Shooter

by Caroline Pignat

“I can’t believe I didn’t get in.” She pauses. “But what does it matter? Why should it matter? I don’t even want to go there.”

  The photo of Darren, it seems, was the last straw. The final failure that pushed her over the edge, and now it all comes gushing out. And boy, can Isabelle gush.

  “I’m trying!” she shouts, her head still in her arms. “I’m doing my best. But I can’t do it all. I’m not perfect. And instead of hearing me, my mother is all ‘sure you can, sweetie, we believe in you, you’re a star, you can do it, we’re behind you a hundred percent.’ ” Her body tenses with every word. The pressure coils in her small fists as she pounds her leg. “And it’s push push push! If I make the team, they want me to be the MVP. If I run for Student Council, they tell me to go for President. My bulletin board is covered in gold stars and ribbons and honor certificates and medals. How many more do I need to win? How much more do I need to do before it’s—” she hiccups and finally gasps for breath, “before I am enough?”

  We sit in stunned silence, unsure if there is more to come. I look at the Hulk, who seems as speechless as me. I shake my head at Xander as he raises his camera and, surprisingly, he lowers it.

  Somebody should say something. Do something. Unsure of what else to do, I pull a Kleenex from my fanny pack and put it in her hand. She pulls it under her curtain of hair to wipe her nose.

  “It’s not right,” the Hulk finally says, “the way some Chinese parents push their kids like that.”

  Isabelle laughs then, a strange, sad echo in our room. “They’re not Chinese.”

  The Hulk blushes. “I mean Japanese…or…whatever.”

  “No.”

  She lifts her head, revealing an Isabelle I’ve never seen before—one who is puffy-eyed and snotty-nosed. One who is broken. And real.

  “I’m Chinese. They’re white.” She looks at the Hulk in surprise. “I’m adopted. I thought you knew that.”

  The Hulk looks away. Clearly he didn’t know and feels bad about it. How would any of us know unless we’d met her family? Was it wrong to assume they were from the same culture?

  “So,” I continue, trying to understand what she is really saying, “your parents put a lot of pressure on you?”

  “Yes.” She hesitates. “Well, no, not exactly. I mean, they just expect it because I can. Because I should. Because I’ve been given so many opportunities.” She says it like they aren’t opportunities at all. Isabelle stares off beyond this tiny washroom. Beyond all of us. “I know it sounds ungrateful, but sometimes…sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if they’d left me in that orphanage. If I wasn’t…chosen.”

  Her voice hushes to barely a whisper. She isn’t saying it to be heard or to impress us. And for the first time, I realize that Isabelle Parks’ reputation as the “chosen one” isn’t about us at all.

  HOGAN

  “Japanese…or…whatever”—who says that?

  You did, moron.

  I thought, I mean, I just assumed her parents were Asian too. I can say Asian. That’s okay, right?

  Nice, Hulkster. Add “racist idiot” to your loser list.

  I know. I’m such an idiot. I’ll bet she’s never met anyone as stupid—

  “Here’s some good news,” Xander blurts, cutting into my thoughts. He smiles at Izzy. I think he’s trying to look encouraging or friendly—but it’s just weird. Though not as weird as what he says next. “According to my observations, a quick Social Autopsy shows that you, in fact, have one less concern.”

  What is it with this guy and autopsies?

  “I mean…” We all look at him and his face goes red. “Umm…Mrs. O’Neill says to focus on the positive. And, well, I’m 99.8 percent positive that you no longer have to worry about Darren Greene.” He smiles again, like he’s come up with some great conclusion. “Because, clearly, he has replaced you with a different girl.”

  Izzy’s mouth drops open.

  Xander looks in confusion at each of us. “So…that’s good…right? Because—”

  I kick his foot and he shuts up. He raises his camera and retreats behind it.

  Izzy’s eyes fill up like two shot glasses.

  “Don’t even think about pressing that button,” I snarl at Xander as he trains his lens on her. Is he for real?

  “Whatever,” Izzy says, wiping her nose. “I know I look bad now…” Like she could ever look bad. “But it’s nothing compared to the other ones he took.”

