by Erin Dionne
Ms. Walker and Mr. Sinclair set up a follow-up conversation, and then everyone says their good-byes. I still sit at the table, alone. Mr. Sinclair pulls my parents aside, and they talk some more.
“Come on, Hess.” Dad appears by my side, bumping me with his sling.
“Huh?”
“We’re taking you home.”
About. Time.
<< FAST-FORWARD >>
Awkward ride home, no one speaks
Listen to A Sea of Serpents in my room until dinner
Act invisible at the table
<< RESUME PLAY >>
After dinner I clear my plate without being asked and take Dad’s, too. Jack has disappeared to study for a Spanish test, and I’m hoping I can sneak up to my room with no one noticing.
“Come back in here when you’re done,” Mom calls over the sound of the rushing water. I freeze. What are my escape options?
1. Jet out the back door and run to Nev’s dad’s house
2. Pretend I didn’t hear her and sneak back up to my room, and fake sleep if they come looking for me
3. Put Mom’s metal-trimmed mug in the microwave and duck
Unfortunately, none of these are good. I sigh, splash my face with water, and call on Miss Piggy, Wonder Woman, and Black Widow to get me through.
I trudge to the table. Dad points to my chair.
“Well,” he begins. “That was a rotten day, huh?”
You could say that, I think. I don’t say anything out loud. I’m afraid I’ll start crying again, and I am tired of tears today.
“We want to help you,” Mom says. I nod, bite my lip, and watch my hands twist and scrape at my cuticles. I don’t trust myself to speak.
There’s silence. I guess they expected me to cry, or yell, or at least answer. I am sure they’re looking at each other, unsure of what to say next.
“Look up here, Hess,” Dad says. His face seems older and tired, and I’m sure his shoulder hurts. He takes a breath and sighs. “We need to figure this out.”
“There is nothing to figure out. I’m failing. I’m not going to high school,” I say.
Mom covers one of my hands with her own. Her nails are cut short and filed round. She doesn’t wear nail polish or anything, and I can’t help but notice how she doesn’t bite them, how pink and smooth and whole they are.
It’s kind of like her: She’s smooth, never frazzled, never rushed, always calm. I’m so not that. I’m all jangles and ants and rushing and panic and mess. And then I wonder, maybe for the first time: What does she think when she looks at me? How am I her daughter?
A spot opens inside me, and I want to just fall into myself until I become as small and as dense as a black hole.
But I already am that black hole—sucking everything around me into my disastrous mess. I’ve pulled in Nev and Max, my teachers, Mr. Sinclair, and now my parents. Every one of them has been caught in my gravity.
And with all these people who love me, if they can’t help me get it together, who will?
Mom squeezes my hand and I’m totally in danger of crying again. For once, I’m glad my camera isn’t around. No one needs to see this, ever.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. My chest feels like it’s going to burst with the effort of holding back tears. “I’ve ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Mom says firmly. She lowers her head to peek under my hair and make eye contact. Her face is set with determination. “You just need more help.”
“I don’t want more help!” I am so very tired of help and strategies. “It doesn’t do any good. And even if I do get enough help—whatever that is—to graduate eighth grade, this is going to happen all over again in high school. Only worse, because it’s high school.” I pull away from Mom’s hand.
Mom furrows her brow and glances at Dad. Somehow, I know. I know what’s coming is not going to be good.
“This is serious business, Hess. We need you to focus. And for you, focusing means getting rid of distraction.” She takes a breath. “Dad and I are going to hold on to your camera for a little while. Just until we get over this hump.”
My body turns icy, then heat rushes through me. My brain can’t process this, but my guts sure can. They squeeze with pain.
“No,” I say, and shake my head. “That’s not right. That’s not fair. I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“It’s not a punishment,” Dad says. “It’s the opposite. We just want you to be free to do what you need to do.”
