People Like Us

by Dana Mele

  Nola looks disappointed. “Okay,” she says, rolling her eyes elaborately. “I trust you.” She moves on to the next line. “‘Take a chicken, white and red.’ Bates school colors, obviously. ‘Mock it till it’s good and dead.’ Now, I don’t know her as well as you do, but does your bosom buddy not have something of a reputation as a wiseass?”

  I grin. “She does.” Tai isn’t just funny, she is incisively clever. It makes it that much more painful when she turns her acerbic observations on you. She’ll be the next Tina Fey or Amy Schumer, there’s no possible doubt about that. But even Tina Fey admitted she was a mean girl in high school. Not that I’m calling Tai mean. It’s just that the truth hurts, especially when people laugh about it. And Tai is egalitarian. Everyone gets their turn. I’m the perennial borrower. That’s her bit for me. A sort of icy wave of nausea washes over me when she begins a borrower routine, but everyone gets theirs. People laughed when I gave Lada Nikulaenkov the nickname Hodor, because she’s about six feet tall and so shy you never hear her talk except to correct teachers on the pronunciation of her name. But I couldn’t do it if I didn’t also force a smile every time Tai pointed out that fact that I can’t afford to buy the clothes I wear. It’s a two-way street. Fair is fair.

  “Also,” Nola adds, “there’s that insufferable ‘mock’ thing from Henry V Hannigan was harping on last month. Tennis balls, right?”

  “Oh my God!” I tend to cram for exams and then let the information whoosh back out of my brain, but Shakespeare did write a speech where he used the word mock repeatedly to imitate the sound tennis balls make smacking around the court. “So I guess Jessica did like poetry.”

  “Or Mr. Hannigan,” Nola says, raising an eyebrow archly.

  “Stop.” I suddenly feel ashamed for discussing Jessica so casually, as if she were just another classmate we were free to bitch about. So what if she had a crush on a teacher? Hannigan is the clear choice if you had to pick one. He’s new at Bates this year, extremely sexy, and at times flirtatious. There have been rumors about more than flirting, but no proof. I don’t believe it. That accent, though. I turn back to the “recipe” and read the next line. “‘Brand it with a three-point-five.’ That’s Tai’s GPA.” This is public knowledge. GPAs are posted in the Great Hall to motivate/shame us.

  “‘Burn it if it’s still alive,’” Nola continues. She looks to me.

  “A burn. An insult. Tai’s specialty. Blurring the line between funny and painful.”

  “How is a burn different from a mock?”

  “A mock is a sport. A burn is deadly.”

  “Then there’s ‘Sharapova’s shame.’ Which sounds like bad community theater.”

  “Seriously? Maria Sharapova is a tennis superstar. There was a huge scandal a couple years ago when she was suspended for doping. But it’s complicated, because the drug she took is a legitimate medication, too.”

  “Whatever, I couldn’t care less. What this says to me is your girl Tai is pulling a Sharapova. The question is, how did Jessica know?”

  “Well, if it were true, all she would have to do is hack into Tai’s email to know anything Tai ever mentioned there, right?”

  Dance like no one’s watching.

  Nola nods. “Jess was a solid coder. Those computer skills training programs she built were legit.”

  “But I don’t believe Tai did this. People like us don’t use drugs. It’s automatic expulsion.”

  Nola favors me with a slightly contemptuous smile. “People like you?”

  I feel my face warm. “Tai could go pro someday. My friends and I have a lot to lose.”

  “How dreary to be somebody,” Nola says.

  I think about my brother. After he died, the newspaper articles focused on his athletic accomplishments and didn’t touch the kind of person he was, the good or the bad. Megan’s death was treated quite differently. She wasn’t a star athlete or a student at a prestigious prep school. There were articles, but they didn’t talk about her accomplishments, her hopes and dreams, everything that made her special. Only what happened to her.

  “We all have a lot to lose,” I say. “Bates is a golden ticket. You don’t throw it away.”

