Trinkets

by Kirsten Smith

  Natural Disaster

  In Rachelle’s world, closing the yearbook issue

  is like running a tsunami crisis center.

  She fancies herself at the center of everything,

  staving back the rising water.

  She’s so stressed

  not even Dustin Diaz has the power to save her from peril.

  I try to stay out of the way

  as she yells, Where the hell is the French Club photo?!

  I want to tell her I gave it to her a week ago,

  but that would only cause more destruction.

  There is only one source of salvation

  and he’s walking past the window right now.

  Hang on a second, I say, and dash out the door,

  not caring that there’s a gale force of Rachelle at my back

  screaming my name.

  Cold

  Marc! I yell.

  He stops when he sees me

  and I’m suddenly horrified

  because I’ve just chased a senior onto the sidewalk

  in front of an entire room of Yearbook nerds.

  I want to throw up

  but instead I wait for our eyes to meet.

  When they finally do

  it’s not a brown brown warmth

  but a steely, dark cloud.

  Have you talked to my sister? he asks.

  I can feel Rachelle staring through the window,

  wondering what the hell we’re talking about

  and if she should be recording it for local broadcast.

  We got into a fight, I say.

  Why? he asks.

  I don’t know what to say.

  And then he adds,

  So you’re a shoplifter?

  I stand there trying to muster a response

  when he suddenly says, I gotta go.

  Marc walks off, taking his brown brown eyes with him,

  the frayed edge of his jeans,

  the hole in his T-shirt

  and the peek of his cocoa-y skin underneath,

  as everything warm

  grows cold.

  MAY 1

  Today Alex, Janet, Roy, and I ditched school. We went to Roy’s house and got high with his Sid Vicious bong and sat on his orange shag carpet and listened to the Circle Jerks. I don’t know why I got so baked. I never liked pot before, but sometimes drugs can be an acquired taste. This wasn’t one of them. It didn’t work for oysters either. No matter how many times I choke down those slimy things, I still want to hurl. As for the pot, all I felt was paranoid and like I had to pee every five minutes. And then they wanted to go outside and skateboard in the driveway, which just made me think about how if I hadn’t whined about wanting a skateboard for my birthday, maybe my parents would never have gone to Big 5 that day and gotten into a car crash. It was probably all my fault. If I’d been hanging out with Elodie and Tabitha, I’d have told them about all the thoughts that were flying around in my head; instead, I just sat there hoping I wasn’t saying them out loud.

  So, yeah. I don’t really love getting high and listening to thrash punk. Maybe if they listened to something to dance to, I’d have stayed, but Janet said it would be rad to watch Pootie Tang for the twentieth time, so it gave me a good excuse to go home.

  EVIL

  Ms. Hoberman is losing it. Her Romeo and Juliet signed program is missing. Apparently it disappeared this morning from its place of honor above her desk.

  “Maybe I should be happy that someone valued their field-trip experience so much they needed a permanent keepsake,” Ms. Hoberman says. “But I’m not.”

  People look at one another, surprised. Ms. Hoberman doesn’t usually get so testy.

  “I’m hoping whoever took this will return it immediately so I won’t have to feel angry anymore.”

  I feel bad for Ms. Hoberman. She always goes out of her way to be nice to everybody, even the dickheads and the miscreants, so I’m not really sure why anyone would want to screw with her.

  After class I head for my locker to pick up a Social Studies book I need for an assignment, but when I see Brady and the gang hanging out there, I take shelter behind the snack machine and slip out the other way.

  Since my car’s in the shop, my mom comes to pick me up from school. I find her idling in the parking lot in her beige Lexus.

  “You’re on time,” I say.

  “Of course,” she says. She seems sober, which is a relief. I don’t think we need another arrest in the family.

  As I climb inside and pull the door shut behind me, she says, “I saw Brady.” Then she adds, “Are you not together anymore?”

  “Why do you ask?” I look away.

  “He seemed cozy with your friend Taryn.” That’s news to me, but I certainly don’t want to deal with it here and now.

  “So what? Dad gets cozy with other women, right? No biggie.”

  Her face falls, and I immediately feel like an asshole.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “That was evil.”

  She straightens up and says, “I chose a credenza for the living room. It’s a lovely blond wood that will really go really well with the new rug.”

  She puts the Lexus in gear, turns to me, and adds, “You know what? That was evil.” And, without further ado, drives us away.

  MAY 2

  It’s raining again and cold and Aunt B yelled at me for not taking out the trash and Marc is grumpy. So basically everything is shitty. But I’m trying to make it right. I hope it works.

  Solo

  I’m in the Burlingame Fred Meyer,

  a paradise of useless trinkets.

  I’m about to put a Revlon cream eye shadow

  in my purse,

  not that I even wear much eye shadow,

  but it’s close to the color of that MAC eye shadow

  Tabitha had them put on me that day in Nob Hill.

