That ought to shut up the gigglers in the back. Ms. Lowry gives my shoulders a squeeze. “That’s very sad, Stacey, but I think you’ll be very happy here and make lots of new friends.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble.
“Now, go take your seat. You can have the open one next to Darren.”
She points to a seat next to a dark-haired boy with glasses who doodles in a notebook. I’ve seen his face before. I’m not sure where, though. There’s not any time to figure it out. I open my backpack and get out my supplies. It’s time to learn.
***
As a white, middle-class boy who was big for his age, I never faced any discrimination in school. I was usually the one to dish out the discrimination to my classmates. In third grade I beat up a Puerto Rican boy who joined our class; I left him with a black eye and his lunch money in my pockets. Now days I would have been prosecuted for a hate crime, but back then I just got suspended for a day and a stern lecture from my parents, not that it did any good.
It’s not long before I get my first taste of discrimination as an orphaned little Chinese girl. At first it might be unintentional. Maybe Ms. Lowry even means to be helpful when she points to the math problems on the board. “Stacey, why don’t you give it a try?”
The nice explanation is that Ms. Lowry called on me to do math problems because I’m the new girl and she wants to see how much I’ve learned. The other explanation is that she thinks because I’m Asian I’m great at math. I try not to think about that too hard as I trudge up to the front of the room.
The first couple of problems are easy. I only have to multiply single numbers. I don’t remember a lot from elementary school, but I do remember my multiplication table. I breeze through the top row of five problems.
It gets a lot harder on the second row when I get to double-digit numbers. If I only had to multiply by ten that would be easy enough, but Ms. Lowry wants to know what 96 times 64 equals. I stare at the numbers for a moment as I try to think about it. Too bad I don’t have a calculator up here with me.
“I can do it!” another girl calls out. “Let me do it, Ms. Lowry.”
“Not yet, Keshia. Give Stacey a chance.”
I try to remember what my first fourth grade teacher told us to do. I remember something about writing the answer out in two rows. So to start I multiply 96 by 4. It starts to come back to me as I work on the answer. I step back and turn to Ms. Lowry.
“That’s a nice try, Stacey, but you forgot the zero in the second row,” she says.
“I did?” I turn back to the problem on the board. Damn it, I did forget the zero in the second row. I hear someone snicker behind me, probably that Keshia girl.
“Keshia, why don’t you come up and help Stacey out?”
It turns out Keshia is the lone black girl in class. She’s taller than me by about a foot and from the way she brushes me away from the board, I know she’s a lot stronger too. With a smug grin she erases my attempt from the board. “This is how you do it,” she says, just as smug about it.
I have no choice but to stand there and watch her work, though I’d like to slink back to my seat and slouch down the way I did in most of my college classes. Instead I have to endure the humiliation as Keshia solves all five problems in the time it took me to get one wrong.
“Very good, Keshia. Take a seat.” Ms. Lowry looks down at me and smiles. Her voice is so obnoxiously saccharine as she says, “That was a very good first try, Stacey. Go and take your seat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble.
Once I’m back in my seat, Ms. Lowry says, “I haven’t got your books yet, Stacey, so you’ll have to share with Darren until after lunch.”
Darren continues to doodle in his notebook. He doesn’t look up until I bump his desk with mine. Then he turns and stares at me for the first time. When I get a close look at him, it finally clicks where I’ve seen him before: the picture on Dr. Macintosh’s desk. He’s my therapist’s nephew. What a small world. Or maybe not. I remember how they insisted I go to the fourth grade; this must be why.
Without a word, he shoves his book over so I can see it. He doesn’t seem very interested in reading it. He doesn’t seem interested in anything, except whatever is in that notebook.
We go through math problems for another forty-five minutes. Keshia is the type of suck-up who raises her hand first to every question. If Ms. Lowry doesn’t look her way, Keshia starts to wave frantically. When she answers a question right—which is every question she gets to answer—she glances over at me with that smug grin. Apparently there’s some kind of rivalry between us, despite that I’ve only been here for an hour.
