by Nora Olsen
Kids were streaming by all around, heading home or hanging out in clumps in the parking lot. Some boys I vaguely knew were standing nearby, flipping their skateboards up and down lazily. Mom pulled up in the Beemer. We got in, and as I slammed my door closed, the Beemer stalled, coughed, and then started again.
“It’s going to be the last straw if this car dies,” Desi said, echoing something Mom had said a lot lately.
“We’d have to start driving your daddy’s precious Daimler,” Mom said. She sounded energized and upbeat.
“So, what happened?” I asked. “Did they let us back in?”
“No, they’re still giving us the runaround,” Mom said. “But we’re going to take matters into our own hands.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We played by the rules and it hasn’t been working,” Mom said. “I have your Dad’s toolbox that he always keeps in the trunk. We’re going to break back into our house.”
“Whoo-ee!” said Desi. She turned around from her coveted shotgun seat and gave me a high five.
It was strange to see new locks on our door and the little key box hanging off our doorknob. We tried a bunch of different ways to open the door, but nothing worked, and it was frustrating. I ended up using a Phillips-head screwdriver to take the whole lock off the door. It took forever. Mom and Desi tried to peel away the sticker announcing an auction date, but they only scraped off little bits of it. The last screw took the longest. It was satisfying when I heard the inside of the lock thunking to the floor. I let Desi be the one to swing the door open.
It was nice to step inside our old house, although it smelled like rotten chicken. I went straight to the kitchen, the heart of the house. While Mom cleaned up the chicken and sprayed air freshener, I fingered the cherry cabinets and the Caesarstone counter top. I knew we might not be there for long, but it was good to be home.
Mom set Desi to work, writing signs in Magic Marker saying: Owner Occupied—Go Away. The bank had said they didn’t take over the house until the owners moved out. She told me to pack up and organize the stuff I would need or want if we moved.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” she said. “We might get evicted again. We’ll stay here for now, but anything you won’t need in the next couple weeks but you want to keep, you should make sure it’s packed up. I’m going out now to the locksmith. We have to change all these locks again or the bank people can just come back in.”
Mom’s attitude gave me confidence.
I changed my clothes and then slowly went through my possessions. I had packed previously, but in a haphazard, sloppy way. Now I tried to figure it out. Tank tops and winter clothes went into boxes. All my equestrian medals and trophies, into boxes. I took off the evil-eye ring Lexie had given me. How ironic, when she was so evil. I tossed it into a drawer where I kept old homework and other worthless stuff I couldn’t quite get behind throwing away yet. I regarded my once highly prized ostrich egg sourly. If we were moving to Arizona, I’d see all too many of those. I left it sitting on my desk to decide about later.
By the time my mother came back, my room seemed bare. The only things remaining were what I urgently needed in the next few weeks like my clothes and my computer, and a few things I didn’t care if I kept or not.
“I’m back,” Mom shouted out as soon as she stepped through the front door. Desi had grown paranoid. Every time she heard a strange sound, she was convinced it was an inspector from the bank sneaking in, so we all announced our movements loudly. I heard Mom praising Desi’s signs and telling her to tape them up outside. Then she came upstairs.
“Wow, your room looks different,” my mom said. “Will you help Desi with her packing too?”
“Okay,” I said. “But can I take the Beemer and visit Slobberin’ Robert at the hospital after?”
“Sure, if you pick up Dad at the garage at five thirty,” she said. “Do you want to bring Desi to the hospital? I know Robert is her pal too.”
“I don’t know. She might wig out. Actually, I might wig out. I’m a little freaked out already by going to the hospital and everything. Can I maybe take her next time?”
“Of course,” Mom said. “I know what you mean about hospitals. When Desi was born, your dad and I spent so much time at the hospital, and then again when she had her heart surgery. It was awful.”
I nodded. The story of Desi’s heart surgery and how they didn’t think she was going to make it was legendary in our family. But I wasn’t in the mood.
“So, is your girlfriend going to the hospital with you?” Mom asked. She had her wide-eyed I’m trying expression on her face.
I felt my face flush. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“She’s not?”
“No. It’s over,” I said.
“It’s over? How long did you go out?”
“I don’t know, a day. Less. It didn’t even count.”
“You seemed so…I don’t know…vehement about her yesterday.”
I shrugged. I liked to be more communicative with my mom, but in this case it was impossible.
My mom patted my shoulder. “It’s hard to be sixteen,” she said. Like that was my problem. Spending the afternoon with someone in a coma was sounding better and better.
Chapter Twenty
Lexie
I couldn’t even believe how Clarissa had blown up at me. It was like getting hit by an asteroid, big and hard and totally random. All that day I kept telling myself she was just upset about losing her horse and we would make up tomorrow. This whole horse thing wasn’t even my idea. It was my stupid mother. I hadn’t even known Clarissa’s horse was for sale. How could I know when she hadn’t told me? I was sure Clarissa would wake up with a cooler head and we would have a rapprochement.
But when I saw her the next day in English class, she gave me a look of pure hatred, a burning look that could incinerate a snowman. After that she ignored me. Her face looked like it was carved from ivory, it was so impassive and blank. She was pointedly looking out the window. So the teacher, Ms. Crouch, kept calling on her. But Clarissa was ready with every answer.