  I glance around to see if I have company,

  but I don’t.

  It’s not that I’m scared

  or I’ve been rehabilitated by

  Shawn and her stupid program—

  even though some of the stuff she says does make sense.

  It just seems less fun

  to go it on your own.

  Besties

  The yearbook is officially closed!

  Rachelle announces.

  Everyone claps except Dustin Diaz,

  who looks like he may be on his last leg of love.

  I gather up all my stuff as Rachelle high-fives everyone.

  I envy her.

  She has her place in the world

  and this is it.

  Congratulations, I say to her. You did an awesome job.

  She gives me a tight smile.

  She’s the girl who called me her bestie

  for a few months or so,

  even though it would never make the final edit.

  Did you see that photo of you

  and Tabitha Foster and Maureen Truax? she asks.

  In the “Friends Forever” section?

  The way she says it is snide and strange.

  I’d be careful of Maureen, she adds.

  I saw her steal Ms. Hoberman’s Romeo and Juliet program.

  She took it right off the desk when she thought no one saw.

  I told Principal Prescott and he’s pissed.

  If this were the play Romeo and Juliet,

  Rachelle would be in the role of the apothecary.

  She relishes selling poison to people.

  I plaster a smile on my face

  and walk out, pretending to taste

  absolutely nothing at all.

  MAY 3

  I had all the dos and don’ts of shoplifting written down, but when it came time for me to actually steal something, I did it all wrong. I acted guilty. I stole from someone I know. I didn’t make sure the coast was clear. But I wanted to prove to them I wasn’t a phony. I couldn’t think of anything better than a souvenir from the field trip, where we all should ha
ve been sitting with each other instead of off in our corners with other people, pretending not to be friends. That’s what I was thinking as I sit here waiting to go into the principal’s office, where everything is about to go even more wrong than it already is.

  HATE MAIL

  As I’m going to my locker right before sixth period, I make sure the path is free of all assholes first. That’s when I see an envelope jammed into a slat of my locker. As I’m about to pull it out, I hear:

  “Hey, Tabitha.”

  I jump. I can’t help it. I turn to see Brady standing there.

  “What’d you get?” he drawls.

  I give him a tight smile.

  “I hope it isn’t hate mail,” he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. I try not to notice his biceps, other than the fact that it no longer appeals to me.

  “Then here, you do the honors.” If it’s hate mail, it might as well be opened by someone I hate.

  He rips it open, then reacts. “What the fuck?”

  It’s the laminated program from Romeo and Juliet with all the signatures on it.

  “Did you steal this?” he cackles, holding it up.

  “No!” I say.

  “Then why the hell do you have it?”

  “Give it to me!” I yank the program out of his hand. “It’s a gift.”

  “From who? Patrick Cushman?”

  I roll my eyes. Seriously? This is what he’s going to start bugging me about?

  “What are you talking about, Brady?” I give him a flat look.

  “I saw you eating lunch with him the other day.” He glowers just as Taryn walks up.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Taryn purrs to me, looking guilty as shit. “I love your shoes.”

  She and Brady meet eyes. I look back and forth between the two of them.

  “We didn’t do anything,” Taryn blurts. Brady gives her a sharp look, and I see everything laid out. Brady is now with my so-called best friend. And even though she feels bad about it, it’s clearly something she wanted all along and she’s fine sacrificing years of friendship to get it. Not that I blame her. There wasn’t much to our relationship anyway, besides fashion and gossip and jealousy.

  “You guys are so gross,” I say.

  Brady steps forward, reaching out for me—it’s hard to tell if he’s trying to comfort me or hurt me, but I do the thing that I probably should have done a long time ago. As hard as I can, I kick him in the balls.

  “FUCK!” he shouts.

  “What the hell?!” Taryn screeches.

  Brady reels backward. I wish I could say I kicked him hard enough to make him fall over, but to be honest, leg strength isn’t really my forte.

  “You’re such a bitch,” Brady says as he leans against the lockers, trying to catch his breath.

  “I really hate that word,” I snarl, and walk away, tucking the Shakespeare program under my arm. People are staring at me as I go, probably because they agree with Brady’s assessment that I am a so-called bitch. But you know what? There are people whose opinions matter to me, and these aren’t them.

  MAY 4

  To the Parent/Guardian of Maureen Truax:

  This is notification that Maureen Truax is being considered for suspension in accordance with Oregon Statutes 120.13(1)(B)(3) for a period of 5 days from May 3–May 10.

  Maureen Truax is under suspension consideration because she:

  *Violated or refused to comply with school or district rules as stated in the code of conduct.

  More specifically, she is being accused of stealing the personal property of Ms. Janette Hoberman.

  Enclosed are materials encouraging your child to enroll in Shoplifters Anonymous, a local rehabilitation program that specializes in this problem.

