by Rachel Hruza
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I overreacted.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air. He offered a smile, but I could tell he wasn’t enjoying our visit anymore.
“I’m really sorry, Oliver,” I said.
I reached out for his arm, several feet away, but my hand shook uncontrollably so I pulled it back. I didn’t know what else to say. So many thoughts ricocheted in my head that they all seemed to hit each other and implode, so I had nothing left.
“Here’s the deal, Truth. I’ll wear your back brace for a day and you can roll around in my wheelchair. Do that, and I’ll believe you’re sorry.”
I looked at him and didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“That’s what I thought.”
I lowered my head and looked at the floor. We were both quiet for a long time. I lifted my head after I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Didn’t you want my help with something?” I asked weakly.
“Not anymore.” Oliver sped by me and left the room, and I sat until the bell rang, wondering how I could be so stupid, but certain I’d just deeply hurt a friendship that meant more to me than I’d realized.
At that moment, my day seemed to fall apart. I stood, and my brace seemed to have found new places to dig in to. I tugged on the part right below my chest while I walked to lunch, though I tried to be discreet. I couldn’t stop thinking about Oliver, and the more I thought about him, the worse my brace seemed to dig into my hip bones and ribs.
I was about ready to fake being sick and see if my mom would pick me up to take me home after lunch. Megan could tell I was down.
“What’s wrong, Truth?”
“Everything. Nothing. Just me,” I said, my head buried in my hands on the cafeteria table.
“Oh yeah? I bet I know what will cheer you up.”
“Prince Charming asked you to marry him and you’re taking me to Paris to plan your wedding and live with you, so I don’t ever have to work a day in my life?” I asked.
That was our dream for Megan: to become a princess. For years, she’d covered her notebooks with doodles of herself as a stick figure doing princess-y things, such as riding unicorns and speaking to squirrels.
“Sonthday,” she said.
I looked up. I knew she had said “someday,” because that’s what she always said when discussing royal betrothing. But it came out weird because Megan had two straws on two of her bottom teeth, “lower laterals” as my dad called them, and they stuck straight up in the air in front of her face.
She made a wild face as she looked at me.
“You do realize people can see you, right? This isn’t the table of invisibility,” I said.
“You reawize yer bein’ a craffy person.” She gnawed her teeth a couple of times, slowly, with her eyes open wide, and I buried my head again.
“I know you didn’t just call me a crappy person,” I said, “because that wouldn’t cheer me up at all.”
Megan just kept making the face. No one was really paying notice to us, so I let her keep going. She leaned across the table, crossing her eyes, spilling drool over her bottom lip. Enough was enough. I wasn’t in the mood for gross Megan. She was obviously craving attention from me; maybe I had been neglecting her more than I thought.
“Eat your food, Strawface,” I said. I grabbed the straws, one in each hand, and yanked them out of her mouth. Blood trickled over Megan’s lower lip with her drool, and she stared in horror at the end of the straw in my right hand.
I mirrored her gaze and almost dropped the plastic tube into my applesauce. Her tooth was stuck in the end of it.
“Truth!” Megan yelled.
My name bounced across the cafeteria walls and then from people’s mouths as they turned to see what had just gone down. I’d performed a tooth extraction in the middle of hamburger day. Huge tears were forming in Megan’s eyes, and she held a napkin where the small bottom tooth used to be in her happily complete mouth.
“I’m sorry!” I said. “I didn’t know I pulled that hard!”
Megan grabbed the straw from my hand, angrily and accusatorily.
I started to turn bright white. Blood didn’t make me pass out, but it made me think of all the other things that make up a body: guts, veins, arteries, a pumping heart, encased only by layers of thin skin. … That always made me feel nauseous.
“You’d better go to the nurse—” An image of all of Megan’s teeth exploding out of her mouth appeared in my head. Dizzy, I stopped breathing as Megan pulled another napkin to her mouth. The lights above me seemed even brighter, Megan’s face blurred in front of me, and just when I thought the white spots that had filled my vision were fading away, my head met the tiles of the cafeteria floor.
I opened my eyes just as someone poured room-temperature chocolate milk onto my face. Megan was already gone.
“Wait! Where’s Megs?” I asked, wiping the liquid from my eyes.
“She went up to the nurse’s office to call her parents.” There was Jenny Henderson for the second time that day. She was leaning over me, blocking out the light. I focused on a freckle above her right eye. It was perfectly round and a light brown color. Chocolaty liquid dripped onto Jenny’s designer shoes from the sides of my face.
I sat up, realizing a horde of people surrounded me.
“What’s going on here?” Miss Peters, out of the math classroom and on lunch duty that day, ran over.
“I thought about veins,” I said.
“What’s that on your face?”
“Unrequested rogue dairy,” I said. She handed me a napkin and I wiped my face.
“Can you stand?”
I did. I told her about Megan and she told me to go with her to the nurse’s office. I liked Miss Peters. She liked me; I was a good student. I did my work, and I didn’t cause trouble—until today, that is.
Megan sat by the office door with a washcloth over her mouth. She wouldn’t make eye contact with me when I got there.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“This way, Truth.” Miss Peters directed me toward the nurse.