I started shaking, actually quivering in my seat as Ms. Crouch nattered on about the hero’s journey. I tried to control my trembling hands. I was sure people were looking at me, and whispering about me and Clarissa. I wanted to appear strong. I didn’t care what people thought of me, I reminded myself sternly. They were dorks.
But I did care what Clarissa thought of me. And what Clarissa had told me was sinking in now. She had said I was a total phony, and that I was nothing but a rich girl. Talk about striking me right through the heart. My stupid parents were the ones who were rich and evil, not me. It was so unfair! Did I really deserve this callous treatment?
Yes, I did. Although I felt innocent and wronged, some part of me believed Clarissa. I was an enemy of the people and this was all my fault.
Feeling at fault made me pissed off and resentful. To make things worse, I had to start listening to Ms. Crouch because we had to go around the room and say something.
“There are seven basic plots,” Ms. Crouch said, writing them on the board. “Man versus Man, Man versus Nature, Man versus Society, Man versus God, Man Caught in the Middle, Man and Woman, and Man versus Himself. I’d like everyone to tell me to which category your independent reading novel belongs.”
People were mostly listing Man versus Man or Man versus Society.
The kid next to me, Ty Williams, said, “My book is Man versus Nature. That’s because it’s about a rugby team crashing on a snowy mountain, and then they have to eat each other. It’s called Alive.”
“My book doesn’t fall into any of those categories,” I said.
“It can be hard to tell at first, but every plot in the world actually falls into one of these categories,” Ms. Crouch said. “What is your book and what is it about?”
“Ammonite by Nicola Griffith. It’s about an anthropologist who goes to a planet where there’s a virus that ha
s killed all males, but humanity is somehow continuing.”
“That’s Man versus Nature, Lexie,” Ms. Crouch explained. “The virus is the nature.”
“No, but there are no men on the planet, or in the entire book,” I said. This second part wasn’t literally completely true, but I didn’t care. “So it can’t be any of the seven plots. There are tons of books that don’t have these seven plots.”
“I think you’re willfully misunderstanding,” Ms. Crouch said. “The word man means human.”
“The word man doesn’t mean human,” I said. “We already have the word human, which means human. This is just totally sexist.”
“It is a slightly old-fashioned term,” Ms. Crouch conceded. Her eyes said, I hate you. “But everyone knows when you say man, it means human.”
“I don’t know that,” I said.
“Then you will have a hard time passing English. You can substitute the word human for man, if you like.”
But I wasn’t done. “So plot number six is really Human and Woman? What’s that supposed to mean? I think it really does mean Man and Woman, and that’s very sexist, not to mention heterosexist.”
“Man and Woman just means romance,” Ms. Crouch said.
“What if it’s a man and he loves a man? What if it’s two women? Would you categorize that as Man and Woman?”
“Yes,” Ms. Crouch said firmly. “The correct name of this plot is Man and Woman. You’ve had the floor long enough. Does anyone else want to share their opinions, or can we get back to our exercise?”
Clarissa waved her arm around madly.
“Yes, Clarissa?”
“Some people in this class are just trying to cause trouble,” she said. “Of course we all know what they mean by man. Some people are too sensitive. They should stop trying to be difficult and picking on their teachers. Before you start criticizing other people and being difficult, you should look into your heart and see if you’re really all that yourself.”
Stabbed in the back! My anger all left me, and I had nothing inside but hurting.
“Thank you, Clarissa,” Ms. Crouch said. “Danny, can you please tell us which plot your independent reading has?”
“Uh, I’m really not sure. It’s called Starship Troopers, and it’s about a soldier who’s fighting aliens.”
“Aliens are also men,” Ms. Crouch said desperately. “Making it Man versus Man.” If I had to assign a plot to Ms. Crouch’s current situation, it would be Man Caught in the Middle.
On my drive home from school I tried to figure this mess out. For years now I had felt a sense of cosmic guilt because my mom worked for one of the worst contributors to the mortgage fiasco, both as a subprime mortgage lender and as a creator of mortgage-backed securities. My guilt had motivated me to good, I’d thought. I had done everything I could to distance myself from what my parents stood for, and to reverse the curse by making the world a better place. If my parents were going to create inequality and injustice, I was going to fight it.
But it didn’t seem to be working. How could I be separate from my parents if they controlled my life and I was under their thumbs? It was my mom who had bought Sassy the horse, not me. But it didn’t make any difference to Clarissa. I couldn’t see how to make it right with her. Maybe it was true about punishing the children unto the fourth generation for the sins of the father, and there was no escape for me.
I felt completely crushed. When I got home, I crawled up the stairs on my hands and knees. Climbing into bed and wrapping the covers around me, I acknowledged total defeat. Clarissa had rejected me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was madly and unrequitedly in love with Clarissa. I couldn’t wait to see her again in English class next week, even if Clarissa wouldn’t look at me, even if it hurt my heart.
