New Boy

by Tracy Chevalier

  Osei did not pull back, nor did his smile disappear. He reached over in turn and laid his hand along her cheek. Dee turned her face to lean into it, like a cat being petted.

  “You have a beautiful head,” she said.

  “And you, a beautiful face.”

  Surprise and relief flooded through her. He felt the same as she did; they could relax into each other. Dee understood now that real couples didn’t have to ask each other to go together: they already were together. Asking was babyish, a joke for children. She and Osei had already gone way beyond that.

  They remained in their pose, like a modern sculpture of lovers, all heads and smiles and arms extended and interconnected, the outside world excluded. Dee heard Mimi nearby hiss, “Dee, what are you doing?” In the distance, Blanca began to chant:

  O and Dee, sittin’ in a tree

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  First comes love, then comes marriage

  Then comes Dee with a baby carriage!

  As a whistle was blown they continued to touch each other. Teachers on playground duty blew their whistle when anyone was doing something they shouldn’t: pushing another student, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, throwing sand, climbing the fence. Whenever the whistle sounded, students halted and looked around to see who would get in trouble.

  O wouldn’t know about that, but he must have guessed what it meant, for as Mr. Brabant strode toward them, still blowing his whistle, he dropped his hand from Dee’s burning cheek. Dazed, she left her hand on his head for a moment longer.

  “Stop that! Get up this minute, you two.” His voice was like a whip cracking. O scrambled to his feet. Though Dee felt resistance welling, it was too awkward to continue sitting on the sand with everyone gathering around and staring down at her. She took her time getting up, though, brushing sand from her jeans, not meeting Mr. Brabant’s fury.

  “You are not to touch other students inappropriately. Maybe things are different where you come from and you don’t know any better,” he directed at O, “but at this school boys and girls don’t touch each other like that.” The touching seemed to disturb him far more than any of the kissing he had caught the sixth graders doing all year. Maybe he sensed it was more meaningful, more heartfelt, more intimate—too intimate for a school playground. He turned to Dee. “And I’m surprised at you, Dee. You should know better. Now go inside and hand out the math worksheets.”

  Dee had never been suspended or had a detention or been disciplined in any way at school, for she had not needed it. And she was getting off lightly: any other student would have been sent to the principal’s office for a scolding, and possibly a phone call to their parents. Instead she was being given a task she would have willingly done anyway. It seemed Mr. Brabant couldn’t bring himself to punish his favorite student too harshly.

  Another time his words and tone would have stung, for of all the adults at school, Mr. Brabant was the one she most wanted to please. But today was different—Dee had found someone new whose opinion she suddenly cared about more. And someone Mr. Brabant was judging. Dee didn’t like his tone. Still, she could not disobey her teacher. The best response, she decided, was to take her time rather than rush to please him. As she began to saunter past Mr. Brabant toward the entrance, she could feel him staring at her, clearly aghast at her new attitude. It made Dee feel powerful.

  They waited for Mr. Brabant to punish the new boy the way he needed to be punished. Ian could have shown him what to do: a good old-fashioned crack with a ruler on the black hand that had dared to touch Dee’s cheek. The moment he’d seen them with their arms around each other, a rage had coursed through Ian that he was still finding hard to control. Yet Mr. Brabant simply looked lost—and old, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. His teacher’s pet had finally rebelled and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Ian coughed to break the spell. Somebody had to. Mr. Brabant shook his head, then made a clear effort to pull himself together. Fixing his eyes on O, he stuck out his jaw. “Watch yourself, boy,” he said.

  O looked back at the teacher and said nothing. The pause between them seemed to last an eternity, broken only by Miss Lode appearing, breathless. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice high with nerves.

  “It better be,” Mr. Brabant barked. “It will be, when a certain boy here understands the rules of this school. Right, Osei?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Osei, here we don’t use ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am,’ ” Miss Lode interjected, her tone gentle compared to her colleague’s. “We call teachers by their names. You should call him Mr. Brabant and me Miss Lode.”

