Say It Out Loud

by Allison Varnes

My heart races off to break somewhere far away from here, leaving me reeling. The warmth rises up my face until it reaches my eyes, and then they’re leaking and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Hello, I asked you a qu-qu-qu-question—” Punch.

  I choke back a sob. I’ve been so careful not to let anyone hear me stutter. I don’t get loud, I try to speak slowly, and when all that fails, I don’t talk unless I really have to. I haven’t been in class with those two since second grade, but I guess they forgot. And none of that matters now because I’ve just announced that I’m different.

  Maddie squeezes my arm. “LEAVE. US. ALONE!” she yells.

  Josh stops laughing. “Wait! Shh! Shh!” he says, putting his finger to his lips. “Listen!” After a second he says, “That’s weird. I thought I heard something just now. Did you hear it?”

  “Nope,” Tristan says with a shrug. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

  The loudspeaker crackles. “You all need to settle down, or every person on this bus is going straight to the principal’s office,” the bus driver says. “I mean it!”

  That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, all things considered. Punch.

  The gears groan as the bus chugs up the drive to the drop-off area, and we roll to a halt. Stop crying, you baby. Stop it! I can’t even see because my tears have steamed up my glasses. As I take them off and wipe them on my jeans, I realize that the punching has finally ended. I put on my glasses and see the boys standing over us, sneering.

  Tristan says, “Aw, now I feel bad. Yeah, you’re the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen, but there’s no reason to c-c-cry about it.”

  Josh high-fives him, and they exit the bus.

  I breathe in a ragged breath and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I don’t even care if it’s gross. I’m ugly and everyone knows it, so what does it even matter if I have snot on my shirt?

  “You okay?” Maddie asks.

  I sniffle. No. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again. “Yeah, you?”

  “Okay.”

  If only Maddie had just stayed out of it yesterday, things might’ve worked out. If Josh and Tristan hadn’t come after her, if I hadn’t tried to help, I wouldn’t be feeling like this right now.

  Maddie pats my shoulder.

  I shrink back from her. I don’t know what to say.

  The halls are rowdy as usual as we walk to homeroom together. Maddie steals a few glances at me, her eyes full of worry. I walk as close to the wall as I can to force some distance between us. She’s practically staring at me when all I want to do is disappear.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head and wipe my eyes on my sleeve. I don’t ever talk about stuttering with Maddie. I’ve never had to because she totally ignores it when it happens. There are no questions, no imitations. She listens to what I’m saying instead of how I say it. I’ve never had to explain myself because I think she gets that I would be embarrassed. Why would I want to start explaining now?

  Maddie’s shoulders fall. “Okay,” she says, and darts another concerned glance at me. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” She sets her jaw. “And you are not ugly.”

  We fall silent. We don’t talk about musical theater or Wicked or doing the right thing. None of it matters. Not really.

  “I, uh, gotta go,” I say, heading for the bathroom. “See ya in homeroom.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “P-p-please, just go ahead without me.”

  I dart inside and turn on the faucet at the nearest sink. I splash cold water onto my face and wipe my swollen, red eyes with a paper towel. I don’t know why I’m even bothering. It’s going to take forever for my face to go back to normal because my eyes are still leaking. Great. Way to go, Charlotte. It’s just words. Stupid words from stupid boys who don’t even know me.

  Then why does it feel like so much more than that?

  I walk into homeroom and take my seat. I try not to look at anyone with my splotchy face, but it’s pointless. The guy in front of me turns around and says, “Whoa, who died?”

  I think part of me did. I cover my face with my hand and look down.

  I broke a major middle school rule. Never let them see you cry.

  * * *

  By the time English begins, I’m an even bigger mess. I want to find a corner and sob, to tell someone what happened. But I can’t tell anyone. My heart starts hammering faster. If I squeal, it will just make it worse. I swallow hard. I can’t imagine it being worse than this morning. I don’t even know if I can ride the bus again. My stomach churns just thinking about it.