Chapter Twenty-one
Clarissa
The one really good thing about the weekend was that Slobberin’ Robert woke up from his coma. I talked to him a little bit, and he was definitely all there, at least as much as he ever had been. His mom got on the phone and told me the doctors said he might not be able to walk unassisted because his leg was so mangled. I was just so happy he was alive and awake, I couldn’t really take that in. I figured doctors never knew what the hell was going on, so I’d just wait and see about that instead of getting all worked up over it. So I was rejoicing at first, but by Sunday I felt blue again.
On Monday I sat next to Desi on the bus on the way to school. It made me think of old times when we were kids. There were hardly any high school students on the bus because they mostly had their own wheels. So it really made me feel like we were going back in time.
“Why are you so mad at Lexie?” Desi asked me, adjusting her glasses and fluffing out her hair.
“Don’t bug me about stuff you don’t know anything about,” I said. God, sisters. So freaking annoying. Just when I was feeling all memory lane-ish, Desi started pissing me off.
“I do know about it.”
“Well, big whoop,” I said. I really was turning back into a middle-school student.
“I thought she was your girlfriend,” Desi said.
“She was for like ten seconds. In retrospect, I don’t think that counts.”
“Me and Bryan have to work at our relationship,” Desi said piously.
Sometimes I just wanted to slap Desi. Did she have to be so competitive all the time? She was always arguing about who got the shotgun seat, which I did not even care about anymore, but it had been a big deal to me when I was twelve, and Desi would probably never let go of it. She started arguments about who Mom praised more. Who sat up straighter in church. And now who was better at dating.
“I want to tell you, I don’t care about you being a gay lesbian,” Desi said. “That’s totally fine with me. I think you should love whoever you want and be who you really are.”
Now I felt bad for hating on Desi. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m actually bisexual.”
“What’s that?”
I explained.
“Oh, well that’s okay with me too. You’re my sister forever.” She grasped my shoulders in a tight hug that actually hurt. My anger at her drained away.
“And,” Desi said, pressing her advantage, “I think you should give Lexie another chance. At least talk to her.”
“You are driving me crazy,” I said. “You don’t know how hurt I am. She’s no good. She’s not what she pretends to be.”
“It’s not her fault her mom bought Sassy,” Desi said. “She didn’t even know.”
“Has she even apologized to me?” I asked. “How can I forgive her if she hasn’t apologized?”
The school day seemed to last forever. An interminable period of time would go by, and when I checked the time it would have been only a minute since my last look. At first I wondered if the clock in my civics classroom was broken, but when it happened every period in every classroom, I knew that wasn’t the case. I was usually a really good student, but I was starting to feel sympathetic to Lexie’s postal-rage attitude toward high school. There were so many important and awful things going on in my life, that going to class was just adding insult to injury. I wondered if I could drop out and work full time at Mrs. Astin’s stables. And watch Lexie riding around on my horse? Maybe it was better to stay in school.
The nonexistent GSA met on Mondays after school. I decided to wait at the assigned room for just fifteen minutes, and if no one came I might still be able to catch the bus.
At minute eight, Jenna Park walked into the room.
“Hi, Clarey,” she said, using her old nickname for me. “I want to join the gay-straight club.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I wanted to be encouraging if Jenna was trying to come out or something. But discouraging if Jenna was just there to torture me.
“Great. There’s no negativity allowed in the GSA, though,” I said finally.
“What are you trying to say about me?” Jenna said, tossing her head so her long hair fell behind he
r shoulders. “You think I’m a ball of negativity?”
My Christian values required me to tell the truth, but my social values as a nice person compelled me to lie. It was no contest. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jenna, of course not,” I scoffed. “I’m just filling you in on the rules of the club.”
“Well, I’m not gay, I just want to get that out of the way,” Jenna said. “I figure, what kind of gay-straight alliance is it if there is no straight person in it?”
After the lying, it was time for the truth. “I guess I’m surprised because I didn’t think you liked me anymore. You and Pacey and Harney totally replaced me with that redhead from equestrian club.”
“I didn’t like you anymore?” Jenna said. “You’re the one who started being all weird, like talking all the time about how bi you are, and then you quit the equestrian club and only ate lunch with your sister or the saintly Gelisano.”
I smiled. I liked the name the saintly Gelisano. I wondered if it could replace Slobberin’ Robert as his nickname. I realized I had missed Jenna, her wit and vitality. And her hair.
“How’s he doing, anyway?” Jenna asked.
“He seems pretty okay,” I said. “I don’t know. You know he woke up from the coma, right?”
“I heard,” Jenna said.
“Did you hear how he might have to use a crutch forever?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if Slobberin’ Robert wanted people to know this, but the words just spilled out of me.
“Yeah,” Jenna said.
I didn’t know what to say about this. I knew for a fact that being disabled didn’t mean your life was ruined, so I didn’t want to go on at great length about how terrible his future was. But there was no denying that what had happened to him was life-changingly awful. And it all seemed so pointless, but I didn’t want to say that either. I could talk about how upset I was by his accident, but why make it all about me? The only thing I could think of to say that wasn’t controversial was that the whole thing was sad, and that seemed like a Captain Obvious remark.