The Kitty Committee

by Kathryn Berla

  The flickering screen in the dark room created a cozy fireplace-type atmosphere. By that time of year, mornings were quite cool, and the heated classrooms were stultifying under the best of circumstances. But gather a roomful of teenagers early in the morning, and anyone could have fallen asleep under those conditions. I had no doubt others were napping as well, and, once I’d lost the storyline, even I felt my eyelids drooping. But Maggie looked disheveled, and it wasn’t her first time. I knew that once you were pegged with a particular fault, trait, or weakness, it was impossible to shed.

  “Are you drunk?” Kerry asked, loudly enough that even I could hear. An intense wave of sympathy for Maggie washed over me, triggering a fiercely protective instinct I didn’t know existed. The girl seated in front of Kerry turned around and looked at her, and then craned her neck to get a look at Maggie. The boy on the other side of Kerry peered at Maggie and let loose a rude snort, his head powered forward by its release. I feared others had also taken notice. Part of me wanted to hide and disassociate from Maggie’s shame, but most of me wanted to wrap my arms around her, take her home, and tuck her into bed away from the curious stares and laughter of others. I wanted to protect her from becoming the class joke. The class drunk.

  Mrs. Gossage came into the classroom just as Maggie flailed her arm to keep Kerry’s question at bay. Unfortunately for Maggie, her hand connected with the history book on the corner of her desk, and it hit the ground like a gunshot. Kerry and I both sprang from our seats to pick it up, but Mrs. Gossage silently motioned us down. Maggie jerked her head up and wiped her damp chin with the back of her sleeve. She looked around cautiously to see if anyone was watching as she slowly got her bearings. She swiveled to face me with an embarrassed smile and rolled her eyes. I smiled back, breathing a sigh of relief that nothing worse had happened. Kerry stared at the screen, and I returned to the movie until, a few minutes later, the bell rang.

  “Ladies, stay a minute please,” Mrs. Gossage motioned to Kerry and Maggie as everyone filed out of the room. I lingered by the door until Mrs. Gossage noticed me and said, “You can go, Grace.”

  I moved to the hallway just outside the door, my heart thumping wildly with concern. I tried my best but couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying, the noise from the hallway overwhelming the soft voices from within. A minute later, Maggie came out alone. She was smiling, which was a relief. I didn’t think she smelled of alcohol, but of course she had her ways—vodka only, mixed with orange juice. It never left a scent on her breath, at least not one I could detect.

  “What happened?” I asked, breathless with anticipation. We didn’t have far to walk to get to Geometry, so Maggie was taking her time—ambling, but at least she looked better than she had an hour earlier.

  “She asked what was going on with me and Kerry, and I said Kerry poked me with a pencil, and we were just kidding around and the book fell.”

  “Where’s Kerry?”

  “Mrs. Gossage’s still talking to her . . . something about being able to trust us if she has to step out of the classroom. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, she told me I could go.”

  “I hope Kerry’s not in trouble,” I said as we walked into our next class.

  Five minutes into Geometry, a student messenger arrived just as Mr. Munson was wiping down the board under a cloud of chalk dust. The messenger, a short red-haired boy I recognized from homeroom, said that Maggie was wanted in Mr. Sutherland’s office. Mr. Sutherland was one of two counselors at our school, but he also handled discipline cases.

  “Oooh, Maggie’s in trouble,” Franklin blurted out. Franklin, who was seated in the front of every classroom, the better to be supervised, was a frequent target of Mr. Sutherland’s summons. That morning he was giddy at the chance to pile on someone else. And a girl? Even better—no one who would take his taunt as fighting words.

  “Maggie,” Mr. Munson said. “You’re excused.” He held up a hall pass, and thirty heads swiveled in order for thirty sets of eyes to feast on Maggie’s walk of shame.

  “Shut up,” Maggie hissed at Franklin, bumping his desk with her hip on the way out.

  The rest of class was a blur. Geometry was usually a blur for me, but that day I wasn’t even pretending to pay attention. I stared at the backpack slung across Maggie’s seat and wondered if I should take it with me if she didn’t get back before class was over. But then, just as the bell rang, Maggie returned.

