by Johi Jenkins
As she approaches him, she only says, “Hey, Paulie.” She could tell he is excited she said his name.
He reads her expression like a book page. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says kindly.
***
From the day they first started talking, Paulie and Margarette take the bus together to her house after school. Paulie quickly becomes a very good friend. He stays with her from 4:15 p.m. until around 7:00 p.m. almost every day. Some days he has excuses about doing homework together, and others he plainly says he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It is sweet, it is sad and it quickly becomes familiar to her. She looks forward to spending her evenings with him talking about books and old sci-fi movies.
Friday, though, all she wants is some time to herself after school ends. She’s about to tell Paulie that she’s walking home and he can’t follow her when a dramatic movement across the parking lot catches her eye. She looks up to see Sharon getting into Mikey’s black 4x4 Jeep.
She closes her eyes and looks like she’s in pain.
“What?” Paulie asks, seeing her expression.
“Sharon’s been slutting it up all week, yet no one’s talking about her. I’m the one getting shit for something that happened once.”
“Well, it’s her and her friends that are doing the majority of the gossiping, so that makes sense,” Paulie rationalizes. He makes a good point that she has absolutely no interest in hearing about.
“Her friends at one point were almost my friends. If they hadn’t been obsessed with Tommy, it would be us talking about her.” In some parallel universe, she adds to herself.
“What? No…. Things don’t just change like that. You can’t just cross over and become one of them.”
“Why the frick not?”
“That’s the way it is. That’s the way you are. You don’t really want to be one of them, do you?”
“Like you wouldn’t,” Margarette says. “I would in a second. I’d sell my soul. I don’t even need a reason why. They all hate me now—for nothing, because he doesn’t even seem to remember I exist. No one is safe from them, except those in their group.”
“So that’s why you want to be one of them?” Paulie asks, with a trace of disbelief in his voice. “To keep them from talking about you, even if you know they’re not nice girls?”
“Nice? Every one of them is a bitch hypocrite. And yes, I’d rather be one of them than have to deal with this shit.”
“What would you think of yourself then?” Paulie asks.
She shrinks away, confused, thinking somehow he called her a bitch and those other words she thought sounded good strung together. She says, now angrier than before, gritting her teeth, “I don’t know, but it won’t happen….”
Paulie goes quiet hearing the change in her voice.
Two cheer cadet girls walk up to the pair, murmuring in a spattered girl talk. Like two snakes sliding through a sleeping bag, they sneak up on Margarette and Paulie. One with key lime shoes and a skirt two sizes too small for her frame whispers, “You ask.”
The second, a rather plain girl with bleached hair, says, “No, you ask.”
“No, you,” Green Shoes repeats.
Bleached Hair rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
The blonde girl spins her hair nervously and Margarette imagines her turning a crank. Then out the trivial comment falls. “So is it true you like football players?”
Margarette kind of wishes it was Julie. Making Julie look stupid was almost fun, but berating this little girl wouldn’t make her feel better. Still, these girls are both sophomores and yet they had the nerve to make fun of Margarette on school grounds. It just meant the bar had lowered and the insults could come from anywhere.
“Everyone likes football players. But football players don’t just like anyone,” she says, and walks away cleverly spinning it, Paulie trailing behind her with an eyebrow raised.
Margarette feels her stomach tighten and wants to be sick. Tommy hasn’t called, hasn’t come by the school since Monday. Why should he come see her or even call? It reminds her of how pathetic she feels inside. She feels ugly and everyone is laughing at her, watching her. They are horrible.
But she’s strong deep down, exposing nothing to her haters, and leaves the school grounds without a hint of mortification. Outside, finally, she squeezes her eyes to release the tear that was lodged there, and then wipes her eyes with her thumbs. Her quick pass arches the black smear to the corner of her eye, making her look like an Egyptian queen. It is hard, things are dark, but the more she thinks about it the more she smiles. There isn’t much more that they can take from her.
Margarette lets out a soft chuckle. “I don’t fit in anywhere…. Look, I’ve got to take off, Paulie. I’m going to walk home. Don’t come by today; I’ve got stuff to do.”
“I got you something,” Paulie says.
“What?” she asks, brightening a little. “You got me something?”
“A book,” he replies. “The book.”
Margarette’s face falls. “I don’t know if I liked the last one you lent me.”
“This one’s better. This one’s perfect.” Paulie looks left and right quickly, as if scanning the street for spies. He produces a package from his backpack. “Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you. The churches banned it. I had to hide it from my mom.”
“Even Saint Bethel?” Margarette’s curiosity is piqued. Saint Bethel is the church Margarette’s mother goes to when she tries to be sober. If they banned the book, Margarette is going to have to read it. Just to go against the church.
