No, no, no, no, NO! I knew what I was going to do, and I could feel that ten-year-old Brett had known also.
I looked up to see my own face burst into a victorious smile.
The next thing I saw was my ponytail swinging out of the cloakroom.
I heard my voice in the next room singing “Brett loves Miche-elle!”
My new stomach dropped, I felt embarrassment f lood into Brett. I heard my voice reading the poem aloud, using a nasty tone that made all of the words sound dirty. I listened as the rest of the class joined into the guffawing I remembered creating.
And then, in unison, everyone sang the K-I-S-S-I-N-G
song.
Brett stood shakily, kicking the other papers out of his path, and crept over to the wall to peer into the classroom. His gaze locked on Michelle.
I felt his surge of relief as he realized she wasn’t laughing.
She didn’t look amused at all. In fact, she looked downright embarrassed. The relief he felt to see that she wasn’t laughing at him combined with his empathy for how she must be feeling.
The fondness for her was so strong that I felt, for a moment, Brett’s urge to run up to her and tell her how sorry he was.
He was barely even thinking about his own shame.
1 1 7
Deciding that it would only make things worse for her if he did run over, Brett headed to his backpack.
He gathered up the papers from the ground, the scissors, his multi-colored pencil (part of a set that had his name on it) and the tape, and threw all of it into the big section of his bag.
Hoisting it onto his shoulder, he stormed out of the room. I could feel the humiliation and the longing to be home all the way to my core.
Memories of his family and a home that I’d never seen before f littered through Brett’s mind. With each memory his pace quickened, until finally he burst full speed into the main office.
He looked around for Mrs. Gibbs, one of the secretaries.
When she came out of the copier room, she looked pleased to see Brett. It was peculiar, because in my recollection, she’d been a disdainful woman who did little more than frown at students.
“Hi, Brett!” she said.
Brett felt a distinct comfort upon seeing her. “Hi, Mrs.
Gibbs.”
Her cheer faded a little, as she looked at his face. “Are you feeling sick?”
“Not…exactly. Something just happened in class and…”
It was then that she seemed to take in what Brett was feeling. “Oh, no,” she said, her freckled arms dropping to her sides, “don’t tell me it’s that Bridget Duke again.”
Ex cuse me? “That” Bridget Duke? Again?
Brett nodded, and my stomach tightened. It was like eaves-dropping, except that I was sure to not get caught. And I didn’t want to hear what she had to say about me.
“You know, that girl is going to hear it from me one day.
The number of students she’s terrorized into going home early 1 1 8
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and put in the guidance office, I swear.” She sat down in the chair behind her desk. “What did she do this time, Brett?”
“I was writing a valentine to Michelle, and then she caught me and read it to the whole class. Everyone laughed at me.”
I felt Brett’s mortification swell again.
Mrs. Gibbs was shaking her head. “So mean. Someday, someone will tell her off, believe you me. If I wasn’t—” She stopped, as if remembering that Brett was there and that whatever else she had to say wasn’t appropriate for a child’s ears. “Well, never mind that. Let’s just call your mother, shall we?”
Brett nodded again, and watched as Mrs. Gibbs dialed his home number.
“Hi, Teresa? Yes, it’s Sybil. Brett’s here, and one of the other children hurt his feelings. He seems very upset—” She paused and nodded at the words Teresa was saying. “Mmm-hmm.
It’s unacceptable, certainly. Well, don’t you worry about it, I’ll excuse him in the system, and you just get here whenever you can. All right? It’s always wonderful to talk to you, Teresa.
Mmm-hmm. Buh-bye.”
While they waited for Brett’s mom to arrive, Mrs. Gibbs stopped herself short of saying a number of things to him, but her sympathetic glances spoke volumes to me.
He sat silently, not eager to make conversation.
When Brett’s mother finally did come through the doors, the safety he felt was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I thought for a moment of how much I missed that particular brand of comfort. I wondered when the last time I’d really felt it was, and landed quickly on a memory of my own mother.
Was that really the last time I’d felt it? That day we’d eaten cheese fondue and watched The Sound of Music during the rainstorm?
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I could hardly focus 1 1 9
on Brett’s. The thing that finally got me back to Brett’s mind was when I felt him begin to cry.
I felt him shake with silent sobs and heard the echoing of my singsong voice in his head. The way I’d twisted his words and made them sound so foolish. The way I’d acted without concern for him or Michelle. Focused only on entertaining everyone else in order to benefit myself.
I remembered that day almost as clearly as I was feeling it now. I’d wanted to get back at Brett. He’d gotten an extra bag of candy for getting a math problem right. One that I’d gotten wrong. It had seemed like such a big deal at the time.
Brett’s mother’s arm was roped around him, trying to steady his shaking as she said quiet, soothing words about what they’d all do that night as a family. Movies, games and anything else Brett felt up to.
