The History of Hilary Hambrushina

by Marnie Lamb

  “No one I know except Heather Banks. And most of the new people look like geeks. But there is one person. Amber Valentino. She’s part of Chanel’s group. She’ll be the only one worth getting to know.”

  I saw Kallie raise her eyebrows. Lynn continued, “Oh, you know what, Hil? I noticed Amber was wearing lipstick and mascara. We should start wearing some, too.”

  I wasn’t enthusiastic. How was I going to hide makeup from my mother? “I don’t know. Do we have to?”

  “If Chanel and her friends wear makeup and we want to be friends with them, it’ll look weird if we don’t, too.”

  “O.K. then.”

  “Great. I’ll get some stuff from Morgan and we can put it on tomorrow before homeroom.” She sighed. “I’m so glad there’s someone decent in my homeroom.”

  “I don’t think that’s very fair,” Kallie said quietly.

  “Excuse me?” said Lynn.

  “I don’t think it’s fair to say that no one else in your class is ‘decent’ just because they’re not friends with Chanel. How do you think they’d feel if they heard that?”

  “I don’t care,” Lynn scoffed.

  “Kallie, just let it go, O.K.?” I said.

  But she didn’t. “And what makes you think you’re so much better than everyone else? Maybe the other people in the class think you’re a geek.”

  Lynn scowled. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’ll talk to you later, Hil.”

  As she flounced off, I shot Kallie a did-you-have-to-do-that look. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Hil, but how would you like it if someone said the only decent person in our homeroom was Chanel?”

  “I’d agree,” I shot back. Then I remembered that Kallie had been picked on very badly not too long ago, so it was natural she’d be sensitive about these things.

  I said more calmly, “Kallie, can’t you just try to get along with Lynn?”

  She stared down at her half-eaten pita. “All right, I’ll stop picking fights with her. But I was nice to her at your house, and every time I said something, she was sarcastic. So I don’t know what more I can do.”

  “Maybe if you and Lynn found something you both liked.” And then I thought of Lynn’s CDs. She’d never asked for them back, so I supposed I was free to lend them to someone else. The first had crashed and burned, but I told Kallie I’d bring the other for her tomorrow. (Vaporized by Love by The Hyperactive Lilys — I can’t believe I ever liked them.) “I think you’ll really like it,” I said hopefully, trying to convince myself.

  She looked at me for a long time. “All right, I’ll listen to the CD. But the planet of friendship rotates both ways.”

  “Huh?”

  “She has to try, too.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” Then the bell rang and we were caught in the tide of students heading to yet another class.

  The next morning, I handed Kallie the CD as we waited for the bus. I was even more uncertain about her reaction than I’d been yesterday. I wasn’t sure screechy pop songs about lost love would be Kallie’s thing. But I figured I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

  When we got to school, I went to the washroom to meet Lynn. Morgan had given her a tube of lipstick and one of mascara, and Lynn gave me a quick lesson on how to use them. According to Lynn, every lipstick had its own taste. This one supposedly tasted like melted chocolate. I thought it tasted more like melted plastic, but whatever. She was the expert. She applied the lipstick like a makeup artist, then brushed on the mascara in a few expert strokes. But when it was my turn, my hands shook and I had to keep blotting and starting over. Finally I managed to draw a red mouth on my lips and apply a generous quantity of mascara to my thin eyelashes.

  I turned to Lynn. “What do you think?” I asked, grinning.

  The noise she made was a cross between a snort and a sneeze. “Look at yourself.”

  I squinted at the cracked mirror and gasped in horror. It looked like someone had taken a fly swatter and crushed several large bugs on my mouth and eyelids. I wet a paper towel and was dabbing frantically at my face when the bell rang. Lynn grabbed her knapsack.

  “Lynn, no! You can’t go!” I wailed.

  “Hil, my homeroom’s downstairs. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late and I’ll get a detention.”

  “Who cares! You can’t leave me looking like this!”