“All churches,” Paulie says. There’s a long pause while Margarette processes this. “All churches,” he repeats. His hand seems to shake with guilty excitement. “And by the way, it’s the Church of Bethel. It’s not a saint. The town of….”
Margarette cuts him off. “I’ll read it.”
She takes the package from him, but doesn’t open it. Paulie is clearly disappointed, but holds it in.
“If nothing happens and you get bored, put a light in your window and I’ll stop by,” Paulie adds.
“Cryptic,” Margarette replies with a semi-scowl.
“A signal,” he clarifies.
“Paulie, I don’t…. We’ll see; but if you see me I’ll be a mess.”
“I’ll stop by,” Paulie insists.
“Eeeehhh…. shh eeehhh…. Well, maybe,” she says, not committing to an invitation or even a real word that could be construed as an invite.
“You suck.” His eyes narrow.
“You wish.” She grins.
Chapter 8. Slick Surprise
Margarette opens her front door and cautiously sticks her head inside her own house.
“Hello?” she calls. “Anyone? Hello, murdering rapist? Demon? Murdering demon rapist?”
Then she mutters, “Person who rapes demons?” Wondering where that came from.
When the silence echoes that her house is demon-free, she goes inside and locks the door behind her. She assesses the mess in front of her. Her mother has not bothered to come home all week. It isn’t the first time this has happened, but acknowledging it makes her feel worse. “Shit,” she says to no one.
She knows Paulie is going to come over anyway, light or no light, and she doesn’t want to be there when he does. Ordinarily she wouldn’t want to be alone, but she is very conscious of how un-fun it is to watch someone else cry. She picks up the phone and dials her cousin to come pick her up, but she’s greeted by an answering machine and quickly hangs up.
Margarette empties her hamper and cleans the one bowl, one plate, one knife, fork and spoon in the sink. The house screams silence after the last clank of the dishes ends and there’s nothing left to wash. Watching television would only let people know she is home, so she retreats to her room with the lights off. She thinks about bringing the phone with her but leaves it downstairs. Why bother, she thinks. No one called her house all week; why would they call her on Friday? She forces the pain of rejection dee
p into her chest along with every other caustic agent feeling she keeps hiding from the world. Why would Tommy call her? And even worse, why does she even care?
She opens her closet and sees her shoes lying on the floor, some out of their matching boxes. She takes five seconds to envision how neat her closet could be, and then shuts the doors without actually fixing the mess. Too much effort. She changes into her comfortable see-though slip and lies back on her bed, alternating her mood between desolate and irate with every other thought.
Margarette is surprised when she hears a car door shut outside. Her mother’s sister’s kid could not have possibly heard her psychic scream. She’s only really expecting Paulie. Ah… of course. It must be Paulie in his mother’s car.
Softly she says, “I fricking hate boys.”
Ding dong.
She takes her time walking downstairs, but doesn’t change her outfit. Paulie deserves to suffer seeing her look delectable in her shorts and see-though slip and only be able to dream about her. She goes over the first thing she’d say to him; something clever about why she didn’t put a light on the window. The doorbell rings again. Nothing comes to mind, and she sighs, her head rocking back.
“Damn it Paulie,” she mutters to herself, “you’re not supposed to come over. I was going to rearrange my shoes.” Oh, maybe I can get him to do it for me, she thinks.
Margarette turns the lock, cracks the door open and Tommy smiles at her. She quickly shuts the door in his face and presses her back against the wall.
“Oh no.” She gasps realizing what she had done cannot be undone.
Cowering behind the closed door, Margarette’s mind races her pulse. What the frick is Tommy doing here?
She slides down to the floor as she hears his voice on the other side of the door.
“Hey, Margarette?” Tommy sounds confused.
“Nope, she’s not home,” she calls out.
“Margarette, can you let me in?”
“What do you want with Margarette?”
“I wanted to invite you out for dinner.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?”
“Your offer for dinner is a lie.”
“No….” Tommy insists. “There is food to be had.”
“Is your phone broken? Ran out of quarters?” Margarette wishes she could hide the sarcasm out of her voice, but fails.
“What?” Tommy’s voice falters. “No, but I don’t know your number. No one knows your number.”
Oh. Margarette thinks about that for a second. “How did you find my house?”
“I followed you home. It’s the first time you walked home since Monday. I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone….”
Margarette smiles despite herself. “You’re not a very good stalker.”
She puts on her serious face again and gets up. She cracks the door, wide enough for one eye. “Listen, I’m going to ask you three questions. Only answer yes or no.”
She sees Tommy’s smile through the crack in the door. “I can do that,” he says.
Margarette gives him a one-eye stare down.
“Yes,” he corrects himself.
Here goes. “Did you have sex with Sharon?”
“Yes,” he answers after a pause.
She shuts the door.
“Hello…” he calls surprised. “Hey Margarette… you said three questions.”
“You got the first question wrong.”
“How?”
