The Trouble with Emily Dickinson

by Lyndsey D'Arcangelo

  “So?”

  Queenie looked at her blankly. Her cheeks were bulging, full of mashed potatoes.

  JJ winked at her.

  “Oh, that,” Queenie said, swallowing her food and waving her hand in the air. “That was no big deal. Coach and I see eye to eye now.”

  “How so?”

  “Remember yesterday when I sort of mouthed off to her?”

  JJ remembered all right. She’d never seen Coach turn that shade of purple before. “Sort of mouthed off? Queenie, you told her to take her whistle and shove it up her—”

  “I know, I know.”

  “You told me she yelled at you pretty hard after practice.”

  “She did.”

  “Okay, I’m confused.” JJ stirred her tomato soup with the crust from her grilled cheese. “Why is she so friendly with you all of a sudden?”

  “After she was done yelling at me, I was sitting there in silence. And just as I’m about to apologize, Dean Hoffman walks through the door.”

  “Wait a minute. Coach usually closes the door when she’s yelling at someone.” JJ recalled the time she got verbally blasted for having seven turnovers in one game last year.

  “She was so angry with me that she was already yelling when we walked into her office, and I think she just forgot to close the door behind her. And at that exact moment, we both were just sitting there not saying anything, and I don’t think Dean Hoffman realized anyone else was in there.”

  “So—” JJ said eagerly.

  “So as Dean Hoffman was walking through the door, we both turned our heads at the same time.” Queenie leaned forward, “JJ, she was carrying a rose and the first thing she said, without looking up, of course, was ‘Sweetie, I’ve got a surprise for you!’”

  “No way!”

  “Yes way! As soon as she saw me there, she tried to hide the rose behind her back and kept stumbling over her words.”

  “What did Coach do?”

  “She stood up and pushed the dean right out of there and closed the door behind her. You should have seen the look on her face, JJ! It was classic.”

  “So, what now? You basically can say whatever you want to her without getting into trouble.”

  Queenie took a sip of milk. “I wouldn’t say that,” she explained. “But I’d say that I’ve at least got some leeway now as far as teasing goes.”

  “Only you,” said JJ. “This kind of thing only happens to you.”

  “I can’t believe that Dean Hoffman was dumb enough to bring a rose to Coach’s office,” Queenie continued. “I mean, if they were trying to keep their relationship such a secret, you’d think that they’d be a little more careful.”

  “Well, I’m sure if she saw the door open and didn’t hear anything inside, then she assumed that Coach was alone.” JJ pushed her tray aside. “So, did she admit it then? Did she finally admit to being gay?”

  “She tried to play it off like it was nothing. So I stood up and said, ‘It’s okay, Coach.’ Then I winked and walked out of the office.”

  “So that’s where the wink comes in.”

  “I guess it’s like our new lesbian secret sign or something.”

  JJ reached her hand across the table, “Well done, McBride, well done.”

  Queenie shook JJ’s hand with pride and leaned back in her chair, “Never a dull moment, my friend.”

  JJ was about to stand up to dispose of her tray when suddenly she saw Kendal McCarthy right next to her.

  “I need your help desperately,” Kendall said. “I have a pop quiz tomorrow and I wanted to brush up on a few things. I figured you’d be catching a late dinner because of basketball practice so I waited for you.”

  “You waited for me?” JJ asked.

  “Yep. Never a dull moment, indeed.” Queenie stood up to stretch before picking up her tray. “I guess I’ll be going now. You two kids have fun.”

  Kendal barely even noticed Queenie. She immediately slid into the vacated seat and dumped her books and folder onto the table.

  JJ looked on in wonder.

  “I know. I’m a complete mess,” Kendal confessed. “All over a stupid quiz.”

  “No, it’s okay. But—” JJ pointed at the clock. “They’ll probably kick us out of here in the next ten minutes. Do you want to study someplace else?”

  “You can come to my dorm room,” Kendal suggested.

  “What about the library?” JJ asked, thinking a neutral setting would be more professional.

  “I can’t. I have curfew tonight.”

  “Curfew?”

  “I know it sounds silly, but it’s a good way to make sure everyone on the squad gets their homework done before the weekend and is rested for practice on Friday and the soccer game on Saturday. Mya, she’s the captain of the squad, came up with it, and she enforces it. I have to be in my room by nine. She even comes around to check and make sure we are there.”

  “What happens if you’re not there?”

  “We don’t get to participate in practice on Friday afternoon or the game on Saturday. Mya does it on Thursday nights because she knows everyone on the squad would throw a fit if we had to have a curfew on Friday nights.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “So?”

  “So I’ll come to your dorm,” JJ agreed. “But I need to go back to my dorm and shower first.”

  “Okay,” Kendal said eagerly. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

  “What time?”

  “How about in an hour?”

  “Fine.”

  They both stood up.

  “I owe you big time,” Kendal said adamantly.

  “Just remember to keep our date on Friday,” JJ returned. “And that will be enough.”

