by Anya Bateman
James’s response when I told him should not have surprised me. “It’s sad Lyla will miss her senior year,” he said with genuine concern. “She was almost Fairport’s president and now she won’t even be attending here. I wish I’d had a chance to talk to her before she left.”
“Remind me never to go to the zoo with you,” I responded.
“Why?”
“You’d probably try to hug the boa constrictor or give the Bengal tiger a big kiss.”
James remained silent, obviously still feeling sorry for someone who did not, in my estimation, deserve even a pittance of pity. The girl was a barracuda. Let her go ahead and do drugs, I thought after I hung up. Let her dig a hole for herself and stay buried in it. I realized I was whispering the thoughts aloud almost like a prayer. Good grief was I, in a sense, praying for someone’s demise? Well, it wasn’t the first time.
-B-
Lyla’s departure cleared the way for those who’d been intimidated by her and her friends to join with James and the other officers. Even some of the former members of Lyla’s elite forces seemed to sense the direction things were heading and began flipping U-turns. In fact, so many students were playing follow the leader with James that I started becoming even more skeptical about where all this was heading.
“The golden rule is a universal principle,” James reminded me when I accused him of spreading his church doctrine. “It’s a moral way to live regardless of what religion you belong to.”
“I still maintain the ACLU will be coming after you soon,” I told him. “Let’s face it, you could compile all your campaigns and mottos into just one: CTR.”
James chuckled. “It does all boil down to that, doesn’t it?”
I nodded slowly, but without ill will. How could anyone really complain about a school that raised ten thousand dollars for a classmate who needed a kidney transplant? I admit even I almost lost my composure when I saw Libby’s mother’s face when Lola Fisher, the chairman of the event, presented the check to Libby. I’d contributed a few dollars myself— the amount I’d been saving in my alabaster jar for a new windshield for Uncle Bartho’s car. But who could help not getting caught up in the urgency of Libby’s situation?
James and his crew became nonstop. Next our president proposed that our school become a Sub for Santa center for a battered children’s home. That too hit the clear high notes in my heart.
The semester flew by as we moved from one service project to the next. “Talk to someone you haven’t met yet,” James suggested again over the in- school television system on the Monday morning immediately after the Christmas holidays. “Get to know someone outside your usual group of friends.” I knew he was still attempting to aid the lonely students walking friendless through the high school’s halls. Not that many years ago I’d been a student like that and again, I tried not to feel touched, but I couldn’t help it. Of course I didn’t mention this to anyone. Instead I bleated at my brother again that night.
“And our classmates will be right at James’s heels for this campaign too,” I said to Alex.
“Don’t criticize what you haven’t tried,” said my brother,
running his fingers down the paragraphs of still another one of the pamphlets James had given him.
“What I haven’t tried?” I reminded Alex that I’d been talking to people for months that I wouldn’t have normally associated with. We still saw Cassie and Sadie and a few of the other campaign committee members monthly at the “committee home evenings” at James’s. In fact, Cassie had e-mailed me just that day to let me know she’d dropped another five pounds. It’d all started when she’d complained to me about her weight.
“I don’t understand it,” she moaned. “I totally live the Word of Wisdom. I drink hundreds of fruit smoothies and I eat nuts and dried fruit constantly. Okay, once in a while I’ll have a pastry or two but I always pick the kind with fruit filling.”
I knew immediately what to suggest. “You and Bud need to switch your approaches to the Mormon health code. You go with the fresh fruits, whole grains, and structured mealtimes and have Bud eat nuts and raisins nonstop— especially the chocolate- covered kind— and drink dozens of those extra- thick drinks all day.”
I assured her a smoothie once in a while was good for her as long as she didn’t get carried away. “It’s going to take patience,” I added because I could just imagine Cassie thinking she could lose a few hundred pounds over a weekend or two and then, like James, emerge from some magical revolving door, looking “super.” “This is not going to happen overnight. We’re talking about a lifestyle change. Just don’t go bulimic on me. You turn bulimic on me and I’ll turn ballistic on you! And keep that body moving!” I’d offered to give her our old treadmill.