  She reached for a dry paper towel and said, “Here. Hold still.” She wiped my mouth with the towel and told me to look in the mirror. When I did so, I let out a cry. The lipstick had migrated to my cheeks and jaw, leaving long red streaks like the marks made by old, hard erasers.

  Tears welled up in my eyes as the bell rang a second time.

  “I have to go!” Lynn said, heading for the door. “Whatever you do, don’t cry! It’ll look worse!”

  She was right. Already I could see black trickling from the corners of my eyes. I forced the tears back, wet the towel, and rubbed my face viciously. Then I glanced in the mirror. My cheeks were rosy and my eyelashes unnaturally clumped together, but at least most of the makeup was gone.

  I slunk into homeroom just as the door was being closed. The entire class looked at me. Kallie’s mouth opened, several girls including Tiffany giggled, and even Mr. Benson looked startled, which made me feel really stupid.

  The makeup didn’t wear off over the day, so before I went home I spent fifteen minutes in the washroom scrubbing my face, my heart slamming against my chest like a basketball at the thought of my mom finding out. I vowed never to take such a useless risk again.

  But the next morning, Lynn convinced me that all I needed was practice, and when I put on the lipstick (I wasn’t touching the mascara again) I had to admit that I did look like I had fewer dead insects pasted to my face. And by Monday morning, I’d improved enough to decide I looked tolerable. I strode into homeroom, feeling prepared to face whatever junior high had to throw at me.

  The first thing that hit me in the face was a C on my math quiz. But when I overheard Chanel say to Burgundy, “I got a D+, but who cares,” I felt a bit better. And my mood improved when Miss Stephanopoulos handed back our descriptions in English. Nine out of ten! My creativity was returning.

  As I was contemplating this, Miss Stephanopoulos said, “There was one ten out of ten, so I’d like to invite that person to read her description for the class. Kallie, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  My cheeks flushed as Kallie stepped proudly to the front of the classroom and read the description of her room. Yeah, you remember. The room with the ceiling painted like the night sky and the hammock instead of a bed. That got a few snickers from Chanel and her friends. But fortunately nothing else happened.

  As we left the class and headed for lunch, I couldn’t get rid of the nervous feeling I’d had when Miss Stephanopoulos asked Kallie to read. Could Lynn be right? Would Kallie be a problem for me? I knew she wouldn’t purposely do anything to embarrass me. It was what she’d do accidentally that worried me.

  I was wondering how to mention this to Kallie, when she said, “I hope you don’t mind, Hil, but I invited someone else to have lunch with us today.”

  “What?” I demanded. I didn’t think Kallie knew anyone here other than me.

  “When you were in the bathroom with Lynn, I noticed this girl standing in the hall. No one was talking to her and she looked kind of sad, so I went up to her and invited her to lunch. There she is.”

  She pointed to where a thin familiar-looking girl with scraggly hair was sitting with her head bowed over a paper bag. It couldn’t be … but then the girl raised her head. It was! Kallie wanted to have lunch with —

  “Marcia Williams?” I said loudly and slowly. You remember Marcia — the girl everyone picked on at my old school.

  “Yes, Marcia.”

  “We can’t have lunch with her!” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s…” But what was I supposed to say? Because she’s a loser nobody likes? That would only make Kallie more determined to sit wi
th her.

  Kallie was staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I sputtered out the first thing that came to mind. “Because she’s a horrible person. She went to my elementary school, and she was really mean to me. She said … she asked if I’d ever been arrested for smuggling watermelons in my sweater.”

  Kallie glanced across the cafeteria. “She doesn’t look like the type to say something like that.”

  “Well, you can’t judge a book by its cover, Kallie,” I huffed.

  “No, you can’t,” she said, looking at me in a way that made me nervous. “All right, I guess I’ll just tell her we won’t be sitting with her. Find a table and I’ll join you.”

  “You’re not going to tell her what I said, are you?”

  “Why not? I have to tell her something.”

  “Well, it’s … it’s just really embarrassing. I don’t want to bring all that stuff up again. Make up some other excuse. Say … you have to go to the library or something. Please, Kallie?”

