Inferno

by Robin Stevenson

  So when Mr. Lawson calls me Emily again, I kind of lose it.

  “You know, I’d like you to use my real name,” I say. “It’s not that much to ask.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Total sarcasm. “Dante. As I was saying, if you could be so good as to share with the class your thoughts on the topic at hand...”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I say, equally sarcastic. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention and I have no idea what the topic at hand was.”

  He strokes his mustache. I can tell he is totally enjoying this.

  “Do you intend to pass this class, Miss Griffin? Because it seems unlikely if you don’t start paying a little more attention.”

  I try to recall whether he has even said anything about class participation marks. “I thought we were graded on our papers and exams. Not our attentiveness.”

  The classroom was dead silent.

  “Miss Griffin,” he snaps. “I’ve had enough of your attitude. I suggest you discuss it with Mrs. Greenway down at the office.”

  I should stop, but I can’t. “Why? Don’t we have a right to know what our grades are based on? Because I don’t remember seeing attitude mentioned on the course outline either.”

  “Miss Griffin.” He stands up and steps toward me.

  “I’ll write a kick-ass paper,” I say. “And I’ll write a kick-ass exam too. Go ahead and fail me, but I’ll be asking to have my grade reviewed.”

  Someone behind me draws a sharp breath and someone else stifles a nervous giggle.

  Mr. Lawson’s face turns red. “Get. Out. Now.”

  I stand up and face him. “I’m already gone.”

  Mrs. Greenway sighs when I walk in.

  “Oh dear,” she says. “Dante. What happened this time?”

  I feel shaky. I sit down in the big chair and rest one ankle across my other knee. For a minute I don’t say anything. Then I shake my head. “I’m not going back to that class.”

  She just waits.

  “I hate it,” I say. “He’s a bully.”

  Mrs. Greenway pats her big hair thoughtfully. She takes off her reading glasses and lets them dangle from a cord around her neck. Then she looks at me and frowns. “So,” she says, “what are you going to do?”

  I don’t say anything for a minute. English is a required subject. I wish Mrs. Greenway taught it. One whole wall of her office is lined with bookshelves. Mostly hardcover books about teaching and leadership, but some other stuff mixed in there too: Jane Austen novels; a whole bunch of books by George Orwell; Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, which I read at my old school and loved. “I don’t know,” I say at last. “I just don’t want to be here anymore. Especially in that class.”

  “It’s only the first week. It’ll get better.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’ll get worse.”

  She sighs. “You are way too bright to even think about dropping out.”

  As if my parents would ever let me. “Isn’t there another English class I could transfer to?”

  “It’s not that straightforward. If I switched students’ classes every time someone complained about a teacher, it’d be chaos.” Her mouth twitches a bit. “Well, you can probably imagine.”

  “Yeah. Mr. Lawson’s class would be empty.”

  She says nothing, which I take to be confirmation. It helps to know I’m not the only one who can’t stand him. “So I’m stuck with him?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she says. “What exactly happened in class?”

  “Same old thing that happened all last year. He got on my case, I mouthed off.”

  “Can’t you just...bite your tongue? Think what you want but keep it inside?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be one of my strengths, Mrs. G.”

  “It’s only the first week, but you know, if things don’t improve, there are alternatives. Maybe we should talk about them.”

  My heart is still racing from my argument with Mr. Lawson. I’m not in the mood to talk about anything. Mrs. Greenway rattles on about some other program, independent studies, self-directed learning, blah blah blah. It still sounds like school, and all I want is to be as far away from school as possible.

  SEVEN

  With all the crap at school, I manage to forget all about the stupid social skills group.

  Unfortunately, Mom does not. She’s done everything but pick out my outfit for me. Seriously. She’s gotten me a little notebook and a new pen and packed me a snack like I’m one of her kindergarten students.

  “Mom? I just had dinner. I don’t need a snack.”