“Wowsers!” she half- shouted. “Thanks!”
“Maybe you should open your own weight- loss center,” my brother said when Cassie had lost ten pounds by the following week. “Your threat and intimidation program seems to work.”
“Or a makeover salon?” Ever since we’d transformed James, I’d been getting requests from people for help with their appearance. I got the distinct impression I was considered some kind of fairy godmother now, complete with a super- wand. Even Derrick Farn approached me quietly one night to ask if I could help him like I’d helped James. I dismissed him with, “Sorry, I’m really not into that anymore.” When he turned away with disappointment, I relented and gave him a few tips. Finally I tackled the real issue. I demonstrated to him exactly how he walked around the school, pecking into the air.
“I do that?” he asked, aghast. “I look and act like a chicken?”
“I’m afraid you do.” I knew I’d hurt his feelings, but he pretty much held his head still from then on. Well, at least when I was around.
Thanks to my candid and not- so- subtle remarks to Terrance as well, he began swinging his arms when he walked. At first he overdid it and looked like a windmill. Finally, he somewhat mastered the technique, but since it was obvious it would take a while to cultivate the habit, I gave him a roll of masking tape and suggested he wrap a piece of it around his wrist as a reminder. Then I said, “Maybe you should put a piece of tape across your mouth while you’re at it as well.”
“Why?” he asked.
“To prevent it from hanging open and inviting in bats.” Yes, I was harsh as usual. But it was gratifying when I saw him walking down the hall with his mouth closed and his arms swinging almost normally. Students affectionately started calling him “Okay Dokey.”
My successes gave me the courage to approach Garlia. I’m sorry to say that my unsolicited efforts to inspire her to tone down not only her look but also her act didn’t go over particularly well. Garlia basically told me in so many not- so- nice words to drop dead and took off to some not- so- nice place with her not- so- nice friends. It didn’t strike me as a good omen that one of them was dressed like the grim reaper.
Luckily, Sadie did listen when I suggested she make an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist. Her doctor, apparently suspecting deeper rooted problems, suggested a therapist. Gradually, as the weeks passed, our timid friend snorted and coughed far less frequently. But her hair was still a problem.
“Open the curtains,” I reminded her. “Why are you hiding?” I was genuinely concerned about this problem and even bought her some clips to hold her hair away from her face. But then the next time I spotted her, there would be those dishwater streams jetting straight down her face. Since she needed to work overtime shifts at Barnie’s Bowl to pay for the psychologist, I knew she couldn’t afford my hairdresser. Even I was beginning to wonder if I could afford Raphael now that he’d raised his rates. As soon as I found a less- expensive stylist who was relatively skilled, I planned to convince Sadie to come along.
So how, I wondered, could Alex say I didn’t associate with those not on the old social register? Just because I didn’t associate with them at school much didn’t mean I didn’t still deal with them. The cam
paign was over, and we’d had our fun. Now it was time to go our separate ways.
Chapter Twenty- One
•••
Adriana and I had started eating lunch with some of the genuinely high- quality girls in our school who were also academically minded: Kate Burgoyne. Caroline Yang. And the beautiful and pristine Michelle Wilcox.
Michelle and I had two classes together as well and we sat next to each other in French. I felt a little guilty about the fact that I hadn’t so much as nodded to Sadie, who was in our class as well. One class period while Monsieur Dubois was out of the room on another “emergency errand”—we suspected prostate problems— I noticed that Michelle was looking around with a troubled expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it just bothers me that I haven’t spoken to many people outside of my immediate group of friends. I was talking to James and Yolanda about it the other day and I told them that I was sure everybody in our year was just one big happy family— that we’re all friends. James said to take a closer look and I’d probably find quite a few people who still don’t feel a part of things even all these months into the year. I’ve started doing that and I realize that there a lot of people I don’t even know.”
