“Course not,” she said, smiling at me. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” I said. “Hate these things.”
“Oh, really?” she said. She peered at her vibrating phone again. “Sorry, just a sec,” she said, and resumed texting.
As her thumbs tapped the screen, I looked around the gym, trying to seem like I was coolly observing the action and not just being socially outmatched by a phone. The bleachers were filling up as groups of kids barreled in, already giving off a dangerous hum of electricity.
“Sorry,” said Katie, looking up. “Insecure boyfriend.”
I knew I was supposed to offer my own boyfriend anecdote here. “Oh,” I said. “Isn’t he coming to this?”
“He doesn’t go here,” she said. “He’s in college.”
“Which college?”
She ducked her head a little. “Chatham Valley.” The local community college.
“Ah, right,” I said.
“K-Dawg!” someone shouted. It was a girl I didn’t recognize; she sat down next to Katie and they started whispering frantically, their foreheads practically touching.
I pulled out my own phone and fiddled with it, wishing I had a text to respond to, even from my parents. The last text from my dad had been a picture of Frida with a sombrero on her head. The last one from my mother had been a reminder that she was going to be late and I needed to pick up some eggs for her. Cage-free.
“You meeting that loser later?” the girl said.
Katie hit her but laughed. “You’re one to talk.”
“Sean may be a loser but at least he’s got a gigantic…” The other girl spread her hands (Jesus, that was way too far, wasn’t it?), and Katie laughed. That must have been Sean Varniska from my class. I was embarrassed that I suddenly knew this about Sean, that anyone in our school knew such a private thing about him.
“Hey.”
I turned to see Asha and Dev standing on the bleacher below mine. I’d never been so glad to see them, or anyone.
“Hi!” I said, and Asha laughed, clearly taken aback by my enthusiasm.
“Want to sit here?” Dev said, pointing at their bleacher.
“Please,” I said. I moved to their row.
“Guess you’re not a fan of these,” Asha said, sitting down with me.
“How could you tell?”
She laughed. “Just a hunch.”
Dev sat down on my other side. “So why are you guys here?” I asked.
Dev pointed at a camera Asha was pulling out of her bag. It looked professional. “They let her take photos for the yearbook because no one else is interested.”
Asha glared at him. “Dev is here because he can’t drive.”
Dev laughed and said, “Fair point.” I didn’t usually trust guys my own age, but there was something about his laugh I liked: it was quick and friendly, like he was always ready to be amused by your jokes, no matter how terrible.
“And our brother is on the lacrosse team,” Asha said.
I turned to Dev. “Not you.”
“What an assumption! Look at these muscles,” he said. I started to blush, but then he rolled up one sleeve and poked at his flaccid bicep. He was joking. I relaxed.
“You’re wasted on the paper,” I said. “They probably need a water boy.”
He laughed again; his whole body shook with it. “I’ll look into it,” he said.
“It’s our little brother, Jai,” Asha said. “I doubt he cares whether we’re here, but our mom would kill us if we didn’t show up. What about you?”
“Lila’s on the field hockey team,” I said. “She said I have to whistle when she comes out.”
“Doubt she’ll be able to hear yours above all the others,” Asha said.
I glanced at her to see her expression, but she was looking down at her camera, adjusting the settings. “Sorry,” she said when she saw me looking at her. “It’s hard to get the white balance right with these artificial lights.”
“Ah,” I said. “Of course. But that camera’s…good?”
“It’s her Christmas and birthday presents for the next five years,” Dev said. “You know what I got for Christmas last year? A pair of hiking boots. I don’t even hike.”
“I think they were trying to give you a hint,” Asha said as I laughed. “Like, go outside more than once a month.”
“I play plenty of sports,” Dev said.
“I don’t think playing them on your Xbox counts.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “The outdoors is overrated anyway.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Dev said. “I’m glad someone here makes sense.” We smiled at each other.
The gym had mostly filled up. There was an expectant thrum in the air like the murmur of a band tuning up.
“Here we go,” Asha said.
Dr. Crowley crossed the gym with long fluid steps, looking crisp and cool despite the damp heat. “Welcome, everyone,” she said when she got to the microphone. The crowd whooped; kids drummed their feet on the bleachers.
“This is our inaugural rally, so let’s make the most of it.” She smiled indulgently at the crowd. “First up is Coach Rick Perona.”
“Thanks, Dr. C.,” Coach Perona said as he took the microphone. “All right, children, settle down.” His eyes gleamed as the crowd cheered. “As you all know, we haven’t had the best couple of seasons. We’ve had setbacks; we’ve had disappointments.” He paused to survey the crowd. “But this year, that’s all gonna change.” The noise swelled. “Introducing your new quarterback, Ethan Salvato!”
Ethan burst through the gym doors as if the sound itself were propelling him out. He whooped as he jogged through the gym.
“Sean Varniska, running back!”
Katie stood up and screamed. As Sean ran past, I imagined his penis flopping around in his shorts like an uncooked hot dog hanging out of a split-open pack. I wondered how he could run with it if it was really as big as that girl had said. Wouldn’t it be uncomfortable, slapping him on the leg or something? I tried thinking of him with an erection, but I couldn’t picture Sean’s goofy face contorted in…effort.