Resentment stabbed me as I thought of how incredibly unfair it was I had to be with someone else’s mother in a f lashback instead of going back far enough to see my own.
And then everything went dark again. I felt the dizziness and the nausea and the ringing all rush back to me, until I found myself face to face with—and it was weird—me.
The current me.
“—and, be real, when else are you going to have a chance with Michelle?” My voice sounded brash and overbearing to the ears I heard it through now.
I felt Brett’s irritation with me rise as I said it was his only shot. He thought for a moment of how to explain why that was such an incredibly demeaning suggestion. Tried to put unethical into terms I might understand.
“It’s not right, you can’t just trade her like money or something.”
Brett thought of Michelle. He was feeling something I’d 1 2 0
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felt so many times in my life. The desire to instantly go tell Michelle about whatever had just happened.
But why was Brett feeling that way?
“Here, just ask her to talk to me. I’ll ask her out myself.” A gush of smugness went through Brett, and I wondered again why he would be feeling anything remotely close to confidence when it came to Michelle.
“So we have a deal. She’ll sit with you Monday at lunch.”
I watched myself walk away. Brett felt disgusted with me, and half wanted to just call the whole thing off for my presump-tion. I felt him wish he could tell me to get stuffed, that of course he wouldn’t help me.
But a pang of loyalty coursed through him. It was an unfamiliar feeling for me.
I was surprised to see that he really disliked me. Deeply. Not that I didn’t see that my actions were irksome, but it wasn’t even that he hated me. I didn’t intimidate him, he wasn’t interested in me. He just simply did not like me.
The thought was darkly compelling.
Yet at the same time, part of him wanted to help me. That was the part I really didn’t understand. If he felt this way about me, why not just tell me to screw off ? Another image of Michelle f loated through his mind, as he contemplated helping me.
What
is that?
I had wondered where it was Brett had been goin
g after that conversation, given that he was headed away from the cafeteria at the start of lunch. I was surprised to see him go straight to the NSL classroom and study.
For thirty long minutes Brett studied the material for the test, putting me in the miserable position of having to study for a test. I watched him go over and over the vocabulary words, 1 2 1
forced to spend at least some of our mutual thoughts on the definitions.
The mousy substitute teacher came into the room, quietly acknowledging Brett before opening up her romance novel and waiting for everyone else to arrive.
When the students did start coming into the classroom, the distinct feeling of thank God rushed through my head. But as soon as I walked in, Brett’s irritation with my very presence left no room in his head for my own thoughts.
“Hey, Brett?” It was unsettling to hear my voice. Just like listening to an answering machine recording of your voice and realizing that you sound almost exactly like Kermit the Frog.
“Yeah?” Brett stared down at his paper, barely listening, and working to memorize another definition.
“I talked to Michelle, and she’s looking forward to Monday.”
I heard myself lie.
He fought back a smile. He actually felt like laughing.
Maybe Brett was insane, I considered.
While the substitute, Miss Smithson, introduced herself and handed out the papers, Brett continued to study. Even once he had to put his papers away, he kept running over the definitions and facts to himself.
I was exceedingly happy that I didn’t always have to share a mind with Brett.
As soon as the test was on Brett’s desk, he started filling it out in a frenzy to finish before the answers escaped from his mind.
“Slow down! ” I heard my command from the next desk over.
Brett looked at me, angered by my cheek. Brett thought to himself, She’ll understand, and decided that he wasn’t going to 1 2 2
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help me to cheat. She’ll understand? Why would he think that I would understand?
After a quick glance at the substitute, whose nose was still in her book, he ripped the corner of the test off. The sub looked up, and Brett filled out the next answer on his test. Once we weren’t Miss Smithson’s focus anymore, Brett wrote the note to me. I can’t do this. You have to do the work.
Brett kept his eyes on the paper, knowing that my reaction would be less than accepting. Sure enough, after the sound of the note being opened, there was a sharp intake of breath.
“You. Have. To.” I heard my voice, which sounded harsh, but which I knew to be desperate.
“I can’t. I can’t risk it.” It was true, Brett thought, it wasn’t worth it to risk getting in trouble for Bridget. I hated the way he thought my name. Like he tagged “of all people” on the end of it.
Like it was a joke.
Brett hurried back to his test, trying to ignore any other comments I might make. Even I didn’t want to hear me. I was being entirely annoying.
“Could you two please step out into the hall?”
I felt the panic from both my own memories of being caught, and Brett’s. By the time we’d gotten out in the hall, Brett had already run through a slew of fears. None of them, incidentally, had been like mine. None were fear of a parent’s wrath. The dominating emotion Brett seemed to be feeling was the fear of disappointing his parents.
“Cheating is an unacceptable act of behavior. I must say I am disappointed. Now which one of you wants to explain to me what happened?”
Brett thought carefully of how to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. Best that no one gets in trouble, he thought. But before he could think of something innocent to say we’d been talking 1 2 3
about, the inevitable came. I longed to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
“I tried to tell him to stop, Miss Smithson. I know it’s wrong to talk during a test, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry, Miss Smithson, really.”
