by Robin Brande
I glanced down at my paper. Casey had written, Love her!
“We're not finished,” Teresa said, still not turning around. It was kind of ridiculous, her arguing to the back of the room.
“You are for now,” Ms. Shepherd answered calmly, “or you can leave my class.”
Teresa had to think about it. But soon the back of her blond head moved subtly side to side, signaling her cohorts they were staying. How nice for the rest of us.
Ms. Shepherd downed a big gulp of coffee and went right on with her lesson as if nothing had happened. As if she weren't looking at the hind parts of half of her class. As if she hadn't just stuffed Teresa's head back into its hole.
I agree with Casey: Love her.
I watched Ms. Shepherd all during the rest of class, and tried to memorize exactly how she used her voice and her gestures and even her eyes to regain control over that room and show everyone that she was not intimidated and would not be treated disrespectfully. I need to be more like that. I shouldn't be so afraid of everyone all the time. Or at least I shouldn't show it.
Casey was grinning all during class like Ms. Shepherd had won some decisive victory. How can I tell him I've been here before, with Pastor Wells taking on a cause, and seen bodies piling up like no one would believe?
These people are not messing around. If they say New Advantage High School isn't teaching evolution anymore, they're going to make sure that happens.
Oh, please. Why did it have to be this year? Why Ms. Shepherd? And why won't my parents let me move to somewhere safe like Alaska or Nova Scotia?
When the bell rang, the murmur of discontent from the Back Turners lasted all the way out into the hall, when Teresa finally burst out with “That was the biggest mistake of her life.”
She glared at me, as if I had something to do with Ms. Shepherd's defiance.
Adam couldn't resist adding his one cent.
“How's it feel?” he asked me, ramming me again with his shoulder. This time I was prepared—I held on to my books. “You like that?” he asked.
He was scaring me, but I gave him as evil a look as I could muster.
“Bet you wish you'd kept your mouth shut,” he said.
It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about.
Then I forced myself to laugh. “You think I want to be sitting there with you guys? Acting like a jerk to Ms. Shepherd?”
Adam smirked. “We're gonna be famous.”
That really did make me laugh. Typical Adam. Typical Teresa. Boy, do they love the spotlight.
Before I could find out exactly what he meant by that, I heard Casey ask the question behind me.
“Famous how?”
Adam turned his apelike face toward Casey and stared at him for a second like he was still processing the words. Then he looked back at me. “He your boyfriend?”
My face felt hot. “No.”
“He know about you?”
“Shut up.” I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I didn't want to find out. I also didn't know whether to defend myself or to flee. Maybe he was going to say something to Casey once I was gone. Maybe he was going to say something no matter what.
Instead the stupid gorilla decided to ram his shoulder into Casey and bounce him off the wall, too. What a jerk. All meat and muscle and no brains.
I held my breath for a second, wondering what Casey was going to do. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ms. Shepherd lurking in her doorway. Apparently she wanted to know, too.
Did Casey push back? Shout an insult? Resort to some childish behavior just like Adam would have?
No. Because Casey isn't like other guys. I'm beginning to see that.
And it's not because he was scared, either. Well, maybe he was, but he certainly didn't show it.
He regarded Adam with a look of mild amusement. “Vex not thy spirit at the course of things, for they heed not thy vexation.”
“What?” Adam had this look like he wasn't sure what language Casey had just spoken.
I was pretty impressed with Casey myself. I'd never thought of handling Adam like that. I've always leaned toward “shut up.”
Adam called Casey a male body part, then stalked off. What a good Christian boy.
For a moment I thought maybe Casey was one of us after all. “Was that from the Bible?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “Marcus Aurelius.”
“Oh.” I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
“Very good, Mr. Connor.”
Casey's head snapped toward the doorway, but Ms. Shepherd had already faded back inside. Casey's pale cheeks burned red.
He turned back to me and cleared his throat. “So, close friend of yours?”
“No.”
“He seems to think he knows you.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn't.” Not as well as he tried, anyway.
Out of habit we started for the library. “So,” Casey said, “this should be fun, huh? The Christians versus the lions. A real battle with the wargs. Oh, sorry—more Lord of the Rings. Don't worry, we'll fix you right up—I brought Fellowship with me. You can watch it this weekend—what am I saying? You're required to watch it this weekend. After we work on the project.”
“Oh. That.”
“Your parents said yes, right?”
“Um, they got home too late,” I lied. “I haven't had a chance to ask them yet.”
Casey looked at me sternly. “Mena, this is serious. We have to get started. We don't have much time.”
“Can you at least tell me what it is?”
“I can, but I won't.” He pulled a cell phone out of his backpack. “Dial away.”
I bit my lower lip and shook my head.
“What is the problem?”
“I promise I'll ask them tonight.” Another lie, but what could I do?
“You promise.”
“Yes.”
“On pain of death.”
“Yes.”
“I'll forgive you on one condition.” He pulled a thick DVD box out of his backpack. “You must watch this in its entirety—appendices and all—by Monday morning. You may take time off only for homework—most particularly, our project. Otherwise, you will be in front of the TV until your eyes bleed. I'm sorry, but it must be done.”