Halfway through math, Darren stops drawing. He’s filled the page. I sneak a glance at the page as he turns it over. The lines of his college-ruled paper are riddled with music notes. He must notice I’ve seen part of his opus as his cheeks redden. He hides the notebook in his backpack so I can’t see any more of it.
After math is English. Keshia’s an expert on this subject too. They’ve been reading Huckleberry Finn, which I read nearly forty years ago. As the new girl I don’t get called on during this part of class.
Then it’s time for spelling. Though I’ve hunkered down, Ms. Lowry still sees me. “Stacey, can you spell ‘Magnificent?’”
“Um—”
“She doesn’t know,” Keshia says. “She probably doesn’t even know English.”
“I do so,” I say.
“That’s enough, girls,” Ms. Lowry says. “Keshia, let Stacey try to answer the question.”
My nemesis crosses her arms over her chest, but she’s still wearing that smug grin, secure in the knowledge I can’t spell the word. I can’t wait to prove her wrong. Then I can grin smugly at her for a change.
“Magnificent: M-A-G-N-I-F-I-C-A-N-T.”
“That’s very close, Stacey, but incorrect. Would anyone else like to try?” Ms. Lowry looks around the room. I can see her swallow a groan before she says, “Go ahead Keshia.”
“Magnificent: M-A-G-N-I-F-I-C-E-N-T.” Keshia stops just short of sticking out her tongue at me as she finishes.
“Very good, Keshia.”
I slide down a little more in my seat and wish I could disappear through the floor. I’m saved when Ms. Lowry says, “Time for lunch. Darren, would you escort Stacey to the cafeteria?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. He sounds as happy to be my tour guide as Vincent Armey.
***
I try to strike up a conversation with Darren on our way to the cafeteria as much to keep Keshia away from me as to make a new friend. “So you write music?” I ask.
“Sometimes.”
“What kind of music?” He shrugs. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I know your uncle,” I finally say.
“That’s good.”
“He says I have a great singing voice.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe I could sing one of your songs?”
“I don’t write songs,” he says.
“Oh. Sorry.”
As shown in the brochures, the cafeteria is more like a mall food court than a traditional school cafeteria. Darren and I part company; he’s brought his own lunch. Tess would have packed lunches for Maddy and me, but she thought it would be more of a treat for us to sample the school’s food.
My stomach is too nervous for me to be all that hungry. I especially don’t want any of the greasy pizza, burgers, or tacos in some of the food court shops. There’s one that specializes in salads and sandwiches. I get a garden salad with ranch dressing. It costs four times what I’d pay for the same at a diner a mile or two off the grounds.
Once I have my salad, I have to find somewhere to sit. I remember from my last time at school how everything is subdivided based on social status. There are the jocks and the nerds, each divided then by class.
I stop by the table of two blond girls from my class. “Can I sit here?” I ask and motion to an empty seat.
“No, we’re saving that,” on
e girl says.
They probably aren’t saving it; they just don’t want me around. They’d be the uncoolest girls in school if they let me hang around with them. “OK,” I mumble.
I’m still in search of a seat when I hear Jamie call my name. I turn and see her at a table in a corner, all by herself. She waves about as frantically as Keshia to get my attention.
Intent on reaching Jamie, I don’t notice my enemy until it’s too late. One moment I’m walking along and the next I trip forward; the salad tumbles from my hands. I land face-first next to the overturned salad bowl. When I lift my head, there’s a piece of lettuce stuck to my face. The whole cafeteria explodes with laughter at that. Some point their phones at me, probably so they can upload my picture onto the Internet.
“Better watch where you’re going, Chopsticks,” Keshia growls and then saunters off; she hums a jaunty victory tune. Chopsticks? As far as mean nicknames go, it’s pretty weak. She should at least make fun of my glasses or maybe my shortness. Still, my eyes water at the hurtful remark, plus the humiliation of falling on my face in front of everyone.
