by Eric Smith
“I’m not the one to talk to you about it,” Jon said, shaking his head. “That’s between you two, really. I don’t want to take that away from her, it’s not my place. Let’s just say I used words like “mom” and “dad” quite often growing up, throughout my whole life. She,” he looked up and out of the kitchen, towards the stairs. “She didn’t get to.”
“That’s,” Leila started, her chest feeling heavy. Lisabeth didn’t look like she’d lived with the weight that Leila had, and the revelation left her surprised. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Sometimes it’s better just to listen,” Jon said, picking his coffee up again, lifting it in a faux toast. “Liz taught me that.”
“How does all this,” Leila said, gesturing between the two of them and then at the stairs, “not wear on you? I swear, I never see you cry or anything. You just make jokes all the time.”
“Defense mechanism,” Jon said, shrugging while sipping his coffee again. “I save all the heavy emotions for later. Bottle it all up and cry in the shower.”
“Oh my God, Jon.” Leila laughed, happy for the levity in the air.
“So this club of yours,” Jon started, changing the subject. “What’s the story? First you ban me from your message board, which was mean by the way, and now, why are you trying to hide it from me? It sounds fun.”
“Listen up, Sage Wisdom,” Leila said, pointing a finger at Jon. “I just don’t want you making a big deal out of it or anything. Or trying to, like, come join it or try to supervise it or whatever.”
“What?” Jon gasped. “I’d never do that.”
Leila gave him a stare.
“Okay, maybe I would, but okay. Okay. I’ll respect your privacy,” Jon said, smiling from behind his newspaper. “Besides, there’s far too much going on with all this stuff: the teaching, trying to cover what’s going on in the park. You know they’re trying to build in the park? And then there’s this whole visitor’s center and field mouse debacle up near East Falls.” He slapped at the newspaper and put it down. “And that abandoned bird conservatory for wounded raptors. Well, practically abandoned. I might do a story on it, but there’s all this conflict of interest and . . .”
He sipped his coffee and cleared his throat.
“Ah, darling,” he said, grinning over his paper and shaking his head. “It’s tough work, trying to save the world with words.”
“Someone has to do it though, right?” Leila didn’t so much ask as say.
“Damn right.” He lifted his coffee cup and Leila toasted hers with his and took a sip. “So wait, this club. I digressed far too much. What’s the story?”
“I don’t quite know yet.” Leila shrugged, trying not to think of the mysterious, cute boy from Adam’s Café, with his messy, brown hair and sun-kissed skin that made him look like he’d just spent a long day the beach. “No one on the board”—she scowled—“which, by the way, stay off of. It’s anonymous.”
“Oh, I couldn’t help myself.” Jon chuckled. “And did I say your name on there? Clear the browser history when you use the downstairs computer next time. Life lesson.”
“Anyway, no one on the message board knew anything about it,” Leila continued. “Sarika thinks it’ll be good for me, though. I do too, I guess. I mean, those are my kind of people, just this time, IRL.”
“Earl?” Jon asked.
“No, I-R-L,” Leila said, rolling her eyes. “In real life. Come on, you aren’t that old, you know what that means.”
“Ah, yes,” Jon said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Well, I hope Earl is nice to you.”
Leila balled up a napkin, tossed it at Jon, and got up from the table.
“Time to get ready,” she said, pushing her chair in. “See you after school or whatever.”
“Tell Earl I said hi,” he said, lifting his newspaper up.
“Just stop,” Leila said, making her way down the hall towards the stairs.
V
“Remind me why we need lockers again?” Leila asked, fiddling with the combination code with one hand while fussing with her hair with the other. Her bike helmet was wedged under her arm, her small backpack on the hallway floor. “I mean really, its summer enrichment. Does anyone even have books?”
“If anyone needs a locker during all this, it’s you,” Sarika said with a smirk, before falling back and leaning against the locker next to her with loud pang. She pulled Leila’s helmet out from under her arm and held onto it.