  She sighs. “I wish you hadn’t cut your hair so short.”

  “Yeah, well. Too late now.”

  “Can’t you at least wear something other than those old jeans? You know, you only get one chance to make a good first impression.”

  “Mom...,” I say warningly.

  “Okay, okay.” She forces a smile. “Let’s go.”

  I reluctantly follow her out to the car.

  Mom unlocks the doors and gets in. “How are you feeling? Looking forward to it?”

  I roll my eyes behind her back. “No, Mom. I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  She sighs again. “Well, try to have a positive attitude.”

  I buckle up my seatbelt, feeling trapped. I wonder what Mom would do if I said I wasn’t going to go to school anymore. I mean, she can’t make me go, right? If I just refused...Though I suppose she could make my life pretty miserable. I stare out the window and wish I were anywhere else.

  Mom pulls into a parking lot. “I’ll be back in two hours!” she says cheerfully.

  The group meeting appears to be in the basement of a church. Mom hadn’t mentioned that, probably because she knows how I feel about organized religion. I like churches about as much as I like schools. All these places where someone stands at the front of a room and tells everyone what they ought to think.

  I don’t bother waving. I trudge through the doors and down the stairs and into a small, brightly lit room. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. That’s from the Inferno. It’s the inscription on the gates of hell. In the poem, the first thing Dante sees when he passes through the gates are the Opportunists, the souls of people who didn’t care about good or evil but were basically just out for themselves.

  The first thing I see when I enter the room is a curly-haired woman in a flowered dress.

  “Hello!” Her voice is so high it sounds like she’s been sucking back helium. “And welcome! You’re new, so you must be Emily.”

  “Dante,” I say. “Dante Griffin.”

  Flowered Dress Woman frowns down at her clipboard. “That’s funny...It says here...”

  I ignore her. Because sitting there, along with half a dozen other girls, is Parker.

  I don’t get a chance to talk to her right away. Flowered Dress finally clues in that Emily Griffin and Dante Griffin are one and the same and ushers me over to the circle of girls.

  “This is...” She breaks off, still a bit confused about who I actually am.

  “Dante,” I say firmly. “Hi.”

  No one says anything. I guess I shouldn’t have high expectations given that I’m in Social Skills 101. But Parker winks at me from across the circle and flashes me a grin. She’s wearing black today, and it makes her white-blond hair and fair skin look spooky pale. She sits with her legs crossed twice, knee over knee, one ankle tucked back behind the other leg. Her limbs look as thin and bendy as pipe cleaners.

  Flowered Dress introduces herself as Shelley and says how thrilled she is to be here and what an honor it is to share in our journeys. I try not to throw up.

  “Well,” she says, slowing down as she finishes her spiel, “since we have a new member tonight”—big smile in my direction—”shall we start off with introductions?”

  Silence from the group. Parker crosses her eyes at me.

  “I’ll start us off, shall I?” Shelley says.

  She’s just like my mother—giving a little prompt that tell
s you how to answer. But even with her cues, we are a dismal failure. We all say nothing.

  “My name is Shelley,” she says again, beaming at us. “I’m your group leader and I’ve been running this group for the last two years. I love my work, and I’m very happy to be here with you all.”

  Parker catches my eye and makes a gagging gesture.

  Shelley pretends not to notice. “Jasmine, why don’t you go next?”

  A heavy girl with short blond hair sniffs loudly. “Uh, I’m Jasmine.”

  “And can you tell us a little about yourself, Jasmine?”

  “Uh, like what?”

  “Anything you would like to share.” Shelley’s smile hasn’t even flickered yet. It’s sort of impressive, in a creepy and slightly depressing way.

  There is a long, long silence.

  “Jasmine?”

  “What?”

  “Did you want to say anything else? About yourself?”

  “No.”

  I look at my watch and blow out a long breath. Two minutes down, one hundred and eighteen to go. I glance at Parker, who is chipping off her pale blue nail polish with an expression of intense concentration. I wonder what the hell she is doing here.