I'm sure I looked less than convinced.
“Swear it.”
“I'm not going to swear.” But I took the DVD from him anyway, just to shut him up.
But of course I can't watch it. I didn't even bring it home tonight—I had to leave it in my locker. I can't afford to have my parents finding that on me anywhere.
So there you have it, Monday through Friday, first week of school. I can say without a doubt this has been one of the least enjoyable weeks of my life. Not at all the way I imagined it when I used to dream about high school.
And if not for Casey, I'm sure it would have been far worse.
Of course, when he finds out on Monday I've been lying to him, that's the end of that.
Guess I should have enjoyed it more while it lasted.
Fourteen
I didn't even bother writing yesterday. What was there to say? A whole day working in my parents’ storeroom, sorting out boxes upon boxes of insurance documents. What more fulfilling work can a girl find?
And now we're here at Sunday. Already. Lately it's been my least favorite day of the week, but considering how the rest of this week has gone, I guess I can't say that anymore.
So here's how it's been going ever since I got kicked out of church: My parents get up early. They do not wake me. They do not want to see me.
I already have my orders: While they are at church until noon, I am to watch a minimum of three religious programs, pray with the TV preachers, and then write a report about what each of the sermons was on.
And then here's the really stupid part: My mother will come home and log on to one of the church websites that list what all of today's TV sermons were about, and she will check my work.
&n
bsp; Okay, look. Obviously if she can do that, I CAN DO THAT. Duh.
I tried—I actually did. That first Sunday, I was feeling so bad about everything that had happened, I actually did what my parents wanted me to. I watched three separate programs, listened to loads of special guests and testimonials and “Praise Jesus”es and everything. I even—this is so stupid, because it's so fake—prayed right along with the TV prayers.
But even if you're half brain-dead, you can't help but notice something awfully fishy.
It's all about money. Truly.
“Pledge a thousand dollars today. Call right now. Show God you have faith in Him.”
We're supposed to dial up the 800 number, give them our credit cards, send money to the TV people as proof of our love of God and our trust in Him. I don't think so.
They have all these testimonials on the screen, like they're from actual letters:
I pledged a thousand dollars, and the next week my husband got a ten-thousand-dollar raise.
We couldn't afford it, but I said, “Honey, we can't NOT afford it.” We called in our pledge, and the very next day we received a check for two thousand dollars.
On and on.
And with actual people's names, like Fred Burstal from Washington Oaks and Margaret Hasher from Pinedale, but what's to stop the TV guys from just making up those names and writing the letters themselves? It's not like there are any forensics people up there on-screen examining the letters and saying, “Yep, this is authentic.”
So excuse me for losing a little faith. I'm used to the pitch by Pastor Wells about our duty to tithe ten percent of everything we get, and how our contribution to the church is a showing to God of our gratitude for all He has given us, but Pastor Wells never talks in thousand-dollar increments. I have to give him credit for that.
That first Sunday I wrote up my report, my mom checked it, no praise, no thank you, just silent acceptance. Whatever.
So the next Sunday and the one after that I just did what she did and got the information off the web.
And I'll do the same today, when I get to it. I'm sorry, people, but I have real homework to do. I have hundreds of pages to read for English and world civ, and five paragraphs to write in French, and a few hundred numbers to figure out in algebra. The only class I don't have homework for is biology. Thank you, Ms. Shepherd.
Which reminds me. I'm supposed to be watching Fellowship of the Ring right now. Casey said it's about three hours long. Perfect. I could have started watching the minute my parents left for church. But I couldn't lie to them like that.
Sure, technically I'm lying to my parents right now by not watching those TV shows and making up my report, but I am not a dishonest person. And when Casey asks me tomorrow what I thought of it, I'll just have to tell him the truth.
Too bad. You can't please everyone. Lately I can't please anyone.
Fifteen
New week. And I've decided it's time for a new attitude. Time to stop being such a wimp.
So I got to school early today. It's about fifteen minutes before the bell right now, and I'm sitting on the wall outside one of the chemistry classrooms just writing in my fuzzy notebook. I'm not going to bother anyone today, and I'm not going to let them bother me.
I'm going to tell Casey straight out that I didn't watch his DVD, and that I won't ever be able to. My parents have forbidden it, and I respect their decision.
(Which isn't exactly true—the part about respecting their decision. From what I've heard other kids say, I think some of the stuff my parents won't let me watch is probably pretty mild. Not every popular TV show has sex and violence and four-letter words. But it's not really worth the hassle to argue with them about it. I've always had plenty of other things to do, like read and hang out with my friends.
At least I can still read.)
Anyway. I have also decided I am not going to pay attention to Teresa and Bethany or anyone else looking at me and whispering anymore. I'm sick of being paranoid. And if they really are talking about me, then let them. I can't do anything to stop it.
What did Casey say? “Vex not thy spirit at the course of things.” I will vex it not.