“I’m sorry, Megs,” I practically shouted, wanting to know she’d heard me even if she hated me.
She pulled the washcloth away from her face. “You’ve been a shoddy friend this year, but this tops it all. Crappy friend award goes to Truth Trendon.” She pulled out her cell phone and took a picture of me. “Great. I can frame that one.”
I didn’t know what to say. My heart hurt.
“I’m giving you a break on that one, Megan,” Miss Peters said. “Phone away until you leave the school grounds.” She pulled me by the arm into the office. The nurse, a large woman with graying curly hair, patted her hand on the leather table. I sat down.
“You passed out?” she asked me.
“Yes.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“How—”
“Well, I think maybe I did after the passing out part, but I passed out because I saw Megan bleeding and then I thought about blood and how it runs through the body and how insignificant human beings truly are to have existed for so long with such weak exteriors, and then I quit breathing and passed out.”
The nurse looked at me and then wrote two words in her notebook. She looked back up. “I see. How long were you out?”
“A couple of seconds. Not long. I got milked.”
“Excuse me?”
“Someone poured milk on me. Chocolate. But I was cognizant before it hit my face.”
I thought she’d be more impressed than she was with my use of the word “cognizant,” but she just wrote down a few more things and then shut her notebook.
“You’ll be fine. Go to class when the bell rings.”
“What about Megan?”
“That’s confidential.”
“She’s my best friend,” I pleaded.
The nurse sighed. Then she smiled slightly. “
Her parents are coming to get her to take her to the dentist. They’ll see if they can save the tooth or if she’ll have to get a bridge. Very expensive, and sad, really, for such a young girl.”
Looking at the nurse, I wondered if she ever really cared about vanity. Her chest rested comfortably on her stomach, and instead of wearing scrubs, she wore elastic white pants and a tight white jacket over a black shirt. She had several large moles around her neck, creating the illusion of a brown, bumpy necklace.
I wanted to vomit. Not because of the nurse, but because of what I’d done. Not only was I going to cost the Borowitzes a ton of money, but now Megan was going to be miserable. She had only been trying to cheer me up, and I’d basically ripped a bone from her face. Megan was right; I was the shoddiest.
The rest of the day passed by in a fog of drudgery. Newton struck again—I seemed to be weighed down by gravity itself. My shoulders, head, and even my knees drooped toward the floor as I walked through the halls. But when the final bell rang at the end of History, a light shone through my dark cloud.
Brendan stood in the doorway, smiling at me as I rose out of my seat.
I felt as if I were floating on top of the cloud instead of buried within it, my arms lifted out like an angel. When Brendan grimaced, I realized I had actually put my arms out and was slowly moving them from side to side. I dropped them fast, and stopped outside the doorway to talk to him.
“Can’t talk now,” he said quickly.
Mr. Landers was looking right at us, and he didn’t look happy. I stepped back to get out of his death-glare, and Brendan stepped inside the classroom. I was surprised when Landers shut the door behind him.
I stood by the door as everyone around me threw books into their lockers and laughed and gallivanted off to their afternoon activities, hoping to overhear what Landers was saying to Brendan. Teachers never closed the room doors except when lunch was going on, and it was too hard for us to focus with the sounds of gossip floating down from cafeteria.
In less than three minutes, the hallway was clear. Except for me.
I wanted to know why Landers was keeping Brendan after school. I felt deceitful, but I also felt like Harriet the Spy, one of my childhood heroes, listening for clues to solve the mystery.
Looking over my shoulder one more time, I pressed my ear against the door. I couldn’t hear anything. There weren’t any cracks or vents either. I cursed the door for being solid wood. However, the bottom of the door was about an inch off the floor. With my back brace and taller stature, it seemed a long way down.
Harriet would have her ear at the hole and be taking notes already, I thought.
Squatting downward, I put my hands on the floor and lowered myself flat against it.
No one walk by, please, I prayed.
I could hear them, almost as if I were sitting at the desk right next to Brendan.
“You copied her,” Mr. Landers said.
“No, I didn’t.”
I turned my head to look under the crack with one eyeball. All I could see were shoes. Brendan’s white sneakers moved every so often, jittery, while Mr. Landers’ brown dress shoes were planted decisively on the floor.
“Then why are your answers exactly the same?” I could tell by the way he shifted his weight that Landers had crossed his arms.
“I don’t know. Did you talk to Jessica?” Brendan said.
I frowned. How dare he try to blame someone else! It was obviously him. My moral upbringing had me wanting to leap up to my feet again to open the door and tell Mr. Landers Brendan was a liar and a cheat, but my heart held me down on the floor, keeping me from revealing the secret I wished I didn’t know.
“Yes. I did. And it’s clear she wasn’t copying you because she actually finished each question.”
Brendan leaned back and put his feet out, a self-assured stance. “What if we chalk it up to coincidence, teach?” he said, in his playful, you-must-like-me-because-I’m-funny-cute-and-confident voice. But Landers wouldn’t have any of it.
“This isn’t acceptable, Brendan. You do good work. Why would you cheat on a test?”