“Uh- huh.” I chewed on my bottom lip and glanced toward the back of the room where Sadie was seated with her head down, her hair covering her face as usual. “Didn’t you tell me you were taking a cosmetology course?” I asked.
“I am. I’m almost finished, thank goodness. It’s kept me pretty busy.”
Michelle’s parents were fairly well- to- do according to Adriana, but they were adamant that their children develop skills they could use to put themselves through college or fall back on in case of emergency. “Do you see the girl on the back row in the corner? In the blue sweater?”
“Sadie, right? She came with Cassie to our last stake conference.” Michelle began explaining what a stake conference was until I assured her that I knew the term had nothing to do with cow meat.
“Sadie was one of the hard workers who helped James get elected last year,” I informed Michelle with just a little tenderness in my voice. Sadie had been a trooper after all. “But she could use some hair help, don’t you think?”
“You mean because you can’t see her face?”
“Exactly. Why don’t you offer her a free cut and style. I’ll pay for it.”
“I do feel bad that I didn’t get a chance to talk to her when Cassie brought her to church,” Michelle said, twisting around gracefully. She smiled and slipped her pencil into the pencil groove on her desk. “You know what? I think I will go talk to her!”
From my second- row vantage point, I watched Michelle glide down the middle aisle toward the back. It was a long trek because people kept stopping her, asking where she was going. Pete Greemes put his leg up as a roadblock just to be funny. I glanced nervously toward the door where Monsieur Dubois had exited, tapping my knee nervously against the desk base.
When she finally reached Sadie, Michelle extended her hand. I had to tuck in my lips when Sadie moved her hair from one eye and looked up with surprise. When Michelle returned a few minutes later, she was smiling widely.
“How did it go?” I asked eagerly.
“I couldn’t see just offering her a haircut. It seemed kind of rude— like I was saying, ‘You’ve got a hair problem’—so I just introduced myself and told her that I hoped we could get to know each other. You know, Jana, I had the strangest feeling while I was talking to Sadie. I need to tell James that he was right. I got that tingly, warm feeling inside. Thanks for suggesting I talk to her.”
“No problem, sure . . .” This was getting entirely too cheery for me. “But what about her hair? Did you offer to do her hair?”
“Not yet. I invited her to come have lunch with us instead. In fact, I told her to bring along anyone she’d like. Once we’re all friends we can ease into the hair issue. You don’t mind if she and her friends have lunch with us, do you?”
“No, why should I mind?” I quickly faced forward. Monsieur Dubois had rushed back into the room just as quickly as he’d left and was tapping his ruler lightly on his Parisian coffee mug.
No, why should I mind if Sadie brings Cassie and who knows who else when I’m finally having nice normal lunch periods with nice normal people this year?
I pulled my vocabulary list from my folder and stared at the words. Cassie had made some progress in the weight- control department, but she still couldn’t seem to grasp the importance of volume control. But then, as Warner Jenkins, at Monsieur Dubois’s request, started conjugating the verb choisir on the blackboard, I realized that a part of me honestly didn’t feel bad about what Michelle had done. A part of me was actually glad that Michelle had invited Sadie and had opened the door for Cassie and possibly other members of our old committee to join us at our lunch table. “Mes étoiles,” I muttered. James’s programs were beginning to affect even me!
Inspired by Michelle’s example, people in our French class began joining the school in making greater efforts to be inclusive. One day I heard Pete greet Alvin Aflack with a simple, “Hi, how ya doing,” instead of mimicking the Aflac Insurance commercial’s duck like he usually did. I also witnessed Shereen Quinn inviting partially blind Sophie Dalebout to join her and Kylie Craig on the French geography project.
