Totally Crushed

by Kristen Tracy

But my parents both gave me a worried look. “If she fails out of college and jets off to Thailand,” my dad said, “nothing improves for anyone.”

  And that actually sounded like a true statement, so I just said, “Yeah.” But then my mind leaped to something else that Piper had said. “Why did she call me Smudge?”

  My mom shrugged. “Term of endearment?”

  “Maybe she thought the picture looked smudged,” my dad said as he walked out of my room.

  And while neither of those answers felt right, I also wasn’t too worried about the Smudge comment. Piper had a lot on her mind. Maybe it was a weird autocorrect. Or maybe it was something she meant to say to somebody else.

  Walking to school carrying my PopRat frame was not the easiest thing I’d ever done in my life. It was heavy, and wobbly, and I had a tremendous fear that a gust of wind would bend it and possibly tear one of the sides. So I walked slowly and tried to carry it with the breeze, like a sail cutting through the air.

  Luckily, the front doors of the school were propped open, so I didn’t have to set my costume down. I heard a few people make exaggerated meowing sounds at me, which hurt my feelings. Because I was pretty sure I didn’t look like a cat—I didn’t have any whiskers and I had guinea pig ears. I hoped maybe they were meowing at a costume behind me. Instead of going to my locker, I glided straight to the Yearbook room. I needed to check the task sheet and possibly take some pictures before school, if I had time and Ms. Kenny said it was okay.

  I was super surprised when I entered the room to see that Venice and Leo were already there, dressed head to toe as full-on miners. They looked ridiculous. But I couldn’t tell them that, because Ms. Kenny was talking to them. I heard her say, “What an outrageously great costume, you two.” Which meant she liked their mining getup, which felt weird to me. She usually had such good taste.

  “Hi,” I said, gently setting down my PopRat frame next to the whiteboard.

  “Wow,” Venice said. “I can’t believe you pulled that costume together so quickly.”

  That did not feel like a compliment.

  “Amazing,” Leo said. “It’s perfect. You nailed it.”

  Gag. I really didn’t want Leo to be complimenting me. Because did that mean I had to fake-compliment his awful beard?

  “Have you thought about adding a donation jar to your costume?” Ms. Kenny asked. “I’m sure the Humane Society would be happy to get more Smudge donations.”

  It was then, at the second mention of the name Smudge, that I realized I was missing something important. Mainly, who was Smudge? And was I really dressed like him/her/it? Sadly, I didn’t feel like I could ask Venice, Leo, or Ms. Kenny. Because they’d already complimented my costume. So I had to figure out who Smudge was on my own. I pulled out my phone. Boom! There he was. It only took two seconds to find his whole terrible life story.

  Smudge was all over the local news. Apparently, an apartment building on St. Claire Road caught fire and a bunch of families were displaced. And a stray cat, Smudge, got burned too. The pictures showed him wrapped in a towel with an IV attached to his gray paw. I looked at my own paws. The way my mom had cut the mittens did make them look a tiny bit injured. And my ears, if you didn’t understand they were guinea pig ears, could look like damaged cat ears. And my face, whiskerless and painted white and tan, did strongly resemble poor, burned Smudge.

  “What are you looking at?” Venice asked. “Did you get a Smudge update?”

  I blinked. Why would I be getting a Smudge update? Ms. Kenny handed me an empty sour cream tub that normally held colored pencils.

  “You could use this for a donation jar,” she suggested.

  “Leo and I can decorate it!” Venice said. “It will help with all of Smudge’s medical bills.”

  “Sure,” I said. Because it felt rude to say I didn’t want to help collect money for a burned cat. Especially since everybody thought I was dressed to look like him.

  “Great!” Venice said. Then she and Leo grabbed the sour cream container and headed to the craft table.

  I really hated the idea of carrying my frame, my books, and a donation jar around school all day. Suddenly, it felt like my costume had too many pieces.

  “Holy smokes!” Anya said the second she saw me. “You really love cats. I mean, out of all the cute costumes in the world, instead of choosing one of those, you dressed as our city’s most famous and probably ugliest fire escapee, Smudge. Wow.”