  The sun is beginning to set outside, and pink and orange rays filter in through the attic window and illuminate Nola’s pale face, making her eyes glow. “Why did Jessica?”

  4

  Before I go looking for Tai, I stop by Brie’s room to drop the Gatsby costume off. I pause outside before knocking to listen for signs that she’s busy and hear muffled giggling. Justine is visiting. Great. I smooth out the fine, silky layers of fabric and leave it on the polished wood floor next to her door, then head for the stairs. I hate being the constant borrower (and occasional thief), relying on friends, acquaintances, and even random students to provide my wardrobe during the hours we’re allowed to ditch our uniforms. But it’s necessary. The Gatsby costume is one of the most extraordinary things I’ve ever worn. The fabric made my skin feel electric. Daisy Buchanan was an exciting person to be. Sleek and sexy and a little dangerous. I’m sad to return her to Brie, but it’s too conspicuous of an item to “forget” to return.

  When I step outside, the sun is bleeding over the lake, a bloom of fiery orange and red through the black knots of branches, giving the illusion that early autumn has returned. I head across the courtyard toward the athletic complex as the chapel bells ring out a tune I don’t recognize, and gaze back at the silhouette of the main campus. It’s stunning at sunset—like a cross between an Ivy League university and Hogwarts, with beautiful Gothic architecture, spindly towers, and quaint Elizabethan cottages.

  Tai is practicing alone at the tennis court in the waning light. The school has indoor courts, but Tai likes to practice in all weather conditions because not all schools do. Her form is perfect as she elegantly swoops, arcs, and slices down on the ball. My chest muscles relax as I near the court, and I feel my shoulders drop reflexively. Tai has no reason to cheat. She is so far above the rest of the team that it’s actually embarrassing to watch them practice. My heart sinks again. Why is she so good?

  I throw my hands up against the chain-link fence and growl like a zombie, and she whirls around and hurls her tennis racket at me.

  “What the hell, Kay? I thought you were that lake girl for a second.” She shakes her damp hair out of her ponytail and combs it with her fingers. She’s dressed in a spotless white tennis outfit accented with the signature Bates scarlet.

  That wipes the smile off my face. “Too soon.”

  “Don’t sneak up on me.” She retrieves her racket and inspects it for scratches.

  “Want to grab dinner?”

  She makes a face. “People are going to be crying and acting all melodramatic like their mom died.”

  Quintessential Tai. Her mom did die freshman year, but she drops this line with a straight face, and she’d be furious if I showed an ounce of sympathy. I punch her arm. “Someone did die.”

  “But, like, no one important.”

  “Seriously, Tai.”

  She smiles, her lips cutting into a sharp, asymmetrical V shape. Tai has taut skin that makes it look like her hair is always being stretched back tight, even when it’s hanging loosely around her face; a sharp nose and jaw; and eyelashes and eyebrows so light, they’re invisible without makeup. “I am serious. Her friends should be sad. I remember this girl, though. She didn’t have Bates friends. She was a townie.”

  “So we don’t feel bad because she wasn’t rich?”

  Tai rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I said. Jessica Lane was a thief.”

  I laugh out loud. “Everything I’ve read says she was Mother Teresa.”

  “Well, she wasn’t. First year, we lived on the same floor, and my mother had sent this really beautiful box of designer soaps from Provence.”

  “Jessica stole your soap?”

  She gr
ins, embarrassed, but I can see she’s actually upset. She doesn’t mention her mother very often. “I can’t prove it. But they were gone and she smelled like them. And I didn’t see my mother after that, or even hear from her again, so that was important soap.”

  I link my arm through hers as we near the courtyard and the dorms. “Okay. She was a thief.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “So I stole her hard drive.”

  “Why?”

  “I gave it back. Just not until after our papers were due.” She sighs. “It’s the sort of thing that bugs you after someone dies. You remember little ways you wronged them. Even if they deserved it.”

