The other answer is that I am disillusioned. I was living in that fantasy world of going up to high school, and when that fell apart, I lost my illusions. Now, I see through grades. They’re transparent, meaningless, a joke. Any idiot can get straight As if I could. So now, since I don’t see the point, I’m not motivated.
Then why don’t I feel disillusioned? I did for a while. But now I’m all jumpy, unfocused. I can hardly even work on my story, and I believe in that. Though it sounds ridiculous, I’m too happy to be disillusioned. So it’s not love or disillusionment.
Whatever it is, it’s freaking me out. I should be doing that history, or my math. What happened to my program of always doing my homework before writing? Out the window with the Grand Plan. Maybe I need a new plan to keep me going through the motions. After being an over-achiever, my new plan will be for under-achievement:
Do what it takes to get by.
Always have something to turn in.
I might be through with these lists too. Can’t I handle under-achievement without a numbered list to follow? Let me have only one principle: Moving up to high school isn’t the answer, fucking up middle school is!
All right, I’ll do a little math.
Just after I wrote three pages about grades and homework and how bizarre I am lately, Mom and Dad decided it was time for a dinner conversation about how Cassie is adjusting to her eight-month sentence in the prison of middle school. Perfect!
I tried to get away with the old monosyllabic teen routine, but they weren’t buying it. When I first got back from Oregon, we’d had a little talk about my “options,” which they’d wanted me to think about on my trip. I hadn’t thought about them—I knew I was stuck—but I told them that I was going to tough it out, that it wasn’t the end of the world after all, that I could deal with it.
At the time, I wasn’t sure how things were going to go, or how much they were going to improve. Now that people aren’t actively hating me every single day, I’m actually starting to relax a little bit.
But because I’d never told them about the problem, I was stuck on what to say.
“Before this high school idea,” said Dad, “your mom and I both noticed how down you’d been. And now you seem better.”
I’d already tried to brush them off, with “okay” and “fine,” so now I guessed I really had to answer.
“I guess I am better.”
“We thought so,” said Mom. “Why is that?”
“Well,” I stalled, and then I thought about what I’d written earlier and started laughing, imagining telling them that I was in love—remember I’m not—and that I’d decided that school work was a pointless bother.
“Let us in on the joke.”
Then I thought of something to tell them. “It’s ironic, I guess. I was so fired up to leave middle school that I didn’t realize I was making friends. I thought Ally was going to be my only friend, and her being six years older and half a country away made things seem hopeless. And now I have some new friends. So that makes it bearable.”
“Like Liz, right?” said Mom. “She seems interesting.”
“Is this the goth?” said Dad.
“She’s not goth.”
“I never thought,” said Mom, “that little Elizabeth Pine from across the alley would grow up to be such a punked-out teenager.”
“She’s not a punk either.”
“Ripped-up Union Jack T-shirt sounds punk to me,” said Dad.
“And I can’t believe perfect Stacia Pine would stand for the piercings.”
“It’s just her belly-button. But,” I said, “we’re doing our eyebrows and lips and noses this weekend.”
They weren’t falling for that one.
“By the way, there’s no school Friday. Can I go downtown with her and a couple other people to see a movie?”
“What’s the movie?”
“Not sure—some thing Liz wants to see.”
“What’s it rated?”
“Unknown. But we don’t exactly look seventeen.”
“Who are the others?”
I told them.
“This is the DJ who’s called a couple of times?” Mom asked.
“Mm-hm.”
“What’s the story with him?”
“Nothing,” I said, “he’s just one of the gang.”
“Really.” Dad lifted his eyebrows, and if I didn’t have guilty written all over my face before, I sure as hell did now.
“You can go,” said Mom. “Also, I’m off that day, so if you want to come here after the movie, everybody’s welcome.”
“Thanks, can I be excused? I better get to my homework.” That excuse is not going to work if I start bringing home Bs and Cs.
“Are you happier now, Cassie?”
“Yes, Mom, Dad, I’m a lark.”
“What about the school part of school?” Dad wanted to know. “How is that going?”
“Counselor,” said Mom. “Isn’t that enough interrogation for one night?”
“No further questions at this time,” he said. “The witness may step down, or upstairs. Anyway, she’s excused from the table.”
Then as I climbed the stairs he called after me, “By the way, I know something’s up with this DJ character, and next time we talk I don’t want to have to ask your mother for permission to treat you as a hostile witness!”
Speaking of DJ, I guess his mommy is watching him—still no call, and it’s late.
This is when I would launch into some old stories, Di, but I’ve told them all. What now? We’ve already decided not to waste a lot of effort on homework, I’m not inspired by Sisters right now, and I’m tired of all my records. To bed, then.
9 October
DJ was waiting for me in the caf this morning, and then it was hurry up and wait because they wouldn’t let us into the library without a pass. Luckily, I saw Ms. Tayebnejad, and she let us go in with her.