  Sabrina and Sailor joined her and all three of them just gawked at me.

  “Boom,” Sailor said. “You’ve really blown my mind.”

  “Yeah,” Sabrina said. “You’ve got guts. I always think of Halloween as the one day I get to wear a tail or glitter or a tiara. I try to look cute.”

  The way they looked at me made me feel really ugly, even deformed. I wanted to correct everybody and explain that I wasn’t Smudge. That I was a PopRat guinea pig filter. But for some reason, those words never came out. I just stared back at them. They were dressed like ice cream cones. They had cherry hats on their heads. And beads all over their shirts that looked like rainbow sprinkles. And brown miniskirts that looked like waffle cones. Anya was vanilla, Sabrina was chocolate, and Sailor was strawberry. I was jealous. In addition to being super cute, their costumes looked easy to move in.

  “Wowza!” Javier said. “I didn’t see this coming. You’re Smudge!”

  And that basically sealed my fate. Because after seven people, eight counting your own sister, call you Smudge on Halloween, you’re Smudge.

  “What can I say? I love cats.” And even though I hadn’t meant that to be a hilarious joke, Anya, Sabrina, and Sailor burst out laughing.

  After Yearbook, I had to choose between carrying my filter or my Smudge donation jar around with me. Taking both was impossible. I chose the latter. I felt weird collecting money for a cat whose existence I had only just learned about. But Ms. Kenny checked with Principal Hunt, and she assured me that I had permission to do it, as long as I turned my bucket in to her at the end of the day.

  I was a magnet. Lots of kids sought me out just to ask about the fire, which I knew nothing about. Even Reece Fontaine, Hannah Jones, and Fletcher Zamora tracked me down between classes as I made my way to Science.

  “I heard it was a candle,” Hannah said, dressed like an amazing ninja in all black with super-tall black boots. She even wore a dramatic black mask.

  I shrugged. “I really don’t know the details.”

  “Wasn’t it a propane explosion?” Fletcher asked. “Somebody brought a canister inside and it had a leak.”

  “Why would anybody do that?” I asked, adjusting my fake-fur mittens.

  “Yeah,” Reece said, giving me a friendly shoulder bump. “I didn’t think it was that either.”

  “I hope his ears don’t get infected,” Hannah said, staring at my fur costume ears.

  “It sounds like he’s getting great medical care now,” I said, repositioning my headband so my own ears didn’t droop.

  “You’re so awesome,” Reece said. Then she dumped some change into my donation jar and ran off.

  It was like that all day leading up to the Big Boo. People found me, complimented my bravery in coming as a hideously injured stray cat, and threw money into my sour cream tub. Cha-ching. It was pretty exhausting. I wasn’t sure how I’d have the energy to take pictures at the carnival. But it wasn’t like I had a choice, because it was going to happen.

  Instead of class, for fifth and sixth period we all got to go to the carnival in the gym. The student council, drama club, and PTA had planned and executed the whole thing: decorations, activity booths, treats, and all the extras. All we had to do was go to the gym and enjoy it. Except for me and Venice, because we had to photograph it.

  I met Venice at the beginning of lunch to see if she wanted to eat in the cafeteria, or go to the Yearbook room and prep stuff.

  “I need something to drink,” she said.

  She looked very pink.

 
; “You should take your helmet off,” I said. “It looks like you’re overheating.”

  She pulled out a water bottle from her backpack and chugged it. “The helmet makes the costume. I’m not taking it off.”

  “If you get heat stroke, I’ll be marooned,” I pleaded. “Don’t do that to me.”

  “I’m not gonna let you down, Smudge,” Venice said, finishing her water. “Wow, how much have you made in donations?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t counted it.”

  “You’re such a giver,” Venice said, giving me a quick hug. “Let’s grab our stuff and head to the gym. I’m dying to see what they’ve done.”

  From what I’d heard from seventh and eighth graders, Big Boo was totally awesome and very Halloweeny. Fake pumpkins. Scarecrows. Bats. Witches. But what I saw when I entered the gymnasium was so much better than what I thought I was going to see.