  “What happened?”

  “Sucks,” Maggie said. “Somebody reported me for drinking, so Mr. Sutherland wanted me to take a breathalyzer.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  Maggie stuffed her notebook and sweater into her backpack before zipping it shut. Kids from the next class were already arriving, and Mr. Munson looked up from his stack of papers to observe Maggie’s activity. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, causing me to wonder if teachers were as interested in student gossip as the kids were.

  Maggie slung her pack across her shoulder and lowered her voice. “He called my mom at work, and she said she didn’t give her permission for me to take the breathalyzer, so Sutherland said if I didn’t, they were going to suspend me.”

  “So?”

  “So I didn’t do the breathalyzer, and now Mom has to come pick me up, and I’m suspended for three days. I don’t care. I actually wanna go home.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take notes and get your homework while you’re gone. I’ll come see you after school today, okay?”

  “Thanks,” Maggie said. She looked like she was about to cry.

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “You’ll be late.”

  “I don’t care. One for all—”

  But Maggie wasn’t interested in hearing the rest of our motto.

  “Mr. Sutherland’s an idiot,” she interrupted, and I knew she was striking out against her own helplessness and frustration. “I don’t know how Carly can stand being in the same room with him for her SAT tutoring. He’s all like, ‘I’m your friend, you can talk to me.’ As if.”

  I didn’t have any experience with Mr. Sutherland other than the day he first welcomed Luke and me to Indian Springs High, but I wanted to be supportive.

  “He’s a huge idiot,” I said, branding myself as one with those words.

  We walked by the trophy display case near the front of the school. I’d never actually stopped to look at the shiny brass trophies exhibited there. I’d never seen a single student who did. Who was or wasn’t being recognized in that case seemed so remote to my life as to be practically nonexistent.

  “He’s actually kind of pervy, if you ask me,” Maggie went on. “He put his arm around me when I was leaving his office . . . moving in for the bra-strap grope. You know, the supposed supportive pat on the back. Dirty old man.”

  I’d never considered that a supportive pat on the back could be a pervy thing to do. Maybe because no one had ever done that to me, except perhaps my mom, who I knew was being genuinely supportive. Maybe even Dad when he was still Dad. Back before I wore a bra, not that Dad would know or care about that. But I believed Maggie. She knew things I didn’t.

  “Gross,” I said. “So who do you think told on you?”

  “I guess Mrs. Gossage, who else?”

  “Yeah. You thought she was letting you off, but she was just getting you out of the way so she could report you.”

  And then the words I wish I’d never spoken. “Maybe Kerry?”

  Why did I say that? I wanted to offer something that Maggie might prize. An us-against-them thing. I wanted her to have proof that I had her back while she was dozing off. I was her watchdog. Her protector.

  “Kerry?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me curiously. “Why would Kerry do that?”

  “I dunno. Maybe she was going to get in trouble for poking you with the pencil. Maybe she was trying to turn it around on you?”

 
Maggie considered this. We arrived at the front door to the school where her mom would be picking her up.

  “She asked if you were drunk,” I said. “Anyone could’ve heard her—people did. I heard her.”

  “She did?” Maggie seemed genuinely puzzled. “Well, maybe it was Kerry, and I misjudged her. I always thought she was nice. Anyway, I don’t care, she did me a favor—three days’ vacation.”

  Maggie’s mother’s maroon SUV pulled into the traffic circle.

  “You’d better go,” Maggie said. She leaned over and hugged me with one arm. “See you later, okay? Maybe Carly can give you a ride to my house. Tell Jane to come too, if she can. Mom won’t be back until six, so we can hang out.”

  The SUV came to a stop in front of us, and Maggie’s mom lowered the passenger-side window.

  “You’d better get in, young lady. This was a very bad time for me to have to leave work.”

  “Love you, Maggie,” I said. “Sorry this happened to you.”