One particular morning, when everybody was mixing it up with everybody else to the point of disruption, Monsieur Dubois rose from his desk and once again tapped on his coffee cup to call us to order. But when he noticed who was visiting with whom, his normally rigid expression softened into crème an glaise. “I’ll let you continue visiting for a few more minutes,” he said in English instead of French, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m glad to see
everyone getting acquainted.” I had the feeling he’d never seen anything like it before.
Neither had I. In spite of my pessimistic predictions, James’s programs were proving to be long- term. They hadn’t disappeared or dissolved into the school furnace ducts and walls after a month or two. Instead they seemed to be taking on a life of their own.
I had to chuckle a little when Kell Black, our six- foot- seven basket ball forward— who’d scored the winning basket on our first official game against the Trojans— leaned way down to the floor to pick up a pencil for self- conscious, nervous Sarah Finkler. “Thank you,” she whispered in embarrassment and surprise. Then somewhere inside she found the courage to lift herself, stretch tall, and call after him, “Good game, Kell.”
A few days later Dan Ravino, who generally walked around with an “I’m too cool to be bothered” look of disdain on his face, showed some genuine interest in Josh Pell’s science project. “I need to get more serious about school,” I heard him say. “You do any tutoring?”
I was even more dumbfounded when, completely ignoring his cousin Katrina’s objections, Scott Wilkes invited Dokey and Derrick and Bud to help with the decorations for the Winter Wonderland Extravaganza. “We could use a little height,” he said good- naturedly staring up at Bud, his hand over his eyebrows. “And you’ve definitely got that, hombre.”
Cassie, who tried her best to be involved in every possible school activity, was literally thrilled right out of her shoes when Salina Daniels invited her to head the Spring Fund-raising Committee, and I mean literally. She kicked her slip- on’s up into the air shouting— not surprisingly—”WOWSERS!” One shoe did a high loop and almost landed in Jate Pingree’s chili. I sighed and sank down in my chair at this display, but Salina seemed to take the reaction in stride. Michelle put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Luckily when Jate saw Michelle’s reaction, he chuckled himself.
When Salina asked Sadie if she’d assist Cassie with the project, Sadie mumbled an okay from beneath only slightly shorter bangs. But after the other girls had moved back to other topics, I saw her tuck her hands under her armpits and flap her arms again, a response that caused me to smile in spite of my concern that now she was turning
into a chicken.
One afternoon four- foot- two Samantha Elbert, the smallest girl in the school, grabbed Adriana in the hall and hugged her around the middle. “I love you,” she said.
“All I did was tell her I liked her fingernail polish,” said Adriana, pushing back some strands of her pinkish blonde hair. “Oh, and I guess I suggested she be our head manicurist for the fashion show. I’m actually wondering if we should open the participation to plus and petite sizes so more people can be involved.” Adriana and I had been working hard to collect enough clothing for the school fashion show, which was scheduled in February.
“We’d need a child size for Samantha,” I said. “I doubt she’d even fit into a petite.” But then I bobbled my head. It was all right with me.
-B-
“So how’s everything been going?” Alex asked me one night at the end of January after I’d hauled in another armload of clothing from the Encore secondhand shop. Margo Skilicorn had come up with the idea of asking stores to let us donate some of their items to the homeless after we’d used them in the fashion show. It wasn’t hard to tell which they were letting us give away.
“Can you believe what’s happening at our school?” my brother asked. “I’m seeing things happening that I never would have expected to see in this lifetime.”
“Baaaaa,” I repeated once more to Alex as I snipped off a tacky plastic rose from a not- all- that- bad jacket. “Like I said, it’s unbelievable how blindly people follow their leaders.” Then I shared some of the things I’d witnessed.
“It’s great, isn’t it?”
“It’s ridiculous.” I tried to sound blasé as I pulled out a skirt which I thought could possibly work for Samantha if I cut out the lowest tier or two. “There are people helping each other all over the school. I tell you it’s unbelievable. It reminds me of that quote by Thoreau where he says that if a leader wears a chicken- bone necklace one day, soon everybody will be wearing chicken- bone necklaces.”