  The first thing that deeply impressed me was the fog machine. It pumped out a tremendous amount of cool mist that made everything feel so spooky. And then there was the background music. It was a supercreepy mix of croaking toads, haunting music, screaming people, and moaning. And I was expecting maybe twenty pumpkins, but laid out before me were at least a hundred. And they were all carved with spooky faces. They lined a pathway that led to an apple-bobbing booth. Somebody’s mom dressed as a mean green witch looked to be in charge of that activity. Her warts looked very real and hairy.

  “I don’t even feel like I’m in school anymore,” Venice said.

  And she was right. It was amazing.

  “How much longer until everybody else arrives?” I asked.

  “We have twenty minutes,” Venice said.

  And that really wasn’t enough time. Seriously. Those minutes flew by. Everybody was trying to get everything perfect. Derby, in full Dracula gear, quickly strung more cobwebs near the beanbag toss. And members of the PTA set out strange-looking cupcakes that were so green they sort of glowed in the dark.

  “Look at the photo booth!” Venice squealed.

  It was so cool! It was shaped like a coffin. And inside was a little bench where two people could sit down. It looked like it was made out of bones.

  “So adorable,” I said. “Let’s position the light here.” I pointed to the exact spot where Venice was pointing. Sometimes it was like we shared the same brain.

  When the costumes started rolling into the gym everything felt even more exciting. There was so much noise. And everybody was lining up to get a picture taken.

  “You’re doing such a great job,” Ms. Kenny said. “Have you happened to see Javier and Anya?”

  “No,” Venice said. “They haven’t helped with anything today.”

  And that was one of my favorite qualities about Venice. She just told it the way it was.

  “You two are such a great team,” Ms. Kenny said.

  And it was almost like somebody had rung a bell signaling for Leo to show up. Because the second after that compliment, he trotted right over in his stupid helmet.

  “Hey, Venice,” Leo said, squeezing her hand. “Hey, Smudge.”

  I was sort of getting used to being called that.

  “Are you sweating?” Venice asked him. “Maybe we should take our mining coats off. They are awful hot.”

  “I am sweating,” he said. “But it’s because I ran here.”

  That really bugged me. Because it was like he couldn’t let Venice and me have one single lunch alone setting up for photos. He had to hurry his sweaty miner butt over here and interject himself as fast as he could.

  “You’re so sweet,” Venice said.

  “I didn’t come for you,” Leo said. “I came for Smudge.”

  “You don’t need to call me that every second of your life,” I said. I didn’t mean to sound snarky, but it was so hard with him.

  “I need to warn you,” he said. “You’re about to see something terrible.”

  “Leo,” Venice said sharply. “That’s not funny. Stop joking around.”

  “Brace yourself!” Leo said in a very panicked way. “It’s ugly.”

  At first, I was really confused. What was I going to see? Was it really going to be that terrible? Probably Leo and I had different ideas about what was and wasn’t terrible. But then it happened. And I was wrong. Leo and I did agree about what was terrible, and I was looking right at it. And he was completely right: It was ugly. It came out of the fog, or, more accurately, they did. Drea and Hayes. They were holding hands and smiling huge. They looked very happy to be a couple at the Big Boo. But that wasn’t the terrible part. Their costumes. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “They should not be allowed to wear those!” Venice said. “It’s wrong.”

  It was wrong. And hilarious. And mean. Drea and Hayes were dressed in all-black clothes with cut-up pieces of paper stuck to them. The papers had printed-out quotes on them. They were big. Everybody could read them. And they weren’t quotes by dead presidents or famous writers. They were quotes from me! They were wearing my pops. And they weren’t just wearing the pops I’d sent them. They’d also enlarged and printed out the few pops in my sewer. There they were. My pops. My username. My parents’ pops. Their usernames. Drea and Hayes had dressed up as my PopRat account. And people loved it.

  At first I felt like I was dying inside. I just wanted to fold up into myself a million times and then melt into the floor. Watching everybody approach those two and read the pops and then start laughing, it was too awful to see. I felt like all those laughers were misunderstanding who I was. Those pops were just something I shot out one morning without thinking very hard. I never expected them to be enlarged and turned into two Halloween costumes.