Dev pointed out their brother when they sent out the lacrosse team’s players. As Jai stood in line he searched the bleachers, and when he spotted Asha and Dev, he waved like a little kid, looking excited and proud to see them.
“Good thing you came,” I said as Asha waved back.
“Ah, I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said.
Finally there was the field hockey team. Lila came out third, to a good level of applause. A few boys wolf-whistled at her, and a couple more groaned “Lila!” like it was a dirty word. She bowed and lifted her skirt at the hip, just enough to show some thigh. A few more guys shouted “Yeah!” in guttural moans.
Asha rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she said. “They do it to everyone.”
Lila looked up into the bleachers; I waved at her and she spotted me and waved back. Then she noticed Asha and frowned. Great.
“You want to get out of here?” Asha asked. “We can beat the crowd if we leave now. I think Dev’s more than ready to go.” He had already shuffled into the aisle and was motioning for us to hurry up.
“Oh, I think I might need to wait for Lila,” I said. I knew she’d be busy celebrating with her team afterward, but I wasn’t ready to be real, outside-school friends with Asha yet. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her; I did, despite Lila’s disapproval. It just made me clammy, how guileless and straightforward she was. She didn’t seem to care that I could reject her. I was much more comfortable with people who made me work for their affection.
Asha considered me. I tried not to flush. “Okay,” she said finally. “See you Monday?”
“See you,” I said. I watched them walk out. Dev turned back to wave and I waved too, feeling even guiltier now that Asha had caught me lying. I told myself I’d make it up to her somehow.
I waited a few minutes after they’d left to get up. When the doors closed behind me, it was like I’d plugged a hole; the n
oise and confusion was safely encapsulated on the other side.
“Ugh,” I said aloud.
“I know what you mean,” someone said, and I jumped. It was Ms. Anders, my trigonometry teacher. “Sorry, Charlotte,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”
“Oh, I—I didn’t think I needed to stay—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Do what you want. I couldn’t stand these things when I was your age either.”
“Thanks. Um, have a good weekend, then.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” she said. “I need a cigarette anyway.” She fell in line beside me and we walked the few steps to the outer doors. When we got outside, she rummaged in her bag and dug out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. I was about to escape to my dad’s car when she said, “Are you liking trigonometry?”
“Yes,” I said automatically.
She looked up over the cigarette she was lighting. “It’s okay; you don’t have to lie.”
“Well, math’s not my best subject, I guess, but I’m enjoying it so far.” I hated every second of thinking about math, and Ms. Anders still didn’t have control of the class; she was lucky if she made it through a day without someone throwing something or trying to derail her.
She blew out a gray exhaust cloud of smoke. “I’m glad if that’s the case,” she said, clearly not believing me.
There was a silence as she inhaled deeply. I wondered how much longer I had to stand there.
“I don’t think I’m getting through to them,” she said.
“Oh, you are,” I said. “They just act like jerks sometimes.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, of course,” I lied. “It just, like…it just takes a while for some people to settle down.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So you like Tom, huh? Sorry—Mr. Drummond. I’ve seen you two talking.”
“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t realized they knew each other. “Yeah. He’s, uh…yeah.”
She laughed; smoke puffed out of her mouth. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She gazed up at the building. “You couldn’t pay me to do all this again,” she said after a minute. “I know it must be rough for you. And I guess you can see that not much changes.”
I knew she was trying to be nice, but somehow the fact that she included herself made it worse. I pitied her; I consoled myself sometimes that at least I wasn’t her.
“So you’re…you’re here for the whole year?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said. “Yes. Mrs. Morgan isn’t coming back.”
“Okay,” I said. “Good luck, then.”
She gave me a smile; her eyes looked glazed. She stubbed out her cigarette. “I’ll need it,” she said.
“So any initial thoughts on Pride and Prejudice?” It was a Friday and Drummond knew we were flagging. The homecoming dance was that night and we’d just come back from a dress-code assembly. No shorts for guys; no skin for girls.
When no one answered, he said, “I’m not going to get Dangerous Minds on you and try to link Jane Austen to your homecoming dance, but they’re not entirely unrelated.” Silence again. “Lila, any brilliant theories?”
Lila looked up from doodling. “Paul Rudd was really hot in Clueless.”
He sighed. “That’s not even based on the same…You know, I don’t even know why I’m bothering today.” He put the book down so its pages splayed out on the table. “All right, Frank, you’re obviously dying to tell us, so—what color is your dress?”
Frank tapped his pen against his bottom lip. “If I tell you, then someone else might steal my idea.”
“Mine’s purple,” Dev said. “The color of royalty.”
“An excellent choice,” Drummond said. “Frank could learn something from you.”
“What’s yours, then?” Frank asked.
“My dress?” Drummond said. “Red, obviously. Slinky, to show off my curves. Short, because I’ve got great legs.”
Everyone was laughing now. “You are way too old to pull off a dress like that,” Katie said.
An “ooh” went up from the class and Drummond said, “That’s ageist.”
“So you’re coming to the dance, then?” Lila asked.
