by Cat Bauer
“They donated a bunch of oils, too.” Miss Posey hands me a box full of tubes of paint. “You'll do the first two portraits in acrylic, the final one in canvas and oil. You can work during art class, study hall, lunch, after school—whenever. Set up a schedule with Lena, the girl who's playing Anastasia. I'm giving you a permanent pass so you can finish the portraits in time for opening night.”
I am still in shock, so I barely hear her. Canvas.
“I'm also giving you your own key to the art room.”
This part I hear. “My own key?” I look at her. In her hand is a big brass key dangling from a red shoelace.
Miss Posey grins. “Yeah. Just like having your own studio.” She hands me the key. “Come in anytime you want, even if there's a class. You'll have your own little corner.”
I turn the heavy key over and over in my hand, stroking the smooth polished brass. This is too good to be true. I am so happy, I give Miss Posey a hug. She laughs. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
I am walking down the hall when I see Johnny come out of his chemistry class with his arm around Prudence Clarke. She is giggling. Oh, no. No, no! Just when I let my guard down, life clobbers me on the head.
The happy couple does not see me. I turn around and duck into the girls' room. Debbie Nagle and Lisa Kowalski are in there, sneaking a cigarette. They are ready to jump when I open the door. Then they see it's me and relax. They sit on alert next to an open stall in case a teacher drops in. I lean against the sink and take a deep breath.
“Hey, Harley. You look like you seen a ghost,” says Lisa.
“Just that bitch Prudence Clarke.” I run the cold water and splash my face.
“OOOoooh. That bitch can sit on it,” sniffs Debbie. “She thinks she's so hot.”
“I heard she's going to the Spring Ball with Johnny Bruno,” says Lisa.
I turn off the water and stare at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“I was in the office after morning announcements and she was all, ‘you should see my dress, it's black' and crap. She's such a user, she only wanted him back 'cause she can't get a date to the ball.” Lisa spits into the sink. “Harley, I swear your face is white. You wanna smoke?”
“Sure,” I say. Smoking in the girls' room is an automatic suspension, but I am too upset to care. Lisa hands me a Marlboro out of the red pack. She lights it with an old Zippo lighter like a pro. I inhale and try not to cough. “Thanks.”
“Weren't you going with Johnny Bruno?” asks Debbie.
“Sorta.”
“She did you a favor,” Lisa snorts. “He's gutless, going back to that skank. What a puppy.”
Gutless? I never thought Johnny was gutless, but maybe he is. Maybe I've just had blinders on my eyes. Whatever he is, it doesn't stop my heart from aching. I must face it, I am still in love with the gutless puppy.
The bell rings. Damn. That means I am late for algebra. I am frantic. We toss our cigarettes into the toilet and flush. I grab my books.
“Looks like another detention,” sighs Debbie.
“What do you care?” Lisa brushes her hair. “We're already on permanent detention anyway.”
“I've got to run. I've got Petranski next.” My fingers smell like cigarettes. I don't have time to wash my hands. Mr. Petranski is famous for giving out detentions, and I have never had a detention in my life. I fly down the empty hall and stop in front of my classroom. The door is closed, so I can't slip in the back and hope Mr. Petranski doesn't notice. I take a deep breath and walk in. The entire class turns around to see which unlucky Christian will get eaten by the lion. Mr. Petranski stops writing on the blackboard and puts his hands on his hips.
“Nice of you to join us, Harley.” The back of Mr. Petranski's shirt sticks out of his pants and I see tufts of hair poking through the crack.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and slide into my seat.
“Why are you late?” Mr. Petranski is right next to me. His breath smells like stale coffee.
Because this class is such a bore, I want to say, and so are you. “I don't know.” I examine the top of my desk.
“How original. ‘I don't know.' I'm getting tired of your attitude, Harley.” Mr. Petranski scribbles something on a slip of paper and hands it to me, like a traffic cop handing out a ticket. “Have your parents sign this. You can join your fellow delinquents in Room 103 after school tomorrow.”