“I didn’t!” he said, pleading.
Liar!
“I think we need to talk to Ms. Eastin,” Mr. Landers said.
Brendan didn’t try to argue anymore. He stood up and they walked toward the door. I was about to push myself up off the floor when I heard footsteps behind me.
“What are you doing?” Ms. Eastin, the junior high principal and the woman who had unknowingly helped me remove fish from the locker room, loomed above me.
“I—” I tried to think. What would Harriet say?
The door opened on my other side.
“What in the h—?” Mr. Landers cut himself off when he saw the principal.
“I fell,” I said quickly.
To stand up, I would have to knock over one of the parties standing over me, so I just lay there.
“Are you hurt?” said Ms. Eastin. She shook her head in disbelief at Mr. Landers. “So many students have been injured today.”
I grimaced as I thought of Megan. “No,” I said.
“Well then, what are you doing?”
I looked at Brendan. He hardly made eye contact with me. He was looking at the test in Mr. Landers’ hand.
“I just wanted to—I mean, I fell and then I couldn’t get up, because I have a back brace. It takes a little bit of time to get up.” I rolled from side to side on my stomach, somewhat like a turtle on its back, trying to get clearance. The faculty members backed away. I rolled onto my side, and from there pushed myself up to my knees. The sad part was that’s exactly how I did have to stand up. There was no exaggeration on my part.
“Huh,” said Mr. Landers. “I couldn’t even tell you were wearing a brace.”
I beamed at him for saying what I considered the best compliment ever. Then I knocked my knuckles against my brace. “It’s not comfortable, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not injured,” said the principal.
“Me too,” I said. “Oh, and promise me you won’t tell anyone about my brace.”
“Of course not,” said the principal.
I looked at Landers. I thrust my finger at him menacingly. “Anyone! It’s embarrassing enough I have to wear it.”
He smiled at me kindly. “I had to wear head gear with my braces until I was a sophomore. I get it.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling back.
Landers looked at Ms. Eastin and then back at Brendan. Glancing at the test, he sighed. “We’ll discuss this another time, Mr. Matthews,” he said.
Ms. Eastin walked away, her heels clicking on the floor. I was mad at myself for not hearing them when she walked up; I’d been so engrossed in the classroom situation, I hadn’t even noticed them.
Landers lowered his voice. “But if I find you are cheating, you will get an F for the semester. Got that?”
“You won’t,” Brendan said, relief spreading across his cute countenance.
“I hope not.” Mr. Landers smiled at me once more and went back into the classroom.
“At least the head gear paid off,” I said.
“That’s enough brown-nosing, Truth,” Landers yelled from his desk. But he was still smiling.
I walked with Brendan to his locker. He didn’t talk and he didn’t have his usual confident bounce in his step. I really wanted him to thank me. I’d gotten him out of another pickle. Finally, I couldn’t take the lack of appreciation anymore. “I guess my brace is a lifesaver now too, huh?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You could be a bit more grateful,” I said quietly. I wanted to add, I just told them my secret in order to keep yours, you jerk, but I kept my mouth shut.
Brendan slammed his locker. He opened his mouth but then grabbed my arm and led me down the stairs and out the door. As we walked, he watched to see if anyone else was around.
“Do you think I like copying other people’s papers?” he
asked, angrily.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you think I like pretending to flirt with girls, leading them on and telling them, ‘I didn’t study so can I maybe check some of my answers with yours?’” he said, mimicking himself as he spoke.
“Yes?” I said, joking.
He didn’t laugh. He sighed and took my hand. “I hate it, Tru.”
I didn’t like that he admittedly flirted and led girls on, but at least he was honest about it.
“But thank you, you did save my butt,” he smiled. “You do realize you looked like a fish out of water back there, don’t you?”
He nudged me with his shoulder. I jabbed him back, a little harder than usual. I was mad he’d tried to blame Jessica for cheating, but I considered that enough revenge, especially if Brendan had been flirting with her.
Once again, I’d missed the bus, so Brendan’s mother gave me a ride home.
“I’m going to have to start giving you gas money,” I said, when I climbed in the car.
“It’s my kids who owe me,” Mrs. Matthews said. “I have to come pick up Brendan, take him to football, and then go get Melissa when she’s done with volleyball and go back to pick up Brendan.”
The short season of junior high football had ended over a month ago, so Brendan was playing with a club league in a town twenty minutes away a few days a week. He called it “camp” since they didn’t play a lot of games, but focused on the fundamentals. Not many people could afford to send their children to play club ball.
“Sorry, Mom,” Brendan said. Clearly, he wasn’t sorry.
“Well, maybe that arm of yours will pay us off someday, huh?” she smiled, but I couldn’t be sure if she was joking or not.
I sank into the car seat as she eyed me in the rearview mirror.
“Is this the one you were talking to your father about on the phone?”
“Shut up, Mom.”
My body warmed from my feet to the tips of my ponytail. Brendan talked about me at home!
“What did you say?” I asked innocently.
“Nothing good, Trendon,” Brendan said, turning to wink at me.
“What do you do?” his mother asked me.
“What?” I asked.
“You play any sports or anything?”