Playing Nice

by Rebekah Crane

  My parents blamed dementia for Grandma's crazy words, but to me, they made sense. The whole time I thought I was living amongst freckle people, I was really being eaten by moles.

  It takes a few days of me avoiding Sarah and asking my dad for a ride to school instead of taking the bus. A few days of me walking down the hall with Lil and laughing and not caring what everyone thinks.

  Just a few days, and the crowd sets its eyes on me and rushes, full speed.

  ***

  Without my normal routine of meeting Sarah in the bathroom to fix our makeup, I walk straight to my locker. It feels weird not doing what I'm programmed to do, kind of like I forgot to put on underwear or deodorant and I'm worried I might start smelling during the day. But then I remember that robots are programmed and I don't want to be that. I don't want to be my mom and Sarah. If I stood next to Sarah today and watched her paint globs of lip gloss on her lips, I might burst into a million angry bubbles.

  I grab my math book—and that's when I feel it on my back. It's kind of hot and itchy, like a wool sweater, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But when I turn around, the eyes that were staring at me are gone. Taking the brush from my locker, I run it through my hair, then slyly check my armpits for a weird smell. Nothing.

  In Physics, it's back. Hot and itchy. But when I look around the classroom, I don't catch anybody. It doesn't come until Study Hall, when I walk into the library and it hits me like a slow-moving tidal wave. Instead of feeling it on the back of my neck, I see it, one by one. Thirty sets of eyes glaring at me. Laughing.

  I plop down behind a computer and breathe. Eliza Moore giggles five seats over. I force myself to concentrate on the homework I want to get done before the end of the day. Math problems. I pull them out of my backpack, but it's no use. Flicking on the computer I go to the one place I know will give me the answer I need. My fingers shake as I type the website into the browser. F.A.C.E.B.O.O.K. Please, I beg in my mind. Please.

  My eyes get big as my homepage pulls up. The newsfeed is full of activity; there's a new page everyone in school seems to have "liked". My breath hitches in my throat and prickly tears sting my eyes, threatening to come streaming out at an uncontrollable rate.

  Pippa Rogers Likes: Minster High's Nicest Lesbians.

  John Arthur Likes: Minster High's Nicest Lesbians.

  Sarah Wellington Likes: Mister High's Nicest Lesbians.

  Sarah? My hand shakes as I move the mouse over the link and click. In less than a second, I'm staring at myself. Someone has photoshopped my face and Lil's on top of two female bodies and they're kissing.

  "Oh my God," I squeak. The body isn't anywhere close to mine. It's tall and skinny and black. Lil's isn't any better. She almost looks like a midget. Why would someone do this? I want to turn off the computer and run away from the library, screaming, but I don't. I do the one thing I shouldn't. I start to read people's comments.

  I didn't think nice meant this! I should have tapped her ass a lot sooner. Too bad she plays for the other team.

  I don't think we have 2 wonder which 1 plays the man and which 1 plays the woman.

  DYKES!!

  The screen goes blurry and I clutch my stomach. I think I might throw up. Everything in my body is hot and itchy, eyes and words and so much pain I can't get my dry tongue to swallow anything down. A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. Not here. Please.

  But I can't stop it. Soon, my entire face is covered in water. I jump from my seat and run away from the eyes locked on me, hiding in the farthest, most secluded part of the library behind stacks of old books that smell like mothballs.

  Pulling my knees to my chest, I bury my face so no one can see me. My shoulders tremble with every tear, and whimpers slip through my lips. My ears burn with all the words written on the page.

  "I didn't think anyone came up here." I barely hear the male voice through my sobs.

  "Just leave me alone," I say through my knees, my face still hidden.

  "See, I can't do that. My brother told me that if a girl is crying, it's probably my best opportunity to get in her pants."

  I look up and find Alex squatting in front of me, a bright smile on his face.

  "I thought we'd established that your brother's not very smart," I say, practically hiccupping the words.

  "He's not, but I got you to look at me, didn't I?" Alex sits down next to me, his back resting against the bookcase, long legs stretched out, red Converse sneakers on his feet.

  "Are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

  "Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you?"