“Thanks,” Leila said, her locker finally swinging open. There were a handful of leftover stickers all over the inside from whoever had it last. Leila scowled at the multicolored dolphins and kittens coated with rainbows and glitter. “Look at all this. It’s like a time machine. Lisa Frank is not my thing.”
“It looks like a unicorn threw up in here. Or maybe exploded and died,” Sarika said, eying up the inside of the locker. “We’ll have to redecorate, especially if you’re gonna show up looking like this every other day.”
“What’s wrong with this?” Leila asked, offended.
“You have helmet hair,” Sarika said flatly. “You’re a girl with a ’fro with helmet hair. All out to the side, like this, like you slept with a book on top of your head. Not acceptable.”
“Yeah I suppose you’re—hey!” Leila exclaimed, as someone slammed a shoulder into hers, sending her crashing against the door to her locker. Two girls about her age walked by laughing to one another, as a third trailed pensively behind. Leila spun around and glared at them just as they stopped.
“Oops, sorry,” a blonde girl with a white-and-black striped skirt and a makeup clutch under her arm said. “Didn’t see you there. Usually this one is all by herself. Finally make a friend? How cute.”
Leila turned to Sarika, who had backed against the locker, glowering at the three girls as they approached. Two were tall and blonde, and the one talking to them was clearly the alpha of the pack. The other, mousey with brown hair, smirked but stood back, as if she was a spectator to the whole thing. Leila locked eyes with her for a moment, and the girl turned away.
“Screw off, Jessica,” Sarika spat.
“Or what?” Jessica snapped back. “You’ll report me? This isn’t Central. No one here knows me. And I own this school.”
“Please. You were nobody there, and you’re a nobody here.” Sarika crossed her arms and stuck her chin up. Jessica took a threatening step forward, and Leila moved closer to Sarika, feeling her body tense as the blonde girl loomed over her.
It was Sarika’s first year at the group home all over again. Sarika, small, slim, her eyes wide and terrified; Leila, tall, strong, ready to tear down anyone who dared pick on her friend. Or, in the event she wasn’t around, avenging her when they picked on her without her watchful presence.
Only it wasn’t.
Sarika stared hard at Jessica as the tall girl, her eyes blue and cold, bore down on her. The girl Leila had grown up with, scared and reserved, who used to panic and hide behind her, was gone. Here she stood resolute, unafraid, unmoving.
Un-Sarika.
“What?” Sarika asked, a smirk on her face. “Come on. Do it.”
“Jessica,” said the mousy girl, who stood a few feet away clutching her books. “Jessica, come on, maybe we should—”
“Shut up, Gwen!” Jessica snapped, pointing a finger at the brown-haired girl, who promptly shrunk back and pressed herself against the lockers on the opposite side of the hall. Jessica glared at Sarika. “I should be at home basking in the sun by my pool. Instead, I’m stuck here with these two, and spending my summer in this hole because of you, you fucking Paki—”
Sarika swung the backpack on her shoulder, the fabric and books making an audible whoosh from the speed, and connected squarely with Jessica’s head.
“Sarika!” Leila shouted.
“Jessica!” Gwen and her still-unknown
friend exclaimed.
Jessica hit the hallway floor with a bang, her makeup bag clattering across the tile, eyeshadow palettes and lipsticks skittering and clinking against the lockers. She rolled onto her back, stared up at Sarika and Leila with wide and horrified eyes, and wiped a streak of blood away from her nose. She looked down at her hand and back up at Sarika, and moved to stand up, her eyes now angry and fierce.
Sarika jumped on top of her and gripped Jessica’s wrists, pinning her to the ground.
“Say it again,” Sarika said, almost a whisper, but loud enough that Leila heard it over Jessica’s friends’ panicked muttering. Leila turned to look at them, and they promptly took a step back.
“SAY IT,” Sarika roared, her voice echoing in the still-empty hallway.
Jessica stared at Sarika, a line of blood trickling out her nose. The two of them breathed hard.
“You’re, you’re fucking crazy!” Jessica blubbered.