As I try to pick up my lunch, Jamie squats down beside me. She helps me clean up the mess and then pats my shoulder. “Don’t mind her. She’s just worried she’ll stop being the princess around here.”
“I don’t think she has much to worry about,” I say.
I dispose of my salad. I don’t have much money left from what Tess gave me. Jamie offers to buy me a new salad. “Thanks,” I say, “but are you sure you want to be seen with me?”
“I’m not scared of her,” Jamie says.
With a new salad and Jamie to escort me, I make it to the back corner of the cafeteria. No one sits within five rows of us. I start to wonder if it’s me, but then I remember Jamie was already over here. Maybe she’s an outcast in her own right.
Someone else is also alone: Darren. He’s got his notebook out and while he eats his lunch, he continues to scribble in it. “What’s the story with him?” I ask.
“Him? I don’t know. He’s pretty weird. At recess he hangs out under the slide with that notebook. It’s like his best friend. I don’t know what the hell is in it. He won’t show anyone.”
“He’s writing music,” I say. “I saw some of it.”
“Music? He trying to be Justin Bieber or something?”
“More like Mozart I think,” I say.
“Gross,” Jamie says. She wrinkles her nose. “Is that what you listen to?”
“No! Of course not,” I say. I know better than to mention my fondness for Creedence Clearwater Revival, who topped the charts when Jamie’s dad was probably still in diapers. I try to think of the music Maddy listened to. “I really like Lady Gaga.”
“Me too! She’s so ultra-cool.” Jamie starts to talk about her songs and I pretend I know what she means, just like when I used to talk to Maddy at the Kozee Koffee. Eventually the subject turns back to school. “How’s it going? Other than Little Miss Perfect hassling you.”
“It’s all right. Ms. Lowry is nice.”
“Just wait until Mr. Delmore dumps her.”
“Maybe he won’t,” I say. I hope that doesn’t happen at least until I’m out of fourth grade.
“You better hope so.”
Lunch is over far too soon. When I get back to class, I find Ms. Lowry with a stack of textbooks. “Here you go,” she says. With the books are a stack of forms I have to fill out to take possession of them and to promise I’ll return them in good condition. My hand gets sore by the time I’m done; I didn’t have to do this much paperwork to book a murderer when I was still a police detective.
After I finish, I take my books back to my desk; my arms wobble from the weight. I find a note on my desk. When I open it, I see it’s a love note from Keshia. She’s drawn a girl with enormous glasses and slanted eyes. Her tongue sticks out to give her a dumb look. The caricature holds a bowl I assume is supposed to be full of rice. She has a set of chopsticks in her other hand. At the bottom are the words, “Stacey Chopsticks.”
I don’t give Keshia the satisfaction of getting angry about this. Instead I tuck it into my math textbook. Then I slouch down in my seat and wish again I could disappear.
***
Recess is an uneventful hour later. I follow the other kids out to the playground. I look around for Jamie, but she’s not around, at least not yet. There is a familiar face, though: Maddy sits on the sidewalk and stares at the other kids.
I sit down next to her. “How’s it going?” I ask.
“I wanna go home,” she whimpers.
“So do I, but we got to stick it out.”
“These girls are mean,” Maddy says. From the redness of her cheeks, I’m sure she’s barely holding back tears; she doesn’t want to cry in front of the other kids. “One of them called me ‘Fatty Maddy.’”
“You’re not fat,” I lie.
“Am too,” she says. She grabs a roll of fat with one hand and tries to yank it off. “I’m a fat baby. That’s what they said.”
“Who?” I ask. I look around the playground, to search for the girls who said that to my daughter.
“Some kids.”
“Did you tell the teacher?”
“No. Then they’d really hate me.”
