do.
“All right, Mom!” Zoey yells from her bed. She retreated here after calling Katy and hasn’t been able to motivate herself out of it again. “Hold your horses. I said I’ll wash it off.”
“I don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself,” her mother responds, leaning her weight against Zoey’s door. “You’re a lovely girl just the way you are. Your brother doesn’t mind being pale.”
Zoey thinks it’s ridiculous when her mother compares her to Dennis. They couldn’t possibly be more different. She doesn’t bother to respond. Instead, she throws the patchwork quilt over her head and does what she always does when she’s upset. She holds her breath and thinks of things to look forward to. First on her list is the lake tonight and all the new experiences it could provide for her. If Josie doesn’t pass her driving test tonight, Zoey knows there will be no party. At this point the test could go either way. And then what will she have to look forward to?
Before Zoey’s family moved to Florida, she was so timid that sometimes people would talk to her and she couldn’t even answer them. The words would be right on her tongue, but she couldn’t get them out. When they moved here it was a fresh start. She decided that she would be a new person. A person who had friends. Who had fun. And it worked! Katy came over from next door the day Zoey’s family arrived in Orlando, and then she introduced Zoey to Megan and Josie the next week. She was instantly drawn to Megan, who seemed so exotic and who made every occasion fun without even trying. Sometimes, in the dark moments of the night, Zoey fears that without her new friends, she might revert back to her old self and blend into the woodwork again. If Zoey doesn’t have every experience offered to her now, she’s afraid her time will run out. Her mother knocks on the door and tells her to get in the shower, but Zoey pretends not to hear and burrows deeper into the sheets.
Mrs. Joy Greenspan checks the clock over the door and sees she still has time before the bell rings. Sometimes she thinks the homeroom bell is the best sound in the world. She knows she should be burned out by now, after twenty-five years of teaching, but she still loves it. Everyone says her first name fits her to a tee. Joy. She hated the name when she was younger but now it pleases her. She goes to the window and pours out the dregs of her third cup of coffee before heading to the blackboard to write, HAPPY 4TH BIRTHDAY, JOSIE! She wipes the excess chalk dust off on her skirt, glad to have remembered her student’s special birthday. Reading the students’ files each August has served her well. She knows who is on Ritalin, who has the highest IQ, who the lowest, and who once started a fire on the playground in fifth grade using a magnifying glass and a leaf. She knows who lives with his grandparents because his parents can’t take care of him, who has diabetes, and by offering to be an unbiased ear, she knows who has gotten pregnant and who is afraid to go home at night. She knows more about them than they know about themselves. She gives them extra homework because she wants them to suck the marrow out of life and learn all they can from this world. They are the only children she has ever wanted.
8:20 A.M.– 9:35 A.M.
Chapter 2A: Josie
These are the things I’m afraid of: an airplane falling on my house, the dark, being in small places, failing my driver’s test, spiders, drowning, snakes, never growing taller, never getting out of this town, alligators, war, anyone in my family dying, having my friends turn against me, eels, getting old, ghosts (including the ones that get in your car at the Haunted Mansion), letting everyone down, and never falling in love. Oh, and I’m also petrified of tornadoes. We get them sometimes here in central Florida and it scares me to death. When my mother was growing up on the outskirts of town, her younger brother was plucked from his very own bed as if the hand of God came down and took him. He was found on the front porch with nearly every bone in his body broken. He didn’t make it through the night. My mother said that next to his body was a whole pile of fish — even though they didn’t live anywhere near a lake — and some smashed tomatoes, which aren’t even native to Florida. Now I’m older than my own uncle ever got to be. It’s weird.
But on the positive side, I’m not afraid of heights, clowns, or public speaking. The only day of the year when I’m not afraid of dying is my birthday. I mean, the odds of both being born and dying on Leap Day are practically astronomical. Sometimes when I get up in the morning I wonder if I’ll die before I get back in my bed. Today I breathe a little easier. I know I will sleep in my bed tonight. Or at worst, on my floor.
I wish Katy hadn’t given me her note until after first period. Besides Mrs. Greenspan’s love of homework, she has a nasty habit of confiscating notes and posting them on the bulletin board. I decide not to even take it out of my pocket so I’m not tempted to read it. Last month Katy and I were on this kick where we’d exchange notes with dirty limericks about The Brady Bunch. It’s a good thing no one saw those. They’d have us committed. Katy is a pretty good poet, though. I think she has a future in it.
Jeff Grand runs in just as the late bell rings and I hand him last night’s physics homework as he passes my desk. He takes it without a word. It’s an unspoken understanding that he didn’t do the assignment and will need to copy mine. I don’t mind. I feel I owe him something. When we were all eight years old, me, him, Megan, and Katy played doctor once, but the three of us refused to show him ours after he had been so gracious as to show us his. We ran back through the woods while he stood there with a red face hurrying to button up his shorts. To this day I can still picture those green-and-blue-striped shorts. Anyway, he’s taking a chance copying from me because I’m what is known as the Typical “B” Student. Do my homework, but not extra credit. Study for tests, but not a second longer than I have to. Every report card says the same thing, “Josie could get A’s if she applied herself.” Let Rob be the smart one in the family. I don’t even think I want to go to college. I’d rather go to acting school. The one class I get A’s in is drama.