  "Haven't you heard I'm not into guys?" My head falls into my hands and I start crying again.

  "I don't believe anything I read on the internet."

  "That's not very smart. It's actually a wonderful learning tool," I say through my fingers. Alex leans into me and elbows my side. A tiny laugh escapes my lips.

  "You know what else my brother says?" he whispers. I look at him, my head cocked to the side. "No, this one is actually good. He says people are assholes. He's usually referring to me, but in this instance I think it fits."

  "Why would people do this?"

  "Assholes," he shrugs.

  "Do you think I'm a lesbian?"

  Alex looks me up and down, starting at my head and scanning my entire body, all the way down to my feet. I get self-conscious imagining what my swollen, red face must look like and rub my cheeks with my palms.

  "Well, I'm not sure what a lesbian looks like. My gaydar isn't very good. I mean, my uncle's been gay my whole life and it took me until last year to figure out that his roommate actually shares his room." Alex puts his finger to his mouth like he's thinking. "But if I had to guess, my answer would be no. You're not a lesbian."

  "I'm not a lesbian," I say, shaking my head.

  Alex exhales a long heavy breath. "Oh, thank God. There's a chance for me yet." And then he laughs. The sound makes my heart just a little bit lighter.

  "But the rest of the school thinks I am! How can I walk down the halls with everyone staring at me?"

  "Do you care what they think?"

  Alex looks into my eyes and holds my gaze, like he knows I need him to mentally pick me up so I can get back on my feet. Do I care what people think? Part of me screams YES! But the other part of me, the part that's changed, knows I only care if people know the true me. That if my mom and Sarah and Pippa Rogers want to imagine a person they think I am, it's all a lie anyway. No matter what they say.

  "Well, it's almost time to go to English." Alex stands up and holds out his hand. "Can I walk you there?"

  I stare at his palm. Guilt pinches in my chest that I can't like Alex the way he wants me to like him. That my so-called lesbian brain is so wrapped around Matt there's no room for Alex. But I push the sensation down and slip my fingers through his.

  "You and Lil would have some darn fine babies," Alex says as we walk out of the stacks. I elbow him in the side and he flinches dramatically.

  "That's not even physically possible."

  "I'm just sayin'." He shrugs his shoulders, and I smile.

  Alex holds my hand all the way to English, with no regard for the eyes that follow us the entire time.

  Lil is sitting in her seat when we get to class. The other students look from me to her and back again, waiting to see what we do, but Lil doesn't blink. She just spins her nose ring around and around, looking bored.

  "So I'll pick you up at six on Friday," Alex says in a tone louder than usual. Our hands are still locked together, and I look at him, brow furrowed. He widens his eyes. "For our date."

  I nod, anxious waves hitting my stomach from all the eyes on us, and whisper okay. Then, almost in slow motion, Alex releases my hand but spins my shoulders around to him. My hair whips through the air and hit his chest as I turn. And we're face to face. He leans down and places his lips on mine. They're warm and smooth and before my brain registers that he just kissed me in front of the entire class, it'
s over.

  "I'm looking forward to it," he says loudly and walks to his seat in the back of the classroom. I gasp. Was that my first real kiss? I discount it and put it in the "stage kiss" category. Alex did it for show. For me.

  Alex nods at Lil as he passes, but her black-rimmed eyes are on me. Then her mouth turns up into a devilish grin.

  I breathe and stare back at everyone as I take my seat, my cheeks on fire, the whole class whispering. With Lil next to me and Alex in the back of the room, I don't seem to care as much. Or maybe it's the kiss. I can't tell; my mind is so fuzzy. My phone buzzes and I take it out of my purse.

  Lil: I can't believe u r cheating on me with Jock Strap.

  I laugh and snap my phone shut, but as the class drags on and the adrenaline of the moment wanes, I sink back into the hole I was in earlier. I've gone from Minster High's Nicest Person to a piece of meat for the school to play with. Out of the corner of my eye, Lil rubs her black pen in the groove she made her first week at school, digging even deeper into the wood. Her black boots tap the metal leg of the desk to a rhythmic beat like she does every day. Would I take back our friendship if it meant erasing the Facebook page? An answer rings from the bottom of my heart, from the place I hid until Lil walked into the classroom her first day. No.

