by Beth Goobie
“What’s so funny?” Pit Bull asked. Her lips were faking a smile, but her eyes wouldn’t have fooled anyone.
“Ah, you know Fran — always joking around,” said Chris. She lost her grin and a new kind of cool came into her face — the kind that puts you into deep freeze. Chris didn’t fake things, and she didn’t like Pit Bull. “I’ve got to go talk to someone. See you, Kelly.” She walked away.
I decided the best thing to do was stare out a nearby window. It was either that window or a wall — the last thing I wanted to look at was Pit Bull’s face. Things got real quiet beside me, but I knew she was still there. Finally I gave up and snuck a glance at her. She was staring right at me.
“I’m Terri,” she said.
Her eyes were that pale kind of blue that looks like the sky died in them. She’d squinted them into tough little slits. With a lot of black eyeliner around them, they could really nail you to a wall. Right away she started firing more questions at me.
“So, where’d you live before here?”
I pulled down the edge of my sleeve, even though it was long enough to cover the stitches on my left arm. “Siberia,” I said.
“No, seriously.” Her voice giggled, but her eyes kept shoving me against the wall.
Sweet’n’sour, I thought. “In a group home,” I said.
“Which school did you go to?” she asked.
“Why?” I asked, staring out the window.
“Just wondering if you know any of my friends,” she said.
I doubt it, I wanted to say, but the fact was that I probably did know them. Everyone knew them. They were the kind of girls most people spent their time trying to forget. I decided this was probably a wise moment to change the subject. “So, what d’you do here for fun after supper?” I asked.
“Rollerskating.” Pit Bull shrugged. “I know, it’s kid stuff, but it’s something to do. You any good at rollerskating?”
“I’m okay,” I said carefully.
Her pale blue eyes zoned right in on me. “You suck up to staff?”
“No!” I knew right then that I was going to have to stop talking to Chris. She was nice, but she was too friendly with the staff, and that didn’t go well with Pit Bull. I didn’t like Pit Bull, but I knew how these places worked. I’d had one little chat with Chris, and already trouble was breathing down my neck. I didn’t want trouble, I just wanted out of here.
Pit Bull started to nail me with another question just as Fran came out of the washroom. She was picking at her teeth with a paperclip.
“Hey, Terri — why don’t you help me unload supper from the dumb waiter?” she asked. Looking right at me, Pit Bull let a smile ooze across her face. Then she linked her arm with Fran’s and walked away. What a fake, I thought. Talk about sucking up.
I went back to my room and stared out my window. Every time I moved into a new place, there were so many new people — new girls, new staff. None of them ever meant anything, and nothing ever changed. I just kept moving from place to place and meeting more strangers. Who cared about any of them? I leaned against my window and tried to stare past the thoughts that were whirling inside my head. I had to keep looking at what was out there, outside myself, where it was safe. If I didn’t, I would start to see what was hidden inside me. I tried never to see those things, but I knew they were there, just waiting for me to remember them.
I could feel that big bum again, sitting on my head. Get me out of here, I kept thinking. Out of this place. Out of my life.
Chapter Three
When I checked the seating plan at supper, I found out that Chris sat at my table. Another girl named Ellen also sat with us, but she was pretty quiet and didn’t say much. After filling her plate with chili, Fran joined us. I could see Pit Bull at the next table, her eyes glued to the side of my head.
Chris and Ellen started talking about winning the lottery. Whether you live free or locked up, you’ll always find someone dreaming about winning the big one. Chris said, “I’d buy a jeep, but my granny says a car is a waste of money.”
I’d get a car, I thought. A fast car.
Fran nodded. “I’m with your granny. I’d rather spend the money on a trip. I’d go to China.”
Chris shrugged. “My granny would rather go to Bingo.”
Fran got up for a second helping of chili. Man, I thought, I hope she gets off before those beans start kicking in. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pit Bull still watching me. That girl had rabies. “Pit Bull,” I muttered, shifting my chair so I couldn’t see her.