“Sarika?” Leila ventured, taking a step towards her friend, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I didn’t think so,” Sarika spat, glaring at Jessica. She looked up at Leila, who hardly recognized her closest friend. Sarika’s thick eyebrows were furrowed angrily, she was breathing heavily, everything about her screamed rage. She got off Jessica, who promptly scurried off to her friends.
“I’ll get you for this,” Jessica said, pointing at Sarika angrily. “You’re lucky your new friend is here.” She stared at Leila.
“Damn, that’s enough, Jessica,” the unknown girl muttered. “Let’s go—”
“I say when it’s time to go, Rebekah,” Jessica said, glaring at her supposed friend. Who talked to their friends like this? “And new girl? Do yourself a favor. Pick up some of my makeup, and fix that fucking face of yours.”
Instinctively, Leila lifted a hand and pressed it against her own cheek. She felt heated all over, felt a warm defiance course through her body.
“It’s a birthmark,” Leila said, trying to control the rage she felt brewing up inside of her. It’d been bad enough getting this nonsense from other kids and teens in the group home and at school, but not from some girl who just got her ass kicked by her five-foot-two best friend.
“Well it looks like someone burned you,” she snapped, crossing her arms and looking her up and down.
“Didn’t you already learn your damn lesson?” Sarika shouted, moving to rush at the girls, who flinched back. Leila reached out and grabbed Sarika, throwing her arms around her into an awkward hug from the back.
“Come on, girl,” Leila whispered. “It isn’t worth it.”
“Hey!” someone shouted.
“Shit, Dr. Rich is here for the summer?” Jessica muttered.
Leila turned and caught sight of a man hurrying down the hall, another trailing behind him. One had a small belly and was dressed in red-and-black plaid and blue jeans like some kind of lazy lumberjack, the other was dressed in a tweed jacket complete with patches, a vest, and a bright-yellow tie.
The lumberjack hustled ahead.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” he asked, glaring at Jessica and then at Sarika. “Haven’t the two of you gotten into it enough?”
“She started it, Dr. Rich!” shouted Jessica, holding a hand up to her bloody nose.
“She’s lying!” shouted Sarika, struggling to free herself from Leila’s grasp.
“My dad and his lawyers will be down here so fast you won’t—” Jessica started.
“Cut it out!” Dr. Rich shouted, standing in between Leila, Sarika, and the three girls. “You three, get to your sensitivity class, or I swear to God, you’re finished in this school district, and no, I don’t give a damn who your father is, Jessica. And you two,” he started before his eyes settled on Leila. “Wait, who is this? Who are you?”
“Leila,” Leila said, letting go of Sarika, who brushed herself off. “I’m, uh, I’m new.”
“Clearly,” Dr. Rich said. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You too.” He nodded at Sarika.
“Are you two here for summer school or something?” the smartly dressed teacher asked, stepping up next to Dr. Rich and staring at Sarika and Leila.
“Chet, why?” Dr. Rich muttered, his hand slapping against his forehead.
“For your information,” Sarika spat. “We’re in the enrichment program. For fun. They’re the ones here for punishment. Don’t assume we’re in summer school just because we’re the first brown people you’ve spotted today.”
“Oh, damn,” Leila muttered.
“That’s not what . . .” the other teacher stammered, looking from Leila and Sarika to Dr. Rich, who shrugged his shoulders in response.
“Maybe you should consider sending your teachers to sensitivity training, too, Dr. Rich,” Sarika said, her voice oozing sarcasm.
“Okay, okay,” Dr. Rich said, his hands up. “That’s enough. You.” He pointed at Jessica. “My office. That goes for you, too.” He nodded at Sarika. “We’ll talk this out.” He turned to the teacher, and shook his head. “Chet, you’re a piece of work, you know that? We’ll have a conversation about this later. Sarika, Jessica, put your stuff away. See you in fifteen minutes.”
“You’re not going to call our parents, are you, Dr. Rich?” Jessica asked, her voice full of worry and concern, her eyes sad and pleading. In a flash her face turned dark and sarcastic. “Well, my parents, I suppose. Might be hard to find hers.”