  If you choose to appeal this consideration, you must communicate your appeal, in writing, to the District Administrator within 5 days following the commencement of the investigation as stated in the Board Policy MTL.

  Students who have been suspended shall not be denied the opportunity to take any quarterly, semester, or grading period examinations missed during the suspension period or to complete course work missed during the suspension period.

  Prior to reinstatement, School Board policy requires that one or both parents (guardians) accompany your child to school for a readmittance conference with the principal. If you have any questions regarding this matter, please call me at 503.555.0188.

  Sincerely,

  Gerard Prescott

  Principal

  More Buried Treasure

  I’m in Geometry 2

  when Noah Simos leans over and says to me,

  I think someone’s trying to get your attention.

  He points out Tabitha

  waving through the classroom window.

  You guys are friends? Noah asks, looking confused.

  Depends on the day, I say

  before getting a bathroom pass

  from Mrs. Klein

  and heading out into the hallway.

  Rachelle told me Moe has the program, I blurt

  right when I walk up to Tabitha.

  Yeah, well, she doesn’t anymore, Tabitha responds.

  And I have proof.

  She holds up Ms. Hoberman’s prized possession,

  with all fourteen cast members’ names scrawled on it in ink.

  Even the one with the boner.

  SUSTAINABLE

  I’m looking at Patrick Cushman’s Facebook page, trying to think of what to message him, when my mom knocks on the bedroom door.

  “We’re going to sushi dinner,” she says, which is kind of a shock because we used to go all the time until a year ago, when my dad was convinced sushi gave him mercury poisoning. He never really had it, but he poisoned my mom with his paranoia, which might be worse than actual mercury poisoning.

  She drives us over to Bamboo Sushi, which is on the east side. She likes it because it’s “sustainable sushi” and all the fish are free-range, so nothing is caught in a way that harms marine life or the environment. They have all this art on the walls, and there’s this big frame filled with hundreds of white origami swans all lined up perfectly. If you look at it from a distance, they make their own pattern, but if you get close, you can see they’re just rows and rows of folded white paper. We sit at the back of the restaurant at the sushi bar, an L-shaped wide plank of wood lined with little tea lights. The sushi chef hands us a plate of albacore carpaccio with pickled shiitakes. I don’t really like it, but it’s one of my mom’s favorites. He asks her if she’d like to try one of their signature sake flights.

  “No, thanks. I’ll have a green tea,” she says.

  “Mom, come on,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are you having tea just to prove a point?”

  “No, I’m ordering it because I want to,” she says.

  “Whatever.” I’m not sure whether to believe her.

  After she gets her tea and takes a sip, she says, “I’m starting a program like you did.”

  “A program?”

  “AA. It helped you, didn’t it?”

  “I guess….” I trail off, not exactly wanting to admit that Shoplifters Anonymous was pretty useless when it came to curing my shoplifting.

  “You can’t tell people what to do,” she says. “But sometimes you can inspire them toward a better path of action.”

  She clinks her glass of water with mine, and I don’t know what to say other than that I’m not sure when my mom became all Buddha and that raw fish never tasted so good.

  MAY 5

  Principal Prescott called Aunt B to say my suspension was lifted. The missing program was found and turned in by two students. He added that even though it’s going to be taken off my permanent record, I may have to attend a rehabilitation program. Hilarious.

  Aunt B was relieved and happy, but not so happy we got to go out to Zeppo for dinner or anything. Marc asked Aunt B if the principal told her who the two students were who turned in the program. She said no, but I said to Marc, “I�
�m pretty sure you can guess, can’t you?” I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but we just left it at that and went to play some Rage.

  Mutual Comprehension

  My dad is on the phone

  when I walk past his office,

  but he hangs up

  and calls out to me, Today’s your last class, isn’t it?

  I back up and nod yes.

  Can I drive you? he asks.

  Sure, I say.

  He gets up and strides over to me.

  I have no idea what’s coming

  until he puts an arm around me and says,

  From where I stand, you’re doing everything right.

  I’m not exactly sure what that means.

  Maybe one day I’ll figure it out

  or maybe I won’t;

  he is a fifty-year-old man, after all,

  and I’m a sixteen-year-old girl,

  so we’re not exactly built for mutual comprehension.

  He hugs me close

  and it’s a little awkward,

  so he lets go abruptly

  and walks back to his desk.

  I say bye

  and we smile at each other for a second,

  two people who were always tied

  together by one person,

  who, try as she might,

  just couldn’t seem to stay.

  Gift

  When I walk into Shoplifters Anonymous,

  Moe’s already sitting in the back,

  hoodie up around her head,

  boots splayed out in front of her.

  When she sees me,

  she looks up like an owl

  peeking out,

  big dark eyes

  that could either cut you

  or warm you

  and right now it’s somewhere in between.

  The Final Share

  Tabitha arrives five minutes late for class,