  Her voice was stony. “Fine. I’ll make up another excuse.”

  I watched as Kallie went up to Marcia. Marcia smiled, but when Kallie started talking, the smile quickly disappeared. I straightened my shoulders and went to find a table before Kallie could turn around.

  We didn’t talk much at lunch, but as we were finishing, she said, “Oh, I brought back the CD. I’ll give it to you before class. I loved it!”

  For a second, I thought she was joking. But her expression said otherwise.

  “Really?” I gasped.

  “Yes. That lead singer… What a powerful voice. So emotional, so … clarion.”

  “Clarion?”

  “Clear as a bell. Shrill, agonizing, but exquisite. I’m definitely going to buy some of their other CDs. Thanks for lending it to me, and tell Lynn thanks, too.”

  I was impressed. Kallie had found something to like about Vaporized by Love. Maybe a peace treaty was possible after all.

  After school, I returned Lynn’s CDs to her in the washroom, where we were transforming our faces back into mother-acceptable mode.

  “By the way, I lent The Hyperactive Lilys to Kallie,” I said. “She really liked it.”

  “What?” said Lynn hotly, as if I’d told her I’d shredded my Rodeo Drive sweater. “How could you lend this to Kallie?”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Well, I do. This is my CD. I don’t want you lending it to anyone without my permission, especially Kallie. Is that clear?” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry. I just thought that if Kallie listened to the CD, you guys might have more in common and you might become friends.”

  “Get it through your head, Hilary. I don’t want to be friends with her!”

  The emphatic way she’d spoken made me defensive. “Well maybe I don’t want to wear this stupid makeup!”

  “So fine don’t wear it then. I don’t care!” She turned away and applied a Kleenex to her eyelashes. Obviously she doesn’t care, I thought angrily. I grabbed my knapsack.

  “See you in art tomorrow,” I said, heading for the door.

  “No you won’t.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  “I’m not taking art. I signed up for home ec instead.”

  I must’ve stood there for a full ten seconds with my lips round as a donut. “Why?”

  “I’ve heard it’s an easier course. Besides, anyone who’s anyone will be taking home ec.”

  It was hard to argue with that. “But I thought you liked art. You’re so good at it.”

  “I’m O.K., but I’m not as good as you. I guess I’m just not that interested in it.”

  I hung my head. Now I felt guilty about fighting with Lynn, like her decision not to take art was my fault. “This is because of the CD, right?” I said.

  “How could it be because of the CD? You just gave me the CD right now.”

  I frowned and began to wonder whether maybe I shouldn’t feel responsible. “But this means we won’t have any classes together.”

  “Why don’t you take home ec, Hil? I overheard Amber saying she was going to take it, and that probably means Chanel will, too.”

  I hesitated. “I already signed up for art.”

  “It’s not too late, the guidance office is probably still open. Tell them you made a mistake.”

  I was sorely tempted. Being in a class with Lynn and Chanel was a big motivation. But what would Kallie say? We’d already made so many plans for art this year. In the end, though, it was the thought of my collage that decided it.

  “But I want to take art,” I said.

  Lynn shrugged. “Fine. Ready to go?”

  I checked my lips in the mirror one last time. As we headed for the bus stop, I thought about what had just happened. Lynn had never said she’d choose art, but I’d assumed she would. And for some reason, I felt betrayed.

  “So how’s junior high, Hilary?” asked Dad at dinner that night.

  I swallowed. Normally my dad didn’t ask too many questions, but this past week, he’d been bombarding me every time he saw me. It was like he’d never heard of junior high before I went there.

  Tonight I wasn’t any more in the mood to answer questions than I had been for the last few days. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but the last thing I wanted after a day of listening to Mr. Benson drone on about decimals or of noticing how all the guys, even the nerds, looked at Chanel was to replay the whole thing for my parents.

  I looked down at my plate and mumbled, “O.K.”

  “How’s your English class?” Dad said.