“Huh?” Chris asked, her mouth full. She looked at the way I was turned in my chair, then glanced around and saw Pit Bull. Suddenly she started to laugh so hard that everyone turned to stare at us.
“Do you mind?” I hissed at her. All I needed was Pit Bull thinking I was telling jokes about her behind her back.
With a shrug, Chris calmed down. “Pit Bull,” she said, grinning. “That’s great. You’re a genius, Kelly.”
Just then a beautiful voice came floating up the stairway. I recognized the tune right away. It was one of the old swing songs my mom liked, but I’d never heard anyone sing it like this.
“Sister Mary!” Chris yelled. Jumping up, she ran down the hallway to hug the nun. Since when did nuns hum big band songs?
Coming into the unit, Sister Mary sat down at our table and gave me a grin. “I just came up to see how Kelly was doing. How’s the supper, ladies? I made the chili.”
Girls were crowding around our table. Smiles were everywhere, even on Pit Bull’s face. Sister Mary seemed pretty popular. “I’ve got something for you, Kelly,” she said and handed me a rolled-up poster.
“Sister Mary gives everyone a poster when they come here,” Chris said. “C’mon, open it.”
Everyone’s eyes were on me as I unrolled the poster. It was a picture straight out of a dream — a huge sky with one seagull flying, bright white in the sun. But it was wrecked by the words that ran across the bottom: LOVE YOURSELF. Yeah, right, I thought, studying the poster. Hand someone a pretty picture with a few dumb words on it, and all the problems are solved, right? But I knew better than to say what I was thinking out loud. Faking my best smile, I said, “Thanks.”
Sister Mary looked at me closely. I wondered if she could see the little white bird inside me that wanted to fly out and away. But all she did was smile and stand up. “Is everyone ready for rollerskating?” she asked.
I rolled up the poster and put it in my room. No way was I putting something that corny on my wall. Out in the unit the girls were getting ready to head to the gym for rollerskating. As we started down the stairs, I saw girls from the other two units ahead of us. Beside me walked Chris, grinning her head off. Every now and then she would glance at Pit Bull and laugh softly.
“How many girls are there in this place?” I asked her.
“Thirty. Ten in each unit.” She pointed down a hall. “That’s where the social workers’ offices are.”
Oh great, I thought. Social workers two floors down. We reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into a hallway — the long hall I’d seen from my bedroom window. Girls from the other units were watching me and whispering. I tried not to stare back. I could see Pit Bull close by, talking to girls from another unit. Spreading the word about me, I thought and watched my feet. The hallway seemed to go on forever. Finally a staff unlocked a door at the other end and we passed through.
“That’s the door to the school,” Chris told me. “The gym’s right here.”
We got the skates from the equipment room and put them on. I could hardly wait to get onto the floor. When I was a kid, I took skating lessons. I even won a few contests. I figured I could blow Pit Bull’s mind with my skating and then she would treat me differently. Maybe she would even decide to make me one of her friends. That would make life a lot easier in this place. As soon as I had my skates on I was off, skating as fast as I could. I went around and around that dinky old gym, doing all my best moves.
Sometimes skating works for me. The louder the music, the better. I ride the beat and when I’m moving fast on skates, I almost feel free. As I skated around the Marymound gym, I forgot Pit Bull and all her lousy questions. I kept going around and around, trying to work up more speed. My moves fit me like a glove, and my heavy ugly body felt beautiful. I could tell a lot of the girls were watching. When I passed Pit Bull, she looked away. She was impressed, I could tell.
I could see Chris over by the equipment room, still putting on her skates. If she didn’t get on the floor soon, she was going to miss the whole evening. About my seventh time around the gym, I got tired and slowed down. I was doing circles, going into a back corner, when a group came up behind me. They swarmed me and someone shoved me.
“Pit Bull, eh?” a voice hissed.
My shirt tore, and I stumbled. I put out my hands, but the wall slammed into my shoulder. I think I hit my head — for a second everything went dark. Then the gym came back, but it was pretty quiet. Someone had shut off the music.