My fellow delinquents. I take the paper and stick it into my backpack. There is no way I can ask Peppy or Roger to sign my detention slip. None. Life is slipping through my fingers, and I can't get a grip.
I am lying on my bed. I reach for Mrs. Tuttle's New York City book at the bottom of my night table. It's not there. Hmmm. I think Peppy has been snooping again. Then I look across to Lily's side of the room. There, underneath her headless Barbie and a box of crayons, is the book. That little jerk. I swear, I don't have a moment of privacy living in this house. I jump up and carry the book over to my bed.
I flip to the picture of the Empire State Building and gasp. Lily has scribbled all over the picture with a red crayon. Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! I leaf through the pages. She has colored every one. Crayola rainbows stretch across the World Trade Center. Yellow bats and orange witches fly out of the Dakota's steeples. I have had it. This is too much. I slam the book. I open my bedroom door and yell down the stairs.
“LILY! LILY, GET UP HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND!”
I stand there, waiting for the little monster. What am I going to tell Mrs. Tuttle? She's going to fire me, I'm sure. This time I have been pushed over the edge.
“LILY!” I roar.
Lily's tiny face appears at the bottom of the stairs. “What?” she squeaks. She looks scared.
I run down, grab her arm, and pull her up the stairs. I yank her into the bedroom. I jam the book in front of her face. “What do you call this?”
Lily starts crying. “I was just playing.”
“Playing? What makes you think you can touch things that aren't yours? Do you understand that I'm going to lose my job because of you? What's the matter with you?” I shake her, I'm so angry.
Lily is sobbing now. “Harley, stop. You're hurting my arm!” She twists and turns, trying to get out of my grip.
“What were you thinking? Do you know you've ruined my life?”
“Harley, please!” Tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“Why did you do it? WHY? WHY?”
“I just want to be an artist, like you!”
Her words stop me cold. I look down at my fist clenching her tiny arm. I see the fear in her face. She is looking at me the same way she looks at Roger. What is happening to me? The thunder of Roger has invaded my body; my hands are not my own. All the rage drains out of me, and I loosen my grip.
“Oh, Lily.” I sweep her up into my arms. I press her body against mine and smooth back her hair.
“Lily, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.” I cradle and rock her. She wraps her arms around my neck. I kiss her cheek. “Please forgive me, Lily. I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm so, so sorry….”
It is three o'clock. I head for Room 103. Ms. Minelli is the dean, and I hear she revels in detention. She doesn't know me; I am not a regular like some of these people. Detention is in the same room for the whole school—we are all lumped together in one handy prison cell.
The bell rings. I sit down. Ms. Minelli's hair is dyed carrot-red and she's got age spots all over her face and hands. She takes attendance. I glance around the room. Most of the guys have spiky hair and look bored. Most of the girls are all gothic and dark. Everyone looks like they have a disease. This is a world where rah-rahs fear to tread.
“Harley Columba,” calls Ms. Minelli.
“Here.”
“Do you have your slip?”
“Uuhh, no. I forgot it.”
“You forgot it?” Ms. Minelli brightens at the prospect of fresh meat. “Do you know what happens when you forget your slip, y
oung lady?” I shake my head no. “DOUBLE DETENTION!” She sounds absolutely delighted. “You get to keep me company for forty minutes instead of twenty.” Great. My mind races, trying to think up a forty-minute lie to offer Peppy and Roger.
She continues running down the list. Bobby Frankel. Maria Hernandez. Evan Lennon. “Evan Lennon? Is Evan Lennon here?” Ms. Minelli's eyes roam over the room. No answer. My heart flips. Evan, Evan, where are you? I could really use a buddy right now.
As if God were actually listening to me this time, Evan flies into the room. “Sorry!” he says, and collapses into the seat right next to mine.
“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Mr. Lennon.” Ms. Minelli is Moses on the Mount with her attendance book.
“Always a pleasure, Ms. Minelli.” Evan smiles at her and, I swear, the old bag almost swoons.
“Double detention for you today, young man. Five minutes late to detention earns double detention. Ten minutes late earns triple, so keep that in mind.” Ms. Minelli is running this detention room like a military base. “You can stay with me and Miss Columba here after the others leave.”