Maddy isn’t so old as to have forgotten the code of the playground. If there’s someone kids hate more than a bully it’s a tattler. For most people that doesn’t change much as they get older. In some neighborhoods you’d as soon find Bigfoot as someone who will snitch on the gangs or dope peddlers.
“That’s a good point,” I say. “You want to swing or something?”
“No.”
“Come on, Maddy, try to have some fun.”
“I don’t wanna.”
Come to think of it, I don’t want to swing either. I wish I could call Tess and ask her to pick us up. She would do it, but then we’d have to answer a bunch of questions about why we want to leave. After all the effort to get us in here, we can’t leave so soon.
“Just give them a few days to warm to you,” I tell Maddy.
“OK.”
“Then they’ll see how smart you are and they’ll all want to be your friend.”
“I’m not that smart,” she says. “Not as smart as some of the kids.”
“Give it time,” I say. “It’s been a while since you were in the first grade.”
“I guess.”
We sit there through the rest of recess, until Mrs. Ellsbury calls for the first graders to get back to class. I help Maddy up and then, unconcerned if anyone sees, I give her a hug. “It’ll be all right,” I tell her, as much for myself as her.
Chapter 26
Two days later, Maddy and I don’t go to school. At least we won’t until the afternoon. We sit in the waiting room of Dr. Macintosh’s office instead. Jamie’s appointment isn’t until later, so she and Caleb aren’t around. That leaves me alone with Tess while Maddy goes inside to talk with the doctor.
“I’m sure she’ll be all right by herself,” Tess says.
“I’m sure.”
“Does she like school so far?”
“It’s a little hard fitting in.”
“I suppose it would be,” Tess says. “Have the kids been giving her a hard time?”
“Not too much,” I say. I don’t want to worry Tess more than I have to.
“How about you, dear? Any kids giving you a hard time?”
“No,” I lie.
“That’s good. Just remember it’s all right to be different. God makes us in all shapes, sizes, and colors so we can appreciate our differences and our similarities.”
“Right,” I say, though God had nothing to do with my differences; that would be first Artie Luther and then Dr. Ling.
We don’t say much for the rest of the hour, until Maddy emerges from the office. “Bye-bye, Dr. Mac!”
The doctor calls me in for my session. “Have a seat,” he says. He motions to one of the armchairs. He doesn’t sit down right aw
ay, though. Instead he goes to his desk to fetch something.
When he turns to face me, he wears a plastic silver tiara and a pink boa. I put both hands over my mouth so I won’t laugh. He walks nonchalantly over to the desk, seemingly oblivious to the tiara and boa. He takes out his notebook and pen and then stares at me. “You find something funny?”
“Yes.”
“This old thing?” he asks. He flourishes the boa.
“Yes.”
“What’s so funny about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because it’s for girls, right?”
“I guess.”
“And you’d say the tiara is for girls too, right?”
“Yes.”
He nods and then takes both off. He holds them out to me. “Don’t you want these?”
“No thanks.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“I’d look silly,” I say.
“Really? Why would that be? After all, you’re a girl. It’s perfectly natural for girls your age to wear these.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to.”
“Because you still don’t see yourself as a girl?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Stacey, I want you to go ahead and put these on, just for this session.”
“Why?”
“To help you feel more comfortable in your own skin.”
“Fine,” I say. I snatch the tiara and set it atop my head. Then I wrap the pink boa around my neck. Dr. Macintosh produces the mirror so I can see myself. The tiara is crooked; I adjust it to sit level on my head. In the mirror my cheeks redden. I look ridiculous, like a little girl playing dress-up. I suppose that’s the point. “Happy now?”
“The real question is: are you happy now?”
“No. I feel stupid.”
“Why’s that?”
“I look like a little kid.”
“Isn’t Stacey Chang a little kid?”
“I suppose.”
“How have things been going for Stacey Chang at school?”
“Maybe you should ask your nephew. He sits next to me. Is that on purpose?”
“I don’t control Ms. Lowry’s seating chart.”
Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 42