“This is not freedom. This is jail. This is cutting off my arm. Why would you do this to me?” My voice is really loud and the panic ants swarm up my legs and then my breath locks up. I don’t even care. I push back from the table and make a break for the stairs. My parents’ faces pass in a blur of sadness.
Mom calls for me, but Dad tells her to leave me alone. I kick the door shut and throw myself on my bed.
If this were a movie, my parents would come after me, talk gently to me, rub my back. There’d be hope that tomorrow would be better and that we could find a solution.
But this is not a movie.
I gasp and breathe short puffs of air.
No one comes.
I wake up to my alarm, still in my clothes. My body aches like I’ve slept on rocks instead of my covers.
When I drag myself downstairs, everyone is gone. Mom and Dad left a note about a physical therapy appointment for Dad’s shoulder. Jack is nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s still asleep—sometimes he doesn’t hear his alarm—but I don’t bother to check. He can deal with whatever happens if he sleeps all day.
I walk to school alone. Without my camera, it’s a flat, bland walk. I don’t want to look around, because why bother? I can’t capture it. I can’t use it.
I don’t spot Nev or Max in the hall. I miss them like I’d miss my shadow. For a second, I wonder how their new Hoot project is coming. For a second, I wish I had told them everything—just how bad I’m failing, how I want to get out of it but I am so scared that I can’t—but I don’t even know where to begin. It’s my own stupid fault. Why would they want to talk to a loser?
In language arts, Ms. Walker greets me with a careful hello. I take my seat and don’t say anything.
She starts the period talking about the “emotional disconnect” in The Giver, and I don’t even bother pretending to take notes. This morning has been about a thirty on the horrible scale. If it were a movie, Rotten Apples would give it a five. Probably a two.
Ms. Walker drones on about “the importance of highs and lows.” To distract myself, I dig through my book bag.
The loose handouts, folders, and books float on a sea of paper clips, bits of paper, rubber bands, and pennies. Sticky grit coats my fingertips. There’s a flash of bright green. Gum.
“Looking for something, Miss Greene? Your book, perhaps?” Ms. Walker stands at the head of my row, hands on her hips. “We can wait until you find it.”
I sigh. “No,” I mumble, sticking the gum into the outside pocket and hanging the bag over the back of my chair. I rub my hands together and crumbs patter onto the desk.
Sarah, in front of me, snickers.
The sound shoots through me like a bolt of angry lightning. Like all the disappointing conversations and bad news have morphed into an electron-zapping ball of Supervillain Creation Goo.
If this were a movie, I’d be glowing green right now.
Rage—hot, bubbly, and dangerous—simmers in me. Sarah’s long dark hair brushes the top of my desk. And I want to do something to get her, and my parents, and Ms. Walker, and even Mr. Sinclair, back. I want it so bad.
My hands are clenched. I open them. My fingers ache from squeezing so tight.
Sarah shifts, and her hair sweeps by again.
I lean back in my seat, trying to keep enough control not to get sent to the principal’s office, drop my arms to my sides, and shake out my hands. It doesn’t help me relax, but when my fingers brush my b
ag, I remember the gum.
As carefully as I can, I reach into the outside pocket, keeping my eyes on Ms. Walker the entire time. There’s one piece in the package, and I unwrap it in the bag and sneak it into my mouth. Minty explosions help me breathe better, clearing some of the fog of rage.
Chew. Breathe. Chew. Breathe.
I puff out a gust of air, trying to relax. Sarah’s hair moves the teensiest bit. Her shoulders hunch up like I’ve just Big Bad Wolf’ed her straw house.
And then:
She turns, flipping her hair over to the far side of her face—blocking Ms. Walker’s view.
“You have always been such a disaster,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “A total mess-up, Hess. I can’t believe we were ever friends.” She straightens in her chair.
And just like that, the rage is back. This time, I let it fill me, infecting every cell in my body. I am Dr. Bruce Banner, Hulking out.
Her hair sweeps my desk again.
Her hair.
The anger rises to the point where I can’t see, I can’t think, I’m not me.