  Ms. Harper places a note on my desk with my name and a dolphin sticker on it as she passes out papers.

  I stare down at the unfamiliar writing. It has to be from a teacher if Ms. Harper gave it to me. My mouth goes dry. I glare at the smiling dolphin sticker, knowing I’m not going to like what’s inside. With shaking fingers, I tear open the envelope and read:

  Hi, Charlotte!

  I’m your new speech teacher, Ms. Garrett! I’m so excited that we’ll be working together this year! I would love to meet you soon. Why don’t you swing by my library office during homeroom tomorrow and say hello? It’s going to be a GREAT year!

  See you soon,

  Ms. Garrett

  My eyes fill with hot tears. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? I crumple the note into a ball and make it as tiny as I can. My throat tightens. I don’t want to be called out of class again—for anything. I can’t think about tomorrow right now. Not when I have to survive the bus ride home today. A low gurgling sound rises up from my stomach.

  Ms. Harper looks at me funny when she passes by me again. “Are you okay, Charlotte?”

  I can’t breathe. It’s so hot in here.

  “Charlotte?” She leans down and speaks in a soft voice, “What’s the matter?”

  My stomach jerks. Oh no. Not now. I bolt from my seat and race to the door as fast as I can, and right there in front of my entire English class, I vomit a trail of raisin bran.

  A few girls scream. One guy yells, “Awesome!”

  They all grow quiet, which makes me think Ms. Harper has silenced them with a look.

  I get a one-way ticket to the office again, and the school nurse calls my mom. I feel so bad that she has to come get me. It’s a big deal for her to leave her classroom in the middle of the day because sometimes they can’t find a substitute teacher to cover for her. And my dad is always in meetings or helping with testing.

  She rushes into the office and puts her hand on my sweaty forehead. “Oh, Charlotte. You’re burning up. When did you start feeling sick?”

  I tell her the truth. “On the bus.”

  “Let’s get you home. You’re not going anywhere today. And maybe not tomorrow, either.”

  I’m so relieved, I could cry. Again.

  We walk out to her beige SUV, which has never looked so beautiful in all my life.

  We get in, and she hands me a plastic bag. “Just in case you get sick again.”

  I nod. “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “I puked everywhere. Like, in front of everyone. It was so gross. I don’t think I can go back.” I spewed in front of my favorite teacher, too, and I have her for two classes!

  Mom starts the engine and backs out of the parking spot. “Did you hit anyone’s shoes?”

  I half laugh, but it makes my throat hurt, so I stop. “No.” At least, I don’t think I did. They would have still been screaming if I had. I sigh with relief as the school gets smaller in the mirror outside my window.

  “Then it’s fine.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “They’ll get over it.”

  I wish I could say the same.

  * * *

  Being home for two whole days is paradise. Mom fixes me soup with tin
y crackers, and we watch musicals together on the couch. So far, we’ve seen seven. No one punches my seat or makes fun of the way I talk.

  On the second day, we’re in the middle of watching Beauty and the Beast again when the home phone rings.

  Mom answers it on the third ring and hands it to me. “Maddie,” she whispers.

  I pause the movie. “Hello?”

  “Hey! Are you feeling better?” Her voice is concerned.

  “Uh, I guess,” I say.

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Her end of the line goes silent for a moment, and then she says, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not throwing up anymore.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Charlotte. Every time I think about the things Tristan and Josh said, I get so mad!”

  My mouth goes dry. I push play to turn the movie back on and mouth “Sorry” to my mom. Then I disappear up the stairs to my bedroom.

  “You’re not going to want to do this, but…” Maddie takes a deep breath. “I think we should tell.”

  “No!” I say. “We c-c-can’t. That’s why we’re in this mess.”

  “But the way they bullied Ben wasn’t okay! I’m glad I told. And you know what? The way they’re bullying us isn’t okay, either!”

