The next morning, I plodded up the steps of the bus and made my way to the seat beside Goldie. When she caught sight of my new hairstyle, she gasped.
Then she grinned. “It looks good. But why’d you cut it?”
I shrugged. “Annie Pierce gave me the idea.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
When I told her what Annie had done, Goldie’s eyes grew dark and stormy. Part of me was nervous about what she might do, but the other part was thrilled at having such a loyal friend.
As we stepped off the bus, I noticed that Annie―with her short uncombed hair and mean eyes―was huddled in one corner with a small group of friends. I drew in an uneasy breath, but was surprised when she paid no attention to me at all.
I don’t think she recognized me at first.
But once she did, her dark eyes flared with surprise. Then they narrowed in anger. She didn’t say a word to me when Goldie and I walked by. My friend’s furious expression, I think, told her enough.
I entered the classroom and Mrs. Higginson complimented me on my new style. I didn’t know until much later that she had discovered the pieces of my hair in the garbage can. Or that she had found Annie’s scissors.
When the day was over and the last bell rang, I grabbed my books and followed Goldie to the door.
“Sarah and Annie,” Mrs. Higginson called. “Stay behind please.”
I exchanged a worried look with Goldie who glared at Annie before disappearing into the hall. Reluctantly, I trudged toward Mrs. Higginson’s desk. She was busy straightening papers and that made me more edgy.
“How has your first few days been, Sarah?” She glanced up and smiled at me, her eyes softening.
I looked from her to Annie. “Uh…good, I guess.”
“Any problems?”
Annie heaved a sigh of impatience. “Why do I have to stay behind? I haven’t done nothin’.”
Mrs. Higginson’s head whipped up. “Haven’t you?”
She reached into her desk and pulled out a pair of blue-handled scissors―Annie’s scissors. A few long brown hairs were still trapped between the blades.
She waved the scissors under Annie’s nose. “What exactly were you cutting?”
Annie jabbed her elbow into my ribs and hissed under her breath. “Don’t say anything.”
“Sarah, do you want to tell me?” Mrs. Higginson asked, pursing her lips.
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay.”
She crossed her arms and stared at us for a few minutes. Then she looked at me and smiled. “By the way, your hair looks lovely. Don’t you think so, Annie?”
The girl beside me remained mute―except for her enraged eyes. They flashed a message, loud and clear.
“Go on home, you two,” Mrs. Higginson said with a sigh of quiet resignation. “And I don’t want any more problems…Annie.”
She escorted us to the classroom door and watched as we walked down the hall together. At the main school doors, I looked back over my shoulder. She was gone.
Scurrying down the steps, I veered off to the left, but Annie grabbed my arm.
“Better watch your back, white girl.”
Petrified, I ran off to meet Goldie at the bus stop. We boarded the bus and it ambled off down the road, passing Annie along the way. She stared up at me as she walked alongside the ditch. She mouthed one word.
Bitch.
During my first week at Bamfield Elementary, the burden of being a ‘white kid’ was almost too much to endure. Someone had poured glue into my desk, smeared mud on my jacket and one of my art projects had mysteriously disappeared.
Of course, only one person I knew would do those things.
On Thursday morning, I found a chocolate bar in my desk. I glanced around the classroom and tried to determine who had put it there. I was sure it had been Goldie.
Later, we sat outside in the grass and I showed her the treat.
“I found it in my desk.”
Goldie gave a quick shrug. “Mrs. Higginson must’ve left it for you―seeing as you’re teacher’s pet.” She grinned at me.
I peered over my shoulder and saw our teacher sitting on the steps. She smiled at me and waved.
“You must be right,” I said, peeling back the wrapper from the chocolate bar. “Wanna bite?”
She eyed it hungrily. “You first. It’s your chocolate bar.”
I bit into the chewy treat, savoring the delicious flavor. Then I offered it to her. She laughed and grabbed it out of my hand. As she opened her mouth to take a bite, she gagged. Her horrified expression made me swallow what was already in my mouth.
It didn’t go down easily.
Goldie moaned. “Ew, gross.”
six
She held out the chocolate bar and pointed to a small hole in the wrapper. Inside, a wriggling mass of tiny bugs infested the bar. And I had eaten some of them.
My stomach heaved.
I spit out everything while Goldie tried to comfort me.
“Who would do such a thing?” she demanded.
Both of us knew the answer to that question.
We spun on our heels as Annie and her gang gathered behind us. All I could see were boys and girls laughing at me, calling me malicious names.
“The white girl eats bugs!” Annie screeched at the top of her lungs. “Don’tcher parents feed you real food?”
I cringed and wiped chocolate bug drool from the corner of my mouth. Determined not to cry, I blinked back hot tears.
Goldie jumped to her feet, hands on hips. “Annie, you oughta be ashamed,” she shouted, furious. “That was a mean and nasty thing to do.”
Annie let out a smug grunt. “Goldie, you goin’ white? Don’t you be gettin’ better than us.” Her eyes squinted dangerously.
I glanced up at my friend. Goldie looked like she was ready to pounce. Her eyes fired daggers. Even I was a bit afraid of her at that moment.