  A breeze blows my scarf up into my face and I remove my arm from hers to straighten it. Now or never. Just ask. “I need your advice.”

  Misleading. Sometimes misleading is necessary.

  “Sure.”

  I take a deep breath and gaze around campus. The sun has sunk just below the horizon, painting the Gothic architecture of the quad against a velvety blue background. The lights issuing from the lampposts that line the stone path are a soft glowing yellow, like jars filled with hundreds of fireflies gently swaying above us. “Would you ever consider taking a performance-enhancing drug?”

  Tai runs her pale eyes over me with a trace of condescension. “Who wouldn’t? If you weren’t going to get caught, it’s no different from drinking coffee so you can study longer.”

  My throat tightens and I try to conceal my anxiety. Her answer doesn’t bode well. “It’s a little different.”

  “For example, meldonium, the drug Maria Sharapova got caught taking. It’s perfectly legal.”

  “Not in the U.S.” I stick my hands in my pockets. I’ve forgotten how to act casual. Hands are the biggest obstacle. There’s nothing for them to do. It was the hardest part of picking up soccer. My reflex was to grab at the ball, protect my face, flail. Hands are too much a part of us. They give us away.

  “It’s prescribed all the time in Russia. All it does is increase blood flow, which enhances your exercise capacity.”

  “Yeah, but it’s banned for a reason. It gives you an advantage.”

  She stops walking and faces me, unsmiling. “You’re not looking for advice.”

  I sigh and look her in the eye. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. I’m not having this conversation.” She begins walking away.

  “You need to turn yourself in.”

  She whirls around, her eyes wide as moons in the lamplight. “Excuse me?”

  “Someone knows. They’re trying to blackmail me into doing it, and if you do it first, it’s going to make you look better.”

  Her face turns white. “Look better? It’s a zero-tolerance policy. I’ll be expelled. I told you because I trusted you and I know you need to up your game, too. At first I thought you were asking me for help.”

  My mouth feels like it’s made of the dry leaves we’re walking on. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Is this about Georgetown? I’ll call right now and turn them down. We’re not even up for the same sport, Kay. You get that, right?”

  “It’s not about that. I’m telling you the truth.”

  She shakes her head. “Wow. Kay, I know you’re threatened by success, but this is next level.”

  “Or maybe you’re too scared of losing to compete fairly.” I can see a couple of people open their windows and I lower my voice. “I’m dead serious. Someone knows. How do you think I found out?”

  “So name them.” She towers over me. “Otherwise, I know it’s you.”

  I shake my head. “I’d tell you if I could, but they have something on me, too. Believe me when I say it’s bad. Please, Tai. If you turn yourself in, the school might be lenient.” There are all kinds of lies. There are self-preserving lies and anesthetic lies.

  “If something happens to me, it’s on you,” she says, but there’s pleading in her voice.

  I start walking again toward the dining hall. I know if she says one more thing, I’m going to burst into tears.

  But then she says it.

  “Fine. But, Kay? No matter what happens to me, you will leave Bates with no honors, no scholarship, and no future, and you’ll head right back to the hole in the ground you crawled out of before you got here. I can get thrown out and I’ll still be headed to the Ivies next year. But hey, maybe if you didn’t spend so much time borrowing my clothes and trying to get under Brie’s, you would actually be a threat.”

  I turn slowly and face her, my thoughts running too quickly for me to catch one and process it. Say something. Say nothing. Ruin her. Forgive. “I am a threat,” I say quietly. She has no idea.

  She continues advancing until our faces are inches apart. “Everyone has their own priorities. Mine are succeeding and making a name for myself. Yours are playing dress-up and not having sex.”

  Gauntlet thrown.