  She pauses for second, then slowly pulls up her left sleeve. I think she’s showing us some bracelet until I see the scars. Three of them. Red, angry slashes against the smooth skin of her inner arm. Like those lines people scratch on a cell wall. Counting down to freedom.

  “Iz!” Without even thinking I reach out and squeeze her arm, like it just happened, as if by holding it tight I can take away some of the pain.

  She avoids my eyes.

  “Are they from an animal or something?” I say, knowing they aren’t. “Bites or scratches from a dog?”

  “Those are not from a dog,” Alice adds, like I’ve offended her just by suggesting it. “A dog would never do that. Well, not any dog I’ve ever known.”

  I know she’s right. The clean cuts. The short, straight lines. Those marks are intentional. A map of the dark places Izzy has been. But I want to give her an out. First the picture of Darren, and now this? It’s too much.

  “Well,” I say to Alice, “not all dogs are as well trained as yours.”

  “It’s not from a dog.” Izzy looks up at Xander for a second. Then, breathing out, she lets it all go. “I was here late working on the yearbook, you know, trying to get it just right.” Her voice is quiet. “The deadline was looming. And though I’d been accepted at a few other universities, Alyssa and Trev got early acceptances to Queen’s Commerce, but I hadn’t heard anything yet. And I started to wonder if maybe I wouldn’t. And Darren was being weird. Cold. I could tell he was avoiding me. Things were getting worse. And my mother was constantly on my case. And I had this panic growing inside of me. A great big bubble of anxiety. What if the yearbook isn’t good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if I don’t get into Queen’s? What if Darren doesn’t love me any more? And the X-acto knife was on the desk and, I dunno. I just did it.” She traced the lines with her finger. “It hurt. A lot. But it was…real. And it felt like…” She looks around like she’s searching for the words. “Like I could finally breathe.”

  She stops and takes a deep breath again and her shoulders relax.

  It’s done now. Out. And even if she seems smaller somehow, deflated like an old balloon, I see in her eyes she’s okay with it. Less tense.

  “I know, it sounds crazy,” she says. “Maybe I am. But I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Not even Brianne. No one could ever know.” She looks back at Xander. “And then a few weeks later, he hands in his photos for the yearbook. A stack of black-and-white candids, stupid shots he took around the school. I hardly looked at the others, not when I saw the one of me.” She stops. “And I saw it then, in that picture—I saw who I really was.”

  Izzy pulls both sleeves over her hands and draws up her knees, hugging them close as though she’s trying to hold what’s left of herself together.

  Click.

  “Sometimes,” she says, “sometimes it’s just really hard being me.”

  Alice opens her mouth to say something, but Izzy cuts her off.

  “And don’t tell me how great things are, because I know that. Or how great my life is—because I know that, too.”

  By the way Alice snaps her lips closed, I can tell that’s exactly what she was going to say.

  “But, see, when you guys make mistakes, it’s okay.” She looks at me, then—me, the King of Mistakes. “It’s expected. Because, well, you’re you.”

  I want to tell her it’s hard for me, too. She has no idea what it’s like to be me either. “Izzy, you’re not the only—”

  Alice’s hand rests lightly on my arm and I stop. Look a
t her. Without even saying a word, she tells me to wait. Let Izzy speak. Just listen. I nod and Alice smiles. It’s weird how we sorta read each other’s mind. But cool weird.

  Izzy keeps on talking. “MVP, Student Council President, leading actress, Yearbook Editor—and this year’s book is the best one yet. I am successful at whatever I do. I’m not bragging. It’s true. I’ve never failed. Ever.”

  “Must be nice,” I mutter.

  “It’s not.” Izzy rests her chin on her knees. “Failing is not an option. My mother wouldn’t allow it. She does everything she can to prevent it. I keep trying to live up to that impossible standard. It’s like, I keep clearing the bar, and they just keep on raising it. At some point it’s all gotta come crashing down. The truth is…” her dark eyes fill with another shot of tears, “I’m not good enough. Not for Queen’s Commerce. Not for Darren. And not for my mother.”