And when I get it together, and I can see, and I can think, and I am me again, there’s a piece of bright green gum folded into Sarah’s long, black, lustrous, hair.
And I smile.
The bell rings, and I bolt out of Ms. Walker’s class.
Hess and Satisfying Acts of Revenge: 2
Good Ideas: 0
Oh, great. Max and Nev are waiting at my locker. We haven’t talked since I blew them off on Saturday, and they have no idea about my closet meltdown or impending disaster. I push thoughts of Sarah’s hair aside. Breathe.
“What’s up?” Max asks.
A million things. I’m failing. I just put gum in Sarah’s hair. I’m not going to high school.
Instead, I say, “I’m sorry.” My eyes fill with tears. “I’m really sorry about Saturday.”
They exchange glances. Nev sighs. “We know, Hess. It’s okay, kind of.”
“But it was annoying,” Max says.
“I know.” I have nothing else to offer. I want to tell them everything, but it seems so hard—there’s so much ground to cover. So I say nothing.
I stuff my books in my locker and grab my lunch. “Let’s go sit down.”
Nev peers at me with her all-seeing eyes. “Somethin’ else ain’t right with you, girlfriend.”
I shrug. “The only thing that ain’t right is that I’m starving.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but she lets me go to lunch without any more complaining.
It happens when we’re sitting at the table. I’m begging Max to do his impression of his math teacher, and there’s a bunch of activity on the far side of the room, near Sarah’s table. If I had my camera, it’d look like this:
INT. School cafeteria.
Lunch going on as normal. Except at one table. Loud chatter, then silence. Then, as a group, five girls get up and walk to the door, surrounding one protectively.
GIRL AT NEARBY TABLE
What happened? What’s going on?
GIRL FROM GROUP
(shakes head, points to her hair)
Zoom to center of the group. Tight shot. It’s SARAH.
A sharp shove against my shoulder, and I rock to the side, nearly spilling my water bottle.
“Nev!” I didn’t have to look to know it was her. The noise level of the caf goes back to normal. “What’d you do that for?”
“Do you really need to ask?” she says in this really pointed way. I frown at her.
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me. She sits in front of you in Walker’s class, doesn’t she?”
Max looks from one to the other of us, like we’re in a tennis match. Then his eyes go wide.
“Dang, Hess. That’s cold. Why?”
I push back from the table. “Why do you think I had anything to do with it? We don’t even know what happened!” I stand and grab my book bag. “Nice friends.”
My stomach churns and my fingers tingle. I’m sure my face is the color of a fire engine. I hate lying. Nev just sits there, shaking her head real slow, and the disappointment on Max’s face makes my heart want to melt with shame.
I stomp away from the table, feeling worse with every step. What I did was wrong, and Sarah didn’t deserve it … except she kind of did. Everyone who’s been ragging on me deserves it; Sarah was just the one to get it.
I push the thoughts out of my head by reciting the order of Alfred Hitchcock movies: Dial M for Murder. Rear Window. To Catch a Thief. The Trouble with Harry …
I’m up to The Birds when I realize that I’m standing in front of the library. I’ve been spending a lot more time here lately. Mrs. Coe told me that she was working on getting some more DVDs added to the collection. There’s still time left in the lunch period, and Nev and Max won’t come looking for me. I go in.
Our library is pretty small, but there are a lot of books and magazines crammed in it. The shelves are low, and Mrs. Coe got a place at the mall to donate some furniture, so there are squashy chairs and a bunch of tables. Nothing matches, but that’s cool.
A girl with a dark blue headscarf is hunched over one of the tables.
“Zada?”
She turns, startled. “Hess! Hello,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
Avoiding my friends, I want to say. Instead I answer: “Looking for something. Thank you for letting me borrow your book,” I say, remembering. “I don’t have it with me, but I will bring it to you.”
“Okay,” Zada answers. “I actually have a few more in my bag.” She hands them to me.
“El Deafo?” I laugh at the name.