Mrs. G takes attendance differently than any other teacher. “Jared Adams?” she asks, knowing very well he’s sitting right there in the first seat.
“Ubiquitous,” Jared responds. “Existing everywhere at the same time.”
“Very good, sweetie,” she replies. “Tara Bantok?”
Tara pauses for a second and then says, “Reciprocate. A mutual or equivalent exchange or a paying back of what one has received.”
It goes on like this, all around the room. Every Monday we have to respond with a different SAT word and definition from this huge list Mrs. G gave us in the beginning of the year. If she especially likes your word, she’ll call you sweetie or baby or honey. Mrs. G must be in her fifties but is very perky and energetic. The way she bounces around the room reminds me of Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh. When she calls out Zoey’s name I debate telling Mrs. G why Zoey’s not here, but what would I say? Zoey turned orange today and will be late?
“Josie Taylor?”
I completely forgot the word I had chosen for today. I wrack my brain and think of a word from the theater. “Um, soliloquy? A dramatic monologue that gives the ill
usion of being a series of unspoken reflections.”
“Excellent, baby,” she says, beaming. She then turns to the blackboard and gestures with her attendance book. “So today’s your birthday, Josie. Can you explain to us why it’s only your fourth?”
Most of the kids already know since they’ve known me since kindergarten, but who am I to turn down an opportunity to have everyone pay attention to me? A mini-performance. “Do you want me to go up front, or just stay here?”
“From your seat is fine.”
“Okay,” I say, slightly disappointed. “Well, February twenty-ninth only comes around once every four years, when there’s a leap year. So this is only the fourth time in my life that I’ve actually had a birthday.”
“And why do we have leap year?” Mrs. Greenspan prompts me. This answer I know like the back of my hand. “Because it really takes the earth three hundred sixty-five and a quarter days to go around the sun, so we make up for the quarter day by adding a full day every four years. Otherwise, the seasons would get all messed up and eventually Christmas would wind up in the summer.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Missy Hiver calls out. “I think that would be cool!”
I really do not like Missy Hiver. She’s been trying to compete with me since the second grade, when she told our teacher that she should be the carrot in the school vegetable parade instead of me because I was too short. She also has this weird obsession with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, those twins who have their own television shows, movies, clothing and makeup lines, CDs, books, and private jet. In eighth grade she was Mary-Kate for Halloween in the morning and then Ashley in the afternoon. As much as I can’t stand her, I have to admit that was pretty clever.
“You might want to reconsider that, Missy,” Mrs. G says. “You already have summers off from school, so you wouldn’t get an additional Christmas vacation.”
That shuts her up fast. After Mrs. G finishes taking attendance, she erases my happy birthday greeting and writes, contemplating your navel. “Now, what does this mean?” she asks.
A hand shoots up from the back. “Does it have something to do with deciding whether or not to get a bellybutton piercing?”
Mrs. Greenspan smiles thinly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Amelia Peters tentatively raises her hand. Amelia pretends to be shy and quiet in front of the teachers, but she’s really the opposite. She wears a big cross around her neck and her parents make her wear a uniform every day like she goes to Catholic school instead of public. I steer clear of her whenever I can. Since Amelia so rarely volunteers, Mrs. Greenspan immediately acknowledges her. Amelia lets her arm fall slowly as she asks, “Is contemplating your navel the question of whether Adam and Eve had bellybuttons if they were not born of man?”
“Not exactly,” Mrs. Greenspan says with a sigh. She turns back to the class. “It’s simply an expression of deep thought and introspection in the absence of other activity. I had hoped some of you might be able to connect it to Walden Pond, which we’ve been reading for the past two weeks.”
“I was going to say that,” Missy Hiver mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “but I thought it was too obvious.”
Mrs. Greenspan flashes her a wan smile and then says, “On Wednesday we will begin The Scarlet Letter, and in preparation, I’m going to ask you all to be introspective. Since the book is about judging right and wrong, let’s talk about the seven deadly sins for a minute. Then later in the week we’ll discuss how they are portrayed in literature. Can anyone list them?”
No one answers. Amelia slowly raises her hand again and in almost a whisper rattles off, “Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth.” Then she sinks a little into her chair.
“That’s right, honey,” Mrs. G says after a short pause. “Very good.” As soon as Mrs. G turns around to write them on the board, Amelia smirks. I copy the list into my notebook, titling it the seven deadlies.
“Now I want all of you to pay attention over the next week, to each time one of these emotions enters your life. I’m hoping this will help you identify with Hester Prynne, Hawthorne’s main character.”