  No one speaks for a moment. What would we say?

  “It’s so funny, you know?” Izzy wipes her eyes with her ball of Kleenex. “I couldn’t wait to grow up. But just the thought of leaving St. Francis Xavier, of graduating next month—it terrifies me.” She swipes her cheek as another tear spills. “I know who I am here, what I can do. Where I fit in. But out there—in the real world—it’s like…I will be nobody.”

  I look at Alice. Hope that she’s got some wise words to say. She’s smart, probably good with that kind of thing. But even Alice is silent. Just sitting there, staring at the floor deep in thought. Izzy looks at me then, like she’s waiting for an answer. I look away. I’ve got nothing for her.

  The truth is, she’s just nervous, that’s all. Izzy’ll come out on top. She always does. She’s just anxious about heading into the unknown.

  But, me? I can’t wait to leave this hellhole school where everyone is trying to help make me into something. I want to get away, to leave home, to get lost in that unknown where nobody knows about me or my brother.

  Hell, I can’t wait to finally be a nobody.

  ISABELLE

  BRI: They’ve got the footage from the atrium camera.

  IZZY: Do they know who he is?

  BRI: Not yet.

  How you holding up?

  IZZY: Worst. Day. Ever.

  BRI: I know, right?

  IZZY: I know about the party. About Darren.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  BRI: WHAT?!

  Who told you?

  IZZY: I saw the pictures on Kate’s account.

  BRI: OMG! Iz, I am SO SORRY.

  IZZY: You should be. Why didn’t you tell me? A best friend would tell.

  BRI: You’re right. I should have. I just didn’t know what to say.

  IZZY: For a start…how about: your boyfriend is a lying ass.

  BRI: I know. I know.

  IZZY: What happened?

  BRI: I dunno. He was drinking a lot and I guess things just got out of hand.

  You know how he is.

  IZZY: Ya.

  BRI: And, like I said, you’ve been different lately.

  He said things weren’t going good between you.

  IZZY: :(I know.

  BRI: And next thing I know…we got carried away.

  IZZY: Wait…WHAT?!

  WE??!

  That’s YOU in the pictures?!

  BRI: I thought you knew!

  You just said you knew.

  IZZY: I said HE cheated.

  OMG! I didn’t know it was with MY BEST FRIEND.

  I can’t believe you guys.

  What the hell is wrong with you?

  BRI: I’m so SO sorry.

  Please believe me, Iz.

  I never meant for that to happen.

  IZZY: Don’t EVER talk to me again.

  I’m DONE.

  With BOTH of you.

  ALICE

  We’ve been in lockdown for a good twenty-five minutes, though it feels so much longer. Surely there must be some kind of update. Things have gotten quiet since the last blasts, but they haven’t let us out yet. Which must mean the shooter is still out there. Somewhere.

  “Any news?” I ask Isabelle as she furiously texts.

  “Yes! Get this, that girl in the picture?” She clenches her jaw. “It’s Bri. As in, my-best-friend-Bri, all over my boyfriend.” She slams the phone down on the floor. “She knew things weren’t good between me and Darren lately—the perfect time for her to weasel in. They freaking deserve each other.”

  No one speaks.

  “Isn’t he going to play football for California State next year?” the Hulk finally asks.

  “Long-distance relationships don’t usually last,” I add, like I know anything about dating that doesn’t come from a novel or the old Turner Classic Movies Gran and I watch on Friday nights. “It might be for the best, Isabelle. Even if it doesn’t look like that now.”

  “Duh!” She rolls her puffy, red eyes. “I KNOW that! I get it. We talked about breaking up after graduation—well, he talked about it. But in my heart I always hoped…” Her voice trails off.

  I finish it for her. “That one day he’d wake up, change who he is, and realize how much he really loves you.” It’s a classic TCM plot—The King and I, The Sound of Music, all the greats have it.

  Isabelle smiles wistfully. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. That’s what they say, right?”

  “Not any guy I know,” the Hulk mutters. “More like, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  Clearly he needs to watch some better programming.