“If Frank doesn’t upstage me,” Drummond said.
“But are you really?”
“If Dev promises he will wear purple. I don’t want to clash.”
“Cross my heart,” Dev said.
“But are you actually going?” Lila said, exasperated.
Drummond finally looked at her with mock annoyance. “Yes, Lila, I am actually going. As a chaperone. Apparently it’s illegal for Frank to take me as his date.”
Drummond turned back to the class, and Lila whispered, “Coming now?”
I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m that predictable? But, yes.”
—
Lila came over to my house to get ready that night. She brought three outfits: all, she said, in increasing factors of sluttiness.
“This one’s a three,” she said, holding a glittery top and a long skirt against her body. She curled her lip. “Senior bingo?”
“A little,” I said.
She tossed it onto my bed. “How about this?” She held up a red dress with a shiny bodice and ruffles on the flared skirt. “Too nineties?”
I nodded. When she threw it onto the bed, I picked it up and stretched it experimentally. “Is the top of this spandex?”
“Yep. My aunt bought it for me,” she said. She held up a short black dress. “This will have to be it.”
“Just slutty enough,” I said.
She wriggled into it while I averted my gaze. “So?” she said after a minute.
She looked fantastic—older and sexy and confident. It made my throat constrict with fear.
“You look great,” I said.
She turned to the mirror and smoothed the fabric over her flat stomach. “I look fucking hot, actually.” She turned back to me. “Now you.”
“Me?” I said. “I’m just wearing what I have on.”
She squinted at me like she was scrutinizing a poorly drawn map: I had on a pair of loose jeans and a button-down shirt.
“It’s not a T-shirt,” I said. “It has buttons.”
“It’s plaid,” she said.
“It’s festive.”
“At least try on the dress.”
“No way.”
She looked at me seriously. “Please?”
“It’s not going to fit.”
“Don’t,” she said. “Anyway, it’s stretchy.”
“Oh good,” I said. I considered her, looking hot in her dress. “I’ll try it on. But no promises.” I grabbed it and went into the bathroom. I didn’t have any strapless bras, so I pulled it on over my bare skin. My boobs sagged a little, but not too badly. It fit, at least, and the ruffles didn’t look that stupid. There were no horrible bulges or gobs of fat leaking out the sides. But it looked all wrong on me; I didn’t recognize myself in it. I was about to take it off when Lila burst in.
“You look good!” she said. I couldn’t tell whether she was just trying to make me feel better.
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I feel safe in plaid.”
“No plaid!” she said. “Wear this. You look hot.”
“I won’t feel comfortable.”
“You will. Just give it a few minutes.”
I sighed. “All right.”
“Now what about your face?”
I looked at it in the mirror. “What about it?”
“Makeup? I brought a whole bag full of crap. I think I’ve had some of it since before puberty.” She rummaged briefly and extracted a tube of glittery purple lip gloss. “See?”
“You think I need it?” I was afraid of makeup. It felt like using a toothpick to try to dam a waterfall. I knew that without it I didn’t have a chance with guys, but I was also afraid that if I did wear it and still no one noticed me, it would confirm all my worst fears about myself.
“Just
put on some mascara,” Lila said. She never made me feel bad that I wasn’t interested in girly things like she was. I wondered how awful she must think I looked if she was suggesting it.
“Okay,” I said. “Just don’t make it look like I have spiders crawling out of my eyes.”
There was a soft knock on the door. Lila and I glanced at each other.
“Yeah?” I said.
My mother’s blond head came into view. “I just wondered if— Oh my God! Lila, did you get my daughter into an actual dress?”
Lila grinned. “I did. High five, right?” She held her hand up.
“Absolutely,” my mother said. She stuck her palm out but nearly missed Lila’s hand. She let the door slide open. “Can I come in, girls?”
“It’s a little crowded,” I said, but she was in already.
“Are you putting on makeup too?” my mother asked. “You should have told me! I thought I’d never get you wearing mascara, Charlie. Good work, Lil.”
“Mom, we need to go soon,” I said.
“Sure, I know, honey,” she said. “But you’ve got that mascara on a little thick, and if I could just…”
She always did that. You look fine, but if I could just…Like I was some deteriorating project of hers that needed constant shoring up.
“Okay, but fast,” I said.
“One second,” she said. She jabbed at my eyes with some kind of pencil. “Okay. That’s…well, it’ll do. Do you want to borrow a pair of my shoes? They might be a little small for you, but I think I have a pump that ran wide—”
“I have shoes,” I said. “We really need to go.”
She lifted her hands up. “Okay, okay, your interfering mother is leaving you alone now.” She paused for a second to survey her work. “Oh, honey,” she said. “You look beautiful.”
My throat closed. I grabbed her into a hug suddenly; I could hear her breath puff out with surprise.
“Thanks,” I said into her hair. “I love you.”
When I pulled back, her eyes were shiny. “Okay,” she said. “Go have fun. Take pictures, all right?”
I was already out the door. “No chance!” I called from the hallway.
“Do you actually have shoes?” Lila asked.
“Technically,” I said.
“Your gross old sneakers?”
Even When You Lie to Me Page 6