  When it is my turn to introduce myself, I say, “Hi. I’m Dante. I’m in grade eleven at GRSS.” Then I look right at Parker. “Good to see you again.”

  Parker ignores the rest of the group. “Hey, Dante,” she says. “I’d have called you, but I never got your number.”

  Shelley’s smile is finally starting to wilt. “Parker, can you introduce yourself to the group? Please?”

  “We’ll talk at break,” Parker says to me. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  After the introductions, Shelley sets a bunch of flowers on a table in the middle of the circle.

  “I’ve got a special opening exercise for us today,” she says, fussing over the arrangement. “I think you’ll like this one. And it’ll help you all to get to know each other better.”

  I glance around the circle. There are seven of us: Parker, myself, the heavy sniffing girl called Jasmine, a thin dark-haired girl whose name I can’t remember but whose mouthful of orthodontia (complete with head gear) explains her social problems, a redhead with a paisley bandana, a short-haired girl with dark eyes and brown skin, and a serious-faced girl with straight blond hair to her waist. Sylvie, Nicki and Claire, the last three are called.

  “Now, everyone gets to choose a flower,” Shelley says. “Dante, would you like to go first?”

  I don’t have a good feeling about this. What exactly are we going to do with the flowers? Some kind of art activity, maybe? I take the flower that is closest to me. It appears to be some kind of daisy.

  Parker stands up next. She gazes at the flowers as if she is thinking deeply and takes a red rose.

  One by one, the other girls each choose a flower. Then we all turn to Shelley to see what we are supposed to do next.

  Her smile has recovered now that we are all blindly following her instructions. “I’d like you each to say a few words about why you chose the flowers you did...what does your choice say about who you are?”

  Nicki snorts loudly.

  Shelley ignores her and looks at me hopefully. “Dante? Would you like to start?”

  I want to laugh, but I feel kind of embarrassed for Shelley, so I give her a lame smile. “Yeah, whatever.” I glance down at my daisy. “I just took the closest flower. I didn’t know it was supposed to mean something.”

  Shelley sighs.

  Claire smoothes her long hair with one pale hand. “May I go next, Shelley? To help Dante understand how these exercises work?”

  Across from me, Parker crosses her eyes. She pulls a petal off her rose, sticks it in her mouth and starts chewing slowly.

  She’s so beautiful. Sitting there, all in black, with that rose in her hand, she looks almost unreal. Like a photograph or a painting or an actress from an old movie. I just want to stare at her, but I drag my eyes away and look down at the flower in my hands. No doubt Parker is straight, but I think I might have a bit of a crush on her anyway. I push the thought aside, twirl my daisy between my fingers and tuck it behind one ear.

  Claire leans toward me, ignoring my daisy. “I chose the pansy because it hides its beautiful bright colors at its center. At first glance, it looks drab and dark. But if you take a closer look—if you take the time to get to explore it—then you see the amazing hues hidden within.” She smiles at me. “See? I’m like that too. Once you get to know me. That’s why I chose it.”

  “And ‘cause she’s a fucking pansy herself,” Nicki informs me.

  “Nicki. That’s enough.” Shelley’s voice sounds sharp for a moment, almost confident; then her nervous manner returns. “Uh, Parker? How about you go next?”

  Parker plucks another petal and eats it. “I love roses,” she says. “Love ‘em.”

  At the break Parker grabs my arm and pulls me outside. We sit down on a cold cement barrier in the parking lot and she lights a cigarette.

  “Brutal, isn’t it?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “It’s something, all right.”

  She exhales a cloud of smoke into the darkness.

  I look at her curiously. “How come you’re here? I mean, my mom made me come, but your parents don’t even make you go to school.”

  “Yeah. I don’t even live with them.”

  “Seriously?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah. I have my own place.”