“Don’t,” I mumbled.
“That girl needs to be taught a lesson,” she said through gritted teeth.
“This isn’t your fight.”
We watched Annie and her followers disperse into the school. Then we made our way toward the building, not knowing what to say to each other. I knew that Goldie was seething inside and plotting revenge against Annie. But my mind was on something else.
Were those bugs squirming around―alive―inside me?
I hugged my stomach and retched into some bushes near the steps. My eyes streamed and I couldn’t control the tears as they poured down my cheeks.
Goldie, my steadfast friend, rubbed my back and handed me a napkin. “You okay?”
I sniffed and nodded.
When the school bell rang after lunch, I steeled myself, wiped my face with my sleeve and went inside. I sat at my desk, refusing to look behind me or even acknowledge Annie. I felt her burning stare all day―a day that passed so slowly I thought I’d die from humiliation or fear.
Goldie was unusually quiet that afternoon. She barely said a word―even to me. I caught her glaring at Annie a few times and I knew that I was lucky to have such a loyal friend.
The following morning when everyone arrived at school, we were greeted with an unusual sight. Halfway up the flagpole, someone had strung up a pair of shabby floral shorts and a small white bra. They flapped in the brisk fall breeze.
I nudged Goldie. “I wonder who those belong to.”
“Yeah,” my friend said innocently. “I wonder.”
Bobbie Livingston, a blonde-haired boy from the other sixth grade classroom, nudged the boy next to him. I had been admiring the second boy from a distance for days.
Adam Reid.
Goldie had once told me that Adam’s mother was native, but that his father was white. That explained Adam’s permanent tan.
He was a few months older than I was, tall, athletic and very popular. He had a mop of wavy hair, the most unusual golden eyes and the cutest lopsided smile. When he grinned at me that first day after he’d thrown the pa
per airplane my way, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. At eleven years old, I was already half in love with him.
“I think those are Annie’s,” Adam said. “That bra’s kinda small though.”
A wave of laughter washed over the crowd.
At that moment, Annie stormed across the field and pushed her way through to the flagpole. “Hey! What’s going on? What are you―?”
“That your brassiere?” Bobbie asked with a snicker.
Annie turned slowly, her face a mix of disbelief and dread. When she looked up and saw her shorts and bra on the pole, her entire body went still and her face blazed with heat.
The surrounding laughter dimmed to whispers.
Her mouth quivered. “Who the hell―?” She spun around, her enraged eyes searching out the crowd.
She looked at me for a moment on me, but she frowned and shook her head. She stared into each tense face until her black eyes settled on Goldie.
Stunned, I gazed at my friend. “You did it?”
Goldie threw me a sly smile. “What if I did?”
“You’re gonna pay for this,” Annie hissed. “You too, Sarah.”
Goldie reached out and gripped my arm. It felt like she was branding me, warning the others that I wasn’t to be touched. And it worked…for a while. After that, no one bothered me―except Annie. But that was later.
As we headed for the door, I stole a peek at Goldie.
I can’t quite explain why, but amidst the whispers and laughter, I felt a deep sadness. She had stuck up for me―had even gotten revenge―while I had quivered in fear. In that moment, she became my new best friend. Amber-Lynn was in the past.
I walked up the steps, then glanced over my shoulder.
The field was almost empty. Only one person remained.
Annie.
She stood there―alone and disgraced. Her shoulders were slumped and I wasn’t positive, but it looked like she was crying.
Turning away, I took a deep breath and went inside.
The entire school was called to an emergency assembly in the gym and the students of Bamfield Elementary were lectured about bullying and warned of the consequences.
The principal was furious. “Whoever’s responsible for this disgraceful behavior should come forward now.”
Thankfully, Goldie remained silent.
With an irritated huff, the principal eyed the room. “If any of you know who is responsible, you know where to find me. I expect a name by the end of the day.” His expression darkened. “The culprit will be severely reprimanded.”
For the rest of the day, I chewed my fingernails and anxiously waited for Goldie to be dragged out of class. I was sure she’d be sent home with a detention.
Strangely enough, nobody turned her in.
What surprised me most was that not even Annie mentioned Goldie’s involvement, even though she’d been questioned for over half an hour. She returned to class later that day and passed by me without a second glance.
Part of me felt sorry for Annie.
Part of me feared what she would do next.
The day passed uneventfully. After school, Goldie and I raced to the crowded bus stop to wait for the bus. As it groaned to a halt in front of us, I pulled her aside.
“Was it you?” I whispered.
Her eyes caught mine. “Does it really matter who did it?”
I was silent for a moment.
“No. It doesn’t matter at all.”
We climbed aboard the bus, sat down in our usual seats and hardly said a word to each other during the ride home. When the bus reached the entrance to my driveway, I mumbled a quick goodbye and hopped down the steps. The road to my house seemed never-ending and I trudged along, dragging my feet in the sand and gravel.
That’s when I realized something.
I was ashamed of what Goldie had done to Annie on my behalf. I was mortified that I was the cause of someone’s public humiliation. The guilt ate at me.