  Kendal held her backpack to her chest. She thought of Kyan and how she was meeting up with him at the soccer party later on that same evening.

  JJ studied her expression. “You remember our plans, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Kendal said. “The coffee shop. I remember.” How could she forget?

  “Good. I was just checking. I’ll see you in an hour then.”

  Kendal nodded. She wondered if JJ could sense how she was feeling. Was it obvious that she liked the way JJ smiled awkwardly whenever she was nervous, or that she liked the way JJ smelled, or how cute it was the way JJ tripped over her words whenever—

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  Kendal stared up into the eyes of the sweaty line cook standing before her.

  “We’re closing.”

  “I was just leaving,” Kendal said politely.

  CHAPTER 18

  “A curfew,” Queenie asked with a raised eyebrow. “The cheerleading squad has a curfew?”

  “Don’t start,” JJ returned.

  “Come on. You don’t think it’s funny at all?”

  “No, I don’t. Coach should give us a curfew, too. Then maybe we’d play better.”

  “Whatever,” Queenie said. “If Coach gave us a curfew, I’d quit. I’m not about to let basketball impede my social life. I switched to basketball from cross country to get away from that stuff.”

  “I know,” JJ started for the door. “I’ve been regretting your decision ever since.”

  “Wait!” Queenie sprung up from the couch and thrust her iPhone at JJ. “For documentation. Your cell phone takes crappy pictures.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, you’re going where no one on this campus has gone before—THE Kendal McCarthy’s dorm room. We can use this to our advantage! Just sneak a few photos.”

  JJ shoved the iPhone back at her. “You need professional help. Do you know that?”

  Queenie eyed the object in her hand, “What did I say?”

  * * *

  JJ walked swiftly across campus to Kendal’s dorm. Most of the cheerleaders lived in the same dormitory. Each door on Kendal’s floor was decorated with the school colors, Sampson Academy paraphernalia, and little cheerleader cutouts.

  Interesting decor, JJ thought as she knock
ed against Kendal’s door. A rather thin blonde, straight out of the pages of Vogue, opened the door. JJ recognized her. She often sat with Kendal in the dining hall.

  “Pedaling cookies?” she asked.

  “Pedaling poetry,” JJ responded and held up her notebook.

  “Oh, right.” The blonde forced a smile and moved aside. “Come on in.”

  JJ stepped through the door and into the room. She caught a glimpse of the adjoining suite, which was decorated a lot like the door to their room. “There’s a lot of school spirit in here,” she said.

  “Cheerleading,” the blonde said, proudly. “School spirit is a way of life.”

  “Let me guess. You’re also on the squad?”

  “Wow. No wonder you’re a tutor. You sure are quick.”

  Kendal walked into the room. “Thanks, Christine,” she said to the blonde.

  JJ could tell her words were less than heartfelt.

  “Friendly people you got here,” JJ said, as soon as Christine had left the door room and closed the door behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” said Kendal. “That was my roommate, Christine. She’s taking a class in attitude adjustment. Have a seat.”

  JJ took in the entire room and eyed the posters of popular musicians that papered the walls. Over Kendal’s bed was a spread of family photos. Her flowered bedspread was covered with stuffed animals.

  “This could be the room of any popular girl in America,” said JJ. Only, she didn’t mean it the way that it had come out.

  “Am I that transparent?” Kendal asked as she plopped down on her bed, offering JJ some Chex Mix

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” JJ backtracked, taking a handful from the bag. “I just think there’s more depth to you than this.”

  “I’d like to think there is,” said Kendal. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. She wasn’t used to someone wanting to get to know more about her than what she presented. It was flattering, yet awkward, but she loved every minute of it.

  “Like what?” JJ asked.

  “Like—” Kendal thought for a moment. “Like the fact that I’m the youngest in my family. I mean, really young. My oldest brother is in his late twenties, and my other brother is twenty-five. I was—unexpected. I think that’s why I always feel a step behind.”

  “In what way?” JJ sat down on the bed beside her, well aware of how little space remained between them.

  “Because I was an afterthought. My parents were done raising children by the time I came along, and my brothers either didn’t have or didn’t want to make the time to play with me or be there for me. I had to do and learn a lot on my own.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It was.”

  “So—what else?”

  Kendal leaned closer to JJ and whispered playfully, “It’s a secret.”

  “Why is it a secret?”

  Kendal turned her head and clicked the roof of her mouth with her tongue like she had the other night when they stood outside of her dorm talking. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to tell you everything at once.”

  “Okay,” JJ smiled mischievously. She was more than happy to play along. “How about we make a deal then? Every time I let you read a poem, you reveal something to me about yourself that I don’t know. Deal?”

  Kendal let that idea marinate. “Okay,” she said, after a moment. “That’s fair.”

  JJ slid off of the bed and down onto the floor. She leaned her back up against the comforter, setting her folder and her book in front of her. It wasn’t long before Kendal sat down next to her, bumping her shoulder as she settled into position.