  “I thought he’d wait until after prom.” Isabelle chews her lip. “That he’d give me that, at least—after all I’ve done for him. But no!” She shakes her head. “He goes behind my back with my best friend and they make a fool out of me in front of the whole school.”

  “It’s not the whole school,” I correct her. I’m trying to help her keep things in perspective. “We didn’t hear about it. Not everyone knows.”

  “Well, everyone that matters. No offense.” And just like that, the old Isabelle is back. Making me keep things in perspective too.

  HOGAN

  “Not to be insensitive,” Alice goes, “because I know you have a lot going on right now, but I just wondered…if Bri might have mentioned anything about the, um, lockdown?”

  Izzy sighs, irritated by any drama outside of her own. “I dunno. I think the police are checking the atrium’s security cameras.”

  “I didn’t even know we had atrium cameras,” Alice says, surprised.

  “Me either,” Xander mutters.

  We sit in silence. Izzy notices a white paper among the yellow flyers on the floor. She picks it up and glances at it. “This e-mail has your name on it, Alice.”

  “Oh, I must have dropped it when I fell.” Red-faced, Alice pratically snatches it from Izzy’s hand, but not before Iz reads, “University of British Columbia? Bad news?”

  “Something like that.” Alice looks away as she crumples it.

  “UBC Creative Writing Program?” Xander says. “I’m surprised you got a rejection. You are, by far, the most talented writer in Ms. Carter’s class.”

  Alice fidgets like she doesn’t know what to say or where to look. Her face glows bright red.

  “Are you angry?” Xander asks. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

  “No, you’re right,” Izzy says. “She’s blushing because you pointed out something true. I might not have remembered your name at first, Alice, but I’ll never forget your stories. Especially that one about the pirate queen. That was awesome.”

  “And the dog one,” Xander goes. “Remember that?”

  “Thanks, guys.” A small smile pulls the corners of her mouth. “Actually it’s…a letter of acceptance.”

  We all congratulate her, and her shy smile widens until her cheeks dimple. Even her eyes are glowing like she’s lit up from the inside and not from the shaft of afternoon sunlight coming in through the small window up in the corner. Beside her, Noah waves his hand in front of his face, as if strumming the
beams.

  Alice rests her hand on his leg and he slows. Her smile fades. “But I’m not going.”

  “What?” Izzy’s jaw drops. “That’s, like, one of the top schools in the country. Seriously, that’s huge, Alice. You HAVE to go!”

  “I can’t,” she says, sadly. “I just…can’t.”

  “It’s because of Noah, isn’t it?” I say, not totally getting how I knew. Just that I did.

  She meets my eyes and nods.

  “What about your parents?” Iz asks. “Can’t they take care of him?”

  “We live with my grandmother,” Alice says. “And our mom…isn’t around.”

  “Is she dead?” Xander blurts in his doofus way. Jerk.

  “No,” Alice says, “my mom left when I was about three and Noah was seven. Like, literally, left us with Gran and Grampa. People say their dogs are ‘going to live on the farm’ when they can’t handle them any more. Apparently, my mom thought it was okay to do that with her kids.” She stops for a second and chews her lip.

  “At least you know who your mom is,” Izzy says. “I’ll never know my birth mother.”

  Leave it to Izzy to try and trump it with her story. Nothing supportive ever starts with the words “at least”—

  At least Randy didn’t suffer.

  At least your parents have you.

  At least you had a brother.

  “I do know who my mother really is,” Alice says. “That’s part of the problem.”

  Noah hums like a wasp’s nest. He’s getting louder, winding up inside, or something. Alice finally lets go of his leg and he jumps up and starts pacing again.

  “I get it, though,” she continues. “A young single mom. Noah was in pretty bad shape then, too. Violent. Didn’t communicate. Hard to manage. Leaving him at Gran and Grampa’s farm was probably the best thing for him.”

  “But what about you?” Izzy asks.

  Alice bites her lip again.

  “See?” Xander goes. “Her face is red. You said something true.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want,” Alice tries to explain. “Grampa left the farm to Gran—”