Evan sees me for the first time and gives me that gorgeous smile. God, he is so cute. “Sounds good,” he says, still looking at me.
Twenty minutes seems like forever when you're sitting in a classroom doing nothing. The clock on the wall has an enormous second hand that goes tick … tick … tick … as if keeping the time was a huge effort. We are not allowed to do our homework because that would be a benefit. Hands folded, we sit like we are praying, although I think that's about the last thing on this group's mind. I sneak a look at Evan. His eyes are far away.
Finally, one minute and counting. Everybody shifts in their seats and watches the clock on the wall. The second hand struggles to the top. Ms. Minelli coordinates her watch. Three … two … one. “That's all, folks,” she snickers. Everyone bolts out the door. When the dust settles, only me and Evan are alone with Minelli the Hun.
“So, are you two looking forward to the Spring Ball?” I look up, startled. I swear, the old bag is actually trying to make conversation. Nice gesture, bad topic.
“The only time I go to a dance is if I'm playing in the band,” says Evan.
“Oh! You're a musician! What instrument?” Ms. Minelli sounds almost interested.
“I'm a drummer.” Evan raps on the desktop. “We play original stuff. Rock. Rap. Reggae. You know.” This is news to me. I must have a thing for musicians.
“What about you, Harley?” Ms. Minelli is smiling at me.
“I—I … don't … No. I'm not going,” I stammer. “Well, if not this time, next year.” I swear, Ms. Minelli is a Jekyll and Hyde.
Ms. Minelli picks up her pile of papers. “I'm going to let you two go early since I've got an appointment. Harley, this is your first time, so you're getting off easy. I don't want to see you in here again, okay?” She winks at me.
“Okay.” I am astonished at her transformation.
“And you, Evan. What am I going to do with you? Hang in there, kiddo. Only one more year and you can go out and become a big rock star. Now scat, the two of you!”
Evan and I get up and walk out the door. The hall is empty. It's a little spooky, like a ghost school, without students. I turn to Evan and notice he has a sort of lightning bolt tattooed on his neck. “I heard Ms. Minelli was mean, but she seems kinda nice.”
“She's okay,” says Evan. “You, uh, want a ride home?”
Boy, do I. But if I show up in front of my house in Evan's super-blue space vehicle, I will definitely get murdered. “Um, I'd love one, but I can't today.”
Evan looks disappointed. He is so sensitive, every thought is a newsreel flashing across his face. I feel bad. “Okay,” he says. “See you around.” He turns and walks down the hall.
I watch his blond hair sway along the back of his jacket. His jeans are tight. His butt is cute. He pushes open the heavy fire door. It slams behind him. Wham. And then I see myself running after him down the empty hallway as fast as I can. “Evan! Evan, wait!”
We are up on Lovers' Peak, this cul-de-sac at the top of Crescent Hill overlooking a chunk of Lenape. It is so late, I'm sure the fire-breathing dragons will rip my arms off, but being with Evan is the first good thing that's happened to me in a long time. He is so easy, the words tumble out of my mouth. We talk and laugh and give up our secrets. I tell him about my wicked parents and Granny Harley dying. I don't tell him that I'm adopted because everybody I tell thinks I'm crazy and I don't want to blow it with Evan.
He talks about his parents splitting up. His father has been married four times, always to blondes. Evan calls his father Q.C. because his real name is Quentin Charles. He builds entire neighborhoods and names them all after himself: Quentin Court, Quentin Road.
“I call my father Roger, but never to his face. My father is a total drunk,” I confess.
“Oh, yeah? Mine, too.” Evan shakes his head. “I think the only reason my dad bought me this car was so he wouldn't have to chauffeur me around.”
I run my hands over the Camaro's white leather. “Some people show their love with things.” God, I sound corny.
“Yeah. Things are nice, but …” Evan turns to me. “Do you like grass?”
“Grass?”
“You know, pot. Marijuana.”
“Oh!” I am thrown. “I've never tried it.”
“You want to?”
I hesitate. “I … I never thought about it before.”