  “Love you too, girl. Thanks for always sticking up for me.” Even a half-smile from Maggie felt better than a full-blown smile from someone else, but it always came at a cost. Even then, I sensed a limited reservoir of happiness within Maggie, one that emptied drip by drip. Every smile. Every hug. Every laugh bringing her closer to a dark and empty pit.

  The bell rang, but I stood and watched while Maggie lumbered down the steps, bent from the weight of her backpack swinging heavily from one narrow shoulder. The day had started out cloudy and gray. A weak November sun pushed through the clouds but was quickly swatted away by the gloom. Only when Maggie’s car disappeared did I move from that spot, turning to walk the empty hallways, unprotected by a hall pass, trying to remember if it was a lab day in chemistry and, if so, if I would be able to slip in unnoticed.

  Normally I rushed to lunch, but that day I lingered at my locker and then stopped at the library to return a book. Maggie’s depression had become real to me that morning, although I didn’t yet have a word for it. And even though I couldn’t or wouldn’t name it, I recognized it as a thing that had the potential to thrive within me as well if I wasn’t careful. Just like Dad fell off the ladder, I could fall into this well of despair.

  Carly and Jane weren’t like us. They were strong and unafraid. They would save us—Maggie and me.

  “Oh my God, finally!” Carly snapped when I showed up for lunch.

  Seeing the two of them, Jane and Carly, sitting at the table together without the buffer of Maggie or me, was a disturbing sight to behold. It was like seeing a lion and a zebra drinking side-by-side at the watering hole.

  “Everyone’s saying that Maggie got sent home for drinking. What happened?”

  I set my tray on the table and slid onto the bench, ducking my legs under the tabletop. Without Maggie there, I knew nobody would have wiped the benches clean for us.

  “It’s true,” I said. “I was going to talk to you about it.” I addressed my remarks to Carly, who had the most claim on Maggie. “She’s been doing it a lot lately. Only one time at school before today, and it wasn’t that bad . . . not like today. But after school—”

  “And you never said anything to me?”

  I couldn’t take Carly’s disapproval. She meant so much to me, and her approval always arrived like a gift whenever it was bestowed. I still woke up mornings in disbelief that Carly was actually my friend. My friend. I glanced at Jane, whose eyes were soft. She laid a pale hand over my own as I gulped down my anxiety. The dreary sky had wormed its way into my mood, and I was reminded how unforgiving a Northern California winter could be. Those first days in Indian Springs when I thought I’d never be warm or see the sun again.

  “I’m . . . worried about her,” I said, my quivering voice giving way to tears.

  “Hey,” Carly scooted across the smoothly coated metal bench, her voice transforming into a gentle coo. “Don’t cry, Grace. Maggie’s okay. She’ll be okay. That’s what we’re here for. Right, Jane?” She tucked my hair behind my ear and lightly ran her hand up and down my spine, my muscles releasing their tension in the wake of her touch. I thought of Mr. Sutherland groping for Maggie’s bra strap. If he’d been acting from a place of kindness and sympathy, Maggie would have known the way I knew then with Carly. My tears cleared like a sudden and unexpected spring shower surrendering to the sun. “The Kitty Committee, remember?” Carly said. “That’s the whole point.”

  I nodded yes and looked at Jane, whose eyes radiated sympathy but not agreement. Had I been crying for Maggie or for myself?

  “I think Kerry might have told on her,” I said, doubling down on my disastrous earlier mistake. I stared at my uneaten bowl of ramen, which was rapidly surrendering its steam and nourishing heat to the frigid day. I pulled the cord of my jacket, tightening the noose around my neck.

  “Kerry Thompson?” Carly’s eyes popped open. She dropped her hand from my back but didn’t move from my side. We were pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. I felt the warm, moist puff of air leave her lips and enter my lungs. I breathed in her resuscitating breath. Her surprise and indignation. I siphoned strength from the heat of her body against mine. “What does she have to do with anything?” Carly asked. “Why would she even do that?”

  It was my now or never moment. I still had the chance to back out, albeit at the cost of making myself look foolish. I forged ahead.

  “We were watching a movie in history, and Maggie fell asleep.”

