And then, toward the end of class, it happens. Two paper airplanes fly from the back of the room, up through the air. One lands on Bobby’s desk. The other on Marta’s desk. Bobby looks at it with dread. Like he knows it’s bad news. Marta looks at it like a foreign object—it’s probably the first time she’s ever had a note passed to her and not at her. I watch her unfold it first. She reads it. Slowly, her eyes fill with tears. Bobby reads his. His eyes fill with hate.
The snack bell rings. I’m done.
I’m So Not a Scorpion
I run after them both. But Bobby is gone before I even make it out of the classroom. The hallway is already crammed with kids pushing and shoving their way to get through the dang doors and out to freedom. I tap Marta on the shoulder just as she reaches the doors. “I need to talk to you.”
She turns long enough to show me her fangs. “How could you?” She runs down the stairs.
I run faster. “What was in that note?”
She goes straight to the spot we eat lunch in, sits down, and opens up her stained unicorn lunch box she’s had since she was three. “The note?” She reaches into her backpack, takes it out, and reads:
Marta,
Thought you should know. Charlie’s working at the Patch to make money for head shots for a TV show about gymnastics. Chad wanted you to try out, too, but she told him that you couldn’t do gymnastics. And you hated TV. She’s not your friend. She never was. Don’t trust her.
Your friends and teammates,
Lillian and Erica.
P.S. I can get you an audition.
She folds the note into a tight square and puts it back in her backpack. She takes out her sandwich and says nothing.
My hands are trembling. “Marta, please, let me explain.”
But Marta’s as still as stone. “It’s already been explained.”
Bobby throws the ball at me. It hits me hard in the leg.
I look at him, at her. I have to make a choice—what docs call triage the situation. Bobby, he’s just plain disappointed. I can handle that. But Marta, she’s the kind of person who will destroy an entire town to get back at me. So I choose Marta.
“Marta,” I say calmly, “listen to me. I was going to tell him to look for something for you. This part is for a kid who can’t do gymnastics. She’s pathetic, a total loser. So not you.” Okay, I was laying it on a little thick, but I was fighting for my life in more ways than one.
She shakes her head. Her eyes are red and disgusted. “Then why’d you lie?”
“Yo, Cooper!” Bobby throws the ball at me again. It hits me in the butt this time. “We’re done.”
“What?” I turn.
He shakes his head and spits.
“Bobby, come on!” I throw up my arms.
He spits again. “Done.” He pulls up his hood, turns away, and is gone.
I’ll deal with him later. I turn back to Marta. “Marta.” I take a deep breath. “You have your thing. Come on, this is my thing.”
Marta nods like she agrees. She takes a bite of her sandwich and looks up at the swaying bamboo. For a second I think I’ve gotten through to her. And then she starts. “You ever heard of the scorpion and the frog story?”
“Nope.” No offense, but I don’t want to hear a story. I just want to move on. I get up, walk around, change the flow of energy a little. “Hey, did you tell Greta about the JOs? She has to be so happy for you! And what was that supposed to mean back there when Lillian said you’ll drop out yourself, huh? That was weird, right?”
But Marta just looks straight ahead. “It was one of my mother’s favorites—”
I try to stop her, but she steamrolls right over me.
“One day, a scorpion decides he wants to live across the river. But he can’t swim and has no way of getting across. He sees a frog sitting there and decides to ask for help.”
“Charlie!”
I hear my name. Thank God. I look up. Pen’s waving. “Come here. Felix wants you.”
Marta grabs my hand.
“Marta, please.” I know where this is going. I can see it in her eyes. Marta has not forgiven. Marta has not moved on. Marta is pissed.
“You know what the frog says, right?” She keeps going like I have no choice. “‘How do I know that if I help you, you won’t try to kill me?’”
“‘Because,’” the scorpion replies, “‘if I try to kill you, then I would die, too. I cannot swim.’”
“Exactly.” I grab her wrists. “I don’t want to kill you, Marta. I want you to be successful. Would I ever have run away, hidden in the tunnels, faked your aunt’s visa, risked everything, if I only ever thought about myself?”
But she doesn’t care. Marta keeps at it like a slow-moving train headed for disaster. “The frog asks, ‘How do I know you won’t just wait till we get to the other side and then kill me?’”
From across the yard, Lillian and Erica have been watching. After a few minutes, they stroll over and take a seat behind Marta, like this is story hour.
I glare at them. “Go away.”
“No, stay,” Marta says calmly. Is she blind or what?
“Oh, they’re your friends now?” I laugh. “Please! They’ll sell you out the second they have a chance.”
“‘Because,’ promises the scorpion, ‘once you’ve taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, I would never hurt you.’”
Erica reaches into her bag of chips. “Hey, guys,” Erica yells into the yard. “Marta’s telling a story about Charlie. It’s a good one. Come on over!”
Kids start coming over—fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. Before I know it, the Losers Lunch area is full. Everyone is listening. Sweat drips down my back. I can feel it. I’m going down in flames. Marta waits for everyone to sit. “Can’t we just talk about this in private, please?”