  But it still hurts, like a world is pressing on my heart so heavily I might crack in two. If I'm not moving with the crowd, it means I'm bumping against them. And they're stomping hard so I don't slow them down.

  ***

  "Can I speak with you, Marty?" Ms. Everley asks as I walk out of the classroom.

  "You want a ride, Pollyanna?" Lil says from behind me. People are staring and I breathe, pushing down everything that makes me want to jump out of my skin. "I can wait in the parking lot."

  I turn and smile at Lil. "Thanks."

  "Lesbos," Mike Polanski whispers as he walks past. My stomach drops to the floor.

  "This won't take long," Ms. Everley says as she stuffs last night's homework assignments into her bag. She waits until everyone has cleared out of class. I fidget with my hands, wringing my fingers together. I just want out of this school and into Lil's car, where I feel safe.

  "That was quite a display," she says finally, sitting behind her desk and folding her hands together.

  "Pardon?"

  "You and Mr. Austin."

  "Oh, that. Um..." My face heats up.

  "Is there something you want to talk about?" Ms. Everley smiles. Her hot pink lipstick matches her hot pink scoop neck sweater.

  "Why would you say that?"

  "Well, for starters, you look like you got beat up your eyes are so swollen."

  I dig in my purse for my mirror and check my reflection. I look like hell. Red splotchy bags below my eyes; not a speck of makeup left on my face. I can't believe Alex would even want to come close to me.

  "Remember when we were talking about hot dogs last week?" Ms. Everley says, and motions for me to sit down at a desk.

  "How some people like hot dogs and some people like the bun?"

  "Exactly. If you were a vegetarian, would you eat the hot dog or the bun?"

  "The bun," I say, not knowing where this conversation is going and why Ms. Everley has such a deep fascination with summer picnic food.

  "Right. To a vegetarian, the hot dog would be gross; they would never even touch it." I nod and wait for her to bring up condiments. "Is there anything wrong with being a vegetarian if deep down inside you know that's who you are?"

  "I don't think so," I shrug.

  Ms. Everley gets up from her desk and walks over to sit next to me. "I heard some kids talking today, and I want you to know that it's okay to be who you are. Whatever that is."

  I cringe and say a little too loudly, "Those are lies!"

  "For you, maybe. But there are other kids in this school for whom that might not be a lie and how you react could change how they act."

  "But I like boys! One boy in particular."

  "I know. You and Mr. Austin made that quite clear." Ms. Everley gets up from the desk to wipe down the chalkboard. My stomach sinks as my mind pictures Matt a thousand times over. "All I'm trying to say is that if you didn't like boys, if you were a vegetarian and only wanted to eat the bun, that would be okay, too. Like I told you, I prefer the bun and I'm not ashamed of it."

  I gape at Ms. Everley, at her tight sweater and black pencil skirt. At her shiny pantyhose with a black line up the back and tall stiletto heels.

  "Are you saying," I gulp, "that you're a vegetarian?"

  She smiles at me. "I tried meat once in high school. It's definitely not for me."

  "But I know I like hot dogs," I say.

  Ms. Everley nods and puts the eraser down in the tray. A thin line of chalk dust collects on her skirt. "As far as I'm concerned, Marty, you can be whatever you want. And I'm always here if you need to talk."

  I stand up and grab my backpack off the ground. "Can I go now?" Ms. Everley nods, but I stop at the door.

  "Thank you."

  "Rotate ice with a heating pad," she says. "For your eyes. It'll bring down the swelling right away."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I've cried over a lot of girls in my time." Ms. Everley smiles at me and goes back to picking up the room.

  I meet Lil out at her car.

  "In trouble for your make out session with Jock Strap?" she asks, lighting a cigarette before we're even off school property.

  "If I asked if you prefer a hot dog or the bun, what would you say?"

  "Penis. I think I've made that clear." Lil turns up the music and rolls down all the windows. I lean my head back on the seat and let the wind rush through my clouded brain.

  If you're shallow and thin,

  You can't feel when people step on you,

  But when you're deep and wide,

  The weight of every person,

  Who jumps on your soul?