“Everyone off the floor,” a staff called.
I was all right, but my shoulder ached and my head hurt. As I turned, three girls skated away from me. Pit Bull was one of them. Breathing hard, I rested against the wall. Fran skated up.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“C’mon over to the equipment room,” she said.
I followed her, saying, “I’m all right, I’m all right.” Another staff called Pit Bull and her friends to the equipment room. As Fran and I skated up to them, my body felt heavy and fat again. I stared at my feet. Someone put the music back on and the other girls started skating. But they were watching me — everyone was watching.
Pit Bull put on big innocent eyes, blinked them a lot and said, “It was an accident!” Then she looked at me and said, “Right, Kelly?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “We just wanted to talk to her, but we got going too fast and bumped into her.”
“Is that right, Kelly?” Fran asked.
“Sure.” I wanted this to be over. Pit Bull ran these girls. It was obvious that she’d told one of her friends to shove me into the wall. I was lucky, really. It could have been a lot worse. If I complained now, who knew what would happen next time? Besides, I didn’t like all these people watching me. I wanted to get some space. Then I saw Pit Bull’s eyes slide down my left arm. I followed her gaze and felt sick. So that was what tore when I was pushed. My left sleeve was ripped. Everyone could see the stitches in my arm. Slowly I pulled one of the torn ends over the cut. No matter how bad things get, I thought, they can always get worse.
“Since you can’t control yourselves, you three ladies are off the floor for the evening,” Fran said, sounding angry. “C’mon — off with the skates.”
After Pit Bull and her friends took off their skates, they left the gym with one of the staff. Great, I thought. Now Pit Bull has another reason to get mad at me. She must have heard Chris giggling about the nickname. Chris was definitely someone I needed to stay away from. Going to the opposite end of the gym, I sat down. I was finished with skating for the evening. All I wanted was for it to end so that I could go back to my room. As I started unlacing my skates, someone sat down beside me.
“Get lost,” I said, without looking up. I meant it too. I was ready to haul off and shove anyone who came too close.
“When Terri does stuff like that to me, I feel like I’m outside.” It was Chris, talking so softly that I could hardly hear her. What was her problem? Couldn’t she take a hint, or didn’t people from Churchill know how to do that? I stared at the skaters, but she kept right on talking. “I feel outside,” she said, “like I’m on the road, out in the cold. Like no one will take me. Like I’ve got no family.”
I shot Chris a sideways glance. Her face looked as sad as an old story, and she kept twisting her hands. Why didn’t she just shut up and go away? This wasn’t her problem.
“Terri makes me feel as if I can’t be who I want to be,” she said, glancing at me.
So what? I wanted to say. I didn’t like talking about sad stuff, and I sure didn’t want to hear about anyone else’s problems. I had enough of my own to keep me busy, thank you. I started snapping my fingers to the music. “Can’t let it get to you.” I shrugged.
“It gets to me,” Chris said, watching the skaters. “Does your arm get itchy? Y’know — when it’s getting better?”
“I guess.” My arm hadn’t had time to get better yet. But then, nothing in my life had ever gotten better.
“I don’t like skating night.” Chris laughed, her voice high and nervous. “Too many people. I’m not a very good skater.”
I finally had to smile. Here was Chris, sitting in a back corner of the gym, keeping an eye on the new girl. She wasn’t dumping her problems on me, she was just trying to make me feel better. And her words were real, not just some dumb saying on a poster.
“C’mon,” I said. “I can show you some moves if you want. It’s easy, once you get going. And now that Pit Bull’s gone, we’ll have lots of room to move around.”
Chapter Four
That night I lay awake for a long time, holding my stuffed bear and staring out the window. On the other side of the wire, the tiny moon looked far away. In my last group home I used to lie in bed and pretend that I could fly to the moon. Like some thin white bird, I would fly up and away, leaving my body behind on the bed. With all that wire crisscrossed over the moon, though, it was hard to pretend. I hate crying. My pillow gets soaked. My nose feels thick as a tree trunk, and I think I’ll never be able to breathe normally again. Why do you have to feel and look like crap at the same time?