But Marta is no longer talking directly to me. “So”—she swallows—“the frog takes the scorpion across the river on his back. He even stays near the surface so the scorpion won’t drown. And then, halfway across the river, the frog suddenly feels a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog’s back.
“‘You fool!’” croaks the dying frog. “‘Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?’
“The scorpion shrugs. ‘It is my nature,’ says the scorpion. ‘I cannot help myself.’ And they both sink into the muddy waters of the river and die.”
Marta’s eyes are swimming in tears. “You, Charlie”—she jabs her finger in my chest—“are a scorpion, and you will never, ever change.” Everyone claps.
Oh, give me a break! Seriously? “Is this not the worst case of exaggeration you’ve ever seen in your life?”
Silence.
“Have you forgotten that I saved you?” I stare at her, at them. “I put everything on the line to help you when no one else would.”
Marta shakes her head. “I was an assignment. A project. That’s all.”
Lillian raises her hand like we’re in class. “She did it to save herself.”
Babette nods. “Her shrink told her to.”
“Yes, it’s true at the beginning, but I changed—” I back up. They’re not listening. No one wants to know the truth. They just want to gang up on me. “I am no scorpion.” Maybe a long time ago I had a little scorpion in me, but now I am good. I am kind.
“Well, looks like you changed back.” Babette shrugs, and they all laugh.
“I got you the JOs. What more do you want?”
“To not lie,” Marta says.
I look at all of them—it’s them against me just like it’s always been. And maybe how it will always be. Like they’ve never withheld a little info to help their chances. Please. Then I see Bobby in the back of the crowd. He’s shaking his head, looking at me like I’m a piece of poo. I can’t believe it—even Bobby.
“It was a white lie,” I announce. “You’re telling me you’ve never told one?” What liars.
“You’re all a bunch of hypocrites. You know that? I’m more honest than all of you put together.”
That’s when they start booing me.
“Get lost, scorpion!” they chant. The sound of their feet pounding on the metal picnic bench fills my brain. “Go! Go! Go!”
I move back as fast as I can without turning. They’re moving toward me. No one stops them.
Their voices join together in a loud, mean song.
I turn and run as fast as I can. Up the stairs and into the only place I know they won’t follow me—the library. I run through the doors like I’m on fire.
“Charlie?” Ms. Myrtle looks at me through these glasses that cover her entire face. “You okay?”
I wipe my eyes, my nose, and check the door. Phew—no one’s coming. But I’m shaking like crazy. “I’m fine, Ms. Myrtle.” I choke back the tears. Not a single person stood up for me. No one. I got her the JOs. Her dream on a silver platter. No one could have done that for her but me. I pull out a chair and type in the school’s internet password. I only have a few minutes before the bell rings.
Hey Jai,
I don’t know where you are, but I need you AS to the P. Email me back if you’re there.
Send.
Next email:
Mom,
Please pick me up as early as you can today. I’ll be waiting.
Charlie
P.S. It’s been a really bad day.
And finally—and boy, is my heart beating for this one:
Hey, Chad, my man—
The head shots will be in your hands by tonight. I’ve been practicing all week for the audition and I’m ready to go. Call me as soon as you get them. I’m free anytime.
Charlie
I stare at the screen, waiting, just waiting for an answer from someone, somewhere out there in the world who still wants to talk to me. Certainly Chad of all people would understand my not wanting Marta in on the audition. He should even applaud my initiative.
A message comes up. It’s Jai.
What’s happening?
I type as fast as my fingers can move.
Where have you been? I’ve been going crazy trying to reach you.
I had to move, Charlie. It’s been bad.
What do you mean bad?
Can’t talk about it. More later. What’s up?
Injustice.
Your middle name.
I’m talking burning-at-the-stake kind of injustice, Jai. Everyone hates me.
What happened?
I lied. It was a little lie.
It is not the size of the lie, Charlie. It is the size of the ripple the lie creates. Like a pebble in a pond.
Oh, please.
You must go and correct it.
Too late.
Never too late.
I hate you.
No, you don’t.
The bell rings. I pretend not to notice. Ms. Myrtle looks over the cover of her book and says, “Time to go.”
It feels like a death sentence. The last thing I want to do is leave this room and see anyone else at all. I quickly type:
I got to go. I’ll Skype you tonight.
I stand up.
“Ms. Cooper, class has started.” Ms. Myrtle points at the door.
All I have to do is make it across to Mr. L’s room without getting cornered.
Ms. Myrtle looks up at me again. “Ms. Cooper?”
“I’m going.” I suck in my gut, take a deep breath. I crack open the door. Down the hall, some kids are scrambling into their rooms, but outside Mr. L’s, the coast is clear. “On a count of one, two, three . . .” I run across the hall and into his room, where Mr. L’s got his mating orca CD rolling in the classroom. But not even the orcas can calm my nerves. Everyone is staring at me like they can’t believe I have the nerve to show my face. Even the kids who never have an idea of what’s going on know what’s going on.