  “Yes, Miss Lode.”

  “I can handle him, Diane.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to—” She was saved by the bell ringing.

  “All right—go and line up.” Mr. Brabant raised his voice to include all the students surrounding him.

  O moved, but slowly—much as Dee had just done—to make clear he was not really following an order, but happening to go in the right direction.

  “Did I miss something?” Miss Lode said in a low voice.

  “Inappropriate behavior,” Mr. Brabant muttered. “He was touching Dee. Typical.”

  Miss Lode looked puzzled. “Gosh. Have you—have you been around many…black people?”

  “A whole platoon.”

  “Oh, I—sorry, I didn’t mean to ask about that…time.”

  “Seeing his hand on her made me sick.”

  Miss Lode caught sight of Ian listening and nudged Mr. Brabant. “Right, Ian, go and get in line,” he commanded.

  “I will, Mr. Brabant—as soon as I collect the ball.”

  Mr. Brabant grunted, and strode toward the lines forming, Miss Lode following in his wake.

  Midway across the playground, Mimi had fallen into step beside O. Ian watched as they walked together, talking. At one point O leaned toward Ian’s girlfriend as if to listen to her more closely; then he nodded, said something, and Mimi laughed.

  Ian frowned.

  “That bastard, touching her. Made me feel sick too.” Rod was at Ian’s side, holding the kickball.

  Ian stared at his girlfriend. “I didn’t see that. Did he just touch her?”

  “Not Mimi. Dee. He was touching Dee under the trees. And she was touching him.” Rod was working himself into a rage, his cheeks bright red.

  “He touches all the girls,” Ian muttered. “He’ll be going all the way with them soon. That’s how boys like him are. Unless we stop him.”

  “Yeah.” Rod bounced the kickball a couple times, as if it were a basketball. “How are we gonna do that?”

  “We have to turn her against him.” Ian thought for a moment. “No, that’s too obvious—Dee won’t fall for that, she’s too smart. Maybe…him against her. Yeah, that might be better. And more fun.”

  “What? You’re not gonna hurt Dee, are you? ’Cause that’s not fair. I just want a chance with her, that’s all.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her, I’m just going to…break them up.”

  “Good. But, Ian…”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you pick me for your team during kickball?”

  Ian sighed inwardly. He was going to have to shake off Rod. He’d planned to do so when they moved on to junior high—changing schools always caused a reshuffling among friends. But he wasn’t sure he could wait that long. Rod was beginning to demand more and more; he was too much effort for the little he delivered.

  “I had to give the new boy a chance,” Ian explained. “Now I wish I hadn’t, especially since he stopped the game with that kick.”

  “But you could’ve chosen me as well as him.”

  “Yeah, but then the team might have been too lopsided. I mean, you’re a good player, of course. Anybody could see that from your kick—and you scored the only run for your team, right?”

  Rod beamed.

  “If the black boy was good too, our team would have been too good with you and h
im on it, and the game no fun. I was just balancing it out.”

  Rod frowned, puzzled by the backhandedness of the compliment, though enjoying the praise too.

  “Go and get in line,” Ian ordered. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Rod nodded, then bounced the ball again, held it in front of him, and drop-kicked it away toward the lines of students. He raced off after it, as forgetful and happy as a dog. If only it were that easy, Ian thought. He did not move, remaining under the trees, watching the students go toward their teachers. He needed some space to think.