Until I remembered the bug-infested chocolate bar.
Then the rage set in.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” my father said during supper. “What’s up, Sarah?”
Pushing my cold mashed potatoes to one side of my plate, I looked at him. My eyes burned with the need to tell him how much I hated living in Bamfield, how much I hated school and how mean everyone was―everyone except Goldie. I yearned to tell him about Annie and the horrible things that she had done to me.
I opened my mouth to speak. But nothing came out.
“Sarah?” my father repeated. “Are you―?”
“Can I be excused, Dad? I don’t feel so good.”
“Of course.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when I jumped to my feet and rushed upstairs to my room. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I threw myself down on my bed.
“I hate it here,” I sobbed. “And I hate Annie.”
I grabbed my pillow and flung it against the door. My face was wet and my throat felt like a fiery furnace. It was hard to be quiet when what I really wanted to do was bawl and scream.
I thought of Annie and my blood boiled. How would I survive three years of being the white kid? How would I endure the malevolent spitefulness of Annie Pierce?
My hatred of her was so intense that I longed to lash out at her, to hurt her physically. I envisioned revenge. My own sweet revenge. I couldn’t allow Goldie to be my savior forever, to be there for me every time Annie decided to be cruel. I needed to be strong, to defend myself. I wanted to overcome my fear of her. I just didn’t know how.
I curled up on my bed, depressed and angry, plotting all the vengeful things I would do to Annie. I don’t know how much time passed before there was a soft knock on the door.
“Sarah?”
The bed sagged as my mother sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Are you okay, honey?”
Her voice cracked a bit and I sensed her sadness.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
She stretched out beside me and we lay side-by-side, shoulders touching. We stayed like that for a long time, neither of us saying a word.
Working up my nerve, I said, “There’s this girl at school. Annie. She’s the one who cut my hair. And she gave me a chocolate bar with bugs in it.” I took a deep breath and looked at my mother. “Everyone teased me and Annie called me white girl.”
My mother was appalled. “That’s horrible. I’ll talk to your teacher.”
I shook my head. “No! That’ll make things worse.”
“Annie must be a terribly sad and angry girl.”
I stared at her, confused by her comment. How could my mother feel any sympathy toward the girl that was bullying me?
“What do you mean?” I asked in a sulky voice.
She patted my hand and entwined her elegant fingers through mine. “Usually when kids act like that toward someone else, it’s because they are unhappy. Annie may be jealous of you. Or maybe a white person treated her badly at one time and that’s why she seems to hate white people.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. “That’s called racism, Sarah. When you judge someone or dislike them for the color of their skin or their race. When Nonno Rocco and Nonna Sophia first came to North America, many people were mean to them because they were Italian. People can be spiteful sometimes―especially children. Some people just don’t know any better. No one’s taught them that it’s wrong to judge others by the color of their skin.”
I pouted. “Why didn’t Annie’s parents teach her it’s wrong?”
She gave a sad shrug. “I don’t know, honey. Sometimes kids learn from their parents how to hate other people. I really don’t know why Annie feels the way she does.”
I clenched her hand, wondering how she could always see something good in everyone, no matter how nasty they were. That was why my mother was so special.
But I wasn’t like her. I hated Annie.
The bed s
hifted as my mother rose to her feet. “What are you going to do, Sarah?”
I moaned. “I don’t know, Mom. What can I do?”
“Hating Annie will suck out your own goodness and energy. You’re so much better than that. If you choose to hate her, then you become just like her―no better.” She kissed my forehead and hugged me. “Life’s too short to not forgive those who hurt us. I trust you to do what’s right. Right by your own heart.” She placed her palm against my beating heart. “Forgiveness sets you free.”
Outside the bay window, the sky was woven with fiery cumulus clouds and the sun drifted below the trees. A bald eagle dipped low, soared past the window and disappeared into the night.
As I went to sleep, the last thing I thought of was my mother’s parting words.
“Forgiveness sets you free.”
seven
Two days passed by without any repercussions from Annie.
Throughout the week, I kept my mother’s advice close to heart, trying to find a way to forgive the girl. But forgiveness didn’t come easily to me. I eventually gave up my ideas of revenge when I noticed that even Annie’s friends were ostracizing her. I figured that was punishment enough.
When she showed up at school on Wednesday with a black eye, I almost felt sorry for her. She told Mrs. Higginson that she’d been hit by a ball at the park. Goldie and I suspected that she’d run into someone’s fist. Wishful thinking on our part.
That night, my father bounded into the house. He had a huge smile on his face.
“Guess what? Jeff Boyd, the research coordinator, just announced that the new schooner, complete with the best echolocation equipment, will be arriving tomorrow.” He pulled my mother close and grinned like a circus clown.
“Will you get to drive it?” I asked, bouncing on my chair.
He chuckled. “No, there’ll be a real skipper doing the driving. My job is to monitor the electronic sound equipment. I’ll be out in the schooner for the next two months.” His eyes gleamed suddenly. “Sarah, do you think your class would be interested in a field trip aboard the Finland Fancy on Friday?”
Whale Song: A Novel Page 5