Sarika lunged again and Leila pulled her back as she lashed about, though Leila had a serious urge just to let Sarika tear her apart.
“Sweet Jesus, make that FIVE minutes, you two.” Dr. Rich said, shooing Jessica and her girls towards the end of the hall. “I’ll be waiting.”
Jessica and the girls walked away, but not before turning around and smiling at Sarika and Leila. Jessica and Rebekah both gave them the finger as they twirled about, making their exit.
“Damn it,” Sarika muttered, pounding a fist against a hard metal locker and turning to Leila. She peered into Leila’s locker and scowled. “We should really decorate in here. I mean, I know you only have this locker for the next few weeks or so, but still, might as well make it feel like home.”
“Oh, no, you think you can get in a fight and curse off in front of a teacher, right next to me, and just change the subject to this?” Leila asked, leaning back against the lockers. Sarika shrugged.
“Listen, we’ve had years of life experience with prissy kids who think they can shove us around for being different from them. So to hell with them, not worth our time,” Sarika said, scowling again.
Leila gave her a look.
“Ugh, fine,” Sarika huffed. “Those three? I’ll give you the quick-and-dirty rundown, and then feel free to forget their names. They’ve only stuck with me because I’ve been around them for two years. Jessica De La Costa, the tall one of the bunch. She’s the leader, and the worst of them all. We got in a fight at the end of the school year, like right in June, and she and her friends are here for racial sensitivity training or some such bullshit that will inevitably fail.”
“Wait. You got in a fight?” Leila asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Sarika shrugged. “I mean, you and the Klines? You had more important things on your mind.”
“You’ll always be first, you know that.” Leila smiled. “Just because things are complicated, doesn’t mean I don’t have room for more complications.”
“Well, get ready,” Sarika said with a scowl, “because it’s going to get more complex with those three rampaging around. So we got Jessica, and then there’s Rebekah Mamakas, she’s the shorter one with the freckles. And,” Sarika paused, as if collecting herself, her eyes closed.
“What is it?” Leila asked. Sarika lifted a hand.
“A moment, please,” Sarika said, clearing her throat. “For t
he third one. Dramatic pause: Gwenyffer Stillwater.”
A beat passed before Leila and Sarika erupted into laughter.
“Gwenyffer?” Leila sighed. “That’s actually an awesome name. Like she could be a singer or a model.”
“Too bad it’s wasted on her. She doesn’t talk much, just follows those two around. I don’t even think she likes them, but it doesn’t matter. Makes her just as bad as the rest of them for not saying anything,” Sarika said, the laughter fading. “Look, I didn’t go through all those shitty fosters and get my ass kicked back in the group home all those years to be kicked around now. Especially by girls like that who think they rule this place because oh look at me my father owns three homes with a million bathrooms or whatever. And neither did you.”
Leila nodded, surprised at this fury coming out of her best friend. She felt a familiar pang in her chest, remembering Sarika with the bruises all those times she hadn’t been around to protect her.
“For them, yeah, this is a fun excuse to goof off, maybe meet some boys, maybe give out a few hand jobs in a stairwell, and ignore this ‘training’ they’re supposed to get. Which, let’s be real, will never help anyway,” Sarika said, smirking and doing air quotes. “Don’t let them think they’re better than you. Or us. ’Cause they aren’t.”
Sarika reached into her backpack and slapped something against the inside of Leila’s locker, which clicked against the metal inside with a bang. She moved her hand to reveal a mirror, stuck to the metal with a magnet, covering up all the rainbow glitter stickers. It was bland, the frame made out of a sand-colored wood. Leila peered in and looked at herself, at the splash of pale beige that made its way up the side of her face like a handprint and the dark freckles that flecked the sides of her nose and flowed over the top of her cheeks.
“Maybe I should try some makeup,” Leila said, raising a hand over her face to block out the mark on the lower part of her left cheek. “What do you think?”