Brett stared at me. I could feel the ire building in his chest as he watched my bad attempt at sincerity.
“Brett, is this true?” Miss Smithson looked at Brett.
“I was trying to tell her not to cheat!”
The way he said it scared me just as it had before. Except this time I could feel it in his mind. The feeling of injustice overwhelming me. The fear that that girl, as Mrs. Gibbs had referred to me so many times, might get away with this kind of backward lie.
“You’re either going to agree here on who it was, or you’re both going to be punished to the full extent.”
“I
understand.”
I watched my own smug face.
Brett’s disinterest in confrontation was conf licting with his anger. If he spoke up, he was just going to look desperate. And he had no proof that he hadn’t been cheating.
“See? You can see that it’s his, because it’s the corner of the first page on his test. See, he said he couldn’t do it, and that I had to do the work. For him.”
Brett’s stomached plummeted from shock that I’d been able to turn this around so brilliantly.
When we were on the way to the office, Brett tried to find the loophole that would prove him innocent. Thoughts ran through his head of the colleges he was applying to, the grades he’d worked so hard to keep up, the disappointment he’d caused his parents during his brief period of silly rebellion.
He thought of me. He thought of the trouble I had caused without any thought to anyone else.
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“Listen, Brett—” I heard myself start to speak.
“Shut up, Bridget,” Brett said. No explanation was going to work, and any apology—and he seemed sure there wouldn’t be one anyway—wouldn’t be enough.
Once in the office, Brett and I were told to sit in the waiting area. A moment after we sat down, the headmaster called for Bridget Duke. I watched myself stand up and walk into the office.
I winced inwardly as I thought of what I’d said in there.
Of how I’d looked the headmaster dead in the eye and said how awful it was that Brett would do something like that.
I’d said things about how appalling it was that Brett seemed to be slipping back into his old habits.
I spoke warily of how hard I’d studied for the test.
I had known even then that the headmaster was on to me.
But he was in the unfortunate position of not being able to make character judgments.
After all, as far as he knew, what he’d been told were the facts. And I had the substitute on my side.
When I finally emerged from the office, Brett observed that I looked too pleased. I sauntered out, happy with myself for getting away with it. I felt Brett’s anger as he watched me go.
“Brett?” The headmaster summoned him with a weary hand gesture.
Brett entered the office, closed the door behind him and sank into one of the high-backed leather armchairs.
Headmaster Ransic took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. Brett felt uncomfortable as he watched him.
After a long moment, the headmaster ran his fingers through his own hair and spoke.
“All right, Mr. Cooper. I know exactly what’s going on here.”
1 2 5
“What do you mean?” Brett said, cautious not to misunderstand that proclamation in the way that so many movie characters do.
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a…fabrication of Miss Duke’s, is it not?”
Brett gaped in the same way that I would have.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know…”
“Mr. Cooper, I believe I know you moderately well at this point. I’ve advised you for a few years, and have certainly seen the transformation in your motivation. You’ve been in here at least once a week to pick up community service hours. I’ve seen your grade point average move up from the 1.0 in your freshman year to what it
is now. I know that you’re trying. I have also watched Miss Duke do—” he searched for the right words “—less than that.”
Brett didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t his MO to throw someone under a bus, even in a situation like this one. “I mean, I do try, yes, and I don’t know how she—”
“Listen, I’m going to shoot straight with you. I don’t have the luxury of using common sense in this kind of situation. I know what probably happened. But what I have to do is use some kind of punishment here. I’m not putting this on your transcript. What I’ve decided to do is to give you three days’
suspension. I know it’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s the best I can do, given the situation.”
It was better than he’d expected, at least.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I guess, I—”
“You
don’t
say anything. What I need you to do is to go home now, and not mention this to any of your friends. If this gets back to me, it’s going on your transcript, and that’s that.
Do you understand?”
Brett nodded, resisting the urge to smile goofily. The 1 2 6
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headmaster replaced his glasses and indicated that he should leave.
Brett left the office just as the bell was ringing for the end of the period. He walked determinedly to one of the back stairwells. Once there, he opened a door to see Michelle sitting on one of the steps. She stood up and smiled at him.
“Hey!” She said, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.
What the hell?
“Hey,
Miche.”
“Oh, no,” she said, her face dropping as she looked at Brett.
“What happened with the NSL stuff ?”
I listened as Brett told her everything that had happened.
Watched her face as she heard what her friend had done.
Somewhere within me, I could recall a time when she would have defended me, tried to explain how I “wasn’t so bad.” But not today.
Today she was mad. She was rolling her eyes, and Brett was telling her to calm down, not to worry about it. She was saying how awful I was.
She was supporting Brett.
The bizarreness of Michelle and Brett having a thing together was just sinking in as the ground left me again.
Here Lies Bridget Page 11