My nose was back to normal by the time Fran stuck her head through my doorway in the morning. “Time to get up,” she said cheerfully.
I opened one eye, then closed it. She had on a bright yellow shirt and a big smile. As usual, her curly red hair looked as if it had never met a comb.
“Don’t you get enough of this place?” I groaned. “Are you always here?”
Fran laughed. “Nah, you just got lucky. Washroom’s to your left, in case you forgot.”
I dragged myself to the washroom and looked in the mirror. My hair looked just like Fran’s. It’s short and blond and usually looks like the morning after. I stuck it under a tap to calm it down.
Without looking up, I knew when Pit Bull came into the washroom. I could feel her standing there, just looking at me. I figured I couldn’t let Pit Bull think she could scare me. Very slowly, I picked up my towel, walked up to her and looked her in the eye.
“Slasher, eh?” she said softly.
I felt my face heat up, but I kept looking her right in the eye.
“Okay, Terri and Kelly — let’s get moving!” It was Fran. They watched you pretty close in this place, but for once it was a relief. Without saying anything, I walked around Pit Bull and straight to my room.
Before school, Fran called me into the office. As I came in I saw Pit Bull sitting on a small couch, staring at the wall. “Terri has something to say to you,” Fran said.
Pit Bull cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I bumped into you and tore your shirt,” she said politely to the wall. She didn’t even look at me. I thought about letting her wait for the wall to give her an answer. But if I acted like that, I would never get out of this place.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, just as politely, to the same wall.
Without looking at me, Pit Bull stood up and shoved a note at me. It was a written apology. “So, can I go now?” she asked, turning to Fran. “I did what you said.”
Fran sighed. “Sure, Terri. Off you go.” Leaning out the door, she called out, “Everyone ready for school?”
My first class was math. I sat by the window. More wire between me and the sky, I thought. Leaves blew past the window, blurring into a long yellow streak. I blinked quickly and everything sorted itself out. You’re useless, I thought to myself. Crying will get you nowhere except s
tuck inside your crazy no-good head.
There was a knock at the door and then Fran popped her head in. She whispered something to the teacher.
“Kelly, you’ve got a meeting with your social worker,” the teacher told me.
Not another one, I thought, following Fran. Sometimes it seemed as if I was always talking to social workers and counselors, people asking me questions. And I’d get the feeling they all knew my secret. That was the worst feeling of all — when I thought they could read my mind. As we walked, my stomach started to hurt. Fran turned into the social workers’ hallway and knocked on a door.
“C’mon in,” said a man’s voice. I went stiff. I always need extra time to get ready if I’m walking into a room with a man in it. I followed Fran through the door.
“Hello, Kelly,” said the man at the desk. “Remember me? I’m Jim.” He was the man who’d chased me down the street and taken my pet rock.
I sat down in one of the chairs and made myself look at him. “Oh yeah,” I said.
A tiny smile picked up a corner of Jim’s mouth. “How are things going?” he asked. “I hear you had a bit of a rough time last night in the gym.”
“So?” I looked him right in the eye without blinking. If I thought of him as part of the wall — a part that talked — nothing he said would matter.
He was looking at me thoughtfully. “You think you’re a tough kid, don’t you, Kelly?”
“I’m not going to tell you what I think,” I said.
It got so quiet that I could almost hear the thoughts in Jim’s head. He had very large eyebrows that jumped around a lot, and he was half-bald. He looked all right, as if he could take a joke. I had to work hard to keep thinking of him as part of the wall.
Finally he said, “Thinking is the most private thing you can do.”
That surprised me, but all I did was shrug and say, “I guess.”
Jim talked about the different programs they ran at Marymound, and then he cleared his throat. I could tell that he was getting to the important stuff. Social workers don’t like to come to the point right away. They try to make you relax first. That means you get to sit on pins and needles until they tell you the real reason you’re in their office.