  “You do? Seriously?” I sound like an idiot but jeez. She’s the same age as I am.

  “Yeah. Well, with my boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend. It figures.

  Parker holds her cigarette close to the webbed part of her fingers, so that her mouth is hidden by her hand every time she takes a drag. “I still see my parents every week though. We had this deal when I moved out—they help out with the rent and I have to keep seeing my counselor.” She wrinkles her nose. “And my counselor wanted me to do this group.”

  I’m kind of surprised. I didn’t think Parker let anyone tell her what to do. “I said I’d come twice,” I tell her. “But that’s it.”

  “It’s not so bad. I mean, it’s pretty lame, but, you know, whatever. Shelley’s all right. She means well.”

  “God, Parker. You sound like my mother.”

  She laughs. Then she pulls a pen out of her pocket. “You have any paper? Give me your phone number. Jamie and I don’t have a phone, but I’ll call you.”

  I check my pockets, but I didn’t bring any paper either.

  Parker hands me the pen and holds out her arm, palm up. “Here. Just write it on my arm.”

  I steady her wrist with my left hand and write my phone number on the pale underside of her forearm. Her arm is thin and muscular, the blue veins visible through the skin. “You know that thing we talked about? Stealing that sign?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you done it yet? You know, with your friends?”

  “No. We were talking about doing it Sunday night though.” She grins at me, the corners of her mouth lifting to make two neat creases. “Did you change your mind, Dante? You want to come along?”

  I hold my breath for a second. I’ve never really done anything like this. Not even close. I mean, I’ve never even shoplifted a chocolate bar or scrawled graffiti on a bathroom wall. So this is a bit of a leap.

  “Come with me.” Parker drops her cigarette butt on the ground. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  I nod slowly. “Okay. I’ll come.”

  “Awesome. I’ll pick you up.” She high-fives me; then she laughs. “I always figured you would. That day I met you, you know, when we talked about your school being like something out of the movies...”

  “I know. I felt like you’d been reading my journal, it was so exactly what I thought.”

  She laughs again.

  I feel all warm and relaxed, sitting here with her. I feel like Parker gets me, even more than Beth did. And the more I get to
know her, the more I like her. “Hey, Parker?” I say. “I can’t stand it at school. I mean, I’ve only been back there for a week, but it’s hell. I feel like I’m wasting my life.”

  Parker nods. “That’s the problem with making education mandatory. If you could study and learn what you wanted instead of what the state decides you should be programmed with...”

  “Well, I’m sixteen. So technically it isn’t mandatory, right? I could quit.”

  “Sure. But you’ve had, what, eleven years of school where you’ve had no say at all. Don’t you think that is part of how you feel now? Like, that resentment just builds?”

  “Maybe. But what about you? Why’d you drop out?”

  “I didn’t want to support a system I didn’t believe in,” she says.

  “But...” I don’t quite know what it is I need to ask. “What does it feel like, just to drop out?”

  “I don’t regret it,” Parker says slowly. “But...well, lately I’ve been wondering what to do.”

  Shelley is calling us to come back in, but we ignore her.

  “Are you thinking about going back to school?” I ask her.

  Her face is pale in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Maybe. I don’t see how I can, really.” She sighs. “Don’t say anything to Jamie, okay? If you meet him Sunday night.”

  “No. Course not. But...well, why would you go back?”

  “I don’t know. I probably won’t anyway.”

  Shelley calls us again. Parker gets up. “We’d better go in before she has a stroke.”

  I follow her to the door and look down the stairs to the brightly lit room. “Another whole hour of this...”

  “I hope she’s brought more flowers. I’m still a little hungry.”

  I laugh, but inside I feel all churned up and unsettled. I can’t imagine telling my parents that I want to drop out. I can just hear my mom. Emily, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t mean that, do you? No, Mom. Of course I don’t.

  Parker skips lightly down the steps, and I follow. I’m already trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of the house to meet her on Sunday.