  “Don’t melt down,” Venice said. “It’s okay. Look at how much money you’ve raised for Smudge.”

  But it was pretty hard to feel anything other than humiliated. Because Drea and Hayes were mocking me. They had picked the most public place to tear me down, and then with a lot of paper and planning and stapling they’d struck out at me. They really did hate me. And they wanted to ruin my Halloween and more. From the looks of things, they were interested in destroying the rest of my life. Over a few dumb pops.

  As they moved toward the photo booth, my embarrassment quickly turned to red-hot anger. It was hard for me not to hate them right back. Who did those two think they were? My pops didn’t belong to them. It was hard for me to stand there and do my job and take pictures. It was hard for me to keep my cool and act like it didn’t bother me that the two people approaching me were plastered in my own words. And guess what? As soon as they entered the coffin photo booth, I didn’t keep my cool and stand right there and take it and do my job. No. Instead of taking their pictures, I, Perry Hall, snapped.

  The first sign that I had snapped was when I heard my own scream. I heard it escape my mouth and I could tell that it came from somewhere deep inside myself. Maybe my kidneys. Maybe even deeper. Then I felt myself charging toward them. Drea and Hayes looked really shocked at this. Their eyes were huge. As big as plates. As big as moons. And when I reached them, they probably thought I’d yell at them. I don’t think they thought I’d lay a finger on them.

  And technically, I didn’t touch them. I touched my own property: my pops. I tore at their evil printouts. And I didn’t feel bad about doing that at all. Those pops were mine. My words. My thoughts. And they belonged in my sewer, not stapled to two people who hated me. I yanked them off their shoulders, and stomachs, and knees. And did this yanking leave holes? Of course it did.

  Those jerks had worn a cotton-spandex blend. As soon as I pulled the paper off, the staples cut through the fabric and revealed naked oval-shaped areas of skin, and maybe some underwear elastic. To be honest, I was ripping too fast and too hard to be certain of anything. I felt desperate. Drea was a geek who I’d been trying to help. We’d been in this together. And instead of being grateful, she’d invaded my life. She’d taken my sister’s clothes and Hayes’s crush on me and my pops. What was wrong with
her? What made her think she could come to my house and eat my pizza and do this to me? It wasn’t okay. No. I wasn’t going to let Drea or Hayes parade around the Big Boo wearing my PopRat account. This was not happening.

  And that was what I kept yelling, too. “This is not happening! This is not happening!”

  Leo tried valiantly to hold me back. Even when I flung my arms to get away and accidentally knocked his miner’s hat off and it slid across the gymnasium floor, nearly taking out a scarecrow. I kept diving at my pops. I felt like they belonged to me. And I wasn’t going to leave Drea and Hayes alone until I had them all. Even Ms. Kenny couldn’t stop me.

  “Is this a planned stunt?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” Venice replied.

  It was when I saw Principal Hunt approaching that I knew I needed to stop ripping apart their terrible, awful PopRat costumes.

  “It’s not totally Perry’s fault,” Leo said loudly as Principal Hunt took stock of things.

  “It’s totally all Perry’s fault!” Drea said. “She sent these pops. And once you send them they don’t belong to you anymore. So I have every right in the world to wear them to this carnival.”

  “Pops?” Principal Hunt asked, looking back and forth between their partially shredded outfits and the pieces of paper I was clutching in my fists.

  “Drea and Hayes are dressed as Perry’s PopRat account. They’re wearing all her personal pops,” Venice explained.

  “We got them out of her sewer,” Hayes said. “Once they’re in there it’s public property, right? Isn’t that how sewers work?”

  “Venice, Leo, and Perry, please go to the library with Ms. Kenny,” Principal Hunt said firmly. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Drea looked really happy when she heard this. But then the principal turned to her. “Drea and Hayes, in my office right now.”

  “But I don’t want to miss Big Boo,” Drea said. “I deserve to stay here.”

  “You should have thought of that before you picked such a hostile costume.”

  And I was sort of impressed that Drea had stood up for herself in this situation. Because I was the type of person who basically did whatever the principal told me to do.