  “Fine.” The clink of my milk glass against my plate sounded loud.

  “How did you do with that creative writing assignment?” he continued. “The one where you had to write a description of your room?”

  “Why are you asking so many questions? I thought Mom was the nosy one.”

  “Don’t talk that way about your mother.”

  “It’s O.K., George,” said Mom. “Hilary, we’re just interested in your schoolwork.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m not. I’m finished.” I pushed away my plate and stood up.

  “Wait!” called Dad, as I left the room. “It’s your turn to wash the dishes!”

  I was about to yell back that the dishes could sprout legs and run off to Whitehorse for all I cared when I heard Mom say, “Let her go.”

  I had my first art class the next day. It didn’t start off well when I walked in and the first person I saw was Marcia. But finding out that Miss Stephanopoulos was our teacher made me feel warm inside. And hearing about the art fair made me feel even better.

  “Just before Christmas, Mackenzie will host an art fair,” Miss Stephanopoulos said. “An art fair is exactly like a science fair, except that instead of building something that can be used by other people, like a machine, you build something that expresses your viewpoint on a specific theme. But in both kinds of fairs, it’s important to be creative and original.”

  We were all going to make something, in groups of three to five people, that would be presented and judged at the art fair. Even better, we were allowed to choose our own group and topic. Seventh and eighth graders from all over Toronto would be participating, and the judges were giving out medals for the best project. All Teen TV was even going to do an interview with the winners!

  As the bell rang, Miss Stephanopoulos said, “Please have your groups chosen by Friday so you can get started right away. We won’t always have class time to work on it.”

  I thought Kallie would be really excited about the art fair, but as we headed to the caf, she was subdued. After we sat down, I asked her what was wrong.

  She looked up at me. “Why did you lie about Marcia?” she asked softly. “I asked her whether she ever said that thing about the watermelons, and she said no.”

  My lips parted. “She’s lying!”

  “No she’s not. I could tell by the way she looked when I asked her, like someone had just ripped up her favourite drawing. Just like I can tell yo
u’re lying by the way your neck is red and your lips are wobbling.”

  I felt the red flow up into my cheeks. “O.K., you’re right. I lied. I didn’t want to have lunch with her, and I couldn’t think of another way out of it.”

  “Why didn’t you want to have lunch with her?”

  I sighed. “Because she’s weird! She doesn’t have any friends. That should tell you something.” But my voice faltered as I spoke. Kallie’s eyes became slits. “Her mom’s on welfare, she’s no good at anything in school, and the way she dresses is … pernicious,” I said, thinking of a word my dad often used when describing the government. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it must be an insult.

  “No offense, but that’s a dumb reason not to sit with someone at lunch, just because she dresses in a different way than you do. Besides, if her mom’s on welfare, how can she afford the kind of clothes you wear?” I didn’t answer. “And I dress differently than you do, but you’re still my friend.”

  “That’s different. O.K., some things about you are kind of weird. But you’re interesting and smart. You have a personality. Marcia doesn’t.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever really talked to her?”

  “No, but it’s a well-known fact, Kallie. People who are quiet are boring.”

  “Funny. I’ve always observed that people who are quiet usually have way more to say than people who are always flapping their gums.” She looked across the room to where Chanel and her friends were laughing hysterically.

  I didn’t answer, and she said, “I’m very disappointed you lied, Hil.” She unwrapped her zucchini bread and began nibbling at it. We ate lunch in silence.

  That night, I sat in my beanbag chair and stared at the ceiling. Junior high wasn’t exactly turning out the way I’d hoped. I had a C average in math, Lynn and I didn’t have any classes together, and she hated Kallie more than ever. I supposed there was no hope now that they’d be friends, and I was beginning to wonder how I could’ve been stupid enough to think that was possible. They were totally different. It would be like mixing Cheezies with Double Peanut Fudge Deluxe Supreme. It would taste disgusting. From now on, I’d have to visit the Republic of Foster and the Monarchy of Avery on separate days.