“You fricked her again.”
“No, I didn’t,” Tommy says. “I haven’t touched her since I saw her and Mikey.”
Margarette hadn’t realized her heart was beating faster and faster. “You need to be more clear.”
“But you said…. Wait, I….”
“Okay.” Margarette takes a small breath to steady herself. She cracks the door again. “Would you really have called me if you knew my number?”
“Yes.”
“How long would you have waited?”
“Is this the third question?”
“Answer the damn question.”
“Zero.”
She shuts the door again.
He rants muffled behind the closed door. “Look, I can handle questions four and five. Just say yes to tonight. Have you eaten? I came here to take you somewhere special. I’ve wanted to talk to you all week. I wouldn’t have waited if I had known your number or where you live.”
But she’s not listening. Zero was the only good answer. It is a pretty good answer for someone who is stereotypically bad at math. Ironically, he works at a bank; but then, she knows Tommy’s father got him the job. Zero… anything else implied that he thought about not calling. Still, it had been four days of nothing, and she wants him to suffer for that.
She frantically searches for something to put over herself so she can open the door, but all she can find is a mint green raincoat. She throws that on.
“Is there a six?” Tommy asks.
She is a little distracted in the raincoat, having trouble buttoning it, so she mishears what he said behind the door.
“Sex? No.”
“Good,” Tommy answers, thinking she repeated six.
“I mean no. I cannot have sex with you again.”
“What?”
Again she cracks open the door. “I know that’s why you’re here. I just don’t hate myself enough to continue….” She flushes, barely able to finish. She realizes he meant the sixth question.
“I just wanted to….” Tommy is apparently caught off guard. He can tell she’s hiding from him, but doesn’t know why.
Margarette presses further into her folly. “I know, but it will come to that.”
Tommy looks at her as she continues, and even though she is behind the door he can see that she’s barely dressed. “Well, how do I get to know you without seeing you?” he asks her.
“Why do you want to know me?”
“No, I mean, you should see if we like each other.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why, because we had sex under the bleachers?”
“Well, yeah. I guess.”
“Let me guess. Everyone knows about you and me, so you think you have a shot. Does that about sum it up?”
Tommy sighs. “No. Not at all. Look, I’m normal. Totally normal…. Okay, everyone knows I’m not smart or good at anything. The only reason I was on the football team was my dad is the biggest sponsor. I spent my last year trying to live up to what he expected or what I was told to do. Sharon lost interest in me the second she got to know me.”
Margarette rolls her eyes, but even when she looks away she still has her hand on the door, holding it open.
He continues without altering his course. “She wanted to go to parties and show off and all I ever wanted to do was stay home.”
Margarette is taken aback at his sincerity. She keeps her guard on, though. “You’re not selling me on the idea describing your ex.”
“What I mean is give me the chance you’d give anyone else. Don’t think that you know me because of who I am.”
“I think you had your chance,” she says, but her voice isn’t sharp.
He hears a little sorrow in her voice, and pushes lightly on the door. It opens without resistance. Margarette tucks into the wall out of the direct light hoping he wouldn’t see her expression giving away her true feelings. She wants to talk to him. She wants him to take her out to dinner. She doesn’t exactly love the idea of him, but she wants him to want her.
Tommy steps in and shuts the door. He sees her outfit and smiles to himself, and stands in front of her.
Her cheeks flush red standing in only the slicker. She shakes trying to straighten her posture and balls her hands into fists.
“You can’t come in here without my permission,” she says.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but I refuse to leave without changing your mind.”
“Why should I?”
“I like you. And I want to prove it to you.”
She pauses and looks to the side. She’s only disappointed in herself because she doesn’t really want to kick him out.
“I really think we should start over,” Tommy says, his voice soft. “Let me ask you out.”
“Like a date?’”
“Sure.”
“Go outside.”
“What?”
“Go outside.”
“Why?”
“So I can lock the door.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you outside and the door locked,” Margarette says. “I need to think about it.”
“Seriously?”
“Look…. how can I choose with you looking at me? Can you walk outside for me? In the end I pick. Not you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Get out there and wait,” she says, raising her voice a little. She turns to push him out and the front of the slicker opens. He looks down the line of her transparent top and freezes.
“I get to pick,” she repeats even as he gets a look at her slip.
“Okay…” he says as if mesmerized by her form.
The door slams.
Tommy steps outside out into the light as the bolt slides through the door. A drop of water falls down the back of his neck and he yelps in surprise. He shakes the back of his shirt as a movement in the bushes that separate Margarette’s house with her neighbor’s catches his eye. When he turns he sees Paulie stepping around the tree in the neighbor’s yard, walking down the sidewalk. Paulie pretends he’s looking for a different address and continues past the house.
Margarette stares at the fish eye oval of Tommy through the eye piece in the door unable to see Paulie walking away.