Mr. L turns off the orcas. “Nice of you to come back.” He goes back to his book. I slip into my chair between Bobby and Marta. They scoot their desks away like I stink. They ignore me like I am a ghost. “We’re about to pick up The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Can anyone tell us what’s happening?” asks Mr. L.
Babs raises her hand. “Here Junior and his best friend have a massive fight. His best friend tells him he’s a traitor and Junior leaves the school.” She nods. “Which is really a great idea, don’t ya think, Charlie?”
Everyone laughs.
When the lunch bell rings, I grab my backpack and pretend to search for something. I’m not going anywhere. Not a chance. As long as Mr. L is in here, I’m safe. Kids start walking out. I keep my head low. As they pass, I feel them hit, kick my chair. I say nothing.
A ball narrowly misses hitting me in the head. Bobby again.
Bobby shakes his head in disgust. “I can’t believe you did that, Cooper.”
I look up. “What did I do, exactly?”
“Sold Marta out.”
I slap the desk. “She wouldn’t even have time to do it, Bobby! Come on, seriously.”
“Then you shouldn’t have lied.” He takes the ball and starts bouncing it against the wall.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone’s perfect but me.
I see Marta leaving with Lillian and Erica, like they’re buddies. Bobby’s friends are waiting at the door, staring at him. But he’s not done with me yet. “Just so you know, Lillian and Erica took a picture of the note and put it on Instagram. Everyone knows. Probably even that agent dude you lied to knows.” His friends wave to him. “Good luck with that, Cooper.”
Great. Thanks. I wait for everyone to leave before I get up and look out the window. Wouldn’t you know, Marta’s at the popular table. They’re all laughing together like one big happy family. I put my face to the glass and watch them, every detail of them. The way they huddle around her, treat her like a princess. What are they up to? They hate her more than they hate me. This can’t be the end of their plan. There has to be a phase two. And then I remember that thing Lillian said: “What if I was to tell you that you’d pull out of the JOs all by yourself?”
“What does that mean?” I hit my head against the glass. “What are they planning?”
Mr. L clears his throat. “You dining in today, Ms. Cooper?”
“I think I need a permanent reservation, Mr. L.” I hit my head again.
Run, Run as Fast as You Can
The worst day of my life is finally over.
It’s 2:40. Since lunch, I’ve been staring at the clock like I’m in open-heart surgery. Swear to God. For the last hour, during silent reading, my eyes have been on that clock. My legs are cramped in a half squat. The second the bell rings, my plan is to:
• Run like hell down the stairs, through the upper yard, and out into the parking lot.
• Locate the old Volvo and jump in before anyone can see me, heckle me, or tell my mother what happened today.
The bell rings. I launch myself out of the classroom. I don’t even look back. I don’t even attempt to talk to Marta or Bobby, because nothing I say will change a thing. I race down the steps, through the totally empty upper yard, and make it out the door. The buses have already pulled into the parking lot, which means it’s blocked. My mother could not have parked here. There’s only one other place she’d be. I run down the street and find her at the lower end of the school, sitting in her parked Volvo, reading. I yank open the door. “Let’s go!”
“Whoa, where did you come from?” Mom looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go!” I glance up at the lower playground and hope that no one comes to the gate and says something I’m going to have to explain. Like Pen, for example.
“What about your brother and sister?” She glances at the playground.
“They’re staying.” My foot is tapping. I’m about to explode.
She looks over at me like she’s examining me. “Charlie?”
TRUE FACT: Mom’s got X-ray vision.
I take a deep breath. “She’s doing the dead-squirrel meeting, Mom, remember?” I try to calm myself, but it’s hard. I’m freaking out. “She’s walking home with Felix later. We have to go.”
“It’s the Save the Wildlife Corridor meeting, and it’s about a lot more than dead squirrels, Charlie, so be nice.”
I steady my tapping foot. “Sorry.”
Slowly Mom turns on the car. It chugs to life. I drop lower into my seat. Please, please, let’s just get out of here. I’m scared to death Pen’s hairy-mustache face will suddenly appear and Mom will stop. But lucky for me, we leave without seeing her and head down the road. Mom gets ready to turn right onto Laurel Canyon.
“I got your email,” she says without looking at me. “Did something happen today?”
“No,” I say. “Just really excited.”
“It’s exciting.” Her hands grip the wheel tighter.
“I think we should cancel the Halloween party,” I announce with the utmost certainty.
She turns off NPR and looks at me. “Is that so?”
“I’m super broken up about it”—not—“but I’m a little overwhelmed with all that’s going on.” I can see her staring at me, like an alien has invaded my body, so I add, “Dr. Scales said to keep an eye on that.”
She’s stunned. “But you love Halloween more than any other day of the year.”
“I know.”
“And this year we’re on the Houdini estate. It doesn’t get any better.”
Not when you have zero friends. No, worse, I have negative friends, because I have enemies. People who want me gone.
She’s still struggling. “Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”
“Nothing, I swear, just no time. And Pen’s so into her Save the Corridor thing.” I shrug. “I think we should just have a little family party—”
Watch Out, Hollywood!: More Confessions of a So-called Middle Child Page 6