The assignment was to find examples of all six writing traits (ideas and content, organization, etc., etc.), copy them down, and explain them. DJ had the first two. I had nothing. You’re supposed to find different examples, but I just photocopied the first page of Tale of Two Cities. Dad says Dickens is the best, and though it takes him a while to get to the point, that first paragraph does have everything. I just put numbers by the different clauses, and explained each one. For DJ, we took the rest of the examples from Tolkien, Poe, Teen People (that was funny, for voice), and another Dickens sentence. We had just enough time to finish his math before we rushed into class almost late. I hadn’t done the first part of the assignment myself, so I didn’t even bother trying to turn in the six problems we did together.
The rest of the day was all right. Tolkien group at lunch. During reading, I got to go to the library again where I tried to work on Sisters. I’m having trouble with how to change things. I know where I want to go with it, but I’m not sure how to get there. I think I’m stuck. Am I just too happy and content?
Writing club is tomorrow—maybe I can bust it out right now. Mom’s at rehearsal and it’s strange to have the house so silent, with no lesson going on downstairs. Time to quit blowing it off. Time to hit the computer and tell the story of Sister II.
Three Sisters
Sister II
Cassie looks out the window and takes in the trio of volcanoes known as the Three Sisters. The mountains rise round and snowy from the hazy forests below, but Cassie continues to brood.
Nothing would have improved, she thinks, even if they had let her skip up to high school. And anyway, now she has a couple of days with her brother and her one true friend. Time to lick her wounds before she’s thrown back to the lions.
Outside security, Ally comes through the crowd, hugs her close, and runs her hands over Cassie’s newl
y buzzed head. “I love it. And new clothes, too?”
They negotiate through the terminal, Ally silently leading, then falling back.
“Cassie,” she says, “there have been a couple of slight tweaks to our plan.”
“Tweaks?”
“Sean has this huge paper due on Tuesday. He can’t get away until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay,” Cassie says. “I mean, I’ll miss him, but it’s only for a day.”
“I tried to talk him into coming, but he insisted he couldn’t work at the beach with ‘the infernal throng.’”
“Don’t worry, it’ll just be you and me for a day—like our infamous hot-springs trip.” Then she realizes she hasn’t been listening. “Throng? Since when are three a throng?”
“Well … ” Ally winces. “A couple of friends sort of invited themselves along.”
“Friends?”
Cassie thought it would be the three of them, then the two of them, and now . . .
“I hope you don’t hate me.”
“No, I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Don’t worry,” says Ally, putting an arm around Cassie’s shoulder. “We’re still sisters of the paint—it’s only three tagalongs.”
The air outside is soft, humid, and heavy with city smells. An enormous Klondike pulls up to the curb and Ally opens the tailgate.
“Heard all about you, Mama Cass,” the driver calls back. “Name’s Jack. Hop in.”
“This is Bill and Katie,” Ally says as two sleepy-looking hippies in the backseat turn around.
“Hey, Cassie,” they say in dead unison.
Ally sits up front with Jack, the two of them chatting and laughing away. Cassie can’t hear much over the music, even when Ally tries to involve her. Bill and Katie sleep.
Cassie didn’t expect to be just trailing along with Ally and a bunch of her friends, but she tries to go with the flow. She is, after all, skipping school, and not having Sean there makes it seem even more like an adventure. She gazes through the tinted windows at brambly roadsides, brown hills of grass and oak, and forests.
When they stop for gas, Ally moves into the driver’s seat and urges Cassie into the shotgun position.
“Girls in charge now, pal,” Ally says when Jack returns. “Move to the back.”
That’s better, and soon the two of them are sisters again.
“So, when are you going to start your freshman year?” Ally says.
Cassie was hoping not to talk about how horrible school has been and how Ally’s idea to get her out has proved to be yet another disappointment.
“August,” she says. “Next August.”
“But … You said on the phone that it was a go.”
“Was. Past tense.”
She tells Ally how she had been all set to check out when they got the scores from her CSAP test, which she had purposely bombed.
“I’ll bet that was fun.” She looks over at Cassie’s pained expression. “Until it came back and bit you in the ass.”
“So, I’m stuck,” Cassie says. “And things aren’t getting any better.”
She goes on to describe the deluge of nasty notes in her locker and being pelted with disposable razors in reading class.
“The little fucking fascist fucks,” says Ally. “They can’t handle anyone who thinks, looks, or acts different. Fuck them, the little fucks.” She slams her palm on the steering wheel.
Jack leans forward. “Take it easy on the bus, dude. Don’t break it.”
“Sorry,” she calls back. “You’ve told your parents about all this abuse?”
Cassie shakes her head.
“Teachers? Principal? Anyone?”
“You,” Cassie says. “I’m waiting for them to get tired of me.”
“Cassie—you can’t fight them alone. You’ve got to get help.”
“I don’t think so.”
As the miles roll away, Ally tries to convince her to get help with the harassment, but Cassie knows that nobody can help. And like her parents, Ally wants her to think about options, what to do next.
But Cassie is so tired of all that. A phrase comes back to her from an Amy Tan story in her seventh-grade book, “raised hopes, failed expectations.” That sums it up.