“It’s good,” Zada says. I like the cover, with a superhero bunny-person flying past a cloud. She says I can borrow it. Then she goes back to work, and I go to see the librarian.
She’s at her desk, eating an apple and reading, of course. See You at Harry’s must be a good book, because she doesn’t even look up until I’m standing in front of her.
“Oh! Hi, dear,” she says. She calls everyone “dear.” It’s so librarian. Her face is blotchy and red, like she’s been crying. She blots her face with a tissue.
“Are you okay?”
She blows her nose, blots again.
“Fine. It’s this book … it’s fine. What can I do for you? Can I help you find something?”
“Have you gotten any new DVDs in?” I am jangly and awkward, not sure of where to look and embarrassed that I’ve interrupted her.
She’s nice about it, though. She walks me over to the DVD shelf. “The administration isn’t crazy about me stocking these, so I don’t broadcast the new stuff the same way I do for books. But there are a few things in here that you might like.” She pulls out a documentary on the making of a bunch of sci-fi and fantasy movies. MK Nightshade’s A Sea of Serpents movie is one of the ones listed on the case. Next she shows me the latest action movies that have come in. As soon as I thank her, she flies back to her book and I go on pretending that everything is fine.
I’ve seen the action movies, but the DVDs have some cool extras—interviews with the director, some special effects explanations—and I decide to take one of them out.
I leave the fantasy/sci-fi documentary on the shelf and say good-bye to Zada on my way out.
Weirdly, instead of watching the movie, I kind of want to finish the Sea of Serpents audiobook.
A hand taps me on the shoulder as I’m walking to science, and I nearly hit the ceiling it scares me so bad.
“Sorry, Hess!” It’s Miss Vogel, carrying a big pile of stapled packets. “Just wanted to remind you—rehearsal is after sixth period!”
I’d forgotten, and there’s no way I want to go.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. Kids swarm to class around us, trying to beat the bell. A big, clumsy seventh grader knocks into Miss Vogel and she loses her balance a little. Some of the packets fall.
“I got ’em,” I say. “Can I carry some stuff for you? Help you out?”
<
br /> “Oh, thanks,” she answers. “But I don’t want you to be late for class after missing yesterday.”
I want to be late for class, so I don’t have to talk to Nev and Max.
“It’s okay,” I say, grabbing a few more packets to ensure my lateness, “Mr. O’Malley won’t mind if you give me a note.”
We walk to her office without saying anything. I put the packets on the corner of her desk and wait for her to write out the late slip.
“You’re still coming to rehearsal today, right?” she asks as she tears it off the notepad. She holds on to it, waiting for my answer.
“Uhhh, well … ” I don’t want to be rude, but right now the only thing I think I should be doing is digging a tunnel to another school system.
“Say that you’ll come,” she says firmly. She holds the slip out of my reach, like she won’t give it to me unless I agree.
“Fine. Sure.” I take the late pass.
“There’s someone coming who I really think you’ll want to meet,” Miss Vogel says casually. She shuffles some papers on her desk, like she’s all laid-back and doesn’t care if I come or not. I am not going to fall for that. “Someone really interesting.”
“Okay. I’ll try to be there.” I head to science, slip into my seat, and avoid eye contact with Max and Nev. Mr. O’Malley is talking about acids and bases again.
Who could Miss Vogel think that I’d really want to meet?
I don’t decide to go until I get there. My feet stop outside of the auditorium, and a few kids squeeze past me to get in the doors. I step to the side and go to dig out my camera, like I have five million other times today.
Ha-ha. It’s somewhere in Dad’s office.
“Hess?” It’s Nev.
“Hey,” I say, just as surprised as she looks. “Um, hi.” My face gets hot.
“What’re you doing here?” She is all business and frowns, and it hurts my heart. I screwed up again at lunch. I so badly want to tell her about how bad everything’s gotten, how Miss Vogel wants me here, and how much of an idiot I was earlier, but the words won’t come.
Instead, I shrug. “Just … you know. Checking it out.”