  * * *

  • • •

  AT DINNER, THE entire dining hall is somber and no one talks much. Saturday evenings are always pretty quiet because most upperclasswomen get advance permission to eat off campus, but tonight almost everyone stays home in solidarity. Mrs. March, our housemother, has been crying all day judging by her beet-red face and bloodshot eyes. She sits quietly in a corner and picks at her food. I feel like I should go and say something to her, but I don’t know what there is to say. I’m not sure “I’m sorry for your loss” is appropriate, because it’s not quite her loss. The administration and staff are always saying Bates is a family, but we’re not really. We’re more like a team, but even that’s not completely true. We’re two teams. The faculty and staff are one team, and the students are another. From there it gets even more complicated, and I say this with the measured authority of a two-year team captain. Despite what coaches hammer into your head from the time you’re a toddler running frantically around a field kicking or swinging at air, not every team member is essential.

  That’s why there are cuts. That’s why there are benches. That’s why the constant fear of failure looms over you throughout the season, and over the summer, too, in the off-season, in the preseason, in your sleep the night before a big game. Even as a team captain, knowing that bad decisions can sink you and you can be rendered inessential in the blink of an eye. Mistakes matter. Jessica may have been part of the student team. But I won’t feel her loss. I feel bad about that. More empty than bad.

  After my epic blowup with Tai, I decide to sit alone and avoid further drama. Tai can have custody of our friends tonight. I don’t have the energy for another battle. The round oak tables of the dining hall seat six and most of them are filled to capacity. I take a stack of five empty plates and spread them around the table to put people on notice that I’m not looking for company. A few soccer teammates offer sympathetic waves as they pass, and I get a couple of hushed “I’m so sorries” from random juniors and sophomores who probably assume I’m in mourning or something. For the most part, though, I’m left in peace. But after a few minutes, a pair of arms wind around my waist and I feel Brie’s cheek against mine.

  “How are you, lovey?”

  The evil feelings dissolve. I smile up at her. “Terrible. Did Justine leave?”

  She settles down across from me. “Rehearsal. Life goes on at Easterly. So I hear you attacked Tai in the courtyard.”

  I sigh into my hand. “Sure. I attacked Tai in the courtyard. With a candlestick.”

  She leans forward, her eyes practically glowing. The only thing Brie loves more than dark chocolate with caramel and sea salt is gossip. “Kay.” She draws my name out seductively and my eyes focus on her lips.

  “Tai’s doping,” I blurt out.

  She drums her fingers on the table and chews on her lower lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Beyond a doubt.”

  “I’m not calling you a liar . . . I just . .
. it doesn’t sound like Tai.” She doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her. I didn’t believe it either.

  “That doesn’t mean she didn’t do it.”

  “Let’s play lawyer,” she suggests brightly. This is one of Brie’s favorite games. She gets to show off how clever she is and make it seem like fun. In her opinion, truth and justice naturally prevail. And generally, she wins.

  “Fine.”

  “You prosecute and I’ll defend.”

  “Okay . . .” This is going to be tough. I can’t tell Brie about the revenge blog, and I don’t have any other physical evidence. “Tai Carter is one of the most talented tennis players Bates Academy has ever seen. She outmatches every other player she’s gone against. There’s no doubt she has unbelievable natural talent. But she supplements it. I don’t have physical evidence, though I’m pretty sure we can obtain it. The fact is, Tai has admitted to using meldonium, the very performance-enhancing drug that got Maria Sharapova a two-year suspension. And a confession is the most damning evidence of all.”

  Brie’s mouth drops open. “The defense rests. But how did you know?”

  “Anonymous email.”

  “That’s creepy. Obviously the most likely sender is someone else on the tennis team. I wonder why they sent it to you, though. Why wouldn’t they just turn her in?”

  “They want me to turn her in. If I don’t, they will.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shrug. “I told her she should turn herself in. They’re more likely to be lenient on her. That was the full extent of my so-called attack. She flipped out on me.”

  Brie glances over at “our” table. The rest of our friends are huddled together whispering. Tricia shoots me a reproachful look. “This isn’t going to end well.”

  I want to tell Brie about the revenge blog so badly. This is just the beginning. But I can’t risk involving her. I decide to throw wide.

  “Did you know Tai knew Jessica?”