“What about the upside?”Ally says.
“You mean, as in, ‘It’s an ill will that blows no good’?”
“Exactly.”
“Please.”
“Well—”
“I know you’re trying to help, but there’s no upside. It sucks. End of story. Just more raised hopes and failed expectations. School is school. People are people. I am me. Nothing changes.”
Meanwhile, Jack rolls a joint and wakes up Bill and Katie to help him smoke it. Ally waves it away when he passes it up, saying, “And keep that stuff away from my sister, too.”
“We’ll take care of Mama Cass,” says Jack in a stoned drawl. “Takes a village, baby.”
“Village idiot, in your case,” says Ally. “And roll down some windows.”
Cassie rolls down a window herself, and when the smoke stops, she’s sure that she smells sea salt in the air.
“What about that boy you like?” Ally says. “At least you’re going to see him at school.”
Cassie is about to fire off another smart-ass, ill-wind reply, but wonders … maybe it will be nice to see DJ.
“Okay. There’s one good thing. I think. You never know.”
“That’s my little optimist! And this weekend, we’re going to have SO MUCH FUN, you, like, won’t even remember last week!”
Cassie smiles in spite of herself, and suddenly there it is—the Pacific, shining blue beyond the trees.
“Follow me, Cassie,” Ally says, as everybody piles out in front of the beach house. “But wait, bring a jacket or a sweater.” They dig in their bags for something warm, then follow the decked walkway and stairs down to the dunes and the sea.
“Remember, everyone,” says Ally. “NO SWIMMING. If you get washed in, you’re dead, so be aware at all times.”
They reach the firm sand below the high tide mark and all line up as a wave crashes into their legs.
Cassie and Ally walk the beach while the others open up the house. The sun shines warm and the breeze blows cold. Unlike the Colorado wind that dries everything it touches, this wind wets—a layer of mist forms on Cassie’s sunglasses and her face feels salty-damp. She keeps thinking about how, at this point, she was supposed to be skipping up to high school and leaving all her problems behind. Then her thoughts turn to DJ—poetry-writing, lock-of-hair-cherishing DJ. She’ll get a chance to get to know him better now. Will that be a good thing?
“Good work, Jack,” says Ally when they get back to the beach house and see him in the kitchen. “What’s for din?”
“Totally V-jin pasta and salad. Baby Cass, never fear—the ever-sensitive Jack is here.”
Moron, Cassie thinks and heads for the stairs.
She drags her duffel down to her room, slides the window open to the cold and the sound of the sea, and unpacks into a couple of empty drawers.
Then it’s time to call home. Mom picks up, asking enthusiastically about her trip. Cassie withholds the information regarding the extra people and the absent person, saying that Sean is locked away working on a paper—not exactly false.
Mom wants to know if she’s been thinking about the options they discussed.
“Will everybody please lay off the options for five minutes?” she whines. “First Ally, and then you again. I’d be in high school now already if you didn’t think I’d been too ‘immature’ for kindergarten. So now I’m stuck and there are. no. options.”
“We can talk about this when you get home,” her mom says quietly. “Just have a good time, and yo
u and your father and I will talk next week.”
“Whatnever.”
Cassie hangs up, feeling like a brat, and lies listening to the surf until Jack interrupts her thoughts with the dinner bell. “Suppertime! Come and get it!” When she comes up, she sees Ally removing one of the wineglasses from the table.
“Listen everybody—no booze for the kid.”
“Come on, Ally,” says Cassie. “Even my mom lets me have half a glass—”
“No way. I’m under strict orders.”
Dinner turns out surprisingly well—Jack can really cook. Cassie remains silent through most of it, though, listening to the others and wishing they hadn’t come. She notices how Bill and Katie sit close, their legs overlapped under the table the way Ally and Sean used to do. Is there something between Jack and Ally, too? Some extra bit of attention that he seeks from her and that she gives? But everyone wants Ally’s attention, Cassie thinks, nothing special there.
After dinner, they build a fire downstairs and get ready to watch DVDs. Ally tries to get Cassie involved, offering her the movie choice.
“No ‘R’ ratings, though,” says Jack. “We have to protect our Baby Cass.”
“Whatnever,” she says. “I’m going to bed.”
Cassie isn’t really tired at all, so after lying around listening to the sound of the movie bleeding through the surf, she takes a Nancy Drew from the shelf.
Ally comes in a little later and sits on her bed, just like Mom would have, tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.
“You were quiet tonight. Everything okay?”
Ally smoothes the comforter over Cassie’s legs.
“Yes, Mom. But remember? The big sister’s supposed to corrupt me, not protect. You couldn’t even let me have half a glass of wine?”
“Well, I have to be extra-responsible without Sean here. Maybe one beer tomorrow, but no weed.”
“I don’t want that, anyway.”
“Okay, sis. Good.” Ally kisses her cheek and forehead, leaving her hand to linger on the side of Cassie’s head where the stubbly hair is already beginning to grow longer and softer. Ally’s eyes are wide and dark. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “I’ve missed you.”
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