The Sweet Revenge of Celia Door
Page 18
Drake sat down and shifted around to face me. “I told my parents everything after we dropped you off yesterday. We didn’t even go to Gran’s, we just sat in the car in a parking lot and talked. I told them about Japhy and the fight and your poem getting posted. I even showed them Dream It! Do It!”
“What did they say?” I asked, even though I really wanted to know about Drake leaving.
“My dad said that you can work hard and accomplish your dreams in life, and it does help to think positively and plan, but you can’t force someone else to love you. He said that Japhy might be gay or he might not be, but that it was up to him to decide when and how he wants to tell people if he is.”
“Do you believe him?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do. I guess I always knew it deep down. But Buddy’s book made me feel better. It made me feel like I could have some control over coming out, over liking Japhy. Dream It! Do It! looked so ridiculous sitting on the dashboard between them,” he added.
Drake seemed less glamorous to me now, sitting out there beneath the trees. He looked like a normal, sad, fourteen-year-old boy. The bruise under his eye was slightly lighter than the day before, the way a tan fades at the end of summer.
“They were really mad about what happened at school, with your poem getting posted and the fight. As soon as we finished talking, they drove to the school to talk to Principal Foster. They let me go home and sleep.”
“Did they withdraw you? Is that why you’re going back to New York?”
“No. Principal Foster found out about your poem before my parents got there, and they said he was really worked up about it, too. He said that the administration is going to fully investigate what happened, and they are taking it very seriously. They are giving it the weight of a hate crime. I’ve still got a three-day suspension for fighting because I threw the first punch, but he assured my parents that Hershey High School would be a safe environment for me after this.”
“After this? But you’re going back to New York. . . .” I said.
“My parents checked with both of the arts schools, that’s the other reason they wanted to talk to Principal Foster. I’m still on the waiting list, but nothing is opening up. My mom said it’s time to accept the fact that I’m not going to get into either one of them and make a decision. They came here this weekend to talk to me and Gran and the school about the possibility that I would stay in Hershey for the rest of ninth grade.”
“But on the phone you said—”
“I’m going back to New York tomorrow so I can pick up some more of my stuff to bring back, I just wanted to see you before I left for three days. I decided I’m going to stay.”
My heart sprouted wings and did figure eights through the treetops. It flew in loops and barnstormed the nurse log. Drake was staying! All year!
“I don’t want to go to the school I’m zoned for in New York, and since I’m already out of the closet here, at least I don’t have to deal with telling people.” He scowled at me, but playfully. “It’s just for the year though,” he added quickly. “I still want to go to art school as a sophomore.”
My heart kept gliding around our heads.
“Are you going to be okay going back to school after what happened?” I asked.
“There is a whole chapter in one of my LGBT books about what to do if you get outed by someone else. It said that some queer people feel like it’s a nightmare when they get outed, but some just feel relieved. Part of me feels relieved. Mom and Dad are helping me plan some strategies for handling things, and Principal Foster said the school would help, too. They’re proud of me for going back.”
A crow called from several branches above us. Drake looked up into the tree.
“So, the school called posting the poem a hate crime? Do they know Sandy and Mandy are responsible?”
“My parents told Principal Foster about Sandy, but they didn’t have any proof. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
This was nothing like the revenge I imagined.
Drake’s grandmother called his name from her back porch.
“Coming, Gran.”
We walked hand-in-hand back through the wooded lot, having made it through one month of our ninth grade year. The future was a wide-open landscape and we were hiking without a map or compass. It was difficult to let go of Drake’s hand when we got to the edge of the trees.
After one hug behind a wide oak, Drake walked out from under the canopy and back onto the grass of his grandmother’s house. I turned and cut through his neighbor’s lawn, behind the fence, and back into the streets of Hershey.
CHAPTER
35
It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m waiting for Drake at our usual spot by the swing sets in the neighborhood. It’s time to leave the quiet weightlessness of suspension and fall back into the noisy, gravity-filled atmosphere of high school. My only hope is that we don’t burn up on reentry.
I haven’t seen him since our secret meeting in the woods, but I know he will be here. I trust it.
I’m wearing my black hoodie, a black skirt, and my black boots with black tights. I guess I’m still dressed for battle, but, I don’t feel Dark. I feel impossibly light, like I might float out of my shoes and over the school, drifting around in the breeze.
After school today, I will not go to the wooded lot with Drake. I will go the principal’s office where I will meet with my Mom, Mandy and her parents, and Sandy and her parents. Hershey High asked for the meeting after my mom and I met with Principal Foster on Monday and I told him the whole story, from eighth grade up to last week. I showed him the Book that Sandy and Mandy made about me in middle school, but I also admitted to stealing Mandy’s phone and writing things about Sandy on the bathroom walls. Hershey High takes bullying seriously; it looks like we might all have some dues to pay. Still, telling my story was like opening a door to a poorly lit room and letting the sun reach every corner.
I submitted five poems to the Hershey High lit magazine, and I’m planning to attend the after-school writing group on Thursday. During my suspension, my teachers emailed my homework assignments so I could keep up with the class. Mr. Pearson finally gave us a creative-writing assignment. The subject was Milton S. Hershey, founder of Hershey, Pennsylvania. I wrote mine in the form of a poem.
HERSHEY
Rolling out chocolate on marble
requires a thermometer filled with mercury.
Cocoa butter can ruin an entire batch.
Mercury is dangerous. One dropped thermometer
and the shop is contaminated. Mercury gets
in your cells and doesn’t get out again, a toxic
river running under your skin.
Making chocolate is dangerous. It is also
delicious, rich and sweet to be the one
to clean the spatula and dip one secret
finger into the bowl.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing your first novel is nearly impossible without support. I would like to sincerely thank my brilliant agent Dan Lazar, without whom this book might have included a treasure map. Joy Peskin’s editorial compass was instrumental in keeping this book on course, and the staff at Viking Children’s Books make a superb ship’s crew.
My thanks to Richard Hugo House, Hedgebrook Writer’s Retreat, Cooper Artist Housing, and Write Bloody Publishing for the kind of encouragement that makes artistic invention possible. Thank you to the national and international community of spoken word artists who coaxed my voice out of hiding.
The love of Louis and Judith Finneyfrock and the rest of my family has made everything in my life bloom.
Thank you, Joe Paul Slaby, for your nose for plot. Thank you to my friends, especially the ones who helped me get through high school. And thanks to Warren Austin Leyh. Every Celia needs a Drake.
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