  The moment the black boy walked onto the playground that morning, Ian had felt something shift. It was what an earthquake must feel like, the ground being rearranged and becoming unreliable. The students had had almost the whole year—indeed, the past seven years at elementary school—to get into their established groups, with their hierarchies of leaders and followers. It ran smoothly—until one boy arrived to destabilize everything. One massive kick of a ball, one touch of a girl’s cheek, and the order had changed. He scrutinized O, now in his line, and could see the rearrangement going on to include this new leader—the shifts as other students subtly turned toward him, as if he were a light they followed, like plants seeking the sun. As Ian watched, Casper stepped up behind O and began talking to him. He gestured over the fence, clearly discussing O’s kick, and they nodded. Just like that, the black boy had gained the respect of the most popular boy in school, was going with the most popular girl, and had laughed with Ian’s girlfriend—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

  “Popular” was not a word that would ever be attached to Ian. No one chatted and laughed with him. They hadn’t for a long time. He wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but he had become the boy they feared but didn’t respect. He hadn’t planned it that way, but when he’d started fourth grade and moved up to the older-class playground, his brother had gone on to junior high and Ian found himself inheriting a position of power that few questioned. It came with perks: lunch money handed over, a place by the gym door away from the teachers whenever he wanted it, automatic captaincy of kickball and softball teams, and Rod, his assistant and defender—though Ian could have done without a buffoon as his right-hand man.

  The whistle blew and Ian looked up, knowing it was for him. The lines were disappearing inside and Miss Lode was waving at him to come in. Even the teachers feared Ian a little; she would not punish him for hanging back, though later she would probably complain about him in the teachers’ lounge. Once he had hung outside the door and heard one teacher say to another, “Ian is the last of the Murphys, right? There isn’t some sister sneaking up from behind? I don’t think I could take another, after him and his brothers. I’ve paid my dues with that family.”

  “Oh, his wings will be clipped in junior high,” the other had replied. “Little fish in a big pond and all that.” The two had chuckled. For that laugh, Ian had keyed both of their cars.

  As far as he could tell, his brothers were still big fish. The brother above him was smoking now, and said he had gone all the way with his girlfriend.

  Before he started toward the school doors at the end of his class line, Ian had to make a conscious effort to unclench his jaw and his fists.

  As he passed the door to Mr. Brabant’s classroom, he glanced inside. O was sitting at his desk, looking down at a sheet of paper. Standing behind him, Dee was handing a sheet to Casper, who was smiling at her with his natural privilege. An outsider seeing them together could have mistaken them for boyfriend and girlfriend. And the black boy wasn’t seeing any of this.

  Ian smirked as he hurried to catch up with his classmates. He knew now what he would do.

  At the water fountain next to Miss Lode’s classroom, a fourth grader was bending over to drink. It would be so easy to nudge her into the spigot and bloody her lip; Ian had done so with other students many times before. Today, however, the plan forming in his head made him feel magnanimous, and he passed the girl without touching her. She flinched anyway.

  One day when I was walking

  A-walking to the fair

  I met a señorita

  With flowers in her hair

  Oh, shake it, señorita

  Shake it if you can

  Shake it like a milkshake

  And shake it once again

  Oh, she waddles to the bottom

  She waddles to the top

  She turns around and turns around

  Until she has to stop!

  By the time the bell rang for lunch, the tension lurking all morning had taken over. During Spelling Mimi’s head had begun to throb, and flashing lights that originated in the corners of her eyes gradually spread across her vision. As the class was finishing its lesson on irregular silent letters, she could barely see the blackboard to copy down the words they had to learn for homework, which Miss Lode had chosen specifically from Shakespeare to tie in with other lessons:

  abhor monkey

  gnaw subtle

  chaos sword

  honest tongue

  knave wretch

  “Miss Lode’s in a funny mood, choosing these words,” Jennifer muttered next to her. “They’re not even very hard! And we never use some of them. What does ‘knave’ mean, anyway?”

  “A naughty boy,” Mimi replied. She and Dee had watched Romeo and Juliet on TV a few weeks before and heard the word then. Mimi had fallen hard for Romeo.

  “Who did she say Shakespeare is?”

  “You know! He wrote A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The two sixth grade classes were putting on a version of the play at the end of the year. Mimi was playing a fairy. She shook her head, though she knew it wouldn’t clear her vision. “Can you read the words to me?”