  My stomach flip-flops, and the nausea creeps back in. I can’t handle anything else. I just want it to stop! “Maddie, please. Don’t.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. If you want to tell, fine, but don’t b-b-bring me into it, okay?” My heart races.

  “Okay, okay!” she says with a huff. Then in a quiet voice, she says, “I won’t.”

  We both fall silent.

  This is so weird. We don’t fight. Ever. I need to make her understand. “It’s just—sometimes telling makes it worse. Like it did for us. What Tristan and Josh are doing now feels even worse.”

  “Yeah, but…sometimes you have to tell. No one can help if they don’t know about it.” Her mom yells for her in the background. “Hey, I gotta eat dinner.” She sighs. “See you tomorrow.”

  The thought of tomorrow sends a chill across my skin. I reach for a blanket and curl myself into a ball.

  Sometimes when a teacher gives a test, and I don’t know anything on it, I think, If I just had one more day, I’d be ready! But this is totally not like that. I could spend all the time in the world at home, and I’d never be ready to ride the bus again.

  I want to tell my mom what happened, and that it isn’t over. She might understand. But she’s my mom, which means it’s the law or something that she has to do mom things like tell the principal, and then Tristan and Josh will know I told on them. I shudder and snuggle deeper under the blanket.

  I can’t risk making Tristan and Josh any madder than they already are. They’re the problem here. I know that.

  So why am I so upset with Maddie?

  The next morning I wait for the bus in silence. I’m dreading getting back onto it. But that’s not why I’m quiet. It’s always quiet at the bus stop. Which is so awkward because my stop is with Lyric, who has refused to act like I exist ever since she started middle school last year. When we were younger, we used to play hide-and-seek and shoot hoops in her driveway until the sun went down. She didn’t care that I could never make a basket. And we always invited each other to our birthday parties. One year when we were really little, her parents had a petting zoo in their backyard, and we played with the baby goats and ponies for hours. Her mom took a picture of us and put it on their fridge, where it stayed for years. I don’t know if it’s still there. Once middle school happened, Lyric decided she couldn’t talk to me anymore. I thought maybe now that we’re both in middle school, we’d be friends again. I was wrong.

  The bus pulls up, and the glass doors open with a loud screech. A country song plays on the radio as I start down the aisle. Maddie’s seated halfway back on the right, hair in a low ponytail, with a warm smile on her face. As I get closer, she scoots over to the window so I can sit.

  I glance at the empty seat next to my best friend, the place where I belong.

  And then I keep going.

  What did I just do? My heart races. Maybe I should go back and sit next to her.

  Do the right thing, Charlotte.

  No, I can’t. What would I say? What will she say?

  What will Tristan and Josh do to me today?

  I can’t sit with Maddie. And it’s too late anyway. I’m already at the back of the bus.

  I slide into a seat and crouch down low where Maddie’s wounded gaze can’t follow. I shut my eyes and lean my forehead against the seat in front of me. The green vinyl smells like sweat and stale gum. I really can’t do anything now. You get in big trouble if you leave your seat while the bus is moving.

  I sneak a glance to find that Maddie has scooted all the way to the outer edge of the seat. I couldn’t sit with her now even if I wanted to.

  The bus moves again, filling up with more kids at each stop, but my heart feels like it’s turned to ice.

  Finally we arrive at the stop I’ve been dreading the most.

  I duck lower in my seat and wait for the bus to move. I’m taking a big risk, sitting so close to where Tristan and Josh usually sit. But they don’t come back this far.

  After a minute on the road, I peek over the top of the seat. Tristan is right behind Maddie, leaning over her seat on his elbows, saying who-knows-what to her. Josh is laughing in the seat across from her, his legs spilling out into the aisle. She’s all alone because of me. Does the bus driver see what’s going on? He doesn’t seem to have a clue. Maddie steals a glance back at me so fast, I almost miss her wiping her cheek with her sleeve. I want to run to her seat as fast as I can, but I’m frozen in place. I didn’t want to be involved, and now I’m not.