  “So, who’s the pop quiz on?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the scent of Kendal’s perfume.

  “Anne Killigrew.”

  “Really? She’s amazing. One of my favorites.”

  “I don’t even know who she is.” Kendal pointed to one of the poems. “I’ve never even heard of her before and I think that’s why I’m having such a hard time understanding the message that she was trying to get across in her poems. I don’t know what poem the quiz is going to be on, but I know it’s about this author at least.”

  “I think you’ll like Killigrew,” said JJ.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because she was a strong woman. See, Killigrew was not only proud to be a writer, but she was also proud to be a woman. And even though men adored her poetry, she wasn’t accepted as a real writer because she was a woman.”

  “But that’s not fair.”

  “Look here, at this line in Upon Saying My Verses Were Made By Another. See how she says, ‘my numbers they admired, but me they scorned’?”

  Kendal considered the words on the page, “Right there?”

  “Killigrew believed that it was the Greek gods who gave women the power and will to write, but didn’t bless them with the opportunity to be recognized.” JJ cleared her throat. “It was unfortunate that the very same people, men in this case, who helped circulate her writing also ended up taking credit for it.”

  “What did she do about it?”

  “Well, she refused to compromise herself or her art. She disappeared for a bit, even though she kept writing for the rest of her life. Most of her work was discovered much later on.”

  Kendal slumped back against the bed, as if she was the one whose freedom of expression had been so rudely denied. “Do most of her poems talk about the struggle of being a woman in those times?”

  “I’d say so,” said JJ.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Kendal shook her head. “So many restrictions—women not being able to be who they really were.”

  “I would have never survived, for obvious reasons.” JJ closed the book in front of them. “I wouldn’t have been able to come out back then, or at least I wouldn’t have wanted to for fear of persecution. And being closeted is the worst thing in the world.”

  “What did it feel like,” Kendal asked, “when you came out? How did it feel to finally be able to tell people?”

  JJ opened her mouth to explain, and then stopped. Instead, she dug her hand into her backpack and retrieved the tattered journal that Kendal had seen before. She licked her thumb, and paged through it until she found what she’d been looking for.

  “Here.” She slid the journal over to Kendal, who took it willingly. “This explains it better than I can.”

  “To be out,” Kendal read out loud. She read the rest of the poem in silence.

  Release.

  Relief from my shoulders.

  This boulder that I was able to push aside,

  Leaving me stable, with the sensation

  That I have nothing to hide.

  Freedom.

  Free at last.

  Looking past the fear in my eyes,

  Beyond the tears, without hesitation

  I see clear skies.

  Pride.

  Raising my head high.

  The shallow dread I left behind,

  I looked inside and saw myself.

  I believed in me.

  Courage.

  Having the strength to stand.

  You gave me your hand without thought,

  With this gesture you taught, a life-long lesson

  I am normal after all.

  Kendal’s eyes grew as she finished reading the last line of the poem. “You are an amazing writer, you know that? You pour everything, every emotion into words so it’s like I’m right there experiencing it with you. It’s like Dickinson.”

  “It’s not like Dickinson,” said JJ. “It’s not even close. My writing hardly compares to with hers. She was one of a kind.”

  “Come on. I bet you wrote about ‘wild nights’ somewhere in here,” Kendal laughed. She began flipping through the journal, hunting for another poem when JJ pulled it gently from her hands.

  “What?”

  “You owe me a secret, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” said Kendal. “I forgot ab
out that part.”

  CHAPTER 19

  JJ’s creative writing class was going to end up giving her an ulcer or worse, possibly even a nervous breakdown. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  On occasion, Mrs. Clark surprised the class by handing out copies of someone’s work from a previous assignment. Usually, this was a huge compliment because it meant that Mrs. Clark was impressed, so impressed in fact that she wanted to share the work with the rest of the class. The only drawback was that the selected authors always were asked to stand up and read their work aloud in front of the entire class before a general discussion.

  JJ dreaded the day that her work would be shared with the class. She hoped that she’d be able to keep flying just under the radar, turning in assignments that made a positive impression on Mrs. Clark, but, at the same time, were overshadowed by the work of someone else. It soon became apparent that JJ could fly under the radar for only so long.

  That day, the one that had provoked countless nightmares in which JJ awoke from a dead sleep drenched in sweat with her heart racing, turned out to be today.

  As soon as the class was seated, Mrs. Clark gave JJ an encouraging nod. And at that moment, JJ knew. She knew even before the simple white sheet of paper with the title of her poem in big, bold letters written at the top landed on her desk.

  Her stomach curled itself up into a ball, and she was hit with the urge to run to the bathroom.

  Before JJ could escape the claustrophobic classroom walls, however, Mrs. Clark cleared her throat. It was her obligatory signal that she was about to start class. The chatter ceased. Everyone sat up straight. And all eyes were focused at the front of the room.

  “Class, today I would like to start off by discussing a poem that was handed in last Friday as part of your free writing assignment.”