Part of me is tempted, but the thought of arriving home this late to the battlefield all whacked scares me. “Uh … I'd better not. I'm already grounded.”
“Yeah, you're probably right.” Evan zeroes in on me with those eyes. “You wanna go home?”
“I don't want to go. But I'd better go.”
Evan reaches over and runs his finger gently down my cheek and stops at my chin. He turns my face toward his. “You are so pretty.” I feel my eyes get moist. I am not used to hearing these things. I try to turn away, but he does not let go of my chin. Instead he leans across the stick shift and kisses me sweetly on the lips. His lips feel different from Johnny's. Tender. I almost sob, it is so lovely. He pulls me closer and kisses me again, long and deep. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he presses me close. I lean my head on his shoulder. His body is hard and his arms are strong. He strokes my hair with his fingers. For the first time, I almost feel safe.
Evan drops me off on the corner, and I run home. It is getting dark. I open the front door and brace myself for the firing squad. Instead the house is silent. Strange. Usually the television set is blasting and Peppy and Roger are slugging it out in the combat zone. I walk upstairs, looking for signs of life. I find Bean, sitting in front of his Nintendo, blowing up the galaxy.
“Where's everybody?” I imagine they are down at the police station, reporting a missing person.
Bean doesn't take his eyes off the screen. “Emergency room. Lily fell on a glass and cut her knee.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she just needs a couple stitches. No big deal.” Zap. Zap. Zap. Down goes the evil empire.
“What did they say when I didn't come home?”
“To tell you the truth, I don't think they noticed. Whoa!” The screen bursts into colors. “Cool!” Bean shouts. “I am God!”
“Congratulations.”
I have been granted a pardon. Evan brings me luck. Maybe Johnny was only a crush. Maybe Evan is the real thing. I am confused. I don't understand how I can be madly in love with Johnny one day and madly in love with Evan the next.
The phone rings. I am so used to not being allowed to answer it that it rings four times before I remember that me and Bean are the only ones home. I run downstairs. “Hello?”
“Harley, hey. It's Evan. How's it going over there?”
I almost drop the receiver. “Evan? Hi! They're not even home.”
“Good.” I love the idea of Evan's voice zipping along the telephone wires
and into my hand. I caress the receiver.
“I … I wanted to ask you,” he says. “Do you think you can go to the movies Friday night? I'll pick you up. We can get something to eat first.”
A date. Evan is inviting me on a proper date. This is how it's supposed to be, not meeting losers at bowling alleys. “Oh, wow. I would love to.” This gives me time to work on Roger and Peppy. No more crawling out windows for this girl. This date is going to be pure.
“Great. I'm cutting school the next couple of days 'cause the band's rehearsing. We can't use the space after six o'clock, so we'll be outta there early. I should pick you up, like, around seven. Okay?”
“Sounds good.” Rehearsing! I swear, I know nothing about him.
“See ya.”
I stand with the phone pressed against my ear long after Evan has hung up. I cannot wait to tell Carla. This should put Miss Spring Ball in her place. But first I have to figure out a way to swim across the moat of the House of Columba without being eaten by the sharks.
“What about Johnny?” Me and Carla stand in line with plastic trays in our hands. We are in the cafeteria for lunch because it is pouring rain. This is the first chance I've had to see her in days; she's been giving me the full snub treatment. She's been running out with Troy for lunch. He drives all the way from the next town and cuts study hall just to eat, or whatever, with her. Now I am graced with Miss Spring Ball's presence.
“Johnny is a gutless puppy,” I inform her. I examine the blackboard for today's special. Meatball sandwich. Gross.
“What about the Spring Ball? It's only a week away. Everyone is going. Is Evan going to take you?”
Here we go. “Maybe I'll go alone.”
“That means no.” Carla is all smug, like she feels sorry for me.
“Maybe I'd rather go alone. In fact, maybe I'd rather not go at all!” We move ahead a couple of steps in line. The aroma of the meatballs hits me full in the face. Ugh. Maybe they have a salad.
“Yeah, right.” Carla sniffs. “You're dying to go. I can tell.”