  Tristan’s arm jerks back like he’s about to throw a punch, and then it barrels toward the back of her seat.

  I flinch on impact. I can’t watch. I steal a glance across the aisle at Lyric, who’s also eyeing Maddie’s seat. Then she looks directly at me, like she’s about to say something, but instead she turns to face the window. I look down at my hands. Does Lyric know I’m supposed to be up there? I swallow the knot forming in my throat and glance back at her. Is this what it feels like to be Lyric? She abandons friends and stays out of things, too. I face the front again. I know what it looks like, but I’m nothing like Lyric. This was just a mistake.

  We ride along looking anywhere but there, the sound of cruel laughter swelling with the radio, for the rest of the ride until—

  “STOP IT!” Maddie cries.

  Even way back here, her voice sounds clear and raw.

  The bus lurches to a halt at the drop-off spot, and Maddie pushes her way up the aisle to be one of the first kids off the bus. She doesn’t turn around, but she doesn’t have to. I can tell she’s about to cry again.

  How could I do this?

  Each step feels like a million miles on my way to homeroom. I don’t want to go. I can’t even look at Maddie after what I did, so I completely ignore her when I sit down. While Mr. Burton takes attendance, I sneak a peek out of the corner of my eye. Her eyes are puffy, and her cheeks are splotchy.

  It’s what I looked like in the mirror on Tuesday, but way worse. At least I wasn’t alone when it happened to me.

  I’m not supposed to cry anymore when kids laugh and mimic my speech. That was the deal I made with myself this summer. But it feels different on the bus. There are no adults except the bus driver to keep Tristan and Josh from being really mean, but he can’t see or hear what they’re doing. I have no idea if the bus was like this in elementary school, but I definitely don’t know how to handle it. And I really don’t know what to do about Maddie. I’ve screwed up, and I’m afraid “sorry” won’t be enough to fix it.

 
Maddie turns and faces me. She lifts her eyebrows as if to say, Really, Charlotte? I thought you were better than that. I look down.

  The bell rings, and Maddie disappears out the door.

  What was I thinking? Oh, right. I wasn’t thinking. One moment I was walking to our seat, and the next, I acted like I didn’t even know her. It only took half a second for me to ruin everything.

  I wish she hadn’t left so fast. Maybe I could’ve explained, or tried to, anyway. The shame is killing me. It’s all I can do to grab my bag and drag myself to English, where Ms. Harper stands at the open door. “Hey, Charlotte! Hope you’re feeling better.”

  Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, I have to face the kids that I puked in front of two days ago. And Ms. Harper. My heart thuds harder. There’s no end to the things that I wish I could take back.

  “Hi.” I force a tight smile and dart into the room, closing the distance between me and my desk in record time. I slide into my seat and wait for the comments. But there’s nothing, not even a snicker while I dig in my bag for my notebook and a pencil. When I finally sneak a peek, Ms. Harper is shutting the door behind her, with her gaze fixed on the whole room. Now I get it. They’re all behaving because of her. I relax just a bit. Maybe today isn’t going to be completely terrible.

  We read, we play vocabulary games at the board with a flyswatter, and then Ms. Harper reviews the parts of a story. Just when I find myself believing it’s all going to be okay, Ms. Harper says, “Tomorrow we’ll discuss a project that we’ll work on for the rest of the year.”

  I inwardly groan. Please don’t say it’s a group project. The thought of giving a presentation makes my stomach queasy all over again.

  “You’re all going to be writers when you leave this classroom.”

  I sit up straighter. I wouldn’t mind being a writer one day. But does that mean she’s going to read my writing? I frown. Maybe that would be okay, as long as I don’t have to share with the class. My stomach drops. I won’t have to read my stories out loud, will I? No matter what I do or where I go, teachers always want me to read out loud, and I hate it. It’s like wearing a big sign telling the world that I can’t even read a sentence without messing up. I can read. I just can’t say the words!