What kind of name is Hester Prynne? Thank god the bell rings before I have to find out. Mitch Hurley passes my desk on the way to the door and I want to thank him for the birthday wishes, but he just ducks his head and speeds up. Jeff Grand drops my physics homework on my desk. I’m about to slip it into my notebook when I notice the blue Post-it note he stuck on top. I read it as I head out into the crowded hallway. It says, “Do you think Katy would go to the prom with me if I asked?” When I look up from the note Jeff is nowhere in sight. I don’t know how to break it to him, but sophomores don’t get to go to the prom unless they’re asked by a junior or senior. That boy is really out of the loop. All we have is a dorky spring dance called, imaginatively enough, the Spring Dance. I guess this means Jeff’s forgiven Katy for leaving him with his pants down. I feel a little pang of something that’s not really jealousy, because I’m not interested in Jeff in that way, but still. A little pang that no one wants to ask me to the prom. And there’s only sixty-five days left, if you don’t count weekends.
We barely have five minutes between classes, a schedule no doubt intended to limit the amount of trouble we can get ourselves into in the hallways. My photography class is on the other side of the building and I debate my two current options. Option A: Go to the bathroom. Option B: Take the route that will intersect with Grant Brawner as he heads to his next class on the second floor. Even though he didn’t want to keep my picture, I’m not ready to give up on him. Bathroom, Grant. Grant, bathroom. My bladder says bathroom, but my heart says Grant. Plus, soon my hair will start to unstraighten, and I don’t want to lose the birthday glow. I tear down the hall and up the stairs. If I’m off by even a minute, our paths won’t cross. When I reach the second floor I’m about to admit defeat until I spy the back of his head about ten people in front of me. I race up ahead of him, on the other side of the crowd, and then turn around as though I had been walking in that direction from the beginning. Now he’s heading right toward me as planned. I try to act casual and glance at yet another poster advertising today’s audition. At the exact right second, I lift my arm to wave hello. But just before his eyes land on me, someone grabs my arm and pulls me to the side of the hall. I look up to find Katy.
“What are you doing?” I ask, not bothering to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I was about to run into Grant.” I watch as he walks into his classroom, unaware of all my efforts.
“I’m sorry,” Katy says, not sounding sorry enough if you ask me. “Look, do you still have that note I gave you before home-room?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Can I have it back?”
“But I didn’t read it yet.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I’ll give it back later. I, uh, I just want to add something.”
“A Brady Bunch limerick?”
She pauses. “Sure, yeah, a Brady Bunch limerick.”
I look at my watch. The bell is going to ring any second. I dig into the deep pocket of my pants and pull out the note. Katy grabs it and turns to go with a breathless, “Thanks.” She ducks into her history class across the hall just as the bell rings. Meanwhile, I’m still on the other end of school from where I need to be.
Crap.
8:20 A.M. – 9:35 A.M.
Chapter 2B: Everyone
The halls are thinning out, and Jeff Grand knows he’s barely going to make it to homeroom before the late bell rings. He hates that he’ll have to ask Josie Taylor for her physics homework again. Not because he doesn’t like her, but because he knows she thinks he must be stupid. And he’s not stupid. It’s just that both of his parents work full time and he has a lot of responsibilities. For the past three years, his parents have been in charge of the primate section of Disney’s Animal Kingdom. By the time they come home at seven, they smell like monkey poop and his mother barely has enough energy to cook dinner. This means
that more often than not, Jeff has to take care of his four-year-old sister, Sage, do the laundry and the grocery shopping, and fix whatever appliance needs fixing. His only solace is watching reruns of The Simpsons each night at 11:00. There’s simply no time to do his own homework. He just cannot do everything.
As Jeff approaches Josie’s desk, she already has the homework assignment in her hand. She passes it off to him like the seasoned pro she is. He wants to say thank you, but Mrs. G is already starting attendance and he doesn’t want to draw her attention. By the time he sits down, Tara has just said the word reciprocate and it makes him think that he should reciprocate for Josie’s help somehow. He should do something nice for her.
As soon as Tara says reciprocate she files it into the back of her brain without even realizing it. Mrs. G goes on to the next person, and Tara takes out a blue nail file from her pencil case. With her hands under her desk, she files off the sharp edge of her right pinky nail that had been bothering her since breakfast. Tara is what her mother likes to call pleasantly plump but Tara prefers the term chubby. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she considers herself lucky. She assumes that none of the boys are interested in her, so she focuses her energy on her schoolwork and gets all A’s and B-pluses in high-level classes without worrying about competing with the skinny girls for the cutest guys. She is also fond of her nails. They are very long and she paints each one a different pastel shade.
Tara watches as Josie Taylor stands up at her desk and pushes her long hair behind her ears. Tara wonders how Josie gets her hair to be so straight. Last week it was kind of frizzy — not very frizzy, but sort of bushy — and then today it is smooth as silk. Tara would hate it if her birthday only came around once every four years. But Josie seems to like it for some reason. Tara looks over at Missy Hiver, who rolls her eyes. Tara doesn’t know why Missy doesn’t like Josie, but everyone knows she doesn’t. In seventh grade Tara saw Missy steal Josie’s math homework at lunch and slip it into the trash so when Josie went to look for it later it wasn’t there.