  I’d told this story to Maggie, hoping she’d understand my loyalty and commitment to her happiness. Kerry had made me uneasy with her obvious delight in Maggie’s misery. In the way she’d introduced other bystanders to Maggie’s shame. In the way she’d prodded Maggie with her pencil, degrading her as though examining a decaying carcass that she didn’t want to touch. Maybe I’d even believed in Kerry’s complicity myself, I no longer remember. What I do remember is that my conclusion seemed to please Carly. She wanted to hear more.

  “Mrs. Gossage wasn’t in the room most of the time, so it didn’t really matter. Kerry said something about Maggie being drunk, and everyone sitting around her could hear. I could even hear, and her back was to me. Then she poked Maggie with a pencil, Maggie swung her hand around, and her book fell. So Mrs. Gossage made them stay after. I think maybe Kerry was probably trying to get out of trouble by blaming Maggie because Mrs. Gossage made Kerry stay after, and Maggie got to leave.”

  “What’s she like?” Jane asked. “That Kerry girl.”

  “She’s okay,” I answered. “I mean, we thought she was nice, but maybe she’s not who we thought she was.”

  My second thoughts were catching up. Gaining in strength over Carly’s approval. I plunged my plastic fork into the ramen noodles and twisted them around and around and around until I’d gathered every last one of them. Then I brought them to my open mouth, my bottom lip pushed out like a platter to catch any potential drips or runaway ramen.

  “You really going to eat all that at once?” Jane smirked. I returned the ball of noodles to the cup and looked up at Carly, waiting to see what she would say next.

  “It makes sense, though,” Carly said. “Mrs. Gossage is really cool, and I can’t see her wanting to ruin someone’s life. She’d be more likely to keep Maggie after class and have a heart-to-heart talk with her. Ask her to smoke a doobie or something. I’m sure you’re right. It was Kerry.”

  We’d gone from Carly’s initial disbelief, to my hypothesis, to my qualifiers (the words think and maybe and probably), to a final, unambiguous verdict. And we’d traveled there at lightning speed. Case closed.

  “Maggie wants us to come see her after school,” I added meekly. “If you guys can make it.”

  “I have debate club, but I can miss it,” Carly said. “This is more important. How about you, Jane? I can drive us.”

  Jane took a deep breath and released i
t as a hiss between clenched teeth. “I have Thespians, but I guess I can tell them I have a dentist appointment or something. I could do that, I guess.”

  “You guess? You don’t have to come if it’s too much trouble,” Carly said. It was a hope within a dare. I knew Carly didn’t want Jane to come. She wanted to be Maggie’s savior over and over again, as though she was rebranding Blizzard with a new can of red spray paint or once again loosening Rich Benson’s bike chain and rejoicing in his broken bloody tooth.

  I respected and admired Jane. She had everything I wanted and thought I needed. But did she have what it took to fight for us—Maggie and me—with more than just her shining example?

  “I want to,” Jane said. “It’s just that I’m co-president.”

  “So let your co take over,” Carly said. “Isn’t that the whole point of co-presidenting?”

  Jane scooped a spoonful of yogurt from its plastic container, digging deep for the strawberry preserves on the bottom. She brought the spoon up to her mouth where it waited, barred from admission while she turned something over in her head.

  “I’ll make it work,” she said.

  “I feel like I’m in prison.” Maggie led the way to the kitchen. “I’m not allowed to leave the house, and Mom put a lock on the liquor cabinet. An actual lock. Can you believe it?” Each of us naturally gravitated to our usual seat around the kitchen table. “Anyone want anything?” she asked half-heartedly.

  “I’ll get it.” Jane swung gracefully from her chair and peered into the fridge. “Let’s see. Milk or . . . coke. Chocolate cake! Uh oh, your mom left a beer in here.” She emerged holding a coke. “Anyone else want one?”

  One of the fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling was in the process of dying—flickering and faintly hissing.

  “Bring the cake,” Maggie said glumly. “And four forks.”

  “Sorry, Maggie,” I said. “About today. But we’re all here for you.”