  Jennifer looked sympathetic. “Head hurt again?”

  “Yes.” Mimi didn’t tell many friends about the headaches she’d begun having in the past six months, as she didn’t want to be fussed over, but it was hard to hide them from Jennifer, who sat next to her and seemed attuned to her pain. Jennifer covered for her, particularly when Mimi had to rush from the classroom. “Period,” she’d whisper to Miss Lode, who would nod nervously. Menstruation was a solemn topic in sixth grade, though many of the girls were still waiting for it to happen. Those who could took advantage of the teachers’ embarrassment about it. But Jennifer’s lie was closer to the truth than she knew, for Mimi had begun having headaches around the time her period started. Her mother told her it was a sign of growing up, but Mimi wasn’t reassured.

  She didn’t have to rush out today, gauging that she could make it to lunch. Copying the spelling list under Jennifer’s tutelage, she ignored the squeezing on her head and the diamonds of light dancing in front of her eyes, until at last the lunch bell rang. Even then Mimi did not run off, but filed out with the others. She was about to head to the girls’ bathroom in the basement when a hand gripped her arm. Ian. Immediately she felt worse, urgently so.

  “Hang on a minute,” he said. “Anyone would think you’re avoiding me. You’re not, are you?” He wore a complicated look: smiling as if he were joking, yet Mimi knew he was not. Behind the smile was an unyielding, rock-hard layer.

  “No,” she said. “I just have a headache.” She tried to smile back, but her nausea was rising rapidly. “I have to go to—”

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Has Casper ever given Dee anything? Notes or jewelry or anything?”

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s never been like that between them, really.” Mimi couldn’t think about anything except getting to the bathroom.

  “Find out, and whatever it is, get it for me.”

  “All right. I really need to go…” Mimi pulled away from Ian and hurried down the stairs to the girls’ bathroom. Running into a stall, she dropped to her knees and threw up into the toilet. Afterward she flushed, then sat back on her heels, leaned against the divider, and closed her eyes. Mercifully no one was there to ask if she was a
ll right or to go and get a teacher.

  It was remarkable how being sick cleared not just her stomach: the flashing diamonds had vanished, and her head no longer hurt. The bathroom was quiet except for the slow filling of the cistern. It stank of disinfectant, and of the coarse brown paper towels you never found anywhere other than in school bathrooms. Its walls were painted battleship gray and, combined with the fluorescent lights, made everyone look ugly and ill, even Blanca and Dee. Despite the light and the smell, girls liked to hang out down here: it was one of the few places where teachers rarely came unless on patrol, for they had their own toilet next to the teachers’ lounge.

  What Mimi really wanted to do now was to lie down and press her cheek against the cool tiled floor and think about nothing, simply let the river of the day wash over her.

  But she could not do that. The floor smelled too strongly of bleach, and besides, someone was bound to come in, and Mimi’s friends were expecting her at the cafeteria and would notice if she didn’t appear soon. She rinsed out her mouth and splashed water on her cheeks, then peered at herself in the mirror. She looked awful. Pulling out a lipstick she had stolen from her older sister, Mimi dotted some on her cheeks and rubbed it in. Girls were not allowed to wear makeup at school, but she hoped no one would notice. She took one last look at herself, tried to smile, then said aloud, “Give him what he wants—then he’ll let you go.” That would be her strategy.

  Mimi was surprised to see Dee and Osei together outside the cafeteria, their heads bent over something, foreheads touching. Dee was one of a handful of children who went home for lunch, as she lived close by. Her mother would be expecting her back on time. Over the years Mimi had gone home with her after school a few times to play, and noted Dee’s mother’s thin mouth that never smiled, the pointed looks at her watch, the lack of a snack, the liver served for dinner, the heightened tension when the father arrived home and frowned at discovering an unexpected guest. It made her appreciate her own parents more. Gradually she and Dee gravitated to Mimi’s house, where her mother gave them plates of Oreos and let them watch TV.