  Becomes a heavy ball,

  You have to fight,

  To toss off.

  I'll take my chances though,

  Even if it means I might get crushed some day.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lil tells me that taking the bus is for fucking douchebags. She's going to pick me up and take me home every day from now on.

  "I'll get you at the corner," she says as I get out of the car.

  I barely nod my head I'm so tired. Up in my room, I rotate ice and a heating pad just like Ms. Everley said. The swelling in my eyes goes down almost instantly. At least I won't have to explain to my parents what happened.

  And Ms. Everley is a vegetarian? But she doesn't look like one. In my mind, she becomes one big bun with boobs.

  When Lil and I walk into school the next day, Sarah, Pippa, and Eliza are just walking out of the bathroom, lip gloss freshly applied. My stomach drops to the floor and an anger I've never felt consumes my mind. It shocks me how much I want to punch Sarah in the face. How could she like that page?

  "Well, if it isn't Thing 1 and Thing 2," Pippa says.

  Lil stops, her clomping boots becoming silent, and licks her red painted lips. Pippa's brown eyes get wide. "Has anyone ever told you, you look like a Weeble Wobble?" Lil says.

  Pippa brushes her dark hair over her shoulder. "Whatever, carpet muncher."

  The words sting deep in my heart, but I tap my foot on the ground and force myself not to care. I can't bring myself to look at Sarah. A part of me knew she was capable of doing this, but another part thought we shared enough that she wouldn't dare. Lil doesn't even blink. Compared to "whore," I'm sure "carpet muncher" doesn't seem so bad.

  Pulling on her arm, I force her to walk down the hall away from the three powdered and puffed girls. Nausea is slowly consuming my stomach and I don't want to spend another day stuck crying in the library behind a stack of smelly old books.

  Lil turns when we're halfway down the hall and yells, "Nice dress, fire crotch!"

  "Lil!" I whisper.

  "What?"

  "You can
't yell things like that," I say.

  "Isn't Sarah supposed to be your friend?" Lil snaps. "She sucks ass."

  "But if you call her names, we're just as bad as them and I don't want to be like that."

  Lil looks at me. Tears are so close to the surface they prickle my eyes. "Fine. I won't say anything," she says through clenched teeth.

  "Thank you." I squeeze her arm. I'd hug her but I'm afraid someone will snap a picture and things will just get worse.

  The Facebook page disappears after Ms. Everley brings it to Principal O'Neill's attention and he threatens to open an investigation. But the words don't go away. People hiss and laugh and whisper when Lil and I walk by, but as the days pass and it starts to snow, I care less. Seeing the ground blanketed in white with frozen solid soil underneath reminds me that life changes seasons, like my grandma said, and soon enough I'll be wrinkled with a day job and not free, driving in Lil's car with the windows down. The thought makes me sad, sadder than if the entire town thinks I like to make out with buns instead of hot dogs.

  Each day when I get home from school, my house has changed. It starts with the Christmas lights. My mom insists on white. Color is tacky and we are anything but, she always says. Then it's the eight-foot Christmas tree. Then the ten nutcrackers on the mantle. Then the Nativity scene on the dining room table and the red and green towels and the mistletoe and garlands down the front staircase and the Santa toilet seat covers and my mom's endless Christmas sweaters. Soon my house is covered in so much shit, I can't find myself anymore. And it all makes me wonder if any part of my parents' existence is real or if life is just about covering up the truth with knickknacks and ugly Christmas sweaters with actual bells that hang off the front like chiming nipples.

  My mom prances around the house with a big, fat smile on her face, totally content with herself, and I wonder if she knows this is all a way of disguising her real self. Like Sarah and her lip gloss. To them it isn't about loving everyone, like Jesus said, but loving the right people. That doesn't include homeless people, ugly people, poor people, gay people, or wonderful, bruised, banished-to-a-trailer people. I'm pretty sure Jesus would spit on my house and its plastic representation of love. Wasn't he born in a barn? I bet he'd rather be at Lil's. I bet he'd take one look around her trailer and remember what it felt like to be banished and he'd love her.