I've also decided to stop wearing black all the time. It obviously didn't help—people were still able to spot me in a crowd. Besides, dressing like I want to be invisible only makes me feel weak. I have to be strong. So if that means wearing cute boots and nice pants and a sweet blue shirt that looks especially good on me today for some reason if I do say so myself, then so be it.
I will not hide from these people. This is my life. I live in this town, I go to this school, I have as much right as anyone to stand up straight and speak up in class and go into the cafeteria to eat my lunch if I want to (now that I have lunch money from working in my parents’ storeroom). I am sick of being so scared.
There's the bell.
Good luck to me.
Sixteen
I'm beginning to see what Charles Dickens meant about it being the best of times and the worst of times. Because there were moments today that sort of balanced out the crud of last week.
First of all, in Mr. Kuhlman's class this morning I was ON. I decided yesterday that instead of just reading the assigned pages in A Tale of Two Cities, I should keep on going to the end. So worth it. What I wouldn't give to meet people like that—noble, brave, self-sacrificing. And romantic? Oh yeah. You think anyone would ever go to the scaffold for me?
I even admire Madame Defarge, even though she turned out to be so evil. At least she was strong. At least she stood up for herself. She waited years and years to exact her revenge, and when her time came, she went for it with everything she had.
So I got to raise my hand a lot in Mr. Kuhlman's class, and I even powered through Teresa's snide, mocking looks and whatever mean things she was mumbling under her breath. Who cares. As that banker guy Mr. Lorry says to Lucy at the beginning of the novel to keep her climbing the stairs even though she's so afraid, “Courage! Business!” That's me now. Just keep going.
Then yoga was lovely. Missy must have had a good weekend, because she was extra mellow—which is really saying a lot, since normally I almost fall asleep at the sound of her soft, singy voice. She had us doing gentle stretches for about half an hour, then the rest of the period we just lay on our backs while she guided us through some imagery, and by the end I had to be careful not to snore. It was the most relaxing class I've ever been in in my life.
And then biology.
I don't know where Ms. Shepherd came from or why on earth she's decided to hide out at my particular high school, but all I can tell you is I'm grateful. And I'm also with Casey on this one: Love her. You never know what she's going to do next.
Which was just why she did it.
Before class started she was acting all casual, flipping through some science journal, sipping from the Starbucks the giant had just brought her. Instead of leaving this time, the giant hung around, but I didn't really think much of it.
The bell rang. And instantly Ms. Shepherd sprang to her feet and shouted at the giant, “Marry me! Where's your duck? Who stole my spoon?”
Then she pitched her science journal past the giant against the wall, where it hit so hard the pages flew apart.
The giant just stood there expressionless.
Suddenly Ms. Shepherd smiled and said in the sweetest voice, “I'm sorry. I hate you. Let's go to the merry-go-round. Bye-bye now!” Then she took the giant gently by the arm and escorted him to the door.
While we all sat there in freaked-out silence.
Letting go of the giant's arm, Ms. Shepherd turned back to us. “THAT, my friends, is science. That is the unpredictable beauty of our universe. History is unpredictable, human behavior is unpredictable, and subatomic particles? Unpredictable. It's what quantum physics calls the ‘uncertainty principle.’ It means we cannot—no matter how desperately we try—we CANNOT know with one hundred percent certainty exactly what will happen next. Right? Evolution!”
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nbsp; She caught the Back Turners completely by surprise. When they realized what she had just said, they had to scramble, scooting their chairs around, plopping back into them, trying to act all righteous and dignified about it. It was pretty hilarious, but Ms. Shepherd kept a straight face.
“Perhaps that was predictable,” she said, “but not necessarily. Human minds can change.”
She thanked the giant and gave him a tip (or maybe she was just paying him for the coffee, but he certainly deserved a tip for standing there and taking that), then got down to today's lesson.
Courage! Business!
“Genius,” Casey whispered to me.
Genius and fun, and Casey's right—I love her. I can't believe how lucky I am to have her this semester. I can only think God has a reason for it. Maybe this is His way of thanking me for what I did with Denny.
I looked over at the Back Turners and almost felt sorry for them. Almost. I mean, obviously they're doing this to themselves. But Ms. Shepherd went on with her lesson, and I could see that most of the kids—including Teresa— wished they could have been watching. It's like sitting with your back to the TV and trying to figure out all the action based on the sound track.
Coffee must be very, very good for Ms. Shepherd's system, because she was all animated today. She spent the hour talking over examples from history and science and life to prove to us that even though we might guess what will happen in the next moment or the next century, we can't absolutely know.
“And this,” she said toward the end, “is why evolution rules the day. Because nothing is static. Everything changes. That is the BEAUTY of life. And the successful organisms—the ones like you and me and viruses and sharks and everything else that's out there today—we owe our existence to the genes that kept mutating and adapting all along. THANK YOU, MUTATIONS.”
I love it when she says things like that. Like she doesn't even care how weird it sounds.
“If you think about it,” she went on, “not a single one of us is exactly like anything that came before. In a way we're all truly freaks of nature. That's what it takes to survive—the freaks shall inherit the earth. Look how well viruses are doing. They mutate and adapt constantly